#mark just an old security guard who knows it all

[chloesimaginationthings]

This will be Markiplier’s cameo in the FNAF 2 movie

#myart #chloesimagination #comic #mike schmidt #fnaf vanessa #vanessa afton #markiplier #the bite of 87 #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf 2 #fnaf fanart #five nights at freddy's #I’m joking but can you imagine #making him say ‘bite of 87’ just makes sense right?? #mark just an old security guard who knows it all

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Allure

Part One:Sunshine

❥MATZ x fem reader

Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa. The most known and feared alphas of the new generation. It took two dozen elder alphas to subdue them and stick them in the world's most secluded prison- hidden away in the mountains. The prison that sweet little omega (Y/n)'s works at.

Knuckle Velvet (Part Two)

Smoke (Part Three)

➯a/n: i've always wanted to write a story i would like to see as a movie or show, and i very much enjoy supernatural and dark romance, so i made this ! it does get very dark so please read the warnings and take care of yourself first and foremost. i am very proud of this, i hope you enjoy 💕

✃ "Because you're... alluring."

✫彡wordcount: 9.3k

♫"Hey, you should leave that young thing alone, ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday." - Flower Face (original by Bill Withers) ♫ Allure Sountrack

(>ᴗ•)♡´･ᴗ･`♡genre: smut, YANDERE, a/b/o au

ಠ_ಠWARNING/content: DEAD DOVE I MURDERED THAT BIH

chapter specific: literally what have i done, not beta read(ironically), criminal MATZ, alpha MATZ/omega reader, forget everything you know about werewolves, so much world building, extremely yandere behavior, talk of attempted child murder, class division of werewolves, panic attacks, vulgar language, mind control, lots of scent stuff, unhealthy relationships, ptsd, flashbacks and nightmares, physical violence, manipulation of others dreams, supporting character death, forced soul bonding, forced marking, reader implied to have mental health issues, murder, gore, violence- all that good stuff. THIS IS NOT A NON CON FIC ALL EVENTUAL SMUT WILL BE CONSENSUAL.

⁂perm taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

⁂fic taglist: @potatomountain @spooo00oky

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

˚➶ ｡˚ PART ONE ˚➶ ｡˚

You hate weekdays. That much is true for a lot of people. You like to think your reasoning is especially valid.

Every Monday through Friday like clockwork, 6:30AM you walk into the prison. That on its own wasn't so bad. You lived only ten minutes away; the gothic building looked over your village in tandem with the mountains. You could see it when the weather was clear, even from your bedroom on the edge of town. You were no longer afraid of it like when you were a child.

You are, however, afraid of the newest prisoners.

New arrivals didn't usually rock you. This is the only prison in the country fit to hold lycans, after all. They all got transferred here eventually. From beta's who were just stealing to eat, to alphas who used their powers on humans, to those who believed in the old ways and fed on humans.

You had to interact with them all face to face.

You weren't excited for that particular aspect of your job this week.

You made your way through the double doors and greeted the security guard, your friend Hyolyn, as you went through the metal detector. It went off on account of the scent blocker that was embedded in your neck. She chuckled and switched it off so it stopped its incessant beeping.

"Don't laugh at me!" You threw a smile her way as you got your small purse from the plastic bucket she slid towards you. She doesn't bother to check your bag. She knows you well enough to know you wouldn't bring in any "fuck shit", as she would say. "You alpha's don't have to worry about accidentally spewing scent everywhere."

"Thank goodness for that, this place would stink to high heaven." Her unintentional reference to the new arrivals makes the air turn stiff. She could tell you were on edge immediately. "They aren't all that scary," she lays a comforting hand to your shoulder as you fiddle with the long strap on your crossbody bag.

"I heard one of them killed Alpha Greene... you think that's true? That guy was huge, I saw him at The Thing last year, I almost peed myself cause he looked at me-" You stop your own rambling, taking a deep breath and letting it out as a shaking sigh. "I don't want to go in there. Honestly, why can't we install a laundry chute or something, fuck."

"I'll follow you up, I c-"

"No, no, it's visiting day. You need to be down here. You know Chungha? Her daughter is visiting today. Don't want you to miss her." You offer a sad, tight lipped smile, but that doesn't trick her instincts to protect her weaker pack member. She knows you too well to be tricked.

"You just scream and I'll be there. Either of those cocky fucks lift a pinky in your direction and I'll gut them. They don't deserve to see a trial anyway."

A small exhale in the form of a chuckle lightens her protective instincts, she can tell you feel more at ease with her promise to be right there at the slightest hint of trouble.

"See you, Hyolyn."

"Later, babes."

You wave your fingers with a smile as the elevator doors slides shut. As soon as they clunk together, you let it fall and crouch with your head in your hands, taking in deep and slow breaths as you try and force all of the rumors you've heard about the two newest inmates away from your head.

The older alpha of the duo was the first born in this generation. They're always powerful. But he was born to two bloodthirsty rouges. Born in sin and blood lust.

The younger alpha was born just some months after, to an arranged marriage that was purposefully formed to make powerful children. They surely regret that now. Some say the man has the strongest, sharpest claws since the first lycan in Talbot Castle.

When the elevator dings, you're already upright and have that strong facade on that you put on when you're clocked in.

˚➶ ｡˚

You start with the familiar. "Hey, Chungha," you tap on the silver bars of her cell, "hand 'em over." She smiles as she stands, stripping the sheets from her cot and holding them through the bars for you. "Thank you," you draw on with a tug on your lips that matches hers.

"Yunnie in town?"

"Mhm," you hum as you fold the blanket before dropping it in the large basket on wheels, "she came over for stew, I made sure to feed her good and well, don't worry."

You know it was probably problematic, but you couldn't help it. Chungha came here three years ago on a charge for battery, and over those three years you became sort of friends with her.

The battered in her case was her grandfather. When her five year old daughter, Jiyun, started to show signs of being an omega- he left her in the snow to wither away. She managed to survive until her mother came home, and said mother was furious.

She was lucky she didn't charged with attempted manslaughter.

"She said she'll be here first thing."

"Thank you," she had a heavy pull on her voice. You don't have the emotional connection to other wolves like an alpha or beta did. But it was clear to anyone she was being sincere. "You're a good woman."

"Don't mention it, Yunnie is good company. Oh," you start to wheel the basket away when you remember something. You reach into the purse that you had set on the handles. "She made this at art class, asked me to give it to you so it didn't have to wait in processing."

It was a small, cruelly made ceramic bowl in the vague shape of a heart. It was clearly made by an eight year old, but made with love.

"I owe you."

"Just keep working on that parol work." You said lightly and blew a kiss as you moved to the next cell.

    The rest of your work nearly cleared your mind as you went from cell to cell, floor to floor. Omega's were on the second floor. Beta's on the third. Alphas on the fourth. High security on the fifth.

     It's on the fourth level that you begin to feel those nerves that you had just worked away. The scent was becoming stronger. They didn't put them on blockers? Maybe they didn't think it would be worth it. Everyone knew that they were the worst of the worst, they didn't even try to hide it. They would undoubtedly be put to death. Why waste two perfectly good, expensive, blockers?

     The basket of used sheets is nearly full, accumulating into a weight that makes you put your back into it as you push it into the elevator.

    Your index finger reaches out, and before you can stop yourself you've pressed the button to the fifth floor.

       You blank out until the door opens again. Your teeth are eternally grateful for the gum between them so they don't grind themselves into dust. The mint flavor does little to calm your nerves.

     The only thing that makes you come back to your own head is Changbin. He's a big, buff beta with a gun full of silver bullets on his work belt. He won't let them hurt you. His smile washes away a lot of the nerves.

    But the growl that rumbles against the walls makes them return ten, one hundred, one thousand fold. You don't dare say a word. A deer in headlights until Changbin places his hand on the small of your back. "Go on, don't give them the satisfaction of scaring you. They aren't going nowhere no time soon. Take a look."

     He motions you deeper into the hall, florescent lights buzzing above you, matching the jittering feeling in the deepest pit of your stomach. It smells too strong. Too much. You're about to fall to your knees from the weight and you haven't even come face to face with the near feral criminals.

    Changbin opens the doors at the end of the hall.

     They've definitely gone all out to keep them in place. Two large cages placed next to each other in the middle of the enormous room. Made of pure silver and wrapped in wolfsbane. The unpleasant smell of the plant makes your nose twitch. A ring of blood ash surrounds it. Only omegas can pass through blood ash, and now you start to realize why they sent you.

    You want to curse the warden, but the second you open your mouth, a loud cackle sounds out from one of the cages.

     Changbin's hand twitches at the gun attached to his side.

    "Oh wow," the smaller alpha chuckles, eyes closed, head tilted back, as he sniffs the air. "I didn't expect that." More manic giggles slip past his lips.

    You haven't even looked up to see them and you want to cave in on yourself.

    "What are you rambling about, huh?" The guard next to you shouts, making you flinch instinctively.

     "That sweet... sweet, smell," he moans. You can hear him shuffling. "From a peppy little spit fuck omega."

   You gasp abashedly, and now two laughs ring out. You want to wonder how they can smell you. Your insurance provides the best scent blocker in the country. But you're too scared to breathe, let alone think.

      "Shut up," Changbin groans, he can feel you tense next to him, "don't piss me off, Kim."

    "Awe," a new, rumbling voice makes you cower the second it reaches your ears, "this your mate? Hm, no... you wouldn't bring your mate here. You're not an idiot. Then, say... omega." You don't make a move to look when he addresses you, you stay looking at Changbins grip on his gun, silently.

     "Omega, come!" Your feet move for you, and that manic laugh almost makes you wet yourself as you realize that your wolf is making you move toward them without your consent. You stop just outside of the blood ash, where you know you're safe.

     "Changb-"

     "No. I'm the one you're speaking to."

   Changbin seems to be weighing his options, eyeing the men as they eye you.

    "Why are you here? You a shrink?"

    You shake your head.

   "You a lawyer?"

    Again.

   "She works here, dumbass, look at her scrubs," the younger speaks, and you nod subconsciously, to which he giggles, "what can we do for a pretty little thing like you?"

    When you refuse to speak, the guard does it for you. "She's here for your sheets today. Get used to her."

     You hated that this was your job, but it was easy and accessible, and available for omegas. Werewolves are clean freaks. Every day you had a different cleaning task, but you didn't complain. Not until right now- you wanted to rip out the throat of whoever's idea it was to not shoot these criminals on sight.

     "Ah," he hums, and you can feel his eyes raking your body. You can feel both of their eyes. "Not too bad of a sight to get used to. Huh, Hwa?"

     "Mh, that's right... can't wait to get my hands on her."

Your head snaps back to Changbin.

"Awn, she thinks he's gonna help her!" The high pitched giggles bounce around in your head. "Oh, little omega~"

The saccharine coo finally pulls your eyes to the men in the cages.

If you thought you knew what fear was before this moment, you were wrong.

The two strongest criminals in the country, staring you down like a piece of meat. It doesn't matter that they are the ones in cages of silver and wolfsbane. You are the one who feels cornered.

You can immediately feel out their dynamics. The taller one is the older one, quiet and still in his cage as he sits in the center. Shaggy, shining hair framing his face and neck like an elegant piece of lace over a brides face. He has a sleeve of tattoos on one forearm, a thick tattoo on his neck. Eyes glowing a deep, blood red, as he tries to read your entire story with only a look in your direction.

The giggling one is less intimidating, only by a hair. Chemically lightened locks pushed back messily, letting his entrancing features shine in the light from the narrow windows high on the walls. He has tattoos as well, but they seem few and far between. His eyes are human for a moment before they meet yours. Instantaneously, they flick black.

The knot drops from your throat and you let out a small, pathetic, squeak.

Changbin breaks your staring contest with the alpha, shouting orders at them. "Take the sheets off your cot and set them outside of your cage. Do not attempt to touch her, I will shoot you."

    Neither criminal makes a move to follow his orders, both simply staring at you.

A low growl is emitted when the older alpha finally snaps up, tearing the sheet off the sorry excuse for a bed in one fell swoop. The younger follows his lead, shoving their sheets through the bars that are wrapped in the poisonous flower.

You look to the guard, and he nods, "go." With his finger twitching at the gun ready to pull it, you jump over the dark red ashes and into the wolves den, snatching the sheets up as quick as possible and dashing away, out the door before they even get a chance to lock in your scent up close.

The giggles follow you all the way to the elevator and ring in your head even as the thick metal thunks shut.

As you take a deep breath, you notice the sheets are gripped to your chest, your claws drawn subconsciously in your panic and ripping them up. "Shit!" You let out a curse and shove them into the bottom of the basket so you don't have to smell it as closely on the long ride to the basement.

˚➶ ｡˚

The lingering wafts of your fresh scent are long gone, nothing to distract the alpha's from their caged boredom and bubbling rage over being caught. "I'll have that runts heart in my hands by the end of the month." Hongjoong groaned, to no one in particular- he knew Seonghwa was too deep in thought from their recent revelations. "Fucking back stabbers. They're more pathetic than a bitch in heat trying to get off with a dildo."

The thought hit his mind as soon as the words left his lips.

The thought of you, legs spread with your hand dipped low, trying to satisfy your primal urges and-

"Stop that." Seonghwa growls, kicking the bars of their shared 'wall'.

"Settle down!"

"Oh, like you weren't thinking it!" Hongjoong rolls his eyes, a scowl on his face as he crosses his arms. "Your ruts coming and you don't want your-"

"I said stop," he nearly roars, grabbing Hongjoong's state issued orange top and ripping it with his claws as he pulls him forward.

"I know you want her because I want her too." He whispers, smirking at the telltale signs of desire and bloodlust in his mates eyes. Red swirling around the brown of his human eyes. "Imagine how good she'll smell when we take out that stupid blocker. We'll be drowning in her scent." He moans, grabbing his wrist, "I get the honors, my claws are sharper, anyways," he draws them quickly, digging them into his skin as if to prove a point.

"I can use my teeth, mark h-"

"Oh, will you two stop? Love of God..." The guard in the large room slaps his book down on the rickety table. "What is there possibly for you to be fighting about? You're about to be executed, you know that right? No jury in the world will let you walk, especially the human half."

Their frustrations turn to the man, letting each other go. "Ah, you think so?" The older croons, dragging his index over his bleeding wrist and bringing it to his lips, sucking it clean before he continues. "We won't be around these parts long enough to meet the jury."

"What do you mean by that?"

Hongjoong covers his mouth when a laugh slips past. Seonghwa simply smirks as he sits cross legged, eyes locked with the guard as he licks his wound.

"What do you mean by that?!"

The blonde man breaks out in a fit of laughter. The brunette simply flashes his bloody canines in a twisted smile.

˚➶ ｡˚

You spent the whole time doing your daily tasks trying to hype yourself up to go back up to the fifth floor.

You usually went top down, four to one. Nobody has ever been on five before.

You go bottom up today, starting at Chungha with a full basket of freshly washed sheets. She prattles on about her visit with Jiyun, and how she's so thankful for you.

You choose that as your focus point for the rest of the work day, even as you press the button to the fifth floor.

You think back to the first time you spoke to Chungha, she was a crying mess, unable to sense that you were an omega like herself. She cried and cried and cried as you held her hand through the bars of temporary holding. She cried for her daughter, for cursing her with the shame of being the weakest link of any pack. When she looked up and saw your eyes, barely glowing, she cried more.

She apologized profusely, but you reassured her that her words were true, and you hadn't been offended. You told her that, in fact, she was the first to ever share your feelings of what being an omega really meant. It meant loneliness beside anyone but other omegas. Fake relationships born with people who only stuck around because of their primal instincts to either prey on you or protect you. It meant facing the fact that you were outcasts from both of the world's dominant societies. Outcasted from humans for being a werewolf. Outcasted from werewolves for being weak. So weak, in fact, that blood ash didn't even think of you as a wolf.

That night, you drove four hours to the next village over and looked after her daughter until her aunt had room. You remember the first thing the girl said to you. She didn't speak that whole day, surely in shock from the past few days events. But when you tucked her into the motel bed, she spoke as soft as a ghost, "sing me a song?"

You hum it to yourself now, the soft sound reverberating through the metal around you until the door opened.

You wheel the basket with you this time, like it will protect you as you approach the open doors, already feeling the unwavering gaze of the criminals.

"Hey, dolly~" Hongjoong, you had learned when you took a peek into their files, purred your way.

You didn't give him the satisfaction of responding verbally, but he saw the goosebumps on your arm as you reached into the basket, stretching on your tip toes to get the last two sheets.

"You never shut up do you, Kim?" The guard sighed with an exhausted tone, making you smile as you slowly made your way to the ring of red dust.

The throaty rumble from Seonghwa, the older, taller wolf, makes that smile drop to the depths of Hell.

The new guard seems to notice your anxiety, eyeing you up- in a much less predatory manner than the caged men. "Go on, 'mega. I'm watching them."

A bang on the metal bars makes you glue your foot right back where it came from. It's the blonde one, "you shut the fuck up!"

"No, you shut the fuck up! I'm the one with the silver bullets!"

All of the yelling is making you tremble, Hongjoong and the guard going back and forth. "She isn't your omega!"

"She ain't yours!"

Seonghwa watches with a sinister smile as you back away from the ash and the guard, calling to you quietly, "hey."

The soft tone of his voice makes you raise your eyes, but not your head. His eyes don't hold that threatening and dominating red from before. They're a soft brown color that reminds you of a beautiful dark oak in the morning sunshine. "What's your name?"

"(Y/n)..." your tongue moves without your consent, fresh blankets held to your work scrubs.

You desperately want the guard to notice this trance you're in, and grab you out of it. You want to do it yourself, but you can't do anything but admire the beauty of the criminal who has you hypnotized.

"You're a pretty omega, y'know? What color is your wolf?"

"Black..." It's a slur off your lips, barely registering in his sharply tuned ears over the yelling that continues to fill the room.

"Mine too. What's her name? His is Akma."

"Solis."

"Very pretty. Is she fast?"

"Yes."

"Does she want an alpha? A mate?"

"Yes."

The guard finally notices your raised gaze, affixed to the infamous, unlawful, man. He puts his gun back in the holster quickly before gripping your shoulder and forcing you to turn around. "You idiot, didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a first born in the eyes?"

"Sorry. I'm sorry." No one had ever told you that, actually.

Both of the criminals share a smirk as the man from your pack attempts to calm you. It wasn't hard for them to figure out you were an alpha-less village. They could smell every single wolf in five miles, and not a single stench from a wolf even nearly as strong as them.

There was, however, you. A honeyed smell that filled their guts with the primal need to rip out the eyes of anyone who dared look at you.

The guard couldn't be more wrong. You are their omega. You just don't know yet.

"Go and give these fucks their sheets, then get the hell out of here." The man shoved you, making you jump clumsily over the ash so you didn't break the seal.

He yells at them to back up, and they do so without a fight.

You shove them both in at the same time before running back out quickly, grabbing the empty basket and dragging it with you, the sound of the wheels scraping with the force of your panic echoing in the near empty room.

"You guys get off on scaring defenseless girls?" The guard scoffs, not expecting an answer as he drags the chair out of the room and slams the doors behind him.

Seonghwa lets his facade fall the second the door shuts, falling to his knees and grappling at the sheet like he's a starving man with the last piece of food on Earth. Hongjoong watches for a moment in confusion until the scent catches up with his weaker nose. Then he's quickly falling in the same position.

"It worked, the guard was so easy to distract," Hongjoong chuckles, face buried into the sheet that smells vaguely like you from your time spent holding it. "What did you learn?"

"(Y/n), a black wolf named Solis," he pauses, eyes rolled back as he takes a deep breath. They're red when they re-open. "No mate. It's really her."

"You think we should have told her?" Hongjoong inquires, looking through the bars.

He's never seen Seonghwa on his knees for anyone but him or the moon.

"No," he shakes his head, turning to lock eyes with him. "She'll figure it out when I mark her."

"When I mark her."

He rolls his eyes at his defiant nature, knowing full well he won't disobey his orders no matter how badly he wants to do something.

In a dog eat dog world, the strongest was the most powerful. Unlike their human neighbors, werewolves don't decide political or social standing by money or family name. They decide based on who comes out on top in a battle of the body and of the wits.

It had been determined years ago, when they were just young rebellious pups, that Seonghwa was the alpha. A fight in the woods under the moon had set it in stone between the two.

He could have ripped Hongjoongs throat out right then and there, but now, 13 years later in the present; they're bonded for life.

Sometimes he still sees Hongjoong as that 12 year old boy under his teeth, still snapping and growling even as he bled out with tears in his dark eyes, fighting to survive purely out of spite.

"You can mark her first," Seonghwa speaks quickly, turning his back as he puts the sweet smelling sheet on his cot.

He smiles at the man, a quiet thanks spoken through their bonded souls.

˚➶ ｡˚

Tuesday, they don't see you until much later in the day, but they bask in the sight of you opening the door with a broom and tray in hand, smiling at Changbin. You'll be here for a while, it's a big room.

"Hey, Binnie," you whisper to the beta, and Seonghwa has to bite his tongue.

Binnie? Ugh.

Hongjoong isn't so polite, "hey, Dolly! We don't get a hello?" You barely peek at him, eyes flicked from him right back to the floor in a millisecond. He knows you noticed his pout when he hears the smallest 'hello' tremble by your lips.

You start in the corner, headphones attached to your walkman with your favorite song on repeat to try and soothe yourself. Bill Withers calming voice blocks out every word of the teasing alphas, but you can still feel them mocking you and picking at you.

You don't dare sweep anywhere near the blood ash on the floor. One less precaution in place was one more thing to worry about.

"Bye, Binnie."

He does growl that time, eyes narrowed on your back until the door shuts.

˚➶ ｡˚

Wednesday, you have a frown on your face. "Three days in a row?" The guard Hongjoong got in a yelling match with, Merle, greets you as you come into the cavernous room, "bad schedule huh?"

"No kidding," you sigh, feet slightly hesitant to pass the dust border, "I'm here to fix your shirt. It's state property." You don't look at them, but they know who you're referring to.

They act like they don't, though. Just to hear more of your voice. To make you wriggle under their attention. "Sorry? What do you mean?"

You look and point to Hongjoong, his collar ripped from Seonghwas grasp. "State property."

"Ah, of course." He grins like a jackal, pulling it over his head and sticking his hand out of the bars just in the slightest. "On one condition."

You pout, eyes on the shirt which is just far enough away that you'd have to step closer. And it's the cutest fucking thing they've ever seen.

You look back up at him, silently asking. "Sit and talk with us. The guards here are no fun!" His laugh makes you jump back further, he sounds like a mad pirate.

You look over to Merle, who just shrugs, "just get it over with so these guys will shut up. They're only talkative around you, they need an audience for their antics."

"We won't bite," Seonghwa chuckles with his teeth exposed, making you shiver.

"Fine, give it here." You take a single step forward, palm out infront of the blonde.

When you grab it and go to race away like always, his claws wrapping all the way around your wrist stops you, sharp edges threatening to slice your skin down to the bone. You scream your head off, silenced when Seonghwa coos softly, "sit with us, and talk."

"Let me go..." you plead, eyes frantically flicking to Merle, whose gun is drawn to Hongjoongs head from the border of the ash, waiting for him to take one more wrong move so he can rid the world of one of its greatest criminals.

"Sit, omega." You do so, slowly lowering to the floor with your wrist and life still in Hongjoongs hand. "You have your sewing kit with you, I can hear the buttons hitting the needle. So sit, stay, and talk while you fix it."

Once again, they're the ones caged in. But you're the one who's stuck.

     One look to Merle tells you he probably wouldn't help you even if he could get to you. He lowers his gun as your tailbone hits the concrete floor.

     Your thin work scrubs do little to fight the cold of the old flooring, one reason of many that you shake as you reach into your purse and get the small tin box.

     Hongjoong releases your wrist and sits mirrored to you, hands perched on the bars in the gaps of the purple vine flower wrapped on them. Seonghwa comes to the corner of his side of the split cage and breathes in deeply through his nose, eyes locked in on your every movement. "So you're essentially the errand lady? Maid?"

      "Yes..." You murmur under your breath as your fingers work to thread the needle, slowly backing away until you're out of reach, but still stuck in the blood ash with no one to rescue should the men infront of you decide to rip their cages open. You only stop backing away when you hear a warning growl.

     You don't care to see which it came from, you just want to do this as quickly as possible and get far, far, away. They could have chose anyone to focus their annoying efforts on. Changbin, Merle, the warden. But no, just your luck.

      "You live in the village, right? Were you born here?" Seonghwa continues to do the talking as you carefully fix the shirt.

      "Yes. And no."

     A small hum from the one in front of you is a sign they want you to continue. "I was born to an overpopulated pack. They kicked me out when I turned eighteen. Our old alpha took me in." The hitch in your voice is a clear sign that it's a sore topic. And Hongjoong continues to poke the wound.

      "How did they find you?"

       "Woods."

       "Woods?"

     You can't help the small growl of frustration, lip curling as you look up. "Woods."

     The reaction is one you wouldn't have expected from a normal person, but then- they aren't normal.

     They laugh, cooing over your gesture of anger. Compared to them, you seem like a teacup puppy. "My, my," the brunette chuckles breathily, "is that Solis coming to play?"

     "At least she can," you snap, sent to the back of your own head as your wolf tries to defend you, "she isn't a caged mutt."

    Hongjoong breaks out into a manic fit of laughter, while his paramour is the opposite: his eyes flick red before your own, sharp teeth on display in a show of dominance over your smaller ones that are subconsciously bared at him. "Watch it, omega." He spits his words with venom, "I won't be so nice when I get out of here."

     You rip the extra thread with your claw, kicking the shirt across the floor so it sits at the bottom bar of Hongjoongs cage. His chest still wracks with laughter, watching as you sit up in a low squat so you're still level with the alpha.

      It's clear that you aren't currently you. Your wolf has control of your mouth and body, crouched in a position akin to that of a dog ready to pounce as you hiss your words, "I'm going to laugh in your face as you hang."

     "Aw, is that how dear old alpha died?"

     "Cut it out!" Merle screams disinterested, eyes glued to his flimsy magazine.

      "I heard he got gutted~" Hongjoong giggles, watching the color flicking in your eyes.

     "I'll gut you!" Your threat only makes him laugh more.

      "(Y/n)!" The voice of Hylyon breaks your wolf away from you immediately, falling to your bottom and crawling to the sound unwittingly. "You fucking idiot, Merle!" 

     She reaches over the blood ash and pulls you over the ring, letting you collapse into her as she drags you away, still throwing profanities at the incompetent guard. Hongjoong is laughing loudly. Seonghwa yelling at you to come back. The elevator cuts of his roar, the last thing you see through your blurry vision is his fist making a dent in the silver cage.

You fall onto the floor of the metal box. Thoughts flood your head too quickly for you to swim though them, making you drown and try to escape by releasing the pain with tears. You don't even notice when your friend turns her key in the elevator to make it stop in its tracks, you only see her when she sits right infront of you.

"Babes, calm down, I've got you," she reaches out slowly and places a hand on your leg, slowly rubbing her thumb over your knee.

"I can't go back up there... they're too strong, they make me feel like I'm suffocating," you splutter through gasps, "I'm too weak!"

"Hey, hey, you're spiraling!" She opens her arms and pulls you into her, letting you sob into her uniform. "In and out, girl," she holds the back of your neck securely, almost instantaneously making you calm. "I got you... I got you..."

You sit there for a good while, crying into her shoulder as you sort through your wracked brains.

Your alpha was gutted. Right in front of you. Because of you.

Unbeknownst to you, their tuned ears are still listening in, the elevator stuck within their ear shot as you begin mumbling your favorite song to yourself through tears.

˚➶ ｡˚

The sound of claws slicing through the skin on your back rings in your ears. Though, you can't feel it. Your eyes are locked in on your own claws, dug into the hardwood floor of your humble home to keep yourself from being dragged.

     You've been here a million times before.

     Blood pooling off of your body and onto the frigid surface below you. Teeth sharp and bared to the moon though the open window, begging that she might let you survive. Eyes aglow with your instincts as your wolf tries with every fiber of her being to turn, but she knows it's no use.

     The distorted voice above you drips with mocking venom, a chuckle as its owner realizes you can't even fight back like other wolves might: by letting your wolf fully transform.

     The wind blows through your curtains, washes your body in the artic breeze. The snowflakes on your windowsill are so delicate, all of their features fade into a blurry mush as they make contact. They melt, dripping down your wall.

     This time it's different.

      You're turned over, gaping wounds slammed into the floor as always, but when you look up to your aggressor it's different.

      His eyes aren't the yellow of a rouge, but the red of an alpha. His hair isn't that unruly blonde curl that you pulled at frantically, that you can still feel on your finger tips when your hands are unoccupied. It's long, shining, soft looking dark locks.

       You fall through the floor into another time, another place.

     Face first into the snow: your hands, shaking with adrenaline, do little to catch you.

       You don't remember this.

       This isn't right.

       This isn't your nightmare.

       You find yourself in a clearing in a forrest, the densely packed trees creating a bubble of nature around you. "(Y/n)?"

      You whip around, coming face to face with an unfamiliar man. Almost face to face. If he weren't floating a few feet in the air.

     His legs are crossed under him, hands facing palms up on his knees.

      "Don't worry. You're only dreaming." He speaks calmly as he floats around you in a circle, like a shark examining its potential prey.

     You follow him with your feral gaze, that familiar feeling of an adrenaline crash quickly approaching.

You know you're only dreaming. You've had that last dream more times than you can count in the past three years. It always plays the same. But not this time. You're only slightly thankful that you don't have to witness your alphas death again, but the gratefulness is overshadowed by confusion.

"Are you an angel?" You whisper, watching the man's soft and rounded features as he comes to a stop in the air in front of you and gracefully lowers to his feet.

"I can be, if that's what you want me to be. I'm only here to watch your dreams, fight off the nightmares."

"Why?" You feel distant from your body, watching powerlessly as your hand takes his, letting him lead you out of the clearing and into the darkness of the woods.

It disappears around you, warping into a spring day on a familiar path.

"A favor for a friend."

With the snow gone, you're in your spot, your old towel on the dewy grass with a book laid atop of it and the soil beneath your feet as you approach.

"Enjoy."

The hand vanishes from your own, leaving you alone on the side of the path. You look for him. But he's just an eidolon, watching you from the sky where you can't see him.

You warily take a seat and pick up the book.

˚➶ ｡˚

They don't see you again through the week. And when the next Monday comes by, their sheets are removed while they're in the showers.

Hongjoong sighs from his place on the floor, for the tenth time in the past half hour.

"Hong-"

"I miss our omega!" He whines, cutting him off.

Seonghwa stands from his cot, slowly lowering to the floor next to their shared bars. He lays flat on his back, mirroring Hongjoong as he tilts his head to look at him. "Soon." Is the only word he utters.

He reaches through the silver bars, ignoring the sting as the fresh wolfsbane brushes his wrist, and takes his hand.

The both of them look up at the ceiling through the bars of their enclosure.

Your scent is long gone from the room, and their noses can barely pick up on it through the rest of the village and prison.

"I want out of here," Hongjoong whispers, so lowly that the guard can't hear him from outside of the door, "when are they coming? Your bond with them is stronger, I can barely feel them..."

"Soon." He repeats, "very soon, Joong."

˚➶ ｡˚

Tuesday you manage to talk your coworker into sweeping the top floor, and you rejoice in the freedom of not being under the alpha's gazes. You've worked out a good schedule to completely avoid seeing them, and it's made your job feel like it's back to normal.

You can still smell their power wafting through the AC, but it's bearable. You distract yourself in your free time by making excuses to be on the second floor with Chungha and the other omegas.

Today, that excuse is 'omegas need physical outlets too', and the warden let you bring up buckets and brushes so you could all scrub the base boards.

"Oh, I've got one!" The omega to your left speaks, lifting his brush in the air in a eureka moment, "Texas Chainsaw Massacre or... Halloween?"

Chungha scoffs with a smile as she scrubs away to your right, "are we including sequels? There's like a billion!"

"No, stand alone original," Beomhan goes back to scrubbing as he continues, "both of them are classics but which one is a better classic?"

"Halloween is the classic slasher, Texas Chainsaw is like psychological horror," you chime in as you dip your brush into the bucket, sitting on your calves as you take a breather. "I think it's not fair to compare them... but Texas Chainsaw, definitely."

They laugh along with you, and Chungha shakes her head, "Halloween has more rewatchablity. You don't want to see Sally go through that more than once, but Laurie Strode fights harder and it's more like, yeah I'll watch her kick ass again."

"Cinematography in both is so beaut-"

The lights above you flicker before they shut down completely. People start muttering their concerns, quite a few of them looking your way. "Don't worry!" You hop up and get your keys from your pocket as you make your way to the locked stairwell. "I'll go and see what's going on, keep scrub-"

A loud siren echoes in the brick walls, shocking you all to cover your ears.

Everyone looks to you for answers, and you don't have any as your brain starts throwing theory after theory at you.

"It's okay, go back to your cells! Shut them behind you!"

They listened, however grumpy about it. The cell doors locked automatically when they were closed.

"Hey, what's going on?" Chungha asked over the clanging of the cell doors. The two of you, along with Beomhan, were the only ones left after a moment.

"Go back to your cell, Beomhan, hurry."

"No, what's happening?"

     The sirens cut off and leave you in a pregnant pause for a moment as you simply try to calm yourself.

A deafening scream ricochets through the air vent next to you, scaring you into their arms as you all stare at it.

Usually, the air flow covered the echoes throughout the floors. But with no power, you could hear everything- albeit muffled.

Yells and shouts. Gunshots. Growls. Unidentifiable chaos. And above all, your ears tuned in on a rumbling, calm voice through it all.

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone... It's not warm when she's away..."

Your eyes widen as theres a bang at the stairwell door. "Go, go!" You grab each of their wrists, dragging them into Chungha's cell. You slam it behind you and let down the sheet she has over it, backing away and staring at it as you hear the door hit the wall behind it with the force it's slammed open.

"(Y/n), what the hells happening?!"

     You slap your hand over his mouth and bring a finger to your lips. The other omegas on the floor are all making a ruckus, and you can only hope that it will confuse that unfortunately familiar voice so he can't find you.

˚➶ ｡˚

The beta in the large room ignores Hongjoong as he continuously asks after 'the pretty omega'.

He just sweeps and sweeps, finally understanding why you hate coming up here. He has his back turned to the cage, and consequently, to the windows.

High on the tall walls, the narrow glass is opened from the outside. Seonghwa smirks, and gestures his head to it. Hongjoongs gaze follows, and he has to slap a hand over his mouth so he doesn't laugh.

A skinny figure is sliding its way in through the window sideways.

He drops to the floor as silent as a mouse, landing on his knees and grinning wildly up at his alphas.

Hongjoong throws his head back in preemptive relief, while Seonghwa is watching with a similarly wide smile as the man walks straight through the blood ash, breaking the circle with the tip of his shoe.

The worker still has his back turned as the lock on Seonghwas cage is picked with a long claw. He doesn't even know what's happening as the next thing he knows, he's thrown across the floor.

      Blood ash knocks up around him, coughs wracking his body as he looks up to his assailant.

      Park Seonghwa, newly freed from his cage, looks down at the worker with his eyes glowing red.

     "Now usually..." He begins, crouching to be face to face with him, "I'd go through this whole place just for the fuck of it and cause some beautiful chaos. But I'm looking for someone."

     "(Y/n)?" He stutters out, backing away only to knock into Hongjoongs legs. Stuck between the two criminals, he chooses his own head over yours. "The second floor! Sh-she's on the second floor!"

     "Let's go get our omega, Joong."

      Nonchalantly, Hongjoong draws his claws and slices the neck of the worker. He hops over the gurgling body and follows his mate with an ecstatic giggle.

      He wraps his arm around the skinny man's shoulder, "Wooyoung! Our savior~" He ruffles his hair and laughs as he groans.

     "You guys know I've got your back. Seonghwa told me about your new omega, you seem excited," he mimics the alphas smile as the eldest of the trio opens the doors.

     The guard on duty, who happens to be Merle, looks back with wide eyes.

"Yes, oh yes!" His eyes roll to the back of his head, touching the stitches you made on his shirt. "Oh, you'll love her, she's a feisty omega just like you."

He makes a run for the fire alarm at the end of the hall, but Seonghwa is faster. The beta is tackled to the floor.

"I'm glad you both will have a buffer, tired of you always at each other's throats during ruts," Wooyoung laughs, looking down at the guard as they pass.

Seonghwa had simply torn out his throat with his bare hand and made his way to the elevator, holding it open with an impatient glare.

The door closes behind them and the only sound is Seonghwa's heavy breathing.

"You're real eager, huh?" The omega breaks the silence, "San should be coming in any second to block the main door. No one will get past him. The rest are in the village, just as we planned."

"Good, she'll need somewhere to rest before we take off....Fucking idiots, thinking they can cage us." He groans, eyes flicking to the number above the doors as it dings.

       3? "Fuck."

     The door opens and the woman on the other side takes a moment, nearly walking in before she notices the crimson liquid dripping from Segonhwa's hand.

      She makes it halfway through the hall before Hongjoong pounces on her, fighting her effortlessly as if she's a rag doll. The guards run to try and save her, but it's too late for the unfortunate woman, and they just signed their own death certificate as well.

       Seonghwa and Wooyoung make quick work of them, but their plan is already foiled as the lights flicker to a halt and leave them bathed in dim light of the setting sun in the few windows.

      The alphas fall to their knees as their sensitive ears are bombarded with a loud, incessant siren.

      "Wooyoung!" Hongjoong screams over it, "go turn that shit off!"

      He nods, taking the keys off a mauled guard and dashing to the stair well, leaving it unlocked behind him.

     Hongjoong crawls to Seonghwa, collapsing into his chest with his teeth clenched and palms over his ears. His ears were always more sensitive.

     His partner places his hands over his, thumb running over his own. He looks down with his eyes glowing red, meeting pure black.

He leans and kisses him deeply, all teeth and bloodlust, trying to merge their souls until the sirens cuts off.

Their foreheads rest together, ignoring the chaos of the beta's around them yelling to be released.

"Are you ready?" Seonghwa whispers, gathering another set of keys from the fallen workers. He throws it to one of the locked in prisoners, a smirk on his face. So much for not creating chaos.

"Let's go," Hongjoong holds the door to the staircase open and lets him go first with a dramatic bow.

It takes one scream to start the havoc. The entire prison is filled with the sickly sweet sounds of caged animals with a taste of freedom. Gunfire and howls bring a smile to Seonghwa's lips as he sings out,

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone... it's not warm when she's away..."

He hums the song with a wide grin as Hongjoong kicks the door. It takes only one more kick before it slams open and bangs against the cement wall.

The omegas in their cells are all yelling at them, at one another, in general.

Hongjoong kicks one of the many buckets on the floor over and groans, "here I was thinking she'd make it easy. I guess we'll have to go cell to cell!" A small spike of a heartbeat in his ears makes him smirk, following the sound that he memorized the first time he'd heard it.

Seonghwa follows him, immediately zeroing in on the same cell. He comes to stand infront of it, his breath making the blanket behind the bars sway slightly.

You see both pairs of orange slip on shoes and you feel your heart stop in your chest.

You cower further into the corner with Beomhan as Chungha stands in front of you. The sheet is grabbed from the outside and ripped away, making you all shriek.

"Were you playing hide and seek?" Hongjoong giggles, throwing the blanket to the side with his eyes never leaving you, a scowl growing on his features as he notices the way you're curling into another wolf. "You should know better than to hide from your alphas. Come on out."

You shake your head, gaze lowered as you hold onto the back of Chungha's uniform.

"(Y/n)," the saturnine man speaks, "come here."

"No, leave us alone! Leave me alone," your voice cracks despite how strong you want to appear.

"If I have to drag you out of here I will be very angry. Just come on, do us all a solid."

"No-"

"Open the fucking door!"

"No!"

The cells were built to hold lycans, which means lycans shouldn't be able to get in... right?

"Fucking-" Seonghwa hits the bars, leaving a dent and making the three of you jump.

Hongjoong leans on his tiptoes and whispers into his ear, and whatever he says makes his eyes begin glowing a murderous red.

He slowly wraps his clawed fingers around the bars, and the way Hongjoong backs up makes your stomach churn in anxiety of what's about to come.

And it was warranted anxiety.

With a loud growl and a single tug, he rips the silver bars from their cemented place in the wall, causing a large crack to form.

"Holy shit!" Beomhan screams, arms wrapping around you tightly.

Chungha is ripped from the small room and tossed all the way across the room, back colliding with the wall and leaving her unconscious.

You yelp as Beomhan meets a similar fate, torn from your grasp and out into the rec room like he's a mere bag of trash. You see Hongjoong approaching him with his long black claws out and proud, but your vision is blocked by the large alpha infront of you.

     Your hips back into Chungha's small desk, and your hands clamber around, landing on something small and solid.

     You swing it at his head and he ducks, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the small cell. You manage to swing again, making contact with his head. The small ceramic bowl shatters into pieces and leaves him only temporarily stunned, glaring down at you.

      "Fucking stop," he growls quietly, shoving you to the floor.

       He lets you shuffle away, only because Hongjoong is right behind you.

     The blonde chuckles, pulling you back up by your collar and crashing you face first into one of the round steel tables bolted into the floor. "Ow!" You yell out as your head makes contact, fighting against him with all your might, but it's fruitless.

     He kicks your feet apart and stands between them, leaning his chest over your back. You can feel his nose against your neck, over the healed skin above your scent blocker. You snap your eyes shut and do the only thing you can thing of.

     You can't fight. Begging to these men would be useless. You can't disappear into the floor like you wish you could.

     "Please, Selene," you pray to the moon, tears slipping past your shut eyes as you feel the claws of the mad man on your neck.

       You cry out as the other worldly sharp nails slice into your neck, slowly and almost surgically. His other hand is cupped on the back of your head, keeping your head pushed into the cold metal. "Shhhh," he gushes above you, "it's okay."

      Seonghwa sits at one of the bolted stools and rests his head to mimic yours, cheek on the table. "We'd've been more gentle if you listened, omega."

       Between the tips of his claws, Hongjoong holds your small alloy scent blocker. Almost instantaneously, your natural scent floods their senses.

     Their deep rumbles of pleasure make you snap your eyes back shut, missing the way Hongjoong stomps on the device.

     "Fuck," the wolf behind you curses, body pressed close to yours like he wants to fuse together, he places his hands in yours and tells you, "you might want to squeeze."

    "Wh- ah!" Your scream echoes over all of the other chaos as his teeth sink into your left shoulder, and you do just that. Your clawed hands squeeze around his, sharp nails knocking together as you hold on like his hands are the only thing keeping you from slipping to the underworld.

       It feels like a million pins and needles washing over you, leaving you paralyzed in place as he purrs into the wound, making your bones vibrate.

     A warm, comforting hand on your cheek makes you force your eyes open. Seonghwa smiles sweetly, like he isn't witnessing one of the biggest crimes in the lycan community.

      Forcing someone to be your mate for the rest of your mortal lives.

     "Breathe, omega," his words make you realize you're holding your breath, and you let it out as a sob. "That's it," he hums, rubbing his hand down your head with all the gentleness he's capable of.

  ��     Hongjoong pulls away with a moan, resting his head between your shoulder blades as he catches his breath.

     Your wolf is already calling for her mate, howling in the back of your mind as you cry.

       "Don't worry, we'll take good care of you." Seonghwas words have little time to register in your adrenaline filled head as he turns your head the other way and climbs up on the table.

     It hits you when he moves your ruffled shirt away from your right shoulder. "No! No!" You find yourself with two million pins and needles in your body now, squeezing Hongjoongs hands all over again as Seonghwa sinks his teeth into you at an excruciatingly slow pace.

They're bigger, or maybe they only feel that way because your body is on fire. You sob freely, feet stomping pathetically to cope with the pain.

What little comfort you find in Hongjoong squeezing your hands back is washed away by the simple fact that it's him. That blood from his claws drips onto your skin.

It feels like a century later that the older alpha finally pulls away, a bellow of pleasure as he runs his thumb over the wound: making you jump.

"Your turn, omega."

The weight of their bodies is gone, but you can't bring yourself to move. Out of fear, maybe. Pain, perhaps.

"You know what happens to wolves who don't finish the bond." Hongjoong purrs teasingly, knowing full well that you will have to mark them back least you want to suffer at the hands of the moon herself.

A life with them was better than being turned inside out and left to the elements. Just barely.

You lift yourself on shaking arms and nearly fall as you turn. You would have if not for Hongjoong catching you. He lifts you back to the table much gentler, letting your legs dangle as you sit on the table top.

"Why... why me?"

"... Have you heard of Harry Talbot?"

"Harry Talbots a myth... what's he got to do with your fuck shit?"

"Harry Talbot was the first wolf that could smell his mate. He could tell just by her smell, they were meant to be." Hongjoong slots his way between your legs, smiling down at you with his bloody teeth, "her smell called to him. It wasn't just good. It wasn't a normal scent. It was...alluring."

You were growing dizzy, head spinning.

"Strong alphas can sniff out their true mate. And, baby, we're the strongest that there is."

You have to force yourself to swallow. Have to remember to breathe.

"Why? Because you're... alluring."

That's the last thing you can register before your world turns dark.

˚➶ ｡˚ PART ONE END ˚➶ ｡˚

#yandere fic #smut fic #ateez fic #yandere ateez #park seonghwa #yandere seonghwa #ateez matz #kim hongjoong #yandere hongjoong #ateez smut #ateez x reader #matz x reader #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #yandere ateez x reader #yandere x reader #yandere werewolf

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

#72 #5

Minho or Hyunjin? Eheh 🤭

SKZ PROMPT GAME

Prompt: "Are those...bite marks?"

Member: Lee Minho

Relationship: Princess!Femreader x Royal Guard!Lee Minho

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Light Smut

"Fuck." Hyunjin grunts as the heavy hilt of your sword buries itself in his stomach.

He goes to his knees, dropping his own sword with a clatter, trying to catch his breath, and you circle him slowly, like a big cat waiting for the right moment to take down its fallen prey

You regard him with narrowed eyes and an air of annoyance.

"You're going easy on me. Stop it."

Hyunjin glances up at you, tracking you with his eyes, a few loose, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling over his brow, and he lets out a little humorless laugh at your words, throwing his hands out in an exasperated gesture.

"I swear to god, princess, if I went any harder on you, I'd collapse."

You stop, staring at him, trying to gauge the truthfulness in his statement.

He bows his head slightly to you, but not before you catch the hint of an amused grin on his full lips.

"I hate to admit it, but you've simply become better than me, princess." He glances off to your left, the grin growing slightly more cheeky now. "Isn't that right, Minho?"

You glance over your shoulder at your personal guard, leaning against the nearby wall, his usual, blank expression on his features, as unreadable and silent as ever.

He arches a brow at Hyunjin as the former scoops up his sword and bounds to his feet once more, headed for the weapons rack and the pail of water waiting beside it.

"I'm in no position to proclaim anything."

Hyunjin rolls his eyes good naturedly, sheathing his sword as he throws you a smirk over his shoulder, swiping hair back from the glistening skin of forehead.

"God, he's absolutely no fun, is he?"

"No." You shake your head, biting back your own grin now as you toss him your sword, which he catches easily, stowing it beside his own.

"I don't get paid to be fun." Minho deadpans, his eyes astutely scanning across the training courtyard in search of god knows what, his hand resting easily on the hilt of his sheathed sword at his waist. "I get paid to protect the princess, and that's what I'm doing."

"All right, Sir Serious." Hyunjin taunts, rolling his eyes once more, just for good measure. "Whatever you say."

Minho pushes off the wall and strides toward you, light armor clanking, before he narrows his eyes and looks up to judge the position of the sun in the sky.

"We should be getting back, your highness."

You glance once more at Hyunjin, who grins at you, before turning away and starting to organize the racks of weapons.

You sigh and drop the light weight helmet you had been wearing during your spars to the ground at your feet, motioning with your head to the waiting guard and the palace seen in the distance.

"Fine. Lead the way."

As you trek silently after Minho-back through the royal gardens, down the path through the vineyard, into the main fountain courtyard-you can't help but think that your mother is going to be furious with you.

Minho tries to keep you on time to things, but you're head strong and stubborn, and chafe under the rules of being the crown princess, and judging by the dipping of the setting sun, you're late for dinner.

Not to mention, you'd snuck some old clothes from the stable boys to practice in-skirts and silks only serving to get in your way-and your mother was sure to have a conniption fit if she saw you dressed in the raggedy pants and overly large tunic you'd secured.

Minho had caught one sight of the outfit and you had seen the disapproval on his face.

"Your mother is going to be angry, you know." He remarks, not looking back at you, as if thinking about his obvious annoyance with your recreational activities has summoned it to the surface once more.

"What's new?" You huff back, stepping past him as he holds aside a low hanging shrub for you to pass, stomping your feet in their old boots just a little bit harder than necessary as you do. "She's always angry it seems."

Minho remains quiet, following you up to the servants' entrance of the ostentatious castle that leads to the kitchens, and ultimately, the back staircase that allows you to sneak in and out without catching your mother's-or the royal advisor's-watchful eyes.

Yanking open the heavy wooden door, you stomp up the staircase without so much as a backward glance in your personal guard's direction.

Let him be angry with you. Let them all be angry with you.

It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered, and it would never matter, not when you were doomed to be held in a gilded cage for the rest of your life.

********************************************************************************

You keep your head down at dinner-only speaking when you're spoken to, though it chafes against every nature you have-and you mostly avoid your mother's ire by doing so.

Acting the dutiful princess has always put her off the war trail.

After dessert, you sneak out of the dining room as your mother takes her wealthy guests to the parlor for some after dinner brandy and betting games, probably a little political talk if you had to guess.

None of it matters to you. It doesn't have to, because eventually your mother will find you some boring old duke of a husband, and he'll rule the castle, because god forbid a woman do it on her own, and you'll be just as trapped as before.

Dashing up the stairs, skirts in your hands, gleeful and heady from getting out of entertaining without being caught, you stop on the landing and glance down into the foyer, just as Minho steps from the shadows.

You can tell he's irritated, even from here, and something about it makes you even more triumphant than before.

"You don't have to follow me." You call down to him, taking the second flight of stairs two at a time, even as he sighs and begins to descend the first.

"I do though."

"You really don't." You reply back, reaching the second landing, catching your breath.

Damn these heavy skirts and petticoats and this tightly drawn corset in which you can hardly breathe. You much prefer the tunics and trousers men are allowed to wear.

Minho reaches you as you're finding the last of your breath, and the look on his face is smooth once more, unreadable.

It's something you've never understood about him. How he manages to keep such a blank mask all the time. Doesn't he feel stifled? Doesn't he want more?

"It's my job, princess." He affirms in a serious, no argument tone, and you roll your eyes in response.

"Fine."

He follows you silently down the long corridor, but when you reach the large oaken doors of your room, you pause with a hand on the knob, glancing at him with a sort of smirk over your shoulder.

"You have to wait out here though. I'm going to change."

If Minho's caught off guard, he doesn't show it. He leans against the wall and his hand goes to the sword at his hip.

"I'm not allowed in your chambers regardless, your highness. Now is no different."

"God, you really are no fun." You complain, just to annoy him, and you push through the doors, shutting them in his face before he can say anything in response.

Deciding against calling for the help of one of your ladies maids, and risking a lecture, you slip out of the dozens of layers of gowns and petticoats yourself, but the corset cinched tightly around your waist proves a little more difficult.

No matter how much you twist and turn, you can't get ahold of the carefully placed laces to tug them loose.

"Fuck." You swear beneath your breath, sweating slightly, staring at your reflection in the mirror as you ponder your options.

Finally, you come to the conclusion that there's no other way. It has to be done.

Waltzing to the door, you tug it open and peek your head out to see Minho right where you left him.

He slides his gaze to you with a questioning sort of look, and you clear your throat.

"I-need a little help."

He stares at you, and then his lips form a firm line. "Call for Celia."

"I can't." You explain with a huff, as if he thinks you're stupid and you feel the need to explain yourself. "She'll rat me out to mother and I'll get the lecture of a lifetime."

Minho just continues to stare, unyielding.

"Minho." You whine, stamping your foot, and he arches a brow. "You know I'm on thin fucking ice with her already."

"And you'd be on even thinner ice if she heard you using coarse language like that."

You don't give in. "Please?"

Minho sighs. "Fine."

You squeal and duck back into the room, and it's only when he steps through the door to join you, that you suddenly realize with certain clarity what you're asking of him.

You're standing in nothing but your shift and corset, and there's a man in your room, one you're not married to, and oh god-

Minho seems to realize all of this at the same time you do, and he freezes mid step as if he's been doused in cold water, and you shriek without thinking, darting behind the bed to hide behind the blanket.

"Close your eyes!" You hiss out, as you scrabble to cover yourself.

He does so, but a wash of frustration moves across his face as he snaps back, "How the hell am I supposed to unlace you if I can't see?"

"I don't know!" You blurt out, heart hammering against your chest with panic.

Minho takes a blind step in the direction of the door. "If you would just call your maid-"

"No!" You exclaim, a bit louder than intended, and Minho cracks open an eye as you slap your hand over your mouth.

"No." You repeat, quieter this time, and you straighten, steeling your nerve, glancing toward the closed door nervously. "Let's just do it quickly. I'll stay behind the blanket, and you have to promise your gaze will remain appropriate at all times-"

Minho snorts a humorless sounding chuckle, and you glare at him.

"Promise me, Minho!"

He sighs and stares upward at the ceiling for a moment, as if looking for something to give him strength.

"I promise."

"Okay, good." You say nervously, tucking the blanket more securely around you, until you're sure just the laces on the back of your corset are showing.

You waddle in Minho's direction, and if you didn't know him better, you'd think that was a flash of amusement in his eyes.

You turn toward him, baring your back and your shoulders, and hold your breath, staring straight ahead.

He doesn't touch you and you grow antsy in the silence.

"Minho!" You hiss, not daring to glance back at him. "Hurry!"

You hear him take a step forward, and then feel a brush of a finger along the bare skin of your shoulder as he reaches for the top laces.

You jolt, cheeks instantly aflame, and try to hold still as you feel him hesitantly pull the top lace through the eyelet.

You try to focus on anything but the feel of Minho's warm hands brushing your back through your thin shift as he works, quickly and quietly, and as the corset loosens and you can breathe again, your lungs tighten up for a whole different reason.

Minho is touching you.

And you don't hate it.

Minho pulls the last lace through and clears his throat, reaching around you to drop the discarded laces into your hands.

"There. All done."

He pulls his hand back, and as he does so, it brushes the bare skin of your shoulder.

You shiver, and it's not because you're cold.

Instantly, you whirl, tugging the blanket up and around you so you're completely covered now, and when you meet Minho's gaze, his mask is firmly in place, expression unreadable.

"Thank you." You manage to say, as Minho nods and backs toward the doors.

"I'll be waiting outside, your highness."

He disappears, and the doors click quietly shut behind him.

You stare down at the silk laces he had laid in your palm, and will your heart to stop thundering out of your chest.

********************************************************************************

"Do you think Lee Minho is actually cold, or do you think that's just what he wants people to see?" You ask one day, sitting in a field of wild flowers, watching the horses graze contentedly a few feet away.

Felix looks over at you in surprise, then glances in the direction of Minho, off a few hundred feet away making sure his mare drinks from a stream.

"Why are you asking?" He replies curiously, instead of giving you an answer, and you sigh, leaning back on your hands and hiking up your skirts to give your legs a little glimpse of the warm afternoon sun.

"I don't know." You shrug, considering, and lean over to pick an especially yellow daisy, twirling it between your fingers as you think. "I just think there's a side to him I don't really know."

Felix lounges back beside you, a blade of grass stuck between his lips, and stares up at the blue sky for several moments.

"I think there's a side to everyone that we don't really know."

You nod thoughtfully, and unwittingly, your gaze drifts to Minho, stroking the broad neck of his horse gently, whispering something to it in low tones that you can't catch.

"Yeah, I guess." You admit vaguely, staring off into the distance.

"Besides-" Felix leans over to nudge your side, giving you a bright grin that dimples his cheeks and scrunches his freckles. "-I wouldn't worry about him too much. I'm sure your mother has loads of eligible suitors lined up and waiting. You'll have no time to think of the mystery that is Lee Minho soon enough."

That sounds absolutely awful, but you don't say that out loud.

You simply give him a smile that you don't feel in return, playfully shove him, and stand up to ready for the ride back home.

********************************************************************************

"Minho." You call out, standing in the middle of the sparring ring, chest heaving, having bested Hyunjin once again.

Your guard glances up from his usual position on the wall.

"Spar with me." You command, motioning to the ring with the tip of your sword.

Minho stares.

"Minho." You repeat again, tone firmer and harder this time, because you know he's going to try to refuse, but you need this. Just to see. "That's an order from your princess."

You see his chest rise and fall beneath his armor with a breath, and then he pushes off the wall, accepting the training sword Hyunjin hands him wordlessly as he walks toward you.

He steps a boot over the red line of the training circle, and eyes you warily.

"Princess, I don't think-"

"Don't think." You snap back, readying your stance, adjusting your hold on the hilt, glaring at him. "And don't go easy on me."

Minho watches you, something flashing across his eyes that you can't quite read, and then he sighs and sinks down into a ready stance of his own.

Hyunjin steps up, glancing between the two of you carefully, before he drops his hands in between you to signal the start of the match.

You move without thinking, whirling around and using the heavy weight of your sword to propel you toward Minho, under his left arm and right toward his flank.

He leaps out of the way easily, and comes around your back, and you follow his every movement with narrowed eyes, trying to preemptively think of what he's going to do next.

He lunges for you suddenly, the tip of his sword headed for the juncture of your shoulder, and you drop and roll out of the way to the other side of the ring, avoiding him.

"Why are you holding back?" You ask furiously, swinging at him again, as he ducks and maneuvers out of your way.

"I'm not." He snaps right back, and with a cry, you leap at him again, aiming for his legs, hoping to take him down to the ground.

There is tension, as the two of you circle the training ring and each other like jungle cats, stalking each other's every moves, watching footwork and body language and any minute movements.

"You are." You insist, slightly out of breath, as you dodge another one of Minho's well timed attacks, barely missing nicking your arm on the edge of his training blade.

"I'm not going to hurt you, princess." Minho retorts, fire flaring in his eyes, as he scrapes past a swing of your own.

With a growl of frustration, you head for him again, and this time, he meets your blade head on, the swords creating sparks as they make contact, the two of you battling for dominance.

You're so close now that you can see the flecks of gold in Minho's dark brown eyes, the sweat shining on his upper lip, the slight wave of his hair now that it's damp.

"Fucking hurt me." You hiss back, holding against his insistent pressure, your arms beginning to ache with the strain. "It's the only thing I get to feel in this prison."

Minho's eyes flash dangerously, and he gains an inch over you, the blades sliding against one another as he pushes you a step back.

"You wanna know something, Minho?" You bite out, your muscles beginning to shake with exhaustion, your whole body tense. "Every day, I watch you. I watch you put on a mask, and go to work, and follow orders, and do it all again the next day-like some sort of cold, unfeeling, unyielding machine. Aren't you tired? Don't you get tired of just not feeling anything?"

Minho growls in his throat, and suddenly, he's heaving forward, sending your sword flying from your hands as you tumble to the ground, the wind knocked out of you as you land hard on the packed earth, flat on your back.

Before you can react, Minho is on you, sword at your throat, pinning your body down beneath his, chest heaving.

You stare up at him, shocked, and suddenly, your heart is racing in your chest.

He leans over you, face impossibly close to your own, and you catch a hint of his musk-something cedar and pine-before he grits out beneath his breath, "There. Happy now?"

You open your mouth, but no words come out, and he stares at you, hard, his breaths harsh, and you see something flicker across his gaze as he murmurs, "I feel things. But they're forbidden. And that's the way it has to be, princess."

He pulls the sword back from your throat and stands.

You lay there in the dirt, Hyunjin rushing to your side, as Minho tosses aside his sword and leaves without another backward glance.

********************************************************************************

"Fuck." You swear beneath your breath, sitting on the edge of your ridiculously large bed, trying, and failing once more, to wrap your hand in the strips of linen you had stolen from the kitchen.

Glancing down at the small wound on the palm of your hand, you let yourself fall back heavily on the bed, glaring up at the ceiling.

"Fuck this." You announce, if only to yourself, and you stand determinedly, marching to the door of your room and yanking it open.

Minho glances at you from his usual post on the wall.

"I need your help." You say, with no preamble, and Minho arches a brow.

"Your highness, please say it has nothing to do with corset laces."

You pause, because that's probably the first time you've ever heard Minho make anything close to a joke, and then shake your head with a slightly rueful smile.

"It does not."

Minho inclines his head to your open door after looking down the hall to make sure you're alone. "Lead the way then."

You shut the door behind him, and return to the bed, sitting down on the edge as Minho stands like a statue in the doorway.

You heave a sigh and motion him forward with your hand. "Come over here. You can't help me from there."

He does so, albeit reluctantly, hand on the hilt of his sword, like always, and comes to stand awkwardly beside you.

You open your palm and he glances down, his expression going dark as he takes in the small, red wounds marring the flesh.

"Are those....bite marks?"

You shrug one shoulder and try not to let his sudden anger make your heart do weird things in your chest.

"Yes. I tried to befriend a stray in the village this afternoon." You remark, reaching for the discarded roll of linen. "Bastard apparently didn't like cook's egg tarts."

You hold out the linen to Minho with an expectant look, and he sighs heavily, before taking it from your outstretched hand and kneeling at your feet.

"Fine. Let me see."

You extend your hand another inch or so, suddenly unsure of what to do, and Minho glances up at you, amusement in the twitch of his lips, before he grasps your hand with his own and pulls it into his lap.

You bite back the gasp that threatens at the feel of his fingers on your won.

"Did you clean this?" Minho asks, studying the wound clinically, turning your palm all which ways to see it in the light.

"Yes." You nod, annoyance seeping into your tone. "I'm not daft."

"I didn't say you were." Minho remarks offhandedly, as, seemingly satisfied, he unrolls the linen and begins to carefully wind it around your palm.

You hiss a little as the coarse fabric scrapes the raw skin, but manage to hold still as Minho finishes the job and ties it off securely with a satisfied little nod and a hum in the back of his throat.

"There." He announces, glancing up at you, and you freeze, because, fuck, Minho is pretty, and how have you never noticed?

You stare openly, your eyes dragging down the sharp, well arched lines of his face, the slope of his nose, the full bow of his upper lip.

And with a start, you realize he's still holding your injured hand in his own.

Tugging out of his grasp, you stand, brushing off your skirts as if they're dirty, if only to direct attention away from your suddenly flaming cheeks.

You clear your throat. "Thank you. I-"

Minho stands now as well, echoing your throat clear. "Yes. If that'll be all-"

Something sinks heavy into the pit of your stomach at his obvious dismissal.

"Minho-" You start to say without really thinking where you're going, and he glances to you, expression shuttered. "I never got to apologize. For the other day."

He regards you with a cautious look, a muscle in his jaw feathering slightly.

"You don't need to apologize for anything, your highness."

"No, I mean-" You take a step forward, holding his gaze, and you feel the danger in this, the danger in him being here, in being alone, in your room. "-I didn't mean it. What I said about you being cold."

Minho studies you, his eyes dark in the flicker of the sconces. "But I am."

You stare at him, dumbfounded.

Minho sighs, reaching up to rake a hand through his thick hair, and you think it's the first human gesture you've ever seen out of him since you've known him.

"It's who I am. I have to be. It's part of my job, princess."

"Why?" You ask without thinking, and Minho's gaze grows pained, just for an instant, and then it's gone.

He shakes his head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Please." You beg, taking another step toward him, and surprise even yourself when you clutch your hand in his.

Minho instantly freezes.

"Please. I want to understand. If you could just try to help me-"

"I-" Minho starts to say, eyes flicking down to yours.

"We're the same, Minho." You whisper desperately, squeezing his cold fingers. "Trapped, locked away. Maybe if I understood, we could help each other-"

Minho stiffens, and he tugs his hand from your own, and when you look at him again, he's closed off, face unreadable once more.

He backs toward the door, a flash of anger in his eyes before it's gone.

"We are not the same, princess. We will never be the same."

He turns on his heel and exits your room without another word.

********************************************************************************

You don't know if it's the way you left things with Minho the night before, or if it's the fact that your mother is waiting in the parlor with some suitable prince suitor, but you find yourself fleeing the castle on horseback at the first possible moment.

"Princess, wait-" Felix calls out, but you pay him no heed as you pull yourself up on your mare and kick her flanks, urging her into a fast gallop, leaving the stable and the palace and your mother and Minho all behind.

You ride and ride, not caring where you're headed, and it's only when the first rain drop hits your forehead, that you pull the horse to a slower canter, weaving her in and out of the forest trees, the sound of your own heartbeat and the hoofbeats on the ground the only thing filling your head.

The rain quickly becomes a downpour, and you tug the hood of your riding cape up around your head, cursing yourself for being stupid enough to leave without checking the weather first.

It mists your face in a chilled spray, and soon, your dress is drenched, heavy and wet, the horse's mane sticking to her soaked skin beneath your clenched fingers that hold the reigns.

You reach a stream, made into something closer to a roaring river by the storm, and the mare beneath you balks when you urge her to the edge, stomping her feet and shaking her head, snorting nervously.

"C'mon-" You urge, your teeth starting to chatter, and kick her flank once more, just as a flash of lightning cracks across the sky and a boom of thunder sounds over head.

The horse rears, and with a startled shriek, you're thrown violently to the muddy forest ground.

Your mare thunders off wildly, and you're left alone, crumpled on the forest floor, your body aching and your heart pounding.

You push yourself up to a sitting position, slipping slightly in the mud, and wince, hissing through your teeth as you jostle your bruised ribs and very clearly sprained ankle.

Mud covers your palms as you take stock of yourself and any injuries sustained, and when you pull your fingers away from your forehead, they're red and sticky with blood.

Glancing around, you realize with a sharp pang of fear, that you have no idea where you are.

And no one knows how to find you.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to get to your feet, the roar of the river loud in your ears, but only succeeded in rising to your knees before you slide in the mud, your skirts-heavy with water-tangle around your legs, and your weakened body collapses back down.

You glance around for a stick, or a branch, or a tree to heave yourself up with, but you're dead weight, and there's nothing in sight.

Tears gather, hot and frustrated, and you scream into the clouds overhead, raging at the storm, at your stupidity, at this asinine life and role you've been thrust into.

You duck your head against the wind and rain, and stare at your muddied, bloodied hands and skirts, the tears starting to drip from your eyes without your permission.

It makes you even angrier.

"Fuck." You growl out, swiping at your cheeks, smearing the mud around along with the tears. You let your head fall back and scream louder once more, "Fuck!"

You don't know how long you sit there, defeated, in the mud beside the river, before you hear a faint sound in the distance that makes your ears perk.

It's the sound of hooves.

Without thinking, you cup your hands around your mouth and start to cry out, hoping it's a hunter or servant stumbling upon you in their trip through the woods, "Help! Someone please help!"

No one comes, and your pleas die in your throat, along with your hope.

Foolish. Stupid. It was probably just your abandoned mare passing by in her frenzy whipped up by the storm.

And then, a large dark horse-much too large to be your own-appears at the edge of the clearing, cantering toward you, and everything inside of you instantly grows warm with relief at the sight of the rider upon its back.

Minho leaps off the horse before it comes to a full stop, his boots sinking into the mud as he slides to a stop beside you, instantly dropping to his knees next to you, ignorant to the thick mud staining his breeches.

"Minho." His name comes out on a strained whisper, and you're crying again.

You expect to see anger on his face when he looks at you, the emotion he sports the most around you-irritation maybe, at your stupidity, at not telling him where you were going, at blowing off your mother-but instead, you're caught off guard by the sheer panic in his dark eyes, the relieved, almost scared, pull of his lips.

"Are you hurt?" He asks you instantly, voice hoarse and frantic, his eyes roving down the length of your body, as if to check your condition, and his hands clutch your upper arms, holding you in place, the strength of his fingers making you wince.

"Not vitally." You reply, and Minho's eyes flick back up to your face at that, and you remember the blood probably coating your skin.

"Your head-" He starts to say, reaching up to swipe a careful thumb across the gash that must be there, and you resist the urge to close your eyes, lean into the warm comfort of his touch.

"It barely hurts." You whisper back, and it's the truth. Your ribs and ankle are warring to take the place of highest ache currently. "My ankle though-"

Minho's gaze goes down to your ankle, buried in the deep mud, as if he can see what's ailing you through the layers of skirts tangled around your legs.

He seems to consider for a moment, and then he stands, and before you can protest, he pulls you up easily so you're cradled in his arms.

"Minho-" You gasp out fearfully, your arms going around his neck tightly in impulse.

"I won't drop you." He assures you, face serious, eyes dark. His gaze roves slowly across your face, as if searching for something. "Do you trust me?"

Without a second thought, you nod.

He almost smiles, but it's strained, and fraught with concern. "Good. There's a small, stocked hunting cabin nearby that the estate's game warden uses during the summer. We'll head there until we can wait out the storm."

He glances up at the tumultuous sky with narrowed eyes, the rain pelting his face, dripping off the heavy dark waves of his hair, and another round of lightning flashes overhead.

You bury into the safety of his chest without thinking, and Minho's arms tighten slightly around you.

You think he presses a barely noticeable kiss against your wet dirty hair, but it's probably just your imagination.

"Let's go." He murmurs, and heads off into the shelter of the quickly darkening trees, you still held carefully in his arms.

********************************************************************************

It doesn't take Minho long to get a small fire going in the hearth of the tiny cabin, and then he turns to you, face half in light, half in shadow, and motions to your drenched petticoats.

"You need to take those off. You'll get sick."

"I'm fine." You start to protest, but a violent shudder goes through you before you can finish, proving his point, and he stares at you pointedly.

Still, you return the look stubbornly, and finally, Minho lets out a long sigh, standing up from the fire and heading to a dresser in the corner.

He tosses a pair of breeches and a tunic into your lap without really looking, and says firmly, "I'll wait outside," before turning and leaving without another word.

You stare down at the dry clothes in your hands, debating on resisting, just to piss Minho off, but another shiver wracks through your body, and you decide in the moment, it's better off to be warm than stubborn.

Slipping out of your heavy, wet clothing, you slide the dry clothing on quickly, warm now from the fire, and immediately feel ten times better.

Minho was right, but you'll never admit it.

"I'm finished." You call out into the silence, and you don't know if he's heard you, but a minute later, he reappears through the front door, letting a burst of wind in with him, dripping rain onto the floor.

He crouches down beside the fire, warming his hands, and gives you a once over before glancing to your pile of wet clothing on the floor, already puddling.

Seeming satisfied, he turns back to the glowing fire.

"You didn't have to go outside." You mutter sullenly beneath your breath, curling your knees to your chest and scooting as close to the fire as you can allow. "Shutting your eyes would've sufficed. I know you don't think of me like that anyway."

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho tenses, but it's gone so quickly that you think you've imagined it.

"Think of you like what?" He questions emotionlessly, eyes never leaving the flames.

You shrug. "A woman. An interest. Someone other than your job."

"Mm." Minho muses, oddly blank for the moment at hand, not even deigning to look at you. "And who told you that? Your mother perhaps? Or maybe one of your maids?"

You feel anger curl, hot and tight, in the pit of your stomach at his indifference.

"No one had to tell me. It's always on your face." You spit back, fire lacing your tone. "You've never treated me with anything other than irritation, or boredom, or apathy in all the time we've known each other, all the time you've been saddled with me."

Minho tongues his cheek, and his fists clench in his lap, and then he turns, staring at you hard, fire reflected in his own dark gaze now.

You note with a start that he's not wearing his usual armor. You don't think you've ever just seen him in a tunic and breeches in all the time you've known him. Your mother must have thrown an absolute fit about your disappearance to have him leaving the castle without so much as a chest plate.

"It's a mask." He remarks coldly, his words tight and low. "A necessary evil of the job, but a mask nonetheless."

You hold him, stare for stare, and refuse to back down, your own anger growing hotter and brighter by the second.

"I don't see why it's necessary to treat me with such disdain-" You start to retort back, but Minho cuts you off with a harsh wave of his hand and a flash of his eyes.

"Do not speak of things you know nothing about, princess." His voice trembles with fury, and he forces a harsh breath out through his nose, as if he's willing himself to remain still and not wrap his hands around your throat. "That mask that I've worked so hard to curate? That you seem to harbor such hatred for? That mask protects us both."

He takes in another long breath, and unclenches his hands in his lap, but his gaze never leaves your face, and his expression is darkened in shadow as the flames flicker across his features.

When he speaks again, his voice is resigned, low, barely a frustrated murmur.

"If I were to allow myself to ever, ever explore the depths of my feelings for you, not only would I lose my job and most likely my head, but I would ruin you."

You stare at him, anger slowly fading, as you try to comprehend what he's telling you.

Outside, the wind rails against the small cabin and the rain thunders on the roof.

Minho sighs and glances away from you now, something sad flickering briefly across his dark eyes, no longer filled with fire.

"I will not do that to you. I would never risk it." A muscle ticks in his jaw. "But I also feel I owe it to you to be honest, and as much as I'd like to stay safely behind the mask, it's also not very conducive to vulnerability."

The fire crackles in the tense silence between the two of you, and you finally let out the breath you've been holding, confusion and exhaustion quickly replacing the anger, dampening and heavying your bones.

"I don't understand." You whisper out, because your heart is going a million miles a minute, and you're trying very hard not to focus on the soft curl of Minho's hair now that he's growing dry beside the fire.

Minho shifts slightly, and suddenly, his thigh is brushing against yours, warm and solid through the thin cotton of the pants you wear.

Everything inside of your body tightens.

"(Y/N)-" Minho says softly, gently, reaching out to take your chin in his fingers, and you resist the urge to pull away, avoiding his gaze instead.

You don't think you've ever heard him call you by your given name. Or speak so gently before.

"Don't say my name like that." You whisper out, voice hoarse, and try to ignore the way Minho's skin feels against your own, giving you butterflies.

He regards you seriously, tilting his head slightly to pin you beneath his intent gaze.

"Like what?" He questions back, just as soft, and his fingers curl against your skin, tugging your chin up to finally make you look him in the eye.

"Like you'd willingly cross oceans and tear nations apart just to keep me safe." You whisper in response, voice growing hoarse and dry in your throat, your stomach fluttering pleasantly now that is gaze is directly on you, roving your face.

He lets his hand drop slowly from your face, but his eyes never leave your own.

His mouth softens, and something goes weirdly warm in the depths of his dark eyes as he continues to stare at you.

"Don't look at me like that." You demand quietly, voice growing in confidence, as you stare him back down, your chin trembling a bit and the fight not to drop your eyes to the full curve of his lips growing harder by the second.

"Like what?" He questions again, voice rough and soft, caressing your skin as if he had reached out and touched you.

You take in a shuddering breath, and press a hand to your wildly pounding heart just beneath your sternum, as if you can will it to quiet just by your touch.

"Like you lov-" You start to say, but Minho cuts you off as his mouth covers your own.

You gasp, but it's lost in the kiss, and you're so caught off guard, your mind goes blank for a moment, but Minho is patient and cautious, and soon, you respond to him in kind, growing used to the feel of his impossibly soft mouth moving in time with your own.

You've never kissed anyone-not like this.

You weren't allowed to even be alone with a man, let alone experience anything that Minho's offering you now.

But suddenly, you find that you're starving for more.

You part your lips experimentally beneath his, and Minho responds with a low hum in his throat, his fingers tangling into your damp hair, his tongue slipping in to the gap you've created, prodding, exploring, but never pushing.

Gods, you feel like you're on fire. Is it possible to catch fire just from someone's touch?

You don't know, but you hope it never stops.

Minho pulls back from you, his lips red and slick, his eyes dark and blown, and he stares at you for a moment, as if you're the most precious, pretty thing he's ever seen, even though you're sure you look a mess.

Your hair is nothing more than a rat's nest from the rain, and you're wearing the games keeper's old clothes, skin still covered in mud from your fall earlier, but Minho regards you in this moment like you're the moon goddess hanging the stars in the sky.

Minho heaves in a laborious breath, and then another.

"Tell me to stop."

You stare back at him, studying the sharp lines of his face, the way his lips are pinker than before, flushed and rosy, the tanned, sharp lines of his collar bone and upper chest where it dips into the deep v of his shirt.

Do you want him to stop? You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"Tell me to stop." Minho repeats, slower this time, his hands finding yours where they rest in your lap. He leans down to meet your gaze. "And I will. We'll never speak of this again."

Do you want that? Do you want to go back to cold looks and apathetic glances and masks? Or do you want this? Do you want warm fires and hands on your skin and Minho?

In a bold move that surprises even yourself, you lean forward and press your lips to his.

He palms the back of your head, pulling you closer to him, almost in his lap, and your whole body tingles at the feeling.

You part just enough to catch your breath and get your words out.

"Don't stop."

Minho's eyes flash and then he's smashing his lips against yours once more, devouring you fully, and you can't help the slight mewl that escapes into his open mouth as his tongue dances with your own.

He tugs you down beside him onto the rug that lies in front of the fire, and doesn't stop kissing you.

You feel his hand slip beneath the loose material of the large tunic you wear, and you whimper as his fingers stroke your skin, along the curve of your hip, across your ribs, until he can palm your breast.

"Fuck." Minho swears as you gasp and arch up into him at the foreign contact, and you're not really sure what you're doing, but it feels right.

He puts his free hand beside your head, propping himself above you, and his gaze roams hungrily down the lines of your body, before he seems to shake himself and drag his eyes back up to your own.

"Are you sure?" He questions softly, and his hand stops its exploratory motions, and you have to bite your tongue so you don't beg him to continue.

"Yes." You nod, ignoring the breathless catch to your voice, and reach up to run your fingers through his hair.

It's so soft. You've always wondered what it felt like

"I'm sure."

Something resolute flashes across his gaze, and he leans back over to kiss you, but it's short and sweet and gentle this time, before he pulls back and moves to the pants currently bunched around your waist, his fingers settling there as he once again gives you another questioning look.

You bite your lip and nod, and he tugs the thin material down your body and tosses it aside.

You're wearing nothing now but the large tunic, and you fight the urge to squirm or try to cover up as Minho returns, staring down at you, his eyes roving your newly bared skin as if he's a starving man seeing food for the first time.

"Fuck-" He repeats again, leaning over to press kisses to the now bare curvature of your hip, down across your lower belly, dangerously close to where you suddenly feel very hot in a strange, but altogether pleasant way. "-you're so beautiful."

"Minho." You whimper out, as his slides a large, warm palm up your bare thigh, and his fingers tease where his mouth just was only seconds before.

Is it supposed to feel like this? Is this why they'd been keeping it from you? Because it's so damn good?

"Easy, love." Minho murmurs against your stomach, as he inches his fingers lower and lower, until they touch the strange warmth, sending an electric jolt through your body that has you shuddering and crying out.

He flicks his gaze to yours, and something serious resides there.

"It might hurt the first time." He cautions gently, and you nod dazedly, because you don't really know, but you'd heard whisperings from the castle staff, the maids, that told as much. "I'm going to prep you, okay? But tell me if you want me to stop and I will."

You take in a deep steadying breath, and your hands clench into the fabric of the rug on either side of you. "Okay."

Minho presses another kiss to your lower stomach, and carefully slides a finger in.

You gasp, because it feels like an intrusion, and it stings, just a bit, your body tensing, muscles fighting, but Minho is there, leaning up to press tender kisses to your lips, along with low, flowing praises in your ear.

"Try to relax." He murmurs, and you force yourself to listen to him, slowly loosening every muscle in your body one by one.

Minho's dark eyes flicker with something akin to warm pride at your obedience. "Good girl, love." He eases another finger into you, and you fight the urge to tense up again. "That's it."

It's oddly intimate, Minho talking you through it, and when you finally feel like you've reached a space of comfort, and maybe even pleasure, writhing beneath him with each exploratory, careful probe of his fingers, you find yourself begging for more.

"Please, Minho-" You whine out, and it feels sinful to experience this much pleasure just at the hands of another.

And then, he disrobes, between your legs, and you feel everything inside of you tense up again at the sight of him.

You've never been with a man. Are they always that large? And hard? And intimidating?

Fear crawls up your throat, alongside a small flare of curiosity, and you find yourself reminding yourself to breathe.

Minho must sense your sudden panic, because he leans over you once more, and you try to force yourself to focus on the lines of his chest, the scars that mark the tan skin there.

"Do you trust me?" He asks suddenly, and you snap your gaze back up to his, the fear melting away at the reassuring look in his eyes, the soft lines around his mouth.

"Yes." You whisper back, nodding without even having to think, and Minho leans forward to press his lips to yours once more.

When he presses into you, you gasp, and your body goes tight once more at the bigger intrusion, and it's painful, sharp and foreign.

You start to feel the panic swell in your throat once more, gasping against Minho's lips, but then he's right there, murmuring comfort low in your ear, his hands stroking up your sides even as he pauses, just letting you be for a minute.

"You're doing so well, love." He breathes, and you force another muscle to relax, one by one, as he slips in a bit further. "So perfect for me."

You whimper as you feel him, all of him, but then most of the pain is gone, and suddenly, your entire body feels light and limp with pleasure.

"Minho-" You gasp out, body aligning with his, thoughts suddenly hazy and far away.

He grunts, low in the back of his throat, and the sound makes your legs feel like jelly. "Fucking perfect."

You shift slightly beneath him, and he groans in response, hands going down hard on either side of your head to support his weight, his muscles trembling.

"Fuck, don't-" He starts to say, his words bitten off by another low growl rumbling in his chest.

He glances up at you from beneath the dark wave of his hair, his chest heaving with breaths, lips parted.

"Don't move like that, love, unless you really want me to cross a line."

He rubs against you, and the friction has you mewling and arching up into the strong warmth of his body.

You grab his head and force his lips back down to yours.

"Cross all the lines, Minho."

********************************************************************************

You're lying beside the warmth of the fire, your head on Minho's chest, a fur throw thrown over both your naked bodies, the rain slowly dying to a light mist outside.

You don't know what time it is, you don't know if your mother has sent others out looking for the two of you, but with your hands idly combing across Minho's broad chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, your entire body achy and satiated, you find you don't really care.

"What's this one from?" You ask in a sleepy whisper, running your fingers along another of Minho's scars-this one a faded, shiny white line along the edge of his breastbone.

"You probably don't remember." He muses, as you cuddle closer to him, and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "You were barely five or six at the time."

"Which would make you not much older." You quip back teasingly.

"Yeah, a few years. I was probably ten?" Minho remembers, staring up at the ceiling, as he cards his fingers through your hair distractedly, remembering. "You had wandered away from your governess in the gardens. She was absolutely frantic. I found you at the edge of the woods, playing in the mud beside a stream."

You smile at the thought, because that does sound like you.

Minho chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest, and you turn your head to press a kiss to his bare pec as it flexes as he tightens his arms around you.

"You were buried in some pretty thick brambles, but you hadn't a care in the world. Completely oblivious to the angry, large thorns you had climbed through, surprisingly unscathed, to reach the mud patch. Offered me a mud pie, if I remember correctly."

You laugh and Minho shakes his head ruefully. "I climbed in and carried you out on my back. Sported a pretty nasty gash for a couple of days from one of the more vicious thorns."

He rubs absentmindedly at the small scar, and you cover his fingers with yours.

"Thank you." You murmur under the crackle of the fire, and Minho glances down at you.

"You don't have to thank me. It's always been my job to protect you."

You push yourself up on an elbow to stare down at him seriously. "I know. I'm not thanking you for that."

His brow arches in surprise. "Then what?"

You idly trail a finger down his cheekbone, studying the way the shifting firelight makes him look even more beautiful than before if that's possible.

"Thank you for keeping me safe. And for looking out for me. And showing me that there's more to life than just being stuck in a fancy cage."

Minho's eyes soften, and you lean over to kiss him sweetly.

He pulls you back down to his side, and you tuck yourself willingly against him, curling your body against his.

"Thank you, love, for never giving up on the person you knew I was behind the mask."

"You didn't make it easy." You tease sleepily, nuzzling against him.

Minho chuckles softly. "I know."

You close your eyes, the exhaustion making your body heavy, your mind blissfully quiet.

Tomorrow, you'll have to return and face your mother, and your gilded cage, and whatever else will be waiting for you back at the palace.

But tonight, you're content to enjoy all of this.

And tomorrow, no matter what, you'll face everything with Minho by your side.

#skz #stray kids #stay #lee minho #minho #lee know #skz lino #lee know x you #lee minho x you #minho x you #minho x reader #lee minho x reader #y/n #femreader #skz imagines #skz reactions #skz scenarios #skz prompt game #prompt game #skz fluff #skz angst #inbox #moots #mutuals #my submissions #submission #skz au

[lily-radiance]

Picture Perfect Psychopath

Doctor Jonathan Crane/ fem reader.

3.9k words

(So far, this is just a drabble, but I do have an idea of where this story could go. I've been watching The Dark Knight trilogy and got inspired. Reader works at Arkham Asylum as a psychiatrist, sharing the field of study with Scarecrow and old flame Harley Quinn. Likely not canon-compliant. Kinda merged various movies since I'm no comic book expert.)

Arkham Asylum is a cesspool of depraved criminals, as it has been for the past few years. Typical people who are suffering from mental illnesses and were sent away without care were obvious. This institution was the cheapest and easiest way to lock up the sick, even before the creation of the vigilantes. Everyone in Gotham City knew to keep their eyes on the ground and act as if crimes were invisible. If you cause a fuss in any shape or form, don't be surprised if you get dragged away in a body bag. You hated the mere thought of disregarding the pain of the city, but what could you do if no one would listen? Criminals, no matter the type, always have a story to tell.

“Bruce, the next time you interrupt my work for a house call, I'm stealing your Batmobile!”

You've been sitting in Wayne Manor for the past two hours, all because your friend wanted to “check-in” on the status of the newest patients. On any other day, you might have given him leniency, but he's been siphoning you for information without a decent break. Now, you not only have to write and submit a few dozen reports before sunset, all while juggling Bruce Wayne. The billionaire rolls his eyes but smiles, enjoying a day where he can loosen up and act as a person instead of a shadow.

“Nice try, but the garage is foolproof. I learned my lesson when you took my ride for a spin last year.”

You sip the cola in your hand, amused at the memory of speeding around the house and getting the vehicle caked in dirt. You apologized to Alfred when realizing the butler had to clean it afterward.

“Too bad, I was hoping to test the maximum speed,” you said with a chuckle, “I'm kidding, of course.”

“Sometimes, I worry about your coworkers. Do they know how much damage you can cause when bored?”

You glare at him from the couch. Work was something you liked to keep separate from life; he knew that very well. After all, if someone identified Batman successfully, then Wayne Enterprises would crumble in on itself.

“Do you know how much damage you cause when I'm not around to cover your tracks? Honestly, you may give Alfred a heart attack.”

The butler frowns at your humor before taking your empty glass. You notice the lipstick mark left over, reminding yourself to reapply the makeup. Psychiatric professionals do their best to look formal, and this habit has followed them since college. When you consider the many polished individuals at the facility, one is always at the forefront of your mind: Doctor Jonathan Crane. No matter the time of day, his appearance is that of near perfection, or you like to think so. Today, you have a briefing with him, and the idea has prompted you to dress to impress; the shade of cherry red on your lips is a testament to that.

“I'm always careful, (Y/N). I have Gordon, Alfred, and Lucius for that very purpose. You know Arkham is filled with lunatics and, more specifically, the worst villains.”

“We've had this conversation before, Bruce. I'm good at my job, and the people you lock up are kept in the deepest parts. Plus, I always hear exciting stories, which makes time fly by!”

He gives you a stern glance, not happy with your unbothered attitude. You drop the smile and sigh.

“I know you think I can't handle myself in that place. You get up close and personal with villains more often than I do. Every floor has a ton of security guards, not to mention cameras and passcodes in each room!”

Eventually, he gives up the protective demeanor. If you needed his help, he was the first in line. If not, he would be prepared for the future.

“Right, I know you're responsible and cautious, (Y/N). It's still the institution with the most significant number of patients in Gotham, so I want you to stay alert. Tim and the others are patrolling tonight if you run into trouble. Remember, the GCPD is conducting investigations on a possible new perpetrator.”

You nod to his speech, tapping your heels underneath the coffee table. He is about to give you another piece of information, but the sound of the front door opening and hurried footsteps is your cue to leave. Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, and Jason Todd enter the room, waving a synchronous greeting in your direction. Your phone beeps in your jacket pocket, and you fumble the device when the caller is listed. Barbara notices your excitement and chuckles, watching as you answer the phone.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) (L/N); how may I help?”

“It's Dr. Crane, as you probably knew judging by how quickly you answered. The administration got caught up in other matters, so it's just you and me. Don't be late.”

The voice catches you off guard, your heart beating too quickly regarding the abrupt message. You lose your ability to speak, and like everything else, he's already caught a glimpse of it.

“Doctor—what about the meeting on security clearances? We still have much to discuss with the board; isn't this important?”

“I've already taken care of most of the concerns. Currently, my priority is talking to you about your individual endeavors regarding Arkham. Do you have an issue with this?”

As he asks, you know he's not looking for an honest answer. You swallow your pride, although tempting to draw on this further.

“No, Doctor. I'm on my way right now.”

“Good, I have high hopes you'll be fascinated by my newest work.”

You have nothing else to add as he hangs up, an annoying habit you wish didn't leave you bitter. Barbara steps over, raising a brow in examination. Your behavior, coupled with the alluring cosmetics on your face, indicates an attention to detail made to attract. The young woman tilts her head, examining your efforts, and pauses. She prevents your curiosity by grabbing a maroon scarf hung on the hat rack and placing it on your neck. As she wraps the fabric loosely around your collar, she discreetly whispers, “In case whoever you see leaves a mark or can't keep you warm. It also matches your lipstick.”

The redhead winks at you, knowing that finding worthwhile men in Gotham is a rare treat. If only you knew who you were falling for, maybe someone else could have turned your head. The likelihood of your coworker getting obsessed with another pretty face was nonexistent, especially when he knew every method of pushing your buttons.

Gotham weather stands to be frigid regardless of the season, and the cold water on your cheeks proves it. Hurriedly, you head to your car, jumping in the driver's seat and turning the hot air on. You flip the sun visor down, using the compartment mirror to double-check your appearance. You smile, wink, and perform other expressions to understand if this is too much. It's not like you dressed yourself in fancy attire, but the makeup sensation tells you this is different—the scarf clings to your shoulders, adding an extra layer of comfort.

The City appears as dreary as ever, with gray clouds looming over the skyscrapers. You knew this landscape was not as picturesque as the Bahamas, but it was familiar. In this place, you felt like a necessary presence, that your actions were genuinely helping people live. Others complain that they think soulless thoughts and have no purpose in a city of thugs, but they don't see the possibilities. No, you appreciated the constant ebb and flow pattern because it meant everything was up to chance. Unlike Harvey Dent, you had no interest in flipping a coin to decide your fate; if you wanted something and could achieve it, why worry about the downfall? Bruce told you to avoid trouble, and maybe if you tried harder, you could, but curiosity always took control. The night turned Gotham into a place of both dreams and nightmares. When the streets glow amber and the windows shine with the moon, the law is subject to change.

Rain slams against the windshield, the downpour forcing you to drive at a snail’s pace. Common sense doesn't stop other drivers from taking risky turns; some cars cut in front despite your right of way. You honk your horn at the reckless speeding, internally regretting this venture. At least twenty minutes have passed since you left, and yet you're still running late. Luckily, most security guards let you pass immediately, while one or two demand identification. If you weren't so anxious, you would see the multiple faults that made Arkham’s reputation. People were lazy, some slacking without a care. Others were too busy dealing with life changes to support this institution.

The repetitive sound of your heels clicking on the tile floor draws someone's attention. Unfortunately, you can barely avoid this girl regularly, so it makes sense that she would be another obstacle.

“Woah, pudding, you getting ready for the runway or something? I haven't seen you wear red in a long time. It makes a girl wonder, what's the occasion?”

Harleen Quinzel stands in her cell, dressed in a jumpsuit that does her no justice. Her usually dyed hair is unkempt and faded, now a dirty blonde with pigment spots. Despite her living situation, her personality is still bubbly. She holds a bent cigarette and takes a drag, then tosses the leftovers underneath her boots. The woman approaches the metal bars, wrapping her hands around two and leaning through the gap. A stream of smoke is exhaled into your face, the delinquent playfully puckering her lips.

“I have a critical meeting with Dr. Crane, and it was supposed to be with the rest of the board until something got in the way. I'm running late, and if I don't get to that office in time—”

Harley raises her index finger, pressing against your lips to stop your words.

“That does sound like a pretty jumbo deal, dollface! From one doctor to another, rescheduling an administrative meeting is unnecessarily convoluted!”

She moves her hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face in multiple angles to glimpse your handiwork. A smile spreads across her lips, her tongue licking the front of her teeth. It makes you nervous, and she knows it.

“I mean, he said he ‘took care of it,’ but I don't know if that necessarily means it was rescheduled. The board could have discussed several possibilities, so I can't guarantee anything.”

You don't know what she's trying to prove.

“Something tells me your lover boy isn't inviting you for a simple coffee. No, with a mind as unpredictable as his, I bet you'll leave here with more than a headache. That is, if you leave at all, dollface.”

Her voice digs further into your mind, higher-pitched as she giggles to herself. You adjust the scarf to distract yourself, but she won't let this topic rest.

“Harley, as much as I appreciate what I assume is a concern, I know what I'm doing.”

“Sure you do, pudding. You think he's all sweet and charming, right? Doctor Jonathan Crane, who wears a nice suit and never gets his hands dirty? He probably compliments your work and swears to get back to your questions. I'll even bet he holds your hand a little too long when he shakes it, and you don't say anything because you want his hand on yours.”

She sees the blush rising to your cheeks and continues to torment you. You can't breathe clearly, not when your lungs burn like this.

“Oh, I bet you want him to do all sorts of things to you. When he holds your hand, do you imagine it somewhere else on your body? Do you think he'll have you by the waist while his other hand traces your neck? Will he squeeze your throat and bruise the pretty skin, rubbing his tongue up and down? Will you let him devour you as I did? I bet you'll have his handprints on your thighs for weeks, the dirty little secret that you keep to yourself?”

She plays with the ends of your hair, curling the strands around her fingers. You haven't been this close to her in years, and your proximity reminds you why. Getting close to villains is a quick path to insanity. You step away from the cell, regaining your focus. A pair of footsteps echo down the stairwell, slow and precise. When you turn, your coworker is impatiently waiting, a scowl etched onto his features as he stares between you and Harley Quinn. The blonde enthusiastically waves at him, earning a glare.

“Come along; we have lots to discuss and little time to waste. I thought I clarified that I wanted you in my office five minutes ago.”

You follow his figure, a knot in your stomach at his unusual mood. The doctor could be a pain when it came to protocols, but you two got along reasonably well. He gave you criteria to follow, and more often than not, he liked to debate your findings. You hoped this was a quick conversation, but then it didn't make sense that he instructed you to take a ferry for something he could have said on the phone.

“Yes, I had to drive through the rain and rush in traffic. I wasn't counting on the weather to be so awful or for Harley Quinn to pull me aside.”

He waits by the top of the stairwell for you, watching as your heels tap the concrete. It amazed him: the concept of walking on elevated stilts that could snap like a twig. You don't miss how he scans your legs or how the muscles in your calves tighten. He extends a hand, presenting the cordiality that made you admire him in the first place. You hesitate with trembling fingers, muttering a quiet “thanks” as he holds your palm. He's warm, and it gives you too much satisfaction. Instead of letting go, he merely continues walking, carefully trailing his fingers over your radial pulse. Each thrum of your heartbeat is now in his possession of knowledge, tipping him off on your anxiety. The door to his office is down a corridor, only accessible to visitors and himself.

“Had you considered wearing gloves, Doctor? You might want to invest in case the temperature drops. If you can't use your hands, I suppose the mind is sufficient, but exhausting yourself unnecessarily is no good to anyone.”

You sit in one of the two chairs, removing your scarf and placing it in your lap. Crane takes his place behind the desk and falls into the chair, folding his hands on the flat surface.

“Believe me, if I could grab a few extra layers, I would have. I was visiting a friend when you called, and since you requested I hurry, there was no point in going home to change. I've lived in Gotham for a long time, and a storm isn't enough to stop me from doing my job. Anyway, you said there was something you needed me to examine?”

He slides a manilla folder towards you, numerous papers spilling from the seam. You take the hint to inspect the documents, flipping through the pages and absorbing the content. MRI scans, coupled with test results and psychological jargon, cover the sheets. You wrinkle your nose in focus, recognizing the highlighted areas of the brain as the amygdala and the frontal lobe. The human brain structure separates information based on its importance, using the amygdala for the fear response and the frontal lobe for rational thought. If one of these locations is compromised, whether by neural chemicals or injuries, the body cannot regulate its reactions to stressful environments. You continue reading, wholly fascinated by the hypotheses listed. The last few pages are still being worked on, primarily blank except for messily written notes. While your train of thought is still understandable, you remove a pen from your coat pocket and begin scribbling. He stares in amusement, pride blooming at your coinciding wonder.

“Doctor Crane, this is beyond incredible! If you were to develop this drug, who knows what group might want it? Not to mention the possibility of designing a formula with the opposite goal of annihilating fear entirely!”

He doesn't bother to hide the smirk on his face as you supply him an ego boost. Initially, he worried you would have an adverse reaction given your good-natured spirit, but those doubts were put to rest by the sight of your smile. The longer he allows himself to relax, the more his eyes are drawn to your lips. Red was a beautiful color on you, contrasting the dim aura of this hospital. As you revel in this energized state, you do not anticipate the foreign sensation of his mouth against yours. Recognition dawns on you as the scent of his cologne lingers, and the papers fall to the ground. You cautiously lean into his touch, grasping his shoulders to bring him closer. The fabric of his shirt bunches as you dig your fingers into the material. He has no qualms with your proximity, but he recognizes the trepidation in your movements for what it is: the worry that you'll scare him away. It's ironic, and it tells him that the only way to disprove your doubt is to make sure you know that this encounter isn't based on the heat of the moment.

He kisses you harder, pushing his tongue inside your mouth. You gasp in surprise, allowing him additional access, as well as the ability to overpower you. Never had you thought that the absurd fantasy of him kissing you would come to fruition, and certainly not in his office over research data. This was supposed to be a dull day of filing paperwork and overhearing business, not the instance where your co-worker, technically your boss, would be sharing saliva. His lips travel to your cheek, then your jaw, trailing down your neck. He has to remove the scarf and unbutton your collar to reach the desired location. You tilt your head back, moaning as he grows closer to your carotid vein. Similar to your earlier encounter, he locates your pulse, biting and sucking the skin as your heart rate increases. You admittedly have no idea what you're doing, but you do know that the image of him making out with you is extremely hot.

Yet, rational is a demon that you cannot leave behind. You're a scientist through and through, which means taking time to analyze the effects of this situation is necessary. Gently, you press against his chest, halting his actions and putting space between you. He looks down at you quizzically, adjusting his glasses that had fallen from the bridge of his nose.

“We could keep going with this course of action, not that I would complain, but maybe we should consider what we're getting ourselves into. I mean, we work together, and if we pursue a relationship, that could cause an entire slew of issues. Let’s cool our jets and think about this objectively before getting too deep.”

You feel a new weight on your chest as you try to analyze his expression. Most days, you could guess his emotions based on small talk, if he even spoke to you. Unfortunately, he's again acting like a blank slate, unreadable as the silence grows longer. Somehow, this enigma of a human specimen has become a magnetic field, drawing you in despite your better judgment. It's not that you don't want to see where this night goes, but the idea of committing to him, especially in the workplace, sends a chill down your spine.

“I see what you are getting at, (Y/N). It's not a problem if you want to think this over. Honestly, I prefer my opinion, but I see no fault in mulling it over. We wouldn't be scientists if we didn't leave decisions up to logic, would we?”

He seems calm enough, and that takes some of the pressure off. You breathe out a sigh before stretching your neck, still a bit unsure of what to do. Another beat of awkward silence follows before you work up enough courage to face him. Blue eyes catch your thousand-yard stare and dart back to the ground.

“It's getting late. D-do you need anything else from me, Jonathan?”

He is not expecting you to refer to him by his first name despite the circumstances. The sound of your hesitancy is still cute, and he wasn't expecting his name to sound so good on your tongue.

“No, I have everything I need. Do you want me to drive you home? The weather is still raining cats and dogs. Not only that, but Gotham is dangerous already, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt.”

The offer seems adequate, and you know precisely the dangers lurking outside. If not for crime and insanity, you wouldn't have a job, but that doesn't mean you want to get caught up in legal shenanigans.

“I drove to the docking bay with my car, so assuming you drive, that would leave one of us without our respective vehicles…”

“You're partially correct. I take a taxi to get around town most of the time so that I won't abandon my car here. Then again, if I drove your car, I would still have to call a cab at one point or another.”

His analysis has you pondering the options until you decide to wing it. You've already made out with your boss, how much worse could it get?

“Screw it, I'll call you a taxi myself. If the weather gets too bad, you can stay at my place for the night.”

You pick up your scarf from the chair, throwing it around your neck in preparation for the cold air outside. The hallways are still empty, and for once, you're glad since the quiet gives you space to think. All that's left is to descend the stairs, pass security, and get the hell out of there. You place your hand in your pocket to grab your identification card but pause as your co-worker is two steps ahead of you, already swiping his badge across the checkpoint. That's right, he has a higher security clearance than you; no wonder he's always early to the office.

“There ya’ are pudding! How'd that meeting go—”

Harley Quinn wastes no time in asking questions as soon as she sees you approach. The doctor next to you gives her a scowl like last time, but the reason behind it is different. Before, he was irritated by her peppy attitude, and now it's jealousy. The blonde’s expression turns into a frown, but covers it with her usual distaste for nitpicky professionals. You would find their disagreement amusing if not for your fresh taste of humanity from the critical doctor, his shell still rough around the edges. You let your mind wander, barely recognizing the arm around your shoulder until you feel the support of his body against you.

These moments are the ones that make your heart race and your mind split. You know this guy, right? He has to be one of the good men in this rotten city. If not, what would you do anyway?

If you like this check the updating version on ao3: Click

#x reader #fanfiction #batman begins #dark knight #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #drabble #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader

[samgirl98]

Zombie Son 2/2

Prev

Batman stared at the pictures of Joker’s dead body. Something wasn’t adding up.

The official reports said that Joker had been killed by a guard at Arkham when there had been a breakout. However, Batman had never seen that guard before, and he disappeared right after killing Joker.

The shot had been a single bullet to the head. Almost like an assassin had done it instead of a random security guard who would’ve been scared mindless. Something told Batman this had been done professionally; it was too clean, too quick.

“Still looking at the pictures of Joker’s body?” Dick walked in wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt, “maybe you should let it go and count your blessings.”

“Hn,” he grunted. Batman, no Bruce, couldn’t let it go. This is the man that killed his child. Joker was dead now, and he had to know who and why. Batman pulled up the death report again, and he heard Dick sigh.

“Seriously, can you at least go to sleep? The case will be there when you wake up tomorrow.”

He ignored Dick; Bruce didn’t want to admit to his eldest that sleeping had become an ordeal after Joker’s death. He only saw Jason’s limp body; he heard his son’s cry asking for him, only to get there too late. No, working on the Joker’s murder was more productive than sleeping.

“Bruce, you’ve been up for almost thirty hours; go to sleep.”

Bruce looked up when he heard the ping. He had run the guard’s face through a facial recognition program, and it had finally found a match.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dick said.

It was time for Batman to talk to Waller.

____

Amanda Waller was drinking a cup of wine when Batman entered her office.

“What do you want, rich boy?”

“You put a hit out on the Joker. Why?”

Waller sipped her wine and answered, “I have no idea what you mean.”

Batman threw two pictures on her desk.

“Mark Burkhardt, he works for you, and he was the one who shot the Joker. So, once again, why did you put a hit on the Joker?”

“Listen, Batboy, what the US government does is none of your concern.”

“Anything that happens in my city is my concern.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be happy he’s dead, considering what he did to Robin number two.”

Batman clenched his fists. Waller knew she was playing with fire but couldn’t help herself. Riling Batman up was just so much fun.

Batman suddenly slammed his hands on her desk, “Why did you kill the Joker?”

She sighed; Amanda had told Alicia Batman wouldn’t let this go but, oh well, she did her part. What happened next would be none of her concern.

“It was a favor to an old colleague of mine. It was done off the books; officially, the US government had nothing to do with this though they did turn a blind eye to it when they found out it was that terrorist.”

“Who put the hit out?”

“Alicia Walker,” she did tell Amanda to send Batman her way if he ever showed up.

“Why did she put a hit out on him?”

“I don’t know; you’d have to ask her. Now get out of my office.”

Amanda took another sip of her wine, and when she looked up, Batman was gone.

“Hmph, good riddance.” Amanda picked up the phone and dialed Alicia, “The Bat was here. Be prepared to see him soon.”

She hung up before the other woman could respond.

____

Alicia Walker, retired A.R.G.U.S agent, brought up her shotgun and pointed it at the shadowed man in her little cabin.

“I’ve been expecting you; what do you want?”

A lesser person would be coward by the looming shadow of the Batman, and indeed, he was a terrifying figure, what with all the black kevlar and white-out lenses. Alicia wasn’t a lesser person.

“You put a hit out the Joker. Why?”

“Why not,” she retorted, “he was the scum of the earth. Considering what he did to your bird, I don’t know why you care.”

Batman tensed.

“What makes you say that,” he growled.

Alicia rolled her eyes.

“I was part of the US government; we know everything, Wayne.”

Alicia turned her back to the man to get her moonshine. When she turned back around, Batman was gone.

“Hmph,” she took out her phone, “he’s been here. Be prepared to have him appear at your doorsteps. And say hi to my niblings for me.”

____

“Do you think it’s really him?” Dick asked in a whisper.

“Hn,” was Bruce’s brilliant response.

In front of him was a picture of the Fenton family. There was the mother, the father, the daughter, and two sons.

It was the youngest that had caught their attention. It was Jason. A little older but him. Bruce would recognize his son anywhere.

He had pulled up the adoption papers the Fentons had signed. They had found ‘Jay Fenton’ comatose in the streets of Gotham. The only thing the boy would say was ‘Bruce.’

The boy was allowed to be adopted by the Fentons after they pulled some strings.

“It’s him. I know it is.”

“So, what are we going to do now?”

“Now, I’m going to Amity Park.”

____

Jason knew that Bruce, that Batman, would show up sooner rather than later. That doesn’t mean he was prepared to find Bruce standing in his parents’ living room, demanding to let them see Jason.

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked with vitriol.

This was the man that had not avenged him, that had let his murderer walk free. If it hadn’t been for the Fentons, that sorry excuse of a man would still be wasting oxygen.

“Jay lad,” Bruce whispered. He took a step toward Jason; Jay took a step back.

“What do you want?”

Bruce gulped, “I want my son back.”

Jay snorted.

“I’m not your son; I stopped being your son when you let that clown walk the streets. I am the Fenton’s son.”

“Jay lad, please.”

“No! You let my murderer live! How, why?”

“I don’t kill, Jay lad. I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t? You have such an antiquated moral code that you let murderers roam the street and take more innocent lives!”

“Jason, please, I’m sorry I let you die—”

“You think this is because you let me die? Bruce, I forgive you for that, but why in good God was the Joker still breathing? I come back and—and my killer is still around. Nothing changed. No, wait, you put a different kid in the Robin suit. You replaced me rather quickly.”

“He isn’t a replacement, Jason! No one could ever replace you; you’re my son!”

“No, I’m not.”

Jason walked up to his mom.

“I’m their son, and I suggest you leave, Bruce.”

Bruce stared at Jason before nodding reluctantly.

“Very well, but please take this. If you ever need anything, call me.”

Bruce turned to walk away and then turned to look at Jason one more time.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Jason. I missed you.”

“Get out,” Jason said.

When Bruce closed the door behind him, Jason turned and hugged Jack and Maddie, crying.

“It’s okay, sweetie, we’re here.”

“Yeah, Jay,” his dad bellowed, “we’ll always be here.”

Jason let himself be comforted by his parents. He looked down at the card Bruce had left him, crumpled it up, and then put it in his pocket.

@fisticuffsatapplebees @suppengott @mur-ururu @daemonlogical @aikoiya @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @rubber-ducky-your-the-one @overtherose @thegatorsgoose @kisatamao @emergentpanda-blog @skulld3mort-1fan @why-must-i-be-like-this @nappinginhell @onlyhereforthechaos @mlpizza @currant-owo @hoarder-of-gender @malice-of-the-sunrise @regressor-marina @joseph557 @stargirl1331 @yjfk @fandomnerd103

#dc x dp #zombie son #dp x dc

[arsnof]

Robert Evans as the Riddler.

It is 2019 and riots are breaking out all over Gotham. What started as peaceful protests over police violence, accountability, and the death of Joe Chill quickly escalate when the GCPD GCPDed. People are angry that the police managed to solve the Wayne family murder in under a week while thousands of existing cases are ignored.

Moreover, just as quick as elderly black man Joe Chill was implicated in the murder, he was also shot dead by police. The cops said they exchanged gunfire with Chill and he was struck while running away. The autopsy showed that he was beaten before being shot point blank in the back of the head. The cops were never even put on leave. Gotham exploded.

Enter journalist Ed Nigma. Nigma, a brash, 30 something thinkpiece writer has covered conflicts across the globe and even he has never seen violence on this level. He jumps into the streets, covering the inner-city war zone.

Police tanks parade down the street. Rows of armored police shoot tear gas and beanbags into teenagers with gas masks and cardboard signs.

Ed is interviewing first aid teams carrying milk jugs when he is caught in a kettle. Despite wearing a vest and helmet loudly declaring him as PRESS, he is beaten into a coma.

Six months later, the riots have been suppressed. A handful of cops have been suspended as a concession to the people. Tanks still roll in the streets. Ed disappears from his hospital bed.

Another year and the security theater has only grown. The police coffers swell and they are spending as quick as they receive. New transfer Jim Gordon doesn't get it. Drones and acoustic deterrents and crowd suppressants andAI facial recognition.. Jim's too old for that.

A beat cop from Chicago, Gordon keeps it clean. Descendant of militant abolitionists, Jim will do what's right, no matter the cost. His sense of justice led him to police work. His sense of morals led him into the path of his superiors, who punished him by sending him to the dirtiest precinct in the country.

His first assignment is reports of a strange podcast (what is that even? You have to what? What's an app?) that seems to be threatening local industrialist Derek Powers. Jim listens through the three available episodes. They cover Powers; his early life in South Africa and Venezuela. Inheriting his fortune. Claims of slavery and rape and murder. Each episode ends with a promise to kill Derek.

The episodes are listed as a four parter, with the last one streaming tonight. Jim tunes in with the help of his daughter, Barbara (that girl is smart!). Jim makes her leave as the host has a rather filthy mouth and is quite raunchy.

It starts normally enough. A list of social connections that reads like a terrorist watch list. Flights to isolated islands. Associations with the police. This last part catches Jim off guard, as it details Powers' involvement in the Joe Chill protests. The host alleges that Powers paid off commissioner Loeb to get extra protection around his building and giving them permission to get extra hands on if necessary.

"And that's it for ol' international pervert and expert trout seducer Derek Powers. Hey, Sophie, you know what- what really.. really.. uh, explodes? My office building? Aw, fuck, I fucked up that transition. Anywho, join us next week on the podcast whose name is literally just a question mark when we start a three parter on Ace Chemicals and the incredible world of crowd control!"

Gordon sits in silence for a minute. If what this.. 'Riddler' says is true.. Powers is a monster. A sick Bastard. A.. a.. His phone rings. It's Bullock. Jim thinks Harvey Bullock is only putting on the airs of a dirty cop. Somewhere under that trench coat and cigar is a decent guy trying to do good in a place that actively tries to beat you down. Bullock says to turn on the news. Powers Plaza has been bombed. Derek and six shareholders are dead.

His eyes move from the burning tower on the TV to the podcast app on his computer. The question mark logo purple on green. What the hell is going on in Gotham City?

#the riddler #robert evans #behind the bastards #ed nygma #jim gordon #batman

[oneknightstand-if]

ok but i've done around 5 runs and in all of them i've effectively gotten corrupted to the point of NO return and i JUST discovered that you can also? not??? Get corrupted?????? HOW DO YOU DO THAT. HOW DO I LET MERLIN FREELY LOOK AT MY DEMON MARK WHEN THEY ASK FOR IT INSTEAD OF TURNING INTO A 14YO HIDING THEIR DIARY FROM THEIR PARENTS. HELP ME IM SATAN'S FAVORITE SNACK!!!!!

What kind of 14-year-olds do you know?!

Okay, completely normal ones then.

But basically, the demons are trying to take over the MC's mind at several points in the narrative, so you want to be able to pass those possession checks with C̷͚͍̪͙͉̮̠̩͕͔̮̣͕̝̄̀ơ̵͚̤̫̠̪̣̊́̒̽̀͋͑̀͑́̑ȓ̶̡̧̦͔̩͉͙͇̫̰̝͍͎̒͜r̶̡͓̯͚͈͕̈́̆̓́̉̎̃̊͐́̊̕̕u̷̱̾̅̃͗͐p̸̦̯̜̣̖̆̔̿̂̏͑́̇̃͑̕̕͜ͅt̴͉̼̹̭̲̠͕̖͍̫̫͉̜̼͂͋̓ͅį̵̬̻̝̟͈͔͑̑̃̂͑̊̈̽̀̋͑̕̚ǫ̶͉̹̗͚̞̮͇̜̥̞͉̳̟̳͋̋͆̐̀̈́̕n̴̡̯̱͇͕͔̖̱͈̟͆̍̉̓̇͛͋̚̚ in the Status Menu being a major variable there. (And there are MCs running around with negative corruption levels, so...)

There are several variables at play here and many, many, many different things that can contribute to either the MC being more or less liable to getting possessed.

Don't be a security guard. They showed up at the crime scene while the demon was still there and are completely hosed.

Don't do what the v̶o̸i̸c̴e̷s̴ tell you to do.

Don't be in denial about what's really happening.

Don't look out that window.

Generally don't do anything that would increase your affinity with the demons.

Being willful/stubborn can help.

Otherwise, maybe someone who reads the code will eventually make a guide to some of this stuff.

#This reminds me one of the first Asks I got was someone being surprised that the MC could actually get possessed #oks-asks #oks-MC #oks-info

[arcade-writing]

hear me out.

Sitting on Jake's lap like an eye candy/escorter type of situation, and hes smoking (most likely a cigar come on we all know that last scene needed it.) he keeps teasing the reader blowing smoke on the face while they tell them to stop it, but he keep doing it and chuckling, reader starts teasing him back (*cough cough grinding on that dick*) and he just goes "you do know where this will go dont you sweetheart?" or some shit like that. and fucks reader silly. possibly some dom acting, maybe pinning reader on the couch and fucking from behind yk? maaaybe some possessiveness, just want to se the man feral yk?

-Elisë

You got it~ I got Jake brainrot and needed an excuse to write more about him. I really shouldn't be surprised this has taken over my brain so much. I can't seem to watch a series without getting overly attached

Smoke and mirrors

🍋NSFW

pairing: Jake lockley X fem! Reader

Warning: possessive behaviour, readers a brat, you use a fake name, dirty talk in Spanish, jerking off, quick blow job, rough angry sex, mirror kink, semi public, alot of Teasing, sadistic Dom! Jake, some degrading, overstimulation, fucks you until you're sobbing and can't take anymore

Reader wears a dress and heels but isn't referred to as a female and Antomy is kept vague

This fic is pretty long so I've added a mark to where the smut begins for anyone who just wants to skip ahead!

You look at the clothes hugging your figure. Empathising traits you already had whilst covering others you weren't too fond of. Your legs always looked so much nicer in heels but they were very unpractical. You knew you could run in them but that wasn't enough. You couldn't risk breaking an ankle on a mission just because you wanted to look pretty.

"The final touch."

Jake appeared behind you, a golden necklace in his hands. You stood as he put it on you, clasping it before his hands smoothed over your shoulders. Your fingers lightly grazed it; it was one half of a moon. You glanced down at Jake's own necklace, it was the other half.

You smiled as you kissed his cheek. Running your hand over the new scruff on his jaw. You turne to face him properly, wiping your thumb just above his lip.

"They're finally growing it out?"

There was the beginning of a moustache. It was thicker than usual whilst his beard was still trimmed. Jake would complain he missed his old facial hair but it wasn't as if he ever fronted long enough to grow one out for himself. Besides, he liked to keep his existence as vague as possible to the two other men.

"They better." He grumbled, placing his hands on your hips.

He gave himself a double over. Combing his hair as he looked at himself through the mirror. Always keeping one hand on you as he did. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, smiling.

"Are you ready?" He asked and you nodded. Taking one last look at yourself before looping your arm with his. He whistled as you left the small apartment, grabbing two coats on the way out.

As soon as you arrived it made sense why you were both so dressed up. The place was massive, glass ceiling and water fountains galore. Jake opened the door for you and you both walked in. How he could get to these kind of places was beyond you. There had to be talk of him in the criminal world.

"Don't say a word, darlin', tonight you're eye candy."

"Easy, I'm that everyday."

You winked at a security guard near by, he tipped his head to you with a smile. You made sure to take note of his face: just incase.

"Yeah but you also don't know when to keep your mouth shut." He kept his words in a low whisper. He didn't even look at you as you both faced straight ahead.

You gasped, faking offence as you pressed a hand to your chest. "You wound me, Mr lockley."

He cringed at the formal title. Rolling his eyes as he walked you through the large corridor. Finally reaching the central hall. The smell of alcohol assulted your nose as you held back the instinct to wince. There were trays of champagne being handed out by diligent waitors. A whole table of foods that cost more than this entire outfit.

Your target was no where in sight. You only glared at the crowd of people, none of them resembling the host. Here you assumed he'd be walking around, greeting his guests but Instead. There wasn't a trace of him. Just fools gambling and discussing bussiness. If they were not doing that then they were getting drunk as they stuffed their faces.

You hated missions like this.

Jake leaned his head towards you, eyeing the crowd. You were still latched to his arm as you sat besides him. Circling your fingers on his chest through his black shirt.

"We got our boy, 10 o'clock."

You followed his gaze and there he was. You took the mental note to complain more, it seems to work in your favour.

The host was making his rounds, finally greetings everyone but as soon as his eyes looked onto you two, he was rushing towards you.

You both stood up, jake held out his hand for the man to take. He eagerly shook it with both hands. You scanned him up and down. He was fairly older man, already greying and wore a prestige red suit. His hands were smooth and nails cleanly cut. Meanwhile Jake had much rougher hands, cuts all over them. Two men of high contrast and yet the other man looked at him as if he was an equal.

"Lockley! Good to see you again, old friend!" He gave his hands another shake before he gestured his hands towards you. "And who's this?"

"My date." He said plainly, squeezing your arm.

"You never turn up empty handed, do you?"

The older man laughed as he shook his head. A mischievous grin grew on his wrinkled face as he looked you up and down. "Got a friend?"

You hid your disgust. You and Jake sharing a knowing look. This was definitely going to be something you ranted about when you got back to the car.

"Just me." Jake chimed back in, not giving you a chance to speak.

As if noticing this Paul, you learned his name when given the mission, completely turned his attention to you. Pulling your hand to his lips as he planted a quick kiss on your knuckles.

"You got a name, sweetheart?"

"Liraz." You kept your voice sweeter than sugar, making sure to linger your touch with his as you gave him a bashful smile.

The meaning of the name didn't get missed. Jake held back his amused smirk as he looked at Paul. You felt a shimmer of pride watching his usual expression crack.

The night went on with you and Jake sticking close to your target. Listening to his endless boasts and speeches as he showed you around. Introducing you to his other friends and partners. You made sure to put on a show, flashing your best smile to them all. Giving each man a taste of your attention. Squeezing and touching their arms, complimenting them on their hair and cologne.

You had this in the bag. Meanwhile Jake was growing more impaitent. He didn't want you to speak, knowing you'd get like this. All flirty with everyone you could wrap around your finger. Charming your way through every crowd. It was one of your best qualities - it's why he picks you for these missions but he couldn't keep the anger that boiled in his viens down. It burnt his very being.

Jealousy was an ugly trait he was more than aquinted with.

As if noticing his rising stress, a waitor came over and offered him a tray of cigarettes and cigars, difft lighters lined perfectly next to them. He took a cigar from the tray, they were already snipped, letting the waitor light it from him. He chewed at the end as he inahled a deep breath of smoke.

You were pressed to Paul. The older man's arm squished against your chest as your hands ever so tightly trailed his body. Paul was smiling at you as you laughed at his comment. Making sure to put more force into it as you patted his chest. Acting as if he was the funniest man you've ever met.

Suddenly, you fell onto Jake's lap. You glanced back at him seeing his grumpy expression. You couldn't help but scoff through your nose as you got comfortable. Thankful how thick his thighs were as you crossed your legs. He wrapped one arm around your waist to help you steady yourself.

This act didn't go unnoticed by the others at the table. Some were disapproving whilst others saw it as amusing. The table all drank meanwhile Jake's hand moved under the slit of your dress, nails dragging against your thigh as he rubbed circles into it. As if trying to soothe himself. Thanks to the height of the table no one could see but even if they could, you doubted they'd care.

"Close your legs." You muttered, feeling your legs go dead.

Jake huffed as he sat straighter, no longer exaggerating his man spread. Helping you get more comfortable as your legs now straddle his. You leaned to the side to make sure he was still visible. He hugged your waist he listened to the people's conversion. Tracing their words into your skin to memorise it.

He let out a long drag of his cigar, blowing it towards your face with a small grin. You blew it away from you with your hand, matching his expression as you squeezed the hand on your waist.

As the conversation went on, you took his place in listening in. He talked with a lazy tone; always pushing the conversion back to them. You piped up whenever you saw an opportunity. Making the men puff their chest as they boasted about their newest bussiness.

Whenever you talk Jake would blow smoke into your face. You wanted to snap at him as the smell engulfed your senses. A slight sting to your eyes but you settled on a much more acceptable response. After all, they knew you as his date.

As he blew another puff you grabbed his chin, a tight grip to warn him of your growing aggravation. Even if you couldn't bring yourself to ever be truly mad at him, he knew not to test you too much. His eyes widened for a second as your lips pressed against his, the smoke pouring into your mouth. It was disgusting. But you leaned back to your original position, exhaling it out quickly to the side.

Jake's grip on you tightened, causing you to completely lean on him. Your ass brushing his crotch as he clinged to you.

You had a weird taste in men. You had to admit. This kind of thing always got to you. His possessive nature kicking in and making him hold you close. Wanting to show you off. You were sure if he could he would cover you in hickies everyday to make sure people got the picture but that wasn't possible. It made you shiver with delight as your heart raced.

Your body was moving before you could even think. Your slowly rolled your hips back as you grinded against him.

"¿De verdad quieres jugar a este juego, cariño?" He mumbled, eyeing the others to make sure they couldn't hear him. (Do you really want to play this game, honey?)

His teeth clenched around his cigar as he placed his hand on your lower stomach. Helping you keep a good pace. A reminder to not get lost in the feeling.

"You gotta tell me, Lockley, where did you find this one?"

"A warehouse."

They all snickered, believing his dead tone to be sarcasm. You stiffened as you stared at them. If only they knew that was exactly where he found you.

"Give me the location and I'll see if they got any Liraz in stock." One of the men spoke up, at the end of table. He also had a woman with him but she looked much more miserable than you felt.

Jake sucked in a breath as he gripped your hip. Moving your hips for you. You couldn't say you were that shocked. But apart of you was grateful. You tried to only focus on the stimulation you were receiving. Your nails digging into his leg as you forced back a moan.

Jake's dark eyes shot over to him. His brows scrunching slightly. Saving the conversation in his mind and his face. He tapped your thigh three times; a signal to a possible new target.

"Unless, you're willing to give me yours, I'll pay you generously." The man kept his tone light, able to pass it off as a joke as the others looked between you two amused.

Another one chiming out they'll pay double. All laughing at eachother. You and Jake both knew this was a table full of scumbags. All of them - this entire mansion was filled with them. Every guest was apart of some sort of organisation.

"You couldn't afford." His accent was thicker than ever. A sign of his anger rising. "None of you could."

You bit your lip as you felt him get hard. A wick joy came over you knowing if you moved it would be visible for anyone to see.

"A one of a kind, huh? How unfortunate." The man at the end of table spoke. He sounded disappointed, as if he truely believed Jake would give you up.

Your movements stopped. Fighting back a frown as you looked down at the man's hands. It made you sick to your stomach. The man beside you didn't even need to look at you to know you felt. He caressed your thigh as he hid behind you, just enough to kiss your shoulder. You immediately melted. Letting out a breath as he whispered against your skin.

He took another drag of his shrinking cigar. It was on its last life as he kept the smoke in with clenched teeth. He blew it towards you once more, your lips immediately twitched. Before you could even retort he chucked the cigar bud into an ash tray.

"I need some air." Was all he said as he stood up. Causing you to stumble off his lap. You didn't even need to worry about covering him, he kept his grip on you tight.

"Oh? Something the matter, friend?"

Paul asked, looking genuinely worried. He seemed like a nice guy when he wasn't having innocent people killed to grow his bussiness.

"Too much smoke."

The host called over a guard, asking him to take you two to one of the nearest bedrooms. He turned to you clarifying it has a balcony. You nodded as Jake whisked you away. Walking with one single thing in his mind.

*~~~(smut here)

As soon as the door closed behind you, he was shoving you towards the lounge chair in the middle of the room. You landed with a small oof. Jake knocked on the wall and paused. Locking the door as he started grinning to himself. He looked back at you with a wild look in his eyes.

"Take off your clothes."

You stuttered out a noise of suprise. You really shouldn't be. You knew exactly what doing that would do. You couldn't stand being in that room and all you wanted was to focus on him. The target could wait. You had all night to blow this place up.

"you heard me. i told you to take off your clothes."

His voice was deep. It made you shiver as you fumbled with the zipper at the back. Practically throwing the dress off as you kicked it to a random spot on the floor. Your heels flying off with it.

"All of them."

He didn't move an inch. Watching you as you took off your underwear. Moonlight pouring in through the balcony was the only source of light you had. Just about able to see his face as he stood in the shadows.

The cold air nipped at your exposed skin. Fingers digging into the cushion bellow you. Waiting with baited breath for his next move. The first thing he did was throw off his jacket. His footsteps echoing through the room as you looked up at him.

He curled a finger towards himself and you immediately followed. On your hands and knees before him, he didn't say anything. Still figuring out what he wanted to do with you. Your hands wondered up, unbuttoning his shirt one by one. Trailing your fingers along his exposed chest as you took his shirt off.

He snarled as he looked down at you. Yanking his pants down just enough to free himself. It slapped your cheek making you gasp. He pulled your head back with a tight grip, his other hand began pumping his cock.

"Apologize."

"For?" You grinned as his brows scrunched.

"Don't be a brat."

He hissed out. His climax already reaching its peak. Just dangling off the very edge as he squeezed along his cock. Thrusting into his closed fist as his thumb caressed the tip.

Jake grunted as he felt the band in his stomach tighten. “open your mouth-!"

You glared at him in defiance. He pulled your head back rougher this time. You let out a yelp as he pushed the head of his cock to your lips. You opened your mouth as wide as you could as your tongue rolled out. Sending him right over the edge as he spilled on your face.

But that wasn't enough. He pushed your head down, you sucked on the head with a moan. Slurping as much as you could to get every last drop.

You knew he was going to be rough but this? Oh it was amazing. You bopped your head up and down as you hummed. Swirling your tongue as he fought back cumming again.

He pried you off. You were grinning whilst he breathed heavily through his nose. Calming down his nerves as you gave his dick little kitten licks. You knew you were testing his restraint. But you couldn't really care. He wanted to be annoying? Well, now it's your turn.

Your back landed back on the sofa. He climbed over the arm of the chair to join you. Standing on the cushion, still looking displeased. You held back a snicker as you wiggled your hips. His eyes immediately following your movement.

“Be a good slut and spread your legs” He tapped your leg with his foot. Shoes still on. Despite your attitude he was still putting in faith you'll do as he says.

He knew exactly what you wanted. You wanted him to control you. No matter how bratty you behaved, it was all a plea for him to fuck you. You both knew it. It's why he coud keep some form of paitence. It was all but a game of back and forth.

You stretched out, humming as you arched your back Getting more comfortable as you rested your head on the pillows by the other arm of the chair. Jake scoffed as he muttered something to himself. You were too happy to care for what he said.

Spreading your legs to reveal your arousal. As he began to bend down you rubbed your foot up his thigh. He grabbed your ankle to keep your leg in the air as he finally kneeled. Nudging your other leg to move further.

You felt completely exposed like this. Gasping as his fingers circled your hole. Cum still sticky on his hand. You tried to hold back your moan as you looked at the door.

“These walls are pretty thick." He pointed out, chuckling to himself as he pressed one finger into you. "Means you and i can be as loud as we want, tesoro.”

You let out a hum as your back arched. Your hands unable to decide where to go, trailing them up your body as you squeezed and brushed whenever you could. Knowing that Jake would want nothing more for your hands to be his.

"Seems like you're more eager than I am." You grinned, pointing down at his cock. It was red with need as it stayed pressed against his stomach.

Your grin was completely slapped off your face as he thrusted in a second finger. Sliding them in and out as he worked you open. Knowing you'll need prep for you could take him fully. Your mouth was stuck as an 'o'. His fingers moving quick and deep inside you.

"what pretty noises you're making for me… am i making you feel good?"

He plunged until he was knuckles deep. Keeping them there for a few moments as your legs twitched before he moved once again.

Your head rolled back as your back arched more violently. His fingers just brushing that sweet spot. Your rolled your hips hoping he could reach but it was futile. But what surprised you was that you caught your own reflection. You could see what he was doing, just about, watching his fingers slide in and out of you.

“i love the way you look with my fingers inside you."

You mewled as you shut your eyes. Your hand rising to cover your burning cheeks. Looking back at him. His eyes were focused on what he was doing, licking his lips. He glanced up to see your face hidden.

Jake put your leg to his shoulder as he reached out. Moving your hand away as he pinned your wrist to the sofa.

"don't you hide that cute face from me, ¿No quieres verme?" (Don't you want to see me?)

He teased. Prodding a third finger you squirmed away as you felt completely stuffed. You doubt you could take anymore but it felt so good. He could reach so deep like this and with three fingers - oh god he was filling you up. But it only made you feel more desperate to have him actually inside you. His dick would feel so much better than his fingers. It could actually reach that spot that made you see stars.

He suddenly pulled out. You let out a whine as you grabbed at his wrists. Unable to reach due to your position. "No-!"

He just grinned. Aligning himself to your entrance. Never putting himself in, just rubbing it against you.

"Want it? Does my little slut want my big cock? Want me to fill ya up, Mi amor?"

You shook your head. Brain buzzing as your words died in your throat. You wanted him so bad but you refused to admit it. Still wanting to aggravate him. You couldn't stop it. It was so much fun to watch him lose his composure. To utterly take over your body and use you as he pleases.

"No?" His grin began to strain. "Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

It was so easy to push his buttons. Your stomach fluttered as he glared at you.

"Like you're going to die if I don't fuck you."

He took hold of your hips as you were suddenly flipped over. Pulling your butt towards him as your head was propped up by the pillows.

You wiggled your hips as you rolled them back. Brushing yourself against his needy cock. He let out a groan as he finally pressed himself in. Barely giving you time to adjust before he thrusted forward.

"¿No es esto lo que quieres? ¿Por qué si no te mueles contra mí como una puta, HUH?". (Isn't this what you want? Why else would you grind against me like a fucking slut, HUH?!)

His thrusts were violent. Your body jolting forward with each one. You clawed at the sofa as you bit your trembling lip. Oh god it felt so good! You loved it when he was like this - so cruel. So selfish with your body.

You needed more!

"¡Obligándome a ver cómo coqueteas con todas esas escorias con una sonrisa en la cara! ¡Sabiendo exactamente lo que me hará!". ( Forcing me to watch you flirt with all those scumbags with a smile on your face! Knowing exactly what it'll do to me!)

He grabbed your chin, making you lock eyes with yourself. You could see his expression as he fucked you. Baring his teeth as he glared down at your body with nothing but pure hateful desire. He wanted to ruin you. Leave you sobbing and begging for his forgiveness.

A sadistic smile grew on his face as he made sure you were watching him. "This is the face of a bitch who's only talent is taking dick."

You clenched around him, his words going straight to your crotch. You flashed him a large smile as you mouthed 'hi'. He growled as he slammed his cock back into you making you let out a scream.

"Sigue gritando así, amor, y tal vez alguien entre". (Keep screaming like that, love, and maybe someone will come in)

You both knew that wasn't going to happen but the slight chance made your heart skip a beat. Fear and excitement rushing through you as you couldn't stop the loud moans spilling from your lips.

You were completely his. No one else's. You couldn't imagine anyone being able to make you feel this way.

"¿Quieres eso? ¿Quieres que la gente vea lo bien que te follo? Que todos sepan que eres mía". (You want that, you want people to see how good I fuck you? Let everyone know you're mine)

"Oh god- yes-! Jake you fucking own me-!"

He pulled your back to his chest. Your hands held you up as you gripped the sofa. He kept his hand tight on your chin as he nibbled your ear. Trailing kisses down your jaw before biting down. You cried out as he sucked on the mark.

Jake let out a shaky moan as you clenched. Being able to hit your g-spot from his position. Your body bounced as you were left to be fucked like a toy. His hips slamming up into yours. Skin smacking against each other drowned out from the noises you were making.

"You like it when i fuck you like this? yeah you do." His voice was gruff as he became breathless.

He joined you in watching your reflection. Loving the way he could see himself fuck you. Watching his cock disappear into your hole. How sloppy it sounded. How good and warm you felt.

"Oh cariño, puedo sentirlo-". (Oh honey, I can feel it)

His hips stuttered as the familiar knot in your stomach tightened.

"¿Quieres correrte? Puedes hacerlo, córrete en mi polla.". (You want to cum? You can do it, cum on my cock)

You moaned as your nails dug into the fabric. Your breath knocked out of you as you felt your climax crash over you. Sensitivity creeping as he made no move to stop. Chasing his own desperate release.

He was still hitting your insides so deep. You trembled as you slipped from his grasp. He kept his hands to your hips as you used the sofa as support.

Jake was no longer seething with jealousy. He hasn't been for awhile. He just enjoyed making you like this. But that doesn't mean he won't punish you for being an a brat this entire time.

"you can give me another one, can't you toots?"

He bit down on your shoulder. You let out a cry as your second climax ripped through you. You were far too sensitive now. Unable to catch your breath as he stayed relentless. You could hardly move. Limp as you tried to squirm away. Your mind unable to tell what it wanted as you rolled your hips. It felt so good but it was too Much. Your skin was on fire.

"Hurts-!" Everything did. The iron grip on your hips. The bites he left on you. Your head from where he yanked you around. Your jaw and throat were sore from how much you've screamed. The pleasure was painful.

Deliciously painful. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you whined.

"aw, it hurts?" His voice soft as his hands loosened. He kissed your shoulder, exactly where he bit it. Whispering words of encouragement as you moved your body in time with him.

You nodded. Letting out choked sobs as he kept drilling into you. It wasn't long before his movements became sloppy. Growling and grunting as he chased his release. Pressing against you as he finally came. Cum filling your worn out hole causing a third climax to be time from you.

Before he shoved your hips back. Taking in his entire length after he pulled out. "What a shame, you're gonna keep taking it until i’m satisfied, got it?"

He pulled out with a sigh. Helping you lay down more comfortably. Cradling you close to his chest as you panted. Your legs were shaking and twitching.

"I'm sorry...." Your voice came out meak. Unable to muster your voice anything above a whisper. "I love you, im yours."

Jake kissed your forehead as he ran his hand up and down your hips. "It's okay, I love you too."

You snuggled closer to him, smiling as you finally felt content. Jake let you rest, waiting until he heard a soft snore before redressing himself. Folding up your clothes and placing them near by. He looked down at your underwear, pocketing it before he finally wrapped a nice blanket around your sleeping form.

He gave you one last kiss before he took out his gun. Checking it's bullets as he marched out. Making sure to check the lock. It was time to fulfil his duty and he didn't need you to see the destruction he was about to bring.

#moon knight jake lockley #moon knight jake #jake lockley moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockely x reader #jake smut #jake x reader #moon knight episode 6 #moon knight x reader #moon knight x y/n #moon knight #moon knight smut

[koyoriin]

So I finally got around to getting both FFXIV PvP Series Pass sets! And well…I have some thoughts on PvP. tl;dr: If PvP is going to remain unbalanced, then the Series Pass and limited time on rewards should be replaced. If you feel like reading the rest, feel free to keep reading below:

I’d just like to preface this by clarifying that I’ve actually been doing FFXIV PvP for many years now, well before the changes that came with Crystalline Conflict (CC). PvP was not great back then, and doing it to farm Wolf Marks was almost a chore, and I never touched Feast because of the exclusivity behind its rewards (top 100 for the armour set). If you really like PvP in FFXIV; that’s great! More power to you, and I’m not here to shame anyone for it. This is purely to address the issues I’ve seen from hundreds and hundreds of PvP matches over the years, and the grievances I have with the Series Pass.

The changes for PvP that came with CC (the overhaul of the class kits for example) actually felt great after the old system! Most importantly a unique all-class armour set was no longer limited to Top 100 winners! Having simplified kits made it easier to focus on what was going on in the moment, which skills to use in certain situations, etc. But it was a double edged sword, and in turn it made Frontlines (FL) very, very annoying.

> Crystalline Conflict (CC)

CC itself is…not for me. I did it a lot to grind out the Archfiend set, and I personally was not fond of the format; in it’s early days, it was “whoever can stunlock and wipe the enemy team first wins” the vast majority of the time; and it still is now. It was really a coin flip whether or not you were going to win or lose a match, and frankly I also wasn’t comfortable having character names out during CC; it did result in people messaging me after matches as well, which was highly uncomfortable.

I will give CC the credit of being better than Feast, and more accessible; I do acknowledge that and I appreciate that the rewards from the Series Pass are actually obtainable by more than the top 100 for a change. But the grind was not fun, and even casual matches felt personal due to the names (again; I say this knowing that the format is not for me). A year later, and the state of CC is still the same.

> Frontlines (FL)

So what about FL? It was the format I was the most used to having done it for years; so this time, when the False Monarchy set came around, I figured I would do an experiment and see if I could get the set without ever touching CC (the answer is yes, you can, and there’s roughly a month of breathing room or so). I frankly didn’t even like the set; I did it because of a fear of missing out on the rewards. But with the advent of the CC kit changes, it also resulted in a lot of annoying strategies;

- MNKs and DRKs running up and camping bridges in Secure so they could knock people off for easy KOs and then run away without any consequence (I’ve also encountered groups of up to 5 doing this repeatedly per match)

- DRK and DRG/SMN combos using Salted Earth to pull people in before wiping out massive groups with stacked DRG or SMN LBs; and if you guarded through the first one, another DRK would just wait to pull you in (I’ve even seen two factions group up against the remaining one to pull off this trick repeatedly).

- SAMs using their LB and then countering any other counter with Guard before pressing the second input for an OHKO, or having a PLD cover them; I’ve used the SAM LB to take out entire teams before in CC and felt like it was unfair, and in FL it’s even worse when half the time you aren’t even able to see who you hit in a large group.

The really irritating thing is; all these things, from MNKs being able to stunlock repeatedly, bridge knockback KOs, DRK chain pulling, etc. were all here from week one of the CC PvP overhaul. A year later, and we’re still contending with this on a daily basis in FFXIV’s PvP, in both CC and FL.

> So what about the Series Pass?

As someone who doesn’t particularly enjoy competitive activities, it feels awful. Getting through the Series Pass simply to get around the fear of missing out feels like a chore. I think the worst part about it is that it goes against the previous attitude put forward by the dev team, where you could “unsubscribe whenever you like and do other things so you don’t burn out on the game.” I do other content in the game (Expert roulette, Tribal quests, Savage/Ultimate prog, etc.) every week, but farming out the Series Pass was by far the worst part of the dailies I was doing. It is, in my opinion, some of the worst content FFXIV has to offer, and myself and many others felt that we had to complete it in order not to miss out.

I do fully acknowledge that the current PvP is better than it was previously; the classes are more user friendly, FL matches are generally faster, and there is no longer the looming exclusivity of Feast rewards. However, it’s not great. It feels like a chore to participate, and this is largely due to the limited-time nature of the Series Pass.

I understand that having something time limited like that draws in numbers, but most people I have encountered who do PvP, do so because they;

- Feel like they have to, and the flaws of PvP “are what they are”.

- The others prefer not to touch PvP at all despite being interested in the rewards.

- And the remaining third are the minority I’ve seen who are vocal about winning, and tend to state that people who don’t care about winning shouldn’t be doing it.

> What can be done about that?

Well…all I have are opinions that I can share, which are based in experience from doing FFXIV PvP semi-casually for years. Prior to CC, being able to farm out Wolf Marks to purchase the rewards they would add every so often was fine; I do really like being able to access Feast-type rewards, but the time limit on them makes the whole process really not great. Being able to do it on your own time made it tolerable, and I had fewer complaints about it back then.

Going back to a system like that (being able to purchase sets/weapons with Wolf Marks) would be preferable; what they did with Wolf Collars and the Trophy Crystals is actually quite nice; being able to trade 1,000 for a Collar, and 10 Collars for a Hellhound Weapon. If they integrated something like that for more “prestigious” armour sets (ex. trading a higher amount of Marks for a resource = then 10 of that resource for a new set/weapon) would be fine to me. I know that would mean people would camp on Wolf Marks, but with a 20,000 cap anyway it’s not like you can really make significant progress when they drop new items.

If they really want to leave PvP unbalanced like it is, then I think they should remove time-limited content like the Series Pass. It works on FOMO (fear of missing out) to get people to play, and it’s a coin flip as to whether or not every day’s match is going to be “okay” or “absolutely awful”, and I’ve long since lost enthusiasm to keep grinding this kind of content daily when faced with the kinds of tactics people like to pull.The people I’ve met through PvP and seen on threads about the subject are largely unenthusiastic about the content, but do so because of an obligation to get the limited rewards before they go.

tl;dr: I feel like FFXIV’s PvP remains its weakest point by far. Rather than try to bolster it with time limited content, if they have no desire to balance the gameplay then the Series Pass and gating rewards with a time limit like that, should be removed. A system like the current Wolf Collar exchange would be a nice solution to bypass that, if each new set has its own “Collars” equivalent that can be purchased with Wolf Marks and is not gated by time.

Anyway, that’s just my two cents!

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Lovers & Friends (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Keigo Takami x Black!Fem!Reader (Friends to Lovers)

Synopsis: In which you and Keigo have begun to realize the strange new feelings you both have for each other after one drunken night at a close friend’s wedding that ends with you in his bed, but because of your longtime friendship and committed relationships with other people, you’re more than happy to forget that night even happened and keep your mutual feelings in the dark…for now, at least. 

Story Warnings: Smutty smut; 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY); Cheating/Infidelity; Mating; Light Degradation; Spanking; Exhibitionism; Multiple Positions; Creampie; Unprotected PIV Sex; Facial; Scent Play; Marking; Spitting; Deepthroating; Cunnilingus; Begging; Edgeplay; Power Play; Wing-Stroking; Daddy Kink; Some Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Mild Violence

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: N/A

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Bonus Chapter.

Read on AO3 here!

***********

Chapter Eighteen: Heated.

When the limo stops, it parks right outside a charming club venue where you can already hear the music thumping from outside the doors.

You stare at the building like it’s the gate to Hell. 

Though you pre-gamed in the limo ride with Rumi, Yu, and Nemuri, taking shots of champagne and singing along to the radio with them, you don’t feel the alcohol’s liquid confidence taking over yet.

All you feel is dread as you face the club venue, just a step away from Keigo’s face. Beside the glass doors to the venue is a red velvet rope holding dozens of guests and those who just want a piece of the celebrity life who will no doubt be thrown out by security. 

Nemuri and Yu walk up to the guard who checks for their names on an iPad. He then smiles and opens the door for them to which they walk, hand in hand. Meanwhile, you stand outside with Rumi, your feet frozen to the ground. Rumi whistles at the music choices and the guests waiting patiently to be let in. “Damn, he really did it up this time,” she giggles. “Well, come on so I can see you two kiss.” She gives you a teasing smile as she walks towards the guard, but upon noticing that you’re not following her, she turns around. 

“Uh, in a minute,” you reply, giving her a reassuring smile. “Lemme just fix my makeup and I’ll be right in.”

It’s a bullshit lie, but it gets Rumi to leave you anyway. Other than spending the ride taking champagne shots to ease your nerves, you were busy primping yourself for Keigo, either putting on an extra slick of lipgloss or fishing a gummy piece of mascara from your lash line. You were also trying to come up with a good way to talk to him and get him alone: 

“Hey, Keigo, can we talk real quick? I know things are awkward between us and I don’t want them to be.” 

“Can we go somewhere more private? I just really need to talk to you. I’m sorry about earlier…” 

“Rei and I aren't together anymore. You were right about him and I’m sorry I didn’t listen.” 

“You’ve been a great friend to me, but I don’t want to be friends anymore. So, if you wanna get something eat sometime or go see a movie…” 

“Well, are you just gonna stand out here or go in and talk to him?” 

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of a voice that isn’t your internal one at all. You were so lost in your thoughts and anxiety that you forgot you were standing outside in your Gala gown, looking crazy. The voice that interrupted you is deep, raspy, and undeniably familiar to you. It’s one you immediately put a face to. 

You turn around, finding your old friend leaning against a sleek, black car parked a little ways away from the prying eyes of the guests. His burned hand works to light himself a cigarette, his thumb flicking the lighter and causing a tiny spark of a flame to ignite. He puts it up to his mouth and burns the end of the cig until it turns a bright red like a firefly in the night. “Dabi?” you gasp.

His icy blue eyes stare into yours across the way, his clothes and leather jacket as black as night. “The only and only,” he chuckles. 

He turns fully toward you, opening his arms for you. “So you gonna give me a hug or what?” You stagger forward in your heels until you find the urge to run toward him. 

So you do. You run in your heels to your friend and nearly tackle him into the street. He chuckles at your reaction to his presence and wraps his arms around you. As soon as you feel his embrace and smell the cologne lingering on his clothes, you begin to softly cry into his chest. It feels so good to see him, feel him. It’s difficult to describe, but it's almost like an ache that only grows the longer you hold him because you know in time you’ll have to let go again. 

When you finally pull away, your eyes are wet and your mascara is suffering. Dab pulls a handkerchief out of his back pocket and hands it to you. “What’s poppin’?” he asks in his raspy voice, smirking down at you. 

You take the handkerchief from him and dab at your eyes. “You’re lucky I haven’t seen you in months or I’d smack you for saying that,” you sniffle, earning another throaty laugh from him. “What are you doing here? How are you here?” 

Dabi takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing smoke away from you into the night air. “I’m guessing the bird man didn’t fill you in,” he says, raising an eyebrow. You blink at him, confused, and he sighs. “I figured not. The court found me not guilty of causing that prison riot, so I got my perks back. This is my outing for the month and I’m spendin’ it trying to get my two idiot friends to stop actin’ like they’re not crazy about each other.” 

He gives you an intense, knowing stare that has your stomach flipping with fear. You sigh, done drying your eyes. “So he told you?” you mutter.

Dabi snorts at your reaction though all you wish to do right now is die. “He tells me everything, doll,” he chuckles. “You know that. Do you really think he wouldn’t?” He takes another drag, instead blowing the smoke out of his nostrils. “So you weren't gonna tell me you guys fucked?” 

You shove at his chest hard, glaring at his brashness. “Don’t say it like that,” you hiss. “And I wasn’t gonna tell anyone. I was more than happy to take this to my grave and act like it never happened.” Dabi chortles at your reasoning, shaking his head. “Well, you can act like it all you want, but you know that your body remembers all too well.” 

And God, does it. Your shoulders slump defeatedly and you sigh. You were fooling yourself thinking you could hide this or that Keigo wouldn’t say anything to your friends. You can’t be mad at him for that. You turn to one of your very best friends now, wanting to shift the conversation. “So how have you been?” 

But Dabi isn’t having it. He takes a short drag of his cigarette before dropping it and crushing it beneath his sneakers. “I’m not interested in talkin’ about me right now, doll,” he sternly says, the smoke billowing from his mouth. “I’m way more interested in discussing in you right now.” He nods at the empty space beside you. “So where’s your man? He sped off and left you here?” 

You quietly whimper to yourself in defeat, knowing that he’s not going to let this go. “We’re done,” you confess. “I realized he wasn't the one for me.” Dabi quirks an eyebrow of interest at your confession. “And you think Keigo is?” he questions. 

His question renders you speechless. Your brain can’t seem to come up with a good answer. If you are to say yes, then he’d probably ask you why you think you’re so sure now. But if you say no, he’ll either call you on your bullshit or ask you why. You stare down at your heels, your heart pounding. “I-I don’t know,” you weakly admit. 

"So what are you doin’ here then?” he pushes. “It can’t be to just shoot the shit with a bunch of people you don’t know.” 

“Dabi, you know that’s BS,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Most of the people Hawks knows, I know. And what’s it to you why I’m here? A party is a party.” You can feel him staring at you regardless of whether you look at him or not.

You heavily sigh, throwing in the towel and looking up into his cool, blue eyes. “I’m just thinking, okay?” you huff. “It’s not that easy to talk to him about this. Things have been so complicated between us and tonight was pretty heated.” 

You cringe inwardly at the horrible things you said and how hurt Keigo looked. “You tell him to jump off a bridge or somethin’?” Dabi asks, squinting at you. “Is that why he looked like he just saw his entire life crumble before his eyes tonight?”

That makes you feel even worse. “I might as well have,” you sigh. “Just know it was bad.” Dabi tilts his head slightly to look at you from another angle, sizing you up. “Bad enough to not face him and tell him how you feel?” he questions. 

That’s when you break. The tears begin to fall, your makeup be damned, and all of your emotions fall flat out in front of your friend. “I just can’t, Dabi!” you sob. “There’s so much at stake here! Our friendship with each other, our friendship with you and Rumi, our careers, our–“ 

He stops you by placing a finger against your lips, his glare intense and intimidating. “Shut up,” he demands. “You’re bein’ a fuckin’ idiot right now, and I can call you that ‘cause I’m your friend and I have a good reason to do so. You’re tellin’ me that you’re going to let your friend, someone who’s had your back for years and has held you down, go just because of one single night? You and I both know that’s the bullshit, Y/N.” 

His stare is hard and knowing as if he can see every single layer of you as you stand out on the street. You can't even speak, too floored by his words. “If you don’t wanna acknowledge how you feel for him, fine, but what you’re not gonna do is walk away and act like he doesn't exist when the man has already been through enough shit in his life. You know we’re his everything, Y/N.” In his eyes, you see nothing but a fierce love for Keigo and for you. A love that made him use his free day to come here and fix your relationship.

You look down at your feet, harshly biting your lip. “So what I’m gonna suggest to you is that you take a shot of the bottle Rumi gave you, go in there, put on your big girl panties, and tell Keigo just exactly what you need to before you lose him,” Dabi sternly continues. “‘Cause you will lose him, doll. Keigo loves you, but not enough to stick around.” 

“I know,” you sob, covering your face. “Dammit, I know!” You can’t stop the sobs that slip past your lips as all of your guilt and hurt overflows, covering you. You then feel Dabi’s arms around you again, filling your nose with the scent of cologne and cigarette smoke. You press your face into his chest, fisting his shirt. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whimper. “I’m such a fuck-up.” 

“We are all, doll,” he chuckles. “You ain’t special.” His large, burned hand begins to stroke the back of your head, calming you. “Plus, I need you to do this for me ‘cause I made a bet with Rumi on if you guys would get together or not.” 

You immediately stop crying and shove him away from you. “You what?!” you gasp, shocked and irked. Dabi shoves his hands in his pockets, not even looking the least bit guilty. “Well, first we made a bet on whether or not you two would fuck,” he explains. “She won. But now we’re betting on if you two will finally get together. She thinks no, I think yes. If I win, I got $50 on my commissary.” He shrugs, a lazy smirk on his face. 

You gape at him, almost not believing how horrible your friends can be. He’s really deadass right now. “Oh, my God,” you groan. “You guys are assholes.” 

“But you love us,” he replies, giving you a shit-eating grin. "So you gonna go in or what?” He nods at the club venue expectantly. You look too, picturing Keigo inside, being a good host, and dancing the night away. You want to join him. You want to be by his side. 

You turn back to Dabi, poking him in the chest. “You were never the best at giving good advice,” you sigh, “but you’ve somehow given me confidence. How do you do it, Dabi Todoroki?” The white-haired man shrugs his shoulders, a twinkle in his eye. “Guess that’s just my charm.” 

And so you take his advice and take a swig of the champagne bottle before handing it to him. “So where are you off to now?” you curiously ask. He pauses to take a swig before licking the access liquid off of his upper lip. “‘Bout to go in here and watch this soap opera shit go down,” he says with a smirk. “I’ve got about twenty minutes left of freedom. Might as well enjoy it.” 

He then walks you back to the club and to the doors where the guard checks for your names. He doesn’t look all that hype to let Dabi inside, but he does nonetheless. As soon as you hear the blast of the music and see the warm, red glow of the strobe lights above, you feel your stomach fall into your ass. Your anxiety has returned, leaving you heaving as you stand at the threshold of the door.

But Dabi’s hand, finding yours, gives you comfort. “Can’t back out now, doll,” he whispers to you. And so, you don’t. Swallowing hard, you walk into the club with Dabi trailing behind you, a picture of comfort and strength. 

The club is decorated with dozens of lounging areas, two bars, and a disco ball hanging from the ceiling that shines upon the guests down below. The music is bumping and the drinks are flowing as well as the weed smoke that wafts through the air. You spot Rumi chatting up a couple of heroes immediately, a drink in her hand and her ears twitching from the music. “There’s Rumi over there,” you tell Dabi, nodding at the bunny hero. But as soon as you see her, you also see Keigo. 

He appears from a throng of people that part way for him like clouds parting for a ray of sun. And a ray of sun he is––his eyes and smile radiate like the brightest stars in the sky in the dimly lit club, rendering you speechless. The entire room disappears when he enters, everyone else falling away into nothingness. You see no one but him. He is all that matters. Dabi notices how you’ve frozen in place, already having taken a pre-rolled blunt out of his pocket and lighting it. “Need a drag to help you out?” he asks, offering you the blunt. 

Though you tremble and feel your heart shake, you decline the offer, especially after having already drunk. “No,” you exhale. “I’ve got this.” You pass the bottle you’re holding to Dabi and give him a reassuring smile to which he returns with an encouraging wink. Go get ‘em. 

And so you do. You walk over to Keigo who is still making his rounds, smiling and laughing with everyone, making them feel welcome. You feel as if you’re moving underwater, the tide rough and making you move slower than you realize. But Keigo is like the warm sun rippling across the water, guiding you toward the light. Anyone he touches or talks to seems to react to his warm energy and beaming smile, laughing at his jokes or telling him about how amazing his party is. Your brain scrambles for something to say to him once you finally make it to him, your mouth dry and tongue heavy. 

“Hey, Hawks!” an unfamiliar, high-pitched voice suddenly giggles. You and Keigo both look to the far side where two unfamiliar women in mini-dresses sit, excitedly waving Keigo over. Keigo walks over, his friendly, Colgate smile still plastered on his face. You stop in your tracks, standing frozen as you watch him waltz over to his guests. You’re close enough where you can hear them talk, but not enough where they can see you. “Hey, ladies,” he says. “You two havin’ a good time?” 

One of the girls, with long black hair down to her back and a mole on her chin, smirks up at him. “Mmm, now we are,” she purrs. Her friend, a redhead with fluffy cat ears and a tail swishing behind her, stands up with her drink and grabs his arm. “You’re back! Now you can give us that dance you promised.” 

Keigo goes to protest, but the girls whine and pout, both taking him by the arm. “Come oooon, you promised us,” the redhead whines.

“Just one dance, Hawks,” the black-haired woman says, that seductive smirk still on her face. “Let’s see how you move those sexy ass wings.” 

Keigo looks like he wants to say no and maybe toss in an excuse, but then his eyes trail across the room to meet yours. Your brain turns to fuzz and your body freezes like you’ve been hypnotized into doing so. He stares at you for a good couple of seconds that feel like hours to you, his golden eyes burning a hole in you. Then he turns to the girls and smiles at them before letting them lead him to the dance floor. You watch, your mouth slightly agape and feeling stupid for not taking that drag of Dabi’s blunt when he offered. 

Keigo stands in between the two girls as they dance on either side of him, one taking the front while the other grinds into him from the back. You watch, anger slowly creeping inside of you at the sight of their hands on his hips and the redhead’s ass grinding into his groin. As if drawn to you alone, his eyes come back to yours, scaling over every other person nearest to him. Then you realize it: he’s trying to make you jealous. But two can play at that game. 

Immediately, you begin scouting for your own conquest and find him standing by the bar with his friends. He is tall, handsome, and sporting tattoos. Perfect. You strut over to him, titties bouncing and feeling like the sexiest woman alive, especially knowing that Keigo is watching. “Hey,” you call, gaining the stranger’s attention, especially after he gets a look at you. His friends stop dead in their tracks too, staring at you in awe. “You wanna dance?” You give him a small, sexy smile as if a dance isn’t all you want. “With you?” he chuckles. “Hell yes.” 

You grin and take his hand in yours, dragging him over to the dance floor. You stand across the floor from Keigo, only a couple of bodies separating you. You face away from Keigo as you begin to dance with the stranger, not touching at first. You only stand in close proximity to each other, moving in tandem with one another. It is fun and he can keep up, moving his body closer and closer to yours.

Finally, his big hands grab your hips and you let him, hoping Keigo sees. Against your better judgment, you turn your head as if flipping your hair and peer over at your friend in the corner of your eye. 

There, you see Keigo slide his hands around the redhead’s hips, coaxing her to press her ass even farther into his hips. His eyes once again meet yours, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. ‘Oh, this bitch,’ you think. Your blood has turned into liquid fire, heating up your body and warming the inner pits of your stomach. You can feel the alcohol and the thump of the music taking more of an effect now, causing you to turn around in the stranger’s arms. 

Now you’re facing Keigo while your back presses against the stranger’s front. The winged hero is still sandwiched between the two girls who giggle and grip him like he is theirs, but all of his attention is on you. His eyebrows are knitted together, creating a crease between them, and his feathers have become frazzled. Meaning he is very, very agitated. You smirk at him despite this, something you wouldn’t do if you weren’t tipsy. You love that you’re getting to him. 

‘I told you two can play at this game,’ you think. You turn back around to face the stranger, noticing how hooded and dark his eyes have become as they rake over your form. “You know, you can really move,” he whispers. “What are you doin’ after this?” 

You know exactly what that meant. And you think about it for a moment, wondering if you should take this stranger up on his offer for a night of pure, unadulterated, meaningless sex. No strings attached. No thoughts of Rei or Keigo or anyone else but you. But when you think of your golden-haired friend just across the room watching you, you open your mouth to give the man a polite “thanks but no thanks”.

However, someone beats you to it. A hand gently grasps your shoulder, making you turn around to see Keigo standing in front of you. “Mind if I get the next dance?” he huskily asks. 

Your heart leaps at the sight of him there and you don’t realize that a joyful smile has curled onto your lips until your cheeks begin hurting. You’re so glad he’s here. You go to give him a definite yes, but the stranger steps in front of you, a glare on his face. “Yeah, I do,” he snaps. “You see me dancing with her, don’t you?” 

You see Keigo’s expression change immediately, darkening to the point where you’re frightened. You think of him that night at the club and plead with him with your eyes to not go down that road. The stranger turns his back on Keigo to begin dancing with you again, but Keigo stops him by forcefully whirling him around to face him.

The very angry, winged hero steps to him, anger radiating off of him in waves that you can feel. “Listen,” he says, his voice dipping down an octave, "I’m not havin’ a good night as it is, so I suggest you don’t make it worse for me or yourself. I’m not the nicest when I’m pissed.” 

His wings ruffle and then, all at once, each feather sharpens to a point as if he is carrying dozens of knives on his back. The stranger’s angered expression melts into one of fear and intimidation as he stares at Keigo’s wings. “Back up,” Keigo growls, his eyes turning to slits. “She’s mine.” 

This is all it takes for the stranger to finally back off of you and slink away from the dance floor. When he’s gone, Keigo composes himself. His eyes switch back to their normal size and color and his feathers soften. When he finally looks back down at you, all you want to do is kiss him. “Think he got the picture?” he asks jokingly. 

You don’t speak. You don’t even think you can. For a moment, you both stand there in silence, the music and noise swelling around you. But none of that matters to you. Nothing matters to you but him right now. “So you came back,” he states, sounding surprised. His eyes travel over your form as if he can’t believe that you’re really standing there. And wanting him. 

You swallow, finding your voice to speak. “I did,” you reply matter-of-factly. You place your hands impatiently on your hips and raise an eyebrow at him, feeling emboldened by the alcohol and what just transpired. “And I need to talk to you,” you continue. “Can we go somewhere alone?” 

His eyes widen an inch at your bold response and question, but you also see a spark behind them. He is absolutely down for this. Though he still looks confused at your intentions, he agrees. “Sure,” he replies, already taking your hand and whisking you away. When his fingers interlock with yours, your body sings and your stomach flips excitedly from his touch. “I’ve got a place. Follow me.” 

You let him lead you away from the party and through the venue to a staircase leading up upstairs to the second floor. There, he then leads you away from the guests occupying the second floor to an empty balcony. He let you step out into the night first, the cool air refreshing and the sky starry and clear above.

He shuts the door behind him and stands near it so no one will try to come out and interrupt…whatever this is. You aren’t even sure what this is: your apology? Your confession? All you know is that you have many words left unsaid that you need to release, and you won’t leave here tonight until Keigo knows just how you feel for him. 

He stands in front of you now, arms crossed and not looking too thrilled to be here. “Why’d you come back?” he asks, getting right to the damn point because fuck beating around the bush at this point. “Things go bad with Rei so you come runnin’ to me?” 

You wince slightly at his harsh tone and words, but you know you deserve it. He has every right to be pissed at you. And you have every reason to be honest with him. So you take a deep breath and speak: “That’s exactly right,” you confess, and you nearly laugh at his bug-eyed reaction. “Keigo, I’m not here to convince you that we belong together or to tell you I’m sorry in an effort for you to take me as more. I’m just here to tell you that you were right.” 

For a moment, Keigo pauses, processing your words and your intentions. He then raises an eyebrow, silently telling you to elaborate. With the silence, stars, and cool air encouraging you to speak, you do so. 

“I realized that Rei can’t make me happy the way I wish to be,” you continue. “I need to be with someone who sees me for the messy, complicated person that I can be. Who makes me want to do and be better just because of their love for me. Who accepts me for who I am and doesn’t ask for anything more.” 

You smile lovingly at him, your heart thumping harshly in your chest. “I’ve known for a while that this person is you,” you confess. “You’re the one I’ve been searching for. The partner I’ve been hoping to find. The man of my dreams.” Your voice cracks slightly as all of your emotions begin to flood over you: your love; your pain; your sorrow; your want and need for the man standing before you. “I love you, Keigo,” you tearfully confess. “And I’m sorry it’s taken all of this for me to realize it.” 

You watch, in under a minute, as a dozen expressions and emotions register across Keigo’s face: Confusion. Mild Irritation. Joyfulness. Relief. You continue to speak, refusing to let this be the end of your relationship.

“You don’t have to take me if you don’t want me, and I’m not going to convince you to. I’ve put you through so much and you deserve to be with someone who isn’t going to do that to you.” Tears begin to drip from your eyes, falling down your cheeks. “But I knew if I didn’t come here and tell you face to face, I’d never be able to look you in the eye again.” 

And then you’re full-on crying. All of your hurt and guilt begin to tumble down, making all of your walls crumble. All of your layers peel back before Keigo, revealing the deepest, ugliest parts of you. Your neediness. Your need for him.

“I just want you in my life, Kei,” you sob. “I don't care if it’s just as friends or whatever the fuck. I just want you here. I need you here with me.” 

And as you cry and embarrass yourself in front of your friend, he peels back every layer of himself as well. He shows you all of him as his eyes grow glassy and wet. “I need you too,” he whispers. “I’ll always need you, Y/N. That’s never changed.” He then takes only two strides towards you and wrap you up in his arms and his wings, blocking you out from the outside world. 

A needy, desperate gasp leaves your lips as you feel him wrap himself around you, engulfing you in a warm, tight embrace that fills you with joy and relief. You feel released from all the sorrow, guilt, and frustrations inside you. None of that matters anymore. Not when your friend, your man, is here, feeling so warm, and solid, and real. So you hug Keigo back, pressing your face into his chest. He begins to stroke the back of your head, pressing you farther into his body. 

When he finally pulls away, his eyes and lashes are wet with tears. “So is it safe to say I told you so?” he teasingly asks. You smile up at him, a joyful giggle leaving your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you. “If you kiss me, then yes,” you whisper before you stand up on your toes and your lips finally find each other’s. 

If fireworks are to appear somewhere in the distance tonight, this would be the perfect moment for them. The kiss you share with Keigo is explosive, pleasurable, and leaves you breathless. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close as your lips dance together. The more his soft lips move against yours, the more you fall deeper and deeper in love with him. You love kissing him. You love holding him. You love him. 

A sudden bright flash of a camera ruins the moment and you two jump apart to find Rumi, Dabi, Yu, and Nemuri watching from the balcony door. Rumi squeals happily, waving her phone around, very drunk. “Ha, ha, you crispy bitch!” she shouts proudly, bumping Dabi with her hip. “I told you so!” Dabi sighs, trying to look pissed but is obviously happy. “So much for the $50,” he sighs. 

Keigo rolls his eyes, shielding you and your embarrassment from your friends with his wings. “Do y’all mind?” he barks. “I’m trying to show my girl some love and I need you drunk freaks watching.”

Yu is the one to hustle everyone away from the balcony. “Don’t mind us!” she giggles. “Please go back to your love fest.” She drags Nemuri away while she groans in protest. “Aww, but they’re so cute!” she whines. 

You two are finally left alone and you begin to laugh together. “That picture is probably gonna end up on an IG story somewhere,” Keigo sighs.

You nod, agreeing and knowing how horrible Rumi is. “Just as long as it’s a private one,” you giggle. “But even if it isn’t, I don’t care.” 

Keigo raises an eyebrow, a sparkle in his eyes that reminds you so much of sunken treasure. “And why is that?” he huskily asks, sending a shiver down your spine.

You stand up on your toes and stay a centimeter away from his lips, inhaling his cologne. “Because I want everyone to know that I’m yours,” you purr. “And you’re mine.” 

A hand then encircles the back of your neck and all words cease to exist as Keigo presses his mouth to yours once more. 

#friends to lovers #keigo takami x black reader #hawks x black reader #feral hawks is the only hawks #black fanfic writer #smutty smut #bnha smut #my fic shit #black coded reader #keigo takami #my works #hawks smut

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

Just wrote a big ass one-shot on my main, might as well write up something here as well.

And this is for my android Aziraphale au, which... doesn't have an au tag and is a pain in the ass to find on this blog.

But here's a quick plot for you guys:

Crowley is a cyborg hacker who is trying to break into Aziraphale's, a club owner who no one knows is actually a very dangerous android, office to steal his files that he keeps on a hard drive, really important files, that sorta thing. Shit happens and they hate each other but also wanna, ya know, hate-fuckk and stuff, but then romance happens when they both realize that their is more to them than they realize about each other.

Oh, and Arthur from Passengers is there, and he is part of the relationship. He is loved, because I love Arthur, he's a good android that is respected on this blog.

Also, Aziraphale looks like Castor/Zues from Tron: Legacy, but with cool extra limbs like Doctor Octopus. :)

This one-shot is when Crowley finally breaks into the office, and what happens when Aziraphale finds out.

Warning: injury, blood, violence

On with the fic!

--

Third time's the charm, as the saying goes.

Crowley had been careful this time around, his last two attempts had been... bad. Really unprofessional for him. First time he hadn't gotten the chance to go anywhere near Fell's office! Second time he got caught being in the wrong place, but he was able to joke it off, saying how he got lost trying to find the bathroom.

Fell had been so nice about that second mistake, but Crowley knew, he knew the man was suspicious of him.

And Crowley needed to be careful, really careful.

Rumor has it that Fell was good about making people disappear.

The club was busy, at the height of the night, music was booming, drinks were being served, and Fell was too busy schmoozing to notice that Crowley had slipped away from the bar. He had told the bartender, Arthur, that he'd be right back, just needed to step out to make a call, in case if anyone asked where he was.

The halls were empty, not a guard in sight. This was too easy, but Crowley wasn't dumb to just step into a trap so easily. He was a professional.

He tapped at the small tablet in his hands as he stood out of the way of the cameras in the hall. He watched as the little blue lights on them dimmed, and he smirked. A simple hack into the security system, nothing he couldn't handle.

A few more taps and the overhead lights went out, a blackout. The club was fine, the blackout was only here, and would only be for a short period of time. No power meant the electrical locks were done on the doors, leaving only the average ones. Who even still uses those nowadays?

With a huff, he tapped twice on the side of his shades, and the world was suddenly visible once more, no longer pitch black. Infrared, always good to have on hand. He looked at the tablet before pocketing it in his jacket and walked down the hall, keeping light on his feet.

He stopped outside of a door, marked with a symbol, a sword outlined in what looked like fire. Fell's signature, this had to be his office. He grabbed the knob, frowning when he noticed it was locked. Of course the guy remembered to lock the manual one, he seemed the type.

Crowley thanked his lucky stars boredom as a child allowed him to learn how to pick a lock as he used the small kit he carried to pick the lock on the door.

He heard the clicks and smirked, trying the knob again, and the door opened.

The inside of the office looked oddly cluttered, unlike everything else in this space or the club, where it was all clean, sterile lines and colors. This was a disaster, how weird.

But that was something for Crowley to ponder over later, right now he needed to find the safe.

After searching for a few minutes, Crowley found it under a stack of books that looked really old, fragile. Jackpot. He removed his glove from his right hand, looking at the black metal he kept hidden, lines along his fingers and wrist glowing pink in the darkness.

He touched the dial on the safe, how old school, and started to turn it, listening carefully for the right sounds to know he was putting in the right combo. It had taken quite a while to learn what familiar numbers would work best for the safe, ones that Fell used often.

Oddly, it was 4-0-4, curious, Crowley thought as he heard the final click.

Opening the door, he could see papers and the like, but not the hard drive. "Fuck, where is it..." He whispered, patting around, trying to find the damn thing.

Then he noticed something odd in his lenses. There seemed to be the slightest shift in how dark the room was. And it wasn't due to his ungloved hand.

"Ooh, what a shame." Came a posh, cold voice from somewhere behind Crowley.

Something touched the sides of his neck, sharp, like needles. Crowley froze in place.

"'Never trust a pretty face', quite a fitting saying, don't you think?" He heard the sounds of footsteps approaching, the sounds of metal shifting.

Fingers touching the back of his head, gently toying with his hair. "I really don't want to have to do this, dear boy, but I can't allow thieves a second chance. I'm sure we would have had such fun, darling."

Instinct had always been Crowley's saving grace, getting him out of sticky situations, and it didn't fail him now. His brain screamed for him to move forward, and luckily his body.

There was a loud snap of metal, as if someone smacked knives together, and Crowley would later recall in a fearful moment as he tried to sleep that he had nearly been decapitated.

Spinning around, Crowley could see in the darkness and his shades that Fell was standing there, just feet away.

Except he wasn't standing on his own feet. No, he was standing with the help of two long, terrifying metal appendages coming from his lower back. Two more were hovering over his shoulders, the end of one was right where Crowley had been just seconds before. It was clawed, and it looked very, very sharp.

Aziraphale's suit's lights were glowing in the dark, as were his eyes. Those same eyes had been hazel before, but were now a cold white, like snow. And they were focused completely on Crowley. There was a slight shift to them as they looked at the exposed right hand.

"I thought as much, your grip wasn't as breakable as most others are." He said, almost sounded fascinated. "But it won't save you from what I'm about to do, darling."

Crowley only had seconds to move out of the way of the claws that slammed right into the ground where he had been sitting. He charged for the open door, dodging another claw that brushed his head, probably cutting some strands of hair.

The hallway was dark still, there were still minutes until the lights and power returned. It was too risky to go back to the club, so Crowley would have to take the back way. There was a stairwell he had discovered in his research, he could use that to escape.

He screeched when a clawed hand shot past his face, he felt the brush of metal on his cheek, and then wet warmth on his skin. Fuck! FUCK! He was going for the stairwell.

He turned and ran down the hall, hearing those fucking claws tearing into the walls and floor as Fell chased him. The hallway seemed to become illuminated in a growing light. Glancing back, Crowley could see that there was a glow coming from the metal limbs, and shit, the man looked terrifying in the glow.

Was he a cyborg too?! Who the hell had metal appendages like that!? Androids had them, or at least some did, cyborgs didn't! Too risky, too heavy and dangerous to have on human bodies! Crowley knew how heavy metal appendages could be due to his own arms and his upper back, but all those? Holy shit!

And where did he keep them! They weren't there during their previous encounters!

"Come back here!" Fell shouted as Crowley turned a corner and found the door for the stairwell. He flung it open and charged down the stairs, trying to be careful not to trip.

"You can't escape, little one!" Fell's voice echoed and Crowley heard a horrible sound of metal tearing, and nearly flew down the stairs when the door was thrown at him.

Okay, he most certainly was NOT a cyborg! He had to be an android! Guess the rumors were true!

Crowley gasped when something grabbed at the back of his leg and he lost his footing, tumbling down the metal and concrete steps. He cried out in pain when he hit the landing. He opened his eyes, finding he was in the dark, his shades lost in the tumble. His knees hurt and so did his head, his metal parts creaked, Agnes is gonna kill him if he damaged anything.

He saw the blue glow of Fell as he descended the stairs, his feet never touching the ground, his extra limbs carrying him. He looked at Crowley with a terrifying glare. "I don't know what you think you were trying to do, but I will not allow you to complete your mission. Now, return whatever it is you took."

"I didn't... take anythin'." Crowley growled as he pushed himself up.

"If you return it, I'll make sure your body is found."

"I told you, I didn't take anythin'." Crowley put his hand in his jacket, rubbing at his side, fuck, that was gonna bruise.

Fell's eyes narrowed. "What were you doing in my office then?"

"Just... that ain't any of your business, Fell."

"It most certainly is." Fell snipped. "Well, if you're not going to tell me, I'll just have to search your corpse. It really is a shame, you interested me greatly, it's been a long time since anyone has done that. Well, I suppose that I can be a bit nice, I'll make this quick."

The claws were coming close and Crowley only had once chance at this.

He had been working on something, a backup for if his power outage hack didn't work, or if he came across something troublesome of the robot variety.

He really hoped this work.

"Nah, but maybe next time we meet, angel." Crowley said and pulled out a taser.

Fell gave pause, confused, and that was all the opening Crowley needed to pull the trigger.

Four bolts shot out and struck Fell right in the chest.

Then Crowley heard the most horrible, metallic scream.

The screaming stopped, and Fell slumped forward, dropping to the ground right at Crowley's feet. The stairwell was silent and the glow was gone, minus the faint pink of Crowley's hand.

He could see just the barest of light from Fell though, his eyes. They were focused on Crowley, staring right at him.

"EMP taser." Crowley swallowed, holding up the device. "Not enough to kill you, but enough to stun you for an hour or two."

Fell made a strange sound, like an overheated laptop. He sounded angry.

Crowley took that as his cue to get his ass out of here. "Didn't steal anythin'." He said, wincing as he pulled himself up, removing his other glove, giving him a bit more light. "Couldn't find it anyway..."

The sound got louder, echoing in the stairwell, as Crowley continued to now-slow trek down the stairs for the exit.

He survived, just barely, but he was sure that he wouldn't be able to push his luck like this next time.

--

Aziraphale and Crowley's stairwell encounter has been on my mind for months, since I first started developing this au. I wanted something scrary in the dark with limited space and limited light.

Also, yes, Crowley's LED lights are pink, like his android counterpart in the other au.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #john's drabbles

[inquisitorius-sin-bin]

Inquisitorius-Sin-Bin's Fic Masterlist

AO3: AramsayiPregius

Grand Inquisitor x Reader Fics:

Comparative Anatomy: 4,001 Words, Rated E

Unravelling the evolutionary history of humanoid species across the galaxy has long been your passion, but a particular species has become of great interest to you. Perhaps it is the unique glimpse into the biology of an ancient, long-extinct species that they offer. Or, as the Grand Inquisitor suggests - maybe something more basal within you motivates your research. You're going to need to revise all those papers you've written after this encounter...

Whiskey and Teeth: 5,192 Words, Rated E

The Devil-Man at the bar told you not to do it, too bad you never listen. Your reckless ways are going to catch up with you one of these days, and you're going to find out the hard way - the Grand Inquisitor always gets the job done.

Blowing Cover: 7,341 Words, Rated E

You've always wanted to see the galaxy, and your line of work gets it done. Not the career you ostensibly hold, but the contract work you perform for the Imperial Security Bureau.

This latest assignment is a trickier task than the rest. Untangling an entire network takes more time and finesse than you're used to. When your updates begin to falter, you're due a visit from an unhappy employer.

The price of failure is higher than you're willing to pay, but then again, you are very good at what you do.

Canto Bites: 8,826 Words, Rated E

You never forgot the names and faces of the Jedi family that you lost. Each day you live on, making it your mission in life to avenge your fallen brethren. Tonight you have a spectacular plot in the works, with your prized stallion at the very center of it. Everything is going according to plan, until an unexpected arrival turns into a deeply intimate encounter. How far are you willing to go for one more moment with someone that you've loved and lost? Even if you know the atrocities they've committed against your own kind...

Studied and Praised + Sequel Explored and Worshiped: 32,789 Words, Rated E

You've spent your entire life as the most overlooked member of the royal family, but you have plans to change that. Once your designs have been realized, you will truly be the heir to your father's Empire. There is only one obstacle standing in your way. Surely you won't allow him to become your undoing, or will you?

Sentimental (Ongoing): 6,806 Words, Rated E

Even those left at the Jedi Temple can feel the heavy cost of the Clone Wars. Fear, loss, uncertainty- although the Order has methods for dealing with such emotions, anxiety has you analyzing your surroundings, constantly on the lookout for the next threat.

A seemingly innocuous action becomes an obsession. Seeking guidance, you are drawn to the chambers of your old Master. Attachment is not the Jedi way, but could it be the Force itself guiding you along this path?

One Temple Guard might be able to lend you an answer.

Ride or Die + Sequel Fly or Fall + Appendix (Ongoing): 248,403 Words, Rated E

It has been seventeen years since your rebirth on the plains of Utapau. An orphaned child with nowhere else to go, you were adopted by your clan leader Drago and his mate Bolen, who made you their own daughter through the unique tattooing rituals of the surface-dwelling Pau'an.

Now you lead a group of your kin to trade with a neighboring clan, when you come across a lone stranger riding across the grasslands. Nothing about him makes sense, least of all the marks he bears on his forehead in conflict with the symbols he carries on his shoulders.

You must guide him on his mission, while you ponder the secrets of his past that might just align with yours, and balance the survival of your small clan amongst two powerful opposing forces.

Other Fics:

Dr. Victre: 14,200 Words, Rated T

Unfinished series published back in 2016/2017, back when there were only 4 canon inquisitors. The lore is severely out-of-date, so if this series is continued, it will be a reboot. But! I have heard from others that the work has merit, so I will continue to keep it linked here.

#fic masterlist #masterlist #my fics #grand inquisitor x reader #x reader fics #x reader #grand inquisitor #drabbles

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Martyrs and Kings - Chapter 10

Do I Know You?

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Kix x archivist/historian OFC

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: fluff; suggestive dialogue; angst; Star Wars politics; Bad Batch Season 2 spoilers

Start here | Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Maree was profoundly grateful for her high neckline the next morning. Kix had been thorough in his attentions, with the result that her chest, shoulders, and thighs were covered with small marks and bruises. In fairness, Maree had given as good as she’d gotten, and Kix’s torso was similarly adorned. Luckily, all evidence of their rough night was hidden from the disapproving eyes of the Neimoidian administrator who checked them into the Imperial Military Records Archive.

“We don’t often receive visitors from the general population,” he said. “This is highly irregular.”

“Uncommon, perhaps, but hardly irregular,” Maree replied. “You’ll find that the paperwork is all in order. My assistant is extremely conscientious.”

“Hmmph,” said the Neimoidian, shooting a suspicious glare at Kix. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I doubt it,” Kix said mildly. 

Whatever darkness had plagued him the night before seemed to have receded for the moment, and Kix was in notably better spirits today. This was possibly due to the three more times they’d had sex after reaching her hotel room. Maree, on the other hand, was feeling the effects of the lack of sleep, and her patience was dangling by its final thread.

“Is there a problem with our credentials?” Maree asked. “I’m sure the NRGL Archive would be happy to corroborate my identity.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the administrator sniffed. “You are quite well-known to us, Dr. Finnall. It’s your guest whose credentials are in question.”

Maree suppressed her irritation. “I understood that he had already passed the mandatory background check when we received approval for his visit. Is there some further requirement that we were not informed of?”

“No,” the Neimoidian said begrudgingly. “But you will need to sign this waiver accepting full responsibility for any damage or wrongdoing he may perpetrate in the IMRA.”

Maree signed the document without hesitation, and at last, the administrator waved them through. Next, they were scanned for weapons and other contraband, and finally, they passed through a row of New Republic Defense Force peacekeepers.

“Heavy security for a bunch of dusty old relics,” Kix commented.

Maree nodded cordially at the guards. “There’s more in the IMRA than just personnel files. This archive contains weapons schematics, documentation on banned research, and other sensitive information that is in high demand on the black market. I have security clearance for my work, but even I can’t access some of the classified records.”

They passed through the entrance into a vast chamber with towering ceilings. Data terminals lined the walls, and numerous researchers milled about. This section of the IMRA was accessible to researchers and students without security clearance, but in order to access the restricted records, Maree had reserved a private office for their work, and she led Kix quickly through the echoing hall.

“Why do you need security clearance?” Kix asked curiously.

“I am a senior research faculty member, so the scope of my responsibilities is quite extensive. While I am available to assist individual citizens like you, I spend a significant amount of my time supporting the New Republic Judiciary in their efforts to prosecute Imperial war criminals.”

Kix looked surprised. “I had no idea. Are there many war criminals left from the early Empire?”

“Not so many. Most of them have died of old age, if they haven’t already been apprehended. But it’s often helpful to have a team of researchers whose specialties span the full history of the Empire. It provides important context, and given the Empire’s penchant for nepotism, it can help us trace connections between early Imperials and those who came later.”

“That sounds like important work,” Kix said thoughtfully.

“It is,” Maree said. “Though I sometimes am frustrated to see all of our effort go to waste when the New Republic offers an Imperial amnesty in exchange for giving up a few secrets.”

Kix drew a breath to respond, but before he could, a voice called, “Dr. Finnall!” 

She turned to see an unfamiliar young Mirialan man hurrying towards them. 

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“It is you!” he puffed. “I recognized you from your keynote address at the Galactic Military History conference last cycle. My name is Orys Brenko. I’m a graduate student at the University of Coruscant.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Brenko,” Maree replied mechanically. Could the man not see that she was occupied?

“The honor is mine, Dr. Finnall,” he said. “Your book on the battle of Scipio inspired me to study military history. The description of Commander Thorn’s last stand was so vivid. Before I read it, I never knew how compelling history could be. I was reading it on the hovertrain, and I was so caught up that I actually missed my stop!”

Kix merely stood and observed in impassive silence, his gaze flicking between Maree and Brenko.

“That is very kind of you to say, Mr. Brenko,” Maree said with a geniality she was far from feeling. She itched to get started on Kix’s project, but she couldn’t bring herself to snub the enthusiastic young man. “Are you studying the Clone Wars?”

“Er, no,” Brenko said, abashed. “My focus is the High Republic era.”

Of course. She didn’t roll her eyes, but it was a near miss.

“A fascinating period,” she said diplomatically. “I would love to stay and chat, but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement. Good luck in your studies.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Brenko stammered. “B-but, before you go, would you mind signing my datapad? I have it loaded with all of your publications, and it would mean so much to me.”

Maree blinked. This was a first. She’d never been asked for an autograph before. In spite of the gaucheness of Brenko’s request, Maree was impressed with the young man’s dedication to the pursuit of knowledge. When she’d been a graduate student, she hadn’t had the bandwidth to read anything other than her assigned coursework. She was surprised Brenko had made time in between his studies to read her extensive body of work, especially since their areas of study had very little overlap.

“I don’t have a stylus, sorry,” she said. “Out of curiosity, why did you choose to concentrate on the High Republic era when you are so obviously interested in the Clone Wars? We could use more passionate researchers who focus on that era.”

The young man’s face flushed a dark green under his tattoos. “My parents would only agree to pay for my schooling if I chose a marketable course of study. As you know, the Clone Wars are…”

“Not exactly marketable,” Maree finished. “A pity. Well, if you ever happen to be on Hosnian Prime, please feel free to stop by my office at the Archive, and I’ll sign your datapad. But be warned, I’ll probably try to poach you for my own research team.”

Brenko’s mouth dropped open and his datapad clattered to the floor. “Th-thank you, Dr. Finnall! I will!”

Maree excused herself as Brenko stooped to retrieve the pad, and she and Kix resumed their walk. Brenko stood back and watched them with an awestruck expression.

“I had no idea I was sleeping with a celebrity,” Kix murmured under his breath. 

“Shove it,” she whispered. “It was much more awkward for me than it was for you.”

“Do you have an official fan club I can join?” he asked with a perfectly straight face.

“Maybe you should talk to Brenko about setting one up. You’d have two whole members,” she retorted.

They reached the office and closed the door behind them. Kix immediately crowded Maree up against the desk, burying his face against her neck and trailing kisses toward her ear.

“Dr. Finnall, would you sign my ass? I was so inspired by the way you wrapped your legs around it while I was pounding into you last night,” he teased.

“Dick,” she laughed, swatting the back of his head.

“You’d rather sign my dick? That’s fine, too.”

“Mmm, there’s certainly enough room,” she said, stroking him through his trousers with a languid sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a small blinking red dot. “Dank farrik, Kix, there are security holocams in here. Behave yourself.”

“Sorry, Doc, I couldn’t help myself,” he said, fluttering his eyelashes. “You’re just so inspiring.”

She laughed again, pressed her lips against his and dipped her tongue into his mouth, then pushed him firmly away. They had work to do, and she had a sinking feeling that Kix’s cheerful mood wouldn’t last long once they got started.

“Stop distracting me,” she said as she powered up the holoprojector.

Kix frowned. “Wait, I thought these records are classified. What about the security holocams? Do the guards have clearance?”

“The system has an override built in. If a classified record is being displayed, the holocam feeds are turned off automatically.”

“Good to know,” Kix said with a smirk. “Just in case I’m feeling inspired later.”

“Incorrigible,” Maree muttered.

She spent some time searching the archive inventory for the troopers on Kix’s list. It took longer than she expected, but at last she crowed in victory as she located the records for the Republic Star Destroyer Tribunal. As they waited for an IMRA droid to retrieve and deliver the data chips Maree requested, Kix’s stomach rumbled. Maree checked the chronometer on the wall and realized it was already mid-afternoon.

“Should I order lunch to be delivered from the cafeteria?” she offered. “Or if you’d prefer, we can walk over. It’s inside the Archive, so we won’t have to go through security again.”

“Aren’t you afraid of being mobbed by your legions of adoring fans?” he asked.

“I think you mean ‘fan,’ singular,” she said. “But that is a fair point. We’ll get delivery.”

She pulled up the menu on the holoprojector, and they made their selections. When Maree apologized that she couldn’t offer him anything better than cafeteria food, Kix merely shrugged.

“I’m used to it. It’s probably better than what I’m used to, actually.”

He shifted and put his feet up on the chair across from him. The office was austere, and it lacked any of the comforts with which she had filled her own workspace. The hard plastech chairs were making Maree’s legs fall asleep, so she stood up to stretch and walk around the joyless room. Kix watched from his own seat.

“So,” he said conversationally, “come here often?”

She snorted. “More often than I’d like.”

“Not a fan of Coruscant?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I went to university here. That was long enough for a lifetime.”

“So not your vacation destination of choice, then.”

She shook her head. “Work. Always work. It seems like that’s all I ever do lately.”

“Doesn’t the New Republic offer vacation leave?” Kix asked.

“Who has the time for that?”

“Too busy saving the galaxy from war criminals?”

“Ah yes, the glamorous, exciting life of a professional nerd,” she said. “How could anything else compare?”

“You could always run away and become a pirate,” Kix joked.

Maree laughed. “My mother would kill me.”

“The Ranger?” he asked. 

“She retired last year,” Maree said. “Spends all her time tormenting Eema. Honestly, Baba might enjoy the challenge of hunting down my hypothetical pirate crew. I think she misses the action.”

The door chimed, and a service droid entered with their food delivery. They divvied up the food and started to eat.

“It must be hard to transition to civilian life after she spent so many years fighting,” Kix said.

“Was the transition hard for you?” Maree asked.

“I suppose you could say that,” Kix said quietly.

“I bet you’d get along well with Baba,” Maree said. Kix looked startled, and Maree cursed her clumsiness. “If you ever met, I mean. Which you probably wouldn’t. Because she and Eema live on Adelphi, and I’m guessing you don’t get out that way much. But if you did, I bet they’d like you.”

Ugh. Stop talking, you idiot!

Kix blinked, and a slow smile crept across his face. “You want me to meet your moms?”

“No!” Maree said, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. “Not unless you wanted to.”

He poked around in his food, probably hoping to find a bite with flavor. “I never had a mother,” he mused. “It must have been nice to have two.”

His voice was stark with longing, and Maree’s heart twisted.

“It was,” Maree said softly. “It is. They’re pretty amazing.”

“They sound pretty amazing. No surprise they raised an amazing daughter,” Kix said. “I hope I do get to meet them someday. If I ever make it to Adelphi.”

Oh. This man is dangerous, Maree realized. 

The data chips were delivered just after Kix and Maree finished eating lunch, and they got to work immediately. Maree loaded the chips into the holoprojector and began sorting through them, organizing the information in some way that made the most sense to her. Kix took a moment to admire her focus, even as he braced himself to uncover the final few pieces of the puzzle they’d been constructing over the past weeks. She was supremely competent, and he felt a stab of guilt that he’d monopolized so much of her time when she was accustomed to doing far more valuable work for the New Republic. She hadn’t said a word of complaint; in fact, he suspected she never would have mentioned her service to the Judiciary if he hadn’t asked.

Once she had the information laid out to her satisfaction, she began reviewing the files with him. They worked through several individual troopers and units—Kix’s closest brothers; members of the 501st, the 212th, the 104th. Many of them survived into the Imperial era. A surprising number went AWOL after Order 66. Kix was horrified to learn that one of his close friends had had a mental breakdown and executed his entire squad within days of the order. After that, he requested a short break, ostensibly to stretch his legs.

He went into the refresher and splashed his face with cold water, then dried himself carefully, making sure no telltale droplets remained in his hair or beard. When he looked in the mirror, every one of his brothers stared back at him. Kix could feel the tide of panic rising in his chest. He closed his eyes and stood silently for a few moments, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth until his heart rate stabilized.

When he returned to the office, Maree was waiting with two bottles of water she’d procured from some unknown source. He smiled, remembering the other times she had offered him water when he was clinging to the ragged edges of his control. She seemed to sense his distress even when he thought he was hiding it well, and he felt a small pang in his chest as he realized that her first instinct was always to take care of him. It was an unfamiliar experience, and it made him want to curl up in her lap and bask in the attention like a pampered tooka. She watched to make sure he drank some of the water, and then she rubbed her hand between his shoulders comfortingly. He leaned into the contact with a sigh.

“I’m ready to keep going, if you are,” he said.

“I’m not in a hurry,” she said. “We can take as long as you need.”

“Thanks, but I can handle it,” he replied.

“All right." She patted his back one last time and returned to her seat at the desk. "In that case, the next entry on the list is the experimental unit you requested, Clone Force 99. It looks as though four of the members defected immediately after Order 66.” She paused, and her eyebrows snapped together in surprise. “That’s unusual. Most of the mass clone defections didn’t happen for some time after the Empire took power. Scholars have theorized that the inhibitor chips were either designed to have a limited duration, or that the energy required to control the clones’ actions simply fried the chips over time.”

“Why do you suppose these clones defected so early?” Kix asked.

“It’s difficult to say. They were experimental, so it’s possible that their physiology was different enough from regular clones that the chips were incompatible with them. Though at least one of the squad members seems to have been affected. CT-9904, Crosshair, did not defect with the rest of his squad.”

“Is there any record of them afterward?”

Maree frowned. “Yes. The four squad members who defected were taken into custody on Kamino several months later. They were reported to have been killed when Tipoca City was destroyed.”

Kix’s mouth went dry. What the kriff? When did that happen? How had he not known about Tipoca City?

Maree was still speaking. “... unconfirmed accounts that the team was still active for some time after. At least one member was claimed to have been killed on Eriadu, which certainly throws doubt on the validity of the original report.”

Licking his lips, he tried to keep his voice steady as he asked, “What—what about Crosshair?”

Maree scrolled further. “Ah, here it is. Crosshair was promoted to the rank of Commander and continued to serve the Empire until—oh.”

Kix leaned forward. “What is it?”

“He killed his commanding officer on a mission,” she said. “He was arrested and sent to a military prison compound. That’s the end of his file, I’m afraid.”

Kix nodded absently, his eyes unfocused. Truth be told, he hadn’t much cared for the churlish sniper, but Kix knew what a military prison compound meant for clones, and he would not wish such a fate on any of his brothers. Something she’d said nagged at him.

“Did you say four squad members defected?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Echo fled Kamino after kidnapping a young child. My gods, this squad is incredible! How have I never heard of them before now?”

So Echo stayed with the Bad Batch even after the war. Kix was glad to know the ARC trooper had found a place to belong after everything he’d been through. It was a strange detail about the child, though.

“What child?” he asked.

“It doesn’t say,” Maree said. “But at least I know what thread my research is going to follow for the next few months.”

Her eyes were sparkling with curiosity and excitement, and for a moment, Kix simply watched her work. She tapped a few quick notes into her datapad before returning her attention to the holorecord and scrolling a little further. Her nose scrunched up slightly as she read.

“Fascinating,” she whispered.

Exactly the word I was searching for, he thought. Fascinating. Enchanting. Bewitching. Enticing. Adorable. Irresistible.

She noticed him staring and abruptly stopped scrolling with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I get lost in the zone.”

“Not at all,” he said. “You really care about all this, don’t you?”

“I do,” she replied simply. 

Kix glanced at the security holocam and noted that the red light was no longer blinking. Impulsively, he stood and strode around the desk. Maree automatically rose out of her chair as he approached, and he reached for her, drawing her close to him as his lips crashed down on hers. He kissed her deeply, holding her face in his hands. He never wanted this moment to end. At last, their lips parted, and he rested his forehead against hers as she took a deep, stuttering inhale. She looked at him with dazed eyes.

“What was that for?” she whispered.

“I felt inspired,” he said, hiding the truth behind a cocky grin.

Her eyes crinkled as she laughed quietly. Suddenly, he didn’t want to know anything else. He didn’t want to be in this stuffy, miserable hole of an office learning about tragedies that unfolded half a century before. He just wanted to take Maree back to her hotel room and spend the rest of his artificially shortened life making love to her. She smelled like tea and honey and spiced biscuits and home, and he wanted to sink into her and disappear forever.

“Only one more data chip to go,” she said. “Shall we finish up and head back to the hotel?”

Kix buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

He pressed one more kiss onto the top of her head, then returned to his seat as Maree pulled up the contents of the remaining data chip. Unfortunately, Maree had unknowingly saved the worst for the last: the final report of the 332nd Division.

“The 332nd never completed their mission to deliver Maul to Coruscant after the siege of Mandalore,” Maree said. 

Kix gritted his teeth, and his fingernails bit painfully into his palms. “What happened?”

“Several years after the end of the war, Imperial forces located the wreckage of the Star Destroyer Tribunal on a remote moon,” Maree said. “Most on board were killed; however, military records indicate that there must have been some survivors, as the clones had been given proper burials. As we know from our earlier research, Commander Rex survived, and it seems likely that he was the one who buried the fallen. We also know from later history that Maul survived. Given his track record, it is probable that he was responsible for the crash.”

“Is there a list of those who were killed?” he asked.

“Due to the amount of time that had passed by the time the crash was discovered, and the impossibility of genetic testing to tell the clones apart, all aboard were listed as killed in action.”

He felt sick. He nodded his acknowledgement, unable to speak. Jesse really was gone. He’d known it was true, of course. Jesse would have died decades earlier, even if he’d survived the war. The clones’ accelerated aging would have seen to that. But somehow, knowing exactly how his brother had died made it so much worse, so much more real. Once again, the crushing weight of helplessness and grief smothered him. He was only dimly aware of Maree loading the data chips into a secure case to be returned to the archive. 

Soon, he felt the pressure of her hand on his as she guided him out of the building and into the half-light of a Coruscant dusk. Maree hailed an air taxi and nudged him into it, sliding in beside him. She murmured directions to the driver—Kix didn’t hear what she said. The lights of Coruscant rushed by in dizzying streaks as they flew toward their destination. Maree was silent next to him, but she slipped her hand into his and interlaced their fingers comfortingly. Kix tightened his grip on her, clinging desperately to the steady contact that felt like the only solid thing in the chaotic galaxy around him.

---

Chapter 11

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul @secondaryrealm @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @goblininawig @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

#clone medic kix #sw tcw fanfic #bad batch spoilers #kix x oc #post stasis kix #dystopicjumpsuit writes #martyrs and kings

[deckof-dragons]

I've started playing Black Mesa and first off wow they had so many different dialogues for when you throw stuff at the scientists and security guards at the start of the game. Like how many people actually keep throwing things at them until they started repeating lines? I know I'm not that only one but it can't be many, can it? So it's cool that they did that, it feels good to be rewarded for being an absolute menace.

Also, the guy who narrated the Stanley Parable made a guest appearance! That was neat. I feel bad about the killing the vortigaunts now though, they look and sound like my buddies from HL2. T.T

But anyway, the main thing I wanted to say that prompted this post is that Eli called Dr. Kleiner 'Izzy'. Which at first made me doubt my conclusion that that NPC was meant to be a younger Kleiner. But then I did a google and found out his first name is Isaac. And while I've never heard 'Izzy' as a shortened version of 'Isaac', it could only be that, right? So anyway, that being a cute pet name, I've decided to interpret this to mean they're dating or married (not that friends can't refer to each other buy cute nicknames, I just like shipping, especially if it's queer, so that's how I want to see it).

I thought I couldn't be the only one but then I went to Ao3 to try to feed this budding ship of my mine only to find almost nothing. There were a few fics but most of them have it marked as a background ship. Where are all the old men fuckers in the Half-Life fandom that focused on them and their ship? I am genuinely surprised, normally fandoms are raring to jump on any m/m ship they can think of. The popular fandom ship seems to be Barney/Gordon (which I'm not sure how I feel about personally yet) so they still did here too of course but I was still expecting more. Though, I guess there aren't as many fics for the fandom as I would've thought so it's not too, too surprising.

#deck speaks #half life #I guess this means maybe I gotta make content for them #if I wanna see more anyway #I guess we'll see if I start shipping it enough to come up with ideas for it #eli vance #isaac kleiner #if I knew their ship name I'd put it here too but I don't

[ficklefics]

Watching You - Jerome Valeska x Reader

Arkham as a watcher. A ghost in the walls, pulling at the strings, working the Asylum into a controlled frenzy. But Jerome Valeska is a rogue element, and you won’t let him disrupt your plans. But he has his own goals, his own desires. An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

MASTERLIST

Warnings: none

(A/N: it has been quite a while since I wrote. so hi, welcome back, nice to see ya)

Arkham’s director was old and tired. He went to the events, he shook the hands, attended the meetings and performed his role like a good little actor.

But he knew nothing of what went on in his Asylum. Not truly. 

Nobody knew. The performance was strong enough, the strings pulled so perfectly, that there were no cracks in the facade. Even he assumed that the Asylum just ran itself.

You were a shadow. Working away amongst the endless rows of filing cabinets, hidden away in the archives and dark corners of the building. Barely anyone even knew your name. Your face was forgettable. Unassuming. Unimportant.

But you were everywhere. The letters left on desks, the notes on the cork boards, the phone calls the director was “too busy to make”. Nothing happened in this building without your go-ahead. 

You had incidentally found yourself in the surveillance room right around the time that Mark, who was on shift, would get a hankering for a burger from the van a half-hour walk away. You were harmlessly checking the incident sheet when he stretched, groaned, and looked over at you. 

“Hey, (Y/N)? Mind helping me out with something?”

“Of course.” You smile, turning to him.

“I have a… meeting,” He pulls at his collar, “That I really need to go to. Would you mind watching the cameras, just for an hour? Nothing will happen, I’m sure.”

“Sure thing, Mark.” He stands and you take his spot, resisting the urge to wince at the warmth of the seat. “See you later.”

He grabs his jacket and nods, hurrying out of the room. You follow him on the cameras as he leaves through an emergency exit. He thinks it doesn’t work. He doesn’t realise you deactivate it so he can exit from the far side of the building, the feeling of being unnoticed compensating for the longer journey. All to plan.

With him gone, your attention turned to the cameras. And to one distinct figure, a man who stood out from everybody else.

Jerome Valeska. The self-proclaimed ‘King of Arkham’. The man who could make even the Penguin dance.

It amused you to watch him holding court in the cafeteria. The swagger, the confidence, so self-consumed. Of course, if he ever went against your authority, he would be dealt with. But he was another cog in the system, one that drew attention away from you with his chaos and fire.

As you watched him, you considered what problems he might pose. Even as you observed, you saw other inmates whispering to him, passing notes, receiving and spreading instructions.

If he was planning something, you had to know about it. You wouldn’t allow any disruption to your mechanism - at least not any that was unplanned.

Over the hour, you began to formulate a plan. The pieces would have to fall into place perfectly if it was going to work, but the risk was worth it. It was time for you to meet the King of Arkham and put him in his place.

~~~ 

It didn’t take much to get Jerome alone in an interview room. A couple of radio calls, a mix-up of guard schedules, and looped security footage. Simple, really, when every part of the building moved under your instruction like a symphony.

He was cuffed to the table when you entered. The lock turned with a satisfying clink. Trapping him in here with you.

“Well, well, well,” He drawls, eyeing you suspiciously, “That’s not a face I recognise.” He leans forward, smirking. “And I’d never forget a face like yours.”

There was a subtle threat in the words. A threat to follow his rules or you would be dead before the next dawn. 

Cute.

“Jerome Valeska. Arrested originally at 18 for the murder of your mother. Escaped a year later with the assistance of one Theo Galavan, who later killed you.” His eyes follow you as you pace the room, reciting his file from memory. Resurrected 2 years later by Dwight Pollard and his cult. You killed him and recovered your face, which he had taken. Then you were re-arrested after a so-called ‘Carnival of Terror’, and have resided in Arkham since.” You stopped directly in front of him, not quite within reach. “Have I missed anything?”

“Well-“

“No, I haven’t.” The interruption threw him off. “I know everything about you Jerome, and I thought it was past time that we had a conversation about how things work here.”

He chuckled darkly. “Somebody thinks very highly of themselves.” His head cocked, drinking you in, trying to understand the picture before him. “And who are you, to tell me how things work?”

“My name is (Y/N). I’m not that important. Just an administrator.” You smiled at the lie. “At least that’s how I look to everyone. If they even see me.” You pulled out the chair and sat in front of him. Jerome sat, thoughts whirring behind those eyes, the smile never failing. He’s intrigued. Good. “In reality? I run Arkham. I am every camera, every locked door, every flickering light. I own this place. Which means I own you.”

That makes him laugh. Not a chuckle, or a smirk, but a cackle, a howl, a burst of vicious laughter that tears through the room and would have shaken you to your bones if you hadn’t watched him for hours, preparing for this moment. If he’s irritated at your lack of reaction, he hides the frustration behind a dark grin and leans forward. 

“No one owns me, sweet cheeks.”

“You can believe that all you like but it doesn’t change the fact that your stay here, whether you live or die, is all dependent on me.”

At this, he leans back. “And why, oh Queen of Arkham, am I being given this information? This secret?”

You smirked inwardly at the phrasing, knowing his own title. “You could cause a lot of problems for me, Valeska. And I’d hate to strike you down in your prime.” At this you placed a smile on your face, knowing that every move right now is critical. “So I have a proposal for you.”

He laughed again, this time a chuckle, but still so full of venom. “Are we getting married?” His eyebrows twitched suggestively. 

“Not quite. I know that you are planning something, likely an escape. I want to be in the loop. Arkham and I are at our best when the destruction is precise and controlled.”

“What I’m hearing is, you don’t care if I do escape?”

“My life, without you here, will be significantly less difficult.” And far less interesting, but that’s hardly the issue. “So what do you say? Do you need time to think? I can leave you here for as long as you need.” 

“You’d really leave me here, all alone, all locked up?” He rolled the words in his mouth, savouring them, letting them pour free. The only catch was the rasp that sat deep in his throat, marring everything he said. 

“Is there a difference from being anywhere else in Arkham? It’s all just cells and cages. At least this one has privacy.”

“Well, I don’t need to think.” His smile widened, almost tearing at his skin. “I like games, and you seem fun to play with.”

“This isn’t a game-“

“Everything!” He slammed his cuffed hands against the table, lurching towards you like a shark. You don’t flinch. “ Everything is a game, (Y/N). This whole world is a back and forth and people play or they’re pieces. You just need to decide what you want to be.”

You thought over it. Of course, it’s already clear to you that you are a player. Nobody controls you or dictates your actions. I’ll bite. “Okay. I’ll play your game, you play mine, and when you leave we’ll both be happy on our own paths.”

His eyes still had a hungry light shining in them. “I just want one thing. A starting move, you could say.”

“And what is that one thing?” You had all the power here. You held the keys to everything. There wasn’t anything he could do that you wouldn’t allow, not really. 

“Close your eyes.”

Of course, your instinct screamed at you not to. But if this was the price of cooperation, if this was what playing the game meant, you would do it.

Your eyes closed.

A brief moment of silence. Jerome’s breathing creaked around you. You felt warm air on your face.

And then his lips pressed against yours, grinning and warped and altogether horrific.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t know what it was; the tug in your gut, the shock, the freedom of something beyond your control - but you kept kissing him.

It was only a moment, but it felt like forever. When he pulled back, your eyes opened, and you tilted your head to ask the silent question. Why?

“I don’t get a lot of action in here. Between you and me,” He leaned in, as if sharing a secret, despite the complete privacy of the room. “Very few of these inmates meet my standards.” And I do?

“And you wanted to test just how in control I am?” Whether or not it was true, you needed the safety net of your web, of your authority, to calm the pounding of your heart. 

“You could say that.”

“Not bad.”

With a sudden movement, you stood, the chair scraping on the floor.

“Thank you for your time, Jerome.” His name feels good in your mouth. “I’ll be seeing you soon.” 

You left the room, immediately assuming the role of the innocent admin assistant, hurrying away from Jerome’s farewell. An unending laugh that rattled through the hallways behind you.

This should be interesting.

MASTERLIST

#jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska #jerome valeska x you #gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham fic #gotham fanfiction #jerome valeska fanfic #jerome valeska fic #jerome valeska fanfiction

[tigertofu]

Hey, could you write a little love-hate angst about aftergame (ending B) Trevor x fem!reader who strongly reminds him of Michael? They work together and have kind of frenemies dynamics. She's a skilled thief and born liar and T doesn't trust her obviously, she courteously despises him in return, but they're useful for each other and T's suddenly got sentimental.

Not pushing, no rushing <3

TY for this prompt anon,, i absolutely love this idea <333 the angst 🥴 !!! and apologies for this taking so long... i hope u like it <33

pairing: fem reader/Trevor

summary: He's made it clear that he hates you. You've made it clearer that the feeling's mutual. But for some reason, the two of you have continued to take scores together. And after one heist, you find out that maybe his hate is something far more complicated than just plain old hate.

cw's: gun violence

wordcount: 2,664

AO3 Link

It’s supposed to be an easy job.

The mark is the Diamond Casino & Resort, a new construction gaudy and grand in that particular way that only establishments built for the entertainment of Los Santos’ wealthiest are. 

As you slip up the highway in your getaway vehicle towards it, the nighttime lights of the city’s skyscrapers dazzle across it’s massive glass façade. Your palms begin to sweat inside your black gloves. You remind yourself, again, that this is supposed to be an easy job. Nothing you can’t handle.

And what if he can’t handle it?

The intrusive thought makes you turn your gaze to the man in the driver’s seat of the vehicle. You see the concentrated scowl pinching down his features in the light of a lamppost he speeds past. Trevor always has this look just before a job. Calculating. Cold. Thoughtful. 

This is only your fourth job together, but you’ve already learned to not trust that look. At some pivotal moment, it always disappears. The second gunfire erupts, or something (or someone) threatens the success of the heist, a flip inside him gets switched. He starts to act without thought. Manic. Uncontrollable. Messy. Any previously agreed upon directive gets shoved aside for a new one: killing as many opposition and onlookers as possible. What should’ve been three easy–enough thefts have all ended as bloodbaths, all triggered by him. 

You don’t know why you’ve continuously chosen to work with him. The two of you make an odd pair, though working together has made your checking account swell to numbers you’d once only dreamed about. Lester—a well–networked recluse of a man who plays matchmaker for the criminals of Southern San Andreas—had even warned you about working with Trevor. “A meth–fueled series of bad decisions that has only grown more unstable in light of recent events,” Lester had said about him. You’d only scoffed and said you think you could handle it. But with each completed job, Lester was only proven more correct. 

You keep your eyes on Trevor as he pulls the getaway car off the highway. He still has that scowl plastered over his rugged face. He’d been ominously silent the entire drive, something that has mildly shocked, and, for some reason, disappointed you. Any attempts at conversation with him tend to spiral into arguments. You almost enjoyed these shouting matches, though. They gave you a chance to launch all your normally–restrained criticisms at him. 

Your last job had ended in one of these spats. The two of you had stuck up a designerwear shop in Vinewood. The spoils were supposed to get split evenly between the two of you, with ten percent set aside for Lester, who’d set the whole thing up. But when Trevor had asked how much jewelry you’d been able to stuff into your duffle bag, you’d lied to him. Not just because you needed the extra income, but also to get back at him for turning the head of the shop’s security guard into a red paste after you’d begged him to make this job a clean one. 

Trevor, of course, hadn’t believed you. After a struggle, he’d managed to wrench your dufflebag away from you and the heap of jewels that tumbled out of it as he did made him start screaming that you were a lying snake. As you collected your haul from the concrete and stuffed it back away, you’d snapped back that you may be, but at least you knew how to use a shower. 

You now notice, as he parks the car in the casino’s crowded parking lot, that he seems to have taken this insult very personally because he isn’t radiating his usual reek tonight. Just the smells of smoked meth and tobacco. You briefly wonder, against your better judgement, if this means anything.

“In. Out. Easy and quiet,” you tell him evenly as he puts his hand on the car door. He flashes you a glare. “I am so fucking serious about it this time, T. I don’t wanna be shooting my way through a swarm of cops by the end of this. Got it?”

“Whatever you fucking say, princess.”

And with that, you both step out into the night.

Your heartrate ticks up a notch with each step you take towards the glow of the casino. Your body tenses, muscles thrumming with growing adrenaline, your strides wide and confident as you keep up with Trevor. 

The casino’s entrance is buzzing with flocks of folks dressed to the nines. It’s so busy that nobody immediately notices the two conspicuous figures with black ski masks pulled over their faces and AR–shaped bulges under their suit jackets that have slipped into the crowd. Until, in the middle of the lobby, Trevor shouts for everyone to get on the ground because this is a fucking robbery.

The crowd erupts into screams, but obliges. You deftly pick your way over tuxedoed men and women in cocktail dresses shakily lowering themselves to the tiles, pulling out your gun as you make your way towards your target: the cashier’s cage. The beat of your heart has turned to the muffled rapport of a war drum, ricocheted back into you by the ski mask over your ears.

The woman behind the counter screams the second you point your rifle at her. You shout at her to fill your bag as you toss it towards her, and though she’s frozen in fear for a few seconds, she eventually rattles open her register and begins to fumble wads of bills out. 

You mutter under your breath for her to hurry up. As she works, you cast nervous glances back to make sure Trevor has the crowd controlled. He’s still doing what he does best: scaring people. Everybody is still on the floor. He towers over them, jabbing his rifle in the directions of any particularly squirmy patrons. The screaming has stopped, simmered down to frightened whimpering and whispering. You imagine the poor janitor’s going to be mopping up a dozen puddles of piss off the quartz tiles later. You turn back to the cashier and tell her, louder now, to hurry the fuck up.

Your adrenaline reaches a buzzing peak as you watch her cram your backpack with cash. A couple dozen grands’ worth, easy. You begin to shift on your feet. Fidget with your rifle. 

“Th–There!” she finally cries, pushing the stuffed backpack across the counter towards you. “That–That’s all of it, I swear!”

You grab your loot without a word and whirl around on your heels. 

And in that moment, it all goes to hell in a handbasket. 

While you were babysitting the cashier, somebody did something to piss Trevor off.

“I told you to stay fucking down!” he screams at a man by his feet, pressing his rifle’s muzzle to the top of the man’s head hard enough to force him to lay flat. You trip over somebody’s leg as you hurry over, and as you catch your balance, a security guard seemingly materializes out of thin air behind Trevor.

Gunfire. Muzzleflash glinting against the lobby’s chandelier. A chorus of shrieking explodes through the room. Your instinct kicks in; screams at you to get out, now. But with the security guard already dead, Trevor has turned his attention to randomly shooting into the crowd, and now people are getting up and running, tripping over each other, turning into a stampede that smells of expensive colognes and perfumes and jostles you as you try to pull yourself to the front doors. 

You reach the glass; see the valet outside running for cover. Your hand presses against the door, but before you can push it open, you stop. Turn around. Trevor is still engrossed in his massacre.

Muttering curses to yourself, you sprint back to him and tug at the back of his jacket. He doesn’t budge an inch; keeps unloading his rifle into the crowd that has now turned into a pulsating wall trying to squeeze itself into the hall leading to the table games room.

“T! Let’s go!” you scream. 

What comes next, comes in a blur of red. A siren begins to whoop above the screaming. Someone's triggered the casino's alarm. You pull as hard as you can, the soles of your shoes squeaking over tile, and Trevor finally relents.

As you both sprint out of the casino, you glance at him. The splatters of red covering the white dress shirt under his jacket disgust you.

“What the fuck was that?!” you cry the second you're both seated in the getaway car.

“That was me ensuring we got outta there," Trevor growls as he throws it out of park and hits the gas. 

As he drives across the highway and veers onto a side road running through a neighborhood that edges Northeast Los Santos, you try to quell the growing anger in your chest. But then you see flashes of red and blue in the rearview mirror, shooting down the road towards the casino, and you can't hold it back any longer.

“No, no, that was you turning what was supposed to be a fucking robbery into a mass shooting!” Your hand shoots up to grab the panic bar above the passenger window as Trevor swerves the car onto a dirt road. Rocky hills loom up in front of the car's headlights. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“What was I supposed to do?! Let that guard taze me?!”

You hang on tighter as he takes a turn too fast and nearly drifts right into a boulder. He rights the car, and the hulking concrete mass of the Land Act Dam appears ahead. 

“You–You didn’t have to fucking kill him!" you shoot back as Trevor speeds across the dam's service road. "You didn’t have to then kill—what—a dozen more fucking bystanders! Is killing people your answer to every fucking issue in life? If they give you the wrong order at Burger Shot do you storm the kitchen and slaughter the fry cooks?!” 

“Listen, sweetcheeks,” he starts, and you try to yell at him to not fucking call you that but he just continues on, growing louder and talking faster. The car jolts as he leads it down onto a dirt service road leading to the river that feeds the dam. “I’ve been in this game longer than you have. I know how to do this shit; I know how this shit works. If we did everything your way, we’d both be sipping toilet hooch and selling our bodies for cigarettes in Bolingbroke by now!”

“You’re fucking insane!” 

With an incoherent roar, he suddenly pulls off the dirt road. The second the car comes to a skidding stop, he gets out. You throw the car door open and follow him as he stomps his way towards the shore of the river he’s parked by.

“Where are you going?” you shout. “Get back here! I’m not done talking to you!”

He spins on his heels and jabs a finger in your direction, pushing up into your personal space. You flinch back, mirroring his glare. 

"Stop fucking looking at me like that!" he roars.

"Like what?! Like you're a goddamn maniac who's incapable of making a single rational decision?”

"Like–Like him! You keep giving me that same fucking look that he used to give me!” he screams. “You are so goddamned lucky I haven’t wiped it off your smug little face yet!”

“Go ahead! I’d like to see you try!” you shout back.

And for a moment, it looks he’s going to.

But he manages, somehow, to restrain himself and he backs away from you, dropping his chin to his chest so he can glower at you from under his heavy brow. 

He’s waiting. He’s looking at you like you’re supposed to say something more; like he’s just waiting for one more insult or question to goad him into turning things physical. But you’re caught up on something he’s said, and your next words come out far calmer.

“Who…” You shake your head, trying to clear that nagging voice inside it telling you not to ask your next question. It stubbornly remains. You huff. “Who’s ‘him’?”

“Michael. His name was Michael,” he says, and you can tell by the way his scarred lips pull back into a snarl when he says it that getting the name out pains him. 

“Was?” You feel your face soften along with your voice. “Did he… Pass?”

“He was murdered!” Trevor snaps, his hands curling into fists. “He–He was a two–faced liar. A backstabber! But he–he didn’t deserve to get fucking done in by an even bigger backstabber!” He’s pacing now, hands shaking, teeth bared. “His head—caved in. Brains just, splattered all over the concrete! He was—He was my best friend! And he’s fucking haunting me!”

Something inside your chest shifts at this diatribe. For a moment, there’s no sound but water lapping at the shore and Trevor’s boots crunching across the gravel. In the silence you find a realization that makes pity knot through your stomach. 

“Listen, T,” you eventually murmur. He makes no sign that he’s heard you, continuing to walk tight circles, inconsolable. “Maybe we shouldn’t work together anymore.”

He stops, his back to you, his whole frame suddenly straight as if a line attached to the top of his spine has been pulled taut. Moonlight accents the twitch of muscle inside his forearms as he tries to restrain himself. 

“Why?” he asks the river in front of him.

“Because it—” You grimace and cross your arms over your chest. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it just sounds like I just remind you of your dead friend. And that… Doesn’t seem to be doing you any favors.” 

He hangs his head. 

“I fucking hate you,” he mumbles. “You lie. You act like you’re fucking better than me. But I don’t want this to end.”

The knot of pity in your guts grows. It urges you to take a step closer to him. 

“You sure?” you ask quietly. 

He turns around, and the tears welled up in his eyes and the angry pout pulling his mouth simultaneously up and down shock you more than any of his random, violent outbursts ever have. He looks ready to either reach out and throttle you or squeeze you in a back–breaking hug. He looks almost childlike. He looks broken, and unable to hide it anymore.

“Don’t—” He sniffles; rubs a sleeve over his face. “Don’t fucking leave me.”

Something tells you to turn the other way and run. To leave this mess of a man; to turn to bigger and better things. But another something inside of you screams louder, with such clarity that you have no choice but to listen to it. 

“Okay. Fine,” you sigh. You limply shrug. “I mean, yeah, I kinda hate you too. Every fucking job we do together has been a total shitshow. But we have made good money together. So… I don’t know. Maybe—”

Your voice cuts off as Trevor suddenly closes the space between the two of you and wraps his arms around you. 

You tense up. He clutches at your back and buries his face in the crook of his neck, suddenly sobbing hard enough to make himself hiccup, shakily rocking you back and forth. Against your better judgement, you raise your hands and awkwardly hug him back. His tears are hot on your skin. He begins to repeat something in a high, whimpery voice; it takes you a moment to realize he’s repeating “Don’t leave me,” over and over, each repetition more desperate. Your pity swells into something all–encompassing. 

As you hold onto each other in the moonlight, you softly tell him you won’t.

And when he moves his grip to your face and presses his mouth to yours, you kiss him back. 

#lookit me using actual proper grammar for a request whaaaaat !!! #requests #trevor philips #trevor philips/reader #trevor philips/you #trevor philipsxreader #gtav #gta v #gtav fanfiction