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liz-allyn · 3 years

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shudder, part 3/6 [agent mobius x gn!reader]

You're undercover on a mission with the team, and Mobius' affinity for cowboy culture is making things unexpectedly difficult.

Part 1 | Part 2

Series Summary: Pre-Loki series. You are one of the most dangerous variants the TVA has ever recovered, but Mobius knows what makes you tick. Five times he made you shudder, and the one time you returned the favor.

Words: 1.6k

Chapter Warnings/Tags: Language, period/canon-typical gun violence, cowboy!Mobius (valid as a warning), mutual pining, flirting, fluffy and fun, at least one naughty thought.

A/N: let me know how you feel about longer chapters!

III.

The next time it happened, it was 1881, and you looked ridiculous.

Your clothes were too tight and the leather smelled like the cattle you were wearing was still alive. You didn’t get to pick your uniform for this mission, and since you were supposed to be deep undercover in an active timeline scenario where reset charges were not permitted, wearing a TVA-issued “Variant” jacket wasn’t going to work.

So now here you were, sweating your ass off in what would one-day become the Las Vegas desert, with your partner wearing a giant 10 gallon hat holding a revolver to your back. He definitely looked ridiculous, and you let him know that. But to be fair, it was almost... cute. Sort of.

Variant T-3051 was the target, this stagecoach robbery at gunpoint was the trap, a Skrull artifact locked in a safe was the bait. And you were technically also bait, disguised as the hapless hostage.

Mobius laid it on extra thick for this one; you were pretty sure he was enjoying himself.

“Easy does it, fellas,” he said in a honeyed voice. “Everyone move nice and slow.” With one hand on your shoulder and one hand on the gun trained on your back, he urged you forward with a gentle double-squeeze near your collarbone. It was a little secret communication between you two. “Keep your hands up where I can see ‘em, sweet thing.”

You struggled not to overtly roll your eyes as you lifted your hands slightly higher. You were 99% sure that Mobius had never held a revolver in his life and probably didn’t know how to fire one. The man’s idea of excitement is debating top historical time periods at lunch with you or fantasizing about jet skis. Or whatever he fantasizes about.

You glanced at the team around you, a mix of Minutemen led by B-15 - on a giant ass horse holding a rifle steady with only her eyes visible behind a black bandana, and a band of outlaw civilians who were T-minus 9 minutes from their destined massacre. The mission, simply, was that one of these people was not like the others.

U-91, also dressed as a Frontierland cast member, barked an order to hand over the chest or else. While he was monologuing on about whatever “else” was, you were scanning the group carefully waiting for the Skrull variant to reveal himself. Or you were, until—

“Hey,” you heard Mobius softly whisper behind you. You glanced to the side without turning around as he leaned closer to you. “Nice work infiltrating the gang.”

You could feel the heat of his breath on the side of your neck, and your stomach was doing something odd because of it.

“Okay,” you whispered back, trying not to move your lips. “Now is an inappropriate time to—”

“Where did you learn to ride a horse like that?” he exclaimed under his breath. “That was incredible.”

You weren’t sure if it was the anxiety of the situation, the harsh sun off the surrounding mountain range, or his praise that was making your skin flush.

“Um,” you softly replied, taken aback that he was actually impressed, “I mean- my aunt used to have this pony ride business. They’d do birthday parties—”

U-91 snapped at you, the talkative hostage, “Hey! I said shut up!”

Mobius reared back his grip on your shoulder and suddenly you crashed back into his chest. You cried out as he wrapped his arms like a vise around you.

“That’s right, I said shut your trap!” he hissed at you, playing to the audience around him.

It wasn’t often that he got to play the bad guy, but he gave it a valiant effort. You could feel the (hopefully) unloaded barrel against your back. He brought his other hand up to your throat, firmly squeezing, pulling a gasp from you.

He leaned into your body, pulling you tightly against him, as he dripped sugar-coated poison in your ear. “Not another peep outta you, ya hear?”

The first thought that sprang through your head was remembering your kink for authoritative bad boys.

Uh-oh, was the second, third, and fourth thought in your mind.

Your core was tight and you realized how heavily you were breathing when his grip loosened slightly from your throat, slipping down just a tad. You felt the warmth of his hand and resting on the skin of your chest. B-15 was already giving orders, but your brain wasn’t following the conversation anymore.

“Are you okay?” Mobius breathed in your ear. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You slowly exhaled the heat of your breath, shaking your head ‘no’ and ‘yes’ for some reason. You could feel your pulse thrumming in your neck and you knew he could feel it too.

“Did I scare you?” he asked, inquisitively. You could hear the edge of a grin in his voice.

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“Did I scare you just now?” Your eyes darted back to the group of outlaws as B-15 began to round them up. You were definitely supposed to be paying attention to the mission, but all you could think about was how heavy his hand was on your chest. He could curl you into himself if he wanted to.

If he wanted to, and if you wanted him to, he could keep playing cowboy outlaws. He could steal you away from your bed in the middle of the night. Or maybe he could turn you in for a bounty and visit you while you’re locked in a jail cell, making you do favors for him in exchange for freedom…

Uh-oh.

He leaned in a little closer. You could feel the shadow of his lips at the nape of your neck. “I felt you shudder just now... Did you get scared?”

“No!” You replied, almost too loudly.

“Oh. Are you cold?”

“What? Why?”

“I mean, if you’re trembling and it’s not because you’re cold, and it’s not because you’re frightened, there must be some kind of reason, right?”

Your face was burning. You’re pretty sure it’s the sun. Heat stroke. You’re dying, probably, definitely, maybe.

You gritted your teeth. “Why. Are. We. Talking about this?!”

“It’s not me, is it?” he replied coolly, like taking a sip of bourbon and lemonade on a hot day. You could hear the smirk on his lips. “You’re not intimidated by me, are you?” His cast his eyes over your rosy cheek with a satisfied gaze. “Maybe I make you a little... nervous?”

“WHA’THUH HELL—?” A terrified twang rang out and you both were snatched out of the clouds. You looked up to see a green-faced cowboy, cow-Skrull? Skrull-boy? - hostile variant reach into the the side holster of one of his outlaw posse. As soon as the Skrull had his hands on his “partner’s” weapon, he shot his partner through the back, killing him (just a few minutes before his time).

Variant T-3051 was fast. As B-15 fired her rifle, he was already pulling another stunned outlaw in front of him as a shield. T-3051 raised his gun towards B-15 and fired towards her horse. The animal raised up on its hind legs, bucking her off.

“Take cover!” Mobius ordered, pulling you down with him, but there wasn’t much around.

T-3051 fired a shot blindly, striking U-91 in the arm. He dropped to the ground and crawled in a one-arm dash for cover.

In the chaotic confusion and fear, the other outlaws drew their weapons and began to fire on the TVA team and each other.

The horse that B-15 was riding began to trot off, trampling a fleeing outlaw. B-15 struggled to grab her weapon off of the ground, but T-3051’s boot dropped down on the rifle, pinning it beneath his foot. She looked up to see the barrel of T-3051’s gun pointed at her, sights trained.

You had already grabbed the single-action revolver out of Mobius’ hand. He reached for you, but you leapt out of hiding with his gun raised high.

You shot the gun out of the variant’s hand before he could fire. Stunned, T-3051 dropped backwards onto the ground as the other handful of living outlaws turned their attention towards you. With one hand rapidly pulling back the hammer as the other hand steadied your aim and squeezed the trigger, you knocked them down like bowling pins.

A few shots later and it was over. T-3051 attempted to crawl towards the stagecoach, but B-15 leapt on his back and collared him. With a push of the button, he was frozen in time.

“Target acquired,” she stated into a radio, winded from the skirmish.

Mobius jogged towards U-91 as he pulled himself to his feet. He deftly inspected the Minuteman’s injury. “U-91 is injured,” he reported into his own communications device. “Alert the infirmary. B-15?”

“All clear,” she nodded.

Mobius’ eyes searched the area frantically until they rested on you. You walked up to the safe as B-15 retrieved the alien artifact - a twisty, metallic, (oddly) phallic-shaped thing.

You snorted. “This is the bomb that could rip a planet in half?” you asked incredulously.

If you didn’t know any better, you thought you saw the tiniest smile on B-15’s lips. She radioed in, “Artifact is secure.”

Grinning with an amused chuckle, you glanced over and spotted Mobius gazing at you proudly, watching the sun rise and set in your smile. You felt your cheeks flush, dropping your eyes to the ground and biting your lip. God, this was bad. He could not look at you like that.

“Incredible,” you heard him breathe.

Part 4

A/N: Did you like it? Reblog & let me know! Also seriously, I feel like my chapters are getting long. If that’s a bummer for anyone, please say so.

@aloyssia @generalhugzzz

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thicccsimp · 3 years

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The Lesson

Summary: Bucky helps coach you through a lesson in domination with Steve as your eager volunteer.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader & Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2,850

Warnings: 18+ Smut. Explicit Sexual Content. Dom/Sub Dynamics. Pet Names. Oral Sex (F Receiving). Oral Sex (M Receiving). Unprotected Vaginal Sex. Slight Possessiveness. Praise Kink. Cumshot.

A/N: This was based on a dream I had a while back that I just haven't been able to get out of my mind, so I've now put it to words for you all to hopefully enjoy!

I’d also like to give a huge thank you to @providencia-journal for betaing this piece for me and giving me her much needed domme perspective so my subby ass could make sure this actually made sense. Any and all mistakes are completely my own.

As always, I’d appreciate any feedback y’all would like to give me. Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog if you feel inclined to.

Tiny Tag Gang: @pepsicup @wakingbeauty @lifeofrileyp @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @tuiccim

You look down, mouth agape as you take in the sight of the Captain America, on his knees for you. This isn’t a situation you ever thought you’d find yourself in, you’ve always been submissive, you’ve always been the one taking orders, not giving them.

“C’mon Kitten.. You can do this. Look at how badly he needs you.” Bucky's smooth, husky voice whispers in your ear, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You look back over your shoulder at him, gnawing on your bottom lip nervously. His warm calloused hand comes to caress your cheek for a moment before turning your face back to Steve, still waiting in front of you with wide eager eyes, his cock standing at full attention, weeping precum as it twitches of its own accord.

You take a deep breath before reaching out, grabbing a fist full of Steve’s hair and pulling his head to crane back, a needy whine comes spilling out of his lips and it’s so sinful in your ears it sends a shiver up and down your spine. “I’m going to need you to listen to my words very carefully Stevie.. I will not be repeating myself. Do you understand?”

Steve nods as much as your grasp in his hair allows him, looking up at you with lustful hooded eyes. Bucky clears his throat, pulling your gaze to him, he gives you a subtle shake of his head before tapping on his ear. You knit your eyebrows together for a moment, trying to comprehend his silent directions when it clicks. You tighten your grip on Steve’s hair, your words come out stern with a hint of derision, “What was that? I can’t hear you.”

Steve groans, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, “Yes ma’am. I understand.”

“That’s better. Now you’re going to lay down on your back on the floor, and I’m going to take that pretty little face of yours for a ride and I’m not going to stop until I’ve had enough. Now I want your hands behind your head, I wouldn’t want you tempted to touch yourself. After all, this is all about my pleasure. Not yours. Maybe if you do a good enough job, I might actually let you cum.” Your voice is smooth like velvet and shockingly firm, you almost don’t believe it’s really coming out of your own mouth.

“Yes ma’am.” Steve manages to croak out, his voice dry and hoarse with need. He quickly lays down on his back, his hands laced behind his head obediently. You can't help but admire the way it makes the muscles in his arms ripple, you never had considered how sexy it would be to see such a strong powerful man, on the floor at your will, needy for your touch. You come to stand with a foot planted on both sides of his head, you bring yourself to straddle his face, your knees pressing firmly into his arms, pinning them roughly to the ground below, you watch as his eyes roll back slightly at the pressure. You suddenly press your core down hard against his face, grinding your pussy against his eager mouth.

“Fuck.. Yes.. Just like that Stevie.” You praise as you feel his tongue needily lapping against your swollen bud, occasionally trailing down to delve as deep as he can into your entrance.

Bucky comes around from behind you and plants himself firm in front of you, his cock obviously straining against his jeans. He stares down at you, his pupils nearly swallowing his beautiful blue irises whole as he drinks in the view of his girl taking her pleasure from his best friend's mouth because he told her to. He reaches to his belt, undoing it steadily before pulling his pants down just enough to release his cock from it’s confines.

You eagerly lean forward, wanting to feel Bucky's hard cock in your mouth, as your weight shifts you feel your knees digging deeper into Steve’s arms. He lets out a moan from deep in his chest and you feel it vibrate against your clit, your eyelids flutter and your jaw slackens at the sensation. You reach a hand out to grab Bucky's cock, but he quickly side steps just out of your reach, you can’t help but let out a small whine of frustration. He tsks his tongue at you as he shakes his head, his warm hand coming up before he slowly starts to stroke himself as he watches you. “Sorry Kitten. No reward for you until you complete your lesson with Stevie.”

You open your mouth to protest but Bucky cuts you off before your first word even hits your tongue by shoving in two of his cold vibranium fingers. “Ah ah. No attitude. Only a yes sir,” he firmly reminds you, “If you’re frustrated, take it out on him. Don’t forget your place with me.” You try desperately to keep your eyes on his as he speaks but you can’t help but let them fall on his cock as he languidly strokes himself. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and you fight the urge to roll your eyes before letting a meek “yes sir” fall from your lips. You cast your eyes down at Steve between your legs, still eating your pussy like a man starved, you can’t help but grab a fist full of his hair and grind down harder against his mouth while your other hand comes up to tweak your sensitive nipples. You begin to buck your hips roughly against Steve’s face, feeling your release grow closer with every desperate moan that comes flooding from his mouth. You feel the tension in your stomach tightening until it feels like it’s about to burst, “C’mon Stevie.. I’m so close.. I know you can do better,” you pant out. You feel his lips wrap around your aching bud once again and he starts harshly sucking, that’s just the little bit more you had needed. Your head falls back as your eyes flutter shut and moans come pouring from your lips; your eyes shoot back open when you feel a hand grasp your jaw firmly, angling your head up to meet his eyes.

“Eyes on me when you cum,” Bucky commands, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth as he watches you come undone. You can’t help but to grind down a bit harder, prolonging your climax for as long as you can while you stare up into Bucky's eyes, the desire behind them nearly making your mouth water. After a moment when your heart stops pounding in your ears, Bucky releases your jaw and you finally rise from Steve’s face. He lets out a slight hiss as the pressure of your weight against his arms finally vanishes. You look down at him for a moment, admiring how flushed his face is and how your arousal glistens on his skin. His lustful eager eyes meet yours, and you just know he’s waiting for your next command.

“Back on your knees,” you order, your voice steady and firm. Steve quickly pulls himself back up and onto his knees, his hands instinctively clasping together behind his back. You take a step closer towards him, reaching out your hand to lightly grab his chin, tilting his face up toward you as you run your thumb lightly over his lips. “Well since you did such a good job with this pretty little mouth of yours, I’m going to give you a reward Stevie. I’m going to fuck myself on your cock, while you kneel here and take it. Doesn’t that sound good, Stevie?” You coo at him, your core clenching around nothing when you see the way his eyes roll back at the praise and very thought of being inside you. You bring your eyes from Steve’s to Bucky’s for a moment, who is still standing off to the side a bit, lazily pleasuring himself to the scene unfolding before him, he gives you a small nod of approval before you drop your eyes back to Steve’s.

“Yes ma’am, that sounds amazing. Thank you ma’am,” the words flow from his mouth obediently, the husky tone behind them indicating just how desperately he wants you.

“Such a good boy, Stevie. So grateful for whatever I give you,” you praise him before giving him a light slap to his cheek, relishing in the moan that he lets out. You turn your back from him and drop down to your hands and knees, you back yourself up until you can feel his cock pressing against your entrance. You look over your shoulder at him, “Keep those hands behind your back, you better brace yourself and just take it,” you direct him before backing yourself fully onto his cock without further warning. Your walls flutter around him as you adjust to the new sensation of him inside you, Steve bites down on his bottom lip in response as he groans, his hands flexing in and out of fists behind his back.

You begin to slowly rock back and forth, fucking yourself on his cock, being sure to take your time and feel every inch of him. You can hear Steve’s moans beginning to turn to whines, silently pleading with you to move faster. You cast your eyes over your shoulder once again, never ceasing the slow and steady rhythm of your hips rocking back into his, “What’s the matter Stevie? Do you want more?” You tease, slowing yourself even more, watching his face contort with a mixture of pleasure and restraint.

“Yes ma’am.. Please. I need more. I need you to move faster,” his voice comes out strained and desperate as his hooded eyes stare longingly into your own.

“Okay Stevie. Whatever my good boy needs, he’ll get. But you better not cum before I do, trust me you don’t want to test me on this,” you reply back soothingly, but your words gaining a sharp edge to them towards the end to punctuate how serious you are. Steve nods his head, eager to please and needy for more, without hesitation you begin slamming your hips back into his with reckless abandon. The pace you set is fast, deep, and unrelenting as you begin to lose yourself as you use his cock to chase your own release.

The sound of clothes rustling pulls your attention back to reality as you look up to see that Bucky has stripped down in front of you, stroking himself a bit more forcefully now. His signature smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he looks down at you with hunger obvious in his eyes. “You’re doing so well, Kitten. You almost have me wondering if this is really your first time domming someone like this,” he muses, as his eyes wander your body, watching you fuck yourself on Steve’s cock like he’s nothing more than a glorified sex toy. You shudder a bit at the praise, beginning to crave the domination that Bucky has forced you to dish out instead of receive, you open your mouth to respond only for Steve’s voice to cut you off.

“Ma’am… Ma’am I’m going to… I’m going to cum s-soon,” he stutters out, his eyes squeezed shut right as he fights to hold his release back. You whip your head around to look back at him and nearly lose all your resolve when you see the sinful expression on his face, you bite down on your bottom lip for a moment to ground yourself before snapping your hips harshly to be pressed flush against his.

“Then you better reach around and make sure I finish before you do,” you nearly growl out at him. You almost are shocked at the voice that came out of you, you’ve never heard yourself sound so demanding before, though you didn’t have too long to contemplate it before Steve’s arm wrapped under your hip. It took him no time at all to find your throbbing nub and begin to rub firm circles onto it with his slightly calloused thumb, you moan loudly as you throw your head back as the coil in your abdomen grows exponentially tighter, “Yes Stevie. Just like that.”

You go to start gliding yourself on his cock again when you feel a firm, cool hand on your shoulder. Your eyes flutter open and you stare up at Bucky who’s planted firmly on his knees in front of you, his vibranium hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place with your hips flush to Steve’s, his perfect cock teasingly close to your face. Bucky reaches his other hand out and cups your chin, tilting your head up towards him, “Good job, Kitten. You finished your lesson. I think it’s time I give you your reward.” Bucky coos at you before bringing his attention to Steve, buried balls deep inside you but not moving a muscle, even his hurried circles on your clit have stopped as he now looks to Bucky for instruction as his chest rapidly rises and falls.

“Hands back behind your back,” Bucky barks at Steve who immediately straightens up and clasps his hands behind his back once again. Bucky drops his eyes back to your face he’s still gently cradling in his hand, “Did you have fun trying to be like your Sir, Kitten? You really seemed like you were enjoying yourself. Almost a little too much… I just want to remind you, Kitten, you may own him, but I own you.” Bucky says, his voice thick with arousal and possessiveness. You feel yourself clench around Steve’s cock at Bucky’s words, and can feel Steve’s entire body shudder in reply, you open your mouth to answer him but Bucky quickly makes use of the opportunity and shoves his cock deep into your mouth. You can’t help but gag and sputter at the sudden intrusion into your throat as you try to adjust to the new sensation of being so full in two of your holes. “Shhh.. No need to say anything. It’s time for me to have my fun now,” Bucky hushes you before grabbing two fistfuls of hair on either side of your head. He begins to roughly guide you back and forth, your entire body rocking with the movement. Bucky sets a brutal pace, fucking you on both of their cocks as he moves your body back and forth effortlessly, treating you like a doll he can use as he pleases.

Your eyes begin to water as you try to remind yourself to breathe through your nose, but the thought gets lost with every other jarring thrust from Bucky. Your knees start to ache as you’re bounced between the two men wildly but the pain only adds to the pleasure that’s buzzing through every inch of your body. Your walls begin to flutter around Steve as you feel yourself approaching the edge of ecstasy, your throat contracts and vibrates around Bucky as you moan, utterly blissed out from being so filled by the two super soldiers. It only takes a few more rough pumps from Bucky to send you toppling over the edge. You feel yourself clamp down around Steve as you give into the pleasure bursting all over your body, your moans come out like choked whimpers as Bucky continues to pound into your throat with no signs of slowing. Steve lets out a deep groan from inside his throat before choking out the words, “I-I’m.. I’m going to c-cum.”

“Pull out.” Bucky snarls at his friend, while continuing to chase his own release, “No one cums in her but me.”

Steve obediently responds and pulls out of you completely, you let out another muffled cry at the sudden loss. You hear Steve mutter a few breathy curses before you feel his hot spend land in thick ropes across your lower back and the swell of your ass. Your vision starts to swim as you lose yourself in the overwhelming bliss that surges through your body like electricity. Bucky continues to fuck into your mouth wildly, his hips begin to falter a bit and you know he’s getting close. You moan out the best you can, encouraging him to finish, the vibrations are the last bit that help push him over into his own release. You feel his cock twitch in your throat as he lets out a primal moan and swears under his breath as you feel his hot cum coating your throat. He gives your mouth a few more sloppy pumps before pulling out from your mouth.

You gasp for air as you also try to swallow down the last bits of his seed that threaten to leak from your mouth along with all your saliva. You look up at Bucky, your face covered in smeared makeup and tears, “Thank you Sir,” your voice is rough and raw but filled with pure infatuation.

Bucky stoops down beside you and holds your face gingerly in his hands as he admires your beautifully blissed out face, “Of course, Kitten. You earned it.”

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amerrierworld · 3 years

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Don’t Hide Us

for the request: idk if you write this, but would u do Lou x Debbie x reader smut? if not just Lou works. Maybe at the end the team finds out they're together and they all have big reactions xoxo

Summary: An evening of strip poker ends with a surprise.. or rather six surprises.

Characters: Lou x Debbie x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,467

Warnings: smut with both our ladies but more dom!lou, and some fluff at the end :D

Being with two other people was not easy, especially when said people were heavily involved with frequent criminal activities. Despite being quite mature and organized, they were also absolute crackheads.

You don’t know how it happened, but you had somehow been pulled into a game of strip poker- and halfway through you realized they most likely had rigged the whole thing, because you were nearly naked in your chair in just your undergarments, and Lou and Debbie wore shit-eating grins.

“It’s really not fair if you two always gang up on me, you know,” you huffed as your second sock came off.

“What are you talking about, we’re playing absolutely fair,” Lou replied. Her tie had come off and was now wrapped around her head, messing up her bangs. She was only wearing her silky waistcoat and boxer briefs, but seemed the most relaxed. Debbie, like you, was in her bra, but was still wearing her high-waisted pants.

“Bullshit, Miller,” you scoffed, taking a sip from your drink. “Now hurry up, I'm getting chilly over here.”

Lou’s bar club was closed tonight, and you three were sitting close to the pool table, a languid playlist thumping through the large speakers. Dimmed lights, surrounded by the smell of vodka and cigarette smoke. You felt a deep heat stir inside you as Debbie wormed her way out of her pants after losing another round.

Lou took her time looking her over as well until she flicked at the dangling tie from her head,

“We’re still playing, Lou. Get back to it.”

You giggled at the sight of them, which made them look over at you simultaneously, and you felt your stomach drop. Unsurprisingly, you lost the next game.

“I’ll turn the heat up for you baby,” Lou grinned as you moved to take off your bra. You blushed, shimmying in your seat as the cool air made goosebumps rise along your body.

Debbie reached over to run a hand over your shivering thigh. The table you sat at was a small, round wooden table, and a single lamp hung above all three of you, swinging precariously.

“Oi, no touching yet, Debs,” Lou scolded, bumping the brunette in the arm. “We’re still playing, right?”

Debbie pouted dramatically, but you played on. Your nipples were practically aching from the cold air warring with your internal heat, making you squirm against your hard wooden chair.

Then suddenly and unexpectedly, Lou lost a round. Her fingers danced along the buttons of the waistcoat teasingly, eyeing both you and Debbie with a grin.

“Maybe we should call it after this,” you suggested, because Lou’s abdomen was slowly coming to light and your mouth was watering.

“Agreed,” Debbie sighed. Lou had kept her chains and jewelry on, and you hated the way they accentuated her neck and wrists and fingers, hated how you were distracted by them.

A rush of cold air gave you a rush of adrenaline as your heart rate picked up, and you practically flew across the table to grab Lou and kiss her hard before she even got the article of clothing off.

Her chair was tipping back and would have fallen had Debbie not reached over and steadied it. Lou’s hands were warm and large and ran over your back as you sat on the table in front of her, your legs spreading and revealing the obvious wetness gathering between your thighs through your underwear.

“We’re not finished the game yet, baby,” she said. You immediately yanked your underwear down and tossed it with the rest of your abandoned clothes.

“There, I lose,” you pushed up and then you were straddling her in her chair, rubbing against her warm thighs. Her hands came up on your back, large and firm, as you kept kissing her.

“I think she’s extra feisty tonight, Deb,” Lou said huskily. You had grabbed one of her longer chains in between your teeth and made direct eye contact with her as you clasped the gold jewelry in your mouth.

“I don’t blame her,” the brunette’s voice was low, quiet, and she moved to toss the rest of the cards and chips off the table before putting herself where you had been sitting moments ago. Her feet rested on the edge of the chair, by your thighs, so you were effectively trapped by the two women.

You were enjoying the lavish attention you were getting from them both, until Debbie yanked your hair back and sucked hard on your neck. You lost your grip on Lou’s neck and fell back against Debbie, instead wrapping your hands around her upper thighs, nails digging into her skin.

Then Lou’s lips were wrapping around one of your nipples and you squealed as a warm tongue slid across the hard nub.

Lou was restless, you could tell, because she didn’t hesitate to bring a hand to you cunt and rub a thumb over your clit as Debbie continued her assault on your neck.

Lou’s hands were holding your own thighs down so you could barely move between the two of them, and continued to rub you furiously. Your abdomen muscles kept spasming as she passed over your sensitive clit, tighter and tighter until you shook with a whining, shaking orgasm.

You collapsed against Debbie, who momentarily lost her balance, and then suddenly was lying flat on the table, you on top of her.

“Oh, perfect,” you heard Lou whisper, before your legs were yanked apart to spread and hook over Debbie’s thighs underneath you. You felt a brush of hair against your inner thighs and then Debbie gasped loudly underneath you, her mouth right by your ear and her grip on you unforgiving.

Lou was eating Debbie out on the table as you lay limply on top of her, feeling her tremble and shake under you. Her arm wrapped tightly around your middle to have something to hold onto. You could hardly move. You tried squirming and doing something because her gasps and whimpers and the sounds of Lou’s mouth on her cunt made you desperate again.

You could only watch the lamp hanging above you, swaying hypnotically as you felt Debbie’s legs rise and buck. Her lips sucked on your neck again, teeth nibbling until you groaned out loud.

You sat up, watching Lou fuck Debbie with her tongue inside her. Then you reached down with your own hand and lightly touched Debbie’s swollen clit, and she nearly threw you off of her. Lou grinned at you with her eyes; her own hands were occupied in holding Debbie steady, so you sat about rubbing her clit with deft fingers until you heard that familiar cry, and she came on Lou’s tongue.

Lou sat back, spreading her legs and grinning at the sight of both of her girls laying exhausted on the table. You caught her eye and she licked her lips, pupils blown.

Your legs were shaky as you attempted to get off the table, helping Debbie up in a sitting position, her chest heaving, sweat shining in the poorly lit space. Lou rubbed her legs, almost apologetically for making her thrash and whine so much. They kissed languidly, and Debbie reached down to cup her between her legs, but she pulled her hand away and sucked two of her fingers in her mouth before saying,

“No. Later,” she said, conclusively. She looked over at you and pulled you closer, and your hands subconsciously came up to play with her necklaces again.

“This was my idea after all,” Lou said, “and you two look- well, thoroughly fucked. If I may say so myself.”

You walked back slowly- because your legs felt stiff. You were still adjusting your outfit, feeling like everyone around you could see the dark bruising forming on your neck. And that everyone could see Lou and Debbie’s messed up hair- or the fact that all your clothes were wrinkled and messy.

The evening sun was hiding behind the skyline and the sky was a lot darker by the time the three of you had reached Lou’s place, only you were stopped in your tracks by someone waiting on the front steps.

“Constance?” Lou asked, baffled, her hand slipping out of yours. The young woman was standing at Lou’s door, undeterred and munching on a Subway sandwich.

“Oh, hey! Where you been? I’ve been calling like, non-stop,” she said, “I was gonna return the key, remember?”

She jangled a set of keys that you recognized- everyone from the team had received a copy of them during their heist, and Lou groaned,

“Shit- I completely forgot. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

“Nah, Tammy drove me.”

“Tammy? What- where-”

A honk from the street made you look over and see Tammy in the driver’s seat of a car waiting by the curb. She was grinning and waved her hand at the group of you standing on the sidewalk. Next to her was Amita.

“Did you bring everyone or something?” Lou said, exasperated.

“Uh, of course not! Just them- and Nineball. She’s in the backseat.”

“Why?” Debbie nearly shouted, holding your hand even tighter.

Constance jangled the keys again, and this time you noticed there were far more than just one person’s set of keys- they must’ve gotten together to carpool the keys to Lou’s after Constance had planned to drop them off. And now they all saw the three of you walking home- clothes disheveled and covered in lipstick prints.

You groaned, knowing your state, wondering how it looked, wondering if they’d found out yet. This wasn’t really how you had planned to tell the team. You weren’t sure if any of you three had been planning to tell anyone at all.

“You’re a thief, Connie, couldn’t you have just broken in?” Debbie added, bringing you back to the conversation, “would’ve saved everyone some time.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Constance grinned as Lou brought everyone inside.

You nearly sprinted up the stairs, wanting to get out of sight as soon as possible, but Lou had grabbed your hand before could even take one step.

“Not so fast,” she whispered hoarsely, “you’re gonna suffer just as much as us. No abandoning post.”

You pouted at her but relented, welcoming the other four women who started chatting.

“I’m terribly sorry if it's a bad time!” Tammy said, “but it’s been so long since all of us have been together, you know? And I was only in town for a little while, so I thought I’d reach out to Connie and-”

“It’s fine,” Debbie interrupted her, sincerely, but slightly frustrated, “it’s good to see you all. Although we don’t have everyone in, only-”

As if on cue, the door that had been left open a crack swung open all the way, revealing Rose and Daphne, arm in arm.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Lou sighed, and you grinned, sliding up to her and pulling on her hand with yours,

“Picked the wrong night for poker, huh?”

“Oh my goodness, girls!” Daphne squealed, pushing her thick sunglasses on top of her head, glossy lips spreading wide. “We were just passing through- had no idea everyone was getting together!”

“Neither did we,” Debbie replied, receiving their hugs and hello’s.

“So what were you three up to before you got back?” Amita asked, oh so innocently. You nearly choked on a can of Coke.

“We were... out,” Debbie said bluntly. You could see in her eyes; she was blanking entirely on how to recover from this.

“I was teaching them how to play poker at the club,” Lou added, absentmindedly picking at her nails.

“But... you only ever take people out for poker on a date, Lou,” Tammy piped up, confused. Of course Tammy would fucking know that.

There was a dreaded silence, and you realized you were absolutely fucked when the first voice cried out,

“No! No way!” Okay, so Constance had definitely figured it out. You blushed furiously, only confirming her suspicions as she scanned you and your girlfriends.

“What?” Debbie snapped.

“You guys are fucking, aren't you?” Nineball asked, nonchalantly, as if that wasn’t one of the biggest revelations of the century.

You expected screams- a major uproar, glasses to be thrown in surprise, but instead, there was a moment of stunned silence before there was a collective “Oooohhhh...” of realization. Then they all began talking over each other

“You know what, that makes a lot of sense-”

“Yeah I was beginning to wonder if you really just didn’t care about fashion with how your outfit looked- or if you just hadn’t seen a mirror...”

“Oh my god, it’s bad enough Debbie mothers all of us already. Now there’s three of you together?”

“I kept asking Y/N if she was seeing anyone and wanted a blind date or something, but she was so vague-”

“So how is the wedding going to work?”

“Isn’t that, like, a lot of limbs to deal with?”

“For some reason I’m surprised but also not at all.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Lou shouted, finally shutting your friends up. “Yes, fine, the three of us are seeing each other. But we’re not just fucking, alright?”

“It’s an actual relationship, and if any of you have a problem with that, you can get the hell out.”

“Holiday shopping must be so expensive,” Rose murmured over to you as your girlfriends kept defending your situation, and you couldn’t help but giggle. And then you began laughing, loudly. So absurd was the situation that you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Is something funny?” Debbie asked, crossing her arms, annoyed. You giggled and nodded,

“Yes, all of this is funny.”

You got up and crossed over to Lou and Debbie, holding their hands and looking over your group of friends; none of them showing any sort of malice, only content amusement and smiles.

“I find it funny that you’re both getting so worked up about it when no one here is having an issue with our relationship. Nothing’s gonna change from how it was before, right guys?”

A few nodded in response and you smiled, absent-mindedly straightening Lou’s askew tie.

“So there’s really no problems then, hm? Why don’t we just... crack open some beers and keep the party going?”

Constance hollered in agreement, and just like that, the atmosphere was back to normal, drinks were being opened, and although your throuple situation was still a topic of conversation, it wasn’t nearly as malicious as you thought it would be.

“You know, I always had an inkling that something was going on, but I couldn’t put my finger on it,” Daphne said, gleefully. You rolled your eyes and gave her a glass of wine.

“Got room for one more?” Nineball asked. Lou chucked an empty soda can at her head.

#lou #lou miller #lou miller x reader #lou miller x you #debbie #debbie ocean #debbie ocean x you #debbie x lou #ocean's eight #oceans 8 #oceans8 #ocean's 8 #oceans 8 fanfic #lou x debbie x you #wlw #lgbt #merry writes

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toxophilitis · 3 years

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Mom’s Naughty Urge cont.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jessica and Jon fell into bed together and relaxed in each other's arms for a few minutes. Jessica explained as well as she could her sudden realization that she needed her three sons as sex partners. Her son seemed to understand. Encouraged by his understanding and acceptance, she even managed to tell him about her experience with the gang of bikers in the woods so long ago. He promised to be gentle with her, and Jessica knew that her story moved him deeply.

Jessica felt a warmth for her son that grew into a fire between her legs. She felt his body close to her, felt his heart beating in his chest, felt the incredible warmth of his strong body soaking into her. She reached down between his legs and discovered that he was ready again, ready for anything she could teach him.

"Would you like to see my body, Jon?" she asked, sitting up and taking his hand.

"Sure, Mom! I've never seen you naked!" he said excitedly.

Jessica stood up and smoothed her hands down over her gown, making the material conform to the curvy contours of her body. She saw her son staring openly at her hands as they moved slowly over her body. His long cock was sticking straight up from his groin again, already beginning to ooze the fluid of his passion.

The horny mother undid the belt of her translucent gown and let it fall open, revealing her feminine treasures for her son to wonder at. She spread her gown open and let it frame her naked tits. Her luscious knockers caught the light of the bedside lamp, making her tits glow with golden warmth. Her tit-peaks were stiff with excitement; little conical protrusions of flesh that caught his eyes and held them.

Jessica cupped her free-flowing breasts in her warm hands and lifted them a bit, offering them freely to her son. She asked her son if he liked her body. She smiled knowingly when he nodded and made a dry sound in his throat. She asked him if he would like to touch her tits. He held out his hand and she walked silently toward him, her beautiful breasts jiggling as she moved.

Jessica breathed deeply when her son laid his trembling hand on her silken tit-flesh. Her breasts lifted slightly when she breathed in deeply. Her nipples tingled with sexual electricity as her son ran his hands over them. Her cunt twitched with desire, moistening more and more by the second. She felt goosepimples rising on her silken body as her excitement increased. She felt like giving her son everything she had to give, felt like treating him to all the joys of hot fucking.

"Feel how hard my nipples are, darling. I'm really very excited. I see that your little nipples are hard too," she said, reaching out and rubbing his nipples with her thumbs. "Why don't you do the same for me, Jon? I just love having my nipples stroked and pinched."

Jon reached out and let his fingers press against her hard nipples. His legs felt weak. She was doing something wild to him, making his nuts ache like hell, making him tense and weak at the same time. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

"Kiss my tits, Jon. Suck them. Nibble them a bit too, darling. I love having my sons suck my tits."

Jon pressed his lips around his mother's hard nipples and sucked them. He also ran his tongue around her areolas, making her tits tingle with excitement. He felt her hard erectile flesh slip in and out of his mouth, making wet popping sounds when they pulled from his sucking lips. He ran his teeth over her tit-peaks, making her shiver with delight. She seemed to like everything he did to her, and everything he did drove him wild too.

"Put your hand between my legs, lover. Feel free to touch me wherever you like," she breathed, dying to feel his fingers playing with her seething cunt-flesh.

"You really mean it? Can I really touch you there?" he choked, his hand hesitating half-way between her knees and her cunt. She felt her twat flutter, felt it running with musky moisture when he touched her. She felt her naked breasts crushing against his lean chest, felt her nipples rubbing against his muscles as she writhed with pleasure.

"Please move your fingers, Jon! Please! Oh yes! God! That's just right! You're making me so hot, Jon! You're making my cunt steam! Do you feel it? Do you feel how hot your mother's pussy is getting?"

"It is hot, Mom! Oh wow! This is too much, too fuckin' much!" he choked, reaching one hand behind his mother's naked body and squeezing the silken cheek of her ass while his other hand worked at her bunt.

Jessica felt her son's rigid cock rubbing up against her thigh as he held her to him. She felt him grinding his pelvis against her thigh, unable to control his excitement. His cock spread his slippery pre-cum all over her silky honey-tanned skin. His rod slipped and slid over her, making her hornier and hornier by the minute.

Jon moved his fingers eagerly over her wet pussy lips. He had had no idea that a woman's cunt could be so hot and inviting. Her cunt seemed to move with a life of its own. It seemed to beg him to put his fingers in, seemed to want to suck his hand into her rosy channel. He dared to insert a finger into his mother's seething cunt, then another and another. She seemed to love it.

Jessica felt him crooking his fingers inside her blazing cunt, tickling her inner flesh and making her moan with pleasure. She wrapped her arms around her boy and hugged him to her tightly, making his cock extend down her inner leg all the way to the lips of her cunt.

"Oh God, Jon! Your hand is inside me! It feels so good there! Twist your hand inside my fucking cunt! Oh yes! Yesssssssss! I'm on fire! I need it! And I need your cock!"

"Should I put it in you, Mom?" he asked, his heart beating wildly.

"God yes! Stick that lovely rod up my cunt, Jon! Show me what kind of a man you are! Shove it in me and make me feel like a woman again! I need it jerking inside me! Fuck me!" she cried, backing up against the wall and letting her arms drop to her sides.

"Will you tell me if I don't do it right, Mom?" Jon asked in a hoarse voice that betrayed his fear of making a mistake.

"You'll do it right, Jon. I just know you will. You're learning fast, lover. You'll be a stud before this night is over. You'll be able to satisfy me as no one ever has. Fuck me, son! Fuck your mother like a man!" she cried as his hot body pressed against her.

Jon began bucking his ass wildly, jabbing his dick against her thigh and the hair of her luscious cunt. It was quite a while before he found the hot slot between her legs. He reached down and guided his tool between the lips of her inviting cunt. He gasped when he felt her juicy cuntlips close around his hard organ. The heat of her seething cunt seemed to pass through his cock and go straight to his nuts. He felt his balls swelling, with cum, felt his balls tightening between his athletic legs as he began forcing his dick into his mother's cunt.

"Take me, Jon! Fill me up with it! Fuck me! All the way, Jon! God! It's beautiful! In and out, lover boy! Fuck me hard! You won't hurt me, son! Don't be afraid! Screw me!" she cried as her son drove his dick in and out of her tight wet cunt-hole.

"Unngggh!" her son gasped.

Jon slammed his hard body up against his mother, punching his prick in and out of her grasping cunt. Her pussy held him like a vise of flesh, squeezing his impaled cock, sucking at it like a hundred greedy mouths. He felt his nuts slapping hard against her steaming crotch as he fucked her. Her tits were crushed up against his heaving chest. He felt his stiff nipples rubbing against her, felt her belly pressing against his as he drove his rod into her all the way to his groin.

"Grind it into me, darling!" she cried. "Move your hips and make it move in a circle inside me! That's lovely! Oh God, Jon! You really know how to fuck!"

Jon heard his mother's words and went wild inside. He was so encouraged by his mother's moans of delight that he fucked her like a stallion, banging against her and making her cunt drip with excitement. He knew that he would soon shoot a heavy wad of cum into her grasping cunt. He didn't know whether he should let that happen or not. How would she react if he filled her cunt with own?

"Mom, I can't do this much more!"

"Yes you can, darling! Fuck me hard! I just love it!"

"But I'm gonna shoot off pretty soon, Mom! I'm gonna come!" he rasped, his balls gathered tightly between his legs.

"I want you to, Jon! I want you to shoot your wad right up my fucking cunt! I can't tell you how much I want to take your cum inside me! Fuck me! Shoot me full of it!"

Jessica felt the shuddering pleasure of her own orgasm building between her legs. Her clit was on fire, a fire kindled by the friction of her son's rigid dick against her bud of flesh. His cock kept punching in and out of her, stimulating her to the flash point. Her cunt dripped. Her juice flowed down her son's cock and drenched his swollen balls.

"Oh shit! It's gonna happen, Mom! Oh fuck! I'm comin' in you! Take it, Mom! Take my fuckin' stuff!" He grunted as he shot his hot wad up his mother's cunt.

Jessica felt the rush of her orgasm at exactly the same time her son pumped his cum into her. Her cunt gushed with passion as her orgasm tore through her like a tornado. She felt his cum spurting deep inside her sucking channel, filling her with jism, mingling with the musky fluids of her own passion.

The two horny fuckers held each other tightly as their orgasms passed over them like a storm. The mother and the son shared a kind of peace that society would have denied them. They felt closer than they had ever felt before. They were both aware that they had violated a taboo, but they had enjoyed every ball-busting and cunt-tingling minute of it, and they wanted more.

"Would you like to take a shower with me, Jon?" she asked later as they lay together in her soft warm bed.

"Sure, Mom. That sounds like fun."

"I'm sure a nice shower will make you horny again in no time. All that water rolling down over your cock and balls will make you stiffen up before you know it," she said, reaching down and fondling his soft cock and nuts.

"Can I wash your tits, Mom?" he asked.

"Of course, son. You may wash my tits and even my cunt. I'll wrap my soapy fingers around that big beautiful prick of yours and rub it for you until it gets big and hard again."

"It's gettin' hard already!"

"Perhaps we'd better hurry down the hall before we end up fucking right here again."

Jessica slipped out of bed with her son and led him down the hall. Jon dared to reach out and run his forefinger down the crack of her full womanly ass all the way to the nest of her cunt. Jessica couldn't help giggling with girlish delight when he tickled her butt. She put her finger to his lips quickly.

"Shhhhhhh," she said, brushing his eager hand away from her ass. "Not here. We don't want to wake your brothers."

"Why not, Mom? They knew about everything already, don't they? I mean... uh... they've been doin' this stuff with you longer than I have."

Jon had given her something to think about. She hadn't ever considered the possibility of having more than one of her sons at once. Jon seemed to accept their new relationship completely. He didn't seem to care what his brothers found out about them. Perhaps it would be fun to draw all three of her eager sons into her net at once.

Her head swimming with the possibilities of a four-way fuck with her family of hot studs, Jessica led Jon into the shower and adjusted the spray. First she thrilled to the harsh spray against her back and the sensitive flesh of her ass. Then she turned and let the water hit her tits, making them tingle and making goosepimples appear on her aureoles. Jon joined her under the shower, tossing his inhibitions to the wind and thoroughly enjoying the experience of showering with his mother. Jessica knew that he would enjoy it even more when she laid her loving hand on his wet naked body.

Jessica took the soap and a washcloth in her hands and worked up a heavy lather, applying it to her son's chest and stomach. She lathered up his naked body from head to toe, thrilling to the feel of his skin and to his immediate reaction to her caresses.

Jon's cock stood up when he felt his mother's hands running over his body. He was still amazed that she would lavish so much attention on him. Her hands seemed to know just what to do, just where to touch him and when.

When her son's cock was throbbing again, the seductive mother fell to her knees and rubbed lather all over the slight growth of hair on her son's groin. She lathered it up until it looked like a cream pie. She rubbed her hand up and down the soapy shaft of his hard-on until she was afraid he might go off again.

"Turn around, darling," she said, "I want to do something new for you."

Jon did as he was told, turning until his ass was facing his mother. He felt her soapy hands on his hard buttocks, felt her fingers kneading the flesh of his ass. She ran her fingers down the soapy crack, pressing ever so gently against the ring of his asshole.

"Does that feel good, lover?" she asked sweetly, her cunt tingling.

"Uh-huh, Mom," he admitted, wondering what she was up to.

Jessica ran her hand up under his ass and grabbed his balls from behind. She rubbed his nuts with her wet palm for a moment or two, making them seethe in their soapy sac. Then she pressed his asshole harder with the tip of her finger, pressed it until she felt her finger entering his tight shithole.

"Gosh, Mom! What are you doin'?" Jon asked.

"Does it hurt, Jon?"

"A... a little..." he said, clenching his buttocks against her fingers.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it if you let yourself relax, Jon," Jessica said, pushing her rigid finger into her son's tight asshole.

"Did you do this to Dad?" Jon asked in amazement.

"Of course, darling. And he loved it. He did it to me too. In fact, your father used to love to stick his big fat cock right up my ass," she said, twisting her finger.

"Did he fuck you in the ass? Did he really do that, Mom?"

"Don't be shocked, darling. Your father did all sorts of wonderful things to me. I want you to do those things to me too, Jon. I want you to fuck me in the ass just like your father did. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Sure, Mom. But... uh... won't it hurt?" he asked, jerking a bit when she buried her finger in his asshole all the way to her knuckle.

"It might, darling. But I'm sure I'll get over it. After all, your father's cock was enormous and I managed to get used to his. Your cock is almost as big as his already. Did you know that, darling?"

"Wow! Is it, really?" he asked, feeling proud of his masculine development.

After running her finger in and put of her son's asshole a few times she stood up and handed her son the soap. He proceeded to lather her naked body just as she had done for him. He ran his hands over her silken globes, filling the slope between her tits with suds. He rubbed her soapy tit-peaks with his thumbs, making them harden temptingly. He could hardly resist bending toward her tits and sucking her soapy nipples into his mouth. He ran his hands over her belly and down her sides. He tangled his fingers in her pubic nest and lathered up her love-hair.

"Wash my little pussy now, Jon," she cooed, spreading her legs slightly and inviting him to rub her cunt.

The eager teen fell to his knees and began rubbing her frothy cunt with the palm of his hand. His mother shivered with delight as he stimulated her wet pussy. Water cascaded down over her naked body, dripping from her tits and rolling down her thighs and washing the lather on her cunt away. She handed him the washcloth and told him to rub her cunt with it. He did as she said, rather clumsily at first. He soon discovered how to rub her cunt with the cloth to give her the most pleasure. He held one end of the cloth with one hand and reached behind her with the other, taking the other end of the cloth and sawing it back and forth between her naked legs.

Jessica leaned against the shower wall and abandoned herself to the maddening passions her son inspired in her. She gasped and sighed with pleasure. She opened her lips and uttered a shrill cry of pleasure as her cunt burned with ecstasy. She was coming again, and it was even better than the time before.

"Oh God! Jon! You're making me come! Oh Lord yes! Yesssssss! Rub me! Rub my hot fucking cunt! I love it! Make me come! Oh Jon! I-I'm coming! I'm commmmminnnnggggg!"

Jon held her legs tightly as she came, dropping the washcloth when she cried out and wrapping his wet arms around her naked legs. He held her until she stopped whimpering, pressing his face against her flashing cunt, inhaling her feminine fragrance.

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yikeswtfmate · 4 years

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Paranoia

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Paranoia - Players take it in turn to whisper questions to each other, but the responder has to say the answer out loud. If one of the players can't take the suspense and wants to know what the question was, they have to drink to earn the knowledge.

Summary: The gang plays Paranoia. Y/N needs to know the question (and the one time she got the answer).

Warnings: alcohol consumption; swearing; thirst

A/N: imma just leave this here and show myself out

A/N2: i would just like to thank @the-chocolate-moose for not only being the best beta reader in existence, but also for supporting me and loving this series more than me sometimes; she’s the one who knows bonky bonk like no other, so all the soft bean moments were entirely suggested by her; this part would not be what it is rn without her, so thank you i love you

Y/N is the most curious person in the group; so it’s no wonder then that she’s always the first to get piss drunk whenever they play Paranoia. Nat would be a close second, but unlike Y/N, she knows to hold her liquor.

Y/N, however, is now splayed sideways on Bucky’s lap, trying to convince herself that she does not need to know what Clint just asked Steve that would result in him saying “Oh, yeah, definitely Bucky. I’ve seen all of yours at that party. I’m 100% sure.”

If Bucky’s smirk and Sam’s scoff wouldn’t be indication enough, Buck just pats her thigh to keep on to her water bottle. Y/N’s eyes round up just a fraction, which makes him laugh even harder. She nudges him with her elbow, asking for his attention again after he’s turned to watch the game unfold. Nat is laughing at Steve’s question, and informs him she already told him that on his birthday.

Y/N hikes up on Bucky, until they’re at face level. Her palms land on his cheeks a little more roughly than he’d like, and the plastic tiara he’s wearing slips a bit lower on his head. She squeezes his face, leaning forward until their noses are touching, eyes narrowed – probably trying to concentrate on not slurring.

“Boy, are you telling me that you are packing and I had no idea about this until now?”

Bucky laughs out loud now, bumping his nose to hers. His arm goes around her waist and settles her back down onto his lap. Someone yells “gross” at them and a cushion comes flying to their faces, but Bucky easily catches it with his free hand. He doesn’t even look away from Y/N.

“I don’t know your bra size either.” He shrugs.

“You can fucking see my bra size. I can’t see your dick.”

“Do you want to?”

The question would make Y/N’s breath stop in her throat if she were sober, but fortunately for both of them, neither is. Y/N has been asked many questions that night, probably more than anyone else, and surprisingly, there were still many things Bucky didn’t know about her. Like how flexible she can get in bed, which apparently is a lot. So he blames the alcohol for being maybe a little bit horny, a little bit curious, a little bit…reckless.

“Don’t tempt me if you’re not gonna come through.” She growls.

The pout she pulls makes her bottom lip stick out, her tongue darting out to wet it. Bucky’s eyes follow the movement and they fixate on the long line of saliva glistening on the pink flesh. His fingers unconsciously squeeze her thigh, unaware of how high above her knee it came to rest.

“Who said I wouldn’t?”

If Bucky were sober right now, he’d laugh at how incredibly easy it is to get Y/N going. The grunt she lets out and the way her legs press together force his hand to move even higher. There’s too much heat coming off of her, and her eyes dart from his lips to his jaw, to his neck, his chest and slowly over his arm fixed between her legs. He wonders for a brief second whether they should just untangle themselves, blame it on the alcohol and never speak of this again, until she whines the softest ‘please,’ a low sound that only he can hear. They look at each other then, a shared unspoken question, and he doesn’t need more than the deep exhale she lets out.

Bucky picks Y/N up, one swift motion that doesn’t get noticed by anyone around them – the first time he couldn’t be more thankful for Thor’s weird alcohol that gets everyone drunk instantly. She whispers in his ear, making him clench his jaw in concentration. Bucky had no idea his best friend could be this filthy. He needs to close the bedroom door as fast as possible, or he might burst into flames when her fingers are suddenly under his t-shirt, scratching lightly at his skin.

He’s very aware of the way her breath hitches in her throat when he throws her unceremoniously on his bed. He stops for a second to look her up and down, hair splayed all around her burning face, and her chest rises and falls rapidly under what he realises now is a very flimsy top. He notices how it rides up on her abdomen, a flash of skin that he’s never consciously gave much thought, and he’s suddenly on top of her, breathing in her air. Their lips are inches away from each other, his right hand is clutching at her waist, and her fingers easily find his biceps.

A moment of silence, her lips parted, and his mouth is on her neck, sucking and licking at the soft skin. She’s moaning, and he can swear he’s never heard anything sweeter in his entire goddamned life.

“Bucky.” She whimpers, and scratch that, this is the most delicious sound he’s ever heard.

“Baby.” He breathes into her skin. “My baby.”

He leans back in order to help her take off his top, but this time he doesn’t laugh at how she sighs like always when she sees him topless. He’s too focused on ridding her of her own clothes, nearly ripping the front buttons. Bucky has seen Y/N in her bra too many times to count by now, but never like this. Never with hooded eyes and glistening lips, never while whispering his name like that.

So he crashes his mouth to hers – and although this has also happened before, it never felt like this. He’s never taken the time to savour it, to taste her lips, her tongue, to steal her moans and whimpers. He feels dizzy, but her nails digging into his back help him focus. Her heels dig into his thighs, pulling him closer until she can rut against him and he doesn’t need to see the sweatpants she’s wearing in order to know that she’s soaked them through. They’re his, he realises with a smirk.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She moans as his fingers slip under the straps of her bra, his lips on her chest, lower, lower until his teeth graze over the soft round flesh. “Oh God, why haven’t we done this until now? Fuck. James. Please.”

Bucky nearly chokes. He raises his head to look at her and she’s right there – right underneath him: his best friend that he’s known for years and years, eyes blown, biting her bottom lip, hands in his hair, and moaning his name like she’s never done before.

“Baby, are you sure about this?” He asks, suddenly hit by the realisation of what they are about to do.

“Fuck!” She growls. “Buck, baby, do you really think I can think straight right now?”

Y/N leans back on her elbows, breasts right in front of his eyes, and fuck he has never wanted anyone more in his entire fucking life. She takes a look at him and with a sigh falls back onto the bed. Her hands rub at her eyes, muttering under breath, but her legs can’t stop writhing. Bucky places a hand on her thigh, silently asking her to stop, because god fucking dammit he might just cum only from watching her breasts move like that.

The moment Y/N feels him squeeze her leg, warmth seeping through, burning her skin, she makes up her mind. Fuck it, they’ve been friends for so long, they’ve done a lot of shit together, what’s one more stupid mistake?

“Baby.” She whispers, pulling him back over her. A shiver runs down his spine and it has nothing to do with her nails dragging his jaw closer. “Promise me this won’t make us weird. You’ll still be my best friend tomorrow, alright?”

“I promise.” He murmurs, his lips right over hers. “I promise I’ll still love you more than anyone else, I promise.”

She nods rapidly and it’s done. There’s no turning back now.

“Now let me make you feel good, baby. Let me give you what you need.”

Y/N doesn’t even have time to moan his name like she wants to, because the door flies open right when Bucky’s fingers start to unclasp her bra. They didn’t fucking lock the goddamned door.

“Hey, asshole, I need your charger?!” Sam stops in his tracks, voice rising to the level of a high-pitched squeal by the time he processes what he’s seeing.

Bucky is the first to react and he immediately grabs the blanket off the bed, doing his best to cover Y/N up. She squeaks from somewhere under him, but he won’t move until he’s sure Sam can’t see her in her bra – which is stupid, because he’s seen her more than enough times in a bikini, but this is different, goddammit.

“Oh man, if you’re doing what I think you’re doing, Imma get $1000 richer tonight.” Sam cackles.

Bucky finally stands up, throws whatever’s next to him at Sam’s head, trying to usher him out. A lot of laughing, stupid jokes and innuendos later, Bucky manages to close the door and lock it behind him. Turning back towards the bed with a sigh, he sees Y/N sitting cross-legged in the middle of it. She’s put on his t-shirt, and she’s watching him with a grin on her face that still looks a bit dopey.

“We’re never going to live this down, are we?”

Bucky lets out a snort and lays next to her, forehead propped to her knee. Her fingers immediately brush his hair away from his face and he feels as if he’s just woken up from a drug-addled trance.

“I think the moment’s gone, babe.”

“It’s alright, love.” He sighs again. “I think it’s for the best.”

She’s still stroking his hair, as she lays on the bed next to him until they’re face to face. He grabs her hand and interlaces their fingers, needing her to look at him.

“I love you. I can’t afford to lose you because of a drunken mistake.” He whispers.

“It’s alright, baby. I agree.”

A second later, she starts giggling. “Plus, you wanna experience all this sober, when I know exactly what to do to you. HD 4K 27 inch Terminator Glock 47G Blue Steel.”

Bucky looks at her confused at what the fuck she’s saying, then bursts out laughing. “You’re such a fucking dork.”

“With an ass that don't stop, an ass that don’t stop, and think about how I'm gonna feel when I take it all off.” She hums – a song that soon turns into a soft snore.

“Dumbass.” Bucky whispers, but he’s soon fast asleep as well.

***

A/N: *cue The Bad Touch by Bloodhound Gang*

***

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Coldflash “Punish Me” (Rated NC17)

Summary: The things that serve Barry should also serve Len, even if Len isn't his husband's sub. So when Barry comes home and finds Len kneeling in the dark, he's curious to find out why. (2953 words)

Notes: A part two to 'Waiting on his Knees' but also written in concert with this post I made about D/s, BDSM, and communication, specifically as it's portrayed in fanfiction, which can be toxic due to lack of research or ignorance.

Read on AO3.

Barry spends the afternoon clock watching, tallying minutes as they flip by, anticipating them down to the millisecond so he can catch the numbers turn. He doesn’t need a clock to know the time, but it’s habit. It gives him something to do in the moments between everything else. But it also reminds him how damned slowly time moves. So he does his best to ignore it, hoping he can get so wrapped up in work that he forgets about the time, then be pleasantly surprised when he checks it and finds that half the day has gone by.

But no luck.

At most, he wastes six minutes.

But Barry zooms off the second the numbers switch from 7:59 to 8:00. He’s dying to get home, dying to get to his husband, more so tonight than any other night. He made Len a promise that he’s been lousy at keeping. He intends to fix that.

He intends to spend all night fixing it.

But above that, Barry has a feeling. Not a foreboding feeling, per se. Nothing urgent. He’d know if his husband were hurt, if for no other reason than Len would text every single contact he has programmed in his phone who knows Barry to let them know he’s in danger.

Len is a brave, strong, capable man, but he has no qualms calling in reinforcements en masse.

Still, Barry can’t get it out of his head that something is wrong.

It takes him no time at all to make it home, managing to expertly avoid Caitlin and her stack of files that have the potential to bog him down for an hour at least. He pauses at his door and puts an ear to the wood.

Nothing.

He can’t detect any movement.

He becomes anxious as he listens for a clue, as if whatever is going on with Len has found a way to settle inside his chest, latch itself to his ribs and crowd his heart and lungs. But their apartment is silent.

Completely silent.

And with Len, as with children, silence is not a comforting sign.

The hairs on the back of Barry’s neck begin to rise.

He unlocks the door and walks inside.

Darkness greets him.

Cold, too.

Unnatural cold.

And quiet.

But it’s not an easy quiet, like the simple quiet of no one being home. It’s a tension-filled quiet. An anticipating quiet.

A quiet like the world holding its breath, waiting for Barry’s next move.

And he’s not alone.

It takes a moment of quelling his stuttering heart and his eyes adjusting for him to notice his husband there, in the center of the room, shirtless and on his knees. Barry breathes a sigh of relief, but not one Len would notice. He goes about his business, doesn’t stop to stare, even if Leonard Snart on his knees makes Barry hotter than asphalt in August.

When he requests it.

And since Barry hadn’t, he has to process this image correctly. He does so by adopting his Dominant persona. It helps him think logically, react rationally, without emotion applied.

“Hello, Len,” Barry says, putting down his bag and hanging up his coat.

“Master,” Len says, more experimentally than confidently, and Barry knows why. Len isn’t sure how Barry will respond. Because this isn’t their dynamic. Len isn’t Barry’s sub. But they’ve discussed this. The things that serve Barry can, and should, serve Len, too. Something about kneeling in the dark serves Len for the moment.

But Barry wants to know what he’s kneeling over.

“Can I help you with something?”

“I need you,” Len says, voice soft but dangerous - so unlike any sub Barry has ever met, it makes him bite his lower lip to keep from grinning. “I need you to do something for me, Sir.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Punish me.”

Barry stops fussing. The room becomes colder, darker than before. “Repeat that for me, please?”

“I need you to punish me,” Len repeats through gritted teeth.

“And why do you need this?”

“Because I’m evil,” Len growls.

“How do you figure?”

“I’m a thief. And a killer.”

“You are,” Barry agrees matter-of-factly. There’s no denying that those things are a part of Len’s personality. Part of Len’s past. It would be a slap in the face to his husband’s intelligence and the hard work he’s put into redeeming himself to sweep those under the rug. Confront them at every corner, whenever they pop up, Barry told him the first few months they were together, when flashbacks and urges piled up in his brain and Barry would find him warming his favorite stool at Saints and Sinners, trying to drink his anxiety away. That’s one of the reasons Barry introduced Len to the Dom/sub scene in the first place, in the hopes of keeping him away from the kinds of temptation that might land him in Iron Heights permanently, convicted of things even The Flash couldn’t swing getting him released from. Confront them, accept them, then put them in their place. “You were. But you’ve put those things behind you. And you’ve worked hard at it. So what’s happened in the past few hours to make you change your mind?”

Len raises an arm, holds something out to Barry - a folded-up clipping from a newspaper, it looks like. Barry takes it from him, fighting another smile. Most of the modern world gets their news from the Internet, but his husband still goes down to the corner store every morning for a daily paper.

Well, Barry is going to do everything in his power to ensure that The Central City Citizen never goes under.

Barry unfolds it carefully. The clip has jagged edges. His husband probably tore it from its page instead of using a pair of scissors. Barry marvels at how neatly he accomplished it. The outer portion is an ad for a local furniture store, but on the other side, the part folded in and therefore protected, is the article Len had saved. Barry reads the header out loud.

“Man fatally shot in alley way.”

Barry glances Len’s way when he notices movement at his feet. Len bows his head, hands folded on his knees like he’s praying, but Barry knows better.

He’s thinking.

Thinking hard for a man in this position.

“A man was found stabbed to death in an alley Tuesday evening, and police are investigating the killing as possibly gang-related …” Barry skims the article, searching for pertinent information. “The victim was identified as 33 -year-old Ricardo de Salva.”

Barry looks to his husband for answers. Len doesn’t see the expression on Barry’s face with his eyes cast to the floor, but he doesn’t need to. He can probably feel Barry’s eyes burning through the top of his head.

“He was a good guy,” Len starts softly, “and I don’t say that often about anybody. Family man. Didn’t wanna be a criminal. I strong-armed him into it.” Len’s voice cracks. The sound reminds Barry of an old growth oak weathering a storm, the way it complains as the wind does its best to knock it over, but can only get it to bend. “He needed a couple bucks, just wanted to take care of his wife and kids. He did one job with us. Not our normal payout, but enough to keep a roof over their heads for a few more months. And he was fine with it - ready to roll and never look back. But after that, we kept him on the payroll anyway, had him run petty errands. I gave him a beeper, told him to call whenever I paged him or else.” The catch in Len’s voice returns. He clears it gruffly this time. “We didn’t need him. It was amusing to have him around, acting as our gopher. When it stopped being amusing, I sort of forgot he existed. Always thought he made it out, but …”

Barry nods. He doesn’t ask Len to continue. He doesn’t need to hear any more. He folds the article up and hands it back to his husband, crouching an inch and holding it in his sight line until he reaches up and takes it.

“So you’re looking for penance? Is that what this is about?”

“Yes,” Len admits with a barely audible hiss, as if, of all the things he could ask his husband for, this is the farthest down on the list. “That’s what I want.”

“But I’m not your Dom.”

“No, you’re my husband!” Len snaps. “And you’ve Dominated me before!”

“That’s different! That dynamic is different! When we do that, we’re playing! It’s stress relief! And we have those parameters outlined! We know how far is too far!”

“But you could do it!”

“Yes, I could! But I’m not just going to break out a whip and some cuffs and beat you! There are steps we have to take! Discussions we need to have! Contracts we have to draw up!”

Len huffs under his breath and rises to his feet, the air around him dropping in temperature with every inch till he reaches his full height. “You’re not the only show in town, Red. There are clubs all over Central City, owned by guys who owe me favors. I’m sure there’ll be a Dom at one of them that will give me what I need.”

Barry swallows those words - spoken without any hint of warmth or compassion whatsoever - so hard his throat aches. He doesn’t know what to say. He never imagined it would come to this, not over this of all things! “We’re adults,” he says without condescension, though Len might see things otherwise, “in an adult relationship. If that’s how you feel, you’re within your rights. I won’t … I won’t judge you for that.”

Len bares his teeth in anger. “I don’t want them, Red! I want you!”

“You have me! But what you’re asking …” Barry extends his hands with palms upturned, pleading for his husband to listen to reason “… is not something I’m willing to do right this second! We need to talk about this more. A lot more!” He steps forward, puts his hands on his husband’s biceps and kneads gently. “I’m not saying no. Believe it or not, I understand why you might want to do this. I do. I’ve felt this way myself, that I’ve done so much more harm than good in my life that I deserve to have the shit kicked out of me. But it also seems to me like you’re doing this out of self pity.” Barry presses his forehead against Len’s, needing to be closer, needing more touch, and to look deeper in his husband’s eyes. “If I do this for you, it won’t bring Ricardo back. It won’t help his wife and kids. It won’t do anything but make you feel better, and I honestly don’t think it’ll do that.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Let’s make a plan,” Barry suggests. “Let’s write out a list of things that will actually solve the problem, not cover up how you feel. Because that won’t solve a thing. This pain and anger you feel, this hatred of yourself, will always be there, hiding underneath, waiting for its moment to throw a wrench in your sanity.”

Len sighs, drops slowly back to his knees. Reluctantly, Barry lets go so he can. “The problem is Ricardo’s dead. And if it hadn’t been for me, he might not be.”

“The key word there is might,” Barry points out, holding to it hard. “You can’t make someone else’s mind up for them.”

“You can if you threaten them enough. If you threaten their life or … someone they love. And you have to admit, I have a talent for getting people to agree to pretty much anything.”

“I’ll give you that one,” Barry mutters, squelching the part of himself that occasionally makes him doubt his life choices - particularly his choice in spouses. The part that second-guesses whether or not he did the right thing by trusting Leonard Snart, regardless of how many times he’s proven he can be trusted, that he is a changed man. That he loves Barry Allen more than his own life and would do anything to protect him. “I suggest we start by attending Ricardo’s funeral … talk to his widow … make some kind of amends.”

“She won’t talk to me.” Len sniffs. “I know she won’t. She’ll probably try to have me arrested.”

“Luckily you have a friend or two on the force who’ll vouch for you,” Barry teases. It doesn’t land as he’d intended. “You can write her a note. I’ll take it to her if you think that will make her more comfortable.”

“I do,” Len admits. “Though, to be honest, it seems like the coward’s way out. I should go up to her, let her slug me.”

Barry rolls his eyes. Len does have a point, but he also has a flair for the dramatic.

Len exhales. The breath leaving his body slumps his shoulders, makes him look surrendered. “If I do this … if I go … will you go with me?”

“Oh, honey.” Barry puts a hand on Len’s head. Len leans towards him, rests his forehead against Barry’s thigh and hides his face in the denim of his jeans. Barry runs his nails lightly over Len’s scalp. This is a side of his husband he rarely sees, a side he associates with Len’s memories of his father; the man’s terrible, soul-crushing abuse; of a teenage Len raising his sister - traumas that Len has never gotten adequate help with even though Barry has offered time and time again to help him find it. Barry hopes this will be the positive step in the right direction he’s been waiting for. “Of course, I will.”

***

Knock-knock-knock

“Yeah?” Len grunts in frustration. “What is it?”

Barry opens the bathroom door a sliver and peeks around the edge. He sizes up his husband standing in front of the mirror, navigating the mechanics of a Windsor knot the same way he would any other technical task - with pursed lips and a tightly furrowed brow.

“May I come in?”

“Sure.” Len eyes his husband in the reflection and sighs. “Sorry I’m taking so long. This tie you bought me refuses to cooperate.”

“That’s all right.” Barry slides up behind him, pushing a wealth of off-colored jokes to the side. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

“So you checkin’ up on me?” Len asks uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to his husband’s eyes, then back to his own reflection again. “Makin’ sure I’m not backing out?”

“No. I know you wouldn’t do that. You’re a man of your word. Actually …” Barry chews the inside of his cheek, not so much contemplating, but gauging “… I wanted to give you something.”

Len smirks. “I’m not sure this is the right time for a quickie, Red. I mean, we’re headed to a funeral and all. Might be considered in poor taste.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Here.” He shoves a document into Len’s hands, then turns Len towards him, taking over with the tie so his husband can read. “I drew this up last night. It’s a full Dom/sub contract …” Barry’s voice softens “… with a few addendums. Addendums that are time sensitive. We have to discuss the finer details together, re-visit your soft and hard limits, that sort of thing.” Barry fastens the tie into a Trinity knot, just to show up his husband, then smooths the tail down his chest. “You’re doing what we discussed. You’ve made a plan … a good plan. But if this is what you feel you need, then read through this, sign on the bottom line, and I’ll give it to you.”

Len flips through the pages, eyebrows raised in surprise. Barry probably dashed this out in minutes, but Len wonders how long he’s been thinking about this. It’s incredibly thorough. “You’re willing to do this for me?”

“Yes, Len. I am.” Barry loops his arms around Len’s waist. “I love you. If you need this, then I would like to be what you need … if you’d let me.”

Len grins, draws his husband into his embrace and squeezes him tight. “You’re what I need, in more ways than one.” He buries his nose in his husband’s neck, breathes in deep the spicy scent of his cologne. “But …” He moves back a step but doesn’t leave his husband’s arms. He looks Barry in the eyes, holding him the way he does whenever he’s about to impart something important “… I’ve been doing some thinking and … I want to talk to someone. A---a shrink. Like you suggested. But not someone here. In another city. I don’t want to go to someone who knows me. Knows who I was. Could you help me find someone?”

“Absolutely,” Barry agrees with a smile that refuses to stop. He hugs Len again, with so much enthusiasm, a wave of electricity seeps through Barry’s skin and shocks his husband. Only a little. “I am so proud of you!”

“Thanks,” Len says, mildly embarrassed. Barry can hear the eye roll in his words. “For everything. For being willing to help me.”

“Hey. That’s what superhero husbands are for, right? I guess we won’t need this then …” Barry reaches for the contract but Len pulls it out of Barry’s reach. Barry watches Len roll the stapled pages together tightly, then slide it into his back pocket. A wicked grin quirks his lips as he leans into Barry’s ear and whispers:

“I’m not saying no.”

#coldflash #barry allen #leonard snart #captain cold #the flash

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threeletterslife · 4 years

Text

04 | Over the Moon

→ previous | next

→ summary: You feel isolated in the vast American country with no one but your older brother and your six rowdy friends to keep you company. But when they disappear without a trace, you're left with nothing. Nothing until you become dragged into the world of the mob. The mafia world promises glory, fame and big bucks. But that comes with backstabbing, pain, regret and vengeance behind the veils. You're not ready for that alone. Are you?

→ genre: 85% angst, 15% fluff | mafia!au

→ warnings: profanity, intense description of torture, blood, mentions of death by torture

→ wordcount: 8.9k

The moment the gasp leaves your lips, no other sound is able to escape your suddenly parched throat. You choke on your next breath, body freezing against its will.

What have they done?

It doesn't take a genius to know this... this was the torture room that Jimin had talked about. And it looks like you're definitely not alone here. In the rather spacious metal-walled room stands a single chair right square in the middle. Chained on the chair is a... man? You can barely make out his features because his face is so bloodied. There are chunks of his hair missing on his head, and it looks like someone had had a sudden change of mind while scalping him. His clothes are reduced to red-soaked rags—so drenched in blood that it's dripping on the ground. There are pools of shining crimson below his sweaty body. He looks barely conscious, one leg already crossing the line between life and death.

You manage to look away, hearing the loud thumping in your ears and your head screaming at you to get the fuck out. I shouldn't be here. This is a mistake. I'm dreaming. I have to be.

But the bloodied victim sees you. His bruised, blood-shot eyes blink—painfully—as they open wider when they register that you are there.

"PLEASE!" he screams, voice cracking. You can feel the pain from his scream alone. He struggles against his tight bounds, wailing and thrashing his legs. He shrieks at you, begging you to untie him, to save him. He offers you anything you would like in return for his freedom. He yells incoherent sentences, blubbering and choking on his own spit when he realizes you aren't moving at all. "THEY'LL KILL ME!" he yells at you.

Run, your head tells you. Run and don't look back. But your legs are glued to the ground.

"We won't kill you now," a light-hearted voice sing-songs. You realize there are two figures in the dark, slightly obscured from your view. When they emerge to the middle of the room where the dim light shines, you gasp yet again.

"Blood..." you breathe out.

It's an obvious observation. The two figures, Jungkook and Taehyung, are splattered with blood, and what chills you is that you know it's not theirs.

"Scared of it, sweetheart?" Taehyung giggles. "Don't worry. It washes off. But, I have to admit... you caught us in bad timing, baby. Never wanted you to see us like this. Right, JK?"

"Right, Tae," Jungkook laughs. You shake in horror as you notice how crazed Jungkook looks. He grins sinisterly, twiddling a blood-drenched butcher knife in his hand.

That isn't the Jungkook I know. That's not him.

"Please... help me," the man sobs. "Please..."

The thumping in your head is too loud. The room spins. You feel sick.

"Shut up, you fucking pussy," Taehyung snorts. He struts towards the man with a grin on his face, placing his two hands on his victim's shoulders. "Or... we can do it the hard way. I wonder how much it would hurt for you if we cut off your tongue with scissors? Four snips? Five? Maybe ten so it'll hurt more!" Taehyung excitedly clasps his hands together, making the man flinch away in terror. "We get real creative with our... prisoners," Taehyung smiles, looking at you.

"N-No, please... You-you wouldn't torture me in front of your girlfriend?"

The man looks at you pleadingly, but you can't think straight. Your eyes practically glaze over as you feel your stomach twisting inside and out.

Taehyung laughs out loud as Jungkook joins in on the manic laughing. "But," Taehyung giggles, "what if she's just as sadistic as I am?" He turns to you, winking at you. "C'mon, babe, do you wanna try handling the sledgehammer?"

Jungkook grins encouragingly, never ceasing twiddling the big knife in his hand.

Bile rises up your throat.

The man notices your hesitation and begins to beg again. He screams in barely coherent words that he has a family to feed, a wife to take care of, that he had no choice but to join a gang—it had been to feed his loved ones. He shrieks at you to show him mercy. That he hadn't done anything wrong.

You cover a hand over your mouth as you feel your stomach heave. No. This can't be real.

Sending your hesitation, Taehyung turns to glare at you with cold, hard eyes, his lips pulling into a straight line. You shrink back, legs shaking so hard you're afraid you'll never feel them again. Taehyung's unpredictable—he could fling a knife at you if he felt like it.

Is this my end?

But it turns out you're saved.

"FUCKING GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE," Taehyung roars at you with such ferocity the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. "SCRAM. YOU'RE NO FUCKING HELP!"

He doesn't need to tell you twice; you do exactly as he says: scram.

Pure fear forces your legs to work, carrying you as fast as they can to move away from the room. Away from the worst moment you'd experienced in your life. Away from the blood. The pain. The torture.

You run blindly, tears in your eyes. You run until your lungs threaten to collapse. Until your legs are screaming at you to stop. Until you're outside of the mansion. Until you're banging on the grand wall that keeps you in the territory.

"FUCK!" you wail, pounding on the impenetrable wall to no avail.

You need to get out of here. This is not a place for you. And it never will be.

You pound on the wall until the sides of your hands are bruised. But when you find out the wall won't budge, you try climbing it—also to no avail.

So, with no choice, you slide up against the wall, defeated, hurt and feeling sick. Turning over, you let yourself vomit the contents of your stomach, hot tears streaming down your face as you do so.

Then, you cry. And cry. And cry. For hours, it seems you were out in the cold night all by yourself.

It's freezing but that's the least of your problems. You shiver, hands reaching to wipe the tears that had frosted against your cheeks but your hands feel like ice against your skin, so you drop them, burying your face in your arms instead.

Jimin... Please... Tell me you weren't tortured like that, Jimin. Please. Tell me.

You can feel physical pain when you realize Jimin must've gone through a similar ordeal... Torture so cruel, so inhumane that it made you wish you were dead. Hoseok had mentioned that they'd pulled out his teeth. Your stomach stirs at the thought because you know too well that anesthesia had not been part of it. The brutal beatings... the internal bleeding from damaged organs. It's all hitting you now. You'd seen what that could look like with your own two eyes.

You shake in pure trepidation, wondering what will happen to you now.

I need to leave this place. You'll figure out how... Just—you need time to calm yourself down.

Though you try not to, your mind replays the sadistic faces of Jungkook and Taehyung and the words they had spit out of their mouths... You writhe in disgust, gasping as you try to get the horrific memory out of your head. Your body shivers without rest and you desperately plead that you'll freeze to death.

I can't go back in there. They're monsters.

There's absolutely no way in hell that Jimin would've ever taken part in cruel torture. You have to deny it. You were afraid for your life when Taehyung had looked at you with that mad glint in his eyes. Jimin couldn't have been friends with... that thing.

Taehyung is a killer. The same boy who had used to teach you how to make your smile as beautifully boxy as his. The same boy who had asked you to all four years of high school prom. The same exact fucking boy that you actually might've kinda had a crush on in your early teen years. It makes you want to throw up again.

Maybe evil does exist in this world.

You try not to think further, numbing your mind so it's as numb as the rest of your body from the freezing cold. The silence, this time, is unsettling and dreadful.

When you hear a couple of footsteps walking towards you, you try to wish it away.

I'm imagining things. This is a nightmare.

But you're all too awake and conscious against your will.

"Y/N..."

You could recognize that voice anywhere. Fucking Seokjin always trying to make things right.

"Hey..."

You feel his warm hands trying to embrace you, but you jerk away, finally looking up to see both Jin and Yoongi staring rather pitifully at you.

"Don't touch me."

"Y/N..." Jin calls again. He crouches down to your level with a worried look on his face. "You've been out here for hours. You'll get sick."

"Then let me," you croak. "Whatever happens to me will be better than the fate of that poor man in that fucking torture room!"

"Oh, Y/N," Jin sighs. He takes your hand, forcing you up to stand. "He's not innocent, you know."

You frown. I don't buy it.

"He was involved in Jimin's murder," Yoongi says. "He didn't kill your brother but he definitely plotted it."

"He and his friends were planning to go after you, next," Seokjin says. He cautiously approaches you, draping a warm, fluffy blanket over your shoulders. "We're so close, Y/N. We're so close to bringing justice. Just hang in there, okay? I know it was shocking to see that... and you shouldn't have tonight. I apologize, Y/N. Please. Come back inside. It's safe in there."

"I just..." you trail off, tugging the blanket closer to your body. "I... don't know," you whisper. "I just don't know..."

Seokjin nods. "I understand, Y/N. I don't think my words will do much help," he says, nodding at Yoongi before speaking again: "I'll leave you two to talk, then. I've got some business to attend to."

With that, he walks away. And there's something about his confident strut that makes you think he knows what he's doing—that there is a purpose to his departure. But you don't know what it is and you're only left feeling just as confused and scared as before.

"Y/N?" Yoongi whispers. He tries to put a hand on your shoulder but you flinch away from his touch.

"Yoongi," you mutter, shaking your head. "I need to leave. Please. Can you open the gates for me?"

"I can't, Y/N. You know I can't do that," Yoongi sighs.

"You don't understand," you say, voice quivering. "T-That... what I saw tonight... It wasn't right. E-Even if that man was involved with Jimin's death... I-I don't think it's right for him to undergo the same thing." You take a shaky breath. "It's easy to say I want vengeance, but actually carrying it out..."

Yoongi nods. "I know..."

"I don't think you do."

"Y/N," Yoongi breathes. He takes your ice-cold hand into his warm ones before staring you right in your tired, red eyes. "I do know... Your brother... Jimin never liked unnecessary violence."

"I can't go back, Yoongi. I just... can't. Even thinking about Jungkook and Taehyung makes me afraid. They scare me."

"They won't hurt you, Y/N."

"But they hurt others," you say. "Taehyung... he-he wanted me to help him hurt that man. I can't get it out of my head! Do you know what he said to me? 'C'mon, babe, do you wanna try handling the sledgehammer?' I mean, if that isn't fucked up, then what is?!"

"He's only like that in that room, Y/N, please..."

"I'm scared, Yoongi. I don't know why I'm still here," you sob. "All of you should've let me get killed. Then I wouldn't have to be involved in this mess."

"Don't say that, come on," Yoongi sighs. He awkwardly pats your back. "I-I..." he hesitates. "I don't want you to leave."

"You? Or Seokjin doesn't want me to and everyone in this fucking gang has to agree to what Boss says?"

"No, that's just me," Yoongi says, scratching the back of his head while looking at his feet. "I mean, Seokjin wants you to stay too but I think his reason differs from mine."

"What's your reason?"

"I... um... hmm... If you decide to come back and stay, I'll tell you," Yoongi says slowly. "Can that be our deal?"

"I dunno," you admit. "You can't sway me that easily, Yoongi."

"Then for Jimin, at least, can you stay?" he bargains.

"You're asking me to throw my morals out the window, you know that?"

"You threw away your morals the moment you became a Crescent."

You have nothing to say to that.

"This world we live in... the mafia world," Yoongi says, "it's not a fairytale place. Everything comes with a price. We didn't 'please and thank you' our way up to the top, you know. If we wanted to figure things out about Jimin's murder, we have to... well, force it out of them. You know how brutal it is. You get a sample of it every time we have a sale. This is what you signed up for. And I'm sorry, but if you leave now, things will be worse for you because they know you're one of us now."

"You really suck at comforting people with your words, you know that?" you sigh.

"I know..." Yoongi sighs along with you. "We were in too much of a rush to find you that I couldn't bring tissues. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you say.

Silence.

"So what's going to happen to that man?"

"It's not really my job to know," Yoongi answers. "That's up to Jungkook and Taehyung... But I'd also rather you not know."

"I don't know how I'd react if I knew..."

"You just can't leave, Y/N," Yoongi says dejectedly. "I can't be the Tissue Man if you're not here!" he exclaims, throwing up his hands in defeat.

You really shouldn't but you crack a small smile. "You like being the Tissue Man?"

"Of course I do," Yoongi sighs. "I wouldn't be giving out tissues to you if I didn't. Besides, you're making life here much better. No one likes to admit it, especially Hoseok, but we all like that you're here. There's something new to be looking forward to every day."

He's being honest. If you could pinpoint one great thing about Yoongi (out of the hundreds of other things), is that whatever he says is the truth.

"I didn't want to pull the family card, but... we are one, right?" Yoongi says. "Believe it or not but family dinners have been way better with you around. Y/N, at this point, we need you as much as you need us."

"You really want me to stay, huh?"

"I wouldn't be out here in the cold trying to convince you to stay if otherwise," Yoongi replies.

"Can we go inside then?" you ask. "I'm cold too."

You watch Yoongi's lips curve up in a small smile. "Yeah, sure," he answers, keeping his voice and emotions steady and in check. "I'll walk you to your room."

And that's how you end up deciding to stay.

I'm sorry, Jimin. I should be staying for you and you only. But I think I might've found another reason.

You glance up at Yoongi who's staring straight ahead as he walks, hands shoved in his pockets and posture slightly slouching. The moonshine illuminates just the tip of his nose, casting a dark but familiar shadow over the rest of his face. You look away.

The rest of the walk back is silent, both of you giving each other respectful space. When you reach the door to your bedroom, Yoongi lets out a small sigh. "I'll... um, I'll see you tomorrow, all right? Try to get some sleep. It's only six in the morning. And something tells me you've been up since last morning."

"Yeah... thanks," you mumble. You turn around to see Yoongi fidgeting awkwardly. "I'll... just, uh, get um, some sleep. Thank you."

"It's no problem," he answers. "Good night."

You nod, looking back at his face a few times before you slip into your room, closing the door straight behind you. The moment the door's shut, you let out a deep sigh, sliding against the door, leaning on it for support.

What am I doing?

The obvious and immediate answer would be that you're waiting to hear Yoongi walk away. Though you're perking your ears, you haven't heard his footsteps leaving your doorway just yet. But he hasn't moved at all. Maybe he's listening for you to get safely in bed?

But you're stubborn. I'll wait until he leaves...

Yet he doesn't. Or maybe he's already left and you're making a damn fool of yourself. But then:

"What are you doing?" Seokjin's soft voice asks from the other side of the wall.

Yoongi mumbles something that's incoherent to you.

"Ah, I see," Jin sighs. "Don't wear yourself out, all right? Thank you, by the way. She must be going through a lot in her head... You must be a major solace to her."

"I'm trying," Yoongi answers.

"You're doing well, then," Seokjin says. You can almost hear the warm smile in his voice. "Y/N," he whispers as if he knows you're eavesdropping. "Thank you for deciding to stay. But try to get some sleep now."

You stay silent, letting his smooth words sink in. When you hear Jin call it a night and walk away, you slowly rise from your crouched position, taking a deep breath before making your way to your bed.

I'll deal with everything in the morning. As of now, I feel safe in here, knowing someone cares, someone's watching out for me.

You don't realize how tired you are until your head hits your pillow. You're fast asleep, in a dreamless slumber that finally puts your nerves at peace.

On the other side of the walls of your room, Yoongi sighs again. His watch reads 6:48 am, which means he'll only have twelve minutes until he has to wake up. But that's not what worries him.

He hopes nightmares won't plague the little sleep you'll get today. With that, he walks away, hands in his pockets and his posture slightly slouching.

If you had to name the top three days that you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, two of them would take place here, right in this house. One being the day you stupidly downed that glass of Everclear and woke up with the worst fucking hangover ever. Two being today. And three being the day you woke up late on the day of a test you neglected to study for.

It almost feels like today's a hangover. Everything that happened yesterday, er, or early this morning seems like a hazy nightmare. But the horrible visions, screams and shouts are all the same.

Right. And you had still decided to stay. Because...You scoff to yourself. I can't even admit it.

Half-hoping everyone had breakfast without you, you slowly make your way to the dining room only to find that everyone had been waiting for you.

You've never felt this much discomfort in your life. You've also never been in a room so silent with this is many people in it. Even the usually garrulous Taehyung is quiet today—and rightfully so.

Yoongi tries to smile at you from time to time, but you can't bring yourself to reciprocate it. Not when your stomach feels queasy from the cruel encounters you'd witnessed the day before. Quickly, you escape to the solace of your own room as soon as you finish your breakfast, not even looking back when Taehyung had called your name. In fact, he'd made you run away faster.

It's been an hour since the most awkward breakfast you've had in your life, but you're still struggling to keep your food down in your stomach. You can't help the arbitrary visions of last night invading your head, making you want to heave. Trying to calm yourself, you huddle up in your bed, taking deep breaths and thinking of Yoongi. If you imagine his soft smile just enough, it makes you almost forget the chaos.

Your solitude is shattered when there is a strong knock on your door. It's not dainty enough to be Yoongi's knock, too. Your face falls when you realize who it is.

"Y/N?" Taehyung calls. "I want to talk, Y/N."

You bite your lip but you can't resist the snarky comment that leaves your mouth. "You told me to scram just a few hours ago. I'm asking you to do the same thing now."

"C'mon, sweetheart," he pleads behind your door.

"Don't fucking 'sweetheart' me," you say, raising your voice. "I obviously don't want to talk to you. So please leave."

"I'm sorry, Y/N! I just want to apologize," Taehyung says. "Please let me come in."

"So you can teach me how to handle a sledgehammer? No."

"Fine!" Taehyung yells, the door suddenly swinging open with such force you let out a surprised yelp. The man storms into your room, staring right at you with crazed eyes. You scramble to increase the distance between the two of you, hands shaking with fear.

Will he lose his control? Will he hurt me?

"This is what we fucking do, Y/N!" Taehyung yells, making you flinch and cower in terror. "What did you fucking expect me to be doing?? Play tea party with him?! We're doing this to fucking help you!" He screams so loud that you can see the veins popping in his neck, his face red and fists clenched.

"Taehyung... please," you whisper, shaking in your spot. "Don't yell. You're scaring me."

The moment the words leave your lips, Taehyung takes on an expression of shock; it's like his anger completely deflated out of him. He steps back, noticing how frightened you look of him. "I-I..." he stutters. "I d-didn't know... I'm... I'm sorry."

It's silent as you try to calm yourself down yet again and Taehyung gives you time to do so. When he realizes you're not shaking anymore, he asks, "C-Can I, I mean, may I sit down on your bed?" he asks politely. "I just want to talk. I swear."

He looks just as broken as you are. "Y-Yeah," you breathe. "That's fine."

"Okay," he mutters. Your bed dips slightly with Taehyung's weight. He lets his legs dangle at the edge, his back facing you. Both of you collect your thoughts again in silence. Then: "You must think JK and I are monsters."

You're taken aback. "I mean, I—"

"It's okay," Taehyung nods. "I understand where you're coming from. I'm sorry that you had to see me like that."

"Was it really you?"

"I don't know, Y/N. I want to say it's not me, but it has become me, you know?" Taehyung sighs. "That's what I am now. And I'm sorry but you need to accept it."

"I know," you mumble.

"I'm not stupid, you know. I remember what we were before this," Taehyung says. He takes the liberty to turn around and meet your gaze. Surprisingly, you find that his eyes soften when he looks at you. "We can't deny what we had, Y/N. I'm just sorry I'm not the Taehyung you used to like. Did you ever tell Jimin about us?"

You frown at the question. "He would have killed you if he found out."

"So no one knows?"

"Well, some suspected, but they didn't know for sure," you say. "You had Jimin really convinced we went to prom as 'just friends,' though."

"We were good actors," he replies. "Sorry for the slobbery kiss by the way. I swear I've mastered how to do it now."

You sigh, shaking your head. "We don't talk about that, Taehyung. We really don't. And if you're going to ask if I want to test out your kissing skills, I'll have to pass."

"I wasn't going to," Taehyung smiles. "We had a great time together as kids. I don't think I ever took the time to really apologize for leaving you." He sighs. "And I know I've changed a lot too. I just... I'd never hurt you, Y/N. And you know if I won't ever hurt you, JK wouldn't, either. He's been losing his mind over the fact that you ran away from us. Thinks you'll never talk to him again."

"He's a sweet guy," you say, "but he really did scare me."

"We're both sorry about this morning, Y/N. But you have to know we're doing this for Jimin and your safety," Taehyung says. "And JK should've totally locked that door in the first place."

"Yeah, I get it," you say. "It's part of your business."

"Okay, good. So we're chill now?" Taehyung asks, grinning at you.

No, of course, you're not chill with it. You've seen, heard of torture that no man should ever experience. Even if it's the same torture that Jimin had gone through, you can't confidently say anyone deserves it. But... Taehyung was apologizing to you. He felt genuine enough, which meant he probably did have some morals left in him.

When you don't answer for a while, Taehyung sighs. "It's okay if you don't forgive me, Y/N. I came here to apologize and tell you this is who I am. I know you won't be able to forget what you saw last night, but I also want you to know that I'm only a monster in that room." He sighs again. "It's like when I walk in there and see all those tools, I get this adrenaline rush and I can't help myself. My god, I sound like a psychopath. I'm sorry. I'll leave, Y/N. I'd understand if you never want to talk to me again, too. Goodbye."

Taehyung dejectedly sits up from your bed, refusing to look back as he begins to walk away from you.

God, no matter how sadistic and twisted he may be, Taehyung's still your friend. You can't forget about all the times he's cried and laughed with you, kissed you, cared for you, pranked Hoseok with you...

If I let him leave without saying another word, it'd be over between us. You don't want that. As much as you may hate it, he's a Crescent like you. He's family. Maybe you won't be able to forgive him now, but there's a possibility you might later, right?

And you've never seen Taehyung be this serious.

"Wait—" you call. He turns around immediately.

"Yes?"

"The day... uh, the day you find the guy, er, guys? who really did murder my brother..." you trail off, choosing your words slowly. "Can you please tell me before you do anything? I just want to talk to them..."

"Of course," Taehyung says, nodding.

"And Tae?"

Taehyung smiles slightly at the sound of his nickname, cocking his head curiously as he looks at you.

"Can you please tell Jungkook he doesn't need to worry too much? I just... I think I'll be fine," you say.

You're implying that Taehyung doesn't need to worry about getting the silent treatment from you. He seems to infer what you meant, correctly.

"Yeah, Y/N," he beams. "Thank you. I'll see you later?"

You nod in confirmation, watching as he lets out a little whoo! and leaves. You don't exactly know how to feel. You'd tried to shove all those memories with past Taehyung to the back of your head once he'd disappeared along with your brother. Strange of him to suddenly mention your relationship again.

But no matter how strange, you can't deny that you're feeling a bit better already. Maybe talking to Taehyung was what you needed; maybe you just needed his perspective. You don't really know.

You're just about to get up from your bed to shut your door when another person peaks their head in. This time it's Hoseok, which is a surprise because you don't think Hoseok's ever actively looked for you.

"Hey, we have a sale," Hoseok says. "You can skip it if you want... But I advise you don't. Either way, I hope you're feeling better." He doesn't wait for you to answer, already walking away from your open door.

You cock your head to the side. Those few sentences were the nicest things Hoseok's said to you since your arrival here. Huh. Maybe Seokjin told everyone to take it easy on you today?

After quickly getting dressed in clothing that covers you from head to toe (that way, no one can call you a provocative slut this time), you make your way to the arms dealing room. The familiar musty stench greets you with open arms, along with Yoongi and Hoseok.

"Hi," Yoongi breathes, smiling at you for just a split second before busying himself with an AK-47 rifle that had just shipped in yesterday.

"You're gonna get hot in here with all that clothing on," Hoseok says, quirking a brow at you.

"I think I can take it just fine," you shrug, tugging at the collar of your turtleneck. "It's worth it, anyways."

Neither men say anything to that and you can understand why. You've had your fair share of verbal harassment the past few weeks working as a dealer, and it's no secret that you've found some sort of way to deter the sexual comments thrown at you—by packing on thick clothing.

"Pack it on to turn them off," Taehyung liked to joke. To which he would also say, "Take it off to turn them on."

Still, you're pretty surprised at how smoothly the sale goes today. Even more surprised when the customers treat you how they'd treat Yoongi and Hoseok—with respect. Maybe today's just your lucky day. This must be why so many wise philosophers claim that after every storm there's a rainbow. Judging from what was happening to you, that was definitely true.

After the sale, you polish the last of the illegal rifles with Yoongi's help, working diligently in complete silence.

"I'd help," Hoseok grumbles, "but for some fucking reason, Seokjin wants me to meet him. God, that man drives me nuts. Fucking thinks being Boss allows him to actually boss everyone around."

You raise your eyebrows. Now that you've read Jimin's diary entry on the relations between the six men, it was all too obvious who disliked who. You wonder if you could've figured that out yourself.

"That's odd," Yoongi offers as a reply. "It's not every day Seokjin wants to talk to you."

"It might be a big deal, then," you say.

"Watch as it's not," Hoseok sighs. "Anyway, I'll catch you guys later." He waves goodbye before sauntering off.

"Do you think it's about business?" you ask, turning to Yoongi.

He sets down the rifle in its case before answering, "No."

"Oh."

"He'd be talking to Namjoon if it were about business. Hoseok and Boss would never get anything done if they were to converse about it," Yoongi chuckles. "They're too different."

"Right..." you nod, acting like you know exactly what he's talking about.

"Anyways, I saw Taehyung running after you as soon as he finished cleaning up the breakfast table," Yoongi says. "Anything happen?"

"Oh..." you sigh. "It was just... he apologized for himself and Jungkook. I don't know. Some part of me still hates him for being so inhumanely cruel, but now, I honestly kind of feel bad for him... You know how we were like when we were kids."

"Of course I do," Yoongi smiles wistfully. "Taehyung beat everyone in the competition."

You scoff. "You mean the competition in which I'm the prize?"

"I mean that in the least objectifying way possible," Yoongi says. "I just thought it was funny because you two were such polar opposites."

"Yeah," you say. "Looking back, I was crazy to like him."

"How so?"

You flush. "I mean... Well, he leaps before he thinks and I hate that. You know how I can't physically bring myself to be spontaneous. But he's literally the definition of spontaneous. I don't know... and just factoring in what I know about him now..."

Yoongi nods solemnly. "But, um, besides all that, I hope you're feeling better than yesterday," he says, averting your eyes.

"Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better, thanks. I didn't feel so well after I woke up, but I don't know, something about Taehyung confronting me did away with most of the discomfort," you say. "You probably got less sleep than me, though. So I should really be asking if you're feeling well."

"Oh?" Yoongi looks up at you, his soft, brown eyes meeting yours. His lips tug up into a small smile that you reciprocate.

"You were, uh, waiting outside my door?"

"Right..." Yoongi flushes a rosy shade of pink, scratching the back of his head. "I was trying to check if you went to bed safely."

"For no reason?"

"You could say that."

"What?" you shake your head in disbelief. "You expect me to believe that blatant lie?"

"Then why did you wait for me to leave?" Yoongi challenges, quirking an eyebrow as he smiles teasingly at you. He leans into you, "Was that for no reason as well?"

You never back down challenges, so you lean in as well, "You could say that."

But Yoongi leans in so close you can feel his warm breath on your nose. You watch as his eyes flicker down to your lips for just a split second before meeting your eyes again. "Lies," he whispers.

"How so?" you whisper right back.

"You—" Yoongi starts, his nose slightly grazing yours. You're just about to close your eyes, almost with instinct, but Yoongi suddenly pulls away as if he were afraid of further contact. You're left feeling a little less warm on the inside and a bit crestfallen. "Sorry, Yoongi mutters, "violating personal bubbles and all that." His ears are bright red as he looks away.

"Y-Yeah, right," you quickly say, facing burning as you take a step back to give the two of you some space. You guiltily look down at the floor, unsure how to fill this now very awkward silence.

"Um, I'll walk you upstairs?" Yoongi offers quietly.

"Mhm," you nod, quickly packing up the rest of the weapons while avoiding Yoongi's eye contact altogether.

Yoongi leads you out of the dealer room, walking just ahead of you. You watch his feet move, wondering why you're feeling so queasy all of a sudden. Was it something I ate? Was it the memories from yesterday?

Suddenly, Yoongi whirls around and you nearly bump into his chest if he hadn't grabbed your arm to help steady your balance.

"Sorry," he mutters, shaking his head. "Um, I forgot. Net profit for today?"

"Oh, um, fourteen thousand nine hundred and sixty-two," you say, "I think. I'll have to double-check."

"Alright."

"Yeah."

You notice he still hasn't let go of your arm. For some reason, that causes the gap between your heartbeats to decrease dramatically. Slowly, you look up to meet Yoongi's soft eyes gazing into yours; he's close to you, your feets touching and your breaths in sync.

Yoongi's eyelashes flutter delicately as he mutters something you barely distinguish as "Stop me now."

But you stay silent, wondering what will happen next. Hoping something will happen next.

Then, it happens.

He leans in to kiss you, his hand letting go of your arm to cup one cheek, snaking his other arm around your waist. You are putty to his touch, melting in his embrace and savoring his soft lips on yours.

At that moment, you're able to forget the trials and tribulations that have plagued you for the past several weeks. Your eyes close and you feel like you're in a dreamy slumber. Yoongi holds you tightly in his arms, wordlessly promising you he will never let go. He kisses you like he has something to prove. Your lips mirror his actions—not too desperate but not at all too innocent, either.

He pulls you closer, kissing the corners of your lips before pulling away.

Your eyes flutter open, your body feeling cold without his touch.

Yoongi's bright red in the face, refusing to make eye contact with you; you're in that same state.

"S-Sorry," he mutters, pursing his lips. "Should've stopped me."

You're completely unable to speak, unable to admit the rapid beating of your heart and quickened breaths. When words do come to you, you're only able to murmur a quick, "Sorry," which doesn't do much to help the awkward atmosphere. Oh god. You feel the desire to leave. "I-I'll just, uh, walk to my room now..." you stutter embarrassingly. "Sorry."

"Alright," Yoongi nods, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You turn around, just about to walk away when:

"Y/N?"

Stopping in your tracks, you manage to clear your voice enough to reply, "Yeah?"

"You're right," he says, "I think it was fourteen thousand nine hundred and sixty-two."

You nod. "Okay."

"I'll see you later."

"Mhm."

You leave without another word, feeling utterly confused at yourself. Why do I always run away from the things that can help?

You do not like to follow the flow.

Never once have you done things because other crazy people were doing it. Never once have you bought things to fit in with the trendy folks. Never once have you just gone with the flow because you were so in the moment.

Well, except three days ago, that is.

You've convinced yourself that the kiss had been an 'in the moment' thing. Something you just allowed because of the mental state you were in.

So maybe you kissed Yoongi to go with the flow. But why did he kiss you?

The thought bothers you so much, you haven't been getting much sleep. Your nights are plagued by thoughts of him and your days literally consist of working with him. There's no escape; you can't avoid him.

And on one part, you feel a bit guilty that so much of your thoughts have been revolving around Yoongi and not your older brother. In fact, you've been distracted from everything that's not Min Yoongi. You should be stressing about figuring out his murderer and not where your stupid heart lies.

But another part of you thinks you should... move on. As bad as it sounds. You shouldn't feel guilty thinking about things other than your brother. You'll get your revenge, so there's no point in worrying so much about it, right?

Right.

Besides, how can you think of anything else when Yoongi's been so—

Gah. You can't even explain the feelings bubbling inside of you when he brushes against your arm or when he places a hand on top of yours to help clean the grease off of a rifle or when he walks you back to your room after a sale so you don't feel lonely.

Both he and you had made a silent, mutual agreement that neither of you mentions that you had kissed. But there's some part of you that wishes he brought it up. Because you don't want to be the only one drowning in your deep feelings. Also, you can't handle the awkwardness anymore. Or maybe it's all in your head??

Yoongi still makes up a majority of your company in the house. If you're not sleeping, eating, reading Jimin's diary or dealing, you're talking with Yoongi. And the conversation flows fine—even after the kiss—but you just can't help but wonder if the kiss had affected him as much as it did to you.

It's embarrassing how much you think about him. This feeling is entirely foreign to you, and you don't think Yoongi's much of a connoisseur of his feelings, either. Maybe you'll be stuck in this situation forever.

It drives you fucking nuts.

But props to you for being able to hide it so well.

"Yoongi? Can I ask you something?" you say timidly.

Yoongi nods as he continues walking, guiding you to your room for the umpteenth time.

"Why do you always slouch? Your posture's kinda bad."

There's a small pause before Yoongi huffs. "Y/N, I thought you were gonna be serious for a second." But nevertheless, he straightens his posture.

"What? Did you expect me to say anything else?"

"Well, I... er—" Yoongi stops walking when you both reach your door. He slouches again as he scratches the back of his head, awkwardly. "No? I think?"

He sounds uncertain, but funnily enough, his uncertainty and awkwardness almost assure you.

"You sound unsure, Yoongi."

"That's—" He lets out a frustrated sigh. "That's because I am, Y/N..."

"Well, I am too. If admitting that makes you feel better."

"You're unsure?" Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. "About what"

"Er—" you stutter, "I mean, um, you should know what."

God. Neither of us wants to admit it. We're both too goddamn stubborn. But I'm not going to budge.

"I think you should know too," Yoongi says. It looks like he won't back down either.

"Ugh, Yoongi," you groan, massaging your forehead with your hand.

"Yes?"

"You know what? Nevermind," you sigh, one hand already on your doorknob. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow? Yeah?"

You're just about to turn the doorknob when:

"Wait."

You smile. You've cracked him.

"What was the net profit today?"

Your smile fades away and you sigh, "four thousand two hundred and one," before turning away once more when for the second time:

"Wait, Y/N."

"What?" you say, almost exasperatedly as you turn to face Yoongi again.

He smiles at you before leaning in to cup your cheek with his hand. Your breath hitches. He searches your eyes for resistance but when he sees nothing, he leans in until his breath his ghosting your lips. Your lips hover over each other, just a millisecond away from contact. You can't take the tension anymore, so you lean in. Your lips meet for the second time, and the feeling is so wonderful you sigh, your eyes fluttering closed.

And something about it makes you realize you both mean it this time.

Yoongi carefully guides you against your door, making sure your back hits the hard material softly before tugging you closer to his body. You can feel his body heat practically everywhere on your body. It heats up your face, your neck, your chest, your insides. You feel like you're on fire—but in a good way.

You find yourself following his lips when he pulls away for breath. He grins at your action before pecking the corners of your lips and pulling away completely.

You have trouble trying to catch your breath, staring at those beautiful eyes of his. Now you don't have any uncertainty. You... like Yoongi. And he likes you too.

"I like when we communicate in actions," Yoongi whispers, his eyes gazing into yours. "Sometimes words are unnecessary."

His words leave you even more breathless than you were before.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N." He smiles before he turns around and walks away from you.

You need a minute to catch your breath and gather your thoughts. Then, with jelly-legs, you slip into the confines of your room. It takes another minute for you to fully realize and take in what had just happened. The room seems to be spinning, (maybe it's the adrenaline?) so you finally collapse on your bed, slightly out of breath as you recollect your thoughts.

Gosh. You like Yoongi. And he likes you right back.

You still feel like you are in a dream.

You're unable to sleep, heart fluttering in your chest and your cheeks heating up as you replay the moments of you and Yoongi over and over again in your head. Everything had happened so quickly... But you're hanging onto these feelings nonetheless. It makes you feel safe. It helps you stay distracted.

When there's a knock on your door in the morning, you scramble out of bed to fix your hair and straighten your sleepwear. Maybe it's Yoongi? Maybe he's here to walk me to breakfast?

Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you open the door to your room, but your face falls when you realize the man outside your door is not Yoongi but Jungkook.

"Hi, Y/N," the boy smiles softly but refuses to make eye contact with you.

"Oh... um, Jungkook," you mutter, nodding in acknowledgment of his presence.

"I just... uh, wanted to apologize formally," Jungkook says, shyly looking up to meet your eyes. "I didn't want to scare you... And it was a wrong move to ask Taehyung to apologize for me. I hope you don't hate me."

Hate is the last thing on your mind right now. And to be completely honest, you'd plum forgotten that you were supposedly angry at Jungkook and Taehyung.

Jungkook must see the slightly confused glint in your eyes. He sighs. "Sorry. I really came here to deliver a message..." He hands you a folded up white note.

You take it with both hands, eyeing the folded piece of paper with suspicion. "What is it?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Jungkook shrugs. "Yoongi told me to give it to you. Who knows who told Yoongi to give it to me to give it to you." He shrugs again. "I guess, um, I'll catch you later at breakfast? Taehyung and I are baking salmon!" He smiles widely in that shy, characteristic way of his. You're sure Taehyung's already told him that you're not going to hate him eternally.

"Yeah," you say. "I'll see you. And JK?"

Jungkook's grin grows even wider.

"I'm not mad at you or scared or whatever of you," you clarify. "And thanks for delivering the note," you add, holding up the mystery letter and nodding.

"No problem," the man lilts, waving shyly as he begins to walk away. You wave back, watching him leave your doorway.

Hm. For just a second there, you could've sworn that that was the Jeon Jungkook you used to know. Shy, smiling and sweet.

It's strange. A couple of days ago, you thought he was a monster. Now, you think all of these men were in some way or another like the wild, silly boys you grew up with—you just didn't spend enough time with them to know. Your feelings were sure distracting.

The paper in your hands is begging to be unfolded so you do so in caution. You have no idea who could've wanted you to receive this note, which means you know even less about its possible contents. But when you spread the note out completely, a warm smile blossoms on your face.

That's Min Yoongi's handwriting right there.

Barely legible but with just a hint of an aesthetic nuance to it.

Hey, Y/N. Meet me in the white room before breakfast. I’ll be waiting.

In the white room? Your smile falls just a bit. Was this about business? The note had been rather vague... You're not sure whether you should feel happy or excited for that matter.

You stare at the note for a bit longer before deciding to get dressed to go. Just before walking out your door, you spray a few spritzes of perfume on yourself—just in case.

By the time you're walking into the room where the hidden white room is, Yoongi is already standing there, waiting for you. Judging by his face when he sees you, you doubt that he called you over here to talk about business

"Hi," you say, but it comes out breathy and breathless at the same time.

He smiles, wordlessly taking your hand and tugging you into the opening of the white room that he must've unlocked before you came. He shuts the door, carefully before turning to you and pulling you close to his chest.

"Why are we meeting here?" you whisper, though you don't really know why.

Yoongi grins, "No one else can see." He pauses before continuing on. "And we get some privacy."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You really had me scared. You could've just gone to me and asked me to come here yourself. Besides, why do we need privacy?"

"Well, I—" Yoongi flushes. "Um, about last night—"

Suddenly, he stops talking, peering into the distance and scrunching his eyebrows. "Shoot," he whispers, "get under the table."

"Wha—" you manage to say before Yoongi helps you duck under the long table, strong hands by your side. You know better than to talk at a moment like this so you stay quiet though you're in a state of confusion.

Yoongi must have a great hearing because the next thing you know, the door to the white room opens and two men walk in while talking. Immediately, you recognize them as Seokjin and Namjoon. Your neck cranes to listen to their rather solemn discussion. Yoongi grips your arm in complete silence.

"You know what Joon? Fuck it," Seokjin groans and you can imagine him running a frustrated hand through his hair. "It should've been me and we all know it."

Namjoon sighs. "I was his best friend, Boss. It should've been me. But besides that, it doesn't matter who it should've been. It already happened. We can only say that what did occur was unfair."

You almost let out a gasp when you realize they're talking about your brother.

"I should've been a better leader," Jin says. "There are so many things I could've done to prevent something like that..."

"It wasn't your fault," Namjoon says. "None of us saw it coming."

"I know, I know," Jin sighs. "It's just that in a way, my heart goes out to Y/N. Then again, she's been doing well—better than I thought. I've heard good things about her from Yoongi and Hoseok. But especially Yoongi." You turn your head to look over at the man next to you who's severely blushing. "You don't regret letting her become a Crescent now, do you?"

You nearly hold your breath to hear Namjoon's answer.

The underboss scoffs. "You know better than to ask me that, Boss."

You can nearly imagine Seokjin nodding. "You're right. I'm sorry. But what about Yoongi? He was on the same boat as you. Has he told you anything in private?"

Just before Namjoon can answer, Yoongi's knee slips on the rather slippery white floor and his foot catches the leg of a chair, dragging it across the floor noisily. You freeze. He freezes. Seokjin and Namjoon freeze as well.

Seokjin's the first to speak. "Who's under the table?" Something about his voice is not threatening, but rather friendly and light—almost as if he knows it's only you and Yoongi.

"Sorry," Yoongi grunts as he helps you up and out from under the table. "We weren't trying to eavesdrop or anything."

Namjoon raises his eyebrows. "Good. I can believe that."

Seokjin's a bit more cordial, looking between you and Yoongi and the way he casually has an arm around your waist. "This room is great for privacy," he winks. "But I'm afraid that business must take priority at this moment. Yoongi? You're dismissed."

"Wait, what about m—" you start.

"We have some matter to discuss with you, Y/N," Namjoon answers quickly. "Just you."

You raise your eyebrows but you don't say anything. Yoongi slips from your grasps, and your body feels colder without his touch. He gives you a reassuring smile before he leaves without another word. The door to the white room shuts again, the white walls trapping you in with nowhere to escape.

"What matters are we to discuss about?" you ask right away, tensing up at the two figures towering over you.

"You can relax, Y/N," Seokjin chuckles. "It's good news, actually."

Namjoon nods in agreement. "We have a lead on Jimin's murderer. We wanted you to know first before telling everyone else."

Your eyes open wider in shock. "Really?!" you exclaim, unable to hide your utter excitement. "Thank god, right?"

"Yeah," Jin nods, "but, we're treading dangerous waters. We must proceed with caution."

"Right," you say.

"Even so, we are one step closer than we were before," Namjoon says. "And you, Y/N, are one step closer to being safer."

"It's good news that we were going to share with you today," Jin chuckles. "But it seems that you have been eager about other things as well."

You blush, fidgeting with your hands.

"There's nothing wrong with it," Jin quickly adds, smiling at you warmly. "I'm sure Jimin would have given you his blessings."

"Thanks," you smile wistfully. It seems as though things are really turning out.

This place is starting to feel like home.

—previous | next

—masterpost

—masterlist

#bts #bts fanfiction #ot7 #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #mafia au #over the moon #otm

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mylifeisactuallyamess · 4 years

Text

I don’t really like this chapter. But there we are. I’ve written and rewritten it so many times I still just don’t like it.

Blood Moon

Chapter 8

You both walked in silence along the road until a car pulled up beside you.

‘Alright gang?’ Hux hung out the window. ‘Need a lift?’ Kylo opened the door and you both slid into the back seat. ‘The house is a-buzz!!’ He smacked the steering wheel in excitement.

‘What happened to Rose?’ Kylo growled just at the mention of her name, but you needed to know.

‘Han dealt with her. She’s currently holed up in her room.’ He eyed you both in the rear view mirror. ‘So you’re mated now?’ He asked.

‘Mated?’ You frowned.

‘I can smell it on you both. You guys need a shower,’ he chuckled and you blushed deeply. You hadn’t even contemplated the heightened senses of everyone else around you, let alone yourself. Hux pulled up outside the house and you looked up at it as you got out of the car. It looked different in the day. Almost colder. Maybe you just dreaded going in. Kylo wrapped an arm around you, like he knew you needed to gather yourself together before you went in. He squeezed you gently, you nodded, finally ready and you entered the house together.

The talking in the kitchen instantly stopped as you stepped inside. So many people were here, the smell of wolf hung heavily in the air. Leia smiled at you. Han on the other hand, didn’t look as happy.

‘Leave us.’ He said. Everyone in the room immediately left, Kylo pulled you with him towards his parents. Leia gently hugged you.

‘You know we have to do the test.’ Kylo looked at his dad.

‘Isn’t there another way?’ Hans eyes glinted.

‘We need to know for sure.’ Leia linked her arm with yours, her grip was like a vice. You could feel the panic rising inside you.

‘Kylo.....’

‘It will be ok, trust me, it will be ok.’ He turned and followed Han. You instantly felt his absence.

‘Why do I feel such dread? What’s happening? Where is he taking him?’

‘Hush, come on, let’s go.’ Leia lead you into a room you’d never seen and before you could look around you were jumped by two females who grabbed your arms and shoved you into a chair. You snarled and tried to break free but they had strapped your arms down. Leia poked the fire and sparks rose. The relaxing sound of the crackling fire did not suit this situation. ‘I am sorry, but all apparent soulmates must go through a test.’

‘What the fuck,’ you tested the straps again.

‘It will hurt,’ she continued ‘but that’s the whole point. We just have to wait.’

‘Wait for what?’ You snapped. Suddenly you gasped, pain lanced down your arm, but no one was touching you. You closed your eyes and you could faintly hear Kylo, screaming. You strained against the straps. Your need to get to Kylo was overwhelming, you bucked in your seat growling. You cried out as you felt one hand free itself as you snapped the restraint. Leia backed up as you wrenched your other hand free, before you could even register what was happening you fell onto all fours, your bones snapping and crunching but you welcomed the pain. You snarled at Leia. She looked into your eyes.

‘Go get him.’ She whispered. You barged through the wooden door and ran. You had no idea where you were going and you kept tripping over your own legs, but you had to get to Kylo, the pain intensified as you got closer, you could smell blood. You shoulder barged the door and it flew open. Kylo was sat strapped like you had been, his eyes shined gold as the wolf rose to the surface, sweat dripped down his face, blood pooled at his feet. You rushed at the person with blood on their hands your mouth open, teeth bared.

‘Stop!’ You dropped to the ground growling. You knew you needed to obey. Kylo’s fingers tried to reach you from his restraints and you slowly edged towards him. Han stood looking at you. ‘He will be ok kiddo, I’m sorry we had to do this to you both. It’s the only way we can know for sure.’ Kylo was released from his bonds and you pressed against him. He gripped your fur tightly, his breathing ragged. You glared at the guy who had Kylo’s blood on his fingers. He didn’t make eye contact with you but you snarled a warning anyway. Kylo held out his arm and you could see he was healing already. The pain you felt through your connection left and you instantly relaxed. Leia entered the room and gestured for the others to leave.

‘Here are some clothes Y/N. It’s time to change back.’ You looked at Kylo, his eyes were back to his hazel colour and he nodded. You closed your eyes and let the change flow over you. You grabbed the clothes off Leia and hastily changed. Kylo grabbed you and you melted into his embrace. His smell calmed you and you took a deep breath.

‘What the hell did you just do to us?’ Kylo grabbed you as you took a step towards Han. He smiled, but again it didn’t reach his eyes, but this time you noticed his teeth. His eyes shone blue and he snarled at you.

‘Back down.’ He growled. ‘You need to learn your place in this pack, I don’t suggest you start by challenging me.’ He snapped. You bowed your head, but you were still fuming with what had happened. ‘It’s ok to be angry. No one likes the test.’

‘Surely there’s a better way.’ You retorted. Kylo tugged on your arm to stop you stepping out of line. But Han laughed this time.

‘She’s got some spirit this one! I get the feeling you are going to be a pain in my ass.’ He stood in front of you and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. ‘Just remember who you’re talking to, little wolf.’ You tugged your face out of his grip and glared at his back as he left the room.

‘Shit, you need to keep a lid on your temper around him. He is our alpha.’ Kylo hugged you tightly.

‘I don’t want to be in here.’ You whispered. Without another word Kylo took you upstairs to his room, he locked the door behind you both.

‘They won’t disturb us for a while.’ He gently sat next to you on his bed, he didn’t look at you as he spun the ring on his finger. ‘I can sense your anger,’ he said. ‘Your confusion and your fear. This is not how I wanted this to happen.’ He cursed and began to pace up and down the length of his room. Every now and again he looked at you like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. You could feel his rising frustration.

‘How did you want it to happen?’ His pacing slowed but he didn’t stop.

‘I never really got that far,’ he confessed. ‘I knew you were different, you smelled different from all the other commoners. I was intrigued, and drawn to you. I’ve never experienced a feeling like this before.’ He put a large hand in the middle of his chest. ‘It felt like my heart was calling out to you, and then when our hands touched at the steakhouse, it freaked me out a bit.’ You wanted to make a comment but you didn’t want to interrupt him either. ‘And then you got drunk because I didn’t know how to deal with the situation. Also we were being spied on, that didn’t help.’ He stopped pacing and looked at you, his hazel eyes soft, his black hair flopped over his forehead, your eyes drank in his gorgeous face as he stepped towards you. ‘That kiss, that night, told me everything I needed to know about you, about this.’ He gestured between you. ‘I didn’t leave.’ You frowned.

‘What do you mean you didn’t leave?’

‘I stayed by the front door until you fell asleep. I felt like I couldn’t leave you. Hearing you cry, ripped my heart into pieces.’

‘Do you know how creepy that is?’ He put a hand over his face.

‘It is cringey isn’t it?’ He smiled slightly. ‘But you’re here now. I still can’t believe you’re here and in my room.’

‘And a wolf no less.’ You leant back on your hands. He sat down next to you.

‘If what we believe is true, you were technically a wolf anyway.’ With a sigh you flopped back onto his bed.

‘Will we ever know? I don’t even know where my parents are. To be honest I don’t want to know.’ Kylo laid next to you and you rolled to face him. ‘So tell me everything I should know about pack life.’

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo x you #my writing #kylo #kylo ren as a wolf #kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren x you #kylo ren imagine #kylo imagine #kylo x y/n #kylo as a wolf #werewolf kylo

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ddaengyoonmin · 5 years

Text

Fate/Bangtan 3

Genre: DystopianFuture!au; Prison!au; historical and mythological characters; based on the Fate/ anime series. Fluff, Angst, Smut (it’s gonna be real smutty in some chapters 😳) Action and fighting will be a definite theme.

Pairing: poly!Ot7 X Reader -there will be some three(maybe even more)some smut in future chapters

Warnings: Mentions of gangs, drugs, guns, killing and murder; blood and fighting; swearing; voyeur, male masturbation and cum, oral (female receiving)

Taglist: @bellexwriter @3rachascompass

@im-emo-motherfuckers @i-like-puppy-mg

@mynameisstruggling @kaekae-h @skytime092

@seesawsmin-flower @oddkpopgirl @caibaby23

@spider-thot0115 @sunshine-or-some-shit

@em1joon

With the first day of the war now getting closer, starting the morning after tomorrow, the members of your team were getting restless with preparing.

First thing in the morning Namjoon had suggested going to the supermarket and gathering all kinds of gear to be able to make the house more secure, thinking back on the famous story of Jack the Ripper sneaking into houses at night. He had decided that it would be best to make sure the windows and doors had the best security they could get.

You had offered to go with them to help out, but they had shook their heads, saying that it was probably a bad idea to expose you to anyone who could relay information to the other teams about you, and also because of the distraction that you would be with the spell effecting anyone who you would come across while out at the store.

You had pouted but it made sense.

You watched the six of them pile into the small car, Namjoon and Jin sitting in the front seats, Hoseok, Jimin and Taehyung sitting in the back. Jungkook sat on the trunk, you now saw that they had handles welded onto the top of the trunk so he could grip on to them as they drove so as not to fall off, they must do this often.

You were glad that no one had said anything about the mark on your neck from the night you had shared with Taehyung. You brought a hand up to where you knew it was, a small smile on your lips at the memory. Taehyung stuck to what he said about pretending it didn’t happen. Acting just as he had any other day, besides one flirtatious glance he had sent your way when no one was looking. A look that clearly read ‘Remember what we did?’ in the lines of his smirk.

Yoongi still hadn’t participated in the group, or anything that had to do with you or the war. You wished that he would get over whatever it was that was bothering him.

Though you and Taehyung shared that wonderful night, it could’ve been any of them and you’d have felt the same. But Yoongi, your master? If it was him, you know that it would’ve been something else. The way you were drawn to him may have something to do with that he was your master, but it was almost like in his own way he had a spell on you. Something that made you want to protect and be with him every moment.

Now that you had been left alone to just hangout at the house you started to feel lonely. Realizing that Yoongi was probably home you decided to use this as a chance to get him to have a real conversation with you.

You hadn’t seen him yet today so you assumed he must still be sleeping. You went down the short hallway to where his shared room was. You stepped cautiously and quietly, not wanting to wake him up if he was still sleeping and further piss him off.

When you got to his door you saw that it was slightly cracked open. You peaked through and saw that Yoongi was lying on his bed. He was very much awake.

Your jaw dropped and you felt yourself get a warm feeling of arousal at the sight. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back, he was biting his lip and panting heavily as his hand was gripping his cock, moving up and down at a needy pace.

You knew you should look away and wait for him to be done. But you couldn’t help yourself, it was such an incredible sight.

His face would scrunch up every once in a while, his hips bucking up into his hand as he pumped up and down. A soft moan escaped his lips and you almost gasped at that. You felt your core clenching and dripping with arousal the more you watched him.

His cock wasn’t as long as Taehyungs but it was bigger in girth. It was mouthwatering and you couldn’t help but picture yourself with your lips wrapped around it, being the one to make his face twist with pleasure like it was right now.

You heard him whimper lightly and his pace become more frantic, hips rising from the bed and his free hand clutching his sheets so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

“Oh my god, oh shit, fuck” you heard him quietly moan out, as he tensed and came, hot white cum spilling on to his chest. His legs shaking and toes curling as he did. Your eyes widened and you bit your lip at the sight. You were so lost in the sight that you didn’t realize his eyes were now open, and staring straight at you…

“What the fuck?” he angrily hissed out, and quick tossed a blanket over himself.

You gasped sharply and quickly shut the door, embarrassed that you had been caught spying in on him.

You quickly ran back into the living room, sitting on the couch that was your bed, hands pressed to your face in shame. Hoping that he wasn’t too angry with you.

Yoongi shuffled around in his room and you could hear him storming out towards you, slamming the door to his room behind him.

He walked over to where you sat, “Don’t…” he stuttered out, his face red, with either embarrassment or anger, or both, you were unsure. “Don’t do that” he mumbled as he stood over you, his dark eyes looking you over.

You looked down shyly, “I’m sorry. I was just going to see if you wanted to talk...then I saw you…” you murmured quietly.

“I don’t want to talk with you.” He hissed out. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Stay away from my room. Stay away from me”

You felt like he could’ve just stabbed you in the heart and that would’ve hurt less than the way he just spoke to you. Tears started to form in your eyes and you felt your skin go cold.

“W-why do you hate me?” you choked out

Yoongi still stood firmly in place standing over you. “I don’t hate you. It’s not possible to hate someone who isn’t even a real person. It’s fucked up, this thing that you do to us. Making us want you, when you aren’t even real”

You were completely confused at that, “I’m real?” you stared up at him, meeting the eyes that glared at you. “Why would you say I’m not real?”

He shook his head, “I don’t know what you are, but you were summoned here as a pawn in a game. You are disposable and here for the purpose of fighting and killing. Or being killed. And that's all you are. You shouldn’t be allowed to make me... I mean them, have these type of feelings for you.” He spat out.

You felt yourself growing more angry than hurt now. Before he could move away you reached out and grabbed his wrist tightly, he tried to pull back but you were stronger than him. “If I’m not real, how am I touching you right now?”

His breathing became shallow and his eyes closed. “Please. Don’t. Please. Let. go” he spoke through gritted teeth

You now realized despite that you had just witnessed him get himself off, he was already growing hard again, his pants tightening and forming a tent in the crotch.

You immediately let go.

His eyes shot open and he sent dagger eyes your way. “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me” he grumbled and rushed away from you back to his room.

Leaving you alone on the couch with your heart breaking at the words he had said. He didn’t see you as real, he saw you as just a plaything for this game. Once again, you were just someone’s toy. You can’t believe that you even for a second thought that anyone would think of you as anything else but something to use for their own gain or pleasure.

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

When the rest of the team members returned most went to the garage to sort through the things they had bought from the store. You were laying motionless and quiet on the couch, your tear stained face and red eyes were very obvious.

Taehyung rushed to your side, “Oh my god, hey, what happened” his face filled with worry as he crouched eye level with you.

Jimin was also standing nearby with a confused look.

You couldn’t help but cry again as you spoke “I-I’m not real. Master, he said-” You spoke between sobs.

Taehyung shook his head “Yoongi you asshole” he whispered under his breath.

Jimin’s eyes narrowed and he instantly stomped off towards Yoongi’s room to go have a word with him.

“I’m sorry Taehyung, I’m sorry that I can’t turn off my spell. I’m sorry that I force you all to want me. I wish I’d never been summoned here, I’d rather rot in oblivion than be forced back into another life where people fall under this spell I’m cursed with.”

Taehyung frowned, looking around to see if anyone was watching then planted a kiss on your wet cheek. “Hey now. Don’t say things like that. Yoongi doesn’t know what he’s talking about” his voice lowered “If you weren’t real, then that means what we shared last night wasn’t real, and it felt very real to me. I didn’t feel forced, it felt amazing, and if I didn’t want it I wouldn’t have done it”

Your mouth formed into a pout, “Thank you...but you only wanted it cuz my spell told you that you did”

Taehyung sighed, “Well if that's the case, I’d like to thank the spell for giving me one of the best nights of my life” he winked at you then planted a kiss on your forehead, “but spell or not, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Don’t let Yoongi hyung get to you.”

Suddenly you could hear shouting from the other room where Jimin had ran off to talk to Yoongi. Then a loud crash that sounded like something hitting the wall hard.

Taehyung shot up, hurrying to investigate the commotion. You quickly followed behind.

When the two of you arrived to the room you saw Jimin standing over Yoongi, red faced and angry. Sitting with his back against the wall Yoongi was clutching his face, eyes clenched shut.

“Fuck” he mumbled through his hand. When he pulled it away you saw blood dripping from his mouth and running down his chin. He quickly shook his head trying to brush off the pain, and stood with his arm cocked back ready to throw a punch Jimin's way.

“Uh uh” Taehyung growled, grabbing Yoongi and holding him back from Jimin.

“OUT” a voice shouted from behind you. You jumped and spun around to see Namjoon standing there, with a displeased expression directed at Jimin.

“But hyung he starte-” Jimins whine was cut off by Namjoon repeating himself

“OUT JIMIN” his voice boomed.

Jimin reluctantly stepped out of the room and you could hear him slamming the front door of the house as he left.

Namjoon shook his head in annoyance, “I’m going to suggest you get out as well” he spoke in a much kinder tone your way.

You nodded and went out the door.

You figured that you could go find Jimin and ask him what happened, but you were stopped on your way through the house.

Jin yelled your way “Goddess I need some help boarding this window up”

He was standing by a window in the kitchen with a hammer and nails next to a bunch of wooden boards. You joined him with a forced smile on your face, still worried about your Master and Jimin and hoping that you weren’t the cause of two friends getting in such a rough fight.

Jin had you hold a board up while he hammered each side in to the wall.

“Yoongi and Jimin fight a lot” he chuckled, “Don’t worry too much about it. Lovers quarrels ya know” he winked at you.

“Wait...you mean Master and Jimin are…” you gasped.

Jin smiled, turning from his hammering to you, “Well, they aren’t like together together, but they have some history. They’ll fool around occasionally. They haven’t since you’ve been here though” he explained.

Oh. You hadn’t realized. Maybe that’s one of the reasons Master has been so angry at you, could he be jealous that Jimin wants you? You remember that first night Jimin had suggested that the two of you could sneak around together, and Namjoon heard. Had he told Master about that?

“So are you ready for the war? I’m not sure I am, I’m honestly kind of terrified” Jin admitted while pounding at one of the nails.

You shrugged, “I don’t think I’m that scared, I’ve never really been afraid of much besides…” besides your husband Vulcan “No as a goddess I really didn’t ever have any fears. Maybe I should be afraid, but I’ve already died once I suppose”

Jin let out a small laugh “I guess you’re lucky then. I’m not ready to die. I want to win this thing...do you think we can?”

You grinned at him, he was so cute, focusing on his work, you knew the effect you had on him but he was doing a good job not letting it take him over. They all seemed to be learning how to cope with their animal like urges to jump on you and fuck you whenever you were near them. Taehyung you could even tell practiced a good amount of restraint the previous night when you were with him.

“I’ll do everything I can to make us win.” you confidently told Jin. Because you would, you weren’t a god of battle like Athena or Ares, but you knew that with your powers you could be a force to be reckoned with in this war.

Jin smiled shyly, stepping close to you as he went to grab another nail, you felt him slightly brush against your arm as he moved to the table behind you. He gasped slightly at the contact and froze, standing up straight and staring into your eyes with want.

“I wish” he whispered, moving his face close to yours. So close that if you just moved an inch you’d have your lips locked to his. You inhaled sharply, debating whether you should, not wanting to get him in trouble, but wanting him badly. He was a gorgeous man his blond hair was perfectly styled, and his ripped light blue jeans showed off his legs so well. You wanted him to pick you up in his arms and kiss you, to take you…

“Hey Jin hyung hows the window going?” Hoseok’s voice snapped the two of you out of that close call.

Jin quickly stepped back from you “Good. Almost done” he smiled at the younger man.

Hoseok looked your way and grinned widely, “Hey Goddess” his eyes were bright and cheery.

“Hi Hoseok” you sang “Did you need help with anything when I’m done here with Jin?”

Hoseok chuckled mischievously “Oh, I could think of a few things,” he said with a smirk, looking you up and down.

“Hobi.” Jin growled with a tone of warning.

Hoseok simply shrugged “Ah, you know I can’t help it” then he punched Jin’s shoulder playfully “Sorry to interrupt your moment” he winked at Jin as he walked away to go join some of the other boys in preparing the house.

You heard Jin huff in annoyance. “Alright let's finish this up”

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

You all spent the rest of the day boarding up all of the windows and doors and setting up makeshift alarms hanging empty pop cans and other noisy things they had laying around over doorways.

You hadn’t seen Jimin or Yoongi since the incident in the morning. You felt awful about the whole situation. Jin said not to think of it as your fault, but how was it not?

If Master and Jimin were somewhat lovers and you had stepped in the middle of that somehow, that was a guilt that you couldn’t shake. You had your fair share of getting in between relationships, men that just couldn’t help themselves. You always had tried to avoid those types of situations, it was messy and selfishly you just didn’t want to deal with it.

But this, you felt honestly guilty for this, your Master who you cared for greatly was being hurt by the feelings that Jimin held for you.

You needed to find Jimin and talk with him you decided, you needed this all cleared up before the war started so that you all could go into the battle with a clear mind.

By strange coincidence Jimin walked in right at that moment, stumbling through the front door clumsily.

All the heads in the house whipped around at the sight of him.

“Sup e’ry one” he slurred.

“Jimin! You’re drunk?” Jungkook gasped out, walking to catch the older man as he continued his clumsy walk into the living room almost falling over.

“Ahh, s’nothing” he mumbled, plopping down hard into Namjoons recliner chair making it tip up slightly as he did.

Namjoon walked over and stood in front of him shaking his head. “Damnit Jimin.”

Jimin looked up at him and scowled “S’mthing to say?” he spat out angrily, cocking his head with his eyes glassy and half shut.

Namjoon just sighed and walked away.

“Thought so” Jimin grumbled, pulling his legs up onto the chair and getting comfortable. He then saw that you were near him, sitting on the couch looking at him worriedly.

“Hey babe. Dontcha worry bout me. M’fine” he spoke, his eyes closing and seemily now fading off to sleep.

You couldn’t help but still worry, but at least he was here now and safe. You’d talk to him tomorrow, there was no way you’d be able to have a reasonable conversation with him right now.

The rest of the boys minus your master all gathered around the chair where Jimin now slept staring down at him.

“Shit” Taehyung hissed out shaking his head, “Jungkook help me bring him to bed”

The two of them picked up the unmoving Jimin and carried him to the room and tucked him in. Taehyung stayed with him in the room and Jungkook came back out for just a moment only to grab a glass of water for Jimin’s bedside table, telling the rest of you that him and Taehyung were going to keep an eye on him. He sighed giving a goodnight wave to you all.

“Night Jungkook” you sweetly replied, waving back at him. Jungkook shyly blushed and hurried back to his room.

The rest of the boys were silent for a while. Jin left the living room to go finish washing the rest of the dishes left to do in the kitchen, and Namjoon and Hoseok went to double check that the house was ready.

You sat alone on the couch, pulling at your fingers and biting your lip. Again, you couldn't help but feel that this was all your fault.

Maybe it wasn’t just that you had a curse put on you. Maybe it was you that was the curse, you were a curse to everyone around you. Maybe that’s why you’d never have love.

You laid down and covered yourself with a blanket, a small tear sliding its way down your face.

That had to be it.

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

Your eyes shot open, someone was shaking your shoulder and whispering “Wake up”

It had to have been really early in the morning, all the lights in the house were still off and it didn’t seem like anyone was awake.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness and you were able to make out the face of the person waking you up.

“Jimin?” you whispered at him “What are you doing?”

The dark haired man seemed to still be slightly drunk from the night before. He smiled down at you and started to crawl next to you on the couch.

“Hey what-” you hissed out as he pushed you over, sliding his body under the blanket with you and pressing himself against you so you were face to face with him.

“Goddess I need you” he groaned, grabbing your hips and pulling you against him. You could now feel that he was only in his boxers. His hard, stiff cock was pressing to your center and he had a playful smirk on his face.

“Jimin we can’t” you murmured. Part of you was screaming, of course you can, why shouldn’t you. But another part of you was sure that it was a bad idea, and that you’d just be making yourself and everyone else hurt worse by allowing Jimin’s charms to win you over.

Jimin groaned and pouted, continuing to move his hips slightly, rubbing himself against you. “Why not, I want to make you feel good, let me” he planted a small peck on your lips, taking you by surprise. “Jimin. What about Master” you spoke seriously.

Jimin then stopped moving against you, his face turning from playful to annoyed.

“What's that supposed to mean.” He snapped

“I think you know what I mean Jimin. Jin told me that you and Master are…” you trailed off.

“He doesn’t own me. I’m my own person and I can do what I please.” Jimin hissed, his dark eyes narrowing. “If Yoongi hyung wants to be upset that I want to fuck someone other than him thats on him. I’ve told him plenty of times that we aren’t dating and that it's just for fun.”

You suddenly tensed up. You hated that in this moment you were really relating to how Jimin felt. The way he spoke about not wanting to be owned, about wanting to just lay with his lovers for fun and nothing more...that was exactly how you were in your past life. You didn’t want to make your Master angry, but what Jimin said really connected with you, it was as if he could see into the part of your soul that felt like you didn’t want to be tied down with just one person.

“No one can know…” you whispered, reaching your hands to his hips, giving him permission to start grinding against you again.

A low purr escaped his lips, and he bit his lip ring excitedly.

“Fuck, of course I won’t tell” he grinned. His rubbing against you getting needier and faster.

Knowing you’d probably regret this, but not being able to hold yourself back you moved your lips to Jimin’s, placing a soft kiss on his lips. It was slightly odd feeling, the cool metal of his lip ring against your lips, you’d never kissed anyone with a lip piercing before.

You kind of liked it, it was different from anything you’d felt and different always made things all the more exciting.

You continued to press your lips against his, licking at his lower lip begging him to let you in. He obliged your request and started to flick his tongue against your own. One of his hands reaching up to cup one of your breasts, squeezing lightly as he moaned with pleasure at the friction still being caused by rubbing himself against you.

He started to push forward, guiding you to lie down on your back while he crawled on top of you, now grabbing your dress and pulling it up so that you were exposed to him.

“Damn” he gasped out pulling back from the kiss and leaning back to sit up on his knees, straddling your lower legs and looking down at your now exposed center. “You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen” he stared wide eyed at you like you were a delicious snack.

“May I?” he asked, his hungry eyes unable to look away as he licked his lips and bit at his lip ring.

“Please” you gasped out in want. It’d been too long since you’d felt a man between your legs how Jimin wanted to be.

He lowered his head down to you, pulling your legs wide apart and kissing you down your inner thighs, then placing soft kisses on your outer folds. He took a hand and spread your lips apart to give him access to where you needed him most.

“Wow” he breathed out, you could feel his warm breath against you and it sent a shiver of anticipation through your whole body.

You felt him lick a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, and then do this a few more times.

“You taste so good baby” he groaned.

He then started to quickly flick his tongue against your clit and lap at you hungrily, moaning into you lowly as he did. Enjoying himself thoroughly. Your hips started to buck up towards him as he continued his pace. You covered your mouth with a hand, not wanting to wake anyone up but so close to screaming out Jimin’s name for the whole world to hear. Jimin noticed you do this and chuckled. He knew that was probably a smart idea, though he wished he could listen to you crying out for him. He wanted to hear you yell out his name and tell the whole house who was making you feel this good.

You started to get shaky as your orgasm got nearer. Jimin could feel you tensing and getting close. To help you get to your high, he quickly inserted two fingers into your entrance. You gasped sharply and quietly whimpered as he curled his fingers inside of you and moved them in and out at the same quick speed as the flicks of his tongue on your clit.

Your free hand shot up to grip onto his hair, pulling slightly as you writhed underneath him.

“I’m gonna cum Jimin” you whispered breathily.

Jimin moaned so loudly at your words that anyone in the house could’ve probably heard if they were awake. He stopped for a moment, his eyes closed tightly and he flinched for a moment, you couldn’t quite understand why.

Then he started again, faster and with urgency “Please cum for me. Fuck I want to make you come goddess”

A few more pumps of his finger in and out of you and you felt yourself reach your high. Waves of pleasure rushing through every part of your body as your walls contracted over and over around his fingers. Your hips jerking up into his mouth that was still licking at you, carrying you through your orgasm.

Once you’d rode out your pleasure, he pulled back. Wiping your juices from his mouth with a wide grin on his face. He looked you over as he leaned back into the couch, breathing deeply and looking very pleased with himself.

You chuckled and brought your dress back down your legs.

“So would you like me to return the favor?” you offered, with an eyebrow raised.

Jimin smirked your way, “Ah, sometime I’d like that yes. I kind of already…” he laughed and pointed to his boxers that had a large wet spot on them now.

Wow, you thought. He came just from eating you out? Not even being touched?

As if reading your mind Jimin answered your questions, “Yeah, it’s been years since I’ve done anything with a girl. And going down on my ladies was always my biggest turn on.”

You nodded with understanding and sat yourself up so you could rest your head on his shoulder. Unlike with most men, when they were done with you, you didn’t feel used. Maybe it was the fact that his words moments ago had made you think he had somewhat of an understanding of what it was like to be someone who felt like another just wanted to own them. Or maybe it was the pure joy he seemed to get from just making you feel good. Either way, you were satisfied. Until a thought crossed your mind, Master would still be hurt by this. Whether or not you agreed that Jimin shouldn’t have to feel tied down to anyone if he didn’t want to...Master still would be upset, and you felt that surge of guilt again.

“Maybe you should go back to bed now…” you muttered to Jimin.

He nodded and shot you a smile, kissing you on the forehead as he stood up to go to the bathroom and clean up.

“Night goddess, I’ll see you tomorrow”

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

Just like with Taehyung, you and Jimin were able to keep your late night rendezvous a secret from the others without fail.

The only thing that had changed was now both of them now shooting you knowing glances every once in a while when they felt that no one would see.

When dinner was over that day you sensed a lot of tension in the group. The war would start tomorrow and every one of them seemed scared and nervous.

Namjoon discussed some last minute strategy, and ideas for how best to use your powers to distract other teams. The hardest thing being how to actually kill other servants, it’d be easy to get the masters and team-mates to kill each other with your spells and tricks, but the masters wouldn’t stand a chance killing their own servant no matter how much you manipulated their minds.

All of you had been thinking long and hard on this subject when suddenly Yoongi stepped into the circle of discussion in the living room. Sitting down at his regular place next to Namjoon that you hadn’t seen him ever do.

The other members minus Jimin who tried to avoid looking at him, stared wide eyed at Yoongi as he sat down.

“I think I have a solution” he spoke, and as he said that he held something up in his hand that made everyone gasp, and made Jimin finally direct his attention to him.

Yoongi was holding a gun in his hands, “.357 Magnum” he quietly explained.

“Where the fuck did you get that” Namjoon yelled.

“I might’ve gotten a guard to sneak me in one for the war…” Yoongi admitted sheepishly “He had mentioned he had a pretty large bet on us and said not to blow it or he’d be out a lot of money. So I asked him if he felt like helping us get a better chance at winning”

Jin who was sitting next to Yoongi started to laugh loudly “Yoongi that's actually brilliant” he patted him on the back “Will this thing be able to take out a servant?”

Yoongi nodded “I would think so.” he turned it over in his hand, “I got some extra bullets and stuff for it too so I think we’ll be set”

Namjoon smiled and let out a sigh of relief, “Guys I think we can win this thing”

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

The next morning was THE morning. The day it all started.

The eight of you woke up and gathered together, even Master was now being a part of the team. While he still didn’t talk with you, just having him around and not running off alone was a nice change.

You all gathered in a group by the door. Jin took a deep nervous breath. Taehyung squeezed Jungkook’s arm, Jungkook was looking extremely terrified and worried. Hoseok and Jimin were talking about whether you should sit in the car or on the outside of the car, and Namjoon and Yoongi were double checking that they had all the extra ammo for the gun on them. Yoongi was going to hold on to the gun and keep it out of sight so the other masters wouldn’t see it. The plan was for you all to do a quick patrol of nearest streets in the neighborhood you lived in while in the car, seeing if any of the servants and their masters were headed your way.

“Let's do this” Namjoon said firmly, opening the door and taking a quick glance of the surroundings before motioning for the rest of you to hurry to the car.

Yoongi got in the driver's seat and Namjoon sat next to him. Taehyung, Jin and Hoseok sat in the three seats in the back. Jungkook sat on the trunk, gripping tightly to the handles they had welded on and Jimin sat on the top of the car, where another set of handles had been welded on recently by Yoongi to deal with the lack of space situation the car. You joined Jungkook sitting on the trunk, helping him keep an eye out for anyone that could come up behind you all. You grabbed the handle and flashed a smile to Jungkook who sat next to you, shaking slightly.

“Hey, It’s gonna be okay” you soothed.

He faked a small smile your way. “Yeah...I know” he lied. He didn’t think it would all be okay. Even if you all did make it out of this alive, he knew he’d still be scarred from this war. He never was the one that went out and ‘took care’ of people back on the outside.

The gang that him and his friends were in had done their fair share of taking out their rivals, and people who were getting in the way of their business. But Jungkook always excused himself from the bloodier moments. It had never been a problem, Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon were pretty good at taking care of that kind of stuff. Hoseok mostly just dealt with the product that they sold, whether it was the drugs or guns, he was the man who figured out the cost and who and where to sell their stuff to.

Jin was somewhat of a salesman if you could call it that. Doing the actual face to face meetings with the people buying their contraband, usually taking Namjoon, Jimin and Yoongi with him for protection, but doing most all the talking himself. Jungkook did a lot of online work, hacking and things like that when it benefited the gang. Taehyung grew and made their drug product, he ran the lab and the grow house that the drugs came out of.

Namjoon was the leader, but he liked to sit in the background while Jin played leader in front of customers and rival gangs, so as to throw people off. Jin was the oldest so most were quick to buy that it was the truth. Yoongi also was the getaway driver when doing robberies or any of the other many crimes that were committed.

Jungkook didn’t hold it against him, but in a way Yoongi was the one who had gotten them all caught. When it came time to drive away from the scene after they had committed quite the deadly crime against a rival gang, the car wouldn’t start. Cussing, Yoongi had admitted that he didn’t check under the hood of the car to make sure everything was in order before they all left, which he usually always did.

The sirens grew closer and their fate was sealed. Off to Red Brick prison it was.

Jungkook knew if they got their chance at freedom that he’d have a hard time staying away from the life of crime, but he was going to try his best.

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

The car moved slowly down the streets as your team patrolled around. No one was out walking around, probably trying to avoid being caught in any type of crossfire during the war.

It was eerily quiet, the only sound being the wind moving through the buildings lightly whistling and rustling some leaves on the ground.

You all had been out for around thirty minutes when a loud shout rang out behind you from the direction of the front of the car.

“APHRODITE.” the shout boomed. The car screeched to a stop, almost causing Jimin on the top of the car to slide off.

“Jimin get the fuck down!” Yoongi shouted from inside of the car. You whipped your head around and peered over the top of the car to see that about a hundred feet in front of you down the street, a large group of people were gathered, walking side by side, with a tall servant in front of them.

Jimin slid off of the roof and down to where you and Jungkook were now getting off of the trunk and standing behind the car.

You narrowed your eyes, trying to make out the servant that had yelled out your name. Walking to the side of the car to get a better look. It clicked for you instantly when you saw a large bow being drawn in your direction. You knew that bow, you had seen it forged, Khryselakatos. You gasped, knowing the fearsome hands that held that bow.

“WHORE!” another shout rang out. This time it was followed by an arrow zipping past you in the blink of an eye. You gasped and jumped out of the way. A yelp sounded out from behind you, the arrow had narrowly missed you and instead grazed Jimin’s arm.

“No!” you shrieked, running to Jimin and holding his hurt arm.

“I’m fine! duck!” he shouted, pulling you down and crouching behind the car as another arrow whirred past the car.

“Fuck we gotta get out of here. It’s archer!” Namjoon yelled out.

None of you had planned on meeting archer this early in the war. And you hadn’t planned on archer being someone you’d recognize. Someone who had a deep hatred for you in fact.

The three of you outside of the car managed to climb up and share your grip on the handles on the trunk while staying low enough to hopefully avoid the onslaught of arrows that were now being sent your way.

“Hold on tight!” Yoongi screamed as he whipped the car around quickly and started to speed away in the other direction.

The three of you hanging from the back of the car were now completely exposed and vulnerable to the arows. You did your best to avoid them, one ended up hitting the side of your cheek, causing a deep gash that instantly stung and started to drip blood down your face and neck.

“Aghh” you hissed out. Biting hard down on your lip to try and distract yourself from the pain.

You could see the Archer put her bow down, her master yelling something to her that you couldn’t hear from your distance now.

“I’LL GET YOU NEXT TIME WHORE” her yells carried down the street.

“FUCK OFF PRUDE” you found yourself shouting back without even knowing that you were going to.

Jimin's eyes widened and he laughed along with Jungkook who seemed to find that amusing.

“So...history there?” Jimin giggled once the eight of you were out of range and out of sight from Archer and her team.

“That was Artemis, Mount Olympus's holy virgin” you explained.

The car was still speeding fast through the streets of Red Brick.

Yoongi wasn’t really sure where he was going, but he knew he needed to get his team out of the range of that Archer.

You now realized he was taking you down the main road by the church, maybe not the best idea to be so far out in the open, but panic didn’t have him thinking totally clearly at the moment.

This was your first time seeing the church, It was gorgeous, tall with stained glass windows up and down and at the very top was a lookout where the warden now stood, observing the war. You could another man up there with him who must be the ruler servant.

It seemed like he was staring right at you. His hands pressed on the railing while looking down at you. He was shirtless, large, muscular and strong. You could now see he held a large hammer in his hand. No...it couldn’t be.

Your blood ran cold, you felt yourself grow faint and you almost slipped right off the car. Jungkook and Jimin each grabbed one of your arms in theirs and held you up.

“Woah woah” Jimin said panicked “Are you okay? Is it your face?” he looked at where the arrow had hit you.

You shook your head slowly.

“Vulcan…” you gasped out.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #jin x reader #namjoon x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #ot7 smut #ot7 au #jimin smut #yoongi smut #bts au #bts x you

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ducktracy · 4 years

Text

123. page miss glory (1936)

release date: march 7th, 1936

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: the varsity three (singing waiters), tommy bond (abner), bernice hansen (miss glory)

for the first time since 1934, someone other than friz freleng is directing a merrie melody—our good pal tex. throughout 1936 and 1937, tex would do both merrie melodies and looney tunes shorts, but eventually shifted over to doing a bulk of the merrie melodies, especially with freleng’s departure around 1938. he’d only do a handful of (strictly) looney tunes shorts after 1937, those being the haunted mouse and porky’s preview, both 1941. also notice how there’s no credits on the title card—according to tex avery, leon schlesinger was dating leadora congdon at the time, an artist from chicago. an art deco inspired cartoon, bellhop abner falls asleep on the job and dreams of what the esteemed miss glory’s arrival to the local hotel will be like.

welcome to hicksville, a remote, rural, hayseed little town. towns people prepare a banner that proudly reads “HICKSVILLE WELCOMES MISS GLORY”. the local hotel is also preparing for her arrival, a forest of flowers covering the front desk. the manager orders abner, a gangly, young, air-headed bellhop you hurry up and prepare for the big event. abner spots an advertisement for cigarettes, the bellhop on the flyer (a reference to the bellhop mascot for philip morris cigarettes) controlled and admirable. determined, abner imitates the bellhop’s pose, puffing oit his chest and marching around with his spindly legs, bellowing “all for miss glooooryyyyy!” i love his design (i love a LOT of the designs), the buck teeth, skinny legs and giant shoes convey a strong sense of lovable stupidity.

abner marches over to a bench and waits patiently... until, unprompted, he zips back to where he was and douses himself in some perfume for good measure. the sound of a car horn approaches, and eagerly does abner spring up, only to find two geese honking at each other. a long, drawn out horn has GOT to be miss glory. or not. a cow strolls by, even looking inside as if to say “nice try!” the set up and timing is fresh and amusing, and the backgrounds are exquisitely painted.

time marches on, literally. a cuckoo clock springs open and a bird blares a fanfare, declaring “time marches on!” (a gag that would be similarly used in porky’s romance, albeit under the guise of “time munches on!”) abner’s now asleep on the bench, and his surroundings dissolve around him into an art deco paradise. even his own design changes, like a reverse buddy transformation—going from buddy’s 1935 look back to his 1933 look.

the hotel grows into a beautiful high rise in the city, a sign out front donning it as the cosmopolitan hotel. a cheery underscore of “lullaby of broadway” welcomes the barrage of esteemed visitors—a long limousine produces a lanky woman in a red dress and blonde hair, whose face we do not see. there’s a great walk cycle of an old man parking his snazzy red car out front, appearing prim and proper as ever... until he waddles inside with a ridiculously entertaining walk cycle, carrying flowers.

he approaches abner, who’s still asleep on the bench. a few rings of the desktop bell wakes him up in a jiffy, and the man orders him to page miss glory. immediately, abner is surrounded by a gang of men waving their arms and ordering him to page miss glory. dutifully, abner salutes, once more marching away and declaring “all for miss glooooorrryyyyyy!” he passes a waiter, and they swap contents—abner now carries a bottle of beer and a shot glass on his tiny plate. he corrects the contents once more as he passes another waiter, the alcohol rightfully returned. a great, subtle gag as the pompous waiter passes by a plant. once he comes out the other end, the bottle is empty, his nose is red, his pace much slower than before.

look at those designs (well, abner covers up one of em)! i love them! my love of art deco is ignited in this cartoon. the three waiters bob around and sing “page miss glory”, vocals contributed by abner as well. i really like tommy bond as a voice actor. obviously he plays beans, and has lended his voice to a handful of merrie melodies, most memorably owl jolson in i love to singa. looking at this headshot from his little rascals days as butch, you wouldn’t figure him to be a great singer. he isn’t (the kid wasn’t even 10 years old here), but he’s very endearing and likable.

lovely art deco styled bottles frame a man placing ice cubes into shot glasses like chimes—the borders of the scene black wjth bright green, flat, bottles. two men shake cocktail shakers within an iris. great detail as we go back to the chorus of waiters and abner, wine glasses carelessly strewn about, some empty, some half full. back to the two shakers, who pour the cocktail into a flute. the flute widens into a small, wide glass instead of the stereotypical tall, skinny champagne flute. wonderfully creative as the drink is poured into the iris, now red. we see a tongue and some teeth appear as the drink flows right towards us, the iris mouth hiccuping and a hand gingerly covering the mouth.

champagne bottles are popped to the beat of the music, except one, which refuses to open. the music stops and all we hear is awkward fizzing as the man squeezes the bottle like a toothpaste tube. the bottle finally pops and the chorus resumes as normal, fun and creative. two orange/cherry garnishes dance over some cocktails with their toothpick legs, toppling into the drink. the chorus is finished out by the waiters once more, a hefty pile of wine glasses covering their faces as they sway around and wave their glasses in the air.

a pompous old woman in a striking yellow dress makes her presence known, strutting around. abner mistakes her for miss glory—she turns around and continues to march on. unfortunately, abner accidentally has his foot on her dress, and the dress tears. she gasps “oh!”, and grabs two palm fans to cover herself. thus launches an elaborate, entertaining dance sequence as she twirls around, poking her head out of the fans and giving an incongruous old lady laugh. an absolutely wonderful scene, animated by bob clampett. yesterday i had implied the entire scene was his, and looking back i doubt that’s true, so... my mistake! the half where she does the dance is definitely clampett. unfortunately, i’m unsure as to who does the first half. he turns her back to the audience... until realizing that her back is exposed (she’s wearing a slip, don’t worry). she does a take, whips around and covers herself bashfully. a great scene full of tex avery humor—making the sophisticated as unsophisticated and unceremonious as possible.

a rather rotund man demands he wants service, to which abner calls for said service. a waiter salutes, sticking out his leg and knocking over all of the other waiters next to him like dominoes. they scramble to throw a feast before the man, great timing as the whirlwind of food dies down and a waiter plucks a tiny cherry on top. even better as the waiter forces his hand through the tower of goods as we watch with bated breath. he pulls out a tiny little olive on a fork, a closeup of him taking a tiny, delicate little bite. he placed the fork down, dabs his mouth, and leaves. incongruity is strong, striking, and hilarious. i’d be willing to bet money that tex avery modeled for that character.

suddenly, a man announces over an intercom that miss glory is here. come to see america’s sweetheart. none of the guests need further invitation, including a decrepit old man in a wheelchair with a bandaged foot, who scrambles out of his chair and whirls forward (accompanied by the sound of a jet engine warming up), exclaiming “hot diggity dog!” food is dropped, newspapers are dropped, decorum is dropped as everyone rushes to the elevator.

abner attempts to dive in, too, but the doors slam in front of him. he tries again, and is booted out once more. the charade continues, faster and faster as abner is carelessly thrown about, trying his damnest to get in. eventually, he resorts to pulling back the arrow on the indicator and hopping inside. the elevator boy marches out just in time to hang up a sign that says “OUT TO LUNCH”.

an armada of men rush towards the screen, and we get a lovely transition to see the real miss glory—the blonde woman in red we caught a quick glimpse of at the beginning. the waiters sing another chorus of “page miss glory”, chimes contributed by abner who is furiously pressing every single button on the elevator to get it to work. a distance shot of the hotel and a lone elevator slingshotting up and down at great speeds. the perspective on the miss glory scenes are lovely, men walking right in front of the screen and even an overhead view. the elevator continues to zig zag to the music.

finally, the elevator rises to the correct floor. great perspective as abner makes a break for it, yet the doors slamming him back inside. the malfunctioning elevator slingshots around once more, the force so strong it breaks the roof. abner is propelled into the air and prepares to meet his demise. a ringing bell sound tricks us into thinking he’s breathed his last breath, but not at all—a train conductor is angrily ringing his bell to get abner out of the road (lovely visuals as the skyscraper seems to extend further into the ground behind him).

the real abner wakes up to find his hayseed hotel manager ringing the desk bell. miss glory has finally arrived, for real this time. a crowd gathers around an expensive limo, eagerly awaiting her arrival. abner opens the door for his esteemed guest...

and a cute little blonde marches out with a lollipop, an oversized sash bearing the title “MISS GLORY” nearly covering her entire body. abner contorts his lanky body just to get a good look, exclaiming “miss glory!” bernice hansen works her baby voice magic as miss glory giggles “that’s me, big boy!” the shock is too much for abner, who faints right into her arms. miss glory doesn’t mind, instead saying “boy, do i slay em!” a few happy licks of her lollipop, and she orders “play, don!” (a reference to radio personality jack benny). sure enough, an orchestral close and an iris out bring the cartoon to a close.

what a BEAUTIFUL cartoon! tex’s first merrie melody hits the ground running. the visuals are fresh, new, and exciting, from the backgrounds to the people to the props. tex works his magic and adds his own humor so the cartoon isn’t too much of an ode to promoting the song (which i haven’t found a commercial recording of)—making the pompous as un-pompous as possible. at times, the cartoon does feel a little convoluted, as if tex is juggling and trying to find a balance between humor, style, and song. i wonder if leadora congdon’s input serves as any detriment to tex’s working style. i believe i read where he said he didn’t care for this cartoon in his later years, which i can understand. that’s the thing about these reviews: you have to look at them with the eye of a viewer in 1936 (which i know i don’t at all, constantly making connections to future cartoons). it’s not at all tex’s best work, but considering what we’ve seen up until this point in time, it’s phenomenal. absolutely worth watching. the visuals are stunning and that ending is just fantastic.

link!

#lt #page miss glory #reviews #long post

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

You want to mug me? Enjoy the wheel chair and permanent brain damage.

Okay, to preface this entire fucked up story, this all took place 30 years ago. My memory is not that great, and I might get some things wrong. Also, I go into some graphic details, you have been warned. TL;DR at the end.

In 1989 I was a 19 year old kid living in NYC. I was working as a delivery guy at a dingy hole-in-the-wall pizza place in Hell's Kitchen that's long since gone out of business, and living paycheck to paycheck. I had moved to New York looking for work after my uncle's construction company went under, and had found a tiny shit hole of an apartment which was the only thing I could afford on the salary I got from the pizza place. The only reason I took the job was I needed money and it was extremely close to my apartment, only a short walk down a back alley (hint hint, the alley is important).

I want you all to keep in mind while reading this, the New York of 30 years ago was not the touristy New York of today. Murders were a lot more common, you would see hookers working the corner pretty often, Times Square was a cesspool of nudey-bars and porn theaters, gangs would rob people on the subway, and it was almost every day where I lived that you would see a druggie passed out in an alley or along the side of the road.

The whole ordeal started just after closing one night in July. The guy who owned the joint, Paulo, said that I could take some leftover pizza home with me that had been sitting under the heat lamp all day, but hey, at least it was free. I had been working at the pizza place for about a year by this point, and I was on really good terms with Paulo and his brother Joseph who both ran the joint. Paulo was easily pushing 300 pounds and had a habit of smoking a giant cigar while cooking. Joseph was always in the back handling the money side of things and taking phone orders. The restaurant had an exit into the alley which I would take to get back to my place. There would usually be a homeless vet named Alfonso that would sleep next to the hot air vent behind the place who would bum a smoke off me and we would shoot the shit for a few minutes after my shift. After talking with him I started to walk home, and after I had gotten quite a distance away down the alley I heard some bottles rustling behind a dumpster that was right ahead of me. My first thought was it was some rats, until this crazy-eyed dude swung out from behind it with a hunting knife in one hand and a metal bat in the other.

I remember this guy looked like your stereotypical druggie, track marks all over his arms, disgusting clothes on, wild dirty hair, and fidgeting like no tomorrow. He started yelling and half screaming at me to give him my wallet. At that point my adrenaline was through the roof as I had never been mugged before. I was carrying the pizza box with two hands, and when I shifted it to my left hand to reach into my back pocket for my wallet with my right, he started advancing on me. He started muttering to himself asking why I was doing that and sort of grunting while jabbing at the air in front of him. At this point I know this guy is high off his ass on something or a definite head case.

He was really close to me by this point, and before I could take my wallet out he loaded up his right arm and slashed me across my face with the hunting knife just below my left eye. At first it didn't really hit me, and I was stunned for a second. It was at that point I started thinking, "this is it, I'm gonna die in a fucking alley over the 4 bucks I have in my wallet". That's when I decided to start fighting, if I was going down, I was doing it swinging.

I threw the pizza box in his face which made him step back a little bit, and using both hands I grabbed the bat out of his left hand that he was still holding. I flipped it around, and aimed for the outside of his left knee which was the one closest to me. It connected and I heard a snap when it buckled inwards. This brought him to one knee, but he started to get back up again like he couldn't even feel it. I swung as hard as I could and hit the left side of his temple which made a crunch sound before he crumpled to the concrete.

I remember being so incredibly scared, absolutely terrified. I don't remember much after this. Years after this happened when I went to see a psychiatrist for other reasons and this was brought up, and she told me it is likely because my mind was trying to shield me from the trauma of the whole experience. The next thing I remember is being soaked in blood and standing above this guy. I knew he was still alive, as he was gurgling blood out of his mouth and his chest was still rising and falling. There was blood coming out of his ears, nose, and mouth. His right hand and arm that had been holding the knife was a mangled mess with fingers jutting out every which way while the knife was a good 4 feet away on the ground.

I dropped the bat and half stumbled, half walked back to the pizza place. Alfonso had heard the screaming and come to look. He told me that I had a glazed over look to me and I was almost entirely soaked in blood. He led me back to the pizza joint where Joseph started called the cops and Paulo grabbed a bottle of cheap Prosecco we had from below the counter to douse my slash with while stemming the bleeding with table napkins.

I spent the night in the hospital because apparently I was disorientated and so confused I didn't know where I was because of blood loss. The next day I was doing better, and there were two cops that came to take my statement. After I had told my side of the story the older looking of the two cops said that after 10 years on the job that guy took the worst beating he'd seen anyone take and survive. The younger looking one started telling me what I had done to the guy which included: severed knee ligaments, broken and dislocated fingers, broken ribs which had punctured a lung, a broken femur, multiple crushed and pulverized bones, a severed spinal cord with a couple broken vertebrae, a burst ear drum, multiple teeth knocked out, completely fractured jaw, a broken nose, a burst eye, a destroyed eye socket, and a completely destroyed cheek bone. He also told me that I had hit his skull so hard there was spinal fluid leaking out of his ears.

They said that they had spoken to Alfonso, Paulo and Joseph, and they corroborated my story that the bat was the junkie's and I had most likely acted in self defense. Although I had no answer to their question of why didn't I stop after he went down besides "I don't know" and "I don't remember". After a couple days I was discharged and after just a little while I was back to working at the pizza place. Although I now had a massive scar running down the side of my face and Paulo jokingly called me scarface all the time. Even now I jokingly say to my wife before sexy time "say hello to my little friend" which we still giggle maniacally about together. I was also super jumpy right after the fact whenever I heard bottles clanging together, which unfortunately happened a lot because Joseph used to take the empty coke bottles to the recycling plant at the end of every week.

What made me tell this story here is that recently I thought about how much of the junkie's blood might have gotten in my mouth or in the slash across my face. At the time it happened the whole HIV/AIDS panic was in full swing, and the guy being a junkie instantly made me realize how much shit I could be in. If I was infected without knowing it I could have passed it onto my wife or even my children by accident. After quite the panic between me and my wife because of overlooking this we got the blood results back just a bit ago and thankfully I'm completely clean. My doctor said that if I was infected back then symptoms would have likely manifested by now as well.

So there, that is my incredibly long winded story about one of the scariest events in my life, and the resurgent panic it brought up just a bit ago. I would be happy to answer any questions you have about it, but I'm taking a flight for work in a bit so you probably won't get a response from me for a few hours.

TL;DR: Used to work at a dingy pizza place, was slashed across the face by a mugger, beat him half to death, got a cool scar, and 30 years after the fact had a panic that I might have gotten HIV.

(source) story by (/u/Squalkinsaid1)

#prorevenge #by /u/Squalkinsaid1 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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darkangeldesignstudio · 5 years

Text

Dark Horse

Sorry for the late post you guys. Its been hard to actually write these past weeks and I didn't want to make myself do it because I felt it would appear forced. This chapter is pretty long, mostly because of the information dump in the middle about how most of our characters came to be where they are now. But, as promised, we are adding our new character into the mix today. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter as it will be a lead up into more intense chapters in the following weeks. Also, this chapter has not been beta’d, so any mistakes are completely my own fault. Sorry I couldn't get this to you in time @sexykitty96.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Attempted Rape, Strong Language, Mentions of Animal Abuse, and Eventual Smut and Fluff

Setting: Post Civil War era USA. Marvel Cowboy AU.

Preface: Your home is attacked by the Hydra gang and you are rescued by Steve, Bucky, and their group. The government agency, known as Shield, wants them captured and Hydra wants them dead. With nowhere else to go, you join their ragtag group and set out on the adventure of a lifetime. Helping those less fortunate along the way, your small group grows and so does your affection for these two rough and tumble outlaws. When the chips are down, will you all be able to escape unscathed? Or will the boot drop and leave you heartbroken and alone again?

Song: Sweet Emotion by Aerosmith

Previous / Next

Chapter Eight: Back to the Past

After a peaceful night of sleep, you awoke refreshed and ready for the day. It was time to pack up and move eastward. Back to where your life began.

Dressing for the cooler mountain temperatures, you headed out the door. You were met with a flurry of activity. It seemed you were late to the packing party, even though the sun was barely above the horizon.

“Good morning sunshine.” Nat bounded up to you, a tin cup of piping hot coffee clutched in her gloved hands. Handing it over to you, she smiled as you wallowed in the scent of the dark brew.

“Thanks for this, Nat. Though I wish I would have woken earlier so I could help pack up.” She immediately waved off your melancholy tone.

“Don’t sweat it, love. When Bucky saw how soundly you were sleeping with Soldat, there was no way he was going to let us disturb you. Especially since Soldat looked as if he would rip someone’s throat out if they tried.” She giggled as you felt the blush rise in your cheeks.

“You can’t be serious. Soldat loves Buck.” You felt bad, as if you were turning the pretty wolf-dog against his best friend. You honestly weren’t trying to, and you didn’t even remember falling asleep with the oversized pup. Looking over to the pair now, Bucky packing up Sergeant’s saddlebags as Soldat followed at his heels, it was unbelievable.

“Oh, I’m serious, Y/N.” Nat smirked, examining the two as well. “He growled something fierce when Bucky opened that door this morning. Was even loud enough to wake Steve in the other room.”

You gaped at Natasha’s beaming visage. This was terrible. The last thing you wanted was to cause trouble and that seemed to be all you could do lately. Your hands flew to your cheeks, rubbing them down your face in worry. The rough texture of your gloves on your chapped skin was a welcome punishment until strong arms wrapped around your torso, stopping the motion of your arms completely.

“Stop those thoughts right now, doll.” His gruff voice made you gasp, shivers trailing your spine as excitement and the fear of being captured raced through your body. Peering at Nat, you watched as she walked away with a grin and a little wave, the smell of coffee lingering behind her.

You looked over your shoulder and into Steve’s ocean blue eyes, still holding a bit of the helplessness in your heart. You sighed. “I feel like such a-”

“A burden?”

Sagging in his hold, you only nodded, staring towards the snow-covered ground as tears burned the back of your eyes. You weren’t used to being so helpless. From the time you turned seven, you had always pulled your weight, no matter how slight that weight might have been or how menial the labor, you were happy to do the work. It gave you a reason for living.

You were never going to be some simple-minded woman, only interested in getting hitched and having children. You were a free spirit, looking for purpose in a world that didn’t accept you.

His hold tightened slightly, comforting you as the tears threatened to fall. “Y/N. You will never be a burden to us. I want you to know that. We all want you to know that.”

When you refused to look at him, Steve gripped your shoulders lightly - careful of your injury - and turned you to face him. “Look at me, dollface.”

You wanted to refuse, scared to peer into those eyes and see the pity there. Scared the tears would fall again, make you weak in his eyes.

The toxic voices in your head grew louder with your doubt. You wanted to cover your ears, but Steve’s hold on you made it impossible. Words full of hate and jealousy from your past were roaring through your skull, making your jaw clench at the onslaught. Striking you with their venomous fangs and sinking their inky-black talons into your chest, you began to shake in Steve’s arms.

Then a roar of a different kind filled your ears. Boda’s voice screamed through you, followed by the howl of a wolf and the screech of an eagle, and all of those dark memories fell away like stones. The spirits your grandmother spoke of, they lived in your heart too and they would not allow those thoughts to persist as they were. Your shaking stopped and you were finally able to read his eyes.

There was no pity in his gaze, only pride. He leaned into you, close enough to kiss if you would only take the plunge. Your face grew hot with his smirk. You couldn’t help glancing from his blue gaze, where little flecks of green lived, to his full pink lips. This man made you uncomfortable in a way you had never known before, in a way that you hoped would never stop.

Your breath came in little pants as he finally gave you a bit more space to breathe, finished with his bit of teasing. For now, at least. Then a deep rumble of a growl filled your ears and made your breath catch.

Soldat stood at Steve’s back, ears pinned and eyes narrowed. The wolf-dog wasn’t too pleased with the way Steve was touching you, a thought made apparent by his baring of overly large canine teeth and his white fur that stood on end down his spine.

Taking the hint, Steve threw his hands up in surrender and took a tentative step back while Soldat stalked him. “Easy boy. I was only teasing.”

Soldat glanced over his shoulder, meeting your eyes before turning back to Steve with a huff. Trotting back into camp and past Bucky, who was slumped at the waist with his hand covering his mouth to stifle his laughter. His amused gaze met yours and you all began to laugh heartily.

Bucky walked over and clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I would suggest not teasing for a while, Stevie. Seems she’s been claimed by yet another protector.”

Steve huffed out a laugh watching as Soldat left to stand by Boda at the hitching post. “I think you are right about that, jerk. Are you okay, doll? Forgive me, I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable.” He turned to watch you with his puppy dog eyes and you waved him off.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Steve. All of that was just my past trying to get to me. It wasn’t something you did.” You smiled fondly up at him.

He felt his face begin to flush red under your gaze. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stammered a bit, flustered. “T-thanks, Y/N. W-well I should probably get back to work.” With that, he jogged back to the wagons and began tossing supplies inside.

Looking up, you caught Bucky staring at you and had another blush rise in your cheeks. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Bucky chuckled, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “No, doll. Just glad to see you made friends with my boy. He doesn’t usually take to others so easily. Took me months to get him to trust me, Steve even longer. It makes me happy.”

Your blush grew hotter as he tapped the brim of your cowboy hat affectionately. It was something your brother had always done, but it seemed different when Bucky did it. His storm cloud eyes shone like jewels as he caressed your jaw, making you shiver with pleasure. He smiled sweetly, removing his hand to point towards Bodaway.

“I tacked him up for you. Once everything is packed, we can be on our way.”

Shaking yourself free of your trance, you nodded. “What road are we taking?”

He shrugged, his large shoulders flexing beneath his dark winter coat. “Was hoping you knew a good path, one less frequent for traffic, but quick and easy enough to get us East.”

“Do you have a map?”

He smiled, taking you by the hand and leading you to the table where Tony and Nat seemed to be arguing over prospective routes to take.

“Berthoud Pass takes us through Denver.” Natasha says, exasperated with Tony’s reckless behavior. “Denver is crawling with Hydra goons, we would never make it out of there unscathed.”

“But the Cheyenne Pass will take an extra week of riding to get through, Natasha.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have that kind of time to waste.”

Stepping up to the table with Bucky, you placed your finger along a shorter pass just south of the Berthoud. “How about Cochetopa?”

They all looked up at you with different levels of intrigue. Natasha spoke up first. “The Cochetopa is closer, but it’s a dead end that leads straight into Fort Massachusetts.”

“But, we can bypass the fort if we veer off-trail and follow the Rio Grande Road to Dodge City. There is an abandoned fort along the way that we can take shelter in. Rest the horses before we make our stop in the city for supplies?”

Tony nodded, appreciating the help, even if it foiled his plans to knock a few more Hydra heads together along the way. “Sounds like a plan to me. Thanks short stack.” He petted you on the head as he walked away with the map and joined the others at the wagons.

You scrunched up your face at the nickname. “Short stack? I’m only a few inches shorter than him.”

Natasha chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. He gives everyone nicknames. It’s part of his charm, right, tin man?” She smiled slyly, poking Bucky in the chest.

He grimaced. “Yeah, I still don’t get that one.”

“What about you, Nat? Did he give you one?”

Looking towards your new friend, you saw as her teasing smirk turned to a, particularly evil, grin. “Yeah, he gave me one. And I kicked him in the balls for it too.”

Bucky flinched a bit, reflexively covering himself as he remembered. “Never seen him go down so fast in my life.”

You hid your smile with your hand as Natasha chuckled. “Well, I better get Krasavitsa ready for the trek. Thanks for your help, plotting our route, Y/N.”

She placed her hand on your free shoulder, giving you a little squeeze and a smile as she passed.

Bucky took a step closer to you, to let her pass, causing you to have to look up to meet his gaze. He smiled down at you and placed his hand on your head. “Yeah, thanks for the help, short stuff.”

Growling at him, you popped him a quick elbow to the ribs. He grunted a bit with the force and lowered his arm back to his side, but otherwise didn’t move. His smile was beaming and it made you happy to know he was getting more comfortable around you now, but not happy enough to accept the new nickname without a bit of teasing in return.

“No problem, Buck, but I think your ribs would prefer you not using that name often.” You laughed as you watched his hand skate over the place you had jabbed with your elbow. “Just stick to calling me doll and you’ll come out of this just fine, Bucky.”

Giggling, you left him at the table, a blush starting to color his cheeks.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was midday when you reached the entrance to Cochetopa Pass. A wide road, created originally for railroads to be built, stood between a multitude of Aspen trees, dusted in snow. The trek was fairly easy with the gently sloping hills. You, Steve, Nat, and Bucky rode ahead, scouting for danger while Tony, Bruce, and Jarvis brought up the rear with the groups supply wagons.

Tony was cursing colorfully as his cart horses, Dum-E and U, were goofing off with each other and shaking the cart. Jarvis, who had been sitting stoically beside his friend, looked as if he were struggling to keep his laughter at bay as Bruce and his cart began to steadily leave them behind.

“Sir, why don’t you allow me to drive for a while? You can get some rest in the back and see how Butler and Mark II are doing on the tethers.” Jarvis smiled politely.

“Sure thing.” Tony quickly handed his friend the reins and began climbing to the back. “Thanks Jarvis.”

You all chuckled a bit, even Jarvis had a slight twinkle to his eyes as your group continued along the trail in relative silence.

A few hours passed before you reached the toll road within the pass, veering into the forest, you led the group down a smaller path and onto the Rio Grande Road, bypassing two other government toll roads with the shortcut.

Steve turned in the saddle and realized what you had done and smiled gratefully. “Smart move, doll. We never would have gotten past those tolls without Shield finding out.”

You smiled at him in return. “We still have a ways to go yet, Steve. Why don’t y’all tell me more about your little group? I’d really like to learn more about you all.”

Steve smiled, happy that you wanted to get to know them all a bit better. “Sure, Y/N. I don’t mind spilling a few secrets along the way.” He winked, causing a blush to rise in your cheeks.

Steve does a bit more than spill secrets along the way, though. He fully opens up, telling you all about Shield and Hydra, and how each of them got onto the groups’ wanted dead or alive lists.

Steve, Bucky, and Tony had once been a big part of Shield, working for the government in different areas and degrees for a few years until they took note and recruited them. It didn’t take long for both men to find out that Shield was a different entity all together. At first, they were all for helping the people. Doing what was right to help people get on their feet in the aftermath of the Civil War. They dispatched groups of men to round up criminals and provide the rich and famous with private security and military forces, much like the Pinkerton Agency in Chicago.

But, just when everything seemed to be on the up and up, Steve discovered something they didn’t want him to know. One of Shield’s groups was running as a second entity, causing chaos to keep the Shield agency in business. They tore through the streets, killing innocents in the towns that had become peaceful, creating a bigger need for Shield to come in and “save” them.

“I didn’t want to be a part of that, but then, they took Bucky.” Steve’s head hung low, regret filling his features as he glanced towards his brother. “They used him to get to me. Made me comply, but it didn’t take long for the jerk to escape. As soon as I heard, I deserted the Shield agency, taking a few of their secrets with me.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. Family should never be pitted against one-another.” Your blood boiled and you gripped Boda’s reins harder, knuckles turning white beneath the warmth of your gloves. “You both have such kind hearts, and I hate that you had to be put through such a thing.”

Bucky reached out, covering your hand with one of his as his knee brushed yours. “You don’t have to be sorry, Y/N. Everything happens for a reason.”

Steve chuckled, reaching out with his booted foot to tap your calf lightly. “Yeah, just think about it, doll. If none of those things happened, you wouldn’t have met all of us.”

You smiled at their attempts to cheer you up, even if your heart still hurt for them. Steve was right, but you didn’t have to be happy about it. Huffing a bit, you began to pout. “I know, but I still don’t have to like what you went through.”

Bucky and Steve just chuckled before going back to the story.

Tony and Jarvis had apparently been part of Shield even earlier than Steve and Bucky. Tony’s father had been a founder of their organization. He was a great inventor, made countless weapons for the government to use in their endeavors, but it seemed there had been no love between father and son.

Jarvis was remarkably close to his young companion, acting as a father figure to the boy when his real father was too busy to deal with him. Tony inherited his father’s legacy when he died, going to work for the government at a young age with only Jarvis as a companion. Many of his father’s associates resented Tony for taking over, they didn’t believe him capable, but his work ethic kept them quiet for the most part.

When Tony had learned of Hydra’s plans, he too cut ties with Shield. Refusing to make any more weapons for them and destroying a multitude of blueprints for future projects. He and Jarvis fled, running into Bruce and Natasha along the way, and eventually Steve and Bucky.

You stared intently as they all spoke of different parts of the story, cutting in when they felt details had been left out or making little jokes at each other’s expense, it wasn’t until they talked about their meeting Natasha and Bruce that you recognized something was off.

Natasha became silent and melancholy for a few moments before joining back into the story and gentle ribbing they were all sharing, but her smiles and laughter didn’t reach her eyes from that point on.

Her demeanor perplexed you, even more when she looked up into your eyes and you saw panic there. “Y/N, why don’t you tell us about you? I think we would all like to know how you came to live with your brother out west.”

You frowned a bit at Natasha’s change in subject, seeing it for what it was. An out. She didn’t want to speak about whatever was bothering her at the moment. You nodded, smiling a bit. “Sure. I don’t mind sharing, especially since y’all have been so forthcoming.”

Looking down the path ahead, you saw the outline of Bent’s Fort on the horizon just as the sky began to darken. “Let’s set up camp for the night and I’ll tell you all about me.”

The group readily agreed, taking only a few minutes once they unloaded themselves to get a campfire started and gather around for your life’s story.

“I grew up in a small settlement on the banks of the Neuse River. My family was close knit, living in a community where most everyone was happy until the civil war broke out.” You stared into the fire, remembering the day everything changed.

Your father had gone to fight in the war, recruited by the Union army. Even though he was a southern bred man, your father had always been a just man, helping those of any background and race. There wasn’t a bigoted bone in his body, but that caused problems among the other circles of people living in the south.

Your mother and grandparents faced many hardships during the war. Sickness and exhaustion taking each of them, one by one, leaving your brother and you to run the farmlands your family owned. When your father came back from the war, he was sick. A bullet had scraped his thigh, leaving an infection in its wake. He advised your brother to go west and make a home there before the government came looking to recruit him. He was only seventeen, but the army wouldn’t have cared about his age, so he left as your father had told him to.

A few months passed by as your father taught you all you would need to know to run the farm on your own. He knew he wouldn’t make it for much longer and wanted to prepare you as best he could for the coming years.

He died not long after, leaving all of his estate to you. This caused a rift between the men that worked for your father. Many of them didn’t wish to be under the employment of a lowly woman and left. Others stayed, taking the opportunity to sabotage operations at every turn and the farm steadily went under.

When the state came to collect, they claimed that an unmarried woman of your “heritage” had no claim to such a fine piece of land and gave you an ultimatum.

“They told me I could wed a man of status and keep the farm, or I could willingly give it up, along with everything on it. Then they left, giving me a week to make my decision.” You looked around to your new friends as they listened to your story. Natasha’s jaw clenched in anger, Steve and Bruce were fairly vibrating with it, but it was the stoic posture of Bucky that caught your attention. His body radiated calm, but Tony was slowly shifting in his seat, putting another inch of space between the two of them just as Soldat began to growl in displeasure.

Bucky’s steel blue gaze was murderous as he stared into the fire. Orange and yellow light reflected in his eyes as he slowly turned his head to meet your eyes with his. You smiled, throwing his words from earlier back at him. “Everything happens for a reason, Bucky.”

His shoulders relaxed a bit and he began to leisurely stroke Soldat’s head, calming him. He smiled. “As you are here now, I’m sure you told those asshats to take their deal and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

You chuckled at his lazy tone, seeing the anger slowly leave everyone’s body with his quip. “Oh, you know it.”

As that long, arduous week went by, you began preparing yourself for the choice you had to make. You gathered the money you had saved over the years, and began packing it under a board in the stables, along with your father’s gun that he had left you and a few items of clothing.

Then you meticulously began releasing your father’s prized horses, until all of them were freed into the wilderness surrounding your land. All that was left on the premises was yourself and Bodaway when they came for your answer.

So, what will it be little lady? Will you get married, or will you turn the farm over to us?

You had smiled at the sleazy little man before looking around you once more. You took in the sight of the house you had lived in for your entire life, the land you had grown up on, the barn that stood at the back, housing the only things you had left in this world, before turning back to the men and sneering at them.

I will leave, on one condition. The man had frowned at you, but you continued undeterred. I wish to keep my horse and some of my personal belongings with me.

They had tried to fight you, claiming that any horses that were on this land were part of the deal they had made. You smiled slyly, knowing they wouldn’t be able to hold the stallion when his temper blew, but decided to play a little game with them.

You hung your head, an expression of sad disappointment covering your features. Okay. I will fetch him for you. He’s not terribly trusting of new people.

Turning towards the barn, you made your way to Boda’s stall and opened the gate. Hey there, big guy. There’s been a change of plans.

“It took all of five seconds for Boda to trample, kick, and bite at the men after I led him out before they were running for the hills.” You laughed gleefully at the memory, staring across the fire to the sleeping stallion, huddled with the other horses. All power and grace, even as he slept like a baby.

Bucky and Steve looked to one another, not a word passed between them as you finished your story, but the message was clear.

She’s fucking perfect!

_______________________________________________________________________

A few more days of riding landed your group on the outskirts of Topeka, where you set up a temporary campsite within a deep grove of trees. With plenty of game and a small stream nearby, you would easily be able to stock up on meat for the coming trip, but your group was running low on some essential supplies.

“What do you say, Y/N? Feel like making a run to town with me?”

Tony’s suggestion struck you as odd, but you weren’t about to let his destructive butt in town without a babysitter. “Sure thing. Just, let me tack Boda and…”

Tony shook his head and pointed a thumb over his shoulder to where Dum-E and U were hitched to a waiting supply wagon. “No way, short stack. You’re riding with me and the bums today.”

His nickname for you still irked, but you only smiled and followed along behind him. Bucky and Steve looked about to protest your going, but stopped when you smiled a dagger-like grin their way.

“Let them go, boys.” Natasha’s smooth-as-silk voice skated over them, creating goosebumps.

Turning to the redhead they saw a matching smile grace her lips as she regarded Y/N and Tony climbing onto the wagon. “I have an impression she’s gonna teach ol’ Tones a lesson on this little trip.”

Steve and Bucky turned back, watching as you disappeared through the trees with Tony chatting away at your side.

_______________________________________________________________________

During the short ride with Tony, you asked about his past, wishing to know more about him. It really didn’t seem fair to not put in any effort to make friends with the man who seemed so interesting and lonely.

Even surrounded by all the people who cared about him, he just seemed so alone. Jarvis was able to pull him out of that shadow a few times over the course of your trip with the group, and in those moments, he was so charming and bright like a star in the night sky. But, he would immediately retract back into himself as soon as the conversation wavered. It was like a candle being snuffed out in a dark room and it made your soul want to reach out.

“How did you come to find these beautiful beasts, Tony?” You pointed to the two red roan Belgians pulling the wagon. “They are so big and beautiful.”

Looking between the pretty mare and gelding, you were a bit taken aback when Tony began to laugh heartily. Turning to him, you observed that inner light of his begin to take hold of him again. He wiped a few tears from his eyes as he chuckled. “Sorry, Y/N. I’ve never heard anyone say such a thing about these two knuckleheads.”

Tony’s smile was beaming as he told you about the day he found the two. “I was out riding, just trying to get a bit of peace out on my own when I saw two mounds of hair laying next to each other in a field. They were all alone, just two big freezing babies out in the middle of nowhere and without a mother. Seems their mother was a prized mare for a neighboring rancher and when she died giving birth to these two, the owner couldn’t bear to look at them and threw them out on their own.”

“That’s awful.” You immediately began seeing red. How could people be so heartless?

“Don’t worry, short stack. He got what he deserved in the end. Man’s entire herd escaped one night and they never could find who took them.” Tony winked causing you to giggle despite the irritation from his nickname for you.

“So, what? You just took them home with you? How did you manage to feed them?”

Tony chuckled darkly and a bit of light dimmed from his eyes. “Well, fortunately or unfortunately, one of the mare’s my father had gifted me had lost her foal a few days prior, and when I brought these two lugs into the stable, she immediately took to them. Fed them every day, protected them from threats, it was amazing to see. A miracle even.”

You watched as the lightness of his eyes began to fade more and more with every word, but just as you were about to ask him about it, the town came into view. “Well, little lady, seems this is our stop.”

Tony pulled the wagon up to the hitching post outside of the town’s general store and hopped down from the seat. Showing his more gentlemanly side, he helped you down from your seat as well and led the way into the store with his usual swagger firmly in place again.

Entering the store together, you each took a few turns around the interior. The wood floors creaked as you looked through the shop owner’s wares. Oil stained shelves and dusty cans greeted the brush of your fingers as you gathered the things you were looking for. Apples, carrots, and fresh produce came first, with a few cans of beans, peaches, and corn thrown in for good measure. Then came the oatcakes, cigars, and liquor that Tony tried to sneak into the pile before you just as sneakily put the majority back. A few rounds of ammo, medicines, and multiple cans of coffee rounded out your purchase as the shop-keep’s sons helped to carry your purchases out to the wagon.

As Tony paid for the items, you turned to leave and almost barreled into a woman entering the shop. Your breath hissed out through clenched teeth when your injured shoulder connected with hers.

“Oh, dear. I’m so incredibly sorry.” Her voice was soothing and sweet, but it held a nervous edge to it.

You looked to her face, noticing the fading bruise over her cheekbone and her strawberry blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders before waving off her apology, not wanting to cause her any more trouble. “Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“You’d think a woman with a bullet wound would pay better attention to her surroundings.” Tony’s voice was a bit strained and worry lined his eyes as he looked between you and the woman. He seemed worried about your injury, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the beautiful woman in front of you for too long either. You couldn’t blame him, the woman was fairly gorgeous, but something was wrong.

You stepped to the side, pulling Tony with you so the woman would have room to continue shopping without worry and you could study her while Tony checked your bandage. Whoever she was, she was dressed beautifully, seeming extremely out of place in the small town you were currently in. Coupled with the bruise on her face, you could only assume she was on the run from something, or someone.

Tony tapped your hand when he was done inspecting your bandage, deeming it clear of blood, but the look in his eyes said he was more concerned about the other woman now. She was moving quickly and nervously around the shop, glancing about to the men within the store as she gathered supplies akin to what you had just purchased.

Looking to Tony, you realized he had come to the same conclusion as you had. She was running, and you both wanted to help.

Motioning Tony out the door, you sidled up to the woman and introduced yourself. “Hey, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for running into you earlier.” You held your hand out for her to shake. “My name is Y/N.”

She took it tentatively, with a small smile on her lips. “Virginia Potts. Sorry for hitting your shoulder, too. How does a lovely woman like you get shot? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck as she fidgeted. It seemed she was really feening for someone to talk to, but you had to be careful with what you said to keep from scaring her away. “That’s a long, sad story, Virginia. I’m just glad my friends were there to get me out when they did.”

Taking a few items from her overloaded arms, you helped take everything to the counter. “Would you mind if I helped you take these out?”

She began to fidget again, seeming to become more and more uncomfortable. “Why would you want to do that? Shouldn’t you be getting back to your… husband?”

Shocked, you froze for a moment, your face becoming hot when you realized she meant Tony. Chuckling you waved your hands in denial. “Sorry to laugh. Tony isn’t my husband, just a friend.”

“Oh, ok. Sorry for making an assumption.” Her cheeks were blushed as she shifted her gaze around the room, not meeting your eyes from embarrassment.

You placed your hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “Don’t worry about it, Virginia. Most would assume such to be true when you see a man and woman shopping together as we were, but as of now, I am unattached.”

Smiling brightly, you graciously picked up the first crate. “Now, lets get these crates to your wagon.”

She smiled back, accepting your help with a nod and leading the way to her own wagon and the single cart horse tethered to it. He was a pretty chestnut Ardennes and he nickered sweetly with your approach, causing you to smile.

Loading the two crates onto the small cart, you moved towards the horse at the front and stroked through his thick mane as Virginia climbed onto the driving bench.

“I hope you don’t mind me being too forward with you, Virginia. But, my friends and I are camped just outside of town if you would like to join us. We can keep you safe from whatever you are running from. You don’t have to be alone.”

The shock and fear came first, then shame coated her features and she deflated before your eyes. “I don’t want to be a burden. I-I just can’t marry that cruel man.”

Her tears began to fall and you reached to take her hand in yours. “Who, Virginia? Who hurt you?”

“My fiancé… Obadiah Sta-”

“Obadiah? Obadiah Stane is your fiancé!?” Tony’s angry voice hissed from behind you. Clearly he had prior knowledge of the man that you were not privy to, and from the sound of his voice, he didn’t have fond memories. “So, you are the infamous Pepper Potts?”

Whirling around you saw the anger and awe at war on Tony’s face. It was as if he were trying to solve a particularly hard puzzle and this woman was at the center of it.

“I-I have to go. Thank you for your help Y/N.” The shear panic in Pepper’s voice had you turning back to her and reaching out, but she was gone before you got the chance to say anything. Pushing her cart horse into a swift trot down the bumpy dirt road, disrupting a few of the locals in her escape.

Turning on Tony, you saw the shock on his face as his eyes trailed after her cart. You wanted to be angry with him, but you understood the outburst. He was a man who worked on gut instinct and intellect over all else and if he were to hear an enemy name come up in conversation, he would be expected to react in earnest. Especially if that enemy was a threat to his friends. That’s one of the things that made him such a good man.

So, you couldn’t get mad at him. But, you could settle with irately frustrated.

Sauntering up to Tony’s frozen visage, you stopped by his shoulder and swiftly smacked him across the back of the head. Not hard enough to hurt him, but just enough that you hoped it would knock some sense into his thick skull.

He rubbed the back of his head, blushing slightly at his blunder. “Sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t trying to scare her off.”

“Don't worry about it Tony.” You smiled up at him before walking back to your own cart where he helped you onto the driving bench. “I think she will be okay. The woman has grit, but I wanna know what that was all about. Who’s Obadiah? And why did you go off like that?”

Taking the reins, Tony began steering your cart back to camp. His face held a sullen expression, but his eyes were lit with angry fire when you spoke that name. “He was an associate of my father’s before he began working for Shield. His nephew, Justin Hammer, is a genius. Much like yours truly.”

His mischievous grin made you chuckle as you shook your head. He really couldn’t help himself, apparently.

“When his nephew was passed up to be a lackey working under the Stark name. Obadiah did all he could to sabotage operations. And he started with introducing Hydra thugs into Shield.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, scratching through his groomed beard for a moment. “You know… now that I think about it. He was probably one of the main reasons Hydra could take over Shield in the first place.”

You nodded sagely. That was something you would need to talk to Steve and Bucky about when you got back. Seems Tony had mores ins to Shield’s workings than they had originally gathered. “And Virginia? How does she come in to play here?”

“Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts. Her father is a rich politician, worked in the higher ranks of Shield and was friends with my father before he died. I always had a bit of a crush on her growing up. I never imagined I would run into her out here.” He smiled fondly before a sour expression coated his features.

“Her father died about a month before I stopped working for Shield and she stopped speaking to me. I thought she hated me, and so, I never even thought to ask her what was going on before I was put on Hydra and Shield’s capture list. Then I was too busy running for my life to bother worrying about it.”

You observed as shame began to weigh on his shoulders. Tony really seemed to be beating himself up about it all, and you didn’t want him to suffer that way. He was a good man.

“Tony?” You waited for him to look at you before you placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile. “Don’t fret about it too much. I believe that we will see her again. Then you can tell her all of this yourself.”

A suave smile crept across his features before you cuffed him in the back of the head again. “Don’t even think about putting the moves on her, though. That woman has been through hell and she will need a while before you can turn that charm on her.”

Blushing profusely, Tony only nodded and rubbed the back of his head.

Turning back to the road ahead, you silently prayed that your words wouldn’t turn out false. Not only for Tony’s sake, but for Pepper’s too.

#Dark Horse #Marvel AU #Marvel MCU #steve x reader x bucky #reader fic #western au #cowboy AU

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gofancyninjaworld · 5 years

Text

The World of Heroes, Part 3: The Association

With great thanks to @scumerage for giving me the necessary framing.

So, welcome to Part 3 of me geeking way too much about heroes and One Punch Man. In Part 1, I talked about the challenge of being a hero. In Part 2, I took a step backwards and looked at what heroes were in the context of OPM. This part, I’m going to build on them and write about the world of the pro-hero.

No one has ever needed especial qualifications to be a hero, neither in the real world nor in that of OPM. Heroes arise from anywhere depending on the situation. The idea of someone paid to be a hero seems rather weird the more you think about it.

A: Why a Hero Association?

We can’t understand the Hero Association unless we take the time to really appreciate why it came to exist. The Hero Association was born out of desperation. Specifically, mysterious beings had been appearing with increasing frequency in the world going back at least twenty years -- and back when Saitama was in middle school, it’d already gotten severe enough a problem that there were calls for the government to set up a specialist force to deal with the problem.

Calls that went unheeded.

For years.

Until Agoni had that epiphany that his grandson having the luck of being saved by a random stranger didn’t have to be luck. So he got the buy in of both politicians and business people and set up a Hero Association to organise heroes and save people (not necessarily the same thing). The Hero Association is 100% donation funded, no taxes.

Like a beacon of hope rising out of a sea of tragedy, the Hero Association’s main building stands.

B: Why be a Pro-Hero?

The key thing that I’m going to bold is that the Hero Association ORGANISES heroes. It does not train them, taking only ‘battle ready’ people. It does not worry about developing them. You have to already be a hero. Wannabes need not apply.

This fact has many important implications.

First, there is a right time to join the Hero Association: when the hero work you are already doing has come to take up so much of your time that it is interfering with your ability to make a living. The undying gratitude of the person you saved may be priceless, but it doesn’t pay the rent, nor the hospital bills you incurred. Come to the Hero Association at that time and it’s a fantastic deal. It will reliably pay you every month. It will pay your medical bills. It will record and recognise your activities. It will indemnify you against the damage that you do during the course of your work. If you’re not in Class C, it will help you with equipment. It may even put money aside for the pension you’ll need much sooner than you think.

Second, the Hero Association may not train, but it also does not constrain. As discussed in earlier parts, the sort of person who becomes a hero is someone who doesn’t fear standing out or going against the flow -- they’re independent minded and often more than a little eccentric. The HA’s attitude allows for the weird and wonderful heroes we see to thrive. No prescription of how to do your heroism. No uniforms. Out of Class C, no expectations of minimum activity.

However, while the Hero Association has broad standards, those standards are NOT LOW. Every profession that carries authority over others from teaching to the police has a perennial problem of how to spot and weed out those attracted to it for power tripping purposes, the narcissists, the sociopaths, the sadists, the abusers, and the plain evil. The Hero Association’s pro-heroes are remarkably good -- far better than the general population. There’s a certain amount of nonsense the HA will put up with from super-useful heroes but we’re seeing that even there, they have limits. I don’t know what combination of selection criteria and the demands of the job that create this, but it works.

And there’s a logic to it: hero work, doing good hero work consistently is far too tough for people who don’t have both a serious moral core and a desire to be pro-social to last. The manga expansion has been at great pains to examine the different avenues available to people with the power to be pro-heroes but not the moral core and/or social drive -- regular law-abiding civilians doing whatever the hell they want to. Sportspeople. Criminals. Mercenaries. Vigilantes. Conversely, we’ve also been shown at least one person with the morals, but not the strength -- that person made an exceptional police officer.

With great power comes no obligation -- your life is your own

It’s not a perfect model, and its shortcomings are becoming clearer -- which I’ll discuss in a bit -- but it does do its job of supporting exceptional and highly individual heroes to dedicate themselves fully to their self-appointed work. And they’re good at drawing from society at large: a non comprehensive list of former (and current) professions of pro-heroes includes actor, circus performer, construction worker, salaryman, manager, swordsmen, professional martial artists, hunter, trapper, perfumier, farmer, athletes, body builders, ninjas, ballerinas...the list goes on.

C. Classes and Ranks

Deploying heroes means sorting heroes so as to use them in the best way possible. There are no size limits to any of the classes -- as many as fit the requirements of a class will be in it. The HA is always recruiting.

Class C is the threshing floor, where heroes start if there’s no compelling reason to recommend that they start elsewhere -- or if they have their doubts. The combination of low pay and the expectation of weekly results means that there’s no opportunity to work half-heartedly. It quickly discourages the lazy, those who aren’t strongly self-motivated, those lacking in initiative, those expecting quick recognition, the ones who simply cannot work with others, the ones who won’t take lawful orders and the plain incompetent. Expectations are relatively low. Stopping small time criminals, being helpful to people and being willing/able to work with others to take care of monsters will see you in good standing. Getting out of Class C seems to be dependent on showing that you can be relied on to single-handedly kill monsters (any damn kind) OR by being promoted to C Class Rank 1. The majority of heroes have done at least a short stint in Class C, including many current Class S heroes.

It’s hard to survive on your own in Class C

If a hero is inclined to be lazy, Class B is where to be. No formal quota, no formal expectation of being drafted to help with an escalating situation (like Class A and S heroes), semi-decent pay, help with equipment design/maintenance, its lower reaches are quite a safe place to coast. When a Class B hero does work, the expectation on them is that they be entrusted to handle a wolf-level threat on their own and if Don Pacino is typical of the sort of criminal that gets a B Class bounty, heavily-armed gangs are fair game. The challenge of Class B is the Blizzard Group -- if you work close to or in Z-City, and are ambitious, Fubuki will come knocking sooner or later. It's a problem that the Hero Association knows about and chooses to do nothing about, seeing it as just another test ambitious heroes have to negotiate.

It’s a shame that Class B is so dominated by the Blizzard Group that it’s difficult to find pictures of just Class B heroes that’s not them. And yet we know nearly none of them...

Class A is the where the main backbone of the Hero Association lies. That this is shifting of late doesn’t negate the fact that most monsters are threat level tiger or below. For the vast majority of threats, Class A is where the buck stops. The roughly forty members of this class are the highest class of heroes you could still consider ‘normal’ human beings. Highly visible, hard-working and with high expectations placed on them, A-Class heroes are what other heroes aspire to be. There may be no formal tutelage system in the Hero Association, but Class A heroes take turns to orient new recruits as to the rules and expectations of being a pro-hero.

Class A comes across as a group whose members are just as comfortable on their own as in working with others.

Class S is... well, it is special. Unlike the other classes, a hero cannot be promoted to Class S: it is by direct invitation only. And that invitation is on battle record, battle record, and battle record alone. Only the demonstrated ability to single-handedly slay a threat-level demon monster or more will elicit that invitation. By staying at Class A Rank 1, Amai Mask closes off the possibility that a hero who doesn’t meet those requirements can nevertheless request a promotion interview and talk or network their way in. Why so persnickety? Because these heroes are the In Case of Emergency heroes: when the shit really hits the fan, that’s when they step up. With so few of them, a single S-Class hero can easily be all that stands between tens of thousands of people and a horrible death with no back up available for hours. We’ve seen a lot more of them than the average person in the story does because the story is set precisely in the midst of several extreme emergencies.

They may be the most powerful heroes, but they don’t have the best reputation amongst other heroes. Even between themselves -- they’re amazingly fractious and Flashy Flash’s summation of his colleagues is particularly scathing:

The other Class S heroes are useless. They’re either stubborn or hide their own identity, weirdos, children and old people. (from webcomic chapter 112)

Getting this many Class S heroes in the same place at the same time is like pulling teeth

What about ranks? Within classes heroes have ranks, but they don’t directly correspond to battle power, have little to do with seniority, and are absolutely not measures of hierarchy within a class. What they are are measures of a given hero’s perceived utility to the Hero Association. Ranks give heroes something to measure themselves by, act as a tangible measure of progress, are something that does correlate to how well a hero gets paid within the class and of course, they bring feel superior points. If a hero is minded to climb classes, Rank 1 of the class below is the ticket to apply for promotion.

What’s very fair about the ranking system is that it’s assessed weekly. No matter where a hero starts out, week by week, they cannot help but build an actual track record. The Hero Association isn’t slow to reward good heroes with promotions -- it’s why even the Saitama who won’t report his work and claims to cheat is rising so fast that other heroes keep attacking him. What’s troublesome about it is that it’s a points based system, whereby points can be divided between heroes... which opens the door to some underhanded shenanigans.

Wrapping up

The Hero Association has solved a very troublesome problem: how to reliably hire a hero? Precisely because anyone can be moved to acts of heroism, people have been saved by a random assemblage of other people, only a few of whom would ever think of doing it regularly. What they have done in short is to give those people basic security and protection and otherwise let them get on with doing what they do.

What’s been good about their approach is that they’ve effectively captured lightning in a bottle, bringing together some exceptional people, and deploying them in a way that balanced their needs for individuality with the benefit of collective action. Until recently, it’s a model that has worked. What’s been bad about it…. Ah, that will wait until the last part of this series.

#OPM #meta #world building #Hero Association #heroes #it's an interesting model #but this piece is long enough

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blancheludis · 5 years

Link

Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 7/?, Words: 41.832

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

---

Steve wanders the base aimlessly, staring down at the screen of his phone as if words are magically going to appear, words that will make sense and make everything better. As he stumbles into the kitchen, he finds most of his team gathered there. Bruce is absent, which is nothing unusual.

Natasha has a laptop to her right, occasionally glancing at it but not like she expects any immediate result for what she is doing. Clint is drinking coffee, an ice pack on his by now bandaged hand. Bucky sits, looking off into space.

If they were talking about something, they stopped when they noticed Steve coming in. He decides not to let that bother him. With what is currently happening, it is only normal for everyone to need to talk about it. He understands that this cannot happen with him in the room. Steve is definitely part of the problem here.

Going into the room, Steve sets his phone down on the table, and says, “I don’t know how to apologize.”

He has not managed to take a single step towards the sink to get himself a glass of water, when Clint groans, making no secret of his displeasure.

“Don’t you think we have more important problems at the moment?” Clint asks, eyes bearing into Steve.

His glare is not malicious, but he hates being reminded of having been wrong. The jury might still be out on who did the weapons dealing, but there is no denying their bruised knuckles and the remaining shakiness of that horrid, enraged state they had been in the night they kidnapped Tony.

“Not while we don’t have any conclusive data,” Steve counters as calm as he can manage. It is not much. They are all on edge and Clint offers a perfect target, never backing down with his posturing.

“So what,” Clint drawls, “we’re all just sitting around watching you whine about your missed opportunity for eternal love?”

He does not appear bothered in the least by Steve towering over him, having abandoned his quest for water to better glare at his teammate.

Steve grinds his teeth, leaning forward just a bit so that he is within range to – do something. This constant arguing has him exhausted.

“Could you just shut up for a minute?” he snaps, gathering all the authority he can in his tone. “We all know you don’t like Tony, you’ve made that abundantly clear. But what you did –”

He cuts off when Clint gets to his feet abruptly. He is a shorter than Steve, but that does not mean his fury is any less tangible.

“I know what I did.” Clint’s voice cracks like a whip, almost causing Steve to take a step back. Then Clint’ fury changes into something ugly, condescending. “It’s funny, we all know what you did to the men who held Bucky prisoner. None of them lived to tell the tale,” he continues, still sharp and aimed to hurt. “But I kick the guy who might still be responsible for Bucky losing his arm, and now I’m the monster? Talk about double standards.”

He does not wait for an answer but pushes away from the table and storms off, shouldering his way past Steve with a deliberate motion.

“It wasn’t him,” Steve calls after him, not expecting an answer. Then he watches, helpless, as Clint vanishes, throwing the kitchen door shut behind him.

What did he mean with I know what I did? Perhaps Clint is slowly realizing he made a mistake too and deals with it in his usual, uncooperative way.

The silence that falls in the kitchen is tense, thick enough to make breathing difficult. Not looking at his friends, Steve finally walks to the sink to get himself that water. He fills the glass slowly, watching the water rise. All the while, he keeps his back to Bucky and Natasha.

When he turns around, he catches them looking at each other, communicating silently in the way they have learned over the course of dozens of missions together. Despite the distinct wish to just leave again, Steve sits down, wondering how to mend things when he is not even sure what is broken.

“Usually,” Natasha speaks up, her tone light despite the situation, “it’s a good start to say you’re sorry. And mean it.”

They are not going to talk about Clint, then. Steve is secretly relieved. There is no solving this while tempers are this high, while they can endlessly lock themselves in an argument over whether Tony is innocent or not. Even if that is not the point. Steve understands Clint’s stubbornness. He has been there himself often enough.

“Of course, I mean it,” Steve says and looks up at Natasha, glad at her apparent willingness to help him out.

Natasha likes to keep herself out of emotional discussions. She has been taught to dismiss them. Underneath that learned stoicism, however, she cares a lot.

“Why?” she asks, her expression honestly curious.

One simple word and it sends Steve reeling. “What do you mean, why?”

They have dozens of reasons to be sorry, with new ones piling up each day. This entire situation should have been handled better. They – he – should have been better.

“Are you sorry because it might cost you your soulmate or because we really messed up?” Natasha clarifies, hitting right where it hurts without a trace of empathy on her face.

Steve opens his mouth. Of course, this is because they handled this whole thing wrong. Of course, this is because they hurt an innocent.

He also remembers standing outside in the darkness, looking at Tony’s broken body on the ground, and searching for signs of guilt. The thought of beating someone up who was bound before them was sitting wrong with him even then, but deep inside him was still the rage he has been nursing since Bucky was taken from him. He had not believed that Tony had pulled the trigger himself, but he was part of the system that keeps pushing them down, keeps taking from them without remorse. It was his name on the weapons that tore Steve’s life apart.

Before Steve can actually put any of these thoughts into words, Bucky speaks up.

“What if this isn’t the first time?” he asks, his prosthesis curled into a fist. “What if we hurt someone who was innocent before?”

Steve thoughts had wandered down that nightmarish road before, but he shut it down as quickly as he could. They cannot let themselves doubt everything they are at once.

“This is not something we do. This is not us,” Steve says with all the conviction he can muster. “We don’t beat up people.”

That is not a lie. They just beat up the one person who probably did not deserve it and turned out to be important to Steve. There is a cautionary tale in that.

“No,” Bucky says but makes it sound like he disagrees with Steve. “But we gather dirt on them. We dig out their secrets and make them visible. We hand them over to the government when they have nowhere to run anymore.” Pinching the bridge of his nose with his flesh hand, Bucky sighs. “Look at what happened with Bruce. Ross didn’t want to bring Bruce to justice. We knew that.”

Bruce’s story is one covered in as much blood as this one, if not more. It seemed a straightforward job at first. A scientist gone mad blew up his lab and then fled the country. Ross did not trust them, and they did not trust Ross. The Avengers are not usually hired to bring in official criminals, and Bruce had seemed that at first. It did not make sense that Ross would try to keep Bruce’s escape and subsequent capture a secret.

They made the mistake of informing Ross when they found Bruce. Steve will never forget the smouldering pile of ash and bones that was the only thing left of the village Bruce was hiding in, blown apart by Stark weaponry.

“And we didn’t hand Bruce over,” Steve says, but even to him it appears a weak argument. That is not what Bucky means, after all.

“What if we did?” Bucky counters, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “With some other job?”

Over the past days, Steve has asked himself these questions before and never found a satisfying answer.

“We don’t,” he still says, banning all the doubt from his voice. “We’ve always been careful.”

And they have. Sometimes, that is just not enough.

“But not with Stark,” Bucky says, something definite in his tone that speaks of endings. “We’ve been wilfully blind. I don’t know if we deserve forgiveness for that.”

With that, he gets to his feet, abandoning his coffee cup.

“Buck, listen –” Steve calls, immediately alert. He reaches out for his best friend, but Bucky avoids him easily.

“No, Steve,” Bucky says. The relative softness of his tone makes his blank expression only worse. “You only ever see the best in me, and that’s kind of you. But I just don’t feel particularly good about any of us at the moment.”

Helplessly, Steve has to watch another one of his friends walk away from him. He understands Bucky’s need to be alone, but that just makes it feel all the more like everything is falling apart.

A few weeks ago, everything had been fine. They had been doing good work and they had worked well together. How can one mistake unravel all of that?

“He’s right, you know,” Natasha cuts through Steve’s spiralling thoughts. “We really messed up.”

Somehow, while she does not sound as devastated as Bucky, her clear-cut assessment makes it only worse. She is the only one of them who can separate her emotions from work. At least she gives the best impression of being able to do that.

“I didn’t think that would –” Steve trails off, shrugging. When Natasha raises an eyebrow at him, he ducks his head.

“What? Move me?” she asks sharply. She does not change her posture or tone, but the air between them takes on a distinct note of disappointment. “I’ve hurt a lot of people in my time, killed them too. Whether they were innocent or not didn’t really matter. I got my mission and I finished it. That’s why I ran.” Her eyes pierce into Steve, leaving nowhere to hide. “Life here was supposed to be different.”

The Avengers, as a whole, were supposed to be different. All of them had been tired of life running in the ever same circles of violence and suppression. Not all of them were soldiers, but they all know what people are doing to each other every day. They wanted to be better than that, make room for a bit of justice in the world.

“It is,” Steve says, trying to convince himself as much as her. “We – we made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make up for it. This doesn’t have to be it.”

If he did not believe that, he could just give up right now. He has never given up before. That is a fundamental part of his being. It is not always a flattering trait, nor always helpful, but he cannot let go of that.

“I think that depends on how we handle this,” Natasha argues but sounds softer as she does. “Look at the data I saved from his USB drive. Stop having doubts about his character. Apologize.”

As far as tasks go, these are simple enough. And yet.

“I don’t have doubts,” Steve says. If he does, it means he either does not believe Tony or himself. Both can only end in more heartbreak.

“Of course, you do,” Natasha draws out the words, making it clear she does not think so at all. “That’s why you’re asking me a dozen times a day whether I’ve found anything yet about who hired us or who did the double dealing. You also hold your arm too stiffly as if you don’t want to use it. Don’t lie and say that has nothing to do with Stark and how you can’t just let yourself believe him.”

Steve almost asks what Natasha believes, even knowing that is not the point she is trying to make. Instead, he avoids her gaze and looks down at his hands. “We need evidence.”

Her disapproval is a nearly tangible thing between them. “What do your instincts say?”

Steve’s throat constricts as something that almost feels like laughter tries to claw its way up. His instincts are useless, scrambled by feelings not completely his own, peppered by guilt, spiked by hope, although he is not quite sure for what. A happy ending? Any kind of solution?

He shakes his head, unable to put the chaos inside him into words.

Natasha leans forward, briefly putting her hand over his and squeezes. “Make this right, Steve.”

What else is there to do but to try?

---

Just as Bruce has promised, Steve does call Tony again. It takes him almost a day, but to Tony, who whips up his head at every sound, feels like no time has passed at all. Even knowing it would happen, the ringing still leaves him frozen, undecided whether he should pick up.

Does he really need an apology when there is no way they will be going forward together? Would he really believe Steve either way?

With a sigh, Tony accepts the call, and says, “I thought I told you not to contact me again.”

That does not set a good premise for their conversation, but it is about the principle of the matter. Bruce’s warning or not, Tony has enough to deal with without Steve constantly butting in where he is not wanted.

On the other end, Steve does not say anything for a long minute. Tony wonders whether he is already losing his patience. Usually, people try a bit longer to get what they want out of Tony. Then again, most people have it easier to play nice with him because their first meeting is not as catastrophic as theirs.

“Can we meet?” Steve then asks. He even sounds serious.

“What?” Tony forces down the inappropriate amusement building inside him. If he started laughing now, he is not sure he could stop again. “Have you lost your mind?”

Meeting Steve? Considering how that turned out the last time, getting anywhere near Steve again is the farthest thing from Tony’s mind. He is not in the habit of handing himself over to the devil.

“I – probably,” Steve answers and does not make anything better with it. “But I want to see you.”

Now, Tony does laugh. It is a choked thing, not actually filled with amusement. “I don’t see how that is my problem,” Tony says once he is sure he can get it out without peppering it with curses. “It’s definitely in my interest to stay as far away as possible from you.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees too quickly, as if he has known how his question would be received but decided to ask it nonetheless. “How about a video call then? That’s a thing, yes?”

With a disbelieving huff, Tony walks over to his desk to sit down and initiates a video call. Later. he will justify that by being unable to leave anyone this uneducated. Of course, video calls are a thing. It is only then that it occurs to him that Steve might have played him, tricked him into getting them eye to eye. By then, it is too late to take it back, though, for Steve’s image already fills his screen, not quite life-sized but close enough for Tony to stay a good few feet away.

The first thing he notices is that Steve looks tired, more so than he did that day when he came to the tower. The vindictive part of him is happy to see that Steve obviously has trouble sleeping too, or other problems that leave him exhausted. Another, far less welcome part, wants to ask Steve why.

“Happy now?” Tony snaps, even though he himself is decidedly unhappy.

Steve studies him and takes his time to do it. At first, his eyes are filled only with clinical interest, running over the lines of the bruises that might be fading but are still easily visible on Tony’s face. Then his expression falls, taking on a more desperate note.

“What is your eye doing? And your ribs?” Steve asks. The worst thing is that he sounds genuinely concerned. “Bruce said something about possible internal damage that night. Did you –” He trails off uncertainly, looking for a moment as if he knows that he has gone too far.

“I’m sorry to disappoint Barnes and Barton, but I’ll live,” Tony replies but does not manage as biting a tone as he aimed for. “The rest is none of your business.”

Steve drops his eyes, looking chastised, even ashamed. When he looks up again, it seems he is gearing up to argue. Surprisingly, one glare from Tony is enough to make him think better of it.

Tony is faring better, just like he told Bruce. His head still aches constantly, but he is no stranger to migraines and hangovers so he knows how to push through it. Breathing still results in sharp pain whenever he forgets to keep it shallow, but he is not doing any strenuous activity locked up in his home. The various bruises adorning his body flare up when he moves, reminding him of the Avengers’ tender care, but he is doing fine.

“Was there something else?” Tony asks when Steve remains silent, looking at a point over Tony’s shoulder despite having been so adamant about seeing him. It is obvious that Steve is struggling with their situation too, then he might not be a victim in as literal a sense as Tony, but that he was still thrown into something he did not want.

It makes sense that the soul bond would tug at Steve as much as it would at Tony. Considering that the Avengers appear to view Tony and Stark Industries as something like their personal nemesis, that cannot be easy either. Full of disbelief, Tony thinks he is truly beginning to go crazy if he is now rationalizing Steve’s behaviour.

“We had a look at the data on your USB drive,” Steve then says, slowly as if he has to convince himself to speak the words.

Perhaps Bruce was wrong and Steve does not actually know how to apologize – or simply does not want to because he does not see the need.

“So what?” Tony asks, even though he is grudgingly impressed. Someone in their group must know their way around tech if they managed to get through the drive’s defences and saved some of the data. “Are you telling me you’ve found a buyer for it?”

“No,” Steve answers quickly, with enough vehemence to make Tony think they are truly not going to sell it. Then, far more hesitant, he continues, “But – there are not just weapon designs on there.”

All of Tony’s thoughts of how they might be able to find some middle ground someday evaporate more every time Steve opens his mouth.

This makes him wonder whether they made any research about him at all. Tony studied engineering, won several prizes in robotics competitions, refused to work for Stark Industries as long as he could before Howard’s death basically forced him to return. People might equal the Stark name with weapons, but that is not all there is to Tony.

Stupidly, Tony is disappointed by Steve’s disbelief. He should not be at all concerned by what his soulmate is thinking of him, considering that he does not really want this to go anywhere – and the far more damning fact that the bond does not seem to care what they actually think of each other but makes them want the other anyway.

“Are you sure you have the right drive?” Tony grits out between clenched teeth. He glares at Steve who has the audacity to look surprised by his worsened mood. “I’m pretty sure evil weapon designers are not allowed to do anything with their time than to make more weapons.”

Frowning, Steve shakes his head. He either does not understand where Tony is coming from or decides to push on regardless.

“There’s some brilliant stuff on there,” he says, and sounds almost like a child in a toy store now, full of wonder. Tony fears he will never be able to make sense of Steve Rogers. “That energy source is –”

“Not viable,” Tony cuts him off, his anger rising again. “Stop snooping through my things.”

He has wanted to discuss these projects with someone for ages – someone who does not look at him with pity and turns them down as not cost-effective. He wants someone to share his enthusiasm about green energy, about turning that ugly big arc reactor down the basement of their industrial complex in California into something that could change people’s lives everywhere. He also wanted that someone to share his vision – not to struggle with the concept that Tony might do something else with his time but to bring about more death and destruction.

“I’m just surprised,” Steve says as if he has read Tony’s thoughts.

Turning half away from the camera, Tony looks over his workshop, his kingdom. A dozen unfinished projects are clattered throughout the room, added to the numerous projects hidden inside his servers. He has always been told not to waste his potential, and yet it feels like that is exactly what he has done.

None of those doubts is meant for Steve’s ears, however, so Tony pulls a smirk on his face and asks, “That I’m not a completely vile human being?”

The change in Steve’s expression is instantaneous, from pensive to aghast. It is too earnest to be fake.

“Tony,” Steve exclaims, caressing the name like it is something familiar. Tony hates the way he instinctively leans closer towards the screen, towards Steve. “You’re not vile. There’s so much potential in those projects. And –”

“What do you want?”

Distantly, Tony thinks that he should stop cutting off Steve at every corner if he wants to make his peace with their situation. Steve has wronged him by letting his friends beat him up and consequently ignoring his wishes to be left alone, but running away and expecting Steve to do the same is obviously not going to work.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve says slowly, clearly wanting to evade the question.

This is exactly what Tony means, Steve’s apparent inability to understand that Tony might not want this soul bond to dictate the rest of his life.

“What do you want from me, Steve?” Tony repeats. Compared to how Steve said his name, this is ugly and ready to shatter. “It’s simple. We might have some nice connected tattoos, but that’s all there is to it.”

“That’s not all,” Steve protests just like Tony expected him to. Much quieter, almost with regret, he adds, “It shouldn’t have to be.”

Tony smiles, full of sharp-edges, and stomps down hard on the urge to agree. “You should have thought about that before you let your goons beat me up.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve all but roars. It is too loud and too sudden to be an actual apology but filled with enough emotion that Tony finds himself believing it nonetheless.

On the screen, he sees Steve falter, sees Steve’s eyes fall on the bruises again, even sees Steve’s hand twitching as he wants to reach out.

Then, his voice much steadier, much calmer, he repeats, “I’m sorry.” His gaze drops and his shoulders tense before he raises his head and looks Tony directly in the eyes. “I’m sorry for what we did. And not just because you’re my soulmate. It was wrong, and yes it would have been wrong even if you would have been responsible for –”

He interrupts himself, waits for words that will not come. Now, he allows himself to look away from Tony, if only briefly.

“Bucky lost his arm to a Stark Industries bomb activated by terrorists who took him captive,” he then says, his tone detached as if there is nothing personal about this. “Sam lost his partner to rebels carrying your guns. Our team was decimated out there, outmanned and outgunned. Natasha learned to shoot with a Stark revolver while she was with a Russian underground organization. That’s –” Steve takes a deep breath, searches for something in Tony’s gaze and smiles miserably when he finds it. “None of that is an excuse.”

“No,” Tony replies hoarsely, his mind swimming with all the new information. “No, it is not.”

Inwardly, Tony thinks it explains things, though. The Avengers are a group nursing their trauma and turning it into something they perceive as good. Confronted with the suspected source of all that trauma, a part of Tony can understand why they would snap.

He could argue, of course, that, if not Stark weapons, the enemies would have had something else. Perhaps nothing as ‘good’, but Stark Industries did not cause the war, it does not tell the government to throw men at problems that are none of their business. Tony did not kill their friends. At the same time, he understands irrationality, understands needing an outlet for these feelings that could easily tear one apart.

“We were glad to have SI-issued guns and gear out there,” Steve says almost eagerly, obviously taking Tony’s silence as permission to keep explaining himself. “They are the most reliable, they are good. But that doesn’t help much if the other side has them too. We –” he shrugs, a conflicted expression on his face, “there’s a lot of bad history between us. What we thought you did, what we actually did to you. I just don’t want that to be all.”

The thing is, Tony does not want that either. Even now, with enough distance to how the new bond makes him feel, with being mostly capable of rational thought again. Fate thought they would fit together, and all Tony ever really wanted was to be at home somewhere, with someone, without question whether he is going to be stabbed in the back.

Tony feels betrayed. Not just by Steve, but by how they met. By how little actual choice that leaves them about how to go forward. His entire life has been laid out for him by people who supposedly know better than him. His parents, Obie, even Pepper. His every move is watched and judged. If anything, nobody would have been able to predict Tony Stark ending up with a mob boss – not that he will do that.

The by now almost familiar exhaustion creeps up on Tony. He first thought that comes just from his wounds, but has realized by now that a large part of it is emotional. It is ridiculous that he, who has always avoided dealing with emotions as best as he could, is hampered by it now.

Life as he has known it is in shambles. It feels like he is on a sinking ship with holes everywhere, but instead of dealing with the damage one by one or even building himself a lifeboat, he is trying to fix all the holes at once, but each time he turns away the water rips them open again.

He needs to prioritize, needs to actually stick to that instead of just pretending to. He looks at Steve on the screen, at the way his expression is both hopeful and stubborn, thinks that nothing will move Steve if he does not want to be moved. For some reason, whether it is just because of the bond or not, Steve is ready to move for Tony.

“I don’t –” Tony says, then tries again. “This doesn’t mean that I forgive you or that I’m suddenly all right with us being soulmates but – the smuggled weapons are the only thing we have in common right now, so – truce?”

The very word sits heavily on Tony’s tongue, not exactly like he is making a mistake, but like he is playing with the devil. He is offering his hand, quite aware that it could cost his entire arm.

Steve blinks at the camera, surprised at the sudden turn of events. “A truce means we could go back to being adversaries at any point,” he says, then audibly clicks his mouth shut, looking like he is berating himself for not accepting Tony’s offer immediately.

Despite himself, Tony smiles. “Depending on how serious both parties are about the truce, yes.”

It would be easier if Steve said no, if he kept protesting that there is no truce needed because they clearly belong together. Then, perhaps, Tony could have finally thrown Steve out of his life without a second thought.

Instead, Steve nods hurriedly as if he is afraid he is running out of time for it. “All right, yes. A truce.”

Definitely a devil’s deal, Tony thinks as he takes in the relief on Steve’s face. He looks better this way, though, far more approachable and less like a mob boss.

“Great,” Tony says and pauses, unsure how to interpret the lightness in his chest. “Don’t call me again while I’m working.”

He expects Steve to argue, to immediately turn this into another fight. Steve’s demeanour remains calm, however. “You’re always working,” he points out as if he knows Tony, as if he has a right to this information.

Tony has no way of knowing what kind of working hours the mob has, but he is sure they are just as unconventional as his own.

“Then wait until I call you,” Tony counters without sympathy, “or until there’s something important to tell me.”

Steve smiles, but it is self-deprecating in a way that Tony would not have expected Steve to be capable of. “Will you?” he asks with painful reluctance. “Call me, I mean?”

“We’ll see,” Tony says, even though he knows it is all but a done deal, thanks to the warmth spreading through his forearm, echoed beneath his sternum.

Already, the soul bond inside him hums as if he has pledged his eternal love to Steve. At the very least, though, he feels more at peace inside his own skin. The decision whether this was a healthy or sensible thing to do will have to wait for later. He is not giving up, he is just giving in for now.

The first steps of a plan begin to form inside Tony’s head, fuelled by several things Steve said and the old wishes of his younger self. It will plunge Tony’s life right back into chaos, but sometimes a broken piece cannot be repaired but has to be replaced entirely.

#marvel #stony #soulmates #mob boss #angst #slow burn #leave the gun on the table #tony stark #steve rogers #avengers #hurt/comfort #my writing #fanfiction #ao3 #wip

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chiseler · 5 years

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The Briefly and Occasionally Great Del Tenney

He wasn’t as culturally attuned as Roger Corman. He wasn’t as obsessively prolific as Jess Franco. He wasn’t as personally flamboyant as Ed Wood. Still, writer/producer/director Del Tenney is a legend in the annals of low budget horror. That he’s a legend is in itself legendary, given that he’s remembered for only four films, all of which were made during a two year stretch in the early 1960s. I’m hard-pressed to think of another director with a filmography that brief who earned a legacy like Tenney’s. They weren’t great films, some weren’t even particularly good, but they had a spark to them, and they were undeniably memorable, sometimes for reasons that had nothing to do with the films themselves.

“My friends used to come up to me and ask, ‘How could you do all those terrible films?’’’ Tenney was fond of saying. “And I tell them, ‘I cry all the way to the bank,’”

He was born in Mason City, Iowa, but in the early ‘40s his family moved to Los Angeles. Tenney began studying theater in school, and by age 15 he was already working, both on stage and later as an extra in the likes of The Wild One and Stalag 17. His focus was on theater, though, so in the late ‘50s he moved to New York and found work in summer stock. A number of the young actors he worked with then, like Roy Scheider, Dick Van Patten, and Sylvia Miles, would later appear in Tenney’s films, many making their screen debuts with him.

By the early ‘60s Tenney and his wife, actress Margot Hartman Tenney, had also started directing productions of their own. After a conversation with a friend who was involved in (as it was described in polite company) “the exploitation film business,” Tenney took a job as assistant director on a couple of pictures, including the merely sleazy Satan in High Heels (a nasty little cheapie involving carnival strippers, junkies, robbery, sex, and murder) and nudie cuties like Orgy at Lil’s Place, (which concerned two girls who decide to get into the nude modeling racket). In later years, while Tenney spoke freely about the former, he rarely mentioned the latter. Still, his experience there inspired him to start making films of his own.

While in the theater he preferred to stick with Shakespeare and the classics, when he moved into film it was all about the bottom line. His goal was not to make great art, but to make a few quick bucks, and to do that he knew what audience he had to aim for. He was determined to give them exactly what they wanted.

Seeing potential in a story his wife had told him about a girl she knew in college who was found murdered, in 1962 Tenney sat down and began working on a script he initially called Black Autumn. Later it would be called Violent Midnight. Then shortly before its release the distributor changed the title to Psychomania, thinking it would cash in on Psycho and pull in the kids.

Financed by his father-in-law and filmed (as all his pictures would be) in Stamford, CT, Psychomania focused on a string of brutal sex murders in a small college town. The obvious suspect is that eccentric painter with a family history of mental problems who lives all alone out in the boonies and paints nude models who often end up getting stabbed (Lee Philips). The above-mentioned Dick Van Patten and James Farentino co-star as a couple of suspicious detectives, and Sylvia Miles appears, well, doing that great Sylvia Miles thing.

It’s a sharp and surprisingly stylish little b/w suspense thriller clearly influenced not only by Hitchcock in the camera work, but also by film noir and horror films of the ‘30s and ‘40s in its use of deep shadows. The shadowy murder scenes are especially shocking here. But none of that really mattered. The picture guaranteed its drive-in popularity by including plenty of nudity along the way. In fact prior to its release the same distributor who changed the title also insisted on more boobs, so without any tantrums about “integrity” or “artistic vision,”Tenney went back and shot another ten minutes of skin and mild sex and cut it in.

Although Richard Hilliard receives the on screen credit as director and Tenney’s only credit is as producer, he would later say that Hilliard was a friend of his and a theater person who knew nothing about making films or dealing with actors, so he had to step in himself and take over, making this the first picture he wrote, produced, and directed.

The film made a lot of money (given its budget, anyway) but today is the least recognized of his films. That always confused me a little, given that in technical terms alone it’s the best thing he ever did. But I guess that’s not what people are always looking for in low-budget films.

There’s something else going on in Psychomania, though, that I’ve been touting for years even if no one seems to care. In terms of genre film history, those self-satisfied types who concern themselves with such things comfortably and endlessly cite Mario Bava’s Blood and Black Lace as the first giallo, the film that launched a thousand copycats made by everyone from Fulci to Argento. The Bava film is the immovable cornerstone. Without taking anything at all away from what is undeniably a great picture, I’d still argue that Tenney beat him to the punch. Psychomania (released on DVD as Violent Midnight) contains everything that would later be cited as fundamental to any giallo picture: a string of sex crimes, an obvious suspect, several other obvious suspects, lots of boobs, savage violence, and a twist ending. But Psychomania was released in early ‘64, roughly 14 months before Bava’s picture. Okay, so maybe it’s not Italian, and maybe it wasn’t based on those tawdry little yellow paperbacks that were so popular at the time, but dammit it’s still a giallo, and it was the first.

I’ll shut up about that now.

After making a film with style, intelligence, and even a little class compared to the usual drive-in fodder, a film whose influence would be felt for the next twenty years (even if no one will admit it), and a film that made him a little money, Tenney took a hard left.

Filmed over two weeks in 1962, Curse of the Living Corpse was a costume melodrama set in 1892 that’s reminiscent of those AIP prestige numbers or early Hammer films. When a wealthy, possibly crazy, and just plain mean old man dies, his will stipulates that if the surviving members of his family don’t shape up and fly right, he’s going to rise from the grave and kill them off one by one. Well, they don’t and he does. Or at least it looks like that’s what’s happening.

It’s still a film with style, intelligence, and class, but of a different kind. While Psychomania was intense, sexy, and at times brutal, Curse of the Living Corpse was a very stagebound, theatrical piece, a bit slower, a bit more deliberate. A sitting room murder mystery heavy on the dialogue, punctuated here and there by a thematic murder. Plus most of the characters are wearing too many layers for things to get terribly sexy.

Curse features Roy Scheider (in his film debut) as one of the profligate heirs in question, Carnival of Souls’ Candace Hilligoss, and Tenny’s wife Margot Hartman. It’s one of the things that has always made Tenney’s films, cheap, fast, and DIY as they were, stand out. By pulling in friends from the theater, good, professional actors willing to work on a goofy movie for no money, he ended up with performances several cuts above what you’d normally find in something like this. When none of the actors in a costume drama are, say, chewing gum, it just adds a layer of credibility to the story, no matter how ridiculous that story might be.

The other thing that made Tenney’s first two films stand out was the sharp b/w cinematography. The shadows are so deep here, the contrast so sharp and detailed, the film at times reminds me of those early Bava pictures (to go back there again). Even when the story lags a bit, the atmosphere carries it along. It’s something that can’t often be said about the low-budget pictures of the era.

Well, even as he was still working on Curse of the Living Corpse, pre-production was underway on his next film, The Horror of Party Beach. Shooting began about three days after Curse wrapped. If Tenney took a hard left from Psychomania into Curse, this time he had to jump all the way to the other end of the spectrum.

He admitted he wasn’t sure the genre-mashing satire, the horror musical beach movie, would work, but he charged ahead anyway. What made it work was sticking so tightly to the conventions of both the bug-eyed monster film and the beach blanket movie, while at the same time pointing up the ridiculousness of those conventions. Plus there’s a great fucking soundtrack provided by the Jersey-based surf band The Del-Aires.

In the film’s first five minutes he lays everything out. We meet an assortment of young attractive couples and character types on the beach, each with issues of their own. We meet the potential (human) villains in the form of a local motorcycle gang. And out in Long Island Sound, nuclear waste is being dumped into the water where it settles down on a shipwreck and transforms (with the aid of some neat in-camera trickery) the skeletal remains of lost sailors into an army of fishmen in search of human blood.

After that, well, there you go. The monsters are intentionally silly takeoffs on the usual “man in a rubber suit” creatures (note particularly the eyes and the teeth). But if the monsters are silly, so are the people, and in between the two Tenney crams in as many drive-in standbys as he can fit: motorcycle chases, baffled scientists, malt shops, some of those crazy teenage dances, doomed drunks, convertibles, incredulous cops, superstitious black maids who accidentally save the world. And he holds it all together with some editing that’s a bit more clever than you’d expect. The first victim, for instance, dies during a series of cuts between the attacking fishman and The Del-Aires performing the unbelievably catchy “Do the Zombie Stomp” to a bunch of dancing teenagers on the beach. For something this goofy it’s surprisingly disturbing.

(Jokes and surf bands aside, Humanoids From the Deep owes a serious debt of gratitude to Horror of Party Beach).

This and Curse of the Living Corpse were released as a double bill by 20th Century Fox later in ‘64, complete with a gimmick. Would-be audience members were required to sign a release before entering the theater absolving the theater owners of any blame should the viewer die of fright during the screening. It’s unclear if there were any casualties.

The double bill was the last thing to play at the legendary 3,000-seat Paramount Theater in Times Square, and Horror of Party Beach went on to become Tenney’s most successful film. After that things started to slip.

His next picture, which he completed in ‘64, was Voodoo Bloodbath, a horror comedy that can trace its roots directly back to Val Lewton’s classic I Walk With a Zombie, but with more bad jokes. William Joyce stars as a bestselling, wisecracking, playboy author of adventure novels. Given that he hasn’t turned anything in to his editor for months, his editor drags him onto a plane and flies him to, yes, Voodoo Island in search of inspiration. See, not only is a famed scientist conducting cancer research there, but the place is supposedly overrun with zombies, too.. It’s a million-selling novel in the waiting. When they arrive they discover three things:

1. The Caribbean island is actually populated by Mexicans for some reason.

2. The scientist has a beautiful blonde virgin daughter.

3. The local natives are preparing for a human sacrifice that night.

None of it bodes well for anyone, though no one realizes this yet.

The humor arises mostly from the editor’s shrill and boorish wife, and the author’s overbearing attempts to pick up any woman he sees (particularly the scientist’s daughter). Neither are terribly funny. The rest of the film is straight-faced and boilerplate, reminiscent of a dozen voodoo pictures from the ‘40s. It’s not very good, either. Compared with his first two films in particular the production values and direction had gone straight to hell. It’s a clumsy, sloppy picture with very little charm. There’s not even much of a bloodbath. Drumming’s good, though. Up to this point he had worked near miracles with standard storylines and no budgets by bringing in good actors and skilled editors and cameramen. Here he didn’t seem to be trying all that hard. Of all four films, this one really did look and feel like everything else out there.

I wasn’t the only one who thought it could’ve been better. The picture sat on the shelf for nearly seven years until 1971, when low-budget distributor Jerry Gross came nosing around in search of a film to drop in the bottom half of a double bill he had in mind. After a quick and simple title change, the Tenney film was just the ticket he was looking for. As great and fun as those first three films had been, it was Gross who, if accidentally, helped make Tenney a legend.

Today Voodoo Bloodbath is all but completely forgotten. Even under its new title, I Eat Your Skin is less remembered for what it is as a movie than for being half (together with the utterly unrelated I Drink Your Blood) of one of the most notorious double bills ever released. After seeing them we may not remember anything that happened in either, but we sure do remember those newspaper ads, and sometimes that’s worth a hell of a lot more.

Tenney didn’t talk much about the experience or the film after the fact, but while Voodoo Bloodbath was still sitting on the shelf he all but completely stepped away from the film business, though he admits he kept the monster suit from Horror of Party Beach and wore it at parties. He and his wife had never strayed from Connecticut, never became part of the hobnobbing Hollywood crowd, so they simply settled down where they were all along, and returned to their first love. They founded what would become a very well respected theater company, putting on three or four productions a year.. Years later when they moved to Florida they opened another. In between Tenney got involved in real estate up and down the East Coast.

Then in the late ‘90s, over thirty years after retiring from motion pictures, he and his wife, together with producer/director Kermit Christman (Wicked Games) , founded DelMar Productions and Tenney began writing, producing and directing again. Between ‘99 and 2003, he made three pictures: Clean and Narrow, about an ex-con trying to go straight in a small town; an I Know What You Did Last Summer knockoff called Wanna Know a Secret?; and a supernatural thriller called Descendant, in which a would be writer is haunted by the spirit of an ancestor who happens to be Edgar Allan Poe. The last was particularly dear to Tenney, because he’d always loved Poe and wanted to do some kind of movie about him.

Ah, but the movie business was a very different animal by then. It wasn’t merely a matter of borrowing a few bucks from your father-in-law to make a silly monster picture, then hooking up with an independent distributor. Now even making the smallest film meant raising a few million dollars. Worse, the lawyers had gotten involved. And forget about any kind of distribution if you aren’t connected to a major studio. The fun had been sucked out of the game, and this was evident in the films themselves. Sure those films he made in the ‘60s were blatantly, even cynically commercial, but commercial in a ragtag, adventurous, slapdash way. The new films were commercial, but much more carefully so. They were slick and serious. If they weren’t slick, audiences wouldn’t look at them, and you had to be serious about the whole process, because there were millions of dollars at stake. Hell, there was even a desperation evident on the screen. While before Tenney had been working with a bunch of young actors on their way up, now he was working with a bunch on their way down (William Katt, Sondra Locke, Wings Hauser), and you can almost hear their nails scratching as they scramble to hold onto anything at all before they vanish completely.

No, it wasn’t much fun, But those aren’t the films Tenney will be remembered for, and they won’t take anything away from his status among fans. He’ll be remembered for those four pictures from back in ‘64 (even if one wasn’t released until ‘71). They weren’t as good as some, but a lot better than most. In all four pictures he never once repeated himself. They were all radically different in mood and style and story, and there was a seductive, sloppy magic about them that’s inescapable. No matter how many times I go back to Psychomania/Violent Midnight (and I go back to it a lot) the ending still catches me off guard. After all these years “The Zombie Stomp” still gets stuck in my head. I even find myself returning to I Eat Your Skin every couple years, not to laugh at it, but just to wonder. I guess that’s why Tenney, on the basis of only those four pictures, can now take his rightful spot among the pantheon of cult directors.

by Jim Knipfel

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