#and are you kidding those windows need shutters when it gets too loud at the street and he needs to focus

[ragingbookdragon]

It’s like a whirlwind inside her brain, a howling gale slamming the shutters against the windows of the house in her mind that’s the supposed to keep everything contained, the anger, the hatred, all of it locked under key. And yet, for as loud as it is in her head, the louder dining room is only twisting the key tighter, forcing the pent-up emotion to the surface.

Her grips tightens on the silverware, one hand curled around the fork the other the steak knife and it would take a split second to jam it somewhere that would more than likely kill her in seconds and somehow, somehow she forces herself to put it down but now that the hand is free, it’s curling into a fist, nails biting into the skin until there are half-crescents torn into her palm and the blood creeps down her skin like a trickle of warmth.

The laughter is too boisterous, the hysteric arguments too enraging to her already volatile state. Whatever straw breaks the camel’s back is unknown to her because all she can see is a shattered, crystal glass on the floor and pomegranate juice dripping down the wall from where it impacted. But there’s silence. Sweet, sweet silence.

She feels the hush come over her siblings and her father, but it doesn’t quell the rage inside that’s rolling around her chest cavity in waves like burning lava cascading against the rocks. She lowers slowly back into her seat, waiting for an inevitable question. It comes from her second oldest sibling.

“Are you okay?”

She blinks, voice monotone as she deadpans, “I should be allowed to hunt down and murder every male director who portrays the female breakdown coming to a close with a shattered glass because the only thing that did was make me want to smash more things.” She shrugs. “But it got the point across.”

“And that point was?” her eldest brother asks.

“To get you all to shut up.” her dead expression shifts to one riddled with annoyance. “Surprisingly, it’s quiet now but everything is still so loud inside my head. Nor does it make me feel any less full of rage.”

Her father, and she can see him from her peripheral, is the one to ask now. “What are you angry about?”

“Take your pick, I’ve got loads to choose from,” she regards with a carelessness that shows her picture-perfect control slipping. “My uselessness to the world, my family, my own life.” Her shrug presents an opening, and she laughs, hollow and lifeless, turning to him. “Why in God’s name would you fuck my mother and keep me when she dropped me on your doorstep?”

Her family is shocked to say the least, to hear her explicative, but more so to hear her curse her own life; she’s never once said anything like this.

“You could’ve gone about your merry, billionaire-playboy way and given me away to some boring, average family where I would’ve been valued for being an average, boring woman. But no, you kept me, and I’m stuck here. I’m stuck being the only person in this fucking family who doesn’t excel at vigilantism, so I don’t have the community or the friends that you do, and yet even the high-class society doesn’t care about anything I do, and my name is Wayne and I’m actually your fucking kid.”

She finds herself unable to keep sitting and she stands to her feet, beginning to pace the floor like it will form the words she needs to say, the things she’s repressed all these years.

“I hate this family. I fucking hate it. I spend more time thinking about stepping in front of oncoming traffic because God, one day without having to spend a moment in my head would be heaven sent.” She turns, eyes narrowed on her family. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to wait for those ten minutes of social interaction where you all are not concerned with beating criminals within inches of their lives? Do you know what it is like to talk to all of you as someone who’s mind doesn’t calculate crime scenes like it’s as easy as snapping your fingers? It is soul-shattering to be alive in this family when being an average fucking human being actually means you’re an outsider.”

Her anger doesn’t quell, but it cools to a hiss. “I don’t want to be in this family. I don’t want to be your daughter. I can’t do this shit anymore. I’m literally going fucking insane in my own goddamn house, and I can’t fucking do this anymore.”

For a group of the smartest people alive, no one can form a single, coherent thought to calm their sister who never had a complaint in her life.

Her expressions turns to some semblance of satisfaction at the unshackled hurt on her father’s face. “I’ve dreamed about this conversation before. It usually ends with you being stoic, but I’m oddly surprised to see that the truth actually hurts you.”

She rolls her shoulders, reaches up to her neck and takes the silver chain in her hand. It’s an heirloom her father gave her from her grandmother, but it means nothing as she yanks it; the clasp snaps and she tosses it onto the dinner table. It stands out against the crimson tablecloth and one spare glance is all she gives it, there’s nothing but contempt for the charm sitting helplessly on the broken chain. She turns, voiceless and emotionless, and leaves the dining room, the garage door slamming behind her like a final close to the conversation.

They don’t speak, too stunned to still react like their sister and daughter didn’t just disown them. Bruce stares at the sterling silver necklace, a grief collapsing his chest in, caving his heart around all the wrong things he never saw, to the boiling point he didn’t see coming. He doesn’t know if his daughter is going to come home.

She won’t.

#this is what the beginning of Castle of Glass should've been tbh #batsis imagine #batsis imagines #batsis x batfamily imagine #batsis x batfamily imagines #batsis x batfamily #batsis #batfamily x batsis #batfamily x batsis imagines #batfamily x batsis imagine #batfamily x reader imagine #batfamily x reader imagines #batfamily x reader #batfamily imagines #batfamily imagine #batfamily #dc imagines #dc imagine #dc comics #dc #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood

[silver-tongued-bby]

Discretion

Pairing: Dom!CEO!Loki x Reader

Summary: After dropping out of grad school and moving back home you expected very little of your summer. That is until you realise your neighbour, Mr. Laufeyson, has other plans. Set in the mid 90s!

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!!! This is a Dom!Loki fic - though it's not super bd/sm heavy, it explores themes of voyeurism, dub!con spanking, humiliation and degradation. Sexual acts are described including vaginal fingering, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving) and sexual intercourse (f/m). Smoking is also described. Please read at your own discretion (hehe see what I did there?).

Words: 5,026

Author's Note: I'm excited to say that this is my first ever submission for a challenge! Specifically it's for @boxofbonesfic's Hot Girl Summer Challenge.

I chose prompt 12 (Home for the Summer) and a slightly edited version of quote 17 ("If I have to tell you again to take that off, you’re not gonna like me sweetheart darling.") then for kinks I chose voyeurism/exhibitionism and degradation though there's a sprinkling of praise kink in there too.

Not sure why when I think of summer I think of mid 90s summers but here we are. This kinda went places I didn't expect, nonetheless I hope you enjoy!

...

God you were bored.

Stretching out on the lounge chair you sighed, letting your shoulders droop with the long exhale.

“Oh honey, you can’t keep sitting out here in the sun.” Your eyes rolled behind your dark sunglasses, turning towards your stepmother as she came down the stairs from the deck of the house.

“It’ll give you wrinkles dear,” she was standing beside you now, hands on her hips as she stared down at you. She was wearing that ridiculous hat again- the one with the brim as wide as she was tall.

“Carla, darling, we can’t all hide away from life in hopes to look as good as you do.” You lazily gazed at her, sitting up to find your pack of cigarettes on the side table. Taking one out you brought it to your mouth and lit it with your gold plated zippo. You took a long inhale before exhaling right in her face, “when I tell people you’re 53 they can hardly believe it.” Her eyes widened- you’d found her drivers license months ago and held the knowledge of her true age over her since then. You continued, ”my compliments to your doctors. Oh and Botox, kudos to Botox.”

Her little hands formed fists, fake nails pressing tiny neon-pink crescents into her palm.

You laughed, lounging back in the chair as you leisurely took drags off your cigarette. Smiling to yourself as you counted- three, two, one, before Carla shrieked and turned.

“Arthur! Arthur!” She screeched, running back up the stairs to tell your father.

You were a little less bored now, but making Carla’s face turn red could only give you so much satisfaction. You knew your father could care less, they were both about to leave for the Côte D’Azur tomorrow for the rest of the summer, leaving you here alone to “consider the consequences of your actions.” Or however your father had put you dropping out of school after one year of graduate studies in Classics.

He couldn’t help himself from belittling your degree while you were studying, then once you’d decided it wasn’t for you his lectures changed to be about “never giving up” and “seeing something through.” You both knew he simply didn’t want you around- he just couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“Now those will definitely give you wrinkles,” you heard a smooth, silky voice coming from behind you that made your heart race. Smiling, you swung your legs over the side of your chair, taking off your sunglasses and snuffing out your cigarette.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you started, eyeing the lithe figure as he emerged from the shadows. He held his hands in his pockets, his crisp black trousers fit perfectly to his frame. The sleeves of his black dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing the pale skin of his toned forearms. You were well aware of the small scraps of white fabric covering your body, and you enjoyed watching his eyes trace over your skin. You’d lusted after him ever since your father had moved here during your first year of college. You’d met him at one of Carla’s Christmas parties- she invited everyone from the gated community over, including your neighbour, Loki Laufeyson.

“I’m so sorry if my stepmother’s incessant shrieking ruined your afternoon,” you grimaced, taking a sip of the ice cold vodka soda beside you. “Is there anything I can do to remedy the situation?” you asked, your eyes innocently meeting his.

He chuckled. “Oh I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve already thought of something,” he said under his breath loud enough for you to just make out. He strolled towards you and took a seat on the lounge chair beside yours. “I’m actually here to see your Father. He’s asked me to check in on things here while him and Carla are away.”

You rolled your eyes- of course he did. You caught Mr. Laufeyson staring at you as you did that, his expression darkening slightly and his eyebrow raising before he continued. “I am surprised to see you here- last I’d heard you were studying in Europe. Graduate studies in Classics, right?”

“Yeah. It didn’t exactly pan out.” You looked down, cursing yourself for feeling your face grow hot. The last thing you needed was your gorgeous neighbour feeling sorry for you.

“Laufeyson you bastard, you’re late!” Your Father was coming down the stairs, jovial with his greeting.

Loki got up from his seat to meet your father. “Arthur,” he said, shaking his hand. “My apologies, I got held up at the office. It’s been insanity since the new acquisition.”

You tuned out the rest of the business jargon and settled back into your seat, facing the other way. You put your sunglasses back on, wincing once your heard Carla’s shrill voice coming from above.

“Is that Loki Laufeyson? Oh it’s been ages!” she gushed.

“I suppose it has.” You could tell she’d pulled him in for a hug and a kiss on either cheek. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself at the clear discomfort in his voice.

“So I can trust you to keep an eye on the place?” your father chimed in.

“Certainly, although it seems your daughter is perfectly capable of doing so herself.” Mr. Laufeyson rightfully pointed out. You raised an eyebrow, wishing you could see the expression on your dear dad’s face from your position. Mr. Laufeyson was probably the only person in this community that could and would tell your Father that- his annual appearance in Forbes certainly cemented the position.

“You never know with kids, Laufeyson. No matter how old they get you can’t trust them to carry through with something. Just wait until you have one of your own- then you’ll know what I’m talking about." He laughed loudly. You scoffed. Fucking asshole.

“I see. I’ll keep an eye out then.” Mr. Laufeyson said cooly.

“Right well feel free to pop by anytime, we leave tomorrow morning. Here’s the number of my cellular telephone- I always have it on me you know.” Your father was obsessed with his clunky mass of plastic- he brought it everywhere he went, mostly to brag about it to strangers or talk obnoxiously on it to avoid conversations with you or Carla.

“He really does. Even in the bedroom!” Carla giggled, causing you to shudder in disgust.

“Of course, well I should be on my way.” He stepped back over to you. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around. Here’s my information,” he placed a thick, black and white business card onto the small table beside you. “In case of emergency.”

You pulled your sunglasses down your nose and slid your eyes up his body, biting your lip as you met his stare. “I’ll be sure to remember. See you around, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He considered you for a moment and you thought he was about to say something else before he nodded and turned, heading for the gate.

You settled back in your seat and nestled the headphones of your discman over your ears. You pressed the play button, the beat of Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” drowning out whatever Carla and your father were arguing about once their guest had left.

...

It was much later that evening that you finally slipped from your room to find some dinner. The house was dark- you knew your father and Carla had an early flight. Grabbing a wrapped plate from the fridge that the housekeeper had left you you headed to the back deck to eat. You kept the lights off as you watched the dim foamy white of the ocean’s waves hitting the rocks below, finding peace in the sound.

Finishing your meal you were about to head inside when you saw a light come on out of the corner of your eye. From where you were sitting you could see into a room on the top floor of Mr. Laufeyson’s house. Interesting- you’d never seen into this room before, the windows that faced your father’s house were usually shuttered. You laid back and lit a cigarette, choking on the inhale when you saw Mr. Laufeyson emerge, shirtless, his eyes dark and hungry. He was pulling a woman behind him, a blonde, her shirt unbuttoned to expose a lacy red bra. Once he stood at the edge of the bed he turned around to kiss her, his hands moving to the clasp of her bra. Undoing it, he pulled away to slide it down her arms before turning her around and unzipping her skirt, leaving her in just a high waisted red lace thong.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. You were transfixed by the scene unfolding in front of you. He flung her on the bed- from your position you could see it all as if it were happening in a room adjacent to yours. Climbing over her he dipped his head to capture her lips once more as he ground against her. Your legs clenched together as you continued to smoke your cigarette, the combined effect of the nicotine and the scene in front of you making your head spin.

His hand trailed down to the red lace covering her heat as he continued to kiss and grind against her. Slipping his fingers in you found you were doing the same to yourself, feeling the hot wet of your arousal. He had pulled away from her now, watching her face intently as her back arched up off of the mattress, her hands clutching his toned arms. He was saying something to her, his eyes going from her face to her heaving breasts as he continued to work his hand inside of her. A flush was blooming on her chest, her mouth open and her eyebrows drawn together. You were moving your hand in time with his, your arousal coating your fingers. His movements became faster as he continued to speak to her, smiling menacingly before her back arched fully off the bed, her hands grasping at him. Withdrawing from the dampened red lace his fingers glistened in the light, wet from her release.

He easily picked her up off the bed, carrying her to the window sill. He roughly pulled her panties down before he undid his trousers then lined himself up at her entrance. He pressed into her, her back flat against the glass and his face visible beside the back of her head, his eyes closed. You imagined how it’d feel, the cool glass against your back, his warm hand firmly gripping your thigh, his strong arms holding your legs open as he fucked you. He began to move inside of her then his eyes opened, staring straight at you in the darkness. Your heart beat faster as you felt yourself blush- surely he couldn’t see you out here, you were shrouded in the dark. You could barely see the outline of your hand as you brought it to your face for another puff. You froze- the cigarette.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hissed, quickly removing your hand from its position and shakily putting out the cigarette on your dinner plate. Sliding your chair out quietly you chanced one last look towards the window- he was smirking in your direction as he continued to move against the blonde. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you backed away towards the porch door. You could swear his eyes didn’t leave you once and it sent shudders through you. You made your way back to your room and lay awake for hours, each time you closed your eyes you saw his piercing blue-green stare and filthy smirk.

You must have drifted off at some point since you eventually awoke to silence- an anomaly. You’d usually wake to Carla’s screeching laugh as she spoke on the phone to her friends, or she’d send the housekeeper Marie to wake you. You checked the clock beside you- 9AM. Carla and your father were long gone by now.

You smiled at that, stretching lazily before cranking the radio and dancing around your room as you got ready, the sunlight beaming in through your window. Making your way to the main kitchen you froze, last night coming back to you. The way Mr. Laufeyson had looked out at you as if he were expecting you to be there. Did he leave the blinds open on purpose? You shook your head, no way he’d be that forward. Sure he flirted with you every now and then, but nothing beyond that. You pushed the thought from your mind for the rest of the day.

...

A week passed quickly, you spent a lot of time with your friends, going shopping, to the beach, or local restaurants. You didn’t spend much time around the house so you hadn’t seen Mr. Laufeyson since the “incident”. On Friday you met up with some friends midday and got a ride to one of their parents’ beach houses. You spent the day there, drinking and laughing as you enjoyed the sun. Your friends dropped you back off at your place at around 7pm, you were pleasantly buzzed but looking forward to a quiet night in.

It was so hot outside you decided to take a dip in the pool. Cranking the radio in the backyard you decided to skinny dip- no one was home anyways. You sighed as your heated skin met the water, cooling instantly. You did a few laps before lazily swimming a backstroke and humming the music on the radio when you saw something coming towards you out of the corner of your eye. Standing upright you saw Mr. Laufeyson walking towards you from the door to the backyard, a smirk playing at his lips. Your heart started beating quickly as you realised the position you were in, remembering his hungry stare from last week. You swam over to the side of the pool to meet him.

“Hi,” he smiled, looking down at you.

You bit your lip and innocently looked up at him. “Hello, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“I’m sorry to intrude.”

“No worries. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Laufeyson?” you asked, noticing his eyes taking in your body under the water. He definitely knew you were naked. Your thighs clenched together at the thought.

“I was coming to see you about something that happened last week that had me… concerned. I thought I saw someone out on the balcony, late at night. Was that you?”

You felt your cheeks grow hot, your heartbeat picking up to a mile a minute. “What day was this?”

“Last week Friday.” His face was serious as he strolled over to a pool chair, pulling it closer to the side and taking a seat.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think anyone was out there then.” The words came out a lot quicker than you’d meant. You were usually pretty good at lying but something in his voice made you want to tell him the truth, to please him.

He tsked. “I’ve seen you lie better than that. Try again darling.” He sounded bored as he reached for your pack of cigarettes on the side table. He raised an eyebrow in question as he drew out a cigarette. You nodded, nervously biting your lip as he lit it and crossed his legs, leisurely smoking while he stared you down.

“No words, little one?” he teased, smirking down at you. “Did you at least enjoy the show?”

You huffed- this was humiliating. How dare he? You found anger quickly overtaking your initial shock and embarrassment as you made your way to the pool stairs and got out. You raised an eyebrow at him and smiled when the smirk slid off his face at the sight of your naked, wet body. Two can play this game. Walking over to him you grabbed a towel off the chair and wrapped it around yourself.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here,” you grabbed the cigarette from between his long, muscular fingers and took a long drag. “But I didn’t see you last Friday night. And I definitely didn’t see you fucking that blonde-” your eyes widened at your own confession.

He stood to his full height and stepped closer to you, looking down at you once more. You backed up a step, feeling the lounge chair behind you.

“Drop the towel,” he growled, the hungry look in his eyes fully directed at you this time.

“Listen-“ you started to explain yourself.

“Drop. The. Towel.” He enunciated each word with his crisp accent and perfect voice.

“I knew it- I knew you wanted to fuck me.” You smirked at him triumphantly as you took another drag.

“If I have to tell you again to take that off, you’re not gonna like me darling,” he threatened, stepping closer.

“Oh really?” You laughed, taunting him. “And what are you going to do, Mr. Laufeyson?” You blinked innocently at him, enjoying the way the muscles in his jaw clenched.

Suddenly he grabbed your jaw, firmly but not painfully as he brought his face inches from yours, your eyes locked.

“You fucking brat.” He roughly pulled the towel down, exposing your body to the warm air. He pinched the cigarette from your fingers, extinguishing it under his shoe on the concrete. “I’m going to have to teach you some manners, aren’t I?”

Before you could answer he spun you both around and sat on the lounge chair then pulled you over his lap, angling you so your top half rested on the chair, your hips over his. One hand firmly held your lower back in place, the other smoothed over the skin of your ass and you squirmed. His hand came down to spank you, hard. “First lesson- don’t fucking move until I tell you to.” You whined, your face burning.

His hand came down again in the same spot, causing you to hiss and grip the plastic of the chair in one hand and his thigh in the other. “Second lesson- always answer me.”

You were humiliated but you found yourself growing even more wet with each spank. First there was the pain, then a wave of pleasure that intensified when he smoothed his hand over the skin he’d hit.

He gave you another slap, “what did I just say?” He growled, his hand roughly gripping the skin this time.

“T-to always answer you.” Your voice was small as you stuttered, overwhelmed by the way he was making you feel.

“Good girl.” You'd felt a tiny swell of pride at that. “I’m going to spank you three more times. Count them for me.”

“Okay,” you nodded, worried if you didn’t answer he’d add more to the list. His hand came down on your other cheek, hard and fast.

“One,” you counted, taking a deep breath. Before you could forcibly relax your tense muscles his hand had struck your cheek once more, causing you to hiss.

Your finger tips were pressing into his thigh as you let out a breath, the sharp pain receding. “Two,” you licked your lips and tensed in anticipation of the third and final slap.

After a few seconds you relaxed then turned to catch his eye- he was darkly observing you with his jaw clenched. Suddenly he hit the skin once more, this time the hardest, causing you to cry out.

You composed yourself with a quick breath. “Three.”

“Well done, darling.” He was gently running over the sore skin with his large hands. You could feel his erection under you.

“I wish you could see how lovely you looked on my lap, taking your spanking so well.” He dipped his hand between your legs. You sucked in a breath when you felt his fingers brush along your wet slit causing you to writhe on his lap.

“My poor, little thing. You’re dripping,” his voice was pure sin as he brought his glistening fingers up to your face.

He shifted, his strong grip helping you off his lap so you stood before him on shaky legs. You bit your lip, face growing hot as suddenly became fascinated with your fingers, twisting them painfully.

He stood then, and brought his finger under your chin to guide your eyes to his. He wore a satisfied expression, a slight grin at his lips as he took in your naked form.

“Do you think you’ve learnt your lesson darling?” He asked, his eyes mocking yours.

You quickly nodded, feeling fully exposed in front of his fully clothed form.

He licked his lips. “Do you want to go upstairs so I can fuck you?”

Your cheeks burnt as you nodded quickly again.

“Answer me darling,” he dropped his hand from your chin.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

A slow, filthy grin spread across his face. “Lead the way,” he motioned towards the stairs.

You bent to reach for your towel on the ground. “Ah, ah, no need for that darling.” His words stopped you. You shivered as you stood back up, another wave of heat pulsing through your core.

You tentatively walked up the steep stairs and he followed closely behind. You could feel his gaze on you with each step.

Once up on the patio you looked back at him, his eyes dark with hunger. You gave him a shy smile before leading him inside. You stopped- should you bring him to your bedroom?

Before you could finish your thought he slid up behind you, his hands coming to grip your waist. “Where shall I take you, darling?” He whispered in your ear, his breath making you shiver.

He let go of your waist to circle you, stopping before you. “Do you want me to ruin you on that god awful couch?” He looked over his shoulder to the gaudy floral couch Carla had ordered special from Italy. She wouldn’t let anyone who wasn’t company sit on it in fear of stains.

You smiled at the idea of ruining the couch with Mr. Laufeyson, knowing Carla would lose her mind- even more so if she found out how it got there. “Yes please.”

He pulled you towards it then gently guided you to sit at the edge of it, angling you so you were in one corner. His hands splayed over the skin of your legs, gently pushing them apart. The feeling of the cool air of the house on your slit gave you goosebumps.

He kept his eyes locked with yours as he knelt between your legs before he turned to press a kiss to your thigh close to your knee. He then bit the skin there, earning a sharp inhale from you before he soothed it with his warm tongue.

“Tell me, darling. Did you touch yourself? Did you play with yourself as you watched me?” His velvety voice sent an involuntary shudder through you, his eyes capturing yours.

He nipped at your thigh with his teeth, marring the skin. You yelped then swallowed. “Yes! Yes, I did.”

“Good girl.” He moved to repeat his actions further up the inside of your thigh while he gently ran his fingers up and down your other thigh.

You were trembling while you watched him, each bite a little harder than the last as he got closer to your wet core. His eyes met yours once more then he blew a stream of cold air over your slit, causing you to gasp sharply. He smirked before letting his lips barely graze over your clit, your hips moving slightly before he brought his arm down over them to hold you in place.

He ever so gently pressed a kiss to your clit before gently running his tongue over the sensitive flesh, pulling a moan from you. You could feel your wetness dripping down onto the couch below as he continued to delicately tease you.

“You taste divine, darling. Better than I’d imagined.” You whined at his words- the idea of him alone, picturing what your cunt tasted like brought you to the edge of an orgasm.

He smiled wickedly up at you. “So close already? Poor thing.” Bringing one long finger to your slit he gathered some wetness before pushing it fully within you, forcing a loud moan through your lips.

“It’s okay darling, let go. Give into me. I promise it’ll make you feel so much better,” he hummed against your clit before tenderly sucking on it. He bent his finger within you, hitting something deep that made you cry out. You quickly came, your release squirting around his finger and wetting the couch below.

He kept up his movements as you rode out your high. Once your breath returned to you he pulled away and removed his finger, licking his lips as he wiped your release off his chin.

“Third lesson- good girls always get to cum.” He winked at you with a grin before standing.

He leaned over you, caging you in on the couch before capturing your lips with his. You hummed at the taste of yourself on him, his tongue gliding against yours.

He straightened back up then pulled you up off the couch and guided you to face the other way. He led you so your knees were on the couch, your arms resting against the back of the upholstery. You heard the sound of a zipper before feeling the tip of his hard length slide against your folds. You instinctively arched your back at the feeling, pressing yourself up against him, causing him to groan.

“Such a greedy little brat,” he said, smoothing his hands over the skin of your ass. “You want me to fuck that pretty little cunt, hm?”

“Yes- yes please, Mr. Laufeyson. Please fuck me,” you begged, rubbing yourself on him once more.

With that he thrust into you, holding himself still once he was fully seated within you, giving you a chance to adjust. You’d gasped at the sensation- he was clearly well-endowed and you were thankful he gave you a moment. Willing your muscles to relax you looked back at him before grinding your hips against his.

His eyes were dark with lust, his jaw clenched in a way that made you involuntarily squeeze him as he started to move within you. You were panting as he set a pace, the angle of his thrusts hitting the same spot he’d found quickly before.

You’d turned back around and folded your forearms over the back of the couch, arching yourself against him even more. He growled and picked up his pace, his hand firmly gripping your hip. The angle had you moaning desperately, the feeling of him so deep within you making your fingers and toes numb.

“That’s it darling, take my cock within your needy little cunt. Fuck- I’ve wanted to ruin this tight little pussy for so long. I’ve wanted you for so long,” he rasped out between thrusts and your mind went blank, all you could respond with were desperate moans.

He stopped abruptly and pulled you up before sitting himself on the couch and pulling you over his lap so you were straddling him. He’d unbuttoned his shirt and your mouth went dry at the sight of the musculature under his pale skin. You slid your fingers under the fabric, gripping his firm shoulders as he positioned himself under you.

You moved your hips in a circle over him, enjoying the feel of the very tip of him swirling within you.

“You little tease,” he grinned darkly, running a hand through his hair. “Ride me, darling. Show me what you can do.”

Your cunt clenched at his words and his wicked smirk spread. You took the opportunity to bring yourself down to grind against him, wiping the smug look off his face.

You quickly set a pace as you rode him, his hands on your ass guiding your movements. You were panting as you continued your movements, the angle bringing you close to your finish.

“Are you going to cum, darling?” His voice vibrated through you, and you nodded.

“Yes- fuck, Mr. Laufeyson. You feel so good-“ he continued to guide your movements, moving his head closer to your breast. He brought his mouth around one of your nipples, gently sucking at the nub. You arched into him, moaning at the sensation.

His tongue ran against your skin in his mouth, bringing another moan from you before he sharply bit down on your nipple, pushing you over the edge into another orgasm. You moaned his name over and over as you rode out your high, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulder. As you came back to yourself you felt him twitch within you, filling you as he reached his own finish.

You watched him as he came, mesmerised with his blissful expression, his long eyelashes touching defined cheekbones. His eyes fluttered back open and he gave you a smirk- god help you he was fucking gorgeous.

He gave you a chaste kiss before helping you up, the combined fluids from your finish trickling down your thigh. You were happy to see some hit the couch as you moved off him.

You strolled to the bathroom to clean yourself up and throw on a t-shirt and panties, passing a damp cloth to him once you returned. You pulled a cigarette from the pack you had on the kitchen counter, then headed to the balcony as you lit it up.

You were leaning on the balcony, watching the now dark waves when he joined you. You smiled at him, offering him your cigarette. He took a long drag as you leant on the balcony’s edge.

“So,” you trailed off, not sure what to say.

“That was fun,” he exhaled then smiled at you, his expression mischievous.

“Yeah,” you agreed, relief filling your chest. “I’d love to do it again.”

“Of course darling, we have all summer.” He came behind you, pulling you against his chest as he ducked his head so his lips were beside your ear. ”And you have quite a bit to learn.”

End Notes: Want to read more Loki fics of mine? My masterlist is here.

#loki mcu #dom!loki x you #dom!loki x you smut #dom!loki x sub!reader #dom!loki x reader #ceo!loki #loki x you smut #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson #loki smut #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston loki #loki fic

[thedeathdeelers]

Racing Hearts

[a companion piece to this gorgeous piece of Luke art brought to you by the ever talented @mamirugbee]

   It‘s a warm and quiet night as Julie lies comfortably on a sleeping Luke, the sound of his strong heartbeat thudding steadily against her ear.

   Her finger lazily traces patterns on his chest as her eyes roam the dark room, taking in the familiar surroundings of yet another hotel room. Julie had come to learn that no matter what country they were in, the hotel rooms were always the same.

   Her eyes brush over his discarded navy and black suit along with his black band tee draped over the sofa across the room, landing on the shiny helmet propped on top of the coffee table, the gloss glittering with the light of the moon shining through the slanted shutters of the window. Her gaze lingers on the various logos littered across the top of it, each one of them so familiar to her now. As her eyes take in the shape of the Sunset Curve Racing logo, her heart warms once more at the memory of Luke pulling it off earlier that day, as he swiped his sweaty hair away from his face, listening intently to the scores. She also distinctly remembers the brightness of his smile that had been visible from miles away as his name echoed through the circuit, the announcers praising him as the youngest driver to ever win the Mexican Grand Prix.

   Her eyes flick away from the helmet to rest on the trophy standing tall on the centre of the dining table tucked away in the corner of their room, the silver glint of it guiding her gaze down towards the name engraved on the plaque at its base.

   She had watched him from the base of the podium as his competitors sprayed him with champagne, his smile not waning for a second as his hat, his favourite Screams from the Attic band tee and his suit tied at his waist got drenched. The multicoloured flags behind him had flapped in the wind as he turned his gaze, searching for her in the gathering crowd. She had backed away the second his eyes landed on her, the growing mischievous smile on his face a warning sign as he started towards her, the sticky nature of dried champagne pushing her to move even further away from his approaching hands.

   She had lost of course, a smile now making its way on her lips as she remembers his arms snaking their way around her waist from the back, lifting her up until her feet were helplessly kicking the air in front of her, her squeals louder than the cheering crowd.

   Julie pulls her attention away from the day’s events and back to the quiet room she finds herself in, her eyes coming back to trace the features of the sleeping driver beneath her.

   Her heart grows tenfold as she takes in the peaceful almost boyish look on his face, sleep taking away any edge it might carry during the day. Without her permission, her fingers skim the lines of his chest, dipping past his collarbone and up his neck as they settle at the base of his jawline.

   She thanks whatever greater power brought him safely back to her after yet another successful race.

   Because truth be told, even though she had gotten better at controlling the anxiety that riddled her whenever he walked away from her and towards his car, Julie still worried about him and struggled to sit still while she watched him race to the finish line.

   Just like she was now, she often found herself wondering how Luke kept his pre-race nerves at bay as he got ready to risk his life again and again for his job - his passion. She admired for him, even if it scared the living daylights out of her.

   She always watched him as he got ready while the team, including Alex and Reggie, prepped him before he slid into his seat behind the wheel, glimpsing a look of peace settling on his features as he closed his eyes for a few seconds, shutting out the flurry of activity happening around him.

   Julie had always assumed it was due to the music pulsing through his headphones, the loud beating of the drums and heavy guitar riffs blocking out the world for just those few seconds. It was a ritual she’d seen time and time again, even before he knew she existed - but during his last few races, she’d been seeing less and less of that. The headphones themselves would be left dangling in her hands as he walked away - no music in his ears, his eyes never leaving hers.

   Maybe whatever brought on that peaceful expression to his face could help her, too.

   Her fingers move upwards once more, her thumb gently swiping against his cheek and grazing the day old stubble. Her index finger glides down the length of his nose, her hand hovering just above his mouth when she feels lips pressing into her palm.

   A giggle slips out of her before she can stop herself.

   “Did I wake you?”

   Her whispered question is met with a soft grunt, followed by a hand tightening its hold on her hip.

   “Yes. No. Maybe?” His sleepy answer brings out more laughter to bubble out, her hand retracting itself from his face to slap across her mouth.

   “I’m sorry,” comes her muffled apology.

   “No you’re not.”

   A beat of silence follows before she slips her hand off her face and settles it back on his chest.

   “No I’m not.”

   He grins at her reply, his eyes still closed.

   “How come you’re up?” His brow furrows before he cracks an eye open to peek at her. “Wait — what time is it?”

   Julie shrugs, answering both of his questions in one swift motion.

   “Couldn’t sleep?”

   “No, I’m fine I just...” She tries to think of a reason, but all she can think about is that peaceful look on his face before a race, and she suddenly finds herself itching to ask him.

   “I- I was just thinking about today, and your races in general and I...” she trails off, not entirely sure how to phrase this.

   She feels the hand on her hip give her one quick squeeze, and realises her eyes had drifted away from his gaze.

   She looks back up at him to find him looking at her with both eyes open, a curious and slightly concerned, gleam to them.

   Right. This was Luke — she could do this.

   “It’s just that I know the anxiety that comes along with having a loved one getting into a race car will never fade, especially not after...” she trails off, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “But I- I always see you do this thing before you race. Like suddenly all of the anxiety that was there just kind of...melts away?” Julie registers her words and hurries to explain herself. “I don’t mean you’re not anxious anymore! Or that you’re completely relaxed or— I don’t know how to explain this. It’s like you’re just suddenly okay? Ugh, I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m saying.” She drags her hand towards her face as she hides behind it, hoping she can blame her lack of sleep on whatever the hell that was.

   Anxiety about maybe dying just casually melting away?? Where did that come from?

   The silence that follows only causes her to worry even more, until she feels a hand rest against hers, only to then gently pull it away from her face.

   He holds onto it as she looks up at him again, his thumbs softly tracing her knuckles.

   “I know what you mean, Jules.” He tilts one side of his mouth up into a half smile before he continues. “I’ve always had this habit of losing myself to music right before the race starts — ever since I was a kid music just kind of...I don’t know, had this calming effect on me? Or no, wait.” She watches him as he screws his mouth up, his eyes looking up towards the ceiling as he tries to come up with the right words. “Okay so maybe not calm exactly, but music has always been able to help me sort out how I feel, right? And just like it can help me understand how angry or sad or happy I am, I find that if I choose the right song, the right melody or just the right guitar riff, I can almost will myself to just — feel the way I want to feel? If that makes sense?”

His eyes come back down in search of hers as he struggles to explain himself, but just like she always does, Julie knows exactly what he means.

“Yeah, it does. Music is magic like that,” she tells him, a little smile sneaking its way onto her lips.

“Exactly!” The hand holding hers squeezes once before his thumb goes back to its soothing motion. He grins down at her, a smile just as bright as the one she saw on the podium earlier today, except this one was just for her to see.

Her gaze shifts down to his nose, her next question on the tip on her tongue struggling to make its way out. Was this maybe a little too personal? They’ve been together for a few months now but there were times where it still felt so new — she’d get shy or flustered like a school girl, getting tongue tied just at the sight of his brilliant smile. She had a feeling it would always be that way with Luke.

She hoped it would be.

“Jules?”

His voice interrupts her thoughts, bringing her back to the conversation as her eyes reflexively find their way back up to his.

Before she can overthink it, the words spill out of her.

”I um- It’s just that I noticed in the last few races you’ve stopped doing that — listening to music right up until the race starts, I mean. And yet even then you still get that look on your face so I just....wanted to know why - or how - I guess.”

His expression grows soft at her words, his eyes roaming her face once, twice, three times.

“Hmm, something more magical than music came into my life.”

She waits for him to continue, to elaborate and make sense. Instead he just stares at her, as if his vague statement was all the answer she needed.

“Um..what?”

He laughs quietly at her confusion, the vibrations of his laughter reaching the ear still pressed against his chest.

Not known to be patient, Julie jokingly scowls at him, attempting to look unimpressed as he laughs at her.

“What?” She doesn’t mean to, but a slight whine slips into her tone, followed by a pout settling on her lips. This only makes him laugh even harder, her head shaking with the movement of his chest.

“Nothing, nothing.” He chuckles some more while she half-heartedly glares at him, before continuing. “I thought I was being obvious but I guess Alex was right.”

“Alex? What about Alex?”

He shakes his head at her. “Nah, never mind. He just likes to tell me how wrong I am sometimes, that’s all.”

A snort makes its way out of her before she can stop herself. “When doesn’t he...”

He chuckles once more at her words, before quieting down as his eyes flicker down to her lips.

“Luke?”

His eyes tick back up at her questioningly, a smile curling her lips at his short attention span.

Or maybe he just got distracted by her? Huh.

“You were saying about something else taking over music...?”

“Oh! Oh right, yeah sorry. Uh, I mean it hasn’t taken over music exactly — it’s more like I’ve found something else that just kind of,” he lets go of her hand as he reaches over to trace a finger down her cheek. “Better embodies the magic of music for me? Kind of like the living embodiment of it, you could say.”

Her heart starts beating a little faster at his words even as her brain struggles to comprehend his words. Was he-

“Do you get what I’m trying to say, Julie?”

Unable to speak, Julie slowly shakes her head.

The hand on her face cradles her cheek, his fingers weaving their way into her hair.

“You, Jules. You calm my nerves before a race better than any song I’ve ever added to my playlist. I-” A chuckle escapes him before he continues, “Just the thought of you brings me this sense of peace, and it just kind of settles in, pushing away at any jitters that try to shake me before a race. I don’t know how to explain it, even if it’s pretty simple to me.” He stops to stare into her eyes for a second, Julie fully unable to articulate any word or thought.

“I just close my eyes for a few seconds, and picture you. Your voice, your eyes, your smile. I picture you running towards me after a race like you did that first time, and suddenly I’m just excited to race and get to the other side so I can hold you again.”

She feels his thumb gently swipe across her cheek; up and down, up and down.

“I guess what I’m trying to say — what I thought was obvious but maybe Alex was right — is that you’re the reason I’ve been getting better in all my races, the reason I even won today. You make me a better driver, make me want to be a better person.” He tries to draw her closer, his head tilting down towards hers, lifting it off his pillow as he whispers against the crown of her head,

“I love you Jules.”

Still taken by the confession that has left her a little dizzy, Julie pulls herself closer to Luke, wrapping her arms around him as she tightens her hold on him, her face snuggling into his chest. They had already said those three words to each other numerous times before, neither one of them shy about letting the other know the true depth of their feelings.

But somehow, this felt different.

“I love you,” she mouths into the space right above his heart, pressing a kiss into his skin. She feels his fingers twitch in her hair, letting her know that he heard her, felt her, too.

Silence settles in the dark room, neither one of them moving, too happy and comfortable to ruin the moment. They both eventually fall asleep in each other’s arms, ready to conquer whatever the world threw their way - one race at a time.

fin

#jatp #juke #julie and the phantoms #otp: you’re music to me #luke patterson #julie molina #my fics #thedeathdeelers fics #jatp fics #luke day #juke day

[littlesniggy]

Princess Part Two

Part Two of the Kid x princess reader and well...I might’ve gotten carried away a little but oh well. Thanks to @pure-kirarin​ for requesting this!  Btw, this plays either pre time skip or during the time skip since Kid still has both arms lol.

Part One is here!

Warning: 18+, smut, dirty talk, virgin reader

Word count: 4.4k

She was laying in her bed, her face still wet from crying the whole way back. Her clothes were dirty; she had slipped multiple times on and some scratches were visible on her arms and legs. She needed to cover them so no one would see them. Otherwise, they’d ask uncomfortable questions and she simply had no answer as to why she looked like this.

The sheets of her bed felt comforting and soothing but she couldn’t quite fall asleep; too many thoughts were running through her head and every single one revolved around Eustass Kid. To say her image of him and pirates in general had been shuttered was an understatement. Was he right? Had she been too influenced by all the stories she’s read? In them, pirates were criminals but in a charming way; they’d drink and have fun and play around with women but they never gave off that aura of danger. And still: some part in her wanted to know more about pirates, know more about their life, their ambitions, and motivation.

Kid said something about becoming the king of pirates; wasn’t this just a myth? Finding the One Piece? Gol D. Roger’s call to find it? She wasn’t sure but he seemed serious. And this part of him was the one that intrigued her the most. She closed her eyes and slowly but surely drifted off into a restless sleep, haunted by a certain bloodthirsty pirate captain.

It had been two nights since she encountered the Kid pirates and ever since she felt down and less ambitious. The prince, his father, and their entourage left yesterday. Finally, she had time for herself but it did her no good; her thoughts were still running wild, always returning to Eustass Kid. She even had a somewhat wet dream about him where she woke up breathing heavily and completely unsatisfied. She’s never been intimate before and her urge to be was rather non-existent – until now. Only the thought of him doing anything remotely sexual to her had little butterflies flying in her belly, making it incredibly difficult to focus.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of weapons clashing on weapons, loud yells calling to gather in front of the entrance and protect the king and the princess. She hurried to the big window and saw with horror how one guard after another got killed, their screams echoing through the night sky. She clasped her hands over her mouth but couldn’t move her eyes away from the horrid scene. The ones killing her people were none other than the Kid pirates. She saw weapons flying through the air and gathering around one person – Eustass Kid. All the weapons manifested into one huge weapon-arm he used to kill more of the guards.

She heard footsteps in front of her door and turned around, expecting pirates to storm in at any moment. But instead, two guards were rushing in, weapons ready to protect or fight. “Princess-sama! You need to get out of here! It’s too dangerous!” one yelled while the other one grabbed her arm and pulled her with him. “W-wait! What’s going on?” she demanded to know but followed the two guards down the stairs. “Pirates. They invaded the palace. Probably looking for treasure but we’re not sure. As long as they’re here you’re not safe, princess-sama.”

The stairs led down until they reached the dungeons where a safe-room was located. But they didn’t make it until there because in a flash the guard’s weapons were taken from them by what seemed like magic but when she turned around Captain Kid was standing there, a huge and sadistic grin in his face.

The guards positioned themselves in front of the princess but without any weapons they were defenseless. “Princess-sama! Please, keep going until you reach the safe-room! We will handle him!” the guard told him. The princess didn’t think twice before she turned around and ran through the long corridor. She didn’t make it far though because suddenly, she felt a hand grab her hair and yanking her back painfully.

“Just the princess I was looking for.” She heard a voice right next to her ear. “Let go” she screamed and tried to get free but his grip was like iron. “Stop struggling and be quiet. I only want your treasure, that’s all. If you’re a good little princess I’ll let you live.” He purred. “Y-you killed the guards! Why should I trust you?” tears were running down her face. This was definitely not how she had imagined their next meeting!

“Indeed, I have. But maybe I’ll make an exception for you? Can’t kill a princess now, can I?” it sounded sarcastic and she new he had no qualms killing her as well. “Now, tell me. Where do you hide your treasure? The sooner you tell me the sooner we’re on our marry way.” “How do I know you’re not lying?” “You just have to believe me.” He sounded amused at her question. “And by the way. Didn’t you say you wanted to join us? As a pirate you should be okay with robbing and killing people. That’s just part of a pirate’s life.” She pressed her lips together and felt stupid once again. Deep down, she had known this but she just didn’t want to accept it.

“So, tell me. Where is the treasure?” he repeated the question. “I-in the south tower, top floor, behind a huge door. Can’t miss it.” She pressed out and expected him to let her go. But Kid had other plans. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Let’s go.” And with a push she stumbled forward. He let go of her hair so technically she could run away but she knew he’d catch her. “Lead the way, princess.” He said while he followed her, his eyes running down her body while they were walking, appreciating the silky nightgown she was wearing which was running down her body like water.

The princess noticed but kept quiet about it. “W-where is my father?” she instead wanted to know. Kid shrugged, the grin still on his face. “Who knows.” He simply answered and she knew he wouldn’t tell her. Maybe he was already dead?

When they got to the entrance hall she heard yelling coming from all over the place but she couldn’t see her father. Kid pushed her forward with his hand, making her almost fall to the floor. “Keep moving, princess.” It sounded like an insult when he called her that but she wouldn’t complain. She heard him call some of his men who followed them up the stairs until they all reached the huge door guarding the treasure. The two guards were quickly disposed of and the princess couldn’t hold back a squeal.

Kid laughed at her reaction while the others opened the huge door, revealing lots and lots of gold, silver, jewels and precious gems. “That’s what I call a jackpot. Pack it up!” Kid ordered and shoved the princess with him to the side to not be in the way of his crew. Silently, they stood next to each other, Kid had his arms crossed in front of his chest, she looked down, fidgeting with her fingers. “Did we wake you?” Kid suddenly asked, his eyes still appreciating the treasure in the room. She stayed silent, not wanting to answer.

He turned his head towards her, his eyes wandering up and down once again. “You got a lot of those nightgowns, don’t you? You were wearing one two nights ago as well, weren’t you?” a blush creeped on her cheeks and she pulled her arms over her body to hide it from his few. “Don’t be shy! It looks good on you!” The red intensified even more and he could swear her head was about to pop like a tomato. “Show me your room.” He demanded. Shocked, she looked at him, eyes wide and mouth open. There it was again – the excited feeling in her stomach. Even though he had just killed more than a dozen if her men she still felt intrigued by him; his whole aura had her body drawn to him.

“C’mon. A little princess like you must have a huge room, right? Let me see it.” He insisted. There was no rational reason why she did it but she obliged. As if her body was out of rubber, she walked along corridors with doors to every side, legs daring to give in with every step. Kid walked behind her, she could feel his eyes on her body.

She stopped in front of the door, hesitant to turn the nob to open it. But Kid took over this part. His big hands grabbed the nob, turned it and opened the door. He pushed her inside and followed her right after. She heard him whistle but didn’t turn to look at him. Two clicks indicated he had closed and locked the door behind him. Now it was only the two of them, alone in her room, her only in her nightgown and underneath it only her panties.

“That’s a nice ass room. Being a princess has its perks, hasn’t it?” he passed her and took a look around her room. His eyes wandered over pictures showing her with her father, some friends and one with her mother when she was young. She expected him to ask about her but he didn’t. He simply didn’t care.

When he was done he walked towards her bed, sitting down in the mattress. His legs spread and his arms crossed in front of his chest. His grin was ever so present on his face and had her look away. “Why did you want to join us?” he asked out of nowhere. “I…I don’t know.” She answered truthfully, still not looking at him. “Bullshit! Did you think I didn’t notice your reaction? When I had my thumb buried in your mouth?” His grin grew even wider. “Did you hope for something more…filling?” he laughed at her shocked expression when she turned to look at him.

“Now is your chance, princess. I can almost smell your pussy from here and believe me she wants me.” He said cockily, way too full of himself. But he was right. Ever since he asked her to see her room she had thought about all the things they could do in there – and none of her thoughts were G-rated. “C’mere.” He demanded.

Slowly, she put one foot in front of the other and made her way over to where he was sitting. She stopped in front of him, her sight set on the floor. Even though she was standing was he almost as tall as her when he was sitting. “Have you ever knelt down in front of anyone else?” he asked. She shook her head no and received a dark chuckle. “Then it’s time you learn how to do it. Get on your knees, princess.” His tone was demanding and left no room for arguing.

With trembling limps, she got down, took her place between his legs. Pleased, he hummed. “That’s a nice sight, princess. You look good on your knees. As if you were made to kneel down.” “Stop saying that.” She whispered, completely embarrassed by his words. Kid laughed out loud at her wish. “But it’s the truth, princess. Now, get down to business.” He demanded but she didn’t follow his order. Kid raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you hear me? Go, suck my dick, princess.” He clarified but again she didn’t move. The princess bit her lower lip, seeming like she wanted to say something but too embarrassed to say it out loud. Kid grabbed her chin and made her look up at him. “What is it, princess? Spit it out or get going!” She averted her gaze but after receiving a slight slap to her cheek she answered.

“I….I have never been….intimate….with a man before.” She whispered, barely audible. The captain made a surprised sound but didn’t let go of her chin. “A virgin, huh? That’s rare. But I like it.” With his other hand he opened his pants, freeing his semi-erect member from its restraints. “Don’t worry. I’ll guide you through everything.” His thumb circling his huge mushroom head. The princess took a quick glance at his dick before looking away, cheeks blushed once more.

“You can look. It gets him excited, y’know.” Kid purred. She hesitated for a moment but then looked back at his dick which twitched in response, slowly becoming harder and harder. “Good girl.” He praised. He let go of her chin and instead took one of her wrists between his fingers and guided her hand towards his member. Before she could touch it, she tried pulling back instinctively but his grip was too strong. “Don’t be shy. Touch him.” He encouraged her and simultaneously pulled her hand closer until he wrapped her hand around his dick, his hand covering hers.

She gasped at the touch. It felt warm and…weird, as if it was some kind of animal. But it made her pussy wet at the same time, making her rub her thighs together. “You like how it feels?” he started to move his hand around hers so she was stroking him. He pressed his hand down, showing her how he liked it. Her legs kept rubbing against each other and she didn’t know what to do about her growing wetness.

“Touch yourself, princess.” His demand came out of nowhere. “What?” she asked bus his grin told her she had heard him right. “I said: touch yourself. I can see you want to.” Her cheeks were burning and she couldn’t move. “Have you ever touched yourself?” he asked, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you haven’t!”

“W-well….n-not really.” God! This must be his lucky day! Fist the treasure and now this!

“Then let me teach you how to do it….Follow my orders, princess.” Her eyes were uncertain but he knew she would obey his orders. She was way too curious.

“Are you wearing panties?” she nodded hesitantly. “Good.” His hand kept holding hers in place, still stroking him.

“Move your hand between your legs and rub your index and middle finger over your panties where your pussy is.” Her hand slowly moved down between her legs and she gasped when she touched herself. “Tell me, are you wet?” his grin was now predatory. He leaned down to be closer to her face. The princess nodded shyly. “Good. Now move your hands in your panties and feel your cunt. Tell me how it feels.” She followed this order as well and a small moan escaped her lips when she touched herself. “How does it feel?” he demanded to know.

“W-wet….hot.” he grunted at her words, closing his eyes for a moment. “Good girl. Do you feel the little nub?” her fingers glid over said nub and she jerked away a little. “Circle it with your finger.” A whimper escaped her lips and she had to close her eyes at the sensation. She felt how her juice coated her pussy even more, making small sounds while she moved her finger over her clit. Kid squeezed her hand slightly and gasped at the feeling. “Do you feel how you’re getting wetter? Does it feel good, princess?”

“Y-yes.” She moaned. Kid picked up the pace at his dick and her hand between her legs followed his pace.

“Do you think you’re wet enough now? Are you dripping?” his voice filled her head and she could only nod. “Push your finger inside.” The princess opened her eyes and looked at him, stopping for a moment. “B-but what if-“ but he cut her off. “Just do it, princess.” His harsh tone made her whimper and her pussy clenched around nothing. Slowly, she moved over her slit and inserted one finger, making a slightly uncomfortable sound. “Try rubbing your clit.” It was difficult and she had her hand at a slightly awkward angle but managed to circle her clit with her thumb. Her legs opened wider when she started moving her finger in and out, the feeling of herself around her finger was weird and exciting at the same time.

His hand picked up the pace around his shaft once more and her hand followed suit. “When you’re ready put another finger in. Spread them.” “Ah!” another small moan when she entered a second finger, scissoring them and also curling them inside of her, moving them in and out of her pussy. The moans came out more frequently now and she hand to rest her cheek against his thigh, watching their hands pump his dick with hooded eyes. It was so hot, she didn’t know where to put her lust. Kid grunted, his eyes never leaving her frame.

“Such a good, slutty princess. Following a pirate’s orders to please herself.” He praised, making her moan again. She started moving her hips up and down on her finger, her moans getting louder and louder. Kid laughed at her action, licking his lips at the sight. “That’s right, princess. Fuck yourself on your fingers. Ride them like it’s my dick.” Another moan. Her movements became frantic and he knew she was close. It was now or never. He let go of her hand and put his hand on the back of her head. “Open up!”

She had no time to think before he pushed his huge dick inside her mouth, almost choking her. Her eyes were wide open and she tried to get away but he wouldn’t let her. “Breath through your nose, princess. And don’t forget fucking yourself.” The problem was not her breathing – at least not her primary. Her gag-reflex had kicked in and it took all her will power not to puke. Kid started moving her head between his legs, low grunts rumbling thorough his body. “Fuck.” He grunted.

The princess listened to his grunts and it somehow got her distracted from the uncomfortable feeling on her tongue. She also started moving her fingers inside of her again, soon getting back the feeling inside or her that indicated her coming orgasm. She moaned around his dick, entering a third finger. His dick moved in and out of her mouth at the same pace, his mushroom head bumping against the backside of her throat; spit was dripping down her chin, his pre-cum salty on her tongue. With two more pushes of her fingers did she clench around herself, cumming hard and coating her fingers.

Kid stopped his movements a little bit unwillingly when she came but he watched her come down from her (probably) first orgasm. He removed his dick from her mouth and grabbed her chin once more, making her look up at him. “Show me your hand.” He whispered. With a small whimper she pulled out her fingers and slowly raised her hand with shaky limbs. Her fingers were coated in her juice and kid licked his lips, then grabbed her hand and closed his lips around her fingers, sucking on them. His tongue swirled around them, licking up every little bit of her cum.

She could only watch in amazement, brains till a little foggy from her high. When he was down, he let her fingers go with an audible plop. “Slutty princess, making such a mess while masturbating. Dirty, dirty little bitch.” His grin took in almost all of his face, that’s how satisfied he was with her job. But he wasn’t done yet…

“Get naked, princess. The main part is about to start.” He purred. “W-what? But I just…I just-“ “I’m gonna make you come again. You’ll like it since you’re such a little whore.” His words made her clench around nothing once more and she knew he would be true to his word. She got up, legs still shaky but she managed to stand in front of him. Her hands moved over her body, down to the hem of her nightgown and pulled it up over her head, exposing her breasts, the nipples hard from her arousal. Kid hummed in appreciation and couldn’t help himself but grab her tits in his hands and fondle them quite roughly.

“K-Kid…” she moaned and leaned into his touch. He leaned closer and took one of her nipples between his lips, sucking and biting at it. She threw her head back and had her eyes closed. “P-please….be gentle.” He looked up at her, licking her nipple before grinning again. “Can’t promise that.” He said and dedicated himself to her other nipple while his hand massaged her breast. His rough hands felt incredibly on her skin and the excited feeling between her legs came back.

The pirate noticed and looked down at her still clothed sex. “Take it off. I wanna see all of you, princess.” His voice was coarse from arousal and had her shiver in excitement. Her hands moved to her panties and pulled the, down, exposing her wet sex. Kid licked his lips at the sight and just had to take a lick by leaning forward. She moaned because of the sensitivity but jerked her hips forward, pressing herself closer to his mouth.  

“So eager.” He murmured against her clit before teasing it with his tongue a little. The princess was afraid she might lose her balance and fall but Kid Kid wrapped one arm around her waist to keep her up, the other one grabbed the back of her knee and pulled it up to have better access. His mouth now savored her pussy, licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh and having her moan above him.

“K-Kid! I-it’s too much!” she whined and moaned at the same time, not knowing if she liked it or hated it. Just in this moment a knock on the door could be heard. Kid grumbled in discontent. “What?” he barked. “When are you done, captain?” he heard Killer’s voice from the other side. “Fuck off. I’m in the middle of eating dessert!” her cheeks turned pink again but she couldn’t think straight when he sucked at her clit once more, making her moan.

They heard a Killer clear his throat on the other side and then his leaving footsteps.

“Naughty princess. Letting him hear you moan.” He teased. Kid pulled away from her sex and threw her on the mattress instead. She looked up at him, body heaving, legs slightly spread, exposing her wet pussy. “Such a nice view.” He complimented. The princess sucked on her lips, knowing what was about to happen. Should she really let a pirate take her virginity? She was promised to the prince, was engaged and about to get married. Should she throw this away? But Kid was already above her, his body like a blanket covering her own. He had lined himself up with her pussy, ready to push in.

“Take a deep breath, princess. This’s gonna hurt.” And with these words he pushed forward, sinking into her wet and hot pussy. A painful scream escaped her mouth and she clawed at his muscular arms, trying to find some support for her pain. But Kid showed no pity and pushed himself in completely. Her whole body was tense and she tried to push the foreign body away but the pirate was too strong. “Relax.” He huffed before he started to move inside of her.

“It hurts!” she pressed out, eyes shut tightly. “Stop whining. It’s gonna feel better soon!” Maybe. He thought to himself and grinned. Now was his turn.” His movements were sharp and hard, his dick moving in and out of her. It was a great feeling, especially since he knew he was the very first to thrust into her. Her face looked tense and he knew she was in pain. She was probably bleeding as well but why should he care? She had her orgasm and he wanted his. Well, maybe he could help her a little.

One of his hands moved down between their legs and started rubbing at her clit, making her jerk against his touch. “Good girl. Keep moving against me.” She whimpered, the pain slowly moved to the back of her mind thanks to his finger in her clit. She bucked her hips against his thrusts, making him grunt and curse with each thrust. He picked up the pace, his hips snapping back and forth at high speed, making it hard for her to keep up with his pace. She moaned, eyes closed and her arms were next to her head after she had let go of his arms. Her body was shuffled over the sheets, her body sweaty from all the feelings inside of her.

With each thrusts she got closer and closer to her next orgasm, her voice hoarse from moaning and screaming. Her legs wrapped around his hips, pushing him closer to her and pressing him deeper inside of her. With a last, loud scream she came around his dick, clenching around his thick meat and making him groan in pleasure.

Breathlessly, she laid underneath him, slowly getting her breath back under control. Kid had stopped moving; he looked down at her, had watched her face twitch in pleasure while she rode his dick through her orgasm. It was really hot; he wouldn’t lie but he wasn’t done yet.

“Little princess cumming around my dick like a whore. What an exciting sight. I like it. But I’m not finished yet. Let’s see if I can make you cum a third time. After all, three’s the lucky charm.”

_____________________________

Her whole body felt sore; her body was covered in dark bruises left by his mouth, her breasts and lower body was covered in his semen, dripping down onto the sheets. She felt used and dirty but at the same time completely satisfied.

Kid had left a while ago, the castle was silent. Before he left he had praised her for being such an obedient little princess who took in his dick so well. Alone remembering those words made her smile. She knew she would most likely never see him again but that was fine; after all, he taught her how to pleasure herself and that was enough. At least for now. Maybe she would teach her soon to be husband how to pleasure her.

#one piece #op #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #captain kid #captain kid x reader #kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #ns.fw #scenario #op scenario #requests

[yutahoes]

No Longer

pairing : ex lovers (band bassist! Yuta Nakamoto x doctor! Y/N) ft. NCT 127

word count : 2.4k words

genre : angst

summary : It’s been years since the break-up but no one can seem to move on yet. 

tag list : @ailoveyuta @yutazen01​ @aiforyuu​ @cosmiclatte28​ @2-3-t-i​ 

The bass of the pub music kept on ringing on Taeyong’s ear. It was a miracle that his friends invited him to watch them play. He had known the members of the club since college and he was amazed that they’re picking up popularity. When the five finished their set, they quickly went to Taeyong’s table. An awkward silence engulfing them made him curious. Did they fight? 

Yuta took a glass of beer and started drinking it in one gulp. Taeyong gave the band vocalist a look as if asking what the problem is. “He’s been in a sour mood all night,” Taeil explained. 

Johnny nodded then stopped Yuta from taking another swig of beer. “He never mentioned anything wrong.” Mark, the rhythm guitarist of the group, claimed. Taeyong nodded. Among the five, he’s the closest to Yuta, so he’ll know what happened. 

“He probably fought with Mika again,” Jungwoo stated and Yuta slammed the glass on the table with a loud thud. 

He glared at the five other guys on the table. “She wanted me to marry her,” Yuta whispered that made Taeyong shake his head. So that was it. 

“Why not? You’re already dating for six years.” Johnny asked. It was a mystery why they’re still together when all they do is fight. But then, maybe, it was the charm of their relationship. 

Taeyong had to sigh when the bassist stared at him with his watery eyes. “Yong, I can still dream of her every night...” And his head dropped on the table. Yuta is really a bad drinker. 

This isn’t new. Whenever he’s drunk, he would always look for her. But whenever they’re in the same place, they’ll play cat and mouse on each other. His bandmates just stared at him in pity then at Taeyong who was dialing someone on his phone, “Doyoung, I need your help.” 

--

Y/N was doing her hospital rounds when Haechan from reception beeped to tell her that someone is looking for her. Thinking that it was an emergency, she immediately went to the lobby to check who it was. She greeted the new nurse before asking who the visitor was only to be greeted by her brother, Doyoung, and his bestfriend Taeyong. “What is it?” she asked, annoyed. She still has lots of things to do. 

“You know that I love you right?” Doyoung asked that made her wide-eyed. She screamed when Taeyong suddenly carried her to his shoulders, out of the hospital. What is this? Where are they taking you? “We figured you needed a vacation.” her brother explained when his friend put her down. 

She gave the two of a curious gaze but Taeyong just shrugged, opening the van. “Noona!” Mark greeted which made her smile. When was the last time she saw him? Even Jungwoo started hugging her, pulling her inside the van. 

“Wait, my things are still inside. And I…” Y/N stopped when her fellow intern in the hospital, Jaehyun, handed her bag. “What is this?” 

He smiled, dimples appearing on both cheeks. “Enjoy your vacation, Y/N. You deserve it.” The girl just looked at him in surprise. “I’ll take care of everything here. Just come back in one piece.” He even greeted Doyoung that made her more surprised. When did Doyoung and Jaehyun become close? 

The door of the van closed. “Is he your boyfriend? He’s handsome.” Jungwoo teased. 

“No way!” You quickly revolted. “My past boyfriend is more handsome than him.” Mark chuckled then she heard someone coughing from behind before seeing the past boyfriend leaning by the window, smiling to himself. Instead, she turned to Johnny who she greeted enthusiastically then at Taeil who gave her a high five. “So, where are we going?” But they just shrugged. 

They stopped over in a gas station and she took this opportunity to change into her casual clothes. The moment she went out of the ladies’ room, Yuta was leaning by the wall. She lightly glanced at him then decided to walk past him but he quickly took her duffel bag and opened the van door for her, putting the bag on the back of the van where some of their things are. 

Mark and Jungwoo transferred on the back, sharing the small space with Johnny and Taeil. “We’re fine here,” Jungwoo said that Johnny even smiled. “We wanted to get closer with each other.” The girl shook her eyes then sat properly, creating a huge gap between her and Yuta, when he sat beside her. 

She isn’t stupid. She knew why they’re doing this. But why? She can’t seem to wrap her head on that. It’s been years. Haven’t they moved on? 

Haven’t you moved on yet? She asked herself. Y/N shook her head. Of course, she did. 

There were a lot of conversations in the car, Taeyong was driving and Doyoung is next to him. Johnny even asked how is Doyoung’s work which made the girl surprised. Does Johnny know her brother? It was a wrong question to ask since it was Taeil who answered that Doyoung used to be her chaperone whenever they had date nights with Yuta. Again, she was reminded about her and Yuta. 

A phone rang and everyone glanced at Yuta when he mentioned the name, Mika. He was so quiet while talking to the person on the other line as if sharing a secret. But Y/N clearly heard his silent ‘I love you too’. He moved on. He found another girl already. Well, it’s already years. That’s acceptable. “I didn’t know you were dating someone,” Doyoung claimed and she swore, the air inside the van is so thick that she’s burdened by it. Yuta just nodded. “How long have you been dating?” 

“Six years?” You gasp then covered your mouth quickly. That long? But wait, that only means that he had a girlfriend after they broke up. And fuck, she felt betrayed. 

You really need to move on, Y/N. 

--   

The house that Doyoung and Taeyong rented for the vacation is near a beach but what made her amazed is a trail to the mountain at the back of the house. Excited, Y/N started forcing Doyoung to go on a hike with her but he kept saying that he’s tired. So she asked Johnny who just shook his head. Even Mark doesn’t want to go hiking. 

It’s a good day and she really wanted to go to the peak of the mountain. “I’ll come with you,” Yuta claimed that made her surprised. She’s convinced that Yuta kept on avoiding her so what is this now? But then, she shouldn’t be wary of him. Isn’t he the one who had a girlfriend just months after the breakup? Everyone looked surprised when she agreed with a smile on her face. 

It isn’t as awkward as she thought. Yuta had always been her buddy when hiking so this is normal. The only weird thing is that she cannot ask for his help even if the steps are kind of slippery. The slope was too steep that she doesn’t know where to step. Maybe hiking is a bad idea. He held a hand for her to hold and she hesitated before taking it. He helped her up, not letting go of his hold on her. Until the two reached the peak. 

Her eyes were sparkling at the scene in front of her. She could see how the mountain meets the shore then the sea. Even the sun setting makes everything so picturesque. A camera shutter was heard then she turned at Yuta who took another picture of the view in front. Shit, she thought, her phone was in her bag. "Fuck! My phone." She groaned, frustrated. She wanted Doyoung to see this and tease them for not hiking with her. 

"I'll send you the picture," Yuta assured and she nodded. 

The girl crouched down on the grass, wanting to bask in the breeze of the mountain peak before heading down. Yuta removed his jacket, revealing a sleeveless inside, then placed it on the ground for her to sit on. She thanked him and he just smiled, shaking his head. Isn't he cold? But then, Yuta is always wearing a sleeveless that she had this obsession on his arms. Even now, she wanted to sink her teeth on his skin. But Yuta isn't hers now. 

"Y/N." Yuta called and she just answered a 'yeah?', eyes still focused on the setting sun. "I just want to let you know that I'm proud of you." She bit her lip, waiting for a continuation. "I have to admit that I wasn't sure that you'll be a doctor, especially when you started focusing on that dream and not on our future…" 

"Is that why you broke up with me?" Yuta stopped that made her laugh. "I get it now." She exclaimed. "I've always wondered what went wrong with the two of us." 

 "Y/N…" 

She shook her head then stood up. "And I wanted to thank you Yuta, for breaking up with me that time," she said sincerely, facing him. Yuta thought that this is the first time that she stared at him. His memory flashing back to those moments where she kept crying and he can't do anything for her. "We wouldn't be here if not for that. I wouldn't be a doctor and you wouldn't continue playing the bass for the band." But what she said next made him roll his eyes at her, "You wouldn't be happy with your girlfriend. Mika, right?" 

The guy laughed, a menacing laughing that surprised Y/N. "Funny of you to think that we're happy." She feigned a shock even claiming that they're dating for six years already. "Five, going on six." He corrected and it was now her turn to roll her eyes at him, it's the same. "She's forcing me to marry her just because her friends are married." 

The girl chuckled lightly. "Then why aren't you proposing to her?" 

"I'm not ready to settle down." 

"Really, Nakamoto?" She gasped. "I remember you asking me to get married on our third anniversary." She exclaimed then stopped. "Didn't you want to have children early?" 

He smirked. "So you rejected my proposal." Y/N pursed her lips at that. "It's different. I saw my future with you. Us getting married, having kids in our small apartment." He then shook his head. "But her," He gave an exasperated sigh. "I can't see any of that." 

"I'm sorry, Yuta." She said then handed him the jacket. "I'm not the right person you should talk to about this." She walked first, heading down the slope of the mountain but missed a step that made her slip. God, what is wrong with her? 

--

The other guys were worried when they went back to the rest house. Yuta carried her on his back, and there was blood on her leg. "How can a doctor be injured like this?" Jungwoo teased that made the girl hiss at him. 

Yuta took her to the shower room, washing the dirt and blood on her leg. "Does it hurt?" he asked calmly that made her shake her head. It's bearable. "Tell me what I should do to clean your wound." 

"It's fine. Don't bother." 

"Just let me fix your wound." 

"You can't, Yuta!" 

Doyoung entered the room, staring at the two of them in surprise. "Sorry, are you two…?" But the girl just sighed and Yuta sat down on the bathroom floor as if frustrated over something. "I called Jaehyun, he wants to talk to you." 

When did Doyoung and Jaehyun become this close? But the girl took the phone to her ear calling his name. "Hey, what happened? How are you so clumsy?" Y/N was startled, why is he so worried? "I'm driving there. In the meantime, just put a bandage on your wound. If you do not have…" 

"I know what to do, Jae." 

"But I just wished, I was there to take care of you." He whispered. "You always hurt yourself…" The girl stared at the person who's giving her the greatest pain now, seated on the toilet floor and still checking on her leg. "I want to take that away from you." 

This is it, isn't it? Yuta wouldn't be able to fix the wound. Someone else can. A doctor can. "I'll wait for you, Jae." Jaehyun can. 

The door was closed, Doyoung isn't inside like earlier and there's just her and Yuta. "I still think of you from time to time, you know?" Y/N started. "If you're eating well. If you're warm. Sometimes, I caught myself drifting to thoughts of you." Yuta was about to speak up, but she raced him in talking, "But I realized there would really come a time when you'll love the memory more than you'll love the person." 

He stared at her in surprise. "I'm sorry for always rejecting your proposal. I'm really scared of the future that time." She confessed. "You were struggling with the band and I have these high dreams that I felt like we're pulling each other back. I love you, really. But I cannot give you the future that you want.” 

“I know,” Yuta answered then held Y/N’s cheek. Sliding his thumb on her cheek to wipe the tears she didn’t know just flowed on her. “And I’m sorry that you would always cry because of me. I guess I’m really not the right guy for you.” 

But he is. Maybe not in this lifetime. 

There’s really such a thing as right love at the wrong time. 

When Jaehyun came to the beach house, everyone was just staring at him then at Yuta who was sitting on the couch nearby, phone at hand. “What happened?” Taeil asked, eyeing how Jaehyun treats the girl’s wound and her, laughing playfully at him. 

Yuta just shook his head as Taeyong tapped his shoulder. His eyes were stuck on his phone, a picture of her smiling at the sunset. It was supposed to be a new part of his collection of her smiles. That smile that always gave him strength all this time. But the smile isn’t his now, watching how she smiled at another guy. 

Sighing, he quickly typed a message. ‘Mika, what is your ring size?’ A bitter smile appeared on his lips when he hit send, followed by erasing hundreds of smiling photos of her. A goodbye to his first love. 

#yuta nakamoto #yuta #yuta angst #yuta nakamoto angst #nct 127 angst #nct angst #nct drabble #nct 127 drabble #nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #yuta scenario #yuta scenarios #yuta imagine #yuta imagines

[mediocre-writerr]

betty [quinn fabray]

quinn fabray x fem reader

summary: the last part of my quinn fabray mini series! this takes place in the pov of quinn and her side of the story! enjoy : )

*not my gif*

“Quinny?” my mom poked her head through the door, “You got to get ready for school.” she says softly. 

I groaned as I shoved my head into a pillow. I didn’t want to go to school today or well ever for that matter. 

And you’re probably thinking: Quinn what teenager actually wants to go to school? 

i did...once. When I didn’t fuck up the best thing that ever happened to me. Meeting her at her locker, holding her hand down the hall, singing songs to her in glee club. All of it. But that’s all faded away like a moment in time. 

“Not today.” I mumble. 

“Quinn, honey, I let you miss so much school these past couple months. I need you to go just this once.” she whispers before closing the door. 

I let out another groan as I pulled the covers off my body. Stumbling my way into the bathroom. As I look in the mirror the pit that was in my stomach continued growing. 

I hated how I looked. I hated how I felt. I fucked up. It was all on me.

And it all started at junior prom.

“Love, dance with me!” Y/N yelled over the loud music that was playing, trying to pull me out of my seat at the table I was sitting at. 

I smiled widely at her enthusiasm before raising my eyebrows at her. She knows I hate the crowds. Sure, I was popular and wanted the attention.

But there’s a difference between walking down the hall like a bad ass than being trapped in a crowd of thousands, feeling like you’re suffocating and sweating.

“This is my favorite song.” she pouted when I gave her the look. 

I pulled the hand that she had in her hand closer to me. Giving it a sweet kiss, “Next dance, I promise.”

She pouts a little before running back off to the dance floor. I sat there drinking the spiked punch, letting the alcohol burn all the way down my throat and into my stomach. Leaving a warm sensation behind. 

I watched Y/N’s every move. She wasn’t very far away from where I was planted. Jumping up and down, doing crazy dance moves, with Sam. 

I love Sam with every bone in my body, but I was always jealous of the blonde boy. He was a nice guy, funny, good looking and super close to Y/N. 

“Looks like your girlfriend is having more fun with Sam, than she is with you.” Santana says, leaning against the chair I was sitting on.

“I don’t like the crowds. She knows that. She’s just trying to enjoy her prom.” I mumble, trying to ignore her snide remarks. 

Santana hums in response before taking a sip of her own punch, “Sure, let’s keep telling yourself that. And I’ll be the one saying ‘I told you so’ when she leaves you for him.” 

That was it. That’s what started my insecurities. 

Was I good enough for Y/N? Or will she find her own non-complicated love with Sam or Finn? Was Santana right?

After procrastinating for God knows how long, I finally made it to school. 

“Quinn!” Mercedes yelled getting my attention away from locker. 

I tried forcing on my best smile, “Hey what’s up?” 

“You’re coming to Y/N’s party tonight right? Everyone’s gonna be there! I don’t want you to miss it.” Mercedes said.

I shook my head looking down at my shoes, “No. I wasn’t planning on going. I don’t think she would want me there anyway.” I mumble.

Mercedes looked at me sympathetically, “Well I want you to come. Dig yourself out of the depressing hole you’re in and come hang out with people who care about you. Think about it, okay?” 

I nod before she goes running off to talk to Kurt. I open my locker and stare at the cardigan hanging off of one of the hooks. My eyes dart around my locker to see the pictures of the two of us hanging on the walls. 

I miss her.

The bell rings and I weave my way through the somewhat crowded walls and into my anatomy class for homeroom. I take my seat next to Jacob Ben Israel and sigh softly. 

“Alright class take your seats!” Mr. Barnson yells as he walks in the door, taking his bag off.

I look at the empty stool next to me. Y/N wasn’t in here today. She must’ve stayed home. I wish I could’ve, especially after what happened yesterday. 

“Jacob, you’re going to be Ms. Fabray’s new lab partner.” he says and I watch as Jacob’s eyes lighten up.

The afro-hair kid coming to sit next to me, “Can I smell your hair?” he asks, disturbingly. 

I shutter in disgust and raise my hand, “Yes Ms. Fabray?” 

“What happened to Y/N?” I ask.

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N switched homerooms this morning.” he says nonchalantly while looking back at his list for attendance. 

Oh. 

The day went on and on, dragging like a bad movie that wouldn’t end. Until finally it did. 

I walked to school today. I’ve been walking to school the past couple months. It was a nice break to just clear my head and think about everything. Sometimes it hurt to do, but it was much needed. 

I didn’t want to go straight home today. I didn’t want to go home and just lock myself in my room, curling up into a ball of nothingness. So I walked around more. 

“Quinn? Do you need a ride?” I hear a voice ask.

I turn towards the voice to see Mike and Tina in his car, “No thanks. I think I’m just gonna walk.” 

“Okay. Well we’ll see you tonight, right? We all miss hanging out with you.” he suggests.

“I don’t know.” I say looking anywhere, but them.

“You should.” Tina says before the light turns green and they drive off with a wave. 

I continued walking until I found myself at the mall need Breadstix. I hate the mall. 

I used to love going there with Santana and Brittany back during sophomore year of high school. When I was dating Finn and head Cheerio, but now it just reminds me of everything that went wrong. 

When my insecurity was at its greatest peak. 

“Hello beautiful!” I say as I answer Y/N’s phone call, walking through the mall. 

“Hi love! I miss you so much.” she whispers and I smile softly.

I hear rustling coming from her side of the phone, another girl’s voice, “I miss you more.” I say softly, “Who are you with?”

“Oh I’m with my friend Lizzie. She’s also a intern here and we’re just having dinner! She’s really cool!” Y/N said excitedly.

The rest of the conversation was about her internship and the amazing stuff she was learning and the new people she was meeting. How much she was having.

I should have been happy for her, but all I could think about what was, how much her life is better without me? What a fun life she could have without me? 

I left the mall that I was once walking in and nothing seemed good enough to buy. I was getting closer to my house as I was walking on the broken cobblestone. Just thinking about her.

How much I just want her to come back home and into my arms. How much I want her to let me know that I’m the only one she wants and that I am good enough for her.

Someone’s car came by slowing down next to me as they rolled their window down, pulling me out of my thoughts. Santana was sitting in the driver’s seat with her sunglasses on. Her usual high pony was down which revealed her curly brunette hair. 

She looked like a figment of my worst intentions. Her lips stained with a dark red lipstick and the way she was eyeing me. It just sent shivers down my spine. 

“Quinn, get in, let’s drive.” 

And those four words was all it took. Well four words and a human full of loneliness. 

A car honks shaking me from that terrible terrible memory. Leaving me with a mind and head full of thoughts. 

Should I go to the party tonight? Will she want me there? Will I regret not going? 

There’s two ways me going would play out.

1.) I would get there and she would open the door and slam it on my face. Then she would open it again just to tell me to go fuck myself. 

I shutter at the thought of the most likely scenario. The sun was setting turning the sky into a cotton candy looking sky. What a beautiful sky for a stressful decision. 

Santana laid next to me on the grassy field of my backyard. It was a cotton candy color as the orange hue blended with the dreamy blue. 

I spent the week driving around with Santana. We would go exploring the small town in Lima or just drive around singing to random songs. 

We laid there in silence just staring up at the sky. She took my hand in hers intertwining them together. And in that moment I didn’t care. I wanted to feel something, anything. 

Anything besides this pit of loneliness. 

She turned her head towards mine. And in a beat her lips were on mine. It was soft at first yet passionate. Then the next thing I knew, clothes were flying off, and hands were roaming. 

2.) Y/N opens the door and sees me standing there. I apologize for everything, she leads me to our spot in the backyard. And kiss me in front of everyone. 

Yeah like that would ever fucking happen. 

I didn’t know what I was expecting when Y/N came back from Pennsylvania. After the many nights spent with Santana, I dropped her. Or well ghosted her I should say.

I didn’t answer her calls or her texts. I knew what I did was wrong and I decided to just end it before things could get any worse. 

Was it fucked up? 

Yes, but I did what I had to try and salvage what I had left in our relationship.

I thought I could get away with it too. Until the guilt started eating me alive. The pit in my stomach wasn’t loneliness, it was guilt. 

And then Santana told Brittany. Brittany told Artie. Artie told Tina. Tina told Mike. Mike told Puck. Puck told Mercedes. Mercedes told Kurt. Kurt told Blaine. Blaine told Rachel. Rachel told Finn. Finn told Sam. Then finally, Rachel told Y/N since no one else had the heart to. 

Y/N slammed my locker shut causing me to flinch back, “Tell me she’s lying.” she whispers, her voice breaking. 

“Who’s lying love? What happened?” I say attempting to take her in my arms, but she took a step back.

“Tell me that you didn’t hook up with Santana while I was gone. And that it’s some weird vendetta against you.” she whispers staring at me. 

I couldn’t lie to her anymore. It was killing me. I didn’t want to lie anymore. I just needed to tell her. 

I just stared at her desperately trying to find an explanation. Desperately trying to apologize and explain everything to her, but no words came out.

“Y/N-”

“You did didn’t you?” Y/N asked barely in a whisper.

I nodded sadly and a sob escaped her lips. 

“Y/N please let me-” I try to say and she shakes her head.

“No. We’re done Quinn!” she yells in between sobs running off. 

I looked up and found myself in front of Y/N’s house. 

I wasn’t trying to go here. I guess my feet just carried me here. The party was in full swing and through her window I could see her just sitting there, nursing a cup. 

Her favorite song was playing and she wasn’t dancing. She was just sitting there, trying to smile, but was struggling too. 

It hurt me, knowing that I’m the reason for her pain. 

I hesitantly knocked on the door and the door flung open. Y/N was standing there and she was shocked, but her eyes softened. But it didn’t matter anymore because she covered it up with a harder shell. 

She came out and stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her.

“Happy birthday.” I whisper.

She mumbles, “Thanks.” 

“Can we talk please?” I ask.

She was thinking about it. I could tell. Her eyes were furrowed and she was biting her lip. She looked in deep thought before nodding and leading me to the backyard garden.

There was a bench swing hanging from the trees. And we took a seat on there together. 

This is the spot. Our spot. 

We had our first kiss here. I asked her to be my girlfriend here. Everything happened right here. 

“Y/N I’m sorry. And before you say anything I know. I know sorry means nothing and it has no excuse for what I did. But I am so deeply sorry. I don’t know much and I don’t have much to say because I wasn’t expecting to come tonight But I do know that I miss you and you were the best thing that has ever happened to me.” I whisper letting all of the tears spill. 

She lets out a shaky sigh, “I know. I forgive you.” 

I smile softly and I try to lean in to kiss her, but she immediately pulls back. Leaving me embarrassed and heartbroken.

“Just because I forgive you doesn’t mean that I want to get back together. I know you know that what you did was wrong. And I trust you when you say that it wasn’t anything special. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I love you Quinn Fabray, but I just can’t do this right now.” she whispers back.

She begins to wipe away the tears from my cheeks. I took in a deep breath before embracing the feeling of her touch. Y/N closes her eyes and rests her forehead on top of mine. 

I cup her cheeks into my hands. My thumb trying to memorize all of the crevasse, cheek bones, every little feature. 

“I will always love you and maybe we’ll be together one day. Just not today.” she whispers pulling away and kissing my cheek softly, “Goodbye Quinn.” 

#quinn fabray #quinn fabray imagine #quinn fabray imagines #quinn fabray x reader #quinn fabray x fem reader

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

Masterlist Here

AO3 Link Here

‘Hello, Miya-san? Yes, please don’t worry, Shino-chan is fine, just that your husband hasn’t come to pick her up?’ the nervous childcare assistant murmurs her apologies as she hangs up, ready to dial Atsumu to chew him out for yet another display of his bloody lack of responsibility. But it’s no use because Atsumu’s number is engaged, and after five minutes, she gives it up as a lost cause and after a moment’s hesitation, dials the other number most used on her phone. 

‘Samu – I’m so sorry to trouble you, could you…? Yes – Atsumu forgot to pick her up again. I’m sorry – I’m at work so I can’t just step out… Thanks ‘Samu – I owe you again’. 

She sighs, leaning her head against the cubicle wall in her office toilet. Then she squares her shoulders before heading back to her cubicle, preparing to tackle the stack of work on her desk until office hours end.  

She picks Shino up from Onigiri Miya later that night, promising treats to her daughter to persuade her to give up her perch from Osamu’s neck. 

‘He’s an ass’, he tells her, voice heavy with sympathy, and she lets herself rest her head on his shoulder. 

‘Yes, you’ve told me that’, she responds with a tired smile. ‘Maybe I should’ve listened’. 

He pats her back, and she departs with Shino in hand.

A storm blows into the city from the sea, so she shutters the windows and locks the doors, but the house still shakes from the blitz of thunder and lightning. She rocks Shino to bed, and sings her to sleep amidst the gale wailing outside their walls. 

She can hear the jangle of keys and opens the front door to let Atsumu in. He ignores her baleful glare and shoulders his way in, dripping rainwater all over the floor. 

‘Well?’ she demands, hackles rising at his sullen silence. ‘Would you like to explain how you managed to forget to pick up your daughter from childcare today?’ 

‘It just slipped my mind, alright?!’, he replies, face arranged into a sneer, and with a few strides he’s already halfway to their room, back turned against her. ‘You don’t need to make a big fuss about everything all the time’, he says, his hand on the doorknob. 

‘Atsumu!’ she snaps, her fists clenched by her side. ‘Do you know how embarrassing it is for me to keep bothering Osamu to help clean up your messes? Could you dig deep and grow the fuck up so you can act like a decent husband and father for once? I wish I listened to Osamu when he warned me about you, even before we started going out’.

He whirls around and grabs her wrist in a painful grip, a blaze growing in his eyes. ‘All I ever hear from you these days is  Osamu this,  Osamu that. If goddamned Osamu is so fucking perfect, why didn’t you just marry him when you had the chance? It would’ve been easy enough to pass Shino off as his, aren’t I right?’ 

‘Maybe I should’ve - then I wouldn’t be in such a state’, she snarls, wrenching her wrist from his grasp. ‘But my fate was sealed the moment I was stupid enough to fall in love with you instead.’ 

He snorts through his nose, the sound bitter, twisted. ‘Well, the feeling ain’t mutual, darlin’. Who said I ever loved you?’ 

She reels back from the force of his words, the bruises on her wrist nothing  compared to those in her heart. His eyes widen in shock – but he does not take his words back. 

The rain turns the apartment freezing cold and she shudders, fighting the urge to shrink into herself, counting the seconds in the strained stillness between them before stepping tentatively towards him to cup his face in her hands. 

‘What’s with you, Atsumu?’ she asks, more gently this time. ‘This isn’t like you.’

Her words break his silence, and he sinks onto the couch with a groan, dropping his head in his hands. ‘I’ve been offered a chance to play in Italy for a year, and MSBY’s agreed to let me go for a season. I just haven’t told you yet’, he finally says, shoulders hunched. 

‘Are you going to accept it?’ She manages to ask, a lump of ice lodging itself at the back of her throat, choking the airflow to her lungs. 

He nods mutely, and a storm erupts in her heart.  

‘Gods, Atsumu. Does it mean nothing to you that you have a wife and child now? Couldn’t you have talked to me first before making such a move? You know I can’t just up and leave Japan with my job and Shino. Are you going to just get up and leave? What’s going to happen to us?’ 

‘I’m just tired of all of this, ok?’ He shouts, jumping to his feet, his tone sharp enough to pierce right through her heart. ‘We got married and had a kid so fuckin’ young, and there’s so much out there that I could be chasing that I wonder sometimes if all of this is a mistake’. 

‘You asked me to jump off a cliff. This is what you wanted, Atsumu, don’t you dare pin this on me!’ she screams back, not even bothering to staunch the bleeding from her multitude of wounds.  

He throws his head back and laughs, the sound drenched with bitterness and contempt. 

‘Osamu fuckin’ talked me into it – do you think I actually wanted all of this?’ he says, with a callousness she always knew he was capable of but never experienced first-hand. ‘I wish I'd never listened to him, I should’ve just stayed away. Then all of my problems – all of  this - would’ve never existed.’

His words finally strike the breath from her lungs, and she chokes, chilled to the bone, unable to speak as she watches him grab his bag and storm out of the house again. 

‘He’s not picking up my calls either’, Osamu tells her, when she drops by his store a day later. ‘I could hunt him down for you and beat some sense into his thick head’. 

‘Don’t bother’, she says, shaking her head. ‘He’ll resent me even more if you take my side again’. 

‘What are you going to do then?’ Osamu asks, the steam from freshly cooked rice rising between them. 

‘Come home’, her mother said when she called to break the news, her words ringing clear even over the cacophony of threats her older brothers make in the background about ‘slicing that bastard’s balls off with a knife’. She'd be lying if she said she weren't tempted by the promise of her family's support - her father had always taught her to run for the bamboo grove if there were ever an earthquake, to trust in the strength of the bamboo’s roots to hold the foundations of the earth in its place. But she’s built a career in the city, a life for her and Shino in a small apartment between buildings that seem to burst through the clouds in the sky, and she’s not sure she can walk away from all that just yet. 

‘I don’t know’, she says to Osamu. ‘I guess I’ll figure it out along the way’. 

Atsumu evades all of her attempts to talk through matters again, and a month later, he’s packed his bags, ready to get on a flight to Italy. He pauses to kiss Shino goodbye, and slips her two stuffed toys – a fox and a jackal, and she almost smiles at the sentimentality of it. Then he turns to her but does not look her in the eye. 

‘It’s ok to forget me as long as you remember that we have a child’, she says softly.   

He parts his lips to respond but decides against it, eyes hardening as he drops his set of house keys and his wedding ring on the countertop by the front door and storms off. 

She does not cry until Shino is safely tucked into bed, and she finds Atsumu’s old jacket, carelessly thrown in a heap at the back of the closet. She holds it close to her chest, breathing in the memories sewn into its seams, and lets herself finally break. 

‘Miya-san, I saw on the news that your husband is playing in Italy now. We’re all so surprised you didn’t go with him?’ Yuna-san asks in a too-loud voice, and she has to suppress a cringe when the rest of the office hyenas swoop in, hungry for a kill. 

‘We decided that I should stay in Japan to ensure Shino has some stability in her life’, she answers with a tight smile, the practiced statement she and Atsumu’s manager eventually agreed on spilling easily from her mouth. The ladies slink away, and she sighs in relief. 

Atsumu thankfully heeds her words and sends money and gifts to Shino, and even calls their little girl twice weekly, so she still manages to recognise her father - she’s grateful for that. 

He only responds to her texts once, when she messages him to let him know that Shino got admitted to the hospital for a high fever, but seemed to be responding well to treatment, and would be discharged the next day. He promised to pay the hospital bill, and said nothing more. She does not allow herself to be crushed by her disappointment and stops texting him after that. 

Osamu does his best to step in to fill Atsumu’s shoes in his absence, fetching Shino from childcare and letting her hang around his shop until she’s done with work. He spoils her with far too much affection and food, doling both out interchangeably, and his staff and customers treat the little girl like their mascot. 

‘Thank you for all of this’, she says one night, when Osamu insists on walking her and Shino home. ‘I’m sorry for making you clean up Atsumu’s mess.’ 

‘Don’t thank me. Sometimes I wonder if I should be blamed for stepping in to meddle with ‘Tsumu in the first place’ he responds with a strained laugh. 

‘Don’t be’, she responds, pressing a chaste kiss to Osamu’s cheek. ‘Your interference gave me Shino. I could never regret that’.  

But Osamu can never fully step into Atsumu’s place - they may look heartbreakingly similar but he is not her husband, a fact she’s painfully reminded of when they drive back to Hyogo to the Miya family home for Obon without Atsumu. She does her duty with her head held high and Shino strapped to her back, placing the offerings by the family graves, releasing lanterns down the lake to guide the Miya ancestral spirits back to the mortal realm, but the matriarch of the family sniffed her disapproval when Atsumu’s mother shakily informs her that he isn’t visiting this year. 

‘You’re his wife - what good are you for if you can’t even make your husband come back home’, the old lady snapped. 

She bent herself into a low bow to murmur a litany of apologies, shaking her head minutely at Osamu before he even tries to put his foot in his mouth in a misguided attempt to defend her - dear boy that he is, but he does not deserve the burden of his brother’s sins, and she will not let him go to battle for her when she can hold her own - until the old lady stalks off, only vaguely appeased. The smile on her face for the rest of the night is unflinching but she still cries herself to sleep because she hates herself for being so goddamned stupid  - it should have occurred to her that chasing Atsumu into the eye of the storm would leave her with nothing more than a ruined home and a broken heart. 

But when the morning dawns and the sunrise reflects its colours in her daughter’s eyes, she’s reminded afresh that she's a knife maker’s daughter, and her spine is forged with steel. So she hammers the pieces of her heart back together and does not let herself break again. 

The months pass and the pain recedes. It slowly becomes easier to breathe. 

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu!! #haikyuu! #haikyuu writing #hq writing #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu romance #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x y/n #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #msby atsumu #atsumu x reader #miya osamu #inarizaki #haikyuucreations

[sexbirthdeaths]

her hollows, her unholy son

summary: because this - this isn’t hotch's job. his job is to make sure they don’t get killed out on the field, to make sure they do their job and that they finish all their paperwork, not give his agents haircuts in his office,

warnings: emetophobia (vomiting), panic attacks, implications of depression and anxiety, mentions of spencer’s dad

words: 2500

The walls feel like they’re collapsing in on him as he stumbles numbly to sit down, lean against the cool tile and just desperately attempt to breathe. He can feel his heartbeat thrumming through him, head to toe, down his fingers like an invisible thread strung along them. Leaning his head down onto his knees, he feels himself curl in on his body, wraps his arms around himself.

Scrunching his eyes tight at the thought, he pulls his legs in a bit closer. You're an idiot, he thinks, can't do shit without freaking out.

He wishes he didn't live alone.

Everything is spiralling around him, water whirlpooling down a drain and he’s trapped right in its eye. All he can do is wait it out, he figures, try to force himself to breathe steadily. But god, it’s so hard, like there’s a boot on his chest pressing down further and further, crushing him under cruel rubber.

There’s this sickening sensation in his stomach, like a rock at the bottom that’s pulling him down further and further, churning as it sends waves of nausea through him. Forcing himself up, he fumbles for the toilet and collapses in front of it, emptying the contents of his stomach. So much for dinner, he thinks bitterly, dizzy and vision blurred.

Scrunching his eyes tightly closed, Spencer moves to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand, not even caring anymore. The taste of bile and now-regurgiated takeout sits sour on his tongue, but he can’t will himself to stand and wash it from his mouth. Too much energy, energy he doesn’t have right now.

This is a panic attack - he’s never had one before, he's read enough about them to know what triggers them, to know how to help himself. Five things you can see, he recalls as the first step, but he can’t will himself to open his eyes. Four things you can hear is the next step -

One. The sound of his panicked breath as it racks through his body in quick, shallow waves.

Two. The humming of the light above him, too loud.

Three. The air con that's sending a cool breeze around him, chills him to the bone.

Four. Fuck- fuck- what’s four? The sound of blood in his ears, heart thudding in his chest.

That’s four, that’s four, why doesn’t he feel any better?

Another wave of nausea overcomes Spencer, forcing him over the toilet bowl again. His hair falls past his ears, over his face as he retches, tears streaming down his face at the sensation in his throat and stomach. It’s more bile than food this time, he supposes he really hadn’t eaten that much. It’s hard to have an appetite these days

His hair is bile-soaked now. His stupid goddamn hair, he’s wanted to cut it off for years but he can't find the energy to get up, go to a barber's. Just the thought sends a rush of panic through him.

Though his chest still heaves, Spencer's breathing has fallen back into a steadier rhythm, he feels less like he’s suffocating. With weak knees, he pushes himself up from the toilet, wipes his mouth again. And he faces himself in the mirror.

Pale and clammy, his skin has taken on a ghostly sheen that’d only worsened by the unflattering warmth of the bathroom lights. The contours of his face are more prominent under the harsh glare, the hollows of his cheeks and deep violet valleys beneath his eyes. His dark hair is a mess, clumped together with vomit at the front. You’re supposed to be better than this, he thinks bitterly, you’re an FBI agent, not some weak child who can’t handle being alone.

The person in the mirror isn’t him. It looks like him, sure, it walks and talks like him but it- it isn’t him. He wants to just throw a sheet over it, cover it, out of sight out of mind, and it takes everything in him not to shatter the glass then and there. He feels sick, he feels sick, sick in a way that’s bone-deep, something needs to change and it needs to change now. He feels like he might die if it doesn’t.

So Spencer rummages through the medicine drawer, finds a pair of craft scissors they only keep in there for opening stubborn packaging, brandishes them with certainty. He’s been dreaming of this moment for months now. Of chopping off chunks of hair, pulling it by the fistful, dowsing his scalp in gasoline to watch it all burn, anything if it means it’s gone.

When he was a kid, his dad had used the word 'defiant' a lot. Defiant, as in going against orders, as in questioning his judgement, defiant as in refusing to go down easy. Where has this new you come from? he would keep asking, expecting some sort of concrete answer - what has changed? What part of you have I failed to control, allowed to become so overgrown that it the ivy has swallowed up everything good?

But pruning is a means of growth, he thinks, and he lifts the scissors to his head.

There’s a chunk of hair in his hand. A few inches, maybe, what’s left on his head just curling past his ears. He drops it, watches it fall into the sink, bright and dry and gone. The scissors are shitty, and they don’t cut through hair evenly or easily, but they’re better than nothing.

He’s crying again before he even knows it, and he isn’t quite sure why, but the tears are rolling down his cheeks as he keeps cutting, throwing fistfuls of hair down into the sink, the stench of vomit still in his nose and the taste of spite on his tongue. He’s crying, but maybe they’re happy tears. It’s oddly cathartic, all of this.

It takes a long while to cut it all, get it even semi-even, but he manages. The street lamps outside his apartment have turned on by the time he creeps out of the bathroom, hair shaggy and shorter, and it gives him this rush. Taking control, finally reclaiming this part of himself. It tastes of rebirth, revival, a life that arises from rain-soaked earth, of becoming new again.

He goes to sleep with a smile on his face. It's the first time in years.

When he gets up for work in the morning, the house is empty. It's never not empty, he thinks as he eats breakfast alone, he doesn't know why he hasn't gotten used to the quiet after all these years. He wears a hat on the subway, knowing the haircut isn’t the cleanest, but atleast he doesn’t get those looks anymore. Having no eyes on you makes you feel so… light, he realises.

Stepping into the elevator, there’s a peaceful quiet to the building this early in the mornings, only a few people in sight. There's a peaceful quiet, one more comforting than the silence that suffocates his apartment. He likes to get to work earlier than the others, so it's no surprise he's the only one there - besides Hotch, of course.

Stepping into the communal area, Spencer is met with the sight of Hotch and Rossi, talking quietly by the coffee machine. From their stiff body language, it’s probably just business - some business higher up, likely Strauss. Hotch's eyes meet his from across the floor but quickly drifts to his hair instead.

“Excuse me, Rossi,” he says to the older agent, who takes his queue to leave. He gives Spencer a knowing look as he departs, stalking off to his own office to spend the rest of the morning until the day officially begins.

Hotch hums, peers down at him with a steely glance.

“You cut your hair.”

“Yes, sir,” Spencer nods, unable to hide his smile. He combs his fingers through it. Hotch chuckles shortly, raises an eyebrow.

“You didn’t do that bad, honestly. But I can fix it for you - come on,”

So he guides Spencer away from the coffee machine, down the halls and into Hotch's office, somewhere a little more private. The shutters are drawn, door locked, and Spencer looks guiltily at the floor - what if someone needs Hotch? And he's busy, here, giving his subordinate a haircut?

Hotch pulls up a chair and sits Spencer down on it, facing the window where he can see the streets of DC, the thick morning fog of early spring.

“It won’t be long,” the agent promises as he drapes an old dress shirt over Spencer's shoulders, “I’m no barber, but I can atleast even it out.”

There’s a strange feeling in Spencer's chest, but it isn’t the same as last night. It doesn’t feel crushed tight, like his lungs are bound to collapse in any moment - if anything, he just feels light. He feels appreciated, he thinks, hearing Hotch's search for a pair of scissors in the drawers. When was the last time someone had done something like this for him? Something beyond obligation, because they just wanted to help?

“You didn’t have to do this,” he murmurs as he feels Hotch get closer behind him, run a hand through his hair, “It isn’t your job to take care of me like this.”

Hotch starts cutting, the sound of the metal scissors slicing through his hair ringing in his ears. The only other sound is the clock ticking in the background, steady and echoing in the loud, silent room.

“No,” the man agrees, “It isn’t. But I’m curious as to why you did it.”

“I needed a change.” It’s the rain that washes the slate clean - gives him a chance to start over, beginning the path of reclaiming himself bit-by-bit. He's felt so helpless all of his life, taking the backseat and watching it all unfold. And one day - likely, soon, given the dangers of this job - he'll die and he’ll die young, with no agency over his life, too scared to try and take it. He’s done being scared.

The clock ticks, filling the silence as Hotch seems to contemplate. He’s moved from the right side of Spencer's head to the left, and the boy can feel chunks of hair fall onto the shirt on his shoulders.

"Do you think the others will like it?"

"I hope," Spencer admits, "I hope."

Hotch tilts his head down, touch unusually gentle for the typically stoic, blunt man. He can see strands of dark hair on his clothes, a tangible recognition of the new control he has over his life. It’s the best high he could ever experience, one he’ll be riding for months.

“I always thought you liked having long hair, I kind of figured if you didn’t you’d cut it,”

“My mom likes my long hair. She always wanted a girl,” Spencer mumbles absentmindedly. "I've just never had the energy to change it." Hotch hums in thought.

“You know,” he starts, “You’re stretching so far you’ve lost sight of where you started.”

He tilts Spencer's head again, leans to cut the hair short by his ear - it’s difficult to get it close to the skin without clippers, but he can make do. He bites his tongue between his teeth as he tries to avoid clipping Spencer's ear.

“Maybe you don’t hate your hair, or yourself for that matter - you hate what it proves.”

“It doesn’t prove anything.” Spencer huffs indignantly, brushes hair from his lap absentmindedly.

“It proves that you don't have control. Something's holding your life over your head. This is your act of reclamation, Reid, and I have to commend you for it.”

There’s a long silence as Spencer mulls his words over. He can hear more and more of his colleagues arriving in the bullpen, laughing as they talk. He can hear JJ, who’d been the first to notice how long his hair was getting. And yeah - he’ll admit, having long hair was fun at times, but not when it was unkempt and dirty because he couldn't muster up the energy to wash it.

Hotch brushes the rest of his hair off of the towel and onto the floor, runs a hand through Spencer's trimmed hair.

“I’m done, Reid, you can stand up."

He doesn’t know how to say thank you in a way that sounds genuine. Because this - this isn’t Hotch's job. His job is to make sure they don’t get killed out on the field, to make sure they do their job and that they finish all their paperwork, not give his agents haircuts in his office, not treat them with the same love and attention as a son.

He wants to cry.

But instead, Spencer swallows down the lump in his throat, fights the tears, and just smiles.

“Thank you,” he says, and prays that Hotch understands what he isn’t able to say.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #NOT hotchreid #sorry besties #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #derek morgan #david rossi

[swan--writes]

Beetlejuice’s Big Halloween Party

I thought about writing a Dewey Halloween, but let’s be real, there ain’t room for the both of these boys in this here holiday.

And listen, it is 2:30 AM and I just finished writing this. I wrote it all in one go. I’m not editing it. Please reblog though! Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain!

Warnings: elements of horror, blood mention, eyeball mention

Words: 3,070

You screamed.

“Beetlejuice!”

Your demon laughed at you from the rafters of your barn. Ever since you had moved out to your farmhouse, Beetlejuice had been hanging around. Sometimes literally. Normally you found you didn’t mind the demon’s antics – he kept things lively when there wasn’t much going on out where you lived. Sometimes he donned an old sheet and floated around the house. Sometimes he went out into your backyard and howled at the tree line. And sometimes he dropped live bats from the rafters of the barn, directly onto your unsuspecting head.

Frantically, you waved away the little menace. All you could see were glimpses of a wrinkled snout and long teeth. It seemed to be flapping its wings as fast as you were flapping your hands, and by the time it managed to fly off, Beetlejuice was hanging upside-down in midair and cackling.

“Wow, what a jumpy breather,” he said, wiping a thick black tear from his eye. You thought you heard it sizzle as it fell to the worn wooden floor.

“Knock it off, Beej.”

“Yeah, sure I will.”

“Seriously!” You shook your head, fighting off a shiver. “There’s gonna be screaming hordes of children here in, like, an hour. I cannot still be cleaning up your messes when they get here. So, lose the bats and the bugs and the…whatever else you’ve got.” You narrowed your eyes at his tattered suit jacket.

“Relax, babes, I got it all under control.”

Without thinking, you took a step back as he righted himself in the air. “I don’t like the way you said that.”

“Hey, take the help or don’t. I’ll be here all night.” With that, he zoomed up to the rafters, dropping beetle carcasses in his wake. You shrieked and leaped back. “Beetlejuice!” you complained, only to hear his laughter.

It had been less than a year since you moved into your creepy old farmhouse. You still weren’t entirely sure if the creepy old dead guy had come with the property, or if he had followed you there. But when you found his name traced over and over again in the dust of every reflective surface in the house on the first night, you had almost left.

In the end, it was one of the movers who had summoned him. You had had two burly men helping you move your things inside. One of them had remarked on the odd name, Betelgeuse. The other had just happened to be an amateur astronomer. Before any of you knew what was happening, lightening was striking, thunder was rolling, wind was blowing, and the two big, strong movers were scrambling back to their truck. Thoughtfully, they did hurl the last of your furniture from the vehicle as they peeled out of your shaded, and winding driveway. Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse…

“Okay, Beetlejuice, fine! Yes! I do need help.” You grumbled the last to yourself, trying and failing once more to move a heavy wooden table. It had been half an hour since the bat incident, and almost all of it had been spent on this table.

“Well, I don’t know…”

“Beetlejuice.”

“I’m getting kinda tired, y’know…”

“Beetlejuice!”

“A’right, a’right, fine! Taskmaster, jeez.” The demon floated down from the rafters, snapped his fingers, and the table you had been struggling with walked itself over to where you had been trying to move it – against the wall, centered under a window.

The barn was a decent size. Average by northeastern standards, but tall as hell. Or, the Netherworld, you supposed. The structure of the thing was entirely wood, worn down and lightened with time. The posts were a richer color than the floor, which was covered in scratches and the occasional hay straw. There were windows all around, installed sometime within the last half-century, and the sun shone in brilliantly when it was up.

Now it was dark, even at 5:00 PM. As you watched, the decorations you had strewn haphazardly across the space leapt to attention. Miniature pumpkin lights snaked their way around the rafters and posts, along with actual snakes. A layer of fog coated the floor so thickly you could no longer see your own feet. What looked to be a hundred flaming tealights sprung up from every table – some with black flames, others green. The overhead iron-wrapped pendant lights dimmed and aged noticeably, some flakes of rust falling to the floor and becoming lost in the low gloom.

The jack-o’-lanterns you and Beetlejuice had carved the day before lit up abruptly. Paper bats and bloody eyeballs on strings dropped down to hang from the rafters. A soft, eerie music began floating through the room, and when you looked up you saw a greenish gray skeleton manning the DJ setup on a slightly raised section of the floor. It gave you and Beetlejuice a thumbs-up, its other decayed hand on a headphone positioned just a few degrees south of where its ear might have been.

“Thank you, I think--whoa!” Before you could finish thanking your demon, you heard a loud BANG. All the window shutters slammed shut.

“No problem, babes, but what are you gonna do for me?” Beetlejuice waggled his eyebrows at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Politely ask you to open the shutters back up, please? It’s a full moon, we should be able to see it.”

Beetlejuice bent backwards unnaturally far and groaned. “Fine.” A flick of his wrist and the shutters swung open meekly. A few thick, black tentacles with a faint green sheen slithered in at the corners of each window, not breaking the glass but rather bending it open around themselves. The demon dusted off his hands and fixed his tie. “Happy?”

“Very.”

“How’d you get roped into doing this, anyway? I thought you hated kids.”

“I don’t hate them, I just don’t like them. One of the community theater guys asked me to.” You started for the barn door. Beetlejuice followed you, the tips of his shoes dragging the fog.

“Why?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Because the new, mysterious stage manager has a big, scary house in the middle of nowhere that no-one’s ever seen, that’s why.”

“Huh. Is he gonna be here too?” You didn’t have to look at Beetlejuice to know he was grinning.

Before you could warn him not to do anything dangerous, you opened the barn door to find your first chaperone. You weren’t sure if it was a state rule that a gathering of kids under a certain age needed adult chaperones, but knowing Beetlejuice, you were happy to have the help. This one was a theater mom. You barely knew her, but she said she would bring cupcakes, so you had shrugged and given her your address.

“Stephanie, hi,” you said, only mildly startled to see her so early.

“H--oh. Uh, hi,” she replied, now openly staring at Beetlejuice.

“Hi.” Still grinning.

“Um, who is this?” she asked, barely containing her horror.

“I’m–”

“Oh, this is, uh–”

“I’m her, uh–”

“Lawrence!” you said rigidly. “Lawrence…Beetleman.” You pulled at the demon’s arm and he dropped to his feet, stumbling to your side. You knew you should have rehearsed this.

Beetlejuice held out his left hand stiffly. “Nice to meet ya.” You elbowed him as surreptitiously as you could, and he dropped the hand, holding out his right instead.

Stephanie cautiously met his hand, then dropped it immediately. “Oh, I uh…you too, Mr. Beetleman?” Beetlejuice flinched and gagged noticeably.

There was a long silence.

“So…” you tried.

“Right! Yes, I, um…well, I came to help you decorate, but it seems like you have it all taken care of?” Stephanie glanced around you, coming away looking somehow even more horrified.

“Oh yeah, we got it covered, Stevie.” You tried to elbow Beetlejuice again, but he dodged. Moving forward, he took Stephanie’s arm at the elbow and led her into the barn. “Here, lemme show you where to put those cupcakes.” He nodded to the box she was carrying.

“Oh, okay. It’s Stephanie, by the way,” she said nervously.

“Sure.”

“Beetleman,” you cautioned haltingly, frowning at him.

“Don’t worry about it, babes. Don’t you gotta go put on your costume?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Stephanie spoke first. “It’s fine, I’ll just, um…”

“Yeah, she’ll just um. Go on,” Beetlejuice cajoled. Tightlipped and wide-eyed, you turned and stalked out of the barn, leaving the door open behind you just in case.

Surprising yourself, you managed to get into your costume in under thirty seconds. The makeup, on the other hand, was more of a challenge. There was something about the creaky sounds of wood settling and the draft through the second floor of your house that was making it more difficult than usual to keep your hands steady. But then, you had never been much of an artist.

So, you headed back to the barn in your broken shoes and your torn clothes, perfecting your shamble as you went. The door was still open. Stephanie had her back to you and seemed to be sizing up the tentacles on the far window, but Beetlejuice caught your movement as you tentatively stuck your head into the barn. You motioned for him to come towards you. He followed your lead.

Once you were both just outside the barn door, you turned fully to face him. “Hey,” you whispered.

“What’s up, babes?”

“I’m having a little trouble with my prosthetics. Could you do anything to make me look a little more…” You searched for the right word. “…horrifying?” Seeing Beetlejuice’s eyes light up, you held out a hand. “Without killing and/or maiming me.” You paused. “Or making the children cry.”

The demon gave you a look. “What, on Halloween? Huge cliché, what do you take me for?” You raised your eyebrows, but said nothing. He snapped his fingers and within an instant, you could feel your face and sections of your clothing stiffen with what you hoped was fake blood. “There: instant zombification.”

“Great, lemme just go check–”

“Sweetheart, trust me, you could strike terror into the hearts of any ghoul.”

“Do ghouls have hearts?”

“Whatever you do, never ask a ghoul that.”

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Mr. Beetleman.” Almost compulsively, Beetlejuice gagged again. You laughed and led him back into the barn. Stephanie turned to greet you, then turned away again. Your demon gave you a sidelong, self-satisfied look. You shook your head at him, but couldn’t force the smile off of your face.

The kids started showing up minutes later. Stephanie’s wife brought their two sons, then the community theater director came with his daughter, and on and on. Before 6:00, the barn was full. Nearly half of the children had entered the costume contest, which you had begrudgingly appointed Beetlejuice head judge of.

It wasn’t so much that you had invited Beetlejuice as it was that you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep him from staying. Short of banishing him, he would not be left out of your Halloween activities, and the last thing you wanted to do was banish the demon. He could be awfully cranky when he felt ignored, worse when he felt betrayed. Best to keep a close eye on him and leave it there. Shockingly, though, he seemed to be on his best behavior.

That wasn’t saying much, but you appreciated the effort.

He kept the live animals to a minimum, only ate one of the eyeballs hanging from the ceiling, and judged the costume contest as fairly as he could. Fortunately, there was a clear winner: a young zombie whose costume rivalled your own. The judge committee gave him a small skeleton trophy and a candy medal, took some photos with him, and you privately wondered if he had his own ghost-zombie at home to help him with his makeup. Then you shrugged it off and watched – half-mortified, half-impressed – as Beetlejuice summoned a few dead cheerleaders to sing a surprisingly smooth rendition of Time Warp. You were fairly certain a few of his bones came loose during the dance, but you let it slide. The kids were duly impressed, the parents were a suitable distance that they hardly noticed.

It wasn’t until 11:00 PM that all of the adults in the room realized that Beetlejuice had removed the clock that had previously hung on the wall opposite the barn’s door. It took the better part of a half hour to corral the kids to their parents’ respective vehicles, and most of them insisted on hugging you. Warily as ever, you eyed the ones who tried to hug ‘Mr. Beetleman,’ but he somehow managed to turn all of their affections into a high five. Despite yourself, you found yourself smiling.

Once everyone was gone, you turned from the door to assess the barn. It was a disaster. The jack-o’-lanterns had remained lit, as had the candles, but those were the only decorations at thirteen-and-under year old level that had remained undisturbed. The bottles you had placed on the tables, with their faded potion ingredient labels, were toppled over. There were drink puddles and food stains on the floor and half the fog had dissipated. Some of the eyes and bats had come down, others were tangled with the lights on the posts. Somehow, even the pendant lights were flickering slightly.

Beetlejuice did not need sleep. Maybe he could get tired, maybe he couldn’t. You certainly could, and by the time the party was over, you had maxed out your entire energy reserve. So, when your demon told you he’d clean up the next day, you agreed and gave no thought to the fact that it would take him all of two seconds to clean up that night.

Once you had seen off the last of the kids and all of the parents, you trudged back up to your big, scary house. All the light in the barn went out behind you, but you paid it no mind.

Somewhere between the barn and the house, Beetlejuice disappeared. Again, you ignored it. It wasn’t uncommon for Beetlejuice to vanish without telling you, and on Halloween night you imagined there were a hundred more fun things for him to be off doing than watching you get ready for bed. Especially when you caught sight of yourself in your entryway mirror. It was the first time that night that you had seen yourself fully zombified beyond a brief glance at your dim reflection in a darkened, tentacled window.

Your face alone had several large patches of what looked like gaping wounds, and you could see more peeking out from your formerly white collar. You had been going for Proper Academic Zombie, and you looked like you would need a degree in showering to get all this gunk off of yourself. At least you could reuse the costume, maybe disrupt a seminar or two.

Shaking your head, you flicked the light switch beside the front door to turn off the overhead light. Instead of just that light going out, however, the table lamp under the mirror went out as well. So did the hall light over the stairs to your left, the kitchen down the short hallway in front of you, and the living room light beyond that. You tried flicking the switch again. Nothing.

Suddenly, a slam. Several slams all at once. All the shutters you could see swung closed forcefully. From the sound of it, all the shutters on the house closed.

You cleared your throat hesitantly. “Okay, very funny. Beej, that’s you, right?”

Silence.

“Beej?” Though you couldn’t yet hear your heart, you could feel it struggling against the walls of your chest. There was a slight ringing in your ears – the ever-present remnants of your teenaged years. Outside of that: nothing. You took a step, and the creaking of the wood seemed to echo through the whole house. For a brief, crazy moment, you thought about going out to your car. But it seemed the porch light was out too, and being inside a dark house was better than being outside on a dark night.

So, you took another step. Then another. You cursed your shortsightedness in leaving your phone in your room. You reached the stairs. You climbed them, you turned the corner. The wood settle beneath your feet with a deafening creak each step of the way.

There must be a short circuit. There had to be, somewhere. There was no reason for you to have simply lost power. When you reached your room, you saw that your alarm clock was still lit and showing the time, and it was plugged into the same wall outlet as your dark lamp. The box was in your basement.

No way were you going into the basement.

You reached out for your phone. It was dead. You looked over to one of your windows. Of all the windows you’d passed, this seemed to be the only one whose shutters hadn’t closed. Slowly – more slowly than you had moved all night, you crossed the room to look outside. You could see the full moon in all her red-orange beauty. Then, you let out the breath you had been holding. The moon wasn’t going anywhere, even if all the other light was gone.

You should have known better.

A shadow dashed across the moon then, but not at the surface. Through the air. Close to your window. Very, very close.

There was a muffled thud somewhere behind you. You jumped and whirled around to look. When you noticed the light from the moon fading, you slowly turned your head back and saw the shutters swinging closed. Before you could reach out to even open the window, they were completely shut.

Another noise, closer this time.

You couldn’t move. Your heart was racing. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t breathe. You thought about jumping for your bed, some childish thought of pulling the covers over your head before the whatever-it-was could reach you running through your head, but even in your fear you knew it was foolish. It was too late – too close. Your stomach dropped, your hands shook, your legs felt like splintering wood.

Yet another noise. You heard the hinges of your bedroom door waver. It was pitch dark in the room. All at once, a ragged breathing rushed at you across the squeaking floor.

You screamed.

“Beetlejuice!”

.

.

Seriously, please reblog.

Tags List: @skiddyyo @a-okay-rj @geeky-marie @darkblueeyedperson @hannah-de-lioncourt @ironmansuucks @missihart23 @ballerinafairyprincess @thewolfisapartofmysoul

#i meant this to be platonic #mostly because i'm not totally confident in my actual relationship writing skills #but you could read it as a really chill romantic relationship #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice bway #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #beetlejuice x self insert #i guess #halloween #samhain #horror #twhorror #twblood #tweyes #halloween party #kids party #theater #casual lesbians #costume contest #time warp #she's got it all #ya girl contains multitudes

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

Part 6

Summary: Soulmates have different ways of being connected to one another. Sometimes it’s through being able to write on their arms and having it show up on their soulmates. For others it was having their first words spoken to one another permanently tattooed into their skin. You had a unique connection with yours, one that you really hadn’t ever heard of happening before. Whatever song was stuck in your soulmate’s head was also stuck in yours and the same was for them. When Yoongi realizes one of his songs is playing on repeat in your head, he immediately takes to writing songs to communicate with you in hopes it will finally bring you two together.

Genre: Fluff. Just pure tooth rotting, sweet fluff.

Some of ya’ll were asking how long this was going to be. There is only going to be one more part after this as like a little epilogue :) 

Part 1    Part 2      Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Epilogue

Waking up to his soulmate was a feeling Yoongi never thought he was going to get to experience. But it’s one he hopes he gets to feel for the rest of eternity. An indescribable warmth fills his chest at the sight of you. The sun is shining through the window directly onto you, creating a halo of light around you and Yoongi can’t help but chuckle under his breath. You really were an angel. He takes his phone out and takes a picture of you, he can’t help himself. However he forgets to turn his sound off and the loud click of the camera shutter makes your eyes slowly blink open.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He leans in and places a kiss on your forehead. You smile and snuggle back into the blanket, letting it rise up to cover half your face in hopes it will cover your blush. 

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because. It’s my first time waking up next to you and it’s a moment I always want to remember. Plus you look absolutely ethereal. Like a real life angel.” You giggle.

“Okay now I know you’re lying. My hair is a mess, and I can almost feel the bags under my eyes they are so heavy.” Yoongi takes the blanket and uncovers your face. 

“Hmm.. Nope. I am afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. You could wear one of those ‘I woke up like this’ shirts and it would actually be honest.” You chuckle at that. 

“You’re quite the sweet talker you know?”

“Just around you. So you better get used to it.” You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you calling me beautiful when you’re literally the most attractive man I have ever seen but, I’ll try.” Now it’s Yoongi’s turn to be flustered as he turns away from you. You glance at the clock and see it’s just after 10:00 am. “I should probably go back to the hotel and get ready to meet the others.” 

“Orrr you could just stay here and get ready.”

“Yoongi I have no clothes here.” 

“Well I mean.. I won’t complain but-” He winks at you and you grab a pillow and gently hit him in the chest with it. “I’m kidding, angel. You go ahead and go back to your hotel and get ready. And get your friend too! I’m excited to meet them.” 

“Why because you want to yell at them for the songs that have been stuck in your head?”

“....No.... I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You roll your eyes playfully and get out of bed when suddenly there are arms around your waist pulling you back down. 

“Yoongi, you have to let me go now.” 

“But I don’t want to.” His words are muffled against your back as he shakes his head back and forth. 

“I’ll be back soon, baby. I promise. I’m not leaving for good.” Yoongi’s face heats up and he knows his cheeks are bright red, and probably his ears too. 

“B-baby?”

“Um.. I mean.. Sorry if you don’t like it-”

“I do. I like when you call me pet names. It.. makes me feel happy.” You smile softly and turn around in his lap to run your fingers through his hair. 

“Then I’ll be sure to do it more often. Now let go of me koala I have to go!” Yoongi drops his hands away reluctantly and has a slight pout. You kiss him and it immediately melts away into a smile. 

“Spill! Tell me everything!” You were right in the middle of texting Yoongi to let him know you arrived back safely when you were ambushed by your friend the second you walked through the hotel door, being dragged down to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“He’s amazing. He’s everything I could have ever hoped for and more. Is it always going to feel like this?” Your friend’s expression softens. 

“Yes. It is always like this. The butterflies never go away and your love for him is just going to grow each day.”

“Is it weird that I feel like I already love him? I mean we just met and everything but it’s like my soul is already so attached to him. I couldn’t imagine not having him in my life at this point. He’s really sweet and caring. And he has a good sense of humor. And he’s so adorable when he wakes up in the morning. And-”

“Whoa whoa y/n slow down.” You laugh along with your friend. 

“Sorry. I just.. I can’t explain it but I really really like him you know?”

“I know y/n. You deserve this so much. You’ve spent so long wondering if you were ever going to meet your soulmate and now that you have, you just don’t ever want to let him go, right?”

“Exactly! You might be going back home without me because at this point I feel like it would physically hurt to be away from him.” 

“You know they make special exceptions for soulmates when applying for citizenship. You could make that a reality.” 

“But I don’t know if he wants that..” You hear a muffled shout from somewhere and tilt your head in confusion. “Did you hear something?”

“Ah it’s probably just the other hotel guests outside.” 

You two carry on your conversation. You didn’t notice that when your friend dragged you down to the bed you had accidentally dialed Yoongi’s number in the process and he had heard everything you just said. He had been shouting into the phone that he did want that, that he did want you to stay with him. But obviously you couldn’t hear him. He decides then to keep this bit of information to himself. He continues listening to all of the kind things you say about him and he feels his heart swelling even more in his chest. He was sitting on the couch in their shared living room listening when Jin walked in looking at him questioningly when he sees the spaced out look and smile on his face.

“What’s gotten into you?” Yoongi hangs up the phone finally and looks at him.

“I’m in love, hyung. I swear. Y/n is amazing.”

“Well y/n is your soulmate afterall of course they’re amazing!”

“No you don’t understand. Y/n is the best soulmate. No one compares. Gosh they accidentally called me while talking to their friend and the way y/n is talking about me...” Jin smiles at that and ruffles Yoongi’s hair. He bats his hand away. 

“I’m glad you two found each other. And I can’t wait to meet them both!” 

“Me too. They’re going to come here for dinner. And I think I am going to ask y/n to stay with me after it’s over.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon?” Yoongi looks at him incredulously before Jin face palms his forehead. “Right. Sorry. You two have waited long enough to be with one another. If you want to I say go for it. Y/n would be crazy to say no.” 

You texted Yoongi to let him know you two were on your way now. You asked if you should bring anything to which he responded No. Jin hyung and I are cooking all you need to bring is your cute self ;)

You swear your heart is never going to get used to his flirting. The ride over your leg is bouncing the whole time. 

“Are you nervous?”

“Of course I am nervous! I swear this is much more nerve wracking than meeting his parents or something. These are the people he has spent the last decade with. They’re a family in their own right and I just want them to like me.” Your friend pats your leg to try and settle you. 

“I’m sure they will love you. You’ve probably made Yoongi so incredibly happy how could they not?” Your nerves settle at that as you realize your friend is right. You finally pull up to the building and notice that Taehyung is already waiting outside for you. You step out of the car and within seconds you are engulfed in a tight hug. 

“Y/n! It’s so nice to finally meet you.” You hug him back and are immediately set at ease with how welcoming Taehyung is. “Yoongi wanted to greet you himself but he’s finishing up cooking with Jin so he asked me to come instead. You’ve made him so happy just in this short amount of time so I just want to thank you for that. He had a gloomy cloud over his head for a long time but now I don’t think I have ever seen him so happy.” Your friend comes up behind you and pats your shoulder. 

“See y/n? I told you.” Taehyung’s mouth hangs open. 

“It’s you! The one who got all those stupid songs stuck in hyung’s head. Do you have any idea how many times he had to stay late in the studio working on songs because you distracted him?”

“Um... I’m sorry?” Taehyung chuckles at that. 

“I’m just messing with you. It was kind of funny at times to see the looks on his face whenever a new song got stuck in there.” 

“Hey! I am the reason these two even met. If I wouldn’t have introduced y/n to kpop and your music then Yoongi would have no idea that y/n even knew of his existence! You all should thank me.” You turn around and hug your friend and Taehyung does too, smothering them in affection. 

“You are absolutely right thank you...” 

“Y/f/n.”

“Thank you y/f/n.”

“You’re welcome.” 

You walk upstairs with Taehyung and the second you walk through the doors you are attacked in a group hug from the rest of the members. They all greet you with such warmth that you can’t believe you were nervous about being around them all in the first place. Yoongi comes into the room and offers you a shy smile. Then he turns to your friend. 

“So you’re the one.” He walks to y/f/n with his eyes narrowed. 

“You know for someone who’s so soft for my best friend you are kind of intimidating right now. Um.. I can explain-” Yoongi immediately hugs your friend and they stand there in shock, not able to reciprocate the hug. Yoongi pulls away with a gummy smile on his face. 

“Thank you. I mean the songs were annoying as shit but, because you introduced y/n to our music we were able to find each other. So just.. thanks.” He walks away and your friend still stands there with their mouth agape. You wave your hand in front of their face. 

“Hello, earth to y/f/n.” 

“S-sorry! Just wasn’t expecting that.”

“To be honest neither was I.”

The dinner goes by without a hitch. You all chat with one another, getting to know each other better. You can’t keep track of how many times you’ve laughed to the point of tears. Between their banter back and forth, and telling you all of the embarrassing stories about Yoongi, much to his dismay. When they started to mention stories of their pre-debut though that’s where he drew the line. 

“Nope! We’re leaving. Come on y/n let’s go for a walk I’m sure y/f/n will be just fine here. Jin can you take them home? Thanks!” He grabs your hand and drags you out of the apartment as you are laughing the whole way until you are outside the building. “I swear they can’t go two seconds without trying to embarrass me.” He’s still mumbling under his breath and you take this opportunity to squish his cheeks between your palms and plant a kiss on his lips. “W-what was that for?”

“To quiet those racing thoughts of yours. Relax. I thought the stories were cute. We’ve all done stupid stuff when we were young.”

“Oh really? Maybe I should ask your friend some embarrassing stories about you then.” 

“Do that and you’re dead to me Min Yoongi.” He chuckles at that, lacing your fingers together and walking down the sidewalk. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t know. Just wanted to spend some time with you away from everyone else.” You scoot a little bit closer to him and continue walking when he stops suddenly. “Actually there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“Okay.” You don’t know why you’re suddenly nervous. Yoongi seems to sense this as he turns to you and kisses your forehead. “It’s nothing bad. Don’t worry, love.” He resumes walking, swinging your held hands as he does. “I just wanted to know.. um.. earlier today you accidentally called me while you were talking about me..” You immediately tense and squeeze his hand tightly. 

“Oh gosh. Listen I’m sorry if anything I said made you uncomfortable. I’m not crazy I swear I just really really like you and-” He cuts off your rambling with a finger against your lips. He leans down and kisses it and you break out into a wide smile immediately. 

“Let me finish, okay?” You nod. 

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Of course I did.”

“All of it?”

“Yes?”

“Even the part about wanting to stay here with me?”

“Of course I meant it. There’s nothing more I would want.” 

“So if I told you my company could assist us in making sure you could stay.. you would?” You freeze at that. Yoongi doesn’t realize you stopped walking until he’s tugged backwards. 

“Do you mean that? You really want me to stay here with you?”

“Of course I do! This is a crucial time for soulmates. After you first meet it takes time for the soul bond to develop. Leaving and not being around each other during that time can really affect your health. It’ll cause chest paints, fatigue, and depressed mood.” 

“I know all that, Yoongi. It’s okay to say you are going to miss me and don’t want me to leave, you know?” 

“Okay then. I’ll miss you too much and I don’t want you to leave me when I just got you here..” You let out a hum and continue walking ahead of him. “So is that a yes?” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“You... what now?” You can’t keep up the joke any longer. You quickly turn around and crash into him, hugging him tightly. 

“I’m kidding you goof. Of course I’ll stay with you!” Yoongi mumbles something into your shoulder that you don’t quite catch. 

“What was that?”

“I asked if it was crazy if I told you that I loved you already?” You hide your face in his chest. 

“Would it be crazy for me to tell you that I love you back?” You both stand there under the moon and the starlight, neither wanting to let the other go so you don’t. The rest of the world seems to fade away. And suddenly it feels like you are the only two people left in the world. You both begin to sway back and forth to the song that is playing in both of your heads. The love you felt for one another being the melody that would be playing on repeat. The warm touches and whispers of I love you being the only lyrics you needed. Yoongi had always felt like he only needed his passion for music to be happy in life, having given up hope of finding you at one point. But standing under the streetlight with you, oblivious to the rest of the world, he quickly realized you had become his music. Just as he had become yours. 

Tag list: @anoesjkaax​​​  @just-call-me-trash-can​ @thestral-balerion​ @xcastielbabyangelface​ @rukinamukami​ @r-e-d-i-s-h​ @heartblackerthancoffee​ @rosita7703​   @jacjacwashere​   @purpletigertaetae​  @woodstockisjustlikealittlekid​  @supernatural-bangtanboys​ @loveyoongles​ @barbikatherine​ @atulipandarose​ @bookluver01​ @cioccocalderoni​ @lyoongx

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[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eleven): I'll float through death, haunting you

Notes: This chapter had a slight impact on me emotionally, do with that what you will. Please, please listen to the content/trigger warnings. This chapter is essentially being stuck in a severely depressed, traumatized, and suicidal person's head for 16k words. If you are not in a place to handle that right now, come back another time, or give it a skip, or after you read it go frolic with puppies for a few hours. I cannot provide those puppies, but I wish you luck in finding them.

Word Count:  16232

Chapter Warnings: Depression, Trauma, Angst, Blood, Alcohol Use, Violence, Gore, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt/Aborted Suicide Attempt, Motor Vehicle Accident, Human Trafficking, Implication of Child Abduction/Abuse (possibly overt), I think that's everything.... is that everything....

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V isn’t quite sure how long she lays on the ground, crying out the last of her tears. Then she feels the warmth of sunlight spilling through her window.  She needs to get up, needs to move, but for what? The merc wishes so much to just lay down and die, to just let it all go. She’s going to die anyway, isn’t she? She wishes it could at least be a peaceful one, to melt into the earth and never be seen again. But instead this is what she gets; a violent end for a violent life. Years of seeking control over her own existence, of searching for a place in this world; only to be taken over and replaced by another. 

Her eyes land on her window, following the warm glow of sunlight, too warm on her skin.  And her stomach clenches. Sun shining through the fractured glass, her blood staining it. A physical symbol of him, of what he did, how he hurt her. She doesn’t want to see it; doesn't want to think about it. Her body moves on instinct across the room, closing the shutters. The room feels instantly darker, only the harshness of unnatural light glowing within it. And it feels right, better. To close it all out. 

V scrambles to think of what to do next, her brain still mush. She scratches at the back of her neck, touching her chipslot where that monster hides and immediately shuts out the thought, if she thinks, she’ll cry. She knows it. She’ll climb into a pit and never climb out. Spend all her six months crying in a dark apartment. 

Her hair is greasy with blood still sticking to pieces of it, though her skin feels cleaner. The idea that Vik and Misty had to bathe her while she was out of it flickers through her mind, making her want to die. A shower may help, clean herself up something proper and feel human again, at any rate. Its something she can actually deal with, something she can take care of when everything else is out of her control. 

The merc goes to her bathroom and sets to taking off the bandages that cover her upper half. Vik knows well enough not to send her home in bandages and expect them to last. If they were still holding her together, she’d still be sitting in his clinic. She unties all the bandages, leaving blood smeared gauze across her bathroom sink. Nothing falls apart or starts gushing crimson, so she’ll take it as a win. 

There’s a fresh scar running down her right forearm. She tests her fingers and hand, spelling star names to see if her fingers move without pain. The nerves seem fine, muscles a little weak, but she can still sign easily and should still be able to wield a gun or a knife. Much more may prove difficult, maybe she can work on rebuilding the strength in it. Not that it will matter much… in the long run… 

She shakes her head, trying to displace the somber thoughts, trying to just focus on getting from A to B. And while it’s not a grand goal, right now B is just the shower. Ther merc notices some more new scars across her chest and stomach, but focuses instead on pulling off the sweatpants. 

V runs the hottest water she can stand and sits on her shower floor, pressing her back to the wall and holding her knees for a moment. Hot water pouring down on her and flushing her skin pink.  Her throat tightens and her eyes sting, the desire to cry again, but she stops herself, holds it in. This isn’t what she wants, six months of crying and choking back pills. 

She rubs at her eyes, trying to focus on cleaning herself. Feeling her scalp as she washes her hair, there’s a faint trace of scars underneath the strands, but nothing she thinks would be noticeable to the naked eye. Vik’s worked his magic, yet again, or perhaps that’s just the magic of modern medicine. Her hair was left untouched, no bald spots, or places that had to be shaved down. The average person would never know she was shot in the head and died. 

When she touches her forehead blood clings to her finger tips, where Johnny bashed her head into the window. Not far from the cut is a scar on her temple, where the bullet entered. She finishes up her shower, standing and shutting the water off. V dries off and out of admittedly laziness, she pulls on the same sweatpants Vik sent her home in, they’re still mostly clean and she doesn’t want to throw on real ones. 

The reflection in her mirror pulls up and she’s just as lucky as she thought. V as she knows herself is staring back; bleached hair and gray eyes. But they’re not her eyes now, are they? 

The one thing given to her by her father that she didn’t completely hate, they shared the same gray eyes. Yet somehow his always reminded her more of  gunmetal, colder.  She’s never seen the same chill in her own eye, despite the shared color. Not the prettiest or most interesting color, as a kid she’d pout that she didn’t have the same green eyes as her mother and sister, but she learned to appreciate them. And now they’re gone. The eyes looking back at her are not her own, corp made and manufactured. Kiroshi tech created in a plant. Not the eyes she was born with, not the eyes that last looked at her mother, not the eyes that’d squint under the Badlands sun as a child. 

She stares deep into the color, they automatically match to the user’s natural eye color, unless chosen otherwise. It may just be psychological but she finds herself scrutinizing it, a part of her thinking the color may be off.  They’re the same gray, she knows it logically. But a part of her screams they’re darker, or lighter, have more blue to them. That something is off. But maybe the only thing off is that they’re not her’s. 

They’re top of the line too. She’s lucky… really, getting high end tech she didn’t want, never has to fear her autoimmune disease will blind her.  Anyone else would feel blessed, this is just a part of life in Night City. Kids begging for optics as soon as they hit eighteen, some trying to convince their parents to install it before. Not that long ago, some story broke of a kid gouging their own eyes out just to get optics before they turned eighteen. 

She’s lucky, so lucky, she reminds herself as she presses at her eyelids and feels the metal beneath the flesh. Lucky she survived a shot to the head, that’s lucky, right? Lucky that skin grafts and synth flesh tech means she looks like herself after. Lucky that when Johnny pummeled her head in, he didn’t do any serious damage or reopen a wound. Lucky she doesn’t even have bruises on her throat from his choking. Lucky that she’s somehow the only person who walked out of this shit show. 

So fucking lucky, that she came back from the dead to die again, to go from dead to dying, to be nothing but a walking corpse with the one person who gave a shit about her dead… So lucky… 

She’s trying not to cry again. Because of course she is. She slams her hands on her bathroom counter, kicking it with a bare foot, and screams into her hands. Deep breathes as she tries to gather herself again, she needs a new B. Something to focus on, something to do. 

Close the blinds. Take a shower, what now? She needs something, anything that isn’t thinking. The pills are still scattered across her apartment floor, her chest cold without a shirt. So, those become her new B’s, for just a moment. Her focus solely on picking up pills and pressing them back into the blue bottle, popping another, just in case. Then she’s rummaging through her closet, finding a shirt. Her eyes land on Ava’s old shirt, Samurai, that fucker’s band. She crams it in the furthest corner of her closet, not wanting to think of him, but her attachment to Ava keeps her from throwing the whole thing out. V throws on a plain black top and then she needs another B, another goal, no matter how small. 

V plops herself down on the floor in front of her bed, tapping her foot to the vibrations in her apartment. The radio must be on, a rhythm and beat bouncing through the apartment. Barry is probably annoyed at her, again, It's not the loudest she’s ever had it, but she’s learned quickly that for her to feel the thrum of it, the music ends up loud. Sometimes she’s been able to swear she feels her whole apartment shaking. 

She shoves her hands in her sweatpants pockets, as she wracks her brain for something to do, anything to keep her mind off her grief. A wrapper in her pocket crinkles, these aren’t her actual pants, ones from Vik’s clinic for patients trapped there for a long recovery. They don’t even fit her properly, too long fabric pooling around her feet. She tugs it out and smiles, her first since she woke up in the clinic. 

A little sucker, synthetic honey flavored, shaped like a little bear. Candy for being a good patient, slipped into her pocket, she wouldn’t know when. She tears the wrapper off and pops it into her mouth, soft sweet taste clinging to her tongue. What she did to deserve Vik is a mystery, how he could ever deem her worthy of his kindness is… mind boggling.  Fixed her up a billion times, pieced her skull back together. Top tier Kiroshi’s, mantis blades, and a projectile arm launcher. All thousands upon thousands of dollars. Given to her for nothing. She owes him, majorly. If she’s going to die, at the very least she can settle her debts, Vik deserves at least that much. 

She’s got a new B and as expensive as cyberware is, this one may take her longer than five minutes. V needs to figure out exactly how much she owes him, Vik would lowball it and let her off cheap, and then she needs to get herself working again. And god, does she like the idea of that. To be doing something, a slice of normalcy, even if she’s solo now. 

V is on her feet and turns off her radio, tucks in her hearing aids, and then goes rummaging through her things. Her choker translator from the box of her clothes from before the heist, she goes ahead and throws it on, then gets her holophone from the bag of her stuff Vik sent with her. There are notifications across her phone; emails, texts, and missed calls. An email from her building administration catches her eye, checking it first. 

‘Dear Sir/Madam, 

Our records show we have not received this month’s rent payment for your unit in Megabuilding H10. In accordance with the tenancy agreement VD-233015722/2077, any subsequent payment delay will result in forced eviction from the property.’

She checks the date, it's September. Nearly two weeks into it, she must have been unconscious for a while, a few weeks at least. She starts sorting through texts and calls. Jake messaging about Jackie, asking her to call him, asking where she is and if she’s okay. A few missed calls from him. Cece wondering why V is ghosting her after weeks of no replies. Fixers texting her about cars. Misty and Vik missed calls from before she showed up in the clinic, a few texts. Her fingers hover a text Misty had sent, the last one, sent while V was laying in a dumpster. 

Misty:  v?! konpeki is on the news. is something wrong? jackie won’t answer my calls… 

Misty:  he’s gone… isn’t he? 

There’s a shake in V’s hand as she moves on from it, not letting herself linger, not letting herself explore the grief and pain. She needs to get a job, she quickly links her phone with her new optics, not letting herself think of how much she hates that. That finished she goes to call Regina, the local fixer, but before she can tap the contact her holo begins to buzz in her hand, light flashing as a call comes through. 

Takemura the contact tells her, the little red avatar shows a familiar face, Saburo Arasaka’s former body guard. The long haired man who pulled her from a landfill. She’s still not sure what exactly his deal is; how he went from dragging her to Yorinobu to taking her to Vik’s clinic. Or why he’d be calling her. But she answers, with a heavy feeling in her stomach. 

“Takemura here,” he says, facing showing up in her optic and on her phone, “we must meet. Come to Tom’s Diner.” 

The immediate demand takes her off guard and she doesn’t want to do that. He may have taken her to Vik’s clinic, but he also slapped and choked her. She doesn’t know how he got from one point to the other, but she knows she doesn’t trust an Arasaka corpo. He could have a billion different hidden agendas. 

“No can do, surprising as it may be, I’m not in a great place right now,” she signs in return, not directly telling him her paranoia. 

“You may recall I saved your life. I need you to return the favor.” 

“I’m serious, I haven’t managed to get my head straight yet, its all been a lot… ” 

“That will not happen anytime soon and so what? If you intend to live, you must reenter the ring. The bell has already tolled. Tom’s Diner. I’m waiting.” 

“Look, I-” he hangs up, “fucker.” 

He can wait until the cow come home, she’s not interested in whatever bullshit he’s going to try and sell her. She remembers the assasin who attacked them, reading his lips. He called Takemura a traitor. But why would a man so highly regarded by Arasaka, enough to be Saburo’s bodyguard, suddenly turn on them? At best, this is some scheme to get her to do something, acting like he can potentially help her just to use her for something or pull some shit. He’s using it as a carrot on a stick and probably plans on beating her with the stick when he gets the chance. 

Instead, she calls Regina, a few rings before the eyepatched fixer answers. But looking at the little avatar of her face, she doesn’t seem too thrilled to hear from V, which is… odd.  

“V…” 

“Hey, know it’s been a while, but rent’s due and I’m swimming in debt. So, what you got for me?” 

“For you, V? Nothing.” 

Regina always has jobs, hell every fixer does, Night City is a festering cesspool of crime and bullshit. And V has been one of Regina’s top mercs ever since she moved into Watson. The eyepatched fixer has only ever had praise for the young mercenary. 

“My hearing aids busted? No jobs on the table, seriously?” 

“Not for you.” 

“The hell is that supposed to mean? I’ve been you go to merc for fucking months, you use to have me doing five or more jobs a day. What’s the problem?” 

“Look, V, everyone’s heard what went down at Konpeki. You can’t botch a job like that and people not talk.” 

“I didn’t botch shit!”  Her lips move as she signs but she stops herself from yelling. Everything went to shit because of Yorinobu, right? Sure, she could have done more to save Jackie and Bug, sure she should have just not taken the job. But she didn’t fuck this up, just wrong place, wrong time. 

“Maybe you didn’t okay. But when you’re the only one who walks away; it doesn’t look good. Everyone’s saying you're the kiss of death, no ‘runner, merc, or fixer wants to end like Bug, Jackie, and Dex.” 

“You seriously think I’d betray you? You trust me that little, think I’d get you or anyone else killed on purpose?” 

Her throat tightens, eyes sting. Does Regina really think that little of V? Is that what the world thinks of her now? Just the merc that fucked up Konpeki and got her entire crew killed? Six months of consistent and quality merc work, thrown away because of one bungled job? 

“Of course not, V. You’re a solid merc, but what am I supposed to do? Any client finds out I put you on their job, they’ll think I lost my mind. Can’t put you on a crew, either.” 

“Client’s don’t have to know it’s me, I-” 

“They’ll know, V. Can’t do it.” 

“So, what the hell am I supposed to do!?” V signs and kicks her couch, starting to pull at her hair, the sting of her scalp reminding her of him. 

“Look, earn some rep back, show everyone Konpeki was a one off, a bad day. And then we can talk about getting you some jobs.” 

“And how am I supposed to earn rep back without jobs?” 

“Fucks sake V, want me to do your job for you?! NCPD always has scanner gigs and subcon work.” 

“So what, I’m supposed to earn a rep back by working with pigs!” 

“The streets talk, show you can do the jobs and do them well, remind people what you’re capable of. Then we can start talking about some jobs.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want to do jobs for the cops.” 

“Then don’t. Starve, go broke and lose your apartment, not my problem, V. Earn your rep back and we’ll talk gigs, until then, forget it.” 

And with that Regina hangs up and V groans, kicking her wall, its bullshit. Konpeki blew up spectacularly so and she gets that. But, she didn’t tell Yorinobu to kill his dad. She didn’t give the corpo brat daddy issues. And she doesn’t want to lower herself to police sub-contract jobs. Doing the cop’s job for them is the bottom of the fucking barrel, helping out pigs that are half the reason this fucking city is such a mess. 

Padre, she decides, he gave her a job when she just came to the city. He’s always had a soft spot for her, took a chance on her when she first got here. But, a voice in the back of her mind nags, the only thing worse than no reputation is a bad one. She hasn’t just gone back to square one, she’s in the negatives. The merc doesn’t let herself think about it for too long, calling the Heywood fixer’s number. 

His age spotted face pops up in her optics and she can feel a little dash of hope rooting itself in her chest. Surely he has work for her. Even if it’s something small, there’s got to be something.  

"V… it's been a while, my child. How have you been?"

"I, I'm here… More importantly, I could use some work."

"V…you ask me for work, to damage my own reputation for your sake, and so soon after Jackie’s passing? Have you no respect for me, yourself, or Jackie?"

The question feels like a punch in the gut. Padre knew Jackie since birth, knew Senora Welles while she was pregnant with him. He’s seen Jackie grow up and ultimately even brought the two mercs together. She knows he must be grieving, mourning, and here V is...trying to move on so soon after, trying to shut it all out. And she knows it must look bad, knows she may look heartless. But if she lets herself settle into that pit, she’ll never climb back out. 

“Padre I-” 

“Have you even spoken with his mother?” 

“No, I just-” 

“You should.  Avoiding grief is bad for the soul, yours and hers. As far as work goes, I cannot sully my hands to help you, not this time.”

“I understand…” 

“May God be with you, V.” 

He hangs up and V’s sure he must be sick of her shit, not that she can’t blame him. She knows he’s right. That she’s shutting everything out. But between Jackie’s death and her own; she doesn’t know what the fuck else to do. And facing his mom… there’s a tightness in V’s chest at the thought, looking her in eyes and knowing V couldn’t save him. Why would Mama Welles even want to see V after this? 

Maybe it's not the right or best way to deal with this, but it's all she has right now. V pulls up Dino’s contact next. He’s an alright guy, seems not to mind V at the very least. Though, he may just be trying to imagine what’s under her clothes each time they meet, probably not aware he’s already seen it. But hey, if it earns her a job, she’ll take it. She calls him. 

She gets his voicemail, hangs up without leaving a message and shoots him a text instead. Hoping he’ll read it when he gets a chance and sends some jobs her way. She tries Wakako next, the phone answers then hangs up before V can get a word out; making the Westbrook fixer’s stance clear. El Capitan the mulleted fixer of Santo Domingo sends her straight to voicemail, not even letting it finish ringing. She’s given Mr. Hand’s voicemail as well. After all the calls, she checks to see if Dino has responded to her text, groaning when she sees she’s been left on seen. Dino seeing the text but not responding. Not a single fixer is willing to work with her after Konpeki. 

V clenches her hands around her holophone, device threatening to crack under her grasp. Regina’s advice of NCPD jobs coming to mind. It’s no secret that the cops suck at doing their job, corrupted and incompetent. So much so that they’ll pay merc for intervening and taking down crime, shooting down gangers before they can shoot civilians. But it’s never something she’s wanted to do. Aligning herself with cops feels scummy.  But her rent is due and when she adds together the prices of top shelf kiroshi optics, mantis blades, and projectile arm launcher… she owes Vik around seventy-thousand eurodollars.  Savings can cover her rent with some left over, but not nearly enough to pay back Vik. 

She calls the NCPD and asks about getting set up for sub contract work, half swallowed pride in her throat as she forces herself through the conversation. The rather bored sounding officer getting her set up to do the work, fairly simple. Listen to police scanners, find crimes to intervene in, drop any evidence off at a drop box, and get paid. Evidence is a lose term, they’re most interested in anything with proof of who was involved, shards or docs. And while the officer doesn’t say she can keep any loot or stolen stuff she wants, the implication is clear that they won’t stop her. Most interested in getting violent gangers put down. 

V quickly throws on some clothes, throwing a baggy black hoodie over it all, then grabbing her mask. In rifling through the bag of her things taken from Vik, the sight of her blood stained Konpeki clothes makes her stomach churn but she finds the little beaded bracelet that Misty gave her before the heist. The blue beads now carry little flecks of blood, lapis lazuli meant for spiritual protection. She slides it on over her leather cuffed bracelet, she needs all the help she can get.  With that she puts the bag aside, not wanting to ruminate on the blood soaked clothes for any longer. 

She finds the bullet pendant still under the pillow, another good luck charm, to hear Misty. There’s something morbid in wearing the bullet that killed her. But, she likes it, and if Misty’s right… Again, she desperately needs as much luck as she can gather. The merc pulls it on. She keeps her mask in her usual bag, throwing the pill bottles from last night in there too, pops her regular med, makes sure she has her weapons, and leaves her apartment. 

It feels surreal, walking through the halls of her apartment complex again. Moving through people and seeing the lights around her. Feeling like a zombie walking amongst them. To hear the chatter again, hundreds of people in this building, moving along with their lives. While she’s stuck with a terrorist in her skull. While she’s come back from the dead. While she’s lost the most important person to her. While she can still feels his hands on her throat, though her left her with no bruises. Only the mark on her forehead and the crack in her window are a reminder of his existence. 

“Hey, V!” A voice calls out, stopping her in her tracks as she turns to see Wilson outside the Second Amendment store. 

“Hey,” she signs in turn, walking up to meet him. 

“Haven’t seen you in a good one, two… few weeks, heheh. Figured you’d skipped town.” 

“Just trouble… the usual,” she signs, hoping her face won’t give away her unease. 

“A-ha, got just the thing for you, then.” 

“I don’t know about that, I got rent to pay and debts to clean up, don’t need to be spending my money on a new toy.” 

“C’mon, V, got a beauty that practically has your name on her.” 

And despite her better judgement she finds herself following Wilson into the gun shop, she can cover rent, so maybe spending what’s left over on a gun isn’t so bad. Wilson hefts up a case and undoes it, V’s breath catches in her throat because Wilson really has her number. A beauty of a sniper rifle in a brilliant metallic blue, not too bright to keep some stealth, but still within her favorite cyan hues. It's already outfitted with a silencer and what looks to be a digital scope. 

Her desert eagle is her go to when it comes to guns, but the powerful little .50 caliber can’t fit a silencer, at least not without a lot of tricky fucking around. Her knife is silent, but distance is a struggle, her knife throwing skills only making up so much for it. The launcher is far from silent. A sniper rifle might be the perfect addition. Her father taught her how to fire them as a kid, looking down the sight, feeling the recoil as the butt slammed into her shoulder. She had decent aim, but it’s been years since she touched one. 

“.50 BMG, bolt action sniper rifle. Your color, your caliber, what more could you want?” 

“You really do know me too well, don’t you?” 

“Told ya, got your name on it.” 

“Mind if I try her out first?” 

“C’mon” 

Wilson lets her pick up the rifle, feeling the weight of it in her hands as she trails after him into the shooting range. Its a heavy made rifle, which is good, since that will help keep recoil from hitting as hard. V’s a small thing, so the bigger caliber guns she loves can kick back like a pissed off mule. Even her favorite handgun has a heavy kickback, the Desert Eagle not a gun to fuss with, but she’s learned to take the recoil over the years, shooting guns since she was a kid. 

Memories of another gun, even more powerful than her own go to, the Malorian withe Last True Friend scratched into its barrel. Wielded in silver fingers, the force of it would have shattered anyone else's arm, and would have destroyed her own. 

She shakes those memories from her head; they don’t belong to her after all. V plays with the sniper rifle in Wilson’s gun range, liking the feel of it in her hands. The accuracy of the scope. She ends up leaving with it on a holster on her back alongside her bag, paying Wilson for the new gun and some extra ammo. 

In the elevator she tunes her hearing aids to a police scanner frequency, picking up the nearest potential jobs first. And in moments she hears the chatter of Tyger Claws attacking a ripperdoc clinic, not one she knows, but they’re not far from her apartment. She takes her mask from her bag and slides it on as she leaves the megabuilding. 

She calls her car through her phone. And receives a notification that it was towed and can’t be dropped off for another day. So, she’s walking, until she finds something to steal. At least the first job isn’t far. Wandering through the Night City streets and through a tunnel, she drops a few stray Eurodollars in a man’s cup and lets him know he may want to scram. He gets the message and gets some distance from the area. 

The tunnel opens to a square yard and she can see the gangers just from the edge of it, unaware of her. V crouches and pulls her rifle from her back, taking aim at the Tyger Claws over a cement staircase. One dead with a headshot as soon as she lines up the scope and pulls a trigger. Others yell out, run to investigate, walking right into her sights. Three more dead in a moment. A fifth runs behind a green and red car for cover, she fires her first round through her projectile launcher, blowing the car to ash and dust, killing the ganger. And they’re all dead, not a shot fired off at the merc. Picks through bloody corpses, pocketing what she can. She finds the doc dead in his clinic, shard saying the Claws attacked because he was pulling chrome from dead Claws. She drops it off at a drop box and gets eight hundred eddies sent to her account. 

The scanner picks up another job, crime filled Night City streets always having something to offer. There’s a Kusanagi motorcycle, bright red with stickers across, belonging to one of the gangers. She grabs it and makes her way back through the streets. 

Four Tyger Claws on the rooftop of a building, less clean. She nearly catches a grenade, barely dodging it as memories of gunpowder and Mexico heat flash through her mind, a phantom pain in her arm and the weight of fallen friend on her back. But at the end of it, she’s the only one standing. Some fuss about an antenna and she’s another eight hundred dollars richer. 

Larger job at the corner of Drake and Cartwright, at least twelve Claws having taken over a market space. The merc takes advantage of her new rifle and the concrete jungle landscape, climbing up steps and perching herself on an air conditioner unit, shooting around the corner of the building. With time and patience, five Tygers dead from sniper bullets, brains splattered on the market stalls they were robbing.  The rest won’t enter her sight line, ther merc slinking down to meet them, picking them off with her sidearm and knife, chasing them through the lantern strewn market. A slightly surreal feeling to it, walking through blood stained market stall, corpses thrown across it, brains leaking into cracks of the cement while she grabs a Nicola and a bike with more gas in it. 

And that's what she does, not letting herself stop to think, just moving from job to job. Three Maelstrommers in a fire fight with cops after trying to klep some shit and setting off an alarm. There’s a gross feeling in her chest when the cops thank her, wondering how many skeletons hang in the officer’s closet. But her bank account is fatter and that’s all she can focus on in the moment. 

She rides past a tv screen in a building showing the news, talking about Saburo Arasaka’s death and races through traffic before she can hear anything more. That night still haunting her like a ghost, its been weeks, can’t the story be over. Can’t it be enough… 

Sniped Maelstrommers from the ledge of a building, peeking around the corner into the alley to a warehouse, finding an extra three thousand tucked away in it. Three Tyger Claws shot down after killing a snitch. It's all instinct, all muscle memory, ending lives as easily as she breathes. It’s not pretty or good work, but she’s a natural at it. 

She has to park across the street from Lizzie’s for the next one, a group of Claws, one of the main gangs in Watson. Her stomach churns and biles burn thinking of the prep work, thinking of the warning signs, thinking of why she should have turned around and left. Pushing it aside she kills a handful of Tyger Claws, before moving to the next job further up the road. 

Animals shaking someone down in an alleyway, she hands behind the table of an abandoned vendor’s table, piled high with goods. She throws a knife over it, watching the blade sink into one ganger before sniping the rest. Her stomach drops when she raises and sees the records that cover the abandoned table. 

Black and red labels; Samurai and Silverhand etched across the graphics in white. His records amongst the oldies. Its like the world is mocking her, haunting her with that man, with that night. She throws them off the table, crushing them underfoot as she goes to collect her knife and finish the job. 

The radio announcer hypes up the Arasaka health insurance plan on her way to next job and she shuts her hearing aids off for a moment, just the sound of the corps name making her want to scream. She changes the radio when she climbs off and flicks them back on before she clears a gang of Scavenger out from under an overpass. 

Five Malestrommers get killed near the Med Center, gangsters managing a deal to steal chrome off of comatose patients. She can feel the bruise her new rifle has caused, still some recoil to it, but the ache doesn’t stop her. The ache she gets just helps to keep her mind away from other things. Somehow it’s nearly four pm and she doesn’t know when that happened. 

Near Goldsmith street she’s tasked with taking out another Scavenger nest. A large messy one, armed with illegal shit stolen from Trauma Team. Spotted weaving through them, a full gun fight across the rooftops. Dodging and chasing Scavs through it, dodging behind crates and transformers. And she can nearly hear Jackie, can hear him laugh, can hear him yelling, because this is the kind of shit they did. But she knows it's just a memory; she’s alone with adrenaline in her veins, sweat on her skin, and a timebomb in her head. 

She drops the last Scav, breathing labored, a few new injuries bleeding steadily. An hour spent battling the vultures, blood heavy under her fingernails, and she picks up on the scanner another job nearby. The merc already moving to get to it, not let her body rest for a minute, because as long as it’s moving her brain slow down just a little. 

Clears out Tyger Claws from a construction site in the Northside of Watson. The sun setting just as she drives up and shoots down a cluster of Maelstrommers doing business behind a diner, having killed a drug dealer who stopped supplying. Another group of the chromed out gang taken down for attacking a shipment yard who they felt wasn’t cutting them a good enough discount. 

Cleaning up another nest of them in a shipyard full of crates, picking through Maelstrom corpses and cop bodies there before she arrived shows a commissioner sent his boys in blue to die, for poking around where he didn’t want them to, for doing their job. She can’t even pretend to be surprised. 

Northside is mostly Maelstrom territory, so it’s no shock it’s another group of the mini borgs she’s taking down as she pulls up to Offshore Street, an ad across the way promising to knock the devil out of her, she’s not sure what the ad is even for, but the message reminds her of her passenger. The proverbial devil she’d love to have knocked out. The gangoons are in a trainyard, stealing running gear from a convoy they jacked. There’s a high enough building for her to perch and take care of them easy, before dropping back in amongst their corpses to pick through for what she needs. Same thing she’s done time and time again. 

Samurai written across the back of a now dead gang member's shirt, because of course. She kicks his corpse, as if she were striking the monster in her head. Shoots an already dead body twice, tears threatening to rush out, a scream on the tip of her tongue. And she swallows it back down. 

Two more clusters of Tyger Claws are taken care of, the thanks of a plant worker held at gun point by a bridge makes her smile, even if just a little. Knowing she did manage to hopefully help someone, they were trying to klep chemical to make their newest drug; Glitter. At least he didn’t have to die for something so stupid. 

Her holophone buzzes in her pocket, missed calls and text messages across it. The first text from Bartmoss Collective, which seems to be some strange spam, talking to her about capitalism. The missed calls and other text from Senora Welles. V scratches at her face, checking the message. 

Mama Welles: V?

Mama Welles: V, we need to talk, please pick up

V chews on her lip, stomach twisted in knots. What the hell does she say, what the hell can she say? How can she even look Mama Welles in the fucking eye after this? Her fingers shake over the keys as she types the only thing she can think to send. 

V:  I’m sorry.

Sorry for Jackie, sorry for evading her, sorry for being such a coward. Sorry is all she can think to be… 

Two more jobs, both Maelstom again and she decides to head home for the night. Her body is exhausted, mind fuzzy as she drives the stolen bike down the city streets. It's nearly midnight, all she’s ran on the entire time is a honey sucker and stolen Nicola. But, that means she’s tired, worn out and may be able to find sleep easily. 

She steps into the elevator; eyes already threatening to drift shut. V pushes her mask up off her face and thumps her head back against the wall;  immediately regretting it, the gesture too similar to Johnny's, the thunking of his head against her wall. She hates this, all she wants is to shut it all out, to forget it all if only for a day and just focus on work. But it’s haunting her. 

“Night City is still in a state of mourning,” a newscaster prattles off, “following the death of Arasaka CEO, Saburo Arasaka. Flag on all city buildings are lowered to half mast and all major public events have been postponed until further notice. Daughter and heriress Hanako Arasaka arrived in the city, in the wake of the tragedy.” 

“Fuck you!” 

She screams at the screen, nearly frothing at the mouth as she puts a voice to her anger, feeling eyes on her as soon as she has. The elevator has come to a stop, someone just trying to enter it, staring at her wide eyed at having seen and heard the outburst. She pushes past them, tugging at her hair and ready to explode or cry or scream or something. Because its bullshit, it’s all bullshit and she fucking hates it. 

The world is mourning Saburo; fuck Saburo! He was a piece of shit, a corpo sleaze who’d do anything to make a dollar, to get more power. Yet the world is meant to mourn him, meant to mourn a man who did everything he could to fuck it up. A man so awful his own child would strangle him just to be free of the monster. 

Good people died that night, actually good fucking people, Bug and Jackie. And the world moves on without them. No flags fly half mast for them. No one has even contacted or spoke to her about Bug. Even she can’t bring herself to actually mourn, to take the time to feel her feelings. The world barely remembers them as soon as they’re gone. 

And she doesn’t consider herself a good person, not like them. She’s nowhere as kind or welcoming as Jackie nor as talented as Bug. But damn it, she died too. And no one cares. The world just keeps on moving. And it hurts. 

She screams when she closes her door, just screams and lets it out for a moment. V doesn’t want to cry again, is sick of crying. So, she just screams and punches her fist back against her wall. Her radio is playing music again, she notices as she starts to calm down, body leaning against the door as exhaustion settles back in her bones. She swore she turned it off, the shitty little thing must be acting up. She doesn’t have the energy to care. She haphazardly throws some of her clothes off, dropping her bag and weapons as she marches to her bed. She’ll sleep through it, sleep through the wellspring of anger and pain that’s started to burst out. 

V puts her hearing aids on the side table and lays back against her pillows, feeling the plush of it welcoming her. She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, trying to relax her body. Trying to find some calm, trying to find that serenity she’d had in silence for so long. Letting the exhaustion of her day send the world away. 

Then she feels something pressing into the mattress beside her. The warmth of a presence looming over her, the smell of cigarettes and musk. And she’s shooting up in her bed, breath choking and clawing in her throat; heart trying to escape her rib cage.  She expects him, expects to see him, is waiting for Johnny to be there with harsh hands and a sharp tongue. 

But she’s alone. 

She sits on the edge of her bed and just breathes, running her fingers through her hair, she has no idea how this all works. No one does. At least no one she can speak to. What if he comes back in the night? He got control of her last time, what if he finds a way to do it again? What if he takes over in her sleep? God only knows what he could or would do…  She doesn’t even know how long the pills suppress him, he can flicker and control how he shows up, he could be active right now and just hiding… waiting for a moment to lash out. Waiting for her guard to fall. 

And if it’s not him, it will be his memories. 

V can’t sleep, she decides all at once, not now. Maybe never again. And she has no idea how long she’ll make it like this, but she knows she can’t give him that chance. Can’t live his memories again. Can’t deal with this. She grabs her hearing aids tucking them back in, rock music still drifting through her apartment, as she goes to her bathroom. V needs to get back out there, back to work. It's the only thing keeping her somewhat sane, though that thread gets close to snapping every second. 

She washes dirt and blood from her hands, then splashes cold water into her face, trying to wake herself up. The cold shock of it disrupts some of the exhaustion, as she looks back up at herself. Still a little dirt on her face, bags already starting to form beneath her gray eyes. She grips the edge of the sink looking at herself,  steadying her breaths, water dripping down her nose. 

 A blind man lost, in the streets

A pattern here I need to see

Keep returning, keep trying to leave

Got a bad feeling that I need to feel

 Her knuckles whiten fingers digging into the sink, blood going cold and air catching in her throat. His voice, that fucking voice, playing through a radio. A song she’d never think anything of most days, maybe she’s heard it before and wrote it off. But now her heart hammers at the sound. She’d never even know who it was, but she now knows that voice like she knows her own name. 

A black dog runs at my side

Down a road, no end in sight

The city sleeps but in my mind

Got a knot that won't unwind

 She runs from her bathroom, tripping over herself as she rushes through the apartment. Her nails digging into the plastic as she frantically shuts off the music. Shutting out that damn voice for a moment, as she tries to get her bearings. She throws it down on the floor, a spike of satisfaction in the sound of it bouncing off the linoleum. 

“Fuck!” V curses out loud, her head throbbing with the pain of it all. She holds her head in her hands for a moment before she’s moving again. 

The merc is grabbing up a thermos, gifted to her by Misty and meant for relaxing teas, V fills the bottom half with a mix of Spunky Monkey and Chromanticore. Then brews a bot of coffee in the little maker she has stacked on her microwave. There’s a nearly caustic smell as she dumps black hot coffee in with the cold energy drinks; filling the thermos with a cocktail of energy that will either keep her awake or kill her. Either way she’ll be thrilled. It all burns like acid in her throat, a cloying tar taste stuck to her tongue, but after three swigs she can feel her energy picking up. She swallows another omega blocker with the fourth one. 

Then she’s yanking her pants back on, getting all she needs to get back to work, marching back out her front door with her concoction in hand. She’s drinking it, cringing at the taste as she comes back down the stairs. 

“NCPD open up!” A loud male voice yells out and she see two police officers outside of Barry’s door, her downstairs neighbor is a cop himself. 

“Barry! We know you’re in there, we’re here to help!” The female officer yells 

“You don’t got no fucking warrant!” 

“Cut the bullshit! Just open up!” 

“We came here as colleagues- nothin’ else. Haven’t heard from you in a while, we’re worried!” 

“Noted. Now leave me alone!” 

“Congrats, Mendez,” the female officer looks at her coworker, “way to be a prick.” 

“Oh what? So I’m the bad guy? I’m not the one holed up playing the attention whore!” 

“He lost a friend, can you blame him?” 

“He’s not the first or the last. It’s called life.”

The two police officers leave Barry’s door and go to lean against the railing of the hallway, talking amongst themselves. V and Barry have made small talk a few times, he’s an alright guy, despite his job. And judging by the way his coworkers are talking, he’s been having a rough go of it. Losing a friend… she can certainly relate. She takes another swig of concoction and heads over, double checking her choker is on, mask still in her bag for now. 

“Is something wrong? I live upstairs,” she signs to the police officers, indulging her curiosity. 

“So keep on livin’ and stop minding other people’s biz.”  The burly officer huffs, annoyed that the merc has dared bother them. 

“Hold on, it’s his neighbor.” 

“Any way I could help?” 

“Maybe, you know Barry at all?” 

“We’ve talked a handful of times.” 

“He’s a friend from the precinct. Left the force not long ago. He broke down after his best friend died. We’re worried he’ll do something stupid. “

“Relax, Petrova,” Mendez scoffs, “Barry’s got nerves of steel- he’s just a spiteful old bastard” 

“Mendez, I-,” she rolls her eyes, looks back to V, “could you check in on him when he’s chilled down?” 

“Sure, not exactly far away.” 

“Thanks, just be patient. Cops fallen on rough times can be… touchy.” 

“I got you,” V signs with a nod, deciding to go ahead and test the waters. There’s something about getting herself caught up in someone else's troubles, it’s easier to worry about someone else. It’s a nice distraction. 

She knocks against his door, knuckles scrapping the metal. No response, she knocks again. Nothing, so she knocks again. 

“Hey, you home?” 

No response again, he seemed heated when he was yelling at his coworkers and he probably likes them more than he likes the stranger from upstairs. She decides to let it go for now, she’ll check back in on him later. Another drink fo her death cocktail, her head ache growing worse and her heart rate picking up, but she feels wired enough to take on the world. Mask down as she leaves the building, she tunes to the scanner. 

And each job bleeds into each other; Tyger Claws, Maelstrommers, Scavengers, Animals, and just petty criminals all blend together. All just bodies, sheep to her slaughter as she works her way through this, refusing to stop or breathe. 

Bullets sniping through the air between swigs of her concoction. Blade thrown and retrieved, an abandoned energy drink guzzled. A gangoon gutted, a half drunk coffee stolen by grubby merc hands. Omega blockers swallowed down with caffeine every couple hours, as the night bleeds into the next morning. But the sun rises above her only to fall again, unable to keep track of the seconds, minutes, hours; all just a blur. Pick up a scanner job, get there, clear it, drink something with caffeine, drop off evidence, grab a vehicle and get to the next job. Then do it again, do it again, again, again, again…. 

New bruises on her skin with every job; new cuts, new scrapes, new aches. The migraine is constant, head pounding in tune with her racing caffeine soaked heart. But she welcomes it all, the bite of physical pain to keep her mind off the emotional. 

The sun is just setting on a day other than the one she left her apartment. Maybe it’s been two, three, or more days of mindless grunt work across the city. Just stacking up her bank account and maybe, she hopes, earning a rep back across the streets. Though, what could is a rep to a dead woman walking? She can’t but wonder as she pulls up near Charter Street for the next scanner. Tyger Claws again, seen spending too much time near a shipyard behind the old buildings. 

She walks swiftly through an abandoned parking lot, seeing the standard signs of the shipyard. Stacks and stacks of shipping containers, some rusted and broken open, others sealed tight. Pallets of concrete and building supplies, she doesn’t see signs of the gangoons yet. She walks crouched through a  shipping container opened on both ends, moving closer to get a scope of the area. Peeking around the edge of it, she sees the first signs of life. 

A Tyger Claw leaning against a car, mottled red and green. She’s far away and can’t get a clear picture through the crates of who else is with him. The merc moves up, slinking into another open rusted crate. She can see more bodies, more vehicles. But the glitch of a Scavenger mask catches her eye. Claws and Scavengers together… 

With the cars around them, she opts to use her launcher, the smart aiming better than her sniping could ever be when it comes to getting around obstacles. The rocket launcher emerges from her forearm, locking onto her target, she fires off the incendiary round. It curves but can’t quite hit dead on at the angle, bursting into flames and barely catching a flame on the ganger. She curses as the boom of it gives her away. 

Scavs and Claws scream, come running towards the crate she’s in. She readies her launcher again back up in the container, as a member of each gang run before her, catching a look at the merc just before she fires, It connects easily, both dying on impact, corpses going on in flames as V continues to back up through the crate and out of it, getting distance between herself and the swarming gang members. Another shot fired at the car, setting off a boom, that kills two more. 

“This is bad, bad, bad!” A gang members yells, one of three still rushing her across the lot. He dies from another incendiary round a moment later, screaming as he’s engulfed in flames, another gang member dying with him. 

One Scavenger woman is still running forwards towards V as she walks backwards, grabbing her knife from it’s holster. And V throws it, the final gang member unable to stop in time, running right into the thrown blade. It sinks into her throat, blood spurting forward as the woman collapses. V pulls the knife back out, wiping it across already stained jeans as she marches forth to survey the area without threat. 

Tyger Claws and Scavenger now lie in burnt remains, the smell of melting flesh hot in the air. But other than cars and gangoons, nothing else is severely burned. The benefit of the smart targeting and rounds, the perfect amount of controlled chaos. She steps over corpses, collecting what she wants off of them as she moves to the hub of stacked shipping containers. The black remains of the car are still sputtering flames. 

Its a little maze of containers as she picks up anything she wants, then she hears a steady thump, something banging against the metal. She twists her head around, searching for the source. It gets more frantic, the echo to the sound telling her it’s coming from one of the dozen or more crates. 

“Is someone there?” She signs, mask translating as she tries to get an idea of which container it may be. 

“Help, please, help!”  A heavily accented and muffled voice yells out. And V finds the crate, unlocking it. 

An awful stench pours out of it as the blue rusted door slide open, a huddled crowd of five or so people. Mostly women but a few men, skin caked in filth, bruises heavy on their skin. The one at the front of the container, who was beating on the door freezes, a woman with what looks like a broken nose  stares at V wide eyed for a moment.  The merc realizes why, quickly sliding the mask up to the top of her head. 

“I’m not with them,” her choker translates and she can see the relief that flood the people, “lets get you all out of here.” 

The people slowly leave the container, on shaky legs and V’s stomach lurches. There’s blood and filth, human waste, across the container. No telling how long these people were locked in here. But that’s only partly why the stench is so foul, she realizes, when a body at the back of the cargo crate doesn’t move. V walks through the crate turned prison, taking a closer look, hoping she’s wrong. 

She isn’t. 

A girl of maybe sixteen, the mottled bruises on her skin not just injury but validity, blood no longer pumping but instead stagnant. Her corpse just on the verge of decomposition, leopard spotted jeans stained with blood and her own waste. V tentatively searches through the young girls pockets, searching for something to help ID her, finding a holophone with the teenager’s final message sent. 

Tracy: mom, i need help. 

Tracy: i think ive been kidnapped

Tracy: mom please help

And V can’t read the rest, bile churning in her gut, but candy and caffeine is all she could hope to puke up. A young girl on her way to a party, snatched up and shipped off to Night City. Final typed out words, a desperate plea for her mother to help. 

V leaves the crate before she gets sick, still five bruised and filthy people shivering in the open air. The orange glow of the burning car and setting sun settles over it all. She digs around the things the gangers left behind, finding a shard between Peter and Jotaro Shobo. 

Jotaro Shobo, a well known piece of shit in Night City, a high ranking member of the Tyger Claws who scrolls X-BD’s of himself torturing people. The Scavs were bringing in people for the slaughter, judging from the message, Peter telling Jotaro they had just arrived in the city. These folks aren’t from the area. 

“None of you are from Night City, are you?” She signs to ask, nods confirming the suspicion. And that wasn’t the only shipping container, many still around them. She hasn’t heard anymore thumping or yelling, but she still needs to check. 

“What’s going to happen to us…?” A woman asks in a broken voice, the sound a scratch in her throat. And chews her lip, she can’t get these people back home. That’s a job for the NCPD, but will they do their job is the question. She surely can’t abandon them like this. 

“I’m going to check the rest of the crates, see if there’s anyone else, and call the NCPD. Hopefully, we can get you all sorted and back home.” 

She gives the best comforting squeeze that she can to their shoulder, feeling the skin and bone beneath her hand. V is suddenly so much more thankful that the fire from her launcher didn’t get out of hand, if so she could have cooked these people alive in the crates.  

And who would have known or care? 

There’s a pang in her heart as she starts opening crates, some filled with nothing but corpses. Others with drugs and supplies for the Claws’ X-BDs. She pulls two more people from a crate, just as bloody and beaten as the others. V can’t help but think of it, that young girl just gone, dead to the world. A mother left in terror, not knowing what’d happen to her baby. People thrown out and taken from the world. And if they all were gone, the world would just keep going. 

Just like with her. Just like Jackie and Bug. And fuck, just like the people she’s killed in the past however many days. All just bodies to the rest of the world. A city that doesn’t care, that’ll forget them as soon as they’re gone. People who never really mattered to the world or had a place in it to begin with. 

She opens the last of the shipping containers, heavy metal doors creaking and amongst corpses, she sees one moving body. A young girl, maybe eight, face fleck in blood and wide eyes looking at V. Sick fucks, grabbing whatever and whoever they could. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re safe now.” V speaks, hoping the sound of a human voice will bring more comfort than her translator, even if the noise is rough. But the little girl comes walking slowly out. Her eyes welling with tears, choked half understood sobs as she asks where she is, where her mom is. 

V scoops the girl up, doing her best to comfort the child as she brings her back to the group, out of all the bodies around ten are still alive altogether. Lost and now just sitting around as they wait for what comes next. The shard between Peter and Jotaro said they’ve been here for weeks. V sits against a shipping container, child still crying into her chest as she calls the NCPD, debating for a moment, before deciding to put her translator back on. 

“Night City Police Department, how can I assist you?” A bored voice answers the line. 

“My name is V, I’m a merc who does sub contract work for the department.” 

“You forget how to shoot people?” The dispatch scoffs, like she’s wasting their time. 

“No, asshole, I’m sitting here in a shipyard near Charter Street, Scavengers were trying to traffick in fresh bodies. Got ten or more folks from overseas, been crated up for weeks, no idea where they are or how to get home. So, I thought maybe, you’d all like to come down here and do your job.” 

“Uh-understood, we’ll be dispatching someone to you right away.” 

And with that the call ends, now all V can do is wait. Her momentum stopped in it’s tracks to take care of the strangers, One of them, a woman with dyed blue hair and overgrown black roots, looks to V. 

“So, we’ll be getting out of here soon?” 

“I’d like to say yes, but I’m afraid when the NCPD says ‘right away’ they mean give them three hours, so might as well settle in.” 

“You’re… not… gonna leave, right?” 

“Don’t worry, Night City isn’t the safest of beasts even if you’re in good shape. Wouldn’t leave you all out here alone.” 

“Thank you… I… thank you.” 

“Also,” V starts to speak as an idea pops in her head, feeling how thin the girl feels in her arms, “I know this probably sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I can order like, I don’t know, pizza or something?” 

Something about it feels so strange and weird, after being kidnapped and taken abroad, a merc offering to buy you cheap pizza. But, it’s all she can think to offer in the time they’re waiting. She can’t help them get any cleaner; can’t hose them down or take them all back to her apartment for a shower. She can’t house them all, certainly. She can’t take them back home, or undo all they’ve been through. But… she can buy some pizza, help them fill their bellies after so long of going without. 

“Please…” 

And she does just that, ordering on an app through her phone, Buck-A-Slice is the cheapest and quickest option. Plus, the franchise now delivers their orders with drones, cheaper than having to pay human beings, which means she doesn’t have to explain literally any of this. A thousand times quicker than the NCPD, a drone drops off a stack of boxes with greasy cheap shitty pizza. But they tear into it like it's a feast and she finds herself eating too, not even realizing how hungry she was. Has she eaten since she started doing her little job bender?

Time ticks by as the people try to talk between eating, trying to fill the quiet night air with chatter. The little girl has fallen asleep in V’s lap, one of the merc’s hands rubbing circles on her back, the other fiddling with the bullet pendant that hangs around her neck. Stillness forced upon her, her mind starts to roam again. 

Bug fried in a chair. Jackie bleeding out in the backseat of a Delamain. And V’s brains blown out over a hotel floor. All gone, though technically she’s still here, but she doesn’t feel like it. She feels like she’s already gone and she might as well be. Thrown away into a landfill and the world still spins. Still spins after all that’s happened. The only dead man mourned in the wake of Konpeki is Saburo, the only one rich or powerful enough for the world to give a shit. 

And she’s dying again, this time, there won’t even be a body to burn. It will be like she was never here, overwritten like an unwanted file. Just a painful fade from existence as she loses herself, loses control, and is taken over. 

There’s a rumble of car wheels across the lot. Flashes of lights, a few police NCPD cars as well as two unmarked vehicles, a car and a truck. There’s a handful of uniformed cops getting out of their cars. And two men outside of uniform, detectives, she thinks. 

“We’re over here!” One of the women yells out, drawing the attention of the officers. 

“Christ that smell,” one of the men out of uniform comments, an older man with gray hair. 

But V’s eyes are drawn to the other plain-clothed man, if the clothes can really be called that. He himself stands out, around six foot five and muscular, his jacket a dark brown leather with fur across the collar. A shaved head of dark hair, one brown eye and a metal telescopic implant in place of the other. He’s attractive, a shallow little part of her notes. 

“Detective Ward,” the mountain of a man introduces himself to V, “heard a merc called, something about a group of people locked in shipping crates. We’re gonna get you home safe, but first, can you tell me what happened?” 

V has to try not to laugh. She honestly doesn’t blame him for assuming she was among the kidnapped folks. Her work has left her beaten, bruised; blood and grime on her skin. V’s clothes are still slightly damp from scanner jobs that made chase after evidence in a submerged van. She smells like sweat, murky water, and blood. 

“I’m the merc who called, actually,” V signs and sees the realization dawn on the detective’s face. 

“Sorry, I-” 

“No worries, I get it, not exactly in my Sunday best.” 

“What exactly happened here… ?” He prompts her to introduce herself. 

“V. I was doing scanner jobs, cleared out some Claws and Scavengers, found myself some refugees, called you all, and ordered some pizza. But, I think this tells the story pretty well,” she explains then hands Detective Ward the shard between Peter and Jotaro. 

He gives her a skeptical look for a moment, eye narrowed at the shard. But he seems to ultimately decide that the deaf five foot merc with a child in her lap isn’t that big of a threat. Taking it from her fingertips with metal fingers, a silver hand… And she hates how that little acknowledgement makes a cold sweat form at her hairline.  

Detective Ward pushes the shard into his chip slot, his eye glowing blue for a moment as he reads it. His expression shifts a somber and cold look across his features. 

“Jotaro fuckin’ Shobo.”

“Yep.”  

“Appreciate the help, we’ll take it from here.” 

“What’s going to happen to them?” V asks, looking down at the girl in her lap, NCPD isn’t known for going the extra mile. Who’s to say they won’t just throw these people onto the streets without any help or put them in a detention center to avoid dealing with it?

“Not your concern, merc,” the other detective, cuts in, looking down his nose at V. 

“Excuse the fuck out of me for not trusting NCPD’s finest.” 

“We’ll take care of them,” Detective Ward smooths it over, “figure out where they’re from and get ‘em back home.” 

And maybe she’s naïve, maybe she’s exhausted, or maybe she’s a sucker for a pretty face. But, when he says that she believes him. His expression earnest and soft, Regardless, she knows the NCPD can help them more she can, more resources and pull. Just a matter of if they actually choose to use them. V gently shifts the child off her lap, who looks up at her with wide sleepy eyes. 

“I gotta go now, honey, but the detectives are gonna help get you home now, okay?” 

The little girl nods, still a hint of fear in her eyes as V stands up, as much as she’d love to stay with and protect her. V’s no guardian and can’t get the girl home safe. She watches as Detective Ward stoops down to a knee, getting as close as eye level with the girl as he can, though still nowhere close. 

“Hey, kiddo, my name’s River, what’s yours?” 

“Stephanie…” 

V leaves on that, hearing the soft way the detective speaks to the child, the sound of it bringing the merc a bit of comfort. There’s another Kusanagi motorcycle, that clearly belongs to one of the now dead Tyger Claws, it has a full tank and she climbs on top of it. An old rock station blaring on it as she pulls away from the scene. 

The wind whips around her as she rides through the Night City roads, there are more scanner jobs, always are. But she doesn’t take it, thoughts pinging around her skull. Shipping containers filled with corpses, all forgotten names and people, who the world will never mourn or stop for. Mercs drop like flies everyday, her and Jackie just a part of the numbers. But life moves on without them, will move on without her. 

She guns the engine faster and faster.

A monster in her head, a psychopath who tried to put her head through a window. A timebob with a face and name. And one day, if she doesn’t stop it, she’ll be him. V… Aidan… will be nothing but a fading memory. A name that use to belong to the new body Johnny makes his fifty year comeback in. And he’ll do whatever he wants, hurt whoever he wants, because as much as Vik and Misty tell V she survived… she didn’t.  Johnny survived. because short of a bullet in her brain, he’ll actually get a second chance. She won’t. All V did was get a time extension, a chance to postpone her date with death.  

She pushes the bike to go faster, heavy on the throttle. 

And she wishes she’d just met her end. Being dead is easier than dying. She wants it done, to just be gone, to not be afraid. To not be in terror of the ghost wreaking havoc in her skull. To not spend six months questioning if a headache is caffeine induced or her memories being erased. To not be stuck in this limbo of knowing she’s going to be gone and forgotten, to just be there by now. 

She barely manages to take a curve in time, but doesn’t slow down. 

Dead people don’t have to deal with their feelings. Don’t have to grieve. Don’t have to face the family left behind after their best friend dies. Don’t have to carry this pain. Don’t have to-

 We lost everything

We had to pay the price

Yeah we lost everything

We had to pay the price

 And his voice is like a bomb going off in her head, all at once trying to stop and turn, but she’s going too fast. Gnashing metal and crushing pain, she tastes blood as she’s sent flying forward. A thud of impact as her body hits the road; gravel and asphalt grinding across her skin as momentum carries her across the ground. 

The world stops for a moment. V doesn’t know if she’s in the road, on a sidewalk. If she’ll be ran over. She doesn’t care. The merc lays there, bruised lungs aching with each breath, skin road rashed. Blood pours from her nose, iron clinging to her tongue. Her nose may be broken. She just stares up at the sky, the towering neon lights of the city buildings. And if she strains her exhaustion blurred vision, she thinks she can see a star or two pricking through the dark of night. 

‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.'

It’s an old quote from someone she can’t remember and she’s not even sure where she ever heard it, is she even the one who heard it? How deep are his memories embedded in her own at this point?

She can hear traffic driving by, so she’s probably landed off the road, no one concerned for her. No one stopping or checking on her, just another corpse on the streets of Night City. A forgotten nobody, all she’ll ever be and all she ever was. 

 I see your eyes, i know you see me

You're like a ghost how you're everywhere

I am your demon never leaving

 V groans, catching the sound of the stolen broken motorcycle still croaking out that asshole’s music. The lyrics of it taunting her; like over fifty years ago Johnny wrote those lyrics just as a fuck you to her right now. But something lurks in the back of her mind, the knowledge that that’s by no means true. Murky memories of a freckled blonde netrunner flickering through the merc’s mind. 

She clambers back up on her feet, taking in the lights and vending machines around her. Blood still clinging to her lips and chin as she looks around her. On the street, a Kiroshi ad shining blue light on her, some blue haired model showing off her new optics. Across the road painted across the side of an old clothing store in red and blue; the Samurai band logo. The flaming oni demon with skin ripped off to show chrome beneath; just there, mocking her. She flips off the graffiti. 

V’s out of her weird brewed concoction, even after so many times of topping it off. No more coffee or energy drinks on her. And she’s not sure she wants that anymore. Wants something stronger, that doesn’t keep her going, but just clouds her mind. The merc stumbles her way into the nearest liquor store and buys herself a bottle of bourbon. She barely catches the look of concern on the cashier’s face before she leaves with the booze in hand. 

She takes heavy swigs of it as she meanders down the city streets, swallowing the burn of it and welcoming the fuzziness it puts in her mind. Avoiding it all and throwing herself into jobs has gotten her nowhere but exhausted, so she drowns the feelings in alcohol, the taste of blood and bourbon heavy on her tongue. She wanders down neon lit streets, not even sure where she’s going or why, steadily draining the bottle as she goes. 

The lights become blurrier, a pleasant warmth buzzing under her skin as she walks, worries unable to find her through the cloud of alcohol. And she’s not sure how far she goes or where she’s ended up, stumbling down a street, bottle half drunk.

“V?!” 

She turns, nearly tripping over her own feet, when someone calls her name. And through the blur of booze and lights dancing around her vision, she sees Cece. The older woman looking at her with something between horror and concern, wide brown eyes and furrowed brows. 

“Holy shit, are you okay?” 

Cece rushes towards the bloody drunk merc. A tender hand reaches out to cup V’s face, but she stops it, wrapping her fingers around the older woman’s wrist. She doesn’t want it, the gentle comforting touch. A kind gesture better suited for someone else, not meant for someone soaked in blood with alcohol and crimson on her tongue. 

“Mmm...I, I’m fine,” V slurs her words, unable to sign with one hand on Cece and the other wrapped around her bottle. 

The older woman pulls her hand from V’s grasp, the merc not missing the traces of blood she’s left on Cece’s skin. If she cares, if she minds the filthy touch, Cece says nothing about it just looking at V for a moment, like she’s looking at a wounded animal. 

“You went quiet for a while, there’s some suit who keeps coming to the diner, asking about you, V… Did something happened? Ar-are you drunk?” She sputters for a moment when she notices the bottle in V’s hand, maybe catches a whiff of bourbon on the merc’s breath. 

“No..not your concern,” V signs now, hands slow and messy, struggling to make the words she needs. 

V turns to leave, this whole mess isn’t Cece’s problem. Cece and her barely even know each other outside of sex. The last thing V needs to do is dump trauma or bullshit on her, let alone drag her into the angry hornets nest that is Arasaka. V had only just thought of that, if Arasaka comes looking for her. She takes another swig of bourbon as she staggers across the grimey sidewalk, hoping to drown her newest anxiety. 

“V, please,” Cece turns V around, grabbing the mercs arms and forcing eye contact, “I don’t know what’s going on but you can talk to me, I wanna help.” 

Glassy gray eyes stare into gold, V just looking up at Cece for a moment. A distraction, that’s all V wants, all she’ll accept in the moment. Work, drinking, hell even helping Barry is all a grab for a distraction; anything to numb her and take her away from her pain. And maybe, her booze blurred brain suggests, Cecelia can distract V the way she always has before. Anything to not think. 

V pushes forward, standing on her toes to meet Cece’s lips. She presses in, tries to shove her clumsy tongue into the older woman’s mouth. The once honeyed tongue now tastes of bourbon and blood. V is shoved back, nearly falling over in her drunken state, Cece pushing her away to break the kiss before it could truly begin. 

The merc blinks, staring at the older woman. Cecelia’s face scrunched up in a grimace, V’s blood now on her lips, cringing at the cling of iron on her skin. The younger woman looks down, unable to meet Cecelia’s gaze now, ashamed to be so disgusting. To have left her filth and grime on another’s tongue. 

V turns away and begins to rush off again, face hot with a drunken flush and embarrassment. What the fuck is wrong with her? Why did she do that? Despite it, she can hear the click of footsteps chasing after her. Cecelia would be better off leaving the merc alone, would be better off if V had never stumbled into her life, even if only for sex. Everyone would have been better off before V stepped into their lives, the thought makes her throat tighten. 

“V, please, at least let me help you home, you can’t just stumble around drunk!” 

“Why the fuck not!?” V turns around and screams, blood coated spit flying from her mouth. Why can’t Cecelia just walk away?  

The two are left staring at each other for another moment. Cece’s eyes wide as she tries to work through her brain for a response, something to say. 

“Tonight we return with breaking news, as more information is released in regards to the death of Arasaka CEO, Saburo Arasaka.” 

A newscast catches the merc’s attention, tv screens facing out towards the street through a store front window. That stupid corporate sack of shit’s name drawing her in, a news anchor shuffles through his papers. 

“Yorinobu Arasaka has come forward with more information regarding his father’s death at Konepki Plaza. The identities of two suspected perpetrators have been confirmed to be that of mercenary Jackie Welles and a netrunner known only as T-Bug.” 

V’s breath is knocked from her lungs as the faces of her friends are flashed across the screen. Bug’s a crisp clear image of her face, expression stoic. Jackie’s is a mugshot where he has a bruised face and is grinning at the camera. The two exactly as she remembers them, her now gone crew shown on tv screen across the city, blamed for Saburo’s death. 

“The two edgerunners are believed to have been hired by a corporation to carry out the assassination, but Yorinobu has yet to disclose or point any figures regarding which of Arasaka’s enemies may have carried out this plot. Both Welles and T-Bug were confirmed dead. But, there is an unidentified third accomplice believed to have been on the scene when Saburo Arasaka was assassinated. Yorinobu has yet to release this individual's identity or footage from Konpeki, choosing for Arasaka to handle the incident internally for the time being.” 

A hand squeezes V’s shoulder, her own grip tightening around the bourbon bottle. 

“That’s… your friend, Jackie, isn’t it?” 

And she throws the bottle against the window. Unable to smash through the bulletproof glass, the bottle breaks first fragments scattering and bourbon streaking down the window. Cece instinctively jumps back, releasing V from her grasp. 

“Jesus christ, what the fuck, V?!” 

But the merc is already running down the street, slower than she’d be sober, but still faster than most. And she runs and she runs and she runs. She doesn’t know what for and to what, but she just needs to move, to go, to do something. V runs until her heart is hammering in her chest, pressing tight against her rib cage. Already bruised lungs struggling to take in steady breaths. Her feet ache, blisters forming in her boots as she finally slows down. 

And when she catches her second wind, limb still heavy with both ache and booze, she looks around. On the side of the roadway, a main stretch through The Glen, something she knows from the column of red and pink lights across from her. She knows where she is, where she wanted to go, whether she even fully knew. Where it began six months ago. 

She looks over the edge of the road way where the guard rail breaks off, overlooking the grimy little alley to Ember’s parking lot. The dumpster closed below, just like it was for her first job, stealing the high class car. V swings herself over, none too gracefully, hitting the dumpster and sliding off of it onto her back. She curses beneath her breath, blaming the alcohol, before she finally gets back up to her feet. 

A man waiting under an awning barely looks up from his phone as she stumbles past him, world still shifting around her. She walks around and to that elevator, hitting the button then stepping inside before it begins to rumble. And it’s stupid, she knows. It won’t change anything, won’t get anything back. But she just wants to be there, to stand in the place she first met him, the moment that changed so much for her. 

And the doors open before her and even after all this time, she knows the path by heart, walking down the halls to the double doors. The parking lot is empty tonight, only the glow of vending machines and the VIP parking spots. 

Her footfalls echo through the closed parking garage, making her way to the neon spot where that car was parked. And she lays down there, bathed in blue light, cold of cement biting at her skin through her clothes. 

The place where they met, where he put a gun to her head and they were forced down on the ground by police, where they broke away and took the car back to Padre. And he invited her back to his home, took her in like a stray, no concern or worry as he offered her food and shelter.  

Maybe if he hadn’t, he’d still be here. Maybe if he’d just gone ahead and blown her brains out that night, they’d all be better off. Dex wouldn’t have shelled out the job to them, Jackie would still be minor leagues but he’d be alive. Mama Welles would have her son, Misty her soulmate, and Vik his friend. Everyone happier without the merc mucking up their lives. And she wouldn’t be here either, wouldn’t be dealing with it. 

V takes out her phone, instinctively pulling up his number. She wants to talk to him, just one more time, she just wants to talk to him. It rings and rings and rings, she knows he won’t answer, knows he can’t. But… there’s no harm in wishful thinking, is there? 

“Hey, this is Jackie.” 

Her breath catches in her throat, his voice a shock to her system, a sound caught in her throat. Say something, say something. 

“Can’t come to the holo right now, leave me a message and I’ll catch ya later.” 

And the machine beeps, giving her the chance to leave a voicemail, because he’s gone. She knows that, she does, but she just… 

“Jackie….I… this.. Is so stupid,” she chides herself and hangs up. 

She’s half drunk in an abandoned parking lot, trying to talk to ghosts. Practically one herself. She sits for a few more moments, trying slowly to piece her mind back together, if only for a moment. It’s obviously not working, so she just gives up and stands back up. Already knowing where she plans to go back, tracing back pieces of their history, if only to find peace for a moment. 

V stumbles her way back to the alley way, though her movements are a little steadier than before. Rather than dragging her aching feet all the way to Kabuki, she finds the nearest NCART station stop, thankful for the twenty-four hour transit. 

The train car is mostly empty, a few people shooting her odd looks as she sits down, staring at the ground. Her eyelids heavy after days of constant activity and caffeine. The soft rumble of the transit starting to feel like she’s being rocked in a cradle, lulled into sleep. 

A familiar click of boots make her eyes snap open, not even realizing they closed. Brown boots shuffling in front of her vision, glitching like an old tape. She digs her nails into the back of her head, refusing to look up as the figure sits down in the seat across from her. Legs spreading wide and shamelessly as he takes up as much space as he pleases. Both in the subway train and her head.  

Heart pounding and breaths getting shorter, she tries to think through it, that the pills can’t be wearing off. When did she last take one? Might be seeing things, could be someone else, could be her mind playing tricks on her. 

“If only you were so lucky, Samurai,” her head shoots up at the sound of his voice, looking at him finally, “drunk and bloody on a train, wondering if you lost your mind, be funny if you weren’t so damn pathetic.” 

“No, no, no, no, no, fuck!” 

People are staring as she tears through her pockets, hands shaking, the words garbled in her throat. Can’t breathe, she can’t even fucking breathe as she rips the bottle of pills from her pockets. Her heart is going to explode in her chest, her lungs going to shrivel up without a strong enough breath of air, her body on fire. Shaky hands rip the cap from the bottle. 

“Wait a fuckin’ min-” 

His yell is cut off as she chokes the pill down dry, jumping up from her seat, the train rolling to its next stop and she runs out, tripping down the last of the steps. She nearly pukes as she hits her knees, but forces herself to swallow the bile, she can’t afford to puke the blockers back up. She stays there on the ground, holding herself, reminding herself to breathe, sucking in the cold city air. It's filthy with smog but at the moment it feels godsent. 

Eventually her breathing is better, her body feels cooler, the air chilling her sweaty skin, heart rate evening out. She slowly stands up, gravel and dirt still stuck in already blood stained hands. The merc finds her way to where she was going, the rockerboy in her head not ruining her goal. She needs to see it. 

She reaches the Kabuki Central stop and sucks in a breath of air when she sees the bright red neon sight, lighting the street way around the door. The No-Tell Motel, the place where they died. Or maybe she didn’t die until she hit the landfill, but she thinks it was here, when Dex blew her brains out across the carpet. Where Jackie bled out in the back of a Delamain. 

V goes around to the back gateway, where the Delamain pulled in. She sits at the top of the stairs for a moment, just looking at where the taxi had been parked. Where she lost him, next to the defaced Night City logo. All his dreams of reaching the major leagues, of having the money and street cred to keep his family safe, to be a success story who made it out of Heywood. Broken. Sent spiraling down when he got too close to the sun and the wax around his feathers melted, Icarus sent plummeting down to his end. 

And she wishes so much she could have convinced him not to do it, could have kept him from getting to this point. But a part of her knows she probably couldn’t have. A part of her knows that if he were in her shoes, sent plummeting down but somehow still able to stand, he would have climbed back on his feet and tried it all over again. But she’s not as strong as him… 

V gets back on her feet, ready to move on to the next part, where she died. Needs to see it, needs to face it. She slips into the motel and up the stairs, memories of that night flickering in her mind. Staggering through these neon lit halls and red stairs in bloody Jinguji clothes, face still wet with tears and rain, convinced she’d see her payday and live the major league life if only for Jackie. 

She walks down that long stretch of hallway and reaches the room, 204, where Dex Deshawn shot her. It’s vacant, but she hasn’t paid for the room. Remembering even just bits of what Bug taught her, V’s able to hack the door, watching it slide open. Half expecting Dex’s bodyguard to be waiting behind the beaded curtain. Of course, he isn’t. 

The room is just as she remembered, the standard sleazy No-Tell Motel room. Neon red light over a grimy bed, a dirty blanket thrown on a stained leather couch. And near the bed and bathroom, she sees it. Red now rusted and stained to a crusty brown, her blood. Where she was shot. Where she died, they haven’t even bothered to clean her blood from the floor. And that’s all she would have been. Another stain in a carpet. Another life snuffed out in Night City with no one to mourn her. 

She opens the bathroom door and doesn’t even have to step in to see the mess she left is still there. Brown formerly crimson blood stained across the broken mirror, sink marked in rusted red brown handprints. V sits down on the bed, her blood stains in view, she holds her head and she cries again. She cries for Jackie, for Bug, for herself. She sobs and she lets out just a bit more of her pain. And the sobs die down, as they always do at some point. The tears run dry and the sob become more choked. 

There’s one more place she needs to see, she decides, standing from the bed. It’s a longer way out, but she needs to see where she was left. Where her body would have rotted away with no one giving it a second thought. She leaves the hotel, no even bothering to shut the motel door behind her. 

V doesn’t bother with the NCART again, as far away as the landfill is and scared of seeing him again. She knows the train didn’t trigger it, but she just, doesn’t want it. She’s sobered up, a fair amount, maybe still a bit tipsy. Its dumb, a bad move ayway, but she busts the window out of a parked MaiMai, little blue box of a car. Clears the glass off the driver’s seat and breaks into it. 

The keys in it, she drives it and drives, careening through the traffic of Night City. Watching as the neon lights start to fade away as she hits the outskirts. Glowing billboards advertising become scarcer and scarcer, noise filtering away. Until there’s nothing but craggy rocks and stretches of desert land. 

And the distance hills become made of trash as she comes closer and closer to her destination, driving past a little gas station. She parks where the little dirt pathways through the landfill meet the road. V climbs out of the driver’s seat and starts walking, boots sloshing through the mud puddles and crushing grass underfoot as she walks through mountains of trash. 

An orange glow catches her eye as she starts to near a clearing, a trashcan fire still burning in the night. And as she reaches the clearing, she sees his body, Dex’s corpse still laid out where she shot him. Through the moonlight and the light of the fire, she can see bullet wound in his head, the purple in his skin where blood has settled. 

No one’s come to find him. No one’s collected him. He blew her brains out and left her to rot in a landfill, now here he is. Karma or something, she thinks. One of the best fixers in Night City, major leagues, rich as hell and meant to be their ticket to success. But he was thrown out and forgotten just like anyone else. 

She gently kicks his body, not even angry anymore, she’s not sure she has the energy to be. And what good would it do her, she already took the man’s life, what more can she do. He’s suffered the very fate he tried to damn her too, not even knowing what he did to her in the end. Dex was desperate, scared of what would happen if he was connected to her and the heist. He had no way of knowing the chip would do this.  

His body shifts under the push of her boot, limp and useless. But she sees a glint, his gun. A gaudy little thing of black and gold, his name emblazoned across it. She picks it up, seeing the blood on it’s barrel and wonders if her brains splattered on Dex when he shot her. 

She takes it with her as she goes to sit on a nearby rusty fridge, holding it in her hand, feeling the weight of it. V touches the bullet pendant around her neck, a bullet fired from this very gun. She wipes the crusted blood off it’s barrel, chipping it off with her fingernail. Maybe it was all fate, people aren’t meant to come back like that, not like this. 

Her mind returns to what she told Misty, about blowing her brains out. The older woman telling her she’d kill two souls, if aimed right, it’d kill Johnny too. And maybe that’s not a bad thing… He showed his colors, when he attacked her. If that’s who he is, who he chooses to be. She’s killed people for less. 

And isn’t it better than suffering? No dragging it out, no slowly losing control, no watching herself turn into him. She’d go out on her own terms, no one else's. No Arasaka’s, not Johnny’s, not her dad’s; her’s. 

A quick shot, a jolt of pain, then she’d be gone like that. Her and Johnny.  She wraps her lips around the barrel of the gun, the taste of metal and dirt on her tongue. Feels the weight of it in her mouth and clacks her teeth against it, biting down on it. Her finger on the trigger, one twitch of movement away from it all ending. From slipping away into the end and never dealing with this.

Do it.

Her finger doesn’t move. 

Do it. 

Nothing. 

Do it. 

And she’s crying, because it’s all she does, unable to make the final move. Unable to pull the trigger, she pulls the gun from her lips. And she holds her face as she cries again, she’s sick of this, sick of feeling this way. Sick of hurting, of being a nothing, of knowing she’s going to fade away and be forgotten like so many others. Of knowing she doesn’t matter and never will. That she’s going to become someone else, that she doesn’t and never will have place in this world, maybe was never meant to. 

Only when the sun rises so does she, a notification on her optics that another payment from the NCPD has come in. Still a few grand short of paying off Vik without cutting her own throat in terms of cash, maybe she’d be better off killing herself that way, she wonders… But a part of her would prefer Dex’s gun, gone the way she was meant to, meeting her fate head on. 

Head aching, foggy with exhaustion, but no longer buzzed with alcohol. She has a text about the fight in Kabuki and she still needs to get money from Wakako for the Dorsett gig; her last one with Jackie before the heist. She wipes the tears from her face and tucks Dex’s gun in her waistband, for later, meet her fate another day, she decides leaving the landfill. 

Death will wait for her, it’s done just that for years, albeit not always patiently. They got a date set, according to Vik, six months out. She’ll jump to meet the end sooner, she thinks, find it on her own terms. But for now, she’s not quite ready. 

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #female v #fem v

[mxndoscyarika]

Food Cravings (Mando x Reader)

Author’s note: This was inspired by a conversation I had with @thick-dick-daddy-mando last night! Special thanks go to her for specifically the second part of this oneshot ;) Love ya, baby mango!

Summary: Two times that reader tortures Din in public, and the one time he catches her in private.

Warnings: food, sexual themes, smut

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

You couldn’t help it. The bustling market combined with the blistering heat and a long day of ship repairs was plenty of reason to wander off and find yourself a snack, right? It had been a while since you had felt the weight of a warm wrap in your hands, the aroma of smoky spiced meat and crisp vegetables drifting around you. Eating dry, bland ration packs satisfied your stomach, but it did nothing for your food cravings.

So you had caved, splitting off from Mando’s side and venturing to the row of food vendors lining the street. Stands of meat rotated over orange flames that sent bright embers flying towards the sky. What originally began as a sphere of pale dough quickly transformed into a flatbread of sorts that was pillowy yet strong enough to wrap around its meat and vegetable filling.

You returned to the mandalorian with the food quick enough that he didn’t even notice you’d disappeared. When he turned around, he tilted his head to the side.

“When did you get that?” he asked, bewildered. After all, he’d only spent a couple minutes buying some cloth for the child. The last he knew, you’d been right next to him.

Smiling, you answered, “Just now. We should pick something up for you and the kid before we leave; it’s not every day that we have this nearby.”

“Well we don’t have much time” he replied, looking further down the street. “Batuu is pretty calm, but you never know who’s around. Let’s just get what we need and head back to the ship.”

“Right right, I’ll just finish this really quick then.”

As you looked down at the somewhat oversized wrap, you realized that there was no way you’d be able to eat it all quickly or easily. Unless…

Carefully, you folded the excess flatbread over, turning it into a cylindrical shape. Though you were mostly focused on trying not to spill the filling onto the ground, you could feel Din’s eyes bearing down on you.

You met his gaze as you stuffed one end into your mouth, the circumference of it filling you to the point that you needed to inhale through your nose.

The mandalorian stood still as a statue. But his helmet remained tilted down towards you. Towards your mouth. His fingers twitched at his side, then stilled. If it weren’t so loud in the marketplace, you would’ve been able to hear his deepened breaths.

Warm spices and a creamy sauce coated your tongue, some of it dribbling out the corner of your mouth as you took a bite. Gripping the remainder of the wrap in your hand, you took your index finger and swiped up the straying liquid, sucking it clean from your finger with your eyes still locked with Din’s.

“It’s good,” you said, using both hands to push more into your mouth. Voice muffled by the food, you added, “We can keep going. It might be a while before I finish.”

“R-right,” he croaked, clearing his throat. He gestured to follow him, beskar glinting deliciously in the sun. “Let’s go.”

———————————————————————

Look, you didn’t expect to end up on Weirlyn. You’d heard about it before, and the only thing you remembered was that it was ridiculously humid. For some, it would’ve been a perfect getaway from work. But for you? It was just a ridiculously hot jungle that happened to lead a ridiculously hot mandalorian to his next job.

“Are you sure you want to look find a job here?” you asked, unbuttoning your outer jacket and slipping it off. He’d landed the Crest a short distance away from a village, the top view of the ship only partially shaded. In the wet heat of the planet? The ship was very quickly becoming its own kind of oven. “There are plenty of other places.”

“This is a good place for us to relax for a bit,” he answered, flicking some switches into their off position. “Once I get the quarry, that is. The vegetation will conceal our ship, and the village seemed pretty hospitable.”

“You always work so hard,” you said, pouting. Though the ship’s air conditioning system seemed to be working overtime, the air temperature had risen enough that a thin sheen of sweat covered your skin. “So stressed. Are you not melting in the armor?”

He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?” you asked, tilting your head. “If you get too hot in that, I wouldn’t mind if you took it all off.”

At that, a huff of air escaped the mandalorian. “I have a high heat tolerance.”

Humming softly, you stood from your seat and patted his bicep. “Alright, but you’re buying me something cold when we get to the village.”

Din quickly realized what a mistake that was. You and he had left the child in his quarters, which were away from the windows and would stay cool enough for the time being. When you’d both arrived at the village, you were greeted with carts of cold treats. Despite living in such a hot climate, those who lived there were able to find ways to make it more bearable.

You had turned down a bowl of bafta ice cream, which had come in many different flavors and had a bizarrely stretchy consistency, and opted for an orange frozen rectangle on a stick. It was sweet and sticky against your tongue, the taste resembling a fruit whose name you couldn’t quite place a finger on.

Noticing that it was starting to melt and drip onto your hand, you licked it from the base to the top. Turning it to the other side with a simple glide of your fingers, you repeated the action.

The mandalorian simply watched you, not even shifting as you met his eyes once again. Your lips wrapped around the top of the treat and sucked lightly.

This time, you heard his sharp intake of breath. Smirking a little, you tilted your head and sucked on the sides, cleaning it up. You let out a soft moan, though you were imagining a different flavor. Never did Mando’s gloves look more enticing, with their orange tips and worn leather. As you licked back up with the flat of your tongue, you wondered what he would taste like.

It was no secret to yourself nor Din that you both felt an attraction to each other, but neither of you had gone past subtle innuendos and teasing. You told yourself it was fine; that your relationship would develop at its own rate. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t give your Mando a little push.

Giving him a taste of what he was missing out on, you slipped the frozen remainder--about the two-thirds the length of your hand--into your mouth, taking the opportunity to wipe your hands off on your pants. Your lips were sticky with sweetener, cheeks slightly sucked in as you worked your tongue around the ice in your mouth. All while keeping your eyes locked on Din.

You pulled it out slowly, its surface shining and slippery. Looking up at him innocently, you asked, “Are you ok, Mando?”

He finally broke eye contact with you, glancing down as he shifted on his feet. The large tent in his pants partially obscured the ground. No, he thought. He was absolutely not ok.

———————————————————————

“Hey y/n, I brought something back for you,” a modulated voice said, disrupting your half-lucid nap. “I thought you’d like something different this time.”

Spinning idly in the copilot’s chair, you examined the dauntingly thick skewer Mando held out to you. The aroma of perfectly charred meat filled the cockpit.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” you cooed, taking it from him. Up close, you realized that it was much bigger than you’d originally thought, the weight of it almost bending the wooden stick. You felt your cheeks warm as your mind strayed to the thought of Din giving you something else warm and thick.

Noticing your hesitation, Mando said, “I have a plate and some utensils if that’ll be easier for you.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m used to big meat,” you reassured, winking at him. If he was blushing or not, you couldn’t tell. But he shifted and placed his hands on his hips, drawing your attention to the unarmoured area between his legs.

Keeping your eyes on him, you slowly stuck the tip into your mouth. Your eyes nearly rolled back as the combination of sweet and salty coated your tongue. Despite his typically low standards of food, he knew exactly what you liked.

Groaning softly, you tried to pull off a bite. It was stuck. Hoping you’d find better luck further down, you relaxed your jaw and went down another inch or so before trying again. You closed your eyes in bliss as more of the salty-sweet taste flooded your mouth, breathing slowly through your nose.

You opened your eyes to Din watching you intently, as he had many times before. Finally pulling it off the skewer, you let out a moan that had Mando’s brain shuttering. He wanted to hear it again, but he also wanted your mouth wrapped around something else. Something bigger.

When you finally swallowed and smiled up at him, he shook his head.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, cyar’ika,” he growled, a hint of amusement laced in his tone. The low rumble of his voice made your core tighten involuntarily, the food forgotten. You snapped out of your trance as you felt him pluck it from between your fingers and set it on the plate he’d brought with him.

“Din, what are you doing?” you asked, looking up at him from your seat. The mandalorian towered over you, the pauldrons of his armor making him look impossibly broad and strong. To some, he may have looked intimidating. But not to you.

“The better question is: what are you doing?” he responded, standing between your knees. Heat radiated off of him as you blushed and tried to play innocent.

“W-what do you mean?”

A shiver ran down your spine as he grabbed your chin and tilted your face up, the orange tips of his gloves caressing your jaw and passing lightly over your lips. Your breathing deepened as he pressed his thumb against your lower lip. It took every ounce of self-control for you to keep your lips sealed, wanting him to answer you before moving forward.

He chuckled softly, the sound nearly enough to make you moan. The dark visor bore down on you, making your cheeks warm. “You think I haven’t noticed, mesh’la? The beautiful sounds you make as you eat? The way you look at me, imagining it’s me who is filling you up?”

“Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Din?” you quipped, smirking. “If I remember correctly, you seemed to have an extra pulse rifle stowed in the front of your pants on Weirlyn. Or am I mistaken?”

He tilted his head. “Talking back now, huh?”

“What are you going to do about it, mandalorian?” you question, glancing down at the prominent bulge. Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you wondered if he was as big as he looked.

“I’ll give you something that’ll keep your mouth busy,” he replied. His fingers left your face to unzip his pants and slip his hard cock out of its confines.

Your mouth watered as you took in the view. He was definitely bigger than you thought he’d be, but you weren’t complaining. Especially not as his glove hand started stroking slowly, causing a bead of precum to shine at his tip.

Smirking, you replaced his hand with yours and got to work.

#the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #my writing

[kaunis-sielu]

Teacher, Teacher: 7

tw: mentions of a panic attack

You slide one hand up Steve’s arm, sending Thor an SOS text with the other hand as you do. He’s at lunch right now and as you’d hoped quickly makes his way toward your room. He stops when he sees you and Steve and when he sees your pleading look disappears into your classroom.

“What can I do?”

“Just. Stay.” He says through a clenched jaw.

“Can I go close your door? Would the quiet help?”

“Yes.” You quickly stand and close his door then come back to him. You crouch down again,

“Okay, I’m not leaving again until you’re okay.” You say softly before touching his arm again. This time he reaches for you, one of his arms wraps around your waist and pulls you to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He murmurs into your shoulder, but you gently shush him as you wrap one hand around the back of his head stroking his hair.

“You’re okay. You’re fine.” He takes a few deep breaths that fan across your skin.

“It’s the weather.” He mumbles, “it can trigger things. Then I fucking dropped the box of geometric shapes.”

“It’s okay.” You assure him again and he takes another deep shuddering breath before letting you go.

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to be okay?” He looks a little more pale than usual.

“Yea, I’ll be fine.” He assures you with another tight smile. You give his arm another squeeze and his eyes meet yours, “I’m sorry.”

“Steve, please stop saying sorry. There’s no reason to be sorry.” He nods and you climb to your feet.

“What do I do?” He asks before you push open the door. “The kids all saw.”

“You be honest with them. You tell them that sometimes our emotions can get the better of us and when they do it’s okay to take a moment to deal with those emotions. You can tell them what the trigger was if you’re comfortable but that’s up to you.”

“Thanks.”

“If you need to take a half day do it. Carol used to be a cop, she’ll get it.”

“Really?”

“Yea, Fury was in the military too.” Steve follows you into your room and Thor slips out.

“Alright my class, you can continue to read. Mr. Roger’s class please put your books away and get ready for lunch.” Steve’s class does as you ask, all while looking suspiciously over at Steve who sighs.

“It’s okay guys. I just sometimes get overwhelmed and today it got the better of me. If you have any questions you can ask.”

“Does it happen a lot?” One of the boys asks.

“Not really. There are things that can make it happen but it’s pretty rare.”

“What can make it happen?” A little girl asks as the two classes wait in silence.

“Today it was the loud noise when I dropped the geometric shapes. My brain thought something bad was happening and over reacted.”

“So we should try to not make loud noises?” Penny asks and Steve gives her a smile.

“That’ll help, it won’t always happen but some days are bad days. Just like you guys have bad days.”

“Are you okay now?” Mikey, a boy from your class last year says and Steve nods.

“You guys did everything perfect. From getting Ms. Sunny to staying in here and being awesome for Mr. O.” He tells them, clearly proud of his class. “Thank you all. Now, we need to get going or we’re going to miss lunch.” He says and his class hurries out of your room and he gives your hand a quick squeeze before leaving the room.

Steve isn’t at school for the next two days. You try not to worry but every time you see Mr. Jarvis, his sub, you’re reminded that he’s not there. You’ve made up your mind by the end of the second day, you’re going to see him.

“Buck?” You call as you enter the gym, your voice echos in the space. “You in here?”

“In the storage room!” Comes his reply, when you get to the storage room he’s up on the second level untangling some jump ropes. “No matter what I do these damn things get all tangled.” He grumbles as he struggles to wind the handle for one jump rope through a loop.

“I need Steve’s address.”

“Why?”

“He hasn’t been to work for two days and I’m starting to worry.”

“He’s fine.”

“So you’ve talked to him?”

“No, but I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Bucky, please just give me his address. I’d check on you if I didn’t hear from you for two days too. You know I would.” Bucky sighs heavily then digs his phone out of his pocket and sends you Steve’s address. You hurry home to let out Minnie then decide to take her with you to Steve’s, he’d loved the dog when he’d been here and maybe she’d help. Minnie hops into the backseat of your car and you buckle her in with her doggie seatbelt, then punch in Steve’s address. When you get to his house your jaw drops.

He lives on the hill, in a gorgeous two-story. It’s a grey house, Bucky had told you that, blue shutters on the front window, an American flag sways from the porch in the fall breeze. You unbuckle Minnie then make your way to the front door. You ring the doorbell and hear it from inside the house. It doesn’t take him long to pull open the door but it clearly isn’t you that he was expecting.

“Sunny.” He breathes, Minnie lets out a loud whine. “And Minnie. What are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you.” You sort of feel like you’ve overstepped your boundary, “I-I’m sorry I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Now that I know you are I’ll go.” You turn and start back down the steps of the front porch when a warm hand wraps around your wrist.

Tag list:

@abschaffer2 @dsakita @dramadreamer14 @thinkwritexpress-official @thesassmisstress @andahugaroundtheneck @loving-life-my-way @thefridgeismybestie @killcomet @dumblani @silverkitten547 @im-just-another-monster @mywinterwolf @scuzmunkie @biskwitmamaw @geeksareunique @yourfellowangel @paintballkid711 @lumar014 @also-fangirlinsweden @simmisblog @bookoffracturedescapes @damiien-haas @heyyouwiththeassbutt

#steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers au #imagine steve rogers x reader au #steve rogers x reader au imagine #steve rogers x reader au #steve rogers x reader #captain america au #teacher!steve rogers #teacher!captain america #teacher teacher story #captain america x reader au imagine #imagine captain america x reader au #captain america x reader au #avengers au

[mwolf0epsilon]

How about a Sammy and Wally teaming up for once to get out of a sticky situation only to never speak of it again as no one would believe they worked well together :3c

Summary: Just like how water and oil didn't mix, there was no way Sammy could ever be openly nice to Wally... Or could there?

---

[[MORE]]

     Water and Oil. That was the sort of relationship Sammy Lawrence and Wally Franks had between them.

Under normal circumstances they did not mix, avoided getting involved with each other, and overall preferred to maintain a general distance.

Like both liquids, they were polar opposites of sorts.

Sammy was somewhat anti-social with a rather finicky temper that could be set off easily, while Wally was highly sociable, very easy-going and carefree.

Where the music director was a workaholic by nature (to the point it became quite detrimental to his own health), the janitor was more on the lazy side (only ever becoming invested in certain very particular interests of his).

So really, the hostilities and recurring arguments weren't unexpected whenever they crossed paths.

No one expected anything less from them.

     Everyone knew that Wallace Franks was a friendly person. He was born and raised in Brooklyn and had quite a mind-boggling background that often contradicted itself or put in question what sort of upbringing his parents had subjected him and his sisters to.

Questions that were met with a smile, a shrug and an eagerness to follow a routine full of cut corners, cleaning up spills, ignoring Mr. Connor and trying to avoid stepping on both Sammy's and Mr. Drew's toes.

He didn't particularly dislike anyone (although Thomas's pretentious tone made his blood boil quite a bit), and felt a little off put when others found reason to pick fights with him (fights he could in theory win if he felt like getting into a scrap with any of these fancy white boys who never once so much as got a punch to the gut or a kick to the balls).

Avoidance was the best survival tactic, one he stuck to unless personally blighted by anyone that thought he wouldn't retaliate.

He was a friend you could count on, but also a natural trickster, so if he wanted to be a problem he certainly could be.

The two things keeping him in line were sheer laziness and a good disposition. Why make enemies when you could make new pals? And thinking too hard on things wasn't really worthwhile in his humble opinion… Just look at Sammy Lawrence!

     Sammy… Wally didn't hate him (like most people thought he should, considering the blond was such an antagonistic asshole towards him). If anything he pitied the guy quite a bit.

The music director was an aggressive bundle of nerves. A ticking time-bomb that was just ready to be triggered, and it often seemed like no one cared enough to keep an eye on his well being.

Wally wasn't a medical professional of course, but even he knew when someone should step back and let themselves play stupid for a while to combat the amounting stress. Sammy was in his early forties (only 5 years older than Wally) and in desperate need of partying and some no-strings-attached sex. You know, the usual stupid adult stuff that got you in trouble if you weren't legal or if you weren't a straight white male.

Either way, all opinions aside, Wally didn't find reason to hate Sammy. He could understand why someone would carry themselves so tightly guarded when the economy was in shambles and you were trying to make something out of yourself. Although the same consideration did not apply to the other...

Because Sammy sure seemed to find reasons to absolutely despise him.

  "He's an incompetent brat with no respect for others! He's a petty thief, inept at maintaining the pipes, sloppy with cleaning and absolutely infuriating in how he brags about skills and smarts he clearly lacks!" The Brooklynite winced as he hid behind Norman, who was glowering down at the blond nuisance currently screaming at him.

A leaky pipe in Sammy's office that he'd been trying to fix had gotten displaced and destroyed a nearly completed composition, setting back the band quite a bit. Naturally the head of the department (who'd gotten sprayed in the face as well) had lost his temper.

  "Bite your tongue Lawrence, before I rip it out of your mouth myself." The much larger man between them growled in warning. "It was an accident, no need to go spittin' out such poison."

  "You can't keep protecting that little… that speckled half-breed!"

  "Now yous is really askin' for me to put my foot up your tight little ass!" Norman bodily shoved the belligerent ink coated man, the indignant anger in his voice pointing to the projectionist beginning to lose his patience. Not that Wally could say for sure, he was still very much hiding behind him. "Apologize to the boy before I deck yous in that big beak o' yours!"

  "I'd rather die." Sammy hissed between his teeth.

  "Why I oughta teach yous a good lesson on havin' some manners, you obnoxious little--"

  "N-Norman that's enough…"

Both fell silent as he spoke up, the janitor moving back from the pair and looking down at his feet in defeat.

He had messed up and Sammy had every right to be angry, since he had ruined his work and consequently screwed over the rest of the department.

It wasn't fair if he got off completely scot free, even if he didn't want to face Mr. Drew soul crushing reprimands.

  "I made a mess of things… I didn't pay attention and messed up the stinkin' pipe…" Sammy actually looked confused that he was just taking it for once, rather than getting out of dodge. "Now Mr. Drew's gonna be real mad and it shouldn't be the music department to pay for it…"

  "Don't mean Mr. Lawrence gets to go havin' a dyin' duck fit! Hollerin' up a storm like that, you'd think yous went and deflowered his sister."

  "Polk!" Sammy really did not like the sound of that. If he went any redder with rage Wally feared he might literally explode like a bomb. "How dare you?!"

  "Don't feel too good when others go sayin' shit do it? Even if Wally here is takin' the fall, yous still gonna apologize to the kid." Norman stated.

  "I will do no such thing."

  "Good Lord in heaven, yous really are like water an' oil! You better start cleanin' up your act before I start usin' yous to grease up the projector belts!"

  "Why am I the oil in this analogy?!"

  "Must be because you're an unpleasant asshole."

The three turned to stare at none other than Thomas Connor who had a displeased look on his face and a toolbox in hand. Wally looked away, already knowing what was coming.

  "Franks, get moving back into that office. You're fixing that pipe while I sort the ink pressure." Thomas passed him the toolbox without any second thought. "Mr. Lawrence, I'd suggest you go collect your things to keep them well away from the ink."

  "I don't take orders from you, Engineering." Sammy huffed "I was already planning to do so before you decided to show your face around here."

  "Then why haven't you?" The older man raised an eyebrow.

Well it turns out Sammy's face could get redder. That probably wasn't normal, but it did seem to amuse Norman quite a bit.

He snorted and shook his head.

  "I needs to go downstairs t'get a new reel for the projector. I better not hear no more hollerin' when I get back." He gave Sammy a pointed look before looking at Thomas "And yous better get sortin' that pressure issue. If any more pipes burst in this little ol'department we might get another flood, and we still don't got no pump switch installed yet now do we?"

  "At the end of the month that's getting sorted. For now, we do our jobs." Thomas huffed and moved to go check the utility shaft where most of the pressure gauges for the music department were located.

     Wally watched quietly as both older men went their separate ways, leaving him alone with Sammy.

  "Well,what are you standing there for? Go fix your fuck-up." The blond snapped at him as he went to pick up an empty box from the closet and began to stomp his way back to his messy office.

The Brooklynite gulped and took the toolbox he'd been given, hoping this wouldn't take long.

The thought of being alone in a room with Sammy when he was in a terrible mood wasn't particularly appealing.

Especially when he was pissed at him.

It was just one measly little pipe.

How hard a fix could it be?

Stepping inside, the janitor winced. The floor was absolutely coated in ink and the spill was beginning to spread.

Sammy was dragging his desk away, leaving marks on the wood that were then hidden away by the growing puddle. The bin he'd used to put under the flow was full to the brim and spilling out in rivets.

  "Franks! Close the damn door and put that curtain under so it doesn't end up going into the actual band room!" The music director called out, startling him slightly.

  "Oh, uh right. Contain the issue an'... Junk." He grabbed the curtain, something Sammy had put up himself to cover his office window because he couldn't be bothered to mess with the rickety shutters, and stuffed it under the crack of the door once he closed it.

There was a loud click but he elected to ignore it since he had his keys. He could just unlock it later.

  "You need any help dragging that?" He asked as he began to look through the toolbox for a wrench.

  "Just do your job."

  "Right…"

     They fell into silence, where Wally tried to figure out where exactly along the pipe did he actually have to sort, and where Sammy muttered to himself as he tried to salvage his papers.

The leak wasn't too bad all things considered. There was little to no pressure, which meant there might be a block somewhere else but that was why Thomas was checking in the utility shaft.

He just needed to fix this, tighten that, twist this doodad and turn that knick-knack… He winced when he heard papers crumple and get tossed into a wastebasket.

  "Damn it, not one fucking sheet… I swear I had some notes somewhere… where did I put those…" The composer was going about trying to find his stuff, looking through a filing cabinet that looked just as disorganized as Wally's dresser. "Was it in E? Or… L? Do I even use the separators?"

It was amazing really, how easily Sammy seemed to lose track of things.

He often yelled at the janitor for misplacing his keys, yet here he was murmuring and rushing about all scatterbrained.

It was a little ironic.

  "What are you staring at, Franks?!"

  "Hm?" He hadn't even noticed he'd been looking. "Oh uh, was just gonna say this is almost done."

  "Good. I want you out as fast as possible, so get that done and clean this muck so I don't have to see you for the rest of the day."

  "Yeah yeah, this whole pipe stuff ain't too bad when the ink aint--" a loud groan interrupted him abruptly, and even Sammy seemed to pause to look up.

Both stood there, slightly alarmed by the sound.

  "What was that?" Sammy asked.

  "I…" Wally frowned and listened closely. It sounded almost like, like… "Oh crap."

Another much louder groan and then suddenly the Brooklynite was on the floor, ears ringing and mind blank from taking a sudden hit.

The pipe had completely burst now, due to a sudden change in pressure, leaving the two with a rapid cascade of ink.

  "What did you do now?!" He heard once his hearing returned, but he didn't respond. Instead he sat up and stared at the pool of ink all around him. Where he sat it was steadily rising to his knees, and it was already covering Sammy's feet completely.

The office was filling up like a tub, and quickly.

  "Oh boy…" he got up onto shaky feet and made for the door, wincing when he realized it had indeed locked.

He went for his keys but froze when he found them gone. "Shit, shit shit shit shit!!!"

  "What now?!"

  "I think we're in a bit of a pickle!"

  "Why am I not surprised?" Sammy rolled his eyes, moving over to try the door. "Where are your keys?"

  ".... Uh…"

  "Are you serious?" The blond groaned and began to try pulling the stuffed curtains from under the door to get rid of the flooding problem. The color draining from his face when he realized they wouldn't budge. "No…"

Wally bit his lip as he watched Sammy tug harder and then try the door handle with a little more urgency.

  "No, no no no! I'm not drowning in my own office!" The music director let go of the handle and instead began to bash his shoulder against the door to no avail.

It wouldn't budge. "FUCK!"

     Thinking quickly (and trying not to stare at the ink slowly raising up to halfway up his legs and nearing knee height), Wally began looking for his keys.

  "I just had them!" He'd checked before entering the office. They must have fallen out when the pipe exploded and threw him down, so they had to be somewhere in the pooling mess. "Come on…"

He was practically on his knees searching while Sammy continued to assault the door.

There was no one to hear the noise, and if they didn't find a way out soon… Well… Wally's aunty Tess once told him drowning was a painful and far too long a death.

  "This isn't the time to roll around like a pig in mud!" The blond shrieked at him, to which he couldn't help look back with a glare.

  "I'm lookin' for my keys! They're somewhere in here!"

  "Then move aside!" Sammy joined him and began to frantically palm the floor, trying to find the illusive circular keyring "If we survive I'm getting you a better ring!"

  "If we survive you won't have to! Cuzz I'll be outta here!" Drowning was definitely not on the job description. This was good enough a reason to quit right?

  "I'll believe it when I see it happen!"

No matter how much they desperately searched however, no keys could be found in a pool that now reached well above their waist.

Realizing just how dire their situation was becoming, both men looked at each other with dawning horror.

It was a matter of minutes… their lives were going to end in minutes.

Wally felt at a loss for what to do, while Sammy… Well the blond was already under enough pressure as it was, so naturally he broke.

  "No… I can't die like this!" Fat tears began to run down his face as despair started setting in.

  "Hey now, I know this ain't ideal but--"

  "Ideal? Ideal?!" Sammy grabbed at his own hair and began to tug while he hiccuped hysterically. "I'll tell you what's not ideal! Drowning in this chemical mishap, with some brat from Brooklyn while my 16 year old sister is none the wiser at home, probably thinking 'Geeh I wonder where Sammy is, he usually calls if he's staying at work', only to then find out on the local paper the next morning that she's absolutely alone with no one to care for her! That! That isn't ideal!"

  ".... Oh you actually have a sister? I thought Norman was just provokin' you…"

  "I WILL STRANGLE YOU WELL BEFORE YOU DROWN YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

  "OI DON'T YOU GO CALLING MY MA A BITCH, SHE'S AN ABSOLUTELY SWELL LADY!" He yelled back, ignoring how both of them were now up to their chests (well he was starting to float since Sammy was taller than him) in ink. "HOW WOULD YA LIKE IT IF I CALLED YOUR MA A BITCH?!"

The blond head of the department screeching and lunging for him was all the warning Wally got before the two ended up tumbling in, heads fully submerged and bodies flailing as they attempted to restore their mothers' honors (if anything they probably looked like little kids fighting in a puddle while their parents looked away in embarrassment).

They only came back up to gasp for air and push themselves away from one another.

  "Ok that was not my best idea!" Sammy coughed and looked around. "I can barely see the doorframe or the edge of the window… We're going to die in here and it's all Drew's and that infernal machine's fault!"

  "... I." Wally paused "Wait, I ain't included in that?"

  "No?"

  "But the pipe, and what you were tellin' Norman and the fighting just now…"

  "I was pissed because you aggravated an issue I already had! You also stole my sister's birthday cake that I spent money on, are a braggart of the worst kind, and a troublemaker, but fuck I'm not gonna blame you for this shitty situation!" Sammy threw his hands up in disbelief, yelping once he lost balance. He righted himself and looked back at Wally. "And the fighting was because you called my dead mother a bitch."

  "Oh… My condolences… also that cake was yours? Man good taste! Nice stuff really… I uhm… I donno what to say… I just thought you hated me."

  "... Well if we're going to die I might as well be honest." Sammy sighed "I don't hate you Wally. I just find you aggravating. You're an impossible optimistic guy in a world that eats brats like you for breakfast, lunch and dinner. If someone isn't hard on you, how are you meant to learn how to survive out there?"

  "... That how you were taught?"

  "..."

  "Then no worries Sammy. I'm from Brooklyn! We're made of durable stuffs! Like our uh… like… roaches!"

  "Durable like roaches… how reassuring…" Sammy held a hand up to reach for the ceiling. They were going to lose air in seconds. "It's the same as saying glass is strong unless it meets with a hammer…"

Wally stared at him before something clicked. The toolbox!

  "Glass, hammer, the window!"

"Hm?"

  "Sammy you're a genius!" The janitor took a deep breath and dove down to the floor. He blindly groped around for the toolbox and then for the hammer inside it.

He resurfaced to take another big gulp of air before showing his companion the hammer and diving back down.

All it took was a knock on the side of the glass for the whole thing to come down. Thank God for Joey Drew's not so safe work ethic and construction jobs!

-

     Thomas Connor was having a rotten day. He'd gone down to figure out what the pressure issues were all about in the utility shaft connected to the music department and the sewers, and had then rushed to get Joey to bring him down and show him the root of the problem.

He'd become irate when he realized the man had turned on the machine during maintenance, and it took a newly returned Norman and a mildly concerned Jack to talk him out of kicking his employer's ass.

  "With how irregular the pressure has been, turning on the machine was grossly negligent on your part! The more fragile pipes could have burst and then we'd be faced with catastrophic failure all around the studio!" He practically roared at the impassive grinning bastard. "Have you any idea how unstable the floors currently under construction are?! The building could collapse!"

  "But it didn't."

  "But it COULD have!"

  "And yet it didn't." Joey's grin widened. "So I don't see what the big deal is, Mr. Connor."

  "Sir I really think you should consider what he's trying to say. For uh, for everyone's safety…" Jack tried, only to be shrugged off with a wave.

  "Mr. Fain I see no reason to worry. No catastrophic failure has occurred, and no one has gotten hurt." Joey insisted. "It's as they say. No harm no foul."

  "No harm no foul?! What kind of business owner doesn't consider their workers's safety?!"

  "Mr. Connor…" Joey rolled his eyes but stopped once he heard what sounded like a loud bang, before the band room was suddenly inundated by a massive wave of ink and random junk. Among said junk, lay a coughing and very disoriented Wally Franks (still holding a hammer) and Sammy Lawrence.

The foursome that had been arguing were now coated in almost as much ink as the pair, and looking stunned.

Once the coughing subsided, Wally raised the hammer in triumph.

  "We're alive!" He dropped the hammer and flopped his arm back down weakly.

  "Huzzah…" Sammy rubbed at his face tiredly before looking over at their audience. Once his eyes locked with Joey's, he seemed to regain all strength. "DREW."

  "Shit." Joey turned around swiftly and began limping away at a considerable speed with aid from his cane, while Sammy scrambled onto his feet and began running after him.

  "WE NEARLY DROWNED! YOU AREN'T GETTING AWAY SO EASILY! COME BACK HERE!"

  "Someone cancel my appointments!"

  "DREWWWW!!!!"

    Norman clicked his tongue and shook his head while Jack helped Wally onto his feet and asked if he was ok.

  "Oh, I'm good!" The Brooklynite smiled "Nearly drowned with Sammy, but peachy!"

  "You nearly drowned?!" Thomas stared in disbelief.

  "Yeah… but it's good. I broke a window but other than that everything should uh, be repairable I think? Might need a lot o' bleach to clean up… but you know." Wally shrugged.

  "Should I ask what abouts happened in that office when yous was both alone in there?" Norman questioned "Besides nearly drownin' in Joey's hubris?"

  "Uh… oh, you're asking if Sammy gave me any trouble aren't ya?" Wally shook his head "Not really. He was even nice to me for a little bit!"

  "Nice?" Norman and Thomas both exchanged looks "To you?"

  "Oh Geeh, I should get him checked, he might have swallowed ink and become delusional…" Jack whispered to himself in concern.

  "Ye, nice! Sammy Lawrence was nice to me in a situation where we thought we were gonna die, so it had to have been genuine!" The janitor grinned. "But I'll bet by Monday he'll be back to being a grouch. Probably for the best… saying Sammy is nice is like saying water and oil mix."

Thomas stared at him before snorting.

  "They do mix."

  "What…?"

  "Water and oil mix. It just takes the right conditions." He shrugged "Thought you went to college."

  "Oh come on you're yanking my leg!" There was no way those two mixed, just as there was no way Sammy could be openly nice to Wally.

Could there?

The world might never know.

#Eps Writes: #Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Wally Franks #Sammy Lawrence

[ceealaina]

Title: Who’s Gonna Pick You Up? Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: T4 - First Date Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: Alternate universe - no powers Summary: In a world where Tony is less playboy and more awkward nerd, he's mostly bored and lonely now that he's graduated from MIT and Rhodey's off on his Air Force adventures. Agreeing to a blind date with Ty Stone doesn't turn out to be his best plan, but luckily Nat's there to save to day. (And even more luckily, she's got a cute brother and Tony is just his type.) Word Count: 5200

All Natasha had wanted was a cup of coffee, and an hour to herself.

Bucky and Clint and Sam had been driving her crazy all day, starting when she had woken up and gone downstairs only to find dregs in the coffee pot and Clint’s dirty underwear on the kitchen counter. 

The morning went downhill from there. She loved her adopted brother and the two dumb idiots they lived with, but sometimes the three of them could get on her last nerve. This was one of those times. So after narrowly avoiding getting shot in the foot with an arrow (long story) she had grabbed a book and headed for the coffee shop on the corner for some peace and quiet. 

And for about fifteen minutes, she’d had it. 

Which, of course, was when Smarmy Assholes 1 and 2 had walked in. 

Natasha read people. She couldn’t help it; it was just something she did. So as soon as they passed through the door, she couldn’t help cataloguing them. And when they snagged a table near her, she couldn’t help eyeing them over the top of her book, keeping an ear out for what they had to say. It was somehow even grosser than she’d expected. 

“It’s not like I want to,” the taller guy was saying. “But he’s Tony Stark. I get in with him and I’ll have business connections for the next few decades -- not that I’d even have to work, with all the money I’d be getting out of him. I just have to suck it up for a bit, turn on the charm, make him fall in love with me. It’s not like it will be hard.”

“Still,” his friend said. “You’ve seen him, Ty. All quiet and shy and… Weird. Seems all needy, too. I’ve heard he’s only got like, one friend, and he’s off with the Navy or something. He’ll be following you around like a lost puppy.” 

“Can't be worse than you, Justin,” Ty retorted, making Justin flush and look away. “Anyway,” he continued. “Needy can be good.” He smirked then, a look that Nat knew entirely too well, and her fists clenched as she fought the urge to punch him in the face. “It’ll be so easy to talk him into anything I want. And he’ll be so busy falling over himself trying to please me, he probably won’t even care who else I’m screwing on the side.”

Justin was smirking too now. “Get some good blackmail pics and you’ve got him for good.”

Natasha quietly seethed. These two chucklefucks were practically twirling moustaches they were so gross. It was a little ridiculous, like they’d gone to the same school of cartoon villainy, but she was having none of it. She was just considering the best way the traumatize them for life when the bell over the door rang, catching her attention. She looked over to see a slight man walk in, about twenty years old. His hair was a mess of dark curls that he kept pushing out of his face, and he was just a little too dressed up for a cafe -- fitted pants offset with a Van Halen tee and a sports jacket. There was a streak of grease or engine oil on his forearm that he apparently hadn’t noticed, and he was looking around for someone, a little nervous but mostly looking pleased and hopeful in a way that made Natasha’s heart clench. 

A quick glance over showed that Justin and Ty were still plotting to kick puppies or whatever, and, making a split second decision, Nat hopped to her feet and headed for the door. 

“Tony?” she asked, carefully aligning herself to block him from their view. When he turned at the sound of her voice, she gave him a bright, disarming smile. “Hi! I’m Tasha. I think you’re here to meet me?”

“T-Tasha?” he repeated, looking confused for a minute. “I... But Obie said... I thought...” He stammered a minute, looking flustered, and Natasha waited patiently. 

“Is everything okay?”

He seemed to get a hold of himself again, giving her a bright smile, hopeful like before. “Yes, sorry. I think I got your... name wrong. I was a bit distracted when Obie was telling me about you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Tony... but then, I guess you already know that.” He laughed a little, a self deprecating note in it as his cheeks flushed a little. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Natasha adored him already. 

“You too,” she told him, returning his handshake and then shifting to give him a kiss on the cheek. His blush deepened and he gave her a shy look from under ridiculously thick eyelashes. “Come on,” she told him. “I’ve got a table by the window.” Nat wasn’t a tall woman, but even in her heeled boots Tony was barely a couple inches taller than her. She put her arm around him, steering him towards her table and carefully keeping him out of sight of Ty and Justin as she did. 

Tony winced as he pulled his chair without a loud screech, giving a nervous little laugh.. “Sorry,” he mumbled, casting a quick glance around to see if anyone had noticed. 

Natasha just shrugged and grinned at him. “Happens to me all the time,” she assured him, lying through her teeth.

He gave her a dry look. “Somehow I doubt that,” he said, catching her eye with a wry grin. “You look like you’ve never been embarrassed a day in your life.” 

Natasha straightened a little. He had spark; she liked that. 

They made small talk for a few minutes, Tony getting himself a black coffee and sighing happily at his first sip. He made vague mentions of the project he was working on without giving any real details. The way he spoke suggested that Ty already knew what he did for a living, and so Tasha played along, smiling encouragingly when he went off on a tangent. 

“Sorry,” he flushed when he realized he had been talking about robotics for ten minutes, chewing at his lip as he looked at her with soft eyes. 

“It’s alright,” Natasha told him genuinely. “I mean, I only understood about half of what you said, but you obviously love it. Your entire face lit up. It’s a good look on you.” 

Tony grinned wide, flushing again. “Thanks,” he mumbled, ducking his head toward the table. “And, um. Thanks for doing this.” He looked up at her again from under his eyelashes, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t really do this a lot,” he admitted. “I was really, uh. I was glad, when Obie said you wanted to meet me. This is... I’ve been having a fun time.” 

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him. “Come on,” she teased. “You’re gorgeous. I don’t believe you don’t have all the boys and girls lining up around the block to take you out.” 

Tony rolled his eyes, fighting back the pleased smile creeping over his face. “Well. I‘m also a giant nerd with the unfortunate habit of talking about engineering and math for way too long.” He bit his lip as he gave her a grin. “Most kids go through the awkward dating stage at fourteen, but I guess I gotta do it now, since I was kind of busy studying at MIT then.” 

“Fourteen?” Natasha repeated, incredulous, and realized her mistake when Tony frowned, like he’d expected her to know that. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I just... didn’t realize it was quite that young.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Tony flushed again, dropping his gaze to the table and picking at his napkin for a moment. “That’s not a problem, is it?” he asked making eye contact for a brief moment before his gaze skittered over to the corner. “Sometimes it freaks people out,” he added in a mumble, and Natasha felt like punching something at the hurt in his voice.

“Not a problem at all,” she assured him, curling her hand over his on the table. Tony positively beamed, his entire face lighting up, and it was at that moment that Nat noticed Ty out of the corner of her eye, frowning at them speculatively. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, watching as he leaned over and said something to Justin, who turned to face them too. 

Tony’s smile flickered. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just...” Natasha trailed off, weighing her options. 

Ty was absolutely the type to make a scene, and if he embarrassed Tony in front of the entire cafe, she would definitely kick his ass. But ideally, she would get Tony out of here before it had the chance to get that far. Which left her with two options: She could give him a sweet brush off, let him think it was her — but she’d known Tony for less than an hour, and already knew he would blame himself for it — or she could confess. 

Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, she drew in a slow breath. “I need to tell you something.” 

Mirroring her body language, Tony leaned in close over the table. “Okay,” he told her. “Is everything alright? Is there something I can help with?” 

“No,” she admitted. “The thing is, you didn’t have my name wrong. I’m not actually your date.” 

Tony’s eyebrows drew into a confused frown, head tilting to the side. “I don’t understand.”

Natasha made a face. “You were expecting to meet a dude, right? Named Ty?” At Tony’s slow nod, she tilted her chin to the far corner. “He’s over there — don’t look!” she added sharply. 

“I don’t understand,” Tony repeated. “Is this like... Did he send you here to make sure I was legit or something? Because... I mean, he knows Obie. Ty is the one who asked to go out with me?” 

“No, I know. Tony... Ty is a complete dillweed, and you can do so much better. I overheard him talking about you before you got here. He’s an asshole. He just wants to use you, and...” She watched as Tony sank back in his seat, eyes shuttering. “When you came in, I put it together that you were his date and so I intervened before he could see you,” she finished softly. 

“Oh,” Tony said softly. He wasn’t looking at her at all now, focusing intently on the coffee menu over Nat’s shoulder. There was a red tinge to his cheeks, and Natasha saw his jaw working as he clenched his teeth before chewing on the skin around his thumb. “Okay,” he said, and she could hear the hitch in his voice. He offered a weak smile, still not looking at her. “I guess I should have known. Cute guy wanting to go out with me? Probably should have been suspicious when he hadn’t even met me yet.” 

“Tony...”

He met her eyes for a minute, his own shimmering slightly. “Anyway, I should go,” he mumbled, moving to collect his wallet. 

“No, you don’t have to,” Natasha told him quickly, curling her hand over his wrist again. “Or well, we should probably leave before he comes over, but... you don’t have to go. We can hang out somewhere else.” 

Tony yanked his hand away from her. “Thanks for looking out for me, or whatever,  but I don’t need your pity date,” he told her, and it sounded harsh but she could still hear the hurt in his voice. 

Natasha arched an eyebrow at him, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. “Do I look like a woman who does pity?” she asked dryly, and Tony stopped at that because, well... No, she didn’t. “Yes, okay, I wanted to rescue you from the worst first date ever. But I wouldn’t have stayed if i didn’t genuinely enjoy talking to you, Tony. You’re hilarious, and brilliant, and adorable to boot. And believe me, if I wasn’t a fully committed lesbian, I’d probably be trying to lure you to my bed as I speak.” 

Tony snorted despite himself at that. “Lesbian, huh?” he asked, finally meeting her eyes again. 

“Yup,” Natasha drawled. “But don’t worry, it’s not you, it’s me.” 

Tony rolled his eyes at that, a hint of a smile curling across his face. 

“Look, it’s about time I head home anyway, before someone burns down the house. Why don’t you come home with me? You can meet all my friends... They’re gonna love you, I know it.” 

“Home with you?” Tony repeated. He arched an eyebrow. “That sounds... unsavory. Thought you were supposed to be a lesbian.” 

He was tempted though, Nat could see it, and she grinned. “I am. But don’t worry, if you wanna be unsavored, I’ve got a brother, and you’re just his type.”

Tony giggled at that, and Nat grinned back at him, easy and bright. 

“Come on, Tony. I’m sorry about Ty, but he’s an absolute asshole, and you’re much better off without him. Come meet some real friends.” 

He scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, alright,” he agreed, giving her a soft smile. “Why not? I’d like to meet your friends.” 

Natasha’s smile grew. “Outstanding,” she declared. “Do you want to grab a coffee to - oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

“What?” Tony asked. “What’s-?” He cut himself off as two men approached the table, and the look on Nat’s face made it pretty obvious who they were. 

“Tony?” Ty demanded. 

“Uh, yeah?” 

Ty looked back and forth between Tony and Natasha, his eyes narrowing. “It’s me. Ty.” 

Tony caught Natasha’s eye and then blinked up at Ty blankly. “Ty who?” 

Ty looked like he was seething now. “Ty Stone.” He gave Natasha a dirty look. “Your date.” 

Tony just gave him a bland smile. “Sorry, never heard of you,” he said, before turning back to Natasha. 

“What do you mean, you’ve never heard of me? Our fathers worked together! Obadiah Stane set up this date.” 

There was a heavy sigh from Tony, who didn’t bother looking back up at Ty. “Darling,” he said to Natasha, and oh boy he was laying it on thick but Ty didn’t seem to have noticed. “Shall we go?” 

Natasha beamed back at him, taking the hand he held out to her and letting him help her to her feet. “Of course,” she agreed, moving around the table. “Excuse me,” she added, when Ty blocked her path. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ty asked. “There’s clearly been some kind of misunderstanding” 

“No misunderstanding,” Tony told him. “Obviously you’ve made some kind of mistake.” He made a show of looking Ty up and down. “But I’m definitely not here to see you,” he added, and Nat could have applauded. 

Ty looked like he wasn’t giving up though, and so there was nothing else for Natasha to do except to pretend to trip against him and gracefully slam her fist into his stomach. 

“Darling,” she said to Tony, letting him take her arm and lead her out the door while Ty was still trying to recover his breath. 

They made it around the corner before Tony burst out laughing, almost doubling up with the force of it. “Okay, that was kind of fun,” he admitted, and Nat grinned back at him.

“What was that you were saying about having no social skills?” she teased. “You can bullshit with the best of them, so you’re already halfway there. And that means you’re going to fit in with us wonderfully. Now come on, before he decides to follow us.” 

Tony hesitated a minute. “You don’t, I mean... this more than made up for the shitty first date I would have had. You don’t actually have to make all your friends meet me. I’m kind of a lot for most people.” 

Natasha just rolled her eyes, grabbing his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and pulling him down the street behind her. “You haven’t met ‘a lot’ until you’ve met these assholes,” she told him. “They’re going to love you, I promise. Besides,” she added over her shoulder. “I wasn’t kidding about my brother. James would never forgive me if I told him about you and didn’t bring you home for him to meet.” 

Tony flushed pink at that, but didn’t argue further.

It started to rain when they were almost there, a sudden surprise downpour, and they ran the last block to Nat’s house. Tony was laughing, apparently not bothered, which was good because they weren’t fast enough to avoid getting completely soaked. 

“Hey, assholes!” Natasha hollered loudly as they passed through the front door, making a face as she peeled off her drenched jacket. “I’m home! And I brought a friend!” 

Tony grinned to himself at that, flushing a little when he caught Nat’s eye. “Um. I’m kind of dripping on your floor,” he pointed out, holding his leather jacket open to reveal his now-transparent white t-shirt. Natasha just shrugged. 

“They’ve seen worse,” she promised him. “But we’ll find you something dry to wear. Hello? Anybody home?”

“Jesus Tasha,” as masculine voice answered. “You get lost on your way to the kitchen? What the hell are you screaming… for...” 

Tony had been distracted by his t-shirt, pulling it away with his chest with a wet squelching sound, and looked up as the voice trailed off. He blinked at the man coming out of a room a few feet down the hall, all sharp blue eyes and broad chest and thighs. He was quite possibly the hottest person Tony had ever seen, and Tony gave him a tentative wave and a smile. “Hi,” he offered. 

“Hey,” the newcomer replied, still staring at Tony before he promptly walked into a wall. 

“Oh shit!” Tony cried, instinctively moving toward him while Natasha snorted with laughter. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” The stranger waved him off gruffly. “I’m fine.” 

“Tony,” Natasha interrupted, giggling from the stairs. “This is my brother, James.” 

“Oh,” Tony said, and then clued in to what she had said and his eyes widened. “Oh!” He rubbed at the back of his neck, shy and adorable. “Um, hi James. I’m Tony.” 

He offered his hand out tentatively, and James took it with a quirk to his lips, and a grip that made Tony a little weak in the knees. 

“Bucky,” he told him. “Everyone calls me Bucky, it’s just Tasha who refuses to.” 

“Because it’s a stupid nickname,” Natasha replied easily. It sounded like an argument they’d had a million times over, and Tony grinned as he listened to their easy banter, missing Rhodey like crazy for a minute. 

Before he could get too bummed out, there were footsteps clomping down the stairs, and a blond man with ridiculously large arms (seriously, Tony was going to start getting a complex if he stayed here too long) slid past Natasha. He arched an eyebrow at Tony. 

“Oh hey!” he said, his voice just a little too loud. “Another puppy!” 

Without waiting for a response, he headed down the hall to the kitchen while Tony blinked at him. “I”m not a puppy,” he protested, getting a laugh from Bucky. The newcomer ignored him, and Tony frowned a little, because that seemed unnecessarily rude. 

“Ignore him,” Bucky told him warmly. “He’s deaf. He’s…” He grabbed a tennis ball off the side table and launched it down the hall, hitting Blondie square in the back. 

“Ow!” he hollered, turning to stare at them. "What the fuck?” 

“Hey asshole!” Bucky retorted, enunciating a little more clearly so he could read his lips. “Where are your hearing aids?” 

Blondie made a face. “They broke again. Cheap Hammertech.” 

Tony looked horrified. “HammerTech? No wonder they're broken.” Bucky snorted at that, and Tony gave him a quick smile before following his lead and turning back to the other man so he could read his lips. “Let me see them? I bet I can make them better.” 

“What?” He looked at Tony like he was nuts. “I’m not giving you my aids to play with, no way. You’ll break them, and they’re my only pair.” 

He moved off down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving Tony spluttering after him. “I wouldn’t break them!” he protested. “And they’re already broken!!” 

“Ignore him,” a new voice said, repeating Bucky’s instructions. “Clint’s just pissed I beat him at MarioKart.” 

Tony turned to face the newcomer who smiled at him warmly, and actually moved to shake Tony’s hand. “I’m Sam, nice to meet you.” 

“Tony,” he answered, beaming wide. Sam grinned back, and then looked over at Natasha. 

“New puppy, huh?” he asked. 

Tony stared at him and, although he probably wasn’t aware of it, actually pouted, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m not a puppy!” He glared at Natasha. “I thought you said your friends were nice.” 

“I said they’d like you, not that they were nice,” Natasha offered with a smirk. 

“Don’t take it personal,” Sam assured him, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Tasha’s always bringing home strays,” Clint added from the kitchen doorway, his hearing aids apparently working again. “Starting with Bucky and including all of us.” He frowned then, poking at his left ear. “Aww, hearing aids,” he whined, pulling them out again. 

“Okay, seriously.” Tony set off down the hall after him, apparently over his shyness in the face of potential engineering. “Give them to me. I can fix them, I promise.” 

Natasha, Bucky, and Sam all watched him go. “Where’d you find him?” Sam asked when they’d disappeared, grinning as they heard the echoes of Tony trying to convince Clint to let him fix his hearing aids. 

“At the coffee shop,” Natasha offered primly. “What?” she added, at the look Sam and Bucky shared. “I can’t make friends?” She rolled her eyes at them. “He was heading into the worst date ever, so I rescued him. Don’t look at me like that.” 

They all looked down the hall as they heard Tony’s voice raise again, Clint’s following suit, and Bucky grinned. “I like him,” he declared, before narrowing his eyes at the smirk on Natasha’s face. 

“Yeah,” she said dryly. “Thought you might.” She and Sam waggled their eyebrows at him ridiculously, and Bucky huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“And I hate you. Both of you,” he informed them, stomping off down the hall. 

Sam snorted as he watched him go, glancing over at Nat. “You are a menace.” 

“I do my best,” she told him with a wink, dashing up the stairs to change into some dry clothes. When she returned to the kitchen, it was to find that Tony had, in fact talked Clint into letting him tinker with the hearing aids in question. He was sitting at their rickety kitchen table poking at them with a screwdriver that he'd apparently pulled from his pocket. Tony was completely focused on the machinery in his hands, tongue poking out between his teeth as he concentrated while Clint sat across from him, staring with a critical eye. Sam was watching the whole scene with amusement, and Bucky had pulled some bread from the fridge and was making toast, pretending not to be sneaking little glances at Tony every three seconds.

“Hey, Tony,” she said, snapping him out of his stupor. “You must be frozen, huh?” 

“Oh.” Tony glanced down at his arms and blinked, apparently just now noticing the goosebumps on his arms. “Uh, yeah. I guess.” 

Natasha beamed and moved over to Bucky, bumping her hip against his and raising her eyebrows. “Hey James, why don’t you lend Tony some clothes, hmm? Then we can pop his clothes in the dryer. Don’t want him catching cold.” 

Bucky’s eyes widened and he glanced over at Tony, since Natasha wasn’t even trying to be subtle, but the other man had already delved back into working on the hearing aids. “I hate you,” he muttered, abandoning his toast and stomping off to get Tony some clothes. Natasha caught Sam’s eye over the table and shared a grin with him.

He returned just as Tony was sliding the hearing aids back across the table to Clint, looking all pleased and fidgeting in expectation. “Go on. Try them!”

Still looking suspicious, Clint positioned them in his ears. “Okay, what’s the big--” He cut himself off at the sound of his own voice. “Holy shit. What the…” He pointed wildly at Sam, across the room. “Say something!” 

Sam raised his hands helplessly. “What do you want me to say?” 

“Holy shit!” Clint said again. He stared at Tony incredulously. “How did you… These aren’t just fixed, they’re like ten times better than they were.” 

Tony beamed, looking absolutely delighted. “It’s just kind of… What I do.” Then he yelped as Clint hauled him out of his seat, physically lifting him off the ground and wrapping him in a back-cracking bear hug. 

“Thank you,” he told him sincerely, and Tony flushed as he planted a kiss square on his cheek. Then he was depositing him on the ground and heading off down the hall. 

“Hey,” Bucky yelped as Clint practically shoved him into the shower in his haste. “Where the hell are you going?” 

“Outside!” Clint hollered back over his shoulder. “Gonna go listen to some birds!”

Bucky shook his head. “Weirdo,” he muttered affectionately, catching Tony’s eye and getting a grin out of him. 

“Cute and useful,” Sam teased, “We should keep him, huh Buck? Wanna do our microwave next? Hasn’t been the same since Bucky and Clint got drunk and tried to make s’mores in it.” 

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Okay, I don’t think Tony is here to fix our shit.” 

“Aww,” Natasha teased, voice dry. “Look at you, coming to his rescue.” 

“I don’t mind,” Tony added, looking back and forth between them with eyes that were just a little too sharp. “Seriously, I love this shit. And it’s a microwave, it’s not like it’s hard.” 

Bucky stared at him, a little awed; he’d always been a sucker for intelligent men. “Still,��� he muttered. Shifting when he realized he was still staring, Bucky held out the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d wrangled. “Here,” he offered. “If you wanna change.” 

Tony’s lips twitched, as he took the clothes in question, giving Bucky a quick once over. “I don’t know how well they’re going to fit, but thanks.”

When Tony had disappeared down the hall to the bathroom to change, Bucky whirled on Nat and Sam. “Stop,” he hissed, cautious of his voice carrying. “You two are about as subtle as a freight train. You’re gonna freak him out.” 

Nat and Sam shared another look, and gave him identical grins, which was just creepy. 

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Natasha told him sweetly, sliding past him to the sink. “Coffee, anyone?” 

“I mean it, Tasha! Stop trying to meddle in my love life.” 

“Oh ho ho.” This was Sam, arms folded across his chest as he waggled his eyebrows at Bucky. “So you admit there is some romance happening here.”

“I didn’t say that!” Bucky insisted. “Also, stop doing that with your eyebrows, you look fucking stupid.” Sam didn’t stop, and Bucky groaned, slumping down in a chair at the table. “I’m moving out.” 

“Why would you want to move out?” Tony asked suddenly from behind him. “This place is awesome.” 

Bucky turned around to say… something, but his brain shorted out at the sight of Tony in his clothes. They were a little loose on him but fit better than expected, and he looked adorable as shit, especially with one wayward curl ignoring all his attempts to brush it out of his eye. 

“Ignore him,” Sam told him, smirking at Bucky knowingly. “He threatens to move out every other day, and yet we’re still stuck with him, so I wouldn’t take him seriously.” He kicked out the chair opposite to Bucky. “Now come sit down, have some coffee, tell us about yourself. What’s your favourite colour, favourite food… favourite movie?” 

Tony looked amused as he settled into the offered seat, grinning wide when Natasha slid a fresh mug of coffee across the table to him. “Uhh. Red, cheeseburgers, and.. Right now, probably Repo Man?” 

“No shit,” Sam drawled, sharing another look with Nat when Tony closed his eyes in delight at the first sip of his coffee. “That’s Buck’s favourite movie too. Won’t shut up about it. Watches it every week.”

“I…” Bucky sent him a murderous glare. “I don’t watch it every week,” he protested in a mutter. “It’s just…”

“Ridiculous, right?” Tony offered, “But also like you can’t look away from it?” 

Bucky grinned at him. “You know, Fox Harris couldn’t drive a car, and the first day of filming he drove into a bridge?” 

Tony’s eyes lit up at this factoid, and then they were sharing weird facts about the movie, and then sci fi movies in general. Neither of them noticed Sam and Nat slipping out of the room, Sam setting some strategic lighting on his way out. The longer they talked the more Tony seemed to loosen up, alternating between leaning back in his chair and then shifting forward again, unconsciously moving into Bucky’s space. He was a mouthy little shit too, once he got going, dry and sarcastic, and pointing triumphantly to accentuate his point. His whole face lit up when he got started on something, and Bucky kind of couldn’t stop staring at him. 

Their coffee was almost gone before Bucky looked up, frowning when he took in the empty kitchen. “Where did Sam and Nat go?” 

Tony blinked, following his gaze, and then they met each other’s eyes, coming to a realization at the same time. 

“Is this…” Tony ducked his head a little, momentarily slipping back into shyness and giving Bucky a soft little smile. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “Did they set us up on a coffee date?”

Bucky glanced down at the almost empty mug. “Guess so,” he admitted. “I’m gonna kill them,” he added without any real heat, grinning ruefully.

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know,” he told. He drew in a deep breath, cheeks flushing a little. “As first dates go, it wasn’t so bad. Beat my last one, definitely.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky caught his eye, watched the way Tony swallowed at the heated look he was giving him. Bucky couldn’t stop himself from leaning, curling his hands around Tony’s neck. Tony blinked up at him, eyes wide, and Bucky closed the distance between them, kissing him gently. 

For all his shyness, Tony was a good kisser and though it stayed relatively chaste, there was a soft brush of Tony’s tongue against his lips that sent little shivers of heat up Bucky’s spine. He pulled back, stroking his thumb over the thrum of Tony’s pulse in his neck, and Tony grinned back at him, open and wide and happy. 

“Then how would you feel about getting out of here and having a real date, where those assholes can’t spy on us?”

Tony laughed at that, eyes sparking in delight. “Can we make out a little more?” 

“Absolutely. Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

“Then what the hell are we waiting for?”

@tonystarkbingo

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tsb2020 #tony stark #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #winteriron #fluff #light angst #angst with a happy ending #matchmaker natasha #protective natasha #tony stark needs a hug #alternate universe - no powers #sam wilson #clint barton #tiberius stone #justin hammer #fic #my fic

[hermit-whump]

Watchers - Pt 2

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231755/chapters/64038469 TW - Suicide, blood, torture, murder, violence, missing people

“Wil, we’re going to get them back.” Dream says, sitting down next to Wilbur on the wall that borders l’manburg and the dreamsmp. “I promise, they will come back.”

“A Watcher came.” Wilbur mumbles, tears in his eyes. “He had rabbit ears. He left Tommy and Tubbo’s shirts. There was so much blood on them.”

Dream blinks a few times behind his mask, shocked. A watcher. A watcher came to his server, stole two children and returned to give back their shirts? He doesn’t want to believe it. Dream can’t believe it, not until he realises what the rabbit ears mean.

Sam.

Sam shouldn’t have been able to get here, he shouldn’t have been able to leave the watchers, he’s just an owl. Dream can’t wrap his head around it, trying to process what would have made the watchers decide that Tommy and Tubbo decide to kidnap them. They’re just kids, though they are talented.

“The next intake.” Dream realises out loud. “Oh shit.”

“Intake?” Wilbur asks, rubbing his face as Dream stands up. “Dream what are you saying?”

“I need to talk to someone.” Dream says, helping Wilbur up. “You should come with me, it’s about Tommy and Tubbo.”

---

Grian screams as Sam slowly plucks a patch of feathers from his wings, the skin under them raw and bleeding. Sam laughs as he yanks out a handful of feathers, grabbing Grian’s face and forcing him to look him in the eyes. Sam laughs as tears run down Grian’s cheeks, waving a few feathers in front of his eyes. 

“You shouldn’t have spoken back.” Sam pretends to sigh, wicked glee in his eyes and he drops Grian’s face, the hermit hitting the ground with a thump. “This wouldn’t have happened if you did.”

“I just wanted to know what happened to them.” Grian pleads, flinching as Sam turns around, glaring at him.

“You should know. You’re a falcon, you should know what happens to prey that fight back.” Sam’s glare turns to a smile. “You should remember, if you hadn't betrayed us, you would have been the one to kill them.”

Grian feels sick to the stomach, going pale as he realises that Sam isn’t lying. He would have killed Tubbo and Tommy if he hadn't left. If he hadn’t escaped. Pain blooms in his side as Sam kicks him, a cry escaping his lips no matter how hard he tried to hold it in.

---

Wilbur follows Dream as he walks through a forest, cold air whipping him in the face. Dream doesn’t say anything, his sword drawn, though occasionally he looks back to make sure Wilbur’s still there.

Dream told Wilbur that it wasn’t dangerous.

A small house appears, made of cobble and sprucewood, with some smoke coming out of the top of the house. The windows have shutters over them, and potatoes grow in the yard behind the house.

“Wil, I need you to promise that no matter what happens, you do not get involved. Not even if it looks like I will die. Don’t get involved.” Dream says, putting his hands on Wilbur’s shoulders.

“Dude chill.” Wilbur smiles, recognising the house. He moves in front of Dream, walking towards the door. “This is Techno’s place, why would he hurt us?”

Wilbur knocks on the door, tapping his foot impatiently as questions race through his mind. Why would Dream come to Techno after finding out that watchers broke into l’manburg and dreamsmp? Why isn’t Dream more worried about the watcher coming back, since he’s shown that he can do that? 

Techno’s face appears behind the door, covered by a pig’s mask. His hair is bright pink and wet, clearly a fresh dye, and he’s in a red hoodie and black pants. Wilbur smiles, suddenly realising that he doesn’t know what to say to Techno.

“Hey Wil, why are you here?” Techno asks quietly, confusion in his voice.

“Can we come in, Techno?” Dream asks. “I need to ask for a favour.”

“If this is a favour for you, why is Wil here?” Techno replies cleanly, evenly.

“I need to ask for a favour.” Dream repeats calmly, his voice as cold as the wind.

“What have you dragged Wilbur into?” Techno growls, a hand grabbing Wilbur’s arm. “I know you two were warring, our history doesn’t change that I’m his friend, so I swear if you’ve done something to him-”

“A watcher kidnapped Tommy and Tubbo.” Wilbur blurts out, trying to stop the argument. “It’s been like, eight weeks. They’re just gone and we didn’t even know that it was a watcher until a few days ago and Dream says he needs someone’s help and I don’t know what to do.”

“Shit.”

---

“What are you doing to me?” Tubbo asks, his voice hoarse from screaming. Something is in the back of his mind, poking and prodding its way around. “Get out of my head!”

The watcher laughs, the mask on their face a bright white that gives Tubbo a headache. Purple magic swirls around them, and Tubbo shuts his eyes, trying to fight back. He doesn’t know what he’s fighting against, though. He doesn’t know how to fight back.

“Don’t you feel tired?” The watcher asks, a fake sympathy in their voice. “Why don’t you close your eyes and sleep?”

Tubbo fights back. He doesn’t know why he bothers anymore, if not to spite the watchers. It hurts so much, tears filling his eyes as he tries to will the magic away. He doesn’t want to become one of them. Not anymore. He just wants to go home. Wilbur and Dream and Fundy and George and Sapnap and Eret can’t be dead. They just can’t be. He has to have a home to go to, a place to escape to that won’t turn him away.

“Won’t it be easier to forget?” The watcher asks, and a scream tears itself from Tubbo’s throat. It hurts so much. Too much. He just wants to go home. He just wants to go home, why can’t he go home?

⍑ᒷ ╎ᓭ ⍑𝙹ᒲᒷ, ╎ᓭリℸ ̣  ⍑ᒷ?

The watcher’s mask has a splatter of blood on it. It’s his blood.

---

Grian stares at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused as he listens to Sam move around him. At least, he thinks it’s Sam. No one else visits him, no one else bothers to visit a traitor. A terrorist. So he just stares at the ceiling, ignoring Sam as he walks around.

“You know, the one thing I miss about when you ripped off your wings was being able to whip you.” Sam says nonchalantly. As though it’s normal.

Maybe it is.

“Of course, I suppose I could whip you now. There’s nothing stopping me.” Sam moves Grian into a sitting up position. “But your wings do look so lovely.”

Sam yanks a group of feathers out, and Grian doesn’t scream. It still hurts, it still burns as though his wing was set on fire. But he doesn’t scream. He’s too tired, he’s too used to the pain, he’s too defiant, whatever excuse he can use is good.

Sam gives a pleased hum, and pride fills Grian’s chest, though it shouldn’t. He hates this, he hates how he’s made Sam even slightly happy by not screaming.

It doesn’t matter, anyways. Sam wants him to be quiet, so he should be. If he fights back it’ll hurt more, if he screams it’ll get worse. He wants to be good. He wants Sam to leave, he wants Sam to stay.

It doesn’t matter, he just doesn’t want to be hurt.

Right?

“リ𝙹∴,  ̇/ᒷꖎᑑ⚍ᔑ, ||𝙹⚍ ꖌリ𝙹∴ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣  ||𝙹⚍ リᒷᒷ↸ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᔑ!¡ 𝙹 ꖎ 𝙹 ⊣╎ᓭᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᒲᒷ ᔑリ↸ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ 𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷ ∴ᔑℸ ̣ ᓵ⍑ᒷ∷ᓭ, ∷╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣ ?” Sam asks, the galactic falling off of his tongue as though it was his native language. “ᔑリᓭ∴ᒷ∷ ╎リ ⊣ᔑꖎᔑᓵℸ ̣ ╎ᓵ 𝙹∷ ╎ ' ꖎ ꖎ ᓵ ꖎ ╎!¡ ||𝙹⚍∷ ∴╎リ⊣ᓭ”

“!¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ↸𝙹リℸ ̣  ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣  ᒲᒷ” Grian begs, tears in his eyes. Sam laughs as one escapes his eyes, brushing it off of Grian’s cheek before the hermit can move. “!¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ᓭᔑᒲ ╎ ↸𝙹リℸ ̣  ∴ᔑリℸ ̣  ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⍑⚍∷ℸ ̣”

“ᓭᔑ|| ||𝙹⚍∷ᒷ ᓭ𝙹∷∷||” Sam smiles, the knife in his hand resting against Grian’s throat.

“╎ᒲ ᓭ𝙹∷∷||.” Grian breaks, curling up as he cries. “╎ᒲ ᓭ𝙹∷∷|| ╎ᒲ ᓭ𝙹 ᓭ𝙹∷∷|| ᓭᔑᒲ ╎ᒲ ᓭ𝙹∷∷||”

---

“Where’s Grian!” The man yells as he walks into the town hall, the hermits watching him with their swords drawn. He wears a bright green jacket and blue pants, a white mask over his face. Another man follows him, dressed like a king though he sports a pig mask. False, Cub and Ren all look at eachother, anger and confusion on their faces. “I know you guys are in here, where is Grian?”

“Dream you sound like a serial killer.” The man in the pig mask notes, and Xisuma frowns at the name. He recognises it from somewhere. “Look, we just need to chat with him, Dream here’s dragged-”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“It was your server those two went missing from!”

“Hey guys,” Wilbur walks into the town hall from the outside, ignoring the protests from Dream and Techno. “Tommy and Tubbo have been kidnapped by watchers, and Dream and Techno think that Grian could help us. Sorry for them acting like murderers, I couldn’t convince them to be civil.”

“Grian’s gone.” Scar says, looking down from where he sits on the diamond throne, Xisuma hitting his arm as he says it, though the mayor ignore him. “He’s been gone for four weeks. A watcher took him. One with rabbit ears.”

---

Tommy wraps his wings around himself, waiting for the order to practice flying. He has to behave, or he’ll never be allowed a moment alone again. How was he supposed to know he was going to survive that? He didn’t know that being a watcher meant that his poison tolerance went up.

The watcher nods at him, and Tommy stretches his wings, flapping them experimentally before he steps off the roof, falling before he pulls up, banking to the left. Two watchers follow behind him, swords resting by their sides. If he could just get one, he could get out.

Tubbo and Grian are dead, after all. 

He doesn’t feel guilty about leaving their bodies behind, he doesn’t even know where the watchers keep bodies. Maybe they throw them into the void, Tommy thinks to himself, or maybe they eat them.

Tommy flies over the void, and for a brief second he wonders if the watchers would catch him if he let himself drop into the void. Maybe they would, and he wouldn’t be allowed to fly again. Maybe they wouldn’t and he’d die.

Or he’d escape when they leave to report him dead.

Tommy folds his wings in, and lets himself fall into the void.

---

He can’t see, blind folded and led through halls. He doesn’t mind, though he can feel his back bleeding. Sam reopened a wound before he blind folded him, and Grian doesn’t care to ask for a bandage. He doesn’t deserve one, if a wound is getting reopened. He must have misbehaved somehow. He lets Sam lead him around, stumbling and bumping into things. 

He doesn’t say anything when he feels his feet get cut open by something sharp, or when he feels the reopened scar tear further open. He won’t make anything worse for himself. Maybe he can save any survivors if he stays quiet.

It doesn’t matter that he knows he’s the only survivor. It doesn’t matter that he’s the only one left.

Is it so bad to save himself?

When does it start being working for the watchers, and stop being protecting himself? When will he lose himself to the watchers? Grian doesn’t want to answer the questions, he doesn’t want to think about them. He’d rather be mindless, a puppet on strings. His brain just won’t stop, he’s going to be hurt because of it.

He’d rather lose himself than be hurt.

So he stays silent, he doesn’t fight back. Not anymore. The pain isn’t worth it. 

---

Tubbo walks behind the watcher, his hands behind his back. They say they’re going to give him a test. A test of loyalty, one he failed in the past. Tubbo won’t fail this one, he can’t. He is no traitor.

A voice screams in the back of his head, struggling for control against the magic. Two words, two words and that voice is gone, and he will be completely mindless. A good soldier for the watchers. One deserving of his rank. 

Tubbo walks into a cell where a man kneels, blonde hair bloody and red jumper in tatters on his body. He sports a pair of wings missing feathers, falcon wings. The same rank as he is. He wears a white blindfold, though his head looks to the ground. Blood pools on the floor beneath him, his breathing sharp, though he tries to muffle it. A wooden block is in front of him, and a sword rests in the hands of an owl with rabbit ears. The owl hands him the sword, pushing the traitor’s head onto the block, and Tubbo suddenly feels sick.

This will kill the man.

He’s been asked to kill someone. Someone that the voice in the back of his head knows, someone he knows. Tubbo doesn’t want to, he has to, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to know the man’s name, the traitor’s crimes, but he feels as though he already knows. That he knew the man before he was made a watcher.

Grian, thats what the voice calls him. Grian.

“Tubbo, you know your orders.” The watcher besides him says, and Tubbo grasps the sword tighter. He doesn’t know what to do.

---

Tommy stares towards the door, knowing that the second he sits up a watcher will be in his room to make sure he doesn’t try to kill himself again. He can’t believe they caught him. He can’t believe they didn’t let him die, why keep a pet that doesn’t want to move? That doesn’t want to live. He’s a waste of resources for them, why don’t they just let him sleep?

He doesn’t want to die, not completely. He wants to leave, but he won’t get out without dying. Grian might have been able to get out, be he won’t be able to. He doesn’t even know how Grian escaped. Maybe Grian winged it, maybe he had help.

Maybe Tommy should just try.

Tommy slowly sits up, a watcher immediately in the room with him. They watch him intently as he stretches his wings slowly, like he only just woke up. Tommy slowly stretches, not watching the watcher in his room.

He’s going to get out.

He doesn’t care what it’ll take.

---

Tubbo runs through the halls, holding onto Grian’s hand. The sword in his hand drips with blood, a deep purple that shouldn’t be the colour someone bleeds. He knows that if he doesn’t escape he will be killed. But he can’t kill Grian, not after everything Grian did to protect him and Tommy.

He races towards the portal room, practically dragging Grian behind him, when someone standing in the doorway throws him backwards.

Tommy helps him up, purple blood on his hands, and they race into the room, no time to talk. They don't ask questions about the blood, they don’t care about who the other had to kill to escape.

They run through the first portal they see, praying that the watchers wont find them as Grian destroys it behind them.

---

“It’s all gone.” Tommy says, slowly walking through the dreamsmp. “Where is everyone?”

Grian doesn’t say anything. It’s been weeks since they escaped, hiding in the forests and waiting. Grian hasn’t said a word, not even humming. Tubbo walks towards L’manburg, the large walls feeling safe. As though the watcher’s wont be able to get them there.

“Why isn’t anyone here anymore?” Tommy’s eyes fill with tears as he tries to stop himself from having a breakdown. “Did they think that we died? Did they die? They died, didn’t they, we’re never going to see them again and it’s all my fault I shouldn’t have-”

“Tommy, for the love of-” Tubbo takes a deep breath in, standing on the threshold between L’manburg and the dreamsmp. “It’s not your fault. Anything could have happened, but this isn’t your fault.”

Some bees fly towards the group, bouncing off Tubbo’s side. Tubbo smiles sadly, following the bees into L’manburg.

It looks exactly how they left it, the flag flying in the distance, the new drug van half built and ugly as it gets. Dirt placed haphazardly around. Some flowers sway in the breeze, dandelions and daisies.

It smells like dirt. It smells bad, it smells as though no one’s cleaned it in years.

It smells safe.

#whump #teen whump #captive whumpee #escape attempt #hermitcraft #creepy whumper