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yandereunsolved · 2 months

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tw: yandere themes, murder, gore, & a bit of spice

yandere James Patrick March who saw you walking through his hotel halls and had to have you all for himself.

yandere James Patrick March who threatens every entity in his hotel. If anyone so much as touches a hair on your head, they'll end up with a second death at the hands of a suave psychotic mass murderer.

yandere James Patrick March who leaves parts of dead bodies at your door as a present— like how a cat gives their owner a mouse as a sign of affection.

yandere James Patrick March who writes the most intimate and goery love letters to you. He signs off his initials 'JPM' with the blood of his victims. The longer he does it, the more likely it is that he's signed it with his own blood.

yandere James Patrick March who doesn't let you leave, even if you don't realize why. Oh, you are in the city for only a night? Suddenly, everyone you love and care about is sending you text messages about how they don't need how— how you should stay there. You can't pay? The mysterious owner of the hotel has waved all the fees. Your stay is free as long as you are here. Need a job?The hotel has a position has a maid. It's so easy. You barely have any rooms to clean. Are you scared of the hotel? Every ghost (and the handful of living people) are incredibly nice to you. They treat you like a god(dess).

yandere James Patrick March who watches you from the shadows. Whether you be searching for the ice machine or just exploring. He's always there. His eyes analyzing you like a predator who found their favorite prey. He's memorized every curve of your body and every preference of yours.

yandere James Patrick March who protects you while you explore. He's possessive. He's gotta make sure the Countess doesn't get her hands on you. He's gotta make sure that no ghost touches you. He's gotta make sure. Just incase.

yandere James Patrick March who refuses to reveal himself to you as of yet. He adores watching those cogs in your mind turn.

yandere James Patrick March who is obsessed with watching your complex range of emotions. Happiness. Sadness. Anger. Fear. Love. Lust. Adoration. Obsession. Need. Carnal need. All those precious, precious feelings. He needs to see all of those emotions on your delectable little features.

yandere James Patrick March who buys his darling the most expensive delicacies the world can offer. He places them right in front of you when you aren't looking. They always have bloody utensils with them. Just to remind you who it is that you belong to. What he is able to do to anyone that crosses the either of you.

yandere James Patrick March who always kills his victims in your vicinity. When you are sleeping he kills one of them in the next room. It makes his blood pump— thinking about that fearful expression you must be making. That small quiver on your addictive lips that he has not yet had the pleasure to taste. How tempting you must look in your night clothes. Of course, he's a gentleman. He makes sure that you get enough sleep beforehand. He doesn't want his precious jewel having sleep deprivation.

yandere James Patrick March who reveals himself to you right after a fresh kill. Blood is dripping down his bare chest, his pants are slightly unbuttoned, and his boxers are hugging his v-line. He flashes you his award winning smile. He gets down on one knee and presents you with the heart of his latest victim.

yandere James Patrick March who allows himself to indulge in your horrified shrieks. Who wants nothing more than to take you right then and there. Who wants to see the blood all over both of your bodies. Who wants to leaves long lasting marks that will scar you physically and mentally.

yandere James Patrick March who confesses this undying love to you in that very moment. He wants nothing more than to have you in his grasp— hugging, kissing, cuddling, choking, cutting, killing... and everything else in-between.

yandere James Patrick March who will never force himself upon you. He will preach his undying love and manipulate you, but never soil you with unwanted touches. Perhaps a few cuts, though. He sees those things as vastly different.

yandere James Patrick March who left you quickly as he came. He placed the heart on your bed and was gone in the blink of an eye.

yandere James Patrick March who periodically visits you from then on. Sometimes he gifts you things and others he does his best to spark up conversations.

yandere James Patrick March who will gladly threaten you with a weapon to get you to talk to him. He would actually be over the moon. Your fear is intoxicating to him. It makes him all giddy inside. He feels alive.

yandere James Patrick March who always gets that high from you. That special feeling he so zealously covets. That thing that trumps that special high he gets when killing. He's addicted. Addicted to you and your very presence.

yandere James Patrick March who will invite you to private dinners. Who will wear his finest clothing. Then he addresses your concerns and fully tells you everything. He tells you of how he has courted you and of how he confessed his love. He speaks with hearts in his eyes. If you disagree or break his trance... your inevitable death will come much sooner than expected.

yandere James Patrick March who then demands you cut off contact with anyone who presents as male. He doesn't want anyone having a chance with you. He's almost like a toddler in that way. A murderous toddler with a mustache.

yandere James Patrick March who is a dangerous man who lusts after power. A man that has only one weakness— you being able to step out of the hotel. This is only a momentary weakness. Another step in his plan. Do not play the 'I can leave and you can't' card too many times. Lest it fall from your hand and James picks it up.

yandere James Patrick March who immediately moves you into his, now your..., private suite.

yandere James Patrick March who leaves different pieces of clothing he'd like to see you in on your shared bed.

yandere James Patrick March who asks you how he should kill his next victim.

yandere James Patrick March who is ready to make you his eternal bride/groom/partner.

yandere James Patrick March who always makes sure not to scare you too much. His version of too much, mind you. At least until he's trapped you in here for all eternity with him. There's no need for him to rush things. He has all the time in the world.

#american horror story #james patrick march #yandere james patrick march #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #ahs hotel #jpm x reader #jpm #horror romance #james patrick march x reader #yandere james patrick march x reader #headcanon #yandere themes

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grogusmum · 4 months

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Hey Lovely Hazel! 🖤

Happy Saturday evening to you and sending lots of love your way!

I'm here to challenge you with Pedro Boy ficlet, let's see now... let's go for Dieter!

He's excited!

Love you! 🖤

Thank you my darling Jett! I hope you are having a good Saturday! 💚

Okay, this is connected to another lil 300-word doodad I wrote soon after The Bubble came out.

I got carried away, I had some of this worked out before, so a 300-500 word thing turned into 1300 oops!

Dieter was excited. He was trying to keep his cool, but it had been weeks since he had seen his sweet pea! But this time, he notices someone else... you.

🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐

“I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

Anika looks up expectantly.

“Do you have the number for the therapy animal people?”

In his suite, Dieter looks around at the mess, turning a circle at the center of the room. The paint, the drugs, wine and liquor bottles, his clothes, KitKat wrappers. The only area clean is the space set aside for his fitness mirror, which he looks at sheepishly, then throws a towel over it.

Pressing his lips together as he makes his decision, he gets to work. He cleans up the most offending messes, then calls housekeeping for new sheets and towels, and a bathroom clean up and vacuuming, before heading back to the lobby to meet with the goat lady.

Dieter had called right away, and asked about Skipper, and if he could book another session with him. The woman he spoke with was very kind. She was the main trainer and creator of the therapy program, she explained it ran out of a larger farm owned by her family. She wished aloud that he could come to the farm, he would get an earlier slot… Dieter told her he would happily pay any fee for expediting his session. She relented, telling him she remembered how he connected with Skipper and she thought he could miss the next group and go to visit Dieter. She would bring him herself.

You drive your jeep since it's just one small animal, Skipper bleats quietly back in his crate. Thinking back to the day at the hotel, Dieter's reaction to the baby goat was not entirely unusual, especially these days. But you felt for him, it seemed like he was releasing a lot. So you weren't surprised to get his call. He had offered an exorbitant amount of money, but you told him you'd gladly accept an additional fee, but that his offer was far too much. You thought, sure it's a business and it has to keep making money but it is for helping people. And he seemed to need it.

Before you know it you are on the grounds, at the gate you show your credentials, get the Covid rapid test, and the safety protocols spiel. You park, pull a large duffle out of the backseat, and put Skipper on a leash. You let him relieve himself, then put a water bowl down so he can have a drink before getting to work.

You look up at the front doors and you see Dieter watching, his body language tells you he is excited but trying to be patient.

Skipper finishes his water break and you start up the gravel drive toward him.

Dieter has been practicing his spiel to convince you to sell Skipper to him. He doesn't know if he's going to pull the trigger on it, but he wants to be ready.

You put on your mask and approached the actor.

"Mr Bravo, nice to see you again."

"Hey, uh, hi," Dieter says looking a little needy.

You don't usually do this, but since its one on one, you hand him the leash.

Dieter lights up like a Christmas tree, so different from the first time. He starts talking to Skipper as the three of you walk to the side lawn-

"Hey Sweet Pea! I'm so glad you're back. I've missed you."

He gets ahead of you so you can't quite make out all he says. But it's animated and happy.

Skipper was still determining where he was going but he likes to be with you, so having you on his own was exciting. When he was taken out of the jeep he recognized where he was a little. The smell, the cobblestones. He saw you look toward the big building so he looked to… was that the Fluffy Guy?

It was. Well, he needs all the help he can get from what Skipper could see.

The goat looked from you to Dieter as you passed the leash to him.

Is this wise, mama? he thought.

"...I've missed you."

It's okay, guy. I'm here, what are we doing today?

"I really want to adopt you… but I don't know if the therapy woman will let me."

This is nothing new, pal. Everyone wants to adopt me…

Skipper bleats up at Dieter and Dieter is beside himself. He sits down on the grass and starts to pet Skipper's flank. You soon catch up and sit down with him. When you've both settled, Skipper climbs onto Dieter's lap. The man's eyebrows lift and his mouth is a small "o". Then his eyes get wet. As Dieter tries to pull himself together, you put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going to go over and sit on the patio. Mr. Bravo, you be you, talk to Skip, and if you want to cry, cry. This is what he is here for."

Dieter gives a grateful nod and hugs Skipper, the goat bleats happily.

"Would you want to live with me?" Dieter wonders. "No, why would you… fffu- sorry Sweet Pea, I shouldn't curse. I just, it's only-"

Dieter growls in frustration. Skipper bleats and twists his head to see him.

You watch from the patio, Dieter's body language has changed, so you stand.

“Mr Bravo, is everything alright?”

Dieter lets out a breath, continuing to scratch the kid’s rump.

“I want to buy Swe- ah Skipper. I’ve really never- I don’t know I just- I will pay you anything!”

“Mr Brav-”

“Dieter, please, call me Deiter.”

“Dieter”, you say gently, putting an equally gentle hand on his arm. “I am not going to sell you Skipper, I’m very sorry.”

His crest-fallen face pulled at your heart.

“Okay let's do this-” You open your duffle bag and pull out two yoga mats. “Do you do any yoga, Mist- I mean Dieter?”

Dieter shrugs, his pout makes you smirk, a man who is used to getting what he wants if he throws enough money at it, but he does stand and assume a stance with his legs shoulders width apart. Skipper knows the drill, he did the moment you unfurled the mats- he loves goat yoga!

Soon enough Dieter is giggling as Skipper insinuates himself in all of Dieter's poses. But far from getting in Dieter's way or anything, Skipper finds where he needs to balance, and its not unlike getting a massage at the same time, as Skipper’s hooves dig into knots. But Dieter was starting to be taken by you as well, your quiet praise, and with a completely unnecessary request for permission to touch him, some hands-on adjustments to some of his poses. Soft and warm but also assertive, you touched his hips shoulders, and back with assured purpose.

After some water and downtime, Dieter paints with Skipper in his lap, and finally, you hand him a stiff bristle brush to groom Skipper with.

Yes, fluffy Guy! My favorite!! Now just let me nibble your fluff and we are golden.

Dieter brushes the little goat and you and he chat idly.

Dieter feels fantastic, but sad, as you leash Skipper and hoist your bag over your shoulder. You decline when Dieter offers to take it and hand him the lease. His boyish grin gives you a little jolt of something, you aren't quite sure about. He’s handsome, and you truly enjoyed your time with him today, but you’ve seen the articles - he is a walking Hollywood disaster story… but-

He reluctantly hands you the lease as you come to the jeep.

“Thank you,” his voice is low and quiet, “That was- that was amazing.”

“You and Skip did some great work together.”

“You were great too.”

Why is heat rising in your cheeks? Skipper looks up curiously at you and if goats could smirk, he would.

“Thank you.”

“How much would it cost to convince you to come once a week?”

🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐

thanks for this ask, Jett! It kind of kicked my butt in gear to get this little thing out of my WIPs, for good or bad. lol 💚

#slumber party saturday #dieter and skipper the goat #dieter bravo #dieter x you

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msmargaretmurry · 3 months

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Anon doing ratnovel reread again - it's an absolute pleasure to (re)immerse myself in this world and these characters, and I know I'm not the only one who loves these extra little insights into haw-verse! Rereading it and knowing the general shape of Leon's side (poor guy with his soft little heart that he gave to Matthew and then...) makes it so much more hurty. Which I love. And speaking of (and I promise I won't bombard you with questions for each moment, probably, but I am still immersed in the feels), what is Leon's side of things when Matthew tells him to leave after the kiss?? Obviously he is heartbroken, but does he cry about it, is he very stoic German, does McDavid take on look at him and facepalm because he KNEW Leon was too much of a softie for this...?

Leon is an idiot.

Sitting in the back of the car back to the hotel, that’s all he can think. He is an idiot. He’s so fucking stupid.

He could think about other things. Matthew’s mouth against his, finally. The hot, desperate way he kissed back. That moment, lying together afterward, when Leon thought, stupidly, idiotically, that he was getting what he wanted. But if he thinks about those things, his hands start to shake and his stomach turns and he is not paying the clean-up fee for throwing up in an Uber, so he stays focused.

He’s an idiot.

He needs another shower, and he’s an idiot.

Not an idiot for thinking Matthew was feeling something even remotely similar to what he felt. No, he’s still painfully sure about that. An idiot for thinking Matthew felt enough — cared enough — to get the fuck over whatever the fuck is wrong with him long enough to have one honest moment. To think he'd see Leon putting himself out there and meet him halfway — not even halfway, a third of the way. A quarter of the way would have been enough.

At least it’s a short ride.

The hotel lobby is mostly empty at this hour, which Leon is grateful for as he stalks to the elevator, mashes the unlock on the digital key on his phone until it takes him to his floor. If he ran into a teammate right now— he can’t fathom having a conversation. He’s still burning so hot with humiliation that he can hardly see straight. The real world feels far away. Everything is white noise and his own stubborn heart still thudding in his ears.

He needs a shower. He still has Matthew’s come on him, under his clothes, drying on his stomach, sticking to his shirt. The sensation makes him want to puke, but he’s not doing that in a hotel elevator any more than he’s doing it in an Uber.

He’s such a fucking idiot.

In his room, he goes straight to the bathroom, stripping his clothes off with such determination that he pops a button off his shirt, then another as he yanks it off in frustration. He’ll care later, maybe. More likely he’ll just trash the whole shirt. He does not wait for the water to get hot, and cringes when he steps under the cold spray, but it doesn’t deter him from scrubbing himself clean. And it doesn’t take long to warm up. Faster than the water in Matthew’s shower warms up.

He is not going to cry.

Leon’s not an easy crier. He’s emotional, yeah, and he gets choked up easier than some guys, but it’s pretty rare that actual tears fall. But he’s got this tightness in his chest, this pressure behind his eyes, like there’s a dam inside him that wants to break. He rubs his hands over his face as water pours over him, streaming down his back and shoulders, hot enough now that it’s surely turning his skin red. Better than his skin being red from Matthew’s fingers digging into it. A sob tries to push its way up and out of his throat; he bites hard on the heel of his hand, turning it into a sharp, muffled sound.

And he shouldn’t care, he shouldn’t care about what Matthew is doing right now, but, fuck, Leon hopes he feels like shit. He hopes he’s still sitting there alone on his bed, staring at the t-shirt folded on his dresser, feeling like shit.

He presses his palms to his eyes, his breaths coming too fast and too short.

“Fuck,” he yells, the word swallowed up by the steam.

He’s such a fucking idiot.

If he could, he would stand in the shower until the water ran cold. But this is a hotel, so it’s not going to get cold. So instead he stands there until he can breathe without it catching in his throat. Until the pressure behind his eyes eases just enough that the danger of crying is no longer imminent. Until it hits him how fucking exhausted he is and suddenly all he wants is to lie down.

He shuts off the water, towels off, and goes to collapse onto his bed. He nearly steps on his phone on the way, so he scoops it up to take with him, but he doesn’t look at it yet. If Matthew hasn’t texted, it’ll make him want to throw up. If Matthew has texted, that might also make him want to throw up.

At least his life will be a lot less complicated now, he thinks, and that also makes him want to throw up.

He lays there miserably for who knows how long. He’s been miserable before, after losses, after breakups. The entire time they were getting swept in the conference finals last year while his ankle throbbed so badly he could hardly stand. Could hardly think. He wishes he had some kind of real physical injury right now to explain away how much he hurts inside. He’s been miserable before, but not like this.

He’s so tired, but he can’t sleep. The idea of sleeping feels completely foreign, like it’s something he’s never done before and might never do again.

He swallows his nausea and picks up his phone.

Are u still up, he texts Connor, knowing he won’t be. Connor goes to bed at a reasonable hour unless there’s a very good reason not to. He sits and stares at his phone for a few more minutes anyway, scrolling aimlessly through his texts without looking too closely at the conversation with Matthew. The temptation to tap in and backread is there, but he’s not masochistic enough for that. Masochistic enough to get himself into this mess, but not masochistic enough for that. If Matthew texted him right now, maybe. Maybe he’d open the conversation then. Who is he kidding — if Matthew texted right now with an apology, he’d take it. He’d forgive him so fucking fast. But it would have to be tonight. Maybe tomorrow. But only if it’s a real apology. Only if it acknowledges, even a little, that they were doing something real. If Matthew can’t do that, then there’s no point to any of this.

Leon squeezes his eyes closed. He’s not going to fucking cry. He squeezes his phone, willing a text to come through. Nothing.

He can’t fucking do this. He can’t lay here all night thinking about it. He’ll drive himself crazy.

It only takes a moment to find sweatpants, a t-shirt, slides — the bare minimum for leaving the hotel room. He stalks down the hallway and raps on Connor’s door. Hopefully it wakes him up the first time. Leon will keep knocking if he needs to, but he doesn’t want anyone else to hear and come ask him what he’s doing.

There is a long, excruciating minute before the door opens just enough for Connor, tousled and grumpy, to squint into the hallway at him.

“Leo?” he says. “What are you— what’s wrong?”

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Leon asks.

Maybe it’s the way his voice cracks, or maybe there’s something in the look on his face, but Connor’s brow creases and the sleepiness seems to dissipate.

“Yeah, come in,” he says, stepping back so Leon can do that. He’s wearing boxers and a t-shirt so old that there’s a big hole in one armpit. The ensemble makes him look strangely teenaged, like the shy, skinny kid Leon met when they first came into the league, and that for some reason makes him feel a little better about showing up pathetically in the middle of the night because some guy broke his heart.

Connor doesn’t turn on any lights, just crawls back into bed and turns the TV on with the remote. Leon follows, settling on top of the covers instead of under them. Clicking through channels, Connor eventually stops on one showing some sort of disaster action movie that Leon doesn’t recognize.

“Good enough,” Connor mutters. His eyes flick over to Leon. “What happened? You look like shit.”

“Feel like shit,” Leon says, trying for deadpan, but a lump rises up in his throat and all of a sudden he feels like crying again.

Connor looks at him for a long moment, the light from the television distorting the shadows on his face. “Weren’t you going to see Chucky tonight?”

“Yeah,” Leon croaks. He squeezes his eyes shut and is embarrassed to feel a hot tear slide down his cheek. Fuck. He scrubs it away, sniffling and sucking in a ragged breath. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Leo,” Connor says softly. “What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Leon’s voice is tight, wobbly at the edges. “I just want to watch a movie.” Onscreen, some sort of storm is wreaking havoc. People are yelling, but the volume is down pretty low.

There’s another long pause.

“Okay,” Connor finally says. Then, hesitantly, “Do you want a hug?”

Leon kind of really fucking does, but he doesn’t want to open his mouth again, because he will definitely make some sort of awful crying sound. But Connor moves anyway, scooting up and over to wrap his arms around Leon’s shoulders. Leon slumps against him and tries to breathe through it, but the dam inside him feels like it’s about to crack down the middle.

Connor squeezes him, his cheek pressed to Leon’s damp hair.

“Just tell me if you want us to hate him now,” he says. “Because if he doesn’t want you, he’s an idiot.”

#ask #ratnovel #hockey for ts #i started to write a normal answer to this and then was like..... actually i think i just want to write this scene for real lol #hope this is a good answer to your question anon <3

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sun-e-chips · 7 months

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My entree for the DCA Halloween writing contest on the DCAH2023 discord server

We were challenging to write under 1,000 words I think mine was exactly 1,000 haha.

——————————————————

It is … a small room.

I can’t really complain, compared to the local hotels and inns this Bed and Breakfast was by far the most reasonable.

The room even reminded me of a 1930’s haunted study. Every inch of the wall had Victorian furniture against it except for the space left empty for the window which overlooked the gravel parking lot.

It felt spooky in a comforting kind of way.

Setting my suitcase on the nightstand so I wouldn’t have to keep stepping over it, I began unpacking my supplies. After I laid out everything in a tired but organized manner I felt very satisfied with my preparedness for the ghost hunting this weekend.

By no means am I a professional, in fact I’m a straight up amateur. But this seasoned gig has turned into a rather fun hobby and excuse to visit some ghostly sites this time of year.

…

That night, I dreamed that there was a tapping against my window, when I got up to look closer at my visitor all I could make out was a faint shadow on the glass.

When I awoke I deduced that it was of course the rain that had passed through earlier this morning as I could still see the fresh droplets clinging against the window.

Nevertheless my night was perfectly ordinary and I had slept well enough.

My day was also fairly ordinary, I got dressed, checked out the local shops, and meandered around town until it came close to sunset. Then It took all of me to not run back to the Bed and Breakfast, where I grabbed my things and caught a trolley that would take me to what is now the resting place of Freddy’s Arcade and Daycare!

I’m coming along with a tour group tonight but tomorrow I made sure that I would get the place all to myself!

Thankfully the owner had no problem opening up the building for another day.

As long as I pay the overnight fee and check in with the watch-woman when I leave I’ll be in nobody's way.

“This rotten place doesn’t see many visitors” he said,

“For legal reasons we have to keep most of the original arcades and animatronics boxed and locked away. That’s why it’s functioning more as a warehouse than a haunted attraction.”

My group was a fairly pleasant one, though we didn’t catch much evidence or experience any anomalies. We had fun nonetheless.

The most memorable of our group, I think her name was Cerys, had experienced a paranormal encounter herself here last fall.

“It was just down that hallway by the storage doors that I felt a tug at my collar that thankfully released when my friends called back to me. Only lasted a second or two but it was undeniable and sent a violent shiver up my spine”

“Do you think the ghost was trying to reach out to you in private?”

“Maybe, but since then I try not to stray too far from the crowd here. If the ghost wishes to have an audience of one I rather not be the lucky volunteer”

I retired that night in hopes that tomorrow’s solo investigation would be more fruitful.

…

Now that I’m standing inside the arcade alone I can see why tourist numbers have dwindled. Without the clutter of games and other mechanical entertainment the rooms feel rather barren and lifeless. I make my way across the hallway to the daycare and don’t give much thought to the one or two ajar doors that centered the gallery.

The daycare also appears relatively bare, all that stands is a rusted play structure that probably doesn’t have long till it too is locked and stored away.

I managed to find a clean spot to sit and begin throwing out some questions into the dark void.

“Is there anyone here who would like to reach out to me”

“…”

“I have a few tools here that can help you to communicate with me, a spirit box, EMF reader, flashlight..”

(creak)

“Oh you can also answer my questions with taps, one tap for yes and two taps for no. would you prefer that”

“…”

“I’ll be staying in here for the night. Is that ok with you?”

(faint shuffling)

“Do you remember who you are?”

(creak)

“Do you like having visitors?”

“…”

“Are you human?”

(creak creak)

“Are you able to leave this place?”

(crea-)

An alarm in the building trips, scares the crap out of me and my visitation is cut short, damn.

I caught the watch-woman on my way out and she confirmed that the building will be closed off to evaluate the cause of the alarm. Great.

To bed it is.

Well that was clearly the wrong decision because something had followed me back.

I awoke with undefinable fear, aware that something was in the room with me.

My strained vision made out a crouched, lanky figure with red eyes, one of which was faintly covered by a fabric that draped over its head.

I felt Infected by my fears and a terror driven paralysis consumed me. I could not bring myself to close my eyes or even blink.

It surveyed me for a minute then averted its attention elsewhere.

Cracking and a patter noise could be heard downstairs.

The animatronic follows with constrained weight behind each step. It passed the door frame unnaturally, shifting its body up and forward when turning the corner as if to make itself look as large and foreboding as possible.

As I hear it walk down the stairway I make out a second pair of steps trailing up. Then heavy rustling. Then silence.

When my frozen terror had passed I made a run for my car.

If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to escape I might have noticed the string of oil along the stairs, the torn off hinges on the front door or the remains of a disemboweled automaton collapsed beside the building.

#this was my first attempt at writing pretty much #definitely lots and lots of room for improvement but I’m happy with my results #glad I had a contest that pushed me to produce something for the fun of it!#if you read this I hope you enjoyed and weren’t too confused #crunch writing #dca fandom #dca writing #dca Halloween #writing #sb daycare attendant #sb moondrop #sb moon #dca scary story #the bed and Breakfast #or the dead and Breakfast if you know what I mean!

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imchoosingnottoexist · 2 years

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Statement of Crane Everton regarding a new guest at the hotel where he works. Statement extracted by phone March 19th, 2021.

Statement Begins

There are weirdos at hotels. It's a well-known fact. I've worked at the Comfort Hotel London for 4 years, and to me, that's 4 years too many. I spent the better part of my teenage years working here, and I've become kind of afraid I'll be here when I die. I hate working a front desk job, I've been screamed at and complained about more times than I care to count, and through all of it, I've had to wear my customer service smile. It makes me sick. But another part of working in hospitality that's almost as bad as being regularly lambasted by strangers is conning well-meaning people out of their money.

Hotels do all sorts of dirty things under your nose. People know about price gouging and hidden fees, but they don't see how the rooms are barely cleaned or how almost every hotel has an insect or rat infestation that they keep under wraps. Mine, in particular, has cockroaches and bedbugs. People also don't know how much of a hotel is held together with glue and duct tape; I hear regularly enough of things falling apart and the customer getting charged for them. All that's not even mentioning how thin the walls are.

Sometimes when I'm made to clean, I hear screaming matches between couples or someone throwing a party that they're definitely going to have to pay damages for later on. It's actually pretty hard not to get invested in some of the stories I hear unfold. There was this one time a woman's boyfriend was very obviously cheating on her, their stay was only a few days long, and their relationship ended when her boyfriend "accidentally" left the door unlocked on a call with his mistress. I know interfering in other people's business sounds bad, but I rarely do it, and when I do, it's for a good reason. I only ever influence situations a bit anyway, so really, it was going to happen one way or another`, I just help speed it along

Besides the crisis couples, there are so many strange people who check-in that it's become kind of routine. Not a week goes by that I don't see people coming to cheat on their partner wearing a trenchcoat and sunglasses. Or the few times a guest tries to buy drugs and their dealer checks in at the front desk, it's even funnier when they say what they're there to do.

But nothing was as strange as what happened last week. A man came in; he was wearing a face mask which I didn't find terribly odd, Covid is still around, and people have to do whatever they have to to keep themselves safe. But he was also wearing sunglasses; His face was almost completely hidden and I doubt he was able to see, but I didn't question it., and instead, I put on my best customer service smile and asked him how I could help him. He moved strangely and stiffly towards me like a marionette being pulled by strings I couldn't see. It was unnerving to watch, and… it made me feel very aware of my tendons and how they pulled when I moved.

The marionette man arrived at the front of my desk and began to speak. I couldn't see his jaw move, but I heard a voice. "Online booking, room 214.". Now, at the time, the hotel had no vacant rooms that were available to the public; in reality, several rooms were kept vacant at all times for staff to… "perform recreational activities" in, but none of those rooms was ever advertised as open. Room 214 was one of the rooms with actual people in it, though, a group of three friends who had come to London to "see the sights," as they put it.

Knowing that there were people in the room, I looked at my computer to see if an online booking had been made and in fact, I had one, a room for one person, last name Saleasa. I was going to tell the man that the room was still occupied, but when I looked at him, I felt like I couldn't tell him no, so instead, I stared at him silently. I tried to form words, but nothing came out. After about a minute of staring, I had given him the room key. I didn't do it on purpose, but I didn't do it by accident either. It's like I didn't do it at all, it was just something that had happened, and my body had made it happen.

When the man received the key, I felt my eyes swell with tears, he stared at me, and just before my face had begun to weep, he turned and did a stilted jaunt to the elevator. Once the man was out of my sight, I felt like I could finally stop myself from crying. It took me several minutes to try to understand what had just happened, and by the time I had come to my senses, I thought that I had to go to that room; I didn't know what that man would do. So I abandoned the front desk and ran upstairs, but by the time I arrived at room 214, I was too late. It seemed the man had already entered. I don't know how long I stood at the door. I couldn't bring myself to actually touch it, but I could hear through it. Oh God, I could hear through it. On the other side, there was a disgusting fleshy cracking sound like a wet carrot being snapped and the pieces slapped together.

So I listened, and then my body began to turn like there was someone behind me with their arms on either side of me, grabbing me and rotating me. Then my legs started moving; I couldn't control it. I walked with the same jerking stiff motions down the stairs and to my desk. It was a terrible feeling, and with every step, I was more and more scared of what my body would do. With each motion of the puppet march, I knew less and less of what was happening; I just knew that I couldn't stop it. After what felt like hours of being controlled, my body arrived back at the front desk.

I couldn't go to the room… not again. Even the thought of standing in front of the door caused me pain. It was an odd pain, like when you stretch a muscle too far and feel like it'll snap, except the pain was throughout my entire body. That day I just tried to forget the marionette man and the snaps behind the door, trying to force them out of my mind. It worked well enough.

For a couple of days, I returned to the regular monotony of my life, cleaning rooms and checking out guests. I even had an encounter with a drunk who was a guest at a different hotel but thought he had a room with us and made enough of a fuss that the police had to escort him out.

Eventually, I decided to just leave it be. Whatever was in that room didn't want me, so I just stayed out of its way and hoped it didn't come to attack. But then the spiders came. 4 days into Mr Saleasa's one-week stay, the hotel became infested with spiders. Spiders had been one thing that the hotel had never had a problem with; I always thought that the cockroaches fought them off, but that was more so for my own sanity.

These spiders were weird. I say that like any of this situation has been expected. But these spiders were strange compared to normal spiders. They were a dark grey colour, larger and thinner than the average spider you see creeping around the corners of these hotels, and they moved with alarming speed. The webs they spun were thick and had weird twisting patterns. The first time I laid eyes on one, I felt like I had to look at it, follow the webbing and find the centre. I didn't stare at one for much longer after that. It wasn't coming for me, not my business, not my problem. I'm not going to get eaten by a spider while doing this terrible job.

The spider's webs always had an abundance of bugs in them, sometimes even bugs that usually didn't even live at the hotel. A few of the webs closer to the ground would have little silver worms in them. No matter how trapped they were, they would still crawl until the spiders came to eat them.

The next day a woman came to me to complain about the spiders; she was in her mid-forties, white, with short curly hair. She said there were spiders in her room and that she was an arachnophobe and was very scared of them. Told me to get rid of them immediately or she would call the manager. So I obliged. I went up to her room with a cup and a broom to swat down whatever spiders had found themselves a nest in the corners. When I entered the room, I began looking around; the webs weren't hard to find. They were in all the places someone would look. There was a thick one next to the kettle, a long intricate one made with sleight small strings above the bed, and even a bush-like one I'm the bathroom, where the toilet met the wall.

I began to take the webs down but couldn't bring myself to kill the spiders. I don't know why. Looking back now, I would've killed them; I don't find spiders particularly cute or endearing or necessary. But at the time, I just couldn't bring myself to do it, so I took each spider into a cup and released them out the window.

When I left the room, the woman was surprisingly grateful and didn't suspect a thing. I didn't see her again after that; after what happened in room 214, I'm hoping she just checked out while I wasn't working. But I'm not sure about that. I couldn't help but notice there were no complaints of any kind of insect. I used to get at least 3 a week, but the week when the spiders came, they all stopped. Like they just couldn't exist in the same place. Of course, I'm not complaining; as much as I don't like spiders, I like getting yelled at about cockroaches even less.

I hadn't seen the thing that had made its home in room 214 since it had made its entrance into the hotel. Despite my curiosity, I couldn't bring myself to check the security cameras to see if there had been any activity. Sometimes my coworkers would talk about weird people on the second floor. Once I heard a door open and shut in the general direction of the room, I always felt like I was being pulled away from knowing anything about what was happening. Every word caused me to walk away, and every weird noise would cause me to start humming. I didn't do those things because I didn't want to not know what was happening; I don't know why I did those things at all. I probably could have resisted the urge if I wanted to, but it felt good to succumb. The sharp bite of fear of what my body was doing was followed by the bliss of not having to worry about what was happening around me. I just had to go through the motions.

I worked the night shift on the 6th day of Mr Saleasa's stay. I began the night having to audit, basically crunching numbers. That's not a job I'm qualified or paid to do, but I still have to do it. I have to check payment details, balance the chequebook, and close accounts for dozens of rooms a night, every night I work. It was about halfway into the massive stack of paperwork I had to do that I heard a door on the second-floor open. I tried to convince myself I didn’t know what door it was, that it could have been anyone going out for a drink or coming to complain to me about their plumbing. But I knew it wasn’t any door; deep in my bones, I knew it was the door to room 214.

When I was done with my audits, I had to start on my laundry list of things to clean, which included sweeping the second floor. I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t want to lose my job either. So reluctantly, I trudged upstairs and grabbed the cleaning cart. The hotel is very dark at night, the only lights being small strings of lights lining the floors and ceiling, so it was difficult to see. When I got to the second floor, I saw the thing I wanted to see the least. The door to the room was open, and so was the emergency exit nearby. Usually, that door would trigger an alarm whenever it’s opened. But it must have been full of webs. I stared at the door in shock; I couldn’t move, no matter how hard I tried. Then someone walked through it. They were hard to see in the dark. It wasn’t the same person that checked into room 214; it was a new person. They were taller than I was and wore a long black coat with many pockets. Their fingers were claw-like and gripped a large cardboard box. The box was labelled in big green letters, “Property of The Magnus Institute, London. Est. 1818”. I had never heard of The Magnus Institute, and just as that thought crossed my mind, the person looked at me. Their eyes were sharp and dug into me when I saw them. They glowed a sick yellow, and their pupils were a deep, void black.

I tried to run, but I was stuck in place until the person entered room 214 and shut the door. I spent the rest of the night cleaning and trying to shake the feeling of violation looking at that person had given me. The door didn’t open again that night, and I swatted down every spider web I saw.

Mr. Saleasa was supposed to have left by the 7th day. I don’t know if I genuinely thought he would or if I was just trying to convince myself that eventually, my life would return to relative normalcy. But none of those things happened. The hotel had been a lot quieter since the spiders came, people complained less, fewer weird people tried to speak to me. There was just a general tension in the atmosphere. I still didn’t kill any of the spiders. I didn’t want to fight the pull against me anymore, so I just tried to act like everything was fine. I didn’t want any part in whatever the hell “The Magnus Institute” did, has done, or was doing, in room 214. But of course, I couldn’t catch a break. Just before my shift that day ended I took a bathroom break. When I came back there was a package on the front desk. It was small and rectangular, wrapped in brown paper, and covered in wisps of cobweb. It had a note written on it in sharpie marker, pretty cursive writing that said. “For being such a helpful host.”. I don’t know why I opened it, but I did.

Inside the package was a cassette tape, I haven’t seen a cassette tape in years. It was labelled “0171802-A”. I don’t own a tape player. I don’t know where I would find a tape player. But I feel the pull to play the tape, to open my gift.

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mwplanet · 1 year

Text

Turmoil Within Hockey Canada

Major changes occurred at Hockey Canada after the organization’s handling of sexual assault accusations was revealed

By Shauri Taylor

Hockey Canada sexual assault allegations released

Photo via CBC

On October 11, 2022, it was announced that Hockey Canada’s board of directors would be stepping down alongside its CEO, Scott Smith. These resignations occurred in the wake of the organization facing heavy scrutiny over its handling of sexual assault allegations, and happened just days after interim chairwoman Andrea Skinner stepped down.

“The Hockey Canada Board of Directors has announced important changes to Hockey Canada’s leadership team,” the statement announcing the departures read. “Effective immediately, it announced the departure of chief executive officer Scott Smith. The entire Board has also agreed to step down to make room for a new slate of directors.”

This event occurred after a story by TSN revealed a settlement Hockey Canada, which fields the country’s national teams and serves as the governing body for amateur hockey, had made regarding a sexual assault lawsuit. In June, the federal government suspended the organization’s funding. Several sponsors, such as Canadian Tire, Bauer, Nike, Scotiabank, and Tim Hortons, have pulled, paused, or reduced their sponsorships. Hockey Canada was also criticized by politicians such as Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, who said that “there needs to be wholesale change” regarding the organization, and Sports Minister Pascale St-Onge, who noted that it is time to “clean the house.”

In May 2022, it was revealed that Hockey Canada settled a lawsuit with a woman who alleged that she was sexually assaulted by eight players, including members of the U20 men’s junior team, in June 2018. The woman claimed she was repeatedly assaulted while intoxicated following a Hockey Canada Foundation gala and golf event in a London, Ontario, hotel room. It was alleged that the woman returned to the hotel room with one player, and the two engaged in sexual acts before he invited seven other players into the room “without the knowledge or consent of the Plaintiff.” It was then stated that the defendants engaged in more sexual acts with her, despite the victim being too intoxicated to give consent. These allegations have not been proven in court.

Earlier in 2022, it was revealed that Hockey Canadahad paid almost $9 million in 21 settlements for sexual assault-related complaints against its players since 1989. Additionally, these settlements were paid for using player registration fees collected from parents, recreational league players, and youth across the country involved in hockey. Hockey Canada had used a reserve called the National Equity Fund to settle the $3.55 million lawsuit filed by the woman who claimed she was sexually assaulted by hockey players in 2018. At federal hearings in July, it was acknowledged that this fund had been used to pay settlements on nine sexual assault claims totalling $7.6 million since 1989. However, this does not include the claim settled this year.

In August, former Supreme Court justice Thomas Cromwell was tasked with completing a full governance review of Hockey Canada after the allegations set out in the sexual assault lawsuit were revealed. Hockey Canada has said it intends to follow the recommendations in this interim report. After Hockey Canada’s leadership stepped down, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau said the decision was “an important step forward.” However, he also noted that there is “an awful lot of work” that needs to be done in order to obtain change.

Polling done by Ipsos, a public opinion research company, exclusively for Global News has shown that 60% of Canadians believe that “the recent revelations reflect a broader problem of sexual harassment, assault, and violence within hockey culture in Canada.” It also showed that women are more likely to see such allegations and issues of sexual assault as pervasive, meaning they apply to other sports too. Lastly, the poll showed that most Canadians believe the blame falls on those holding positions of power such as managers, directors, and coaches. “Whether it’s corporate sponsors or government sponsorship, people don’t feel that Hockey Canada and the amateur hockey industry in this country can continue in the direction that it’s headed without change,” said Darrell Bricker, the CEO of Ipsos public affairs.

While changes are being made to shift the leadership at one of the most influential organizations related to Canada’s national sport, calls for change and transparency must be answered with appropriate action for the sake of regaining the trust of Canadians who enjoy the game.

#shauri taylor #world issues #hockey canada #canada #mary ward planet #mary ward

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joestarwhore · 3 years

Note

NSFW Yandere Josuke (18+) x Female reader

his little darling managed to escape her obsessive and derange boyfriend house while he was gone.

She trys to get help and does but the good samaritan is Jotaro who leads her back to Josuke thinking she was over reacting.

Josuke angry she escape he takes her back home and has idea to keep her safe and home by finally putting a ring on her

Like The Ocean Finds The Shore (NSFW 18+)

Authors Note: 18+ ONLY. if you’re a minor please find another blog, this writings and scripts are not written for your audience. thank you bb!

You didn’t know what made it worse. The tears in your eyes? Or maybe it was the pouring rain in the pitch black night; never the less, you were barely able to make out where you were, much less which direction you were going. The muscles in your body screamed for relief, the gashes angrily stinging against the rain, pushing you to run far, far away from the house that became your personal Hell.

Anywhere was better than being with him.

Your legs burned as you pushed yourself down the hill, gaining as much distance as you could away from Josuke. You couldn’t help to think of the events that led to this; gaining a stand from Keijo, meeting Koichi in odd circumstances, all the tiny little interactions that led to you accidentally tripping over a brick. Right into Josuke’s unmoving backside.

The thunder was incredibly deafening, lighting up the city of Morioh below you. You didn’t know if Josuke had discovered your absence yet, but you knew you had to be far away from him when he did. You knew it was just a matter of time.

Suddenly the grass became concrete, and concrete became asphalt. Relief flooded through you as you realized that you had finally made it into city limits. You looked around for any sign of safety you could take, your sights finally landing on the Grand Morioh Hotel.

‘Oh my god, Jotaro!’ You started sprinting towards the doors, bypassing any on looker or someone saying any comment to you, all you cared about was finding the receptionist and finding Jotaro. You ran down the hall to the Plaza, seeing the nice attendant lady who always seemed to be the one working for the desk. As soon as she saw you approach, her smile went from one of welcome to a grimace of worry. “Oh my word sweetie, are you okay?? Do you need any help??”

You leaned on the desk for a second to catch your breath. “Actually.. yes there is something.. you could do..”, you took a deep breath, “can you tell me what room Jotaro Kujo is in? We’re related & we have a family member in the hospital and it’s imperative that I fill him in on what’s going on.” Not the best lie you’ve ever told but at this point, you couldn’t afford to be precise. The desk attendant nodded with assured hums, “Yes honey of course, give me just one second.”

You breathed in relief. Thank God. Josuke definitely knew by now that you were gone, & would absolutely be searching for you. Finding Jotaro gave you a little hope for safety but even still; Josuke was relentless.

“Okay darlin, 8th floor, 6th suite, it’ll be the one at the very end!!” Relief swept over you as you quickly expressed your thanks, sprinting up the stairs towards your destination. ‘This is utterly insane’ you thought to yourself; you were running from your deranged boyfriend to his nephew that’s a decade older than he is. Your clothes were torn, wet, your skin was bruised and bleeding out, a state of being you weren’t familiar with.

The raw emotion you felt as you reach Jotaro’s door can only be described as a broken hallelujah. You banged on his door as hard as you can, not stopping until Jotaros towering frame swung the door open.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” His stone cold expression seemed to always be unwavering, but at the sight of you his eyes betrayed him. “What the hell happened to you?” You tried to speak, but no words came out, simply emotion ridden gasps between sobs. Jotaro took your arm and led you in, showing you to a seat by the fireplace & brought you a hot mug of coffee. You gave him a grateful look as you took the cup, Jotaro taking the seat in front of you with a first aid kit. “What happened to you?? Is this from an enemy stand user?”

You couldn’t help but give a lifeless giggle. Certainly felt like it, didn’t it?

Jotaro let you sit in silence for a second while he cleaned the wounds gracing your arms & face, carefully watching your facial expression for any sign of emotion, anything to hint at what might be going on. You didn’t even know where to start in explaining it, or even a way to explain how this happened.

Jotaro took your chin in his hand and turned your face towards his. “(Y/N), who did this to you?” The concern in his eyes made you feel the most cared about you’ve been in months. If you could tell anyone, it’d be Jotaro.. right?”

“It.. it’s Josuke.. When we started dating he was so good to me, he was charming & caring, he’d take time out of his day to spend time with me & would make sure i felt his love; but his actions just.. escalated. He was everywhere. He would text me throughout the day about what i was doing, saying certain comments about my outfits or what stores i was in, he ALWAYS knew.” Jotaro listened intently as he wrapped your forearm in gauze, giving you a nod it was okay to keep proceeding with what you were saying. “All of a sudden one day my land lord calls me to let me know that I was being evicted out of nowhere and i had 24 hours to leave. The same day, Josuke signed the deed to his Mom’s house & told me I could live with him. I just thought it was a crazy coincidence, I didn’t think Josuke would actually ever get me evicted. Then i found my land lords phone number in his pocket book. When I asked him about it he pretended like he didn’t know, and when i kept asking he..” The memory of him holding you against the wall, his knee putting pressure onto your slit, made you visibly cringe. The way he touched you.. it was so possessive, so needy, his eyes portraying one visible message. ‘I own you.’

Jotaro closed the first aid kit & put it under the seat he was at, a pack of pills in his hand. Jotaro silently put the two pills in your hand & got you a glass of water. “I’m sorry you’re going through this & I’m sorry you’ve been hurt so badly. The pills are a sleeping pill & a pain relief supplement, take those and you can sleep in my bed. I’ll handle everything in the morning.” You looked at the two white pills in your hand & threw them to the back of your throat, quickly chasing them with the glass of water he gave you. Jotaro gave you a pair of pajama pants and a t shirt, and helped you lay in the bed. “Goodnight, (Y/N). I’ll see you in the morning.”

You don’t remember anything past that.

__________________________________

When you woke in the morning, you were blinded by direct sunlight. You squinted your eyes as tight as you could, noticing that you were being held up my two arms that were walking at a brisk pace. Gently adjusting your eyes to open, you looked up to see Jotaro, a determined glare in his eyes.

“J..Jotaro where are we?” you whispered the best you could manage. Jotaro gave you a glance down before returning his eyes to the path.

“I called Josuke.”, Your heart drops into your stomach. He wouldn’t.. he couldn’t.. “He says you lost your apartment because your anti psychotics put you out of a job, & he had your landlords number to pay your moving out fees for you.”

You shook your head in disbelief, “No, no no no Jotaro that’s a lie, i’m not on anti-psychotics, I don’t have any sort of med like that, he’s fucking lying to you!!”

Jotaro gave you an expectant look. “That’s the other thing Josuke said. You’ve been flushing them down the drain instead of taking them like you’re supposed to. Josuke only wants to take care of you, (Y/N). There’s nothing to fear of him.”

“JOTARO, I HAVE NEVER TAKEN THOSE PILLS IN MY LIFE AND YOU FUCKING KNOW”- You saw a giant purple hand come over your face and cover your mouth, restraining you from saying anymore. “I’m sorry (Y/N), but this is what’s best for you.”

You heard a door in the distance open, and Jotaro looking up and locking eyes with someone. The voice you heard next made your spine freeze, and dread pierce your soul.

“Jotaro!! Thank you SO much for bringing (Y/N) back!!”

No.. Not again..

“Not a problem Josuke, i’d rather have assurance of (Y/N)‘s safety myself then just send her back here on a bus.”

You slowly looked over, finally catching sight of your boyfriend. His tall, muscular form loomed dangerously in the door way of his house, his pompadour reminding you of so many events, so many violations of your body..

God its sick that it was making you wet.

Jotaro set you on your feet in front of josuke, letting Star Platinums hand uncover your mouth.

You couldn’t look at him.

Josukes hand ran through your hair, “(Y/N) is all okay now that she’s here with me.” He put his other hand under your chin, lifting to meet you eye to eye. It was everything you remembered. Lust, anger, relief, and above all else: obsession.

Jotaro and Josuke bid their farewells. Hands on your hips steered you into the living room, Josuke gently closing the door behind you. You could feel his eyes bore into the back of your skull, your mind erratic with anxiety. God, what’s he gonna do??

“Y’know, you didnt have to run away. You didn’t have to leave me. You didn’t have to be SO FUCKING UNGRATEFUL.” Josuke threw a chair at the wall in front of you, the force of it making you fall backwards onto your back. You gasped as your back collided with the floor, seeing Josukes towering frame turning towards you. He kneels down straddling you, the obsession of his eyes terrifying as he wrapped his long fingers around your throat. Adrenaline went straight between your legs.

“I do everything for you, (Y/N). I house you. I feed you. I FUCKING TAKE CARE OF YOU.” Josuke ripped apart your shirt, shoving his knee on your hot slit, making you gasp in surprise. Josukes delicate features possess a hunger that you remember all too well. “I also make you feel good don’t i??” He removed one of his hands from your throat to attack your nipple with, making you arch your back & moan. Josuke bit his lip in ecstasy as he shoved his middle finger down your slit, swirling it around in your hot heat. Josukes mouth rested against your temple as you gasped in pleasure, sickly wanting him to just take you then & there.

Josuke slowed down his finger, gently massaging your clit at a comfortable pace. “I’m sorry if it was because you felt unloved. If that’s the case, I really promise to be better. Because you can’t leave me, (Y/N). You’re mine, my little princess, my sweet baby girl,” His fingers started to assault you again. You heard a zipper get tugged town, and Josukes hips sweetly grind against yours. “My little fucking slut.”

You started to panic as you felt the tip of his rock hard cock press against your heat, your adrenaline skyrocketing. He’s delirious. “JoJo honey please, d-dont make me do this i’m so fucking sc-“

Josukes hand slapped your cheek, making you yelp in pain, quickly resulting in your moth being covered once again. “No, you don’t get a say. You were a bad girl, baby. And bad girls-“

Your scream was strained as he bottomed out his 8 inch cock inside you. “-they get punished.”

Josuke rammed inside of you, yourself being pummeled into the floor as he chanted “Mine, mine, mine, -FUCK-, MINE!!” His dick assaults your G-Spot as you felt an orgasm start to build in your stomach.

“Are you gonna cum baby? Does my little fuckinf slut want to cum??” Josuke slapped your clit. “TELL ME WHO OWNS YOU.”

Pleasure overruled the mine on this one. “It’s you baby! It’s always been you and it always will, I promise I’ll never leave you again just-“ you squealed as you felt your build up about to break. “PLEASE LET ME CUM JOSUKE PLEASE!!”

“Uggh FUCK, cum on my fucking cock (Y/N) show me who OWNS you.” Josukes duet of lust and rage amplified as you exploded all over him, your moans and screams sounding like siren calls to himself. Josuke rutted into you, filling you to the brim with himself. He laid himself by you, wrapping his arms around your overstimulated frame. You laid there for a couple of minutes trying to catch your breath, your heart rate soaring. You could hear Josukes soft giggles beside you as you felt a hand caress your cheek. You looked him into his eyes, seeing the unconditional love and obsession. The never ending love and obsession.

Josuke sweetly kisses your cheek, holding you in his arms as he gently picks up your left hand. You felt a cold circle of metal grace your ring finger, slipping on perfectly. Fear gripped your heart as you realized what it was.

“My pretty baby.. my gorgeous doll,” Josuke rolled ontop of you and held your face in his hands. “This will make sure we’re always together. You & me, husband and wife!! My perfect, beautiful, fuckable wife..”

Tears started to slide down your face.

So, this was defeat.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will you be my wife?”

You looked at the alabaster ceiling. This wasn’t possible for you. This couldn’t be happening. But you knew it was.

“Yes.. Josuke. I’ll marry you.”

Josuke gleamed as he smothered you with kisses and sweet nothings, giving you gentle touches as his lips grazed over your ears to say the only thing that comes out of his mouth: poison.

“I’ll always find you, baby doll.”

“Like the ocean meets the shore- I will always find you.”

——————————-

I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT & KEEP REQUESTING ALL YALL WANT!! TYSM!! 🤍🌿✨🌸👄🍌🌩

#jojos bizzare adventure yandere #yandere josuke #n/s/f/w jjba #yandere jjba #yandere risotto #yandere rohan #ghiaccio x reader #vento aureo #la squadra #jjba imagines

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rosemochi · 3 years

Note

16. Daybreak.

"How much for a room?"

The innkeeper stares. Zack stares back. He knows he's getting blood all over the floor, but it's not as if he can help it, and if the man declines to help him, then the puddle will just get larger. Finally, the innkeeper sighs, and Zack's shoulders sag in relief. "Hundred gil. Only got single beds, though."

He limps towards the desk. It takes a great deal of effort to grab his wallet, considering Cloud is still slung over his back. "That's fine." After a pause, he says, "Sorry about the mess. I'll clean—"

"Don't worry about it." The innkeeper hands him a key. "Room charge includes a cleanin' fee."

Their accommodations are filthy, but it's still better than the lab. Zack sets Cloud down on the bed, strips him of his wet clothes, and covers him with as many blankets as he can find. He still looks uncomfortable — because anybody would've been uncomfortable on such a thin mattress — so Zack takes his own pillow and shoves it underneath Cloud's head, leaving his own side bare. Finally, he collapses into a nearby armchair and watches Cloud with half-lidded, heavy eyes. "What are we gonna do?"

Cloud doesn't answer, of course. The only noise that greets Zack is the sound of the slums outside the window; the bustling crowds, loud, inhospitable, naturally wary of broad-shouldered men in sleeveless turtlenecks. It was a miracle that he'd even managed to find this inn, considering most people in Sector 7 avoided him like the plague. "We'll figure it out." Zack's voice is light, airy, confident; the opposite of what he feels inside. "It'll be fine."

---

It's not fine.

The next day dawns. Zack counts out his remaining gil. There's only enough for a week's worth of food, and that's if he stretches it. Going to the hospital isn't an option, and it's far too late to take a potion, so he eventually resorts to digging out the bullets in his torso with a pocket knife. They make a strange kind of music as they hit the bathroom sink, clinking against the porcelain, accompanied by the steady drip, drip, drip of Zack's blood. Cloud sleeps through Zack's grunts of pain, which he's grateful for — he doesn't want Cloud to see him like this.

As Zack bandages his wounds, he thinks back to the encounter that gave him all of these injuries to begin with. He's pretty sure Cloud didn't get hit by anything, but it's not as if he's conscious enough to say otherwise.

"Sorry, buddy," Zack says. "Gotta do this."

He lifts the blankets up. Cloud's torso looks fine — other than the keloid scar in the center of his chest, stark against his pale skin, and the frightening way his ribs stick out from his body, made thin by five years of stillness and artificial nutrition. Zack doesn't look for very long, because it feels weird; he's oddly flustered by the time he finishes his pseudo-examination.

Once he's finished, Zack goes to sit on the side of the bed and misses it entirely. He slowly sinks to the threadbare carpet, his shirt catching on the rough comforter as he goes down. His head is pounding, as if somebody's hammering on the insides of his brain with a hammer. "Good," he murmurs, relieved. "Just me, then."

---

Zack wakes, his head still aching, and hastily dresses in the only outfit he has. He wants to run his errands before the slums awaken, but Sector 7 is full of early birds... that are naturally wary of Shinra-issued super-soldiers. Zack arrives at a grocery store, dressed in his infamous uniform (sans pauldrons, though it doesn't help much), beelines for the produce, and promptly gets spat at over a bushel of carrots.

"I'm an ex-SOLD—" Zack sighs. The old Wutain woman walks away, muttering curses under her breath. "Nevermind."

He heads to a nearby clothing store and spends far too much money (five gil) on a new set of clothes. The turtleneck, belt, and pants find their way into a nearby dumpster. Now incognito, Zack quickly buys some necessities — food, water, more bandages, a bar of soap — and races back to the hotel room, eager to check on Cloud.

"I'm home," he announces. Cloud doesn't respond. Zack sits on the side of the bed and rifles through the grocery bags, emerging with a container of fruit. "I bought blueberries." He hastily covers his mouth with his other hand as he coughs, his chest burning from the exertion of running up the stairs. "Your—" Another cough. "Your favourite."

---

Could he be a mercenary? He doesn't see why not, really, other than the fact that somebody might recognize him (when he's supposed to be dead). Could leveraging his ex-SOLDIER status help drum up more business? Is it worth the risk? He'll figure it out in the morning, he decides. Zack lies his throbbing head down on the mattress and falls asleep, dreaming of the painkillers he'll buy with his mercenary money.

The fourth day comes. Zack opens his eyes and hisses in pain; the sunlight feels like it's burning a hole through his skull. He flips onto his stomach, seeking darkness, and hears an unfamiliar groan.

It takes him a moment to recognize the sound.

Zack leaps out of bed and immediately sways on his feet. Something is wrong, terribly wrong, but he can't let whatever it is stop him — Cloud needs him. He grabs a bottle of water, brings it to Cloud, and holds his head up so he can drink it.

As soon as the bottle's empty, Cloud asks, "Where are we?"

"Sector 7," Zack says. "The slums."

Cloud's eyes roam up and down Zack's bare torso, pausing at the blood-stained bandages. "I remember the cliff," he croaks. "I thought I dreamed it."

Zack lays back down on the hard mattress. He laughs, but there's no humor in the sound. "I wish."

The mattress squeaks as Cloud turns to face him. Zack carefully looks at him, emaniciated but animated, taking in all of the features — sunken eyes, sharp cheekbones, dry lips — that display his illness, equivalent to Zack's own sorry state. Still, there's something about the sight of Cloud that Zack finds strangely wonderful, something that makes his heart race — a feeling made stronger by the fact that it's him, awake, present, right beside him.

"We're alive," Cloud whispers in wonder.

"Yeah." Zack smiles. "We're alive."

---

Though Zack might not stay that way for long.

Day five. The morning sun burns his eyes like acid. Whatever's been plaguing Zack has grown infinitely worse, and he suspects it has something to do with one of his bullet wounds — whatever's making his bandages stain yellow rather than red. Or perhaps it's because he sat in soaked clothes for hours upon hours as he hauled Cloud to Midgar, frozen to the bone in the frigid December weather.

Or perhaps it's both.

The reason doesn't matter, really, because that's not the point. Isn't he supposed to be immune to these sorts of things? What on earth was the point of his augmentations if he still gets things like colds and infections?

Zack ventures back outside in search of medicine, for things he hasn't taken since he was a child in Gongaga, fighting against strep throat and bronchitis. He heads to the nearest pharmacy, because he still can't afford a doctor. Unfortunately, he finds out he can't afford basic remedies either.

"You got wounded?" The pharmacist says, eyes wide. "How long ago?"

"Five days."

"Way too late for a potion," he murmurs. He looks Zack up and down, then rifles underneath the counter. "I'm not supposed to sell these without a prescription, but..." He rings up the antibiotics. "Two hundred gil."

Zack grimaces. "I have fifty."

The pharmacist directs Zack to the veterinarian next door: somebody who sells drugs under the table for cheap. Zack pays ten gil for a bottle of canine antibiotics (which is still too much, but he can't take care of Cloud if he's dead himself) and stumbles back outside. His head swims as he wobbles down the street, knocking shoulders with Sector 7's many residents. He hits one woman particularly hard. "Sorry," he slurs.

The black-haired woman whirls around to face him. She gasps. "Wait—"

"Sorry."

The woman says something else, but Zack rushes forward, eager to get back to Cloud. He makes it back to the inn (though he's not quite sure how), tears his way back into the room, and promptly rushes for the toilet. The bile tears through his esophagus as it comes up, leaving his throat raw and scorched in its wake.

Something crashes in the bedroom. Zack looks over the rim and sees Cloud crawling towards him, a blanket tangled around his legs. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing," Zack insists, though he's sure he's not doing a very convincing job of it. He flushes the bile away. "Got meds."

Cloud hunts around for the bag that Zack dropped on the floor. Exhausted, he leans back on the bathroom cupboard, rips the bag open, and inspects the bottle. "This says 'for Fido'."

"He said something about 'equivalent doses'," Zack groans. "No idea what that means."

Somehow, he musters up the energy to pull himself up to the sink so he can brush his teeth. Cloud crawls up with him, using the counter as leverage. The image in the mirror is a frightening sight; Zack can barely recognize himself. Cloud reaches up and pulls a sweat-soaked strand of hair from Zack's temple. "When was the last time either of us showered?"

Zack grimaces as he thinks back. "Five years ago?"

It's a good thing they decide to shower together, because they end up having to hold each other up. Cloud doesn't have the dexterity to unbutton his own pants, so Zack does it for him; Zack doesn't have the strength to lift his arms above his head, so Cloud hooks his arms underneath Zack's shirt and pulls. They take turns scrubbing each other clean, trying to make up for each other's deficiencies. Zack's bandages get soaked, but he simply doesn't have the energy to care. "Bend down," Cloud says. "I'll get your hair."

The hot water doesn't last long. Strength spent, they end up on the floor, gasping for air and clutching each other for warmth. Zack's feverish forehead lands on Cloud's cold shoulder; the sensation makes him groan in relief, even though the rest of his body is frozen to the bone. "We might have to stay here forever," Cloud gasps. "I don't have the strength to haul you up."

Zack slowly drags his head up. Droplets of cold water drip down Cloud's chin, his jaw, his neck, collecting in the hollow of his throat. Zack's mouth is impossibly dry; if he didn't know any better, he might've tried to drink from it. "I'd be fine with that," he admits.

---

"Why did you give me your pillow?"

Zack drags his eyes open. Dim streaks of light pierce through the blinds, highlighting the dust in the air. The clock on the nightstand reads 5:30 AM. "You needed it more."

"How?" Cloud croaks. "I was unconscious."

Zack doesn't have a good answer for that, so he stays silent. Cloud sighs and tugs at his shoulders. "Roll over," he says, and Zack slowly complies. His head lands in the center of Cloud's chest — a much comfier surface than the hard mattress. "Stupid," Cloud whispers into his hair. "You're so stupid."

They slowly drift back to sleep. Zack dreams of everything — his childhood in Gongaga, his days as a SOLDIER, the bloodshed in Wutai, the pain, the glory, the atrocities, all blending together into a whirlpool of dreams and nightmares. At the center of the maelstrom, always present, is the laboratory and the years he spent with Cloud, so close and yet so far, within arm's reach but miles away. In his dreams, the glass is impenetrable, no matter how hard he tries to smash it; his screams are muffled by the mako that spills into his throat, filling his lungs, robbing him of freedom.

But not anymore.

Cloud is here. He's in front of him, beneath him, warm, breathing and alive. Cloud's arms rise up to hold him, enveloping Zack in a comforting warmth that feels like home; Zack's hands clutch at Cloud's shirt as if it's the only thing tethering him to the Planet. The fabric underneath his eyes quickly grows damp.

"Still feverish," Cloud whispers, his lips moving against Zack's forehead.

"Yeah?" Zack mumbles, as if he can't tell — though he obviously can. His head is swimming; he feels like a child again, sitting in the bow of his dad's fishing boat, feeling the ocean tug him to and fro. "Not enough dog meds."

"I'll go get them."

Zack's arms tighten around Cloud's waist. "Don't," he says. "They're not doing anything anyway."

"You have to keep taking them for them to work," Cloud argues. He eventually wiggles out from underneath him, though Zack does his best to make him stay put. An eternity passes before he returns, medicine and water in hand. "Open your mouth."

Zack's throat, still raw from bile, aches as he swallows the pills down. Cloud puts the medicine aside and collapses on top of him, utterly spent. They lay there for a while, arms twisted around each other, Zack taking comfort in Cloud's steady heartbeat. "Don't know what I'd do if I lost you," Cloud whispers.

Zack gently runs his fingers through Cloud's sweat-soaked hair. "You'd be fine."

"No," Cloud quietly argues. "No, I wouldn't."

Zack slowly sinks back into unconsciousness. For once, he dreams of nothing; his mind is a dark, cool abyss, a refuge from the fever. When he's pulled back into the world of the living, his surroundings are much of the same. Zack awakens to soft fingers running through his hair, stroking his burning forehead, caressing his sunken cheeks. Is he still dreaming? "Don't stop," Zack croaks. "Feels good."

The stroking continues. The fingers trace his brow, the slope of his nose, the bow of his parched mouth, thumb swiping against his bottom lip — where they suddenly stop. Zack opens his mouth to speak, to breathe, to ask for more, when something else presses against his lips: a mouth as chapped as his own.

The kiss is light, because it has to be; even in his dreams, there's no energy for passion. In its absence, the gentlest of movements becomes profound. Zack sighs as he gently presses his lips to Cloud's, swipes his tongue against his bottom lip, seeking his warmth. A shiver tears through him as Cloud's tongue brushes against his own—

—until Cloud abruptly pulls away. He coughs, his chest rattling as he desperately tries to catch his breath. Zack holds him tight and rubs his back until the coughing fit passes. "Shh," he whispers against Cloud's forehead. "Shh."

Cloud eventually stills. Zack can tell he's feverish too; the skin underneath his lips is hot to the touch. "Sorry," Cloud croaks. The misery in his voice makes Zack's chest hurt. "I'm sorry."

Zack shakes his head. What on earth could he ever be sorry for? "Don't be."

They lay there for what feels like an eternity. Zack drifts in and out of consciousness, through the past and present. The fever tries to pull him under, but he briefly comes up for air. "I'll kiss you properly," Zack croaks, "when we're better."

Cloud's arms tighten around him. "We're not getting better."

He's right. Zack's fever persists, no matter what meds he throws at it; he can feel death hovering nearby, waiting to pull him into the ether. "If you can move," Zack slowly says, "I want you to go to the hospital. Don't—" He coughs. "Don't worry about the—"

Cloud inches himself up Zack's body and kisses him again. He coughs, then kisses the corner of Zack's mouth, coughs, then kisses his cheek; the hacking sound is loud and startling, as if it's tearing his lungs into two. "Shut up," he says. "I'm not leaving you."

Zack's eyes close against his will, robbing him of the opportunity to argue. As he slowly sinks into darkness, he feels something wet drip onto his face, like a familiar droplet of rain from a stormy sky. If he were to open his eyes, would he see dark clouds? Would he still be on the cliff, lying in the torrent, waiting for death?

He opens his mouth to the rain, eager to soothe his parched throat, and tastes salt on his tongue.

---

Zack awakens. The light behind his closed eyelids is warm, soothing, like the sunlight that dries the earth after a storm. A soft breeze brushes against his neck, stirring his hair.

"Hey."

Zack cracks his mouth open. "Hey," he croaks.

The weight of Cloud's body pushes him into the ground. Is he alive? Dead? Has he always been dead? Zack doesn't know much about the afterlife, but he knows it's supposed to be a paradise, and an eternity with Cloud is the closest he'll ever get to it.

The sunlight grows warmer, enveloping him from within. The pain in his body ebbs, replaced by something that Zack can only describe as peace. "I love you," Cloud says.

He turns his head towards the sound. "I love you too," he says, smiling. "Always have."

Another sound slowly enters Zack's consciousness; two sets of heavy boots, smacking against wooden floors. "Somebody's coming," Cloud says. "Shinra?"

Zack wraps his arms around Cloud, holding him tight, tighter, until they're as close as two people could possibly be. Their bodies meld into one entity, one soul, impossible to separate, together for eternity. "I'm not going anywhere without you," Cloud says.

The boots come to a stop. "No," Zack agrees, shaking his head. "Never."

Knock.

Every single thing Zack meant to say over the past five years comes out in a rush. "I love you," he croaks, because he can never say it enough. "I love you, I love you—"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"I love you too," Cloud says, his voice thick with tears.

"What are you tryin' to do, tear the damn door down?!" the innkeeper growls. "Hold on. I've got a key."

It doesn't matter. None of it does. It doesn't matter what will happen, if they're alive or dead or somewhere in between, if they're spirits wandering through the ether, souls flitting through hazy dreams — because they'll always have each other.

"I love you."

The door opens.

#FF7 #FFVII #Zack Fair #Cloud Strife #Zack Fair/Cloud Strife #clack #drabble challenge #my fic #I wrote this while sick and you can kinda tell

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

87. you’re a P.I. my parents hired to investigate my fiancee and you completely ruined my engagement party with the dirt you found but I want to know all the details right now

Sternclay, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! I went NSFW and set it in the same universe as this Indruck fill. The orc designs are once again inspired by @kriskukko, whose art everyone should check out

The air is grey and chilly, and his best coat is still a bit too plain for this affair, but Barclay can’t help but glow. His husband to be is using this engagement party to invite him into parts of society he’s only glimpsed from behind kitchen counters or through windows on his way home in the early hours of the morning.

He didn’t even have to cook the table of delicacies and warm punches, which is usually his entry fee into any social space not hosted by Mama or his other friends back at Amnesty Lodge.

“Are you alright my dear?” William touches his shoulder. He’s the height of fashion from the new stud in his nose to the cut of his suit. Barclay looks at their linked hands, marveling at how his tattoos and calluses contrast with the smooth, unmarked green of Williams' skin. It’s wonderful to know he can be part of such an unlikely match.

“I’m fine. I just wish Mama and them could be here too.”

“Barclay, I know you care for them, but they agreed with me that this is not a party they’d feel comfortable attending.”

If memory serves, Mama’s word choice was “enjoy” not “comfortable” but he’s distracted from this detail by the orc currently in a hushed conversation with William’s parents. His accent is American, the same as Barclay’s. He knows William has no friends or family on the other side of the Atlantic, and he’s too well-dressed to be an attendant. When William’s parents fervently shake their heads, the newcomer turns and strides across the floor, right to the happy couple.

“Mr. Cobb” he offers Barclay a slight bow, shows no deference to William, “My name is Joseph Stern. I’m a private detective hired by your fiance’s family. They hoped I would find reason for him not to marry you. I have.”

“I, I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No, you haven’t. The reason I suggest calling off the wedding is that he” Stern indicates William, “is not the least bit interested in you. He chose you because he knew his parents would disapprove of the match, which would in turn make it easier for him to call off the engagement two months from now and, three months after that, propose to his lifelong friend, Albert Rothby.”

Gasps and whispers fill the room. Barclay looks to William for reassurance but can’t find any; William’s too busy trading alarmed glances with Albert.

Stern continues, “His parents would be all too happy to accept the orc they once rejected for being from a slightly less well-off family after the shock and scandal of him almost marrying a nobody cook.”

“Hey!”

“His words, not mine.” The detective turns to the hosts, “You don’t need to pay me for my time, since I didn’t give you what you wanted. Good afternoon.”

A thoroughly baffled servant hands him his coat and hat as he exits, the room overflowing with chaotic accusations behind him. William doesn’t say two words to Barclay, choosing instead to shout at his parents. Barclay pulls off his silver engagement band, shoves it into his now ex-fiance’s hand, and storms out of the room.

He intends to make straight for the train station, hide his tears and humiliation until he’s safe under Amnesty’s worn shingles. But when he spies Stern on the corner handing coins to an errand boy, his foolish hope gets the better of him.

“How do you know?”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you know that’s really what William planned?”

Stern hails a cab, motions for Barclay to join him inside it. When they’re seated, he reaches into his coat and removes a bound stack of letters.

“Albert’s arrogant and sloppy; all it took was five pounds to get one of the maids to fish these out of his wastebasket.” He passes the notes to Barclay.

Each one he skims is like slicing his finger with a meat cleaver. Not a single piece of his personality or appearance remains unmocked by the time he’s done.

“I was just a game to him.” He stares at William’s signature, the same one that dots a pile of letters he’ll burn when he gets home. When he looks up, Stern’s face is full of sympathy.

“I considered not saying anything. That even if the engagement ended, you might be able to tell yourself it was a true love that wasn’t meant to be. But the longer I trailed you...I saw that you deserved better than being a pawn in someone else's trivial chess game. I offered his parent’s the chance for me to have the conversation in private; they doubled down on their insistence that you must be secretly awful to have lured their dear son to you. Ruining their party seemed fair.”

“I guess.” Barclay’s lip trembles. What was it William wrote? That he was as tender and devoted as a lapdog and twice as fun to kick around?

Stern produces a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket, holds it out to him, “I’m sorry. I know ignorance is bliss but, um, wasting your heart on someone like him strikes me as hellish.”

Barclay wipes his eyes, but the tears insist on flowing, “No you’re, you’re right, it just, I, I really thought he loved me.” He lets out a bitter laugh, “I really am more brawn than brain, just like he said.”

“No, you’re not.” The cab slows, and Joseph’s blue eyes pin the pieces of his crumbling heart together, “and even if you were every single thing he said you were in those letters, that wouldn’t justify his treatment of you. You’re a good man, Barclay” he smiles for the first time, “someone will treat you how you deserve one of these days.”

The driver announces they’ve arrived at Barclays hotel. He glances at Stern, surprised.

He opens the door for Barclay with a wink, “detective.”

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

Fall arrived on the first of September, meaning the business at Amnesty dwindles right along with leaves. They won’t see another flood of visitors until the winter holidays, when everyone travels up and down the country to meet with family. Barclay fills his days with work and tries not to think about how happy he was a year ago.

Dani has a cold, so he’s working the lobby counter until it’s time for him to start dinner. A chill and burst of nickel-tinted light announce a guest. When the orc approaches him, he drops his pen.

“Hello, Barclay. It’s nice to see you under happier circumstances.” Stern removes his hat, runs his fingers through his black hair, “would it be possible to rent a room here indefinitely? I’m on a case and I have no idea how long it’ll take.”

“Yeah, of course.” He pulls out the register to check which rooms are open, which would be easier if his eyes didn’t insist on flicking back to the orc in front of him. He’d noticed Stern was handsome before, in the same way he noticed the sky is blue or a piece of fruit was ripe. Now it’s all he sees; the cut of his clothes suggesting a trim, capable figure beneath, his clean shaveness showing off the angles of his jaw and cheeks. His tusks are the same size and not chipped like Barclays own. The cook wants Stern to sink them into his skin and not let up until he sobs for a kiss instead.

“Uh, here” he retrieves a key, “I can put you in number twelve. It’s upstairs, last door if you take a left.

“Great!” Stern takes the key, lifts his two bags, “thank you for accommodating me.” His gaze slows as it moves up to Barclays face, “I think I’m going to enjoy my stay.”

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

Joseph hates the days where he has to wait for telegrams before proceeding with his investigation. It makes him feel like a dog gnawing its tail out of boredom. At least, it used to. Now that he’s at Amnesty, he’s never bored. It’s hard to be when the best looking orc he’s ever seen likes to talk with him while cleaning tables or making breakfast.

William Ashby is a fool. Joseph knew this when he watched him forgo a kind, interesting orc who was built like a god and had eminently kissable lips for the sake of some uninteresting upper class nobody. But now that he’s eating Barclays’ cooking every day, the opinion is twice as strong. No one should be able to make potatoes a divine experience, but his friend manages.

“No running around stuffy offices or abandoned houses today?” Barclay sits down across from him.

“Not until I get a telegram from that solicitor in London. Black or white?”

“White. Well, that’s good news for me, I get a chance to beat you.” He’s smiling, the firelight dancing in his eyes and off the copper in his beard. Joseph wishes he could mimic the light's path with his hands.

Instead, he grins as he lays out the chess pieces, “In your dreams.”

An hour and a half later, Barclay whoops, “checkmate” and Joseph falls even more in love.

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

“Barclay? Since it’s not raining I thought you might like to…” Joseph falls silent at the sight of Barclay sitting on his bed, facing the window with a defeated set to his shoulders.

“Sure, as long as we’re back before dark.” He shrugs and doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Joseph settles beside him, notices the handkerchief with his initials on it clutched between his hands. The tears on it are fresh.

“Nothing. Just, uh, just….this is the anniversary of when he proposed. Of when I thought someone loved me that way, of when I thought that, that...fuck, it’s gonna sound so silly.”

“You don’t have to say it but I, um, I hope you know I won’t judge you for whatever it is.”

Barclay twists the fabric, “I love my life here at Amnesty. I love Mama, all my friends, I love being a cook. But I’ve never been wealthy; Mama and I faced lots of hard times before coming here, especially when my folks died and she took me in. The Lodge does well but there’s always the fear that one day it won’t. I can be happy without fancy food or nice clothes or nights out but, uh,” he clears his throat, “that doesn’t mean I didn’t really like having them. I don’t miss him so much as I miss this feeling of being able to want without worry. Of, of thinking I’d get to do that forever.”

He lists to the side, rests his head on Joseph’s shoulder. He’s both taller and broader than Joseph, which adds to his charms, but right now the detective wishes he was smaller so he could gather him in his arms and protect him from the disappointing world. Give him what he’s missing.

An idea buzzes to the front of his mind. He rubs Barclays shoulder soothingly, “You have to go into London for some orders, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“I have to go in to deal with this case and check to make sure nothing urgent is waiting at my office. Do you want to go together?”

Barclay looks up at him, brown eyes glittering like precious metal, “I’d love to.”

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

Barclay knows Joseph has wealthy clients; he’s starting to suspect he has even more of them than he lets on. They’re in London for two days, and every moment not spent sleeping or working is filled by Joseph taking Barclay somewhere. The meals are by far his favorite, but Joseph bought them tickets to the opera their second night. When Barclay worried he wouldn’t be well dressed enough, Joseph decided they could both do with new clothes and bought everything without blinking at the bill.

Now, Barclay is in a private box, belly full from their stop at Simpson’s and Joseph’s shoulder resting against his own. The music is beautiful, the staging intriguing, but he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, too warm and comfortable from the company and the darkness.

The port they had after dinner probably isn’t helping.

He rests his head back, let’s his eyes flutter closed. After a moment Joseph laughs softly and whispers, “A bit too full from dinner?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“That’s okay. The whole point of tonight is for you to enjoy yourself. If that means happily lazing like a dog by a fire, that’s what you should do.”

Barclay tenses for a second, then relaxes. It’s not like when William kept referring to him as a dog; in Joseph’s voice it’s fond, like a master who knows he indulges his hound but doesn’t care.

“That’s me. Just a spoiled pet.” He murmurs.

Short claws trace across his upper thigh, “As it should be.”

His eyes flutter open; Joseph watches him in the dark, expression attentive and possessive. His fingers don’t move even a centimeter until Barclay nods. Then they finish curving over his thigh to stroke his cock through his pants.

No one can see them, but even so his eyes dart side to side before shutting once more.

“Good boy” Joseph sighs, “sweet boy.”

Barclay nods, squirms as the touches stay teasing.

“Don’t rush. We have a whole other act to go. Just keep quiet; you’re a big, sweet beast, I’d hate to have to” he presses his palm down, “discipline you.”

He bites his tongue to keep from groaning; when they’re back at the lodge, he’s going to misbehave so much.

Joseph keeps up his steady, calculated teasing, Barclay never moving past half-hard. He falls into an almost sleep-like state, feeling weightless and far away from himself yet completely safe in Joseph’s care.

Then swift fingers undo his trousers and a handkerchief wraps around his cock. He throws a palm over his mouth as Joseph jerks his hand up and down.

“It’s almost over.” The detective murmurs, chuckles when Barclay crumples to hide his face in his neck, “that’s it, be a good boy and---oh, oh good lord.” He stifles a sigh in Barclays hair while Barclay cums into the cloth, saturating it embarrassingly fast. William once compared him, unfavorably, to a centaur in that regard. Joseph simply kisses his forehead and tidies him up. By the time they exit, the only sign of their dalliance is Barclays wobbly legs.

He fully intends to return the favor, but sex-drunkeness and general exhaustion drag him to sleep before Joseph is even in bed.

Their morning is a brisk packing up of things followed by a trip to the train station. Once they’re in their cabin, Joseph looks over the notes he made during his research.

“I just can’t shake the feeling Mr. Newton is in danger.”

“Giant cursed hound will do that.”

“I’m not so sure that’s it. I’m not ruling out the supernatural, but there are elements of this that feel distinctly orcish and very much alive in their threat. I’m glad he brought that friend of his with him; were he in Beacon House alone, he could be in serious trouble.” He closes his small notebook.

“I still can’t tell if he’s more than a friend.”

“They might not know. The few times I’ve run into Mr. Newton or Mr.Cold, they seem to be in stalemate, neither willing to make a move.”

“Good thing you don’t have that problem.” Barclay winks, then realizes he might be reading the other orc wrong, “I, uh, I mean, not that last night has to mean anything.”

Joseph unbuttons his coat, “I, um, I hoped it might.”

“Thankfuck.” Barclay slumps back, “me too.”

There’s a click of the lock, then Joseph stands and begins undoing his pants, “speaking of which, it seems to me a good boy would reward me for last night.”

“Yes, oh fuck yes.” He scrambles to get his cock out, stroking it frantically as Joseph rolls up his sleeves.

“You’re so eager to please, it makes me want to give you everything you ask for.”

“Please?”

Joseph, now bare from the waist down, bends to kiss him, “Please what?”

“Please let me fuck you, let me mppph!” His moan slips straight down Joseph’s throat as he sinks onto Barclays cock.

“Ohhhhhyes, ohmylord” the tips of his ears twitch as he rocks his hips, “you feel so good”

“Y-you’re one to talk, fuck, Joseph can I touch you?”

“Anywhere you waAAnt” he tips his head back, whisper threatening to break as Barclay drops a thumb down to rub his cock. He sets his hands on Barclay’s shoulders, “we, we don’t have much time, and I do need to review more of the case before we arrive, so be a good boy and let me ride you hard and fast?”

“Yes, yesfuck, ohyeah” A laugh catches on his tongue as Joseph, his dignified, debonair detective, sets to bouncing up and down on his cock with the kind of abandon he only witnessed when he used to serve drinks in a brothel.

Joseph grins, kisses him messily as their grunts meld with the rumble of the train. Barclay glides his free hand around to grope and paw his ass, savoring how it tightens with the effort of riding, of taking Barclay again and again. Curious, he gives it a light slap, wishing he could see a little pink bloom on the green there.

“Careful, sweet boy; if anyone’s ass is getting bruised it’s yours.”

“Tonight?” He smiles hopefully at Joseph’s flushed face.

“Yes, Barclay tonight. Tonight I’ll, ohlord, strip you down, let you rut on the bed like the needy beast you are while I turn your ass tender and red before fucking it, oh, ohshit, Barclay.” He smashes their lips together as he cums, Barclay whining with pleasure at the fact that he got him there. The detective doesn’t break the kiss as he pulls off, simply uses his strong legs to keep straddling him as he jerks Barclay off with one hand and rucks his own shirt up with the other. Barclay moans helplessly as he cums in large, white droplets all up his stomach and chest.

“You’re wonderful.” Joseph kisses his cheek.

“So are you.” Barclay holds him close, giggles adoringly when Joseph starts concocting theories while half-naked and cuddled in his lap. By the time they reach home, there’s no sign of their dalliance.

Except for their linked hands and matching smiles.

#sternclay #agent stern/ barclay #meet ugly #orc au #victorian au

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warmau · 4 years

Text

warning: violence mentions | the rivalry au based off kick it mv

diamond dragons

jaehyun

the head of the diamond dragons, as the only child of the prestigious and almost obnoxiously rich jung household it was only right that he take over as the new and young leader

he grew up with most things being handed to him on a silver platter - but spoiling him didn’t make him less calculating or smart

he likes consistency and is fiercely rigid about social order - that being said, if someone who doesn’t even have the status to be able to look in jaehyun’s eyes as much as raises their voice or hand against him

with a snap of his wrist, he’ll crush their entire existence

so you can see, not many people choose to test their limits

he becomes known as a silent and cutthroat businessman, his family’s ties and his ability in finding only the best, most qualified people to work for him has allowed him to build a gambling empire

sitting on the boards of famous hotels and casinos

and when things don’t go exactly his way - well he has other members of the diamond dragons take care of that for him

he just blinks or tilts his head and that’s enough for his men to know their job

quite frankly, you don’t know how you ended up in a position like this - you had just finished your shift as the nightly poker dealer and were going to head home

when a sleek, long black car had pulled its way directly in front of you

you brace yourself, digging around in your purse for your keys because you’ve seen this in movies - you need to at least defend yourself

but then to your shock, the keys falling from your hand - the window rolls down and you see

jung jaehyun

“you’re the dealer from table 127, right?”

unable to speak - seeing someone so glamorous, so rich up close - you nod

the driver suddenly hurries around from his seat and opens the door of the car

jaehyun steps out, tall and glorious, the suit he’s wearing is made of silk and the cut between the lapels is deep - showing the beautiful and clean skin underneath it

you also make out the peek of something dark on the dip of his left collarbone

it’s the dragon tattoo everyone in seoul knows he has

“i’d like you to quit your job and work for me.”

he leans down a little - your eyes suddenly drawn to his own

a smile unfurls on his lips when he sees the shock of his proposition seep into your expression

“why?”

“let’s just say i have a soft spot for dealers, it’s the uniform. it turns me on.”

he chuckles, the sound low in the back of his throat as he toys with a strand of your hair and lets his hand settle on the bright red vest you wear for work

with that he turns and disappears into the shadow of his car, the driver rushes to close it and then turns to you with his hand extended

in it is a playing card, you see a “J” and think it’s the joker, but it’s actually not a card at all.

in the center where there should be an ace or a spade, is a curled dragon and the contact number jung jaehyun

you want to ask - exactly what does this job entail? but the car curves left and out of sight

the spot on you where jaehyun had touched sears a little

something tells you he’s had his eye on you for a while.

taeyong

a martial arts specialist, trained since before he could fully walk a straight line

he has two major interests: perfecting his technique and lace

he is a very very very big fan of lace

for someone who knows over three hundred ways to break bones - he craves and adores soft, beautiful things

people assume it’s because he himself is basically ethereal - that he wants to emulate it in his lifestyle

but really he just thinks there’s power in in it - no one ever said you had to knock someone out in bloody, dirty clothes

he agreed to be a part of diamond dragons partially because he respects jaehyun’s meticulous commitment to fine aestheticism

but also because beautiful things aren’t cheap

now he’s jaehyun’s main source of protection - quietly appearing in the shadows when jaehyun is threatened and taking care of “problems” without leaving a mess

he’s always dressed in white silks, lace collars and even lace ribbons on his arms and fingers and even in his hair

some members nicknamed him an angel of death because to be hurt by something so beautiful,,,,,,can’t be all that bad

you know taeyong, not as a member of the diamond dragons, but because he’s a customer of yours

you work with all the fabrics he adores, so when he needs tailoring he comes to you - always wearing something gorgeous and insanely expensive

long fingers adorned in jewels, yellow-brown eyes hidden behind blonde strands of hair

he claims no one else can tailor like you do - you treat the fabric with such care

it flusters you to be complimented by someone like him, but you never think twice about a man so polite and gentle

not until taeyong happens upon your shop in the middle of a robbery

and you frighteningly back up into a corner as a figure looms over you - money clutched in hand and wicked eyes

you think something bad is bound to happen until suddenly - the figures head is gone

you look up to see taeyong

his leg outstretched in a perfect high-kick, one angry flash of silver in his eyes

it takes you a moment to put things together - to understand what kind of force it takes for someone to do that

taeyong calmly straightens back out and steps over the slumped body

he takes your hand in his, still as gentle as ever and smiles

“i’ll make sure this goes away, now tell me - did you finish that order of mine?”

you cant breath for a second

his beauty had turned ravenous for a second - and yet, you aren’t horrified by it

instead the impact has somewhat enchanted you

you simply nod, leading him over to your work desk

the two of you ignoring the rolls of money that have fanned out on the floor

when you tilt your head to look over, taeyong pulls your chin toward him and he says it again

“ill make sure this goes away.”

yuta

a one shot fireball

some people have perfect pitch, he has perfect aim

any weapon, any size, any power - drop it into his hands and he’ll know what to do with it

and how to do it perfectly

yuta used to enjoy traveling alone, a sort of transit lifestyle that let him do and see whatever he wanted

much to the shock of many of jaehyun’s companions, hiring yuta was kind of out there

he was closer to a street banger than the refined masters jaehyun had a preference for

but yuta didn’t care about the stuck-up opinions some people had about him

it had been simple, jaehyun had bumped into him at a gala where he was attending as a guest and yuta had been hired to take care of a festering problem known as a corrupt governor who was also in attendance

jaehyun had sat back with his glass of wine, watching yuta do his work

even in a packed ballroom of people - he had got his mark - and then had calmly turned on his heel and disappeared

jaehyun had found him, of course, and had offered a position with the golden dragons

yuta had laughed at it, he wasn’t going to be a second hand call dog to some rich boy with a taste for refinement

but the money and the possibilities jaehyun spoke of had turned his tide

even though doyoung would scrunch his nose up when yuta strolled into meetings in less than appropriate attire or playfully twirled explosives in his hand

he was a true golden dragon now, he even had a small symbol tattooed behind his ear to show solidarity

you are the child of an extremely powerful casino owner, and therefore jaehyun knows and is acquainted with your family

the problem is - your father refuses to work with jaehyun on a certain amount of issues

yuta doesn’t think much when the order comes down and he gets himself ready for the job

your family is going out to dinner as usual, and yuta strolls through the restaurant and your table where you and your father are laughing

he sees the target - but something causes him to stop

your smile is so vibrant, shimmering with a kind of light he’s never seen before

you briefly glance up at the awkward, but handsome man but then refocus on your father

yuta takes his seat and stares down into the perfectly white plate - what he has hidden in the pocket of his jacket now feels heavy and unfamiliar

a sensation so new and obtuse to him that when he fishes it out

taking a second to line up his shot - the trigger feels wrong

the room disappears and like tunnel vision he sees you

usually he looks at people through crosshairs - yet something soft glows around you

once again you turn your head a little and catch his eye

a pretty smile accompanies it and yuta grinds his teeth

when he lines up the shot again - something happens that’s never happened before

he misses

the bullet ricochets to the left, hitting the wall to the kitchen

a flurry of panic breaks out and you get up, hand on your fathers back

yuta sees you one last time before he’s getting up too

a small voice reminds him that jaehyun will not be pleased

but yuta can only think

fuck jaehyun. i need to go toward them, i need to go toward that light.

doyoung

the famous lightening thief, whose reputation comes from being able to steal anything from anyone

and not petty grabs like cars or wallets or whatever

his repertoire includes everything from art museums to royal family homes to top corporations

if you want it - and you can pay the price for it - kim doyoung can get it

the police have made disgruntled points about his hands being kissed by midas or something, considering he’s never left fingerprints anywhere so they can’t tie him to the crimes

but it’s public knowledge that paintings and sculptures hanging in the homes of the affluent got there somehow

and that folders upon folders of incriminating evidence against powerful and corrupt ceos had to come from somewhere

his broad web of connections and perfect organization has made him a vital part of many rich families business

but he particularly enjoys working for the diamond dragons because the commission fee he gets is triple what he usually sees

and jaehyun’s missions for him always test his mathematical brain

he does, in fact, have one thing he can’t steal

and it’s tortured him for years

watching you work for jaehyun’s most despised rivals - the ragtag group that calls themselves the golden tigers

you’re the close confident of their leader, mark lee, and although doyoung has figured out enough to understand that you are nothing more to mark lee than a friend

there’s something about that closeness that doyoung craves

and so whenever jaehyun comes in contact with them, doyoung makes himself there

he watches you, wearing the thick leather jacket with the prowling golden tigers climbing up both sleeves

your eyes are always on mark or jaehyun, and doyoung looks at you past the frames of his glasses

no one has ever been more beautiful and more unattainable ,,,,,,,, he’s thought of multiple ways to get you to be his

but all of them are dark and horrible - unacceptable

doyoung swallows when he sees you approach at mark’s side, your hand settles on his hand and mark whispers something to you

doyoung doesn’t understand - why doesn’t jaehyun just take care of this group of children, he could spare you and let doyoung-

suddenly something turns the blood in doyoung’s blood freeze over

your eyes, linger on him, they start from his face and travel downward

you’re scoping him out - you’ve never done that

doyoung’s shoulders tighten, his lips thin and he can’t help but feel the heat of your stare

he’d dream of the day you noticed him, but he could have never imagined it would feel like this

he meets your gaze and the side of your mouth twitches into a small smile - a secret smile - it causes him to step back

a couple of the members throw glances at him, but doyoung’s mind nearly breaks

what did that mean? why are you finally look back at him?

jaehyun moves taeyong and yuta in front of him and mark calls upon on haechan and jungwoo

you lurk back into the shadows and doyoung knows its against his better judgement but he does too

while everything breaks out into hell - he watches you slip away and this time he doesn’t want you to go

he chases after you and falls right into your trap - he feels your hand against his back

“have you always had a soft spot for me? sorry it took me so long to notice”

you say, your voice like a goddesses hymn.

doyoung wants to say something, but everything suddenly dims.

golden tigers

mark

break it till you make it kind of mentality, from a hard working family that lost it all because of evil people in power (most likely because of something jaehyun’s family did - but that’s too deep in the lore for now)

he’s been making his own money and helping out friends since he can remember

and even though he looks like the most gentle, kind boy and he is - when you’ve been training to protect those you love your whole life

you can grow a tougher skin

and at some point it clicks for mark that he doesn’t have to sit around and do nothing - he can actively stop the people who hurt others for their own gain

and that’s kind of the whole reason behind the golden tigers

that and mark’s always felt an affinity for the animal, his mom used to call him little cub

and when he wants to be - mark can be ferocious, especially when it comes to jung jaehyun

who resembles everything mark hates, and jaehyun doesn’t fancy mark either - seeing him as one of those people whose social status just doesn’t match up

you’re mark’s childhood bestfriend whose seen firsthand how hard mark has fought for everything

how he’s taken the things the rich have done to the people of his community and reversed it

a lot of people owe debts to the jungs in your neighborhood, your older brother being one of them and on numerous occasions mark and the golden tigers have saved his and your life

you hate to fall into the cliche, but you think you’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember

so watching him wear himself out - worrying about everyone else but himself - it’s made you anxious

you find him slumped over in an alley one night, dropping your bags of groceries to run over to him

a small drip of blood streamlines down his lip and he explains that he’s fine

but you can tell he’s been jumped - probably by one of those underlings for the diamond dragons

you help him back to your home and mark starts insisting that he go, that he leave

and for once you stop him - hand on his, still bandaged from when he broke it the week before

“mark lee, you can be a fierce tiger and fighter and protector - but have you ever thought about protecting yourself?”

he falters at your sudden straightforwardness

“i protect myself-”

“well! that’s not good enough. from now on, im your protector.”

you lean up to wipe the blood away with your sleeve and drag him with any force needed into your home so you can make sure he’s really alright

but thankfully mark kind of falls into step behind you easily

this side of you new, but inviting in some kind of mysterious way

“do-do you want to be a part of the golden tigers?”

he asks when you’re standing in front of him with wads of cotton, and hot tea on the counter

“i thought i already was - mark lee, you’ve bleed on my carpet like a billion times.”

mark laughs a little and his hand comes shyly to rest on your waist

he admits it now. you’ve always been there for him too.

but right now you just look so much more beautiful than all those times before,,,,,,,,,,,,,he can’t really explain why.

haechan

particularly skilled interrogator - he has a keen sense of reading people and fishing out their weaknesses

its not to say that he enjoys psychological games as much as he’s natured to be insanely good at them

he says he’s not a golden tiger, but he is - probably more than anyone else

because he understands mark and when he isn’t pretending like he’s not interested in this whole vigilantism

he too doesn’t particularly have a good history with the powerful

which is why maybe,,,,,,,,,it is sometimes to watch them squirm

with nothing but words

he does adore the other members as well, especially taeil who haechan thinks is just the most entertaining person in the world

he describes him as a matrix - his personality and his skill set just do. not. make. sense.

haechan loves it!

you’re actually a student at the university haechan attends, because as much as he is a golden tiger - he still wants to do something outside of the group for himself

you, of course have no idea about his affiliations, but boy do you and haechan get into it

he nitpicks at things and you argue that that’s not the right way to get to someone

he always points out it is the right way to get on your last nerve though

everyone in the room can feel the tension between you two, the whole will they won’t they

and haechan’ wont lie - it’s nice to tease someone not because you need their information to help save others or to destroy the plans of someone evil

but simply because you like their reaction

but one day, haechan realizes hes let you in too close

because as you’re walking with him to the bus stop - a group of figures spots him and spots you

they don’t approach, but haechan can tell they’ve taken note of you and it makes his blood cold

“hey, can i make sure you get home today?”

“oh - are you being nice to me now for some sort of reverse psycholog-”

haechan sees the dragon tattoo on one of the men’s necks, he swallows and steers you in the opposite direction

“no im not playing, just let me make sure you get home.”

“haechan c’mon im not gonna-”

you start, but something in haechan’s eyes dims and you look around and see that there are other people staring

“haechan,,,,,,what is going on?”

you whisper and he thinks quickly, reading their body language and nodding at you

“run.”

“what?”

“run. now.”

haechan and you end up sprinting through the winding streets, you’re too scared to look back and see who is following you, but when you finally do

haechan just grabs your hand and tugs you after him

once he thinks you’re somewhere safe, he doesn’t let your hand go

you look at him - eyes wide - he thinks, oh fuck i can’t let those guys get to them now

“haechan-”

“i know. i’ll explain everything.”

jungwoo

model turned casual member of golden tigers

he used to be straight onto a path of stardom and money, his pretty face and long lithe figure had made him quite popular for magazines and runway

but that kind of life came with so much loneliness and sadness that one day he just up and quit

he had met mark only a week later, after spectacularly failing an interview at a local coffee shop whilst also dodging unwanted attention from several of the patrons

mark had thought it was odd, the way someone could be so easygoing and still ward off the bad things around them

jungwoo had asked to sit at mark’s table and the two had talked, by the end of it mark had said if jungwoo needed anything he could come to him

and jungwoo didn’t need anything per say

but he did have something to offer

“im agile, im tall, and i can pretty much perfectly blend in with the kind of people you’re fighting. don’t you think i’d be useful?”

now he sports the golden tigers jacket, spends days flimsying around taeil’s makeshift basement lab

and hovering over haechan’s shoulder when he’s doing schoolwork

but it’s true - he’s on several occasions been able to get into the hotels the jungs have a hand in and has picked up anyone of interest to be interviewed and taken care of, if need be, by the other members

you’re supposed to be charmed by jungwoo because it seems like you have information on jaehyun

but instead of you being too charmed by anyone - you just seem just as obliviously beautiful as jungwoo

when he starts talking to you, you stare long and hard and then pick an eyelash from his cheek

“you should make a wish.”

jungwoo hasn’t heard that in years

but he happily obliges

when he asks you about jaehyun again you sort of deflate a little, the whimsical sparkle of your eyes dims

“i don’t know much about him, i don’t quite think i really ever want to know much about him.”

something clicks in jungwoo’s head and he asks you if you want to ditch the event you’re both at

you agree, wholeheartedly - thinking you two might run off for a midnight stroll or a stop to eat

instead you find yourself in front of mark lee and other golden tigers, but not for the interrogation they thought would happen

“i think you should let them join.”

jungwoo insists and haechan mutters that you can’t just let everyone jungwoo has a crush on join to mark

but mark sees something in you that he sees in jungwoo

when you ask if this is a gang, mark laughs and shakes his head

“no, that jung family is gang. we’re just trying to help.”

jungwoo gives you an enthusiastic nod - you don’t really know why but there’s a sense of trust you feel with these people

none of them are wearing those masks you’re so used to on the faces of the elite

you agree to see if you can be of any help and jungwoo shrugs off the jacket he’s wearing

the one with tigers on the sleeve

“it’s getting cold, plus you’ll have one just like it soon.”

you accept with a blush and haechan groans about how flirting isn’t supposed to be allowed!

taeil

scientist

but like a little crazy

but like he has no funds or an actual laboratory so he makes experiments in his basement

and almost blew up the apartment building down the street because of it - but like seriously it wasn’t on purpose he just spilled some stuff into some other stuff and it was weird

mark knows him because he actually used to work for jaehyun, the moon family is pretty infamous for being doctors and phd researchers

and taeil’s happened to be in chemistry - which is always a fun thing to have if you want to run a deadly operation

he left for unknown reasons - he left way before mark’s name had ever been uttered to jaehyun

and even though doyoung, jaehyun’s own private information thief, had been trying to find him for a while now

taeil had the help of the golden tigers to keep him on the fringes

which is why, from time to time, he likes to help them out as well

jungwoo and haechan both really have come to like him - mark likes him too and all, but those three somehow know how to have fun together

taeil’s favorite thing to experiment with is acidity, he likes making poisons and acids that can destroy things

and sometimes his own clothes (and even skin) pay the price - but that mans pain tolerance is so high he could probably be shocked by lightening twice and be standing

you’re one of the people who lives in the building beside taeil’s and you always hang around the back lot where the stray cats are

one is your ultimate favorite - a chubby black cat with one eye who you’ve named bruce - one day you see bruce pawing at the basement window of the other building so you go to see whats up and almost jump back when you see a person

his eyes shift from you to the cat and the window suddnly opens

he pushes forward a can of cat food - but you stare at it questioningly

“i didn’t poison it.”

he says

“,,,,,,,,,,who are you?”

“im taeil.”

“do you live down there?”

“you could say so.”

you watch as bruce shuffles toward the food and meows gleefully

“is he yours? i thought he was a stray?”

the voice asks and you shake your head

“he is. ive also been feeding him,,,,,,,,,,hey - whats that smell coming down from there?”

“oh nothing.”

the man smiles and you think it’s a little suspicious - but people are weird - and if he’s been helping the cat he can’t be all that bad

you notice a mark on his hand when he reaches out to move the can, it looks like the end of a dragons tail but you don’t say anything

he meets your gaze and waves a small tiny goodbye

before he closes the window for good he says something weird

“i could though.”

“hmm?”

“i could make a poison out of that.”

the window shuts and you sort of stay crouched, confused

bruce looks fine though and you follow him back out onto the street

when you return, there’s a curtain in the window

huh, maybe ill see him again. but what’s all that about poison?

taeil hums to himself as he continues working and then stops

“ah, i shouldn’t have said that to them. probably not cute to flirt with my knowledge of deadly chemicals.”

wild card

johnny

he was supposed to grow up in a monastery and be a man of belief ,,,,,,,,,,, but things happened

and now he’s extremely good at just about everything both the golden tigers and the diamond dragons would want in a member

problem is - he doesn’t feel solidarity toward either of them

because he doesn’t know the answer

is life about money or is it about helping others instead of yourself?

that’s a little to ethically on the nose for him

instead he likes to play both sides

jaehyun’s all about the gambling business - mark’s all about bringing those debt collectors down

so every now and then johnny shows up at a poker game or at the doorstep of someone whose running away from the jungs

he dangles his loyalty and then pulls it away, the thrill junkie in him expressed by the loud yellow motorcycle he zips through around town

he knows playing both sides of a card is risky

but he likes it - the adrenaline rush isn’t matched

you figure out what he’s doing pretty quickly, as you are the only person who does have his commitment

and when he does come home and you splay a hand over the toned plane of his chest

you ask him to stop, just so he’ll be safe

“i will, soon. they’ll both be destroyed.”

“how?”

johnny shrugs, leaning in to brush his lips against yours - he never lets this conversation get too far

but the day comes when both sides figure it out

they’re being played

and jaehyun doesn’t like wild card and mark doesn’t like playing the game all together

so johnny tells you to grab and go to run away with him and from this place

he’ll take you somewhere better and new

you stand on the corner of the street, 3 am and in the dim light

“how will i know you won’t run away from me, how you’re running away from the problems that have caught up to you?”

he steps closer to you - craddling your face in his large hands

“because i would die for you.”

he pulls something from the back of his pocket and places it in your hand

“you don’t have to answer me now, but when you’re ready - i do want to know. will you die for me too?”

johnny turns out to be right, the golden tigers and the diamond dragons will come to destroy each other

you don’t know if the evidence he collected and left at the doorstep of a local precinct helps with that

well anyway, it isn’t your problem anymore - you and johnny have moved on to bigger and better things

at least the rings you wear prove as much

#are the doyoung and mark ones somehow linked? maybe..............#does jaehyun hire you to become a future spy for the golden tigers?..........maybe [but then falls in love w u shocking everyone1]#basically - did i world build this universe to a T? yes.......................#nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 au #nct 127 imagines #violence/#blood/#guns/#anywayyyyyyyyyyyy what in fucks name even is this why did i go ham

469 notes · View notes

quietlyimplode · 4 years

Text

Whumptober2020 — #2 Kidnapped

Clint/Nat - With Tony and Pepper coming to help.

“Natasha’s been kidnapped. She was taken off the roof of our hotel adjacent building. There was a struggle. I need your help. This is a secure line.” He says it robotically, breaking it down so there’s no room for misunderstandings.

He can hear Tony typing. “Where are you?”

Clint/Nat

Day 1 //

——-

The mission in Morocco was indeed a shit show.

Landing in Rabat, Clint had that feeling that things were just going to go wrong; an overpowering pit of the stomach, dejavu butterfly- monster mash of anticipation; making him drag his feet at every transition. Natasha, however, had been in her element, large hat, beautifully dressed, tan the perfect shade and looking like a local as they headed for the Kasbah of the Udayas to meet with their contact.

Their driver had, of course, taken them the long way round but it had given them time to scout the area so neither minded the drive.

“You,” the driver had started, “here for a holiday?”

Natasha had smiled, making light conversation easily. It had allowed Clint to take in the scenery, and scout points where he could perch. He paid more attention when Natasha reached across and grabbed his hand squeezing lightly. Looking across, she signed low for him to check if anyone was following, whilst continuing to talk about London where she was supposedly from. He’s often in awe of her but it’s times like this where the phrase ‘competence porn’ feels apt. There’s no way he could multitask like her.

Clint hadn’t noticed anyone following, assuming their arrival had gone unnoticed, who were they in a city of just over half a million people?

Intel leading them here had been from Natasha’s contact in Casablanca, he assumes it’s clean; the Black Widow’s reputation for revenge of those who would dare cross her is obvious, perhaps now, outdated.

He signs back his observations, to which she nods and inquires to the driver how much longer til they arrive. It obvious that the driver doesn’t want to give up the fare, as he drives around the tourist attraction , before stopping to let them out. Clint tips him well enough to be forgotten instantly as Natasha heads to the front desk to pay the entry fee.

The meet goes as well as can be expected and the intel they gain is easily fed back to their superiors. They ditch the burner phone and shed their personas and walk to their hotel, holding hands like two lovers on a evening walk. Their hotel is basic and they hope to be gone by the morning. Natasha takes first watch and Clint makes himself sleep, trusting she’ll wake him when it’s his turn to watch their backs. They could stay in the hotel room, but both know the risks of being ambushed in a confined space, the odds they would both make it would be low; so the compromise of shift watch is fair. He had properly scouted the area whilst Natasha had gone for dinner- he’s confident in the spot he chose for the watch, high enough to not be noticed, close enough to the hotel to raise alarms.

Clint's body clock wakes him exactly 5 hours after falling asleep- no Natasha. Which in itself isn’t odd as she may be on her way, but he feels it, Clint’s damn spidey-sense is fucking blaring. He heads for the scout point and he can feel the butterflies turn into stones as his stomach bottoms out again, feelings returning tenfold. It makes him want to throw up. Desperate now, he calls Natasha. There’s no answer, of course she didn’t take her phone and they’d got rid of the burner earlier. He hopes to god she left her earpiece in.. The one he left back at the hotel. Fuck.

The scout point shows signs of a struggle- scuff marks, blood, she had time to put up a fight then. He’s nervous. And worried.

Hurrying now, he calls Tony, sprinting back to the hotel. He can’t think of what else to do. If he goes through the proper channels, he’d be recalled, they’d go through the mission with a fine tooth comb- all of that takes time. Time he does not have; time Natasha does not have. He wants to capitalize on not being too far behind whoever’s kidnapped her.

Clint dials Tony again. And again when he doesn’t pick up. Clint rounds on the hotel, out of breath. Hands on his knees he swipes to get into the room.

Ringing Pepper now, he’s desperate. He calculates quickly in his head the time 1am here means 10pm in New York; laughing darkly as he thinks that the one time Tony’s gone to bed early or actually getting some sleep. Pepper answers on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Pepper? It’sNatashaineedTony.” He said catching his breath and blurting it out.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Pepper, it’s Clint. I need Tony,” he rephrases; slowing his speech and breaking his words.

Pepper sighs, “he’s in the workshop, can you hold?”

Nodding and then realizing she can’t see him, he responds affirmatively.

He’s packing a go-bag, Natasha would be appalled at the organization but he’s not thinking right.

Tony’s jovial hello is not what he needs right now.

Clint makes himself stop. Makes himself explain the necessity of Tony and Iron Man.

He can hear Tony typing. “Where are you?”

Clint gives the coordinates, looking them up on his phone.

“Rabat? You’re in Rabat? That’s a 12 hour flight commercial, maybe 6 by quinjet, maybe 2 by suit. I’ll re-task one with medical now,” Clint can hear Tony thinking; at least one of them is thinking straight. “I’m looking at satellite footage, when was she taken?”

Clint doesn’t know.

“We got back to the hotel, ate and then she left for the scout point. She was on first watch. I think she has her earpiece in. Can you track that?”

More furious typing.

“She’s about 21 miles from you, the earpiece is pinging from an importer warehouse. I can meet you there but it’s going to take me around two hours flying at full speed; even if we get her the jets going to be 4 hours behind me. Do you have a plan?”

Clint is reluctant to admit he doesn’t. He wants to get to the warehouse now. He doesn’t want to wait two hours, it’s going to take around an hour to get there regardless.

Tony is, surprisingly a voice of reason. He knows Tony loves Natasha - not like he does but they connect in a way he doesn’t get. Maybe joint trauma, who knows. He respects it, and right now he is thankful for it.

“I’m on my way. Head to the warehouse; I know you are anyway, and I’ll meet you there. The warehouse is guarded - I would advise not to engage tactically it’d be better to have a diversion and get her out when attention is elsewhere.” He can hear Tony jogging, talking as he goes “Who are these guys? Clint; so you know; they’re everywhere. If you can; wait for my signal. Get yourself in position I’ll be there as soon as I can, I’m swapping to your comms line now. The jets already left, Pepper is on board, and a med team. They’ll be there in just under 6 hours. We will have to get her out and get to the airport. Let’s try and get her on coms.. If she’s conscious…” he leaves that thought hanging.

“Anyway. I’m now on comms, I’ll catch you soon bird boy. Hang tight.” He hangs up the phone, and stuffs it in his back pocket. Clint’s taken the opportunity to check out and head for the ally; looking to steal a car whilst Tony’s been talking.

Tony’s right, it’s going to take him an hour to get there, even at this time. He’s thankful for the cover of darkness; the black fiat is ugly but does the job. It’s an old enough model that he can jimmy the lock and hot wire the steering. He sets the coordinates on his phone and leaves.

By the time he gets there he checks in with Tony, who reports he’s 45 minutes out. Enough time for a full scout. He tries Natasha again, tapping his com-link. It’s toast. Unless.. He connects it to his phone and runs diagnostics. He’s not as technical as Tony but he has a few tricks. When he reconnects he hears the tail end of his name.

Had she been calling it the whole time, or was that just freakishly good timing? Tony hears it too.

“Tash?!” He tries. He can hear her breath hitching. Fuck. She’s not ok. “We’re coming for you.”

Tony’s more practical and Clint’s never been more thankful for him. He’s an ass but a helpful ass, “tell us what you can?”.

Clint wants to infiltrate now. He’s desperate; Natasha describes that she can’t see anything. Not helpful. And that she can’t move. Worrying. There’s nothing after that. Tony lets her know that they’ve tracked her earpiece. She’s silent after that. No one really has anything to say except the obvious. They’re coming.

Clint heads to the back of warehouse.

Tony is now 20 minutes out.

And then it starts.

Natasha is screaming.

It’s excruciating.

Tony’s yelling at him to wait, but he can’t. He heads in. This place is a maze. Navigating the stairs, he hears Tony arrive. The explosion that sounds and rocks the building. He should have waited but he can still hear Natasha screaming and it’s ringing in his ears.

All of sudden she stops, and so does his heart. Moving faster he gets to the lower levels. Shooting two thugs in the face he starts checking rooms.

Tony is creating a hell of a diversion, drawing fire. Clint let’s him know that he hasn’t found her yet. The firefight outside continues.

The last room he checks is dark, and he heads inside. There’s something inside, he clears the doorway and finds her strapped to a table, his heart breaks in two- there’s straps around her feet, torso and arms; as he gets closer he sees the one around around her neck. Fuck.

The minefield of this trauma is just starting. He can see the rise and fall of her chest and at least she’s alive to see the c-ptsd.

Trying to rouse her he calls her name, he unstraps her ankles, and wrists; moving to her torso she starts bucking against the restraint. He tries to reassure her whilst undoing the strap; wounds that were oozing now have a streaky stream of blood. The wound on her stomach is hideous and her wrists and ankles have broken skin all around them and that’s just what he can see. He can feel her body tremors which he knows from experience only comes from electric shock. He finishes with her torso and moves to her neck. In hindsight, he should have started there, her body curls up in a fetal position - sounds of distress that aren’t words and not crying come hard and fast. Clint squats next to her face, brushing her hair back, his hand coming away with blood. He’s working as fast as he can with the strap around her neck, blood making it both slippery and sticky, fingers working the clasp.

It takes a lot for Natasha to scream, this he knows. He wonders how many were working on her to get her this distressed, this quickly. He tells her that it’s over, it’s done and they’re dead (he hopes they are), he picks her up and advises her they’re leaving.

Clint pulls a blanket from his pack and wraps her in it. He places a gun in her hands. At the most it makes her feel safe, at worse she shoots something or someone. He just wants her to be safe with him. She was supposed to be safe with him.

Clint just talks, tells her everything that’s happened since they split up. Clint tells her everything and nothing hoping it’s enough to keep her semi-lucid and awake.

Tony updates him that he’s leaving to meet the quinjet that’s made double time across the sea. He bundles her in the tiny fiat and heads for the airport. Clint tries to keep her awake, failing miserably; Natasha is moaning in pain and there’s nothing he can do at this point. He worries about concussion and trauma, but it can hold. He wants to get out of here.

Arriving at the airport, he sees Tony and Pepper and the quinjet waiting. Bundling Natasha into his arms, he tries to rouse her. He greets the couple, both taking one look at Natasha and hurrying into the jet. It’s when they’re sitting and he’s strapped himself in with assistance from Tony; arguing about whether Natasha should be in a hospital or at the very least needs medical interventions that Clint feels Natasha rouse. He feels her burying her head into his neck, straining for breath. Cracked ribs maybe? Tony notices, of course he does, her breathing is audible; Tony tries to make his case again and he feels Natasha trembling when medical is mentioned. Clint feels her pain. He brushes her hair away from her ear, wanting to be clear.

“Natasha. We can sedate you and fix you up if you want?”

He feels the shake of her head and he drops it immediately. It’s a long ride back to New York.

—-

Next up: we head back to the events which led Natasha to be captured (it’s shorter). Thanks everyone who’s liking and reblogging, you’re all brilliant. I also need to say, that I’m 100% on mobile so the formatting is shoddy - I’ll try and get on the computer to put it under a cut but that won’t probs happen til Monday, so sorry about that.

#whumptober2020 #clintasha #natasha romanoff #black widow #clint barton #tony stark #hawkeye #pepper potts #fanfic #whump #no.2 kidnapped #no.2 #kidnapped tw #torture tw #21 miles is 35km - just so you know #mine #let the games continue #sorry not sorry

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creativelyderangedme · 4 years

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Last Night Chapter 3

Previous chapter

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Before they could go gallivanting around Paris, though, Nino made a request to stop in at the club to deal with a last minute tab mix-up from the night before - which since it was on the way to the location tagged in the earliest posts of him and Ladybug, he didn't have a problem with it. It was also kind of hard to argue with a request from a guy literally planning on following you on a glorified scavenger hunt.

But before then, of course, there was also the matter of the strange hotel room mix-up that needed to be sorted out.

So after combing over the room for anything else he might have left and changing into something a little more comfortable, both he and Nino went down to the front desk in the hotel lobby.

The Huxton truly was a fantastically posh sort of place - giving off the air of old money with a mixture of fashionable millennial hipster charm. Warm leather chairs littered the open lobby, accented by the navy and bright reds of carpets and plush cushions, and deep greens of floral arrangements around the connecting room leading to the open terrace and bar and lounge. It was the kind of place Adrien could see himself spending a lot of time in given the chance. Something between the extravagance of his old room back at the mansion and a home he’d like to create some day; filled with things that were like him - things that screamed Adrien.

But that was a day dream for another time.

"Good morning, Mr. Agreste, I hope your stay has been pleasant so far!" A young attendant beamed at him the moment they approached the desk.

He recognized the bubbly blonde immediately, having been helped by her when they checked in the day before.

Estelle was her name.

He wondered briefly if they’d been professionally trained, or if Estelle always looked this perfectly coiffed and outwardly radiant and approachable. It sometimes took multiple cups of coffee before even he could muster the amount of charisma she seemed to have in spades.

Adrien grimaced, but tried to hide it under a smile, "Please, just Adrien. And actually I think something happened last night and I wanted to apologize."

The young woman gave him a confused look but allowed him to continue without interruption.

"You see, I woke up in a completely different hotel room than the one we checked into yesterday, and for the life of me, I don't know how, and I am so sorry for any trouble that might have caused. I'll pay for the room and any damage fee to make up for it."

The receptionist merely blinked for a moment at his word vomit, her bubbly radiance flickering for a moment as she seemed to mentally ask herself how this always seemed to happen to her before turning back into a megawatt bulb of sunshine, "Oh! I-I see. Would you happen to remember the room number?"

"Yes, it was 414." Nino answered in his place, recognizing the mortification crawling up Adrien's spine.

Estelle nodded and quickly began typing at her terminal, silence and persistent tapping filling the void while they waited for the impending news. Though, the longer they stood there, the more confusion seemed to fill her expression, "a-actually, sir, while I'm not completely certain of the circumstances, it - it looks like you booked that room."

"What? No, I only booked the room you checked us into yesterday."

She smiled once more, though, this time it seemed a bit strained - as she turned the monitor so that he could see what she did, "it says here that this room was booked early this morning. It looks like Collette was the one to book the room for you. She's not set to arrive until later this afternoon, but I could give you a call when she does?"

Early this morning? If the time stamp was to be believed it was nearly four am when the room was booked.

Staring at the screen wasn't giving him any further clues, so he nodded at the attendant.

"Yeah, please do. Thanks."

They began to walk away but Adrien stopped, turning back to the woman, "By chance, do you happen to remember seeing me leave here yesterday?"

Even as she appeared put off by the question, she answered him quickly.

"Yes. Both times. First with your friend and then again about an hour and a half later. Though, the second time you'd changed clothes. I remember because you asked me if I thought it looked too flashy for a club." She giggled good naturedly.

Nino snickered at his side, coughing to cover it up when Adrien scowled at him.

Finally, they waved and headed out the hotel's main entrance.

If ever Adrien hated the reminder that alcohol was not his friend, it was then as he and Nino stepped out into the late-morning sun of a gorgeous day in Paris - where the combination of splitting headache and overwhelming nausea nearly brought him to his knees while his friend pulled up the Uber app to confirm their ride.

"You good dude?"

The blonde could only grunt in response, swallowing back the abundance of saliva in his mouth in an effort to keep from heaving.

Something that didn't exactly convince his best friend that he was in the clear, "You know they charge extra if you puke in the cars, right?"

"I'll - I'll be fine. Just give me a moment."

Nino hummed, watching him with a curious tilt to his brow, "I haven't seen you this fucked up since the day after your old man's arrest. Just how much did you drink last night anyways?"

The unwanted memory of sitting hunched over someone's (he doesn't exactly remember who's) toilet bowl while puking his guts up until he had nothing left in his system (then dry heaving for at least an hour after that) flashed in his mind. It was a party his friends had thrown to just celebrate the end of Hawkmoth's reign of terror. For him though, it had been an opportunity to forget that twenty-four hours prior to that, he'd unmasked his own father after the man had tried to kill him and his partner in the hopes of stealing their miraculous to bring back his comatose mother.

There had been a lot of things he'd wanted to forget.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't have the tolerance for the alcohol he drank. Landing him in a nice cozy embrace with the porcelain throne the next day.

Apparently he still didn't have the tolerance.

Through his musings of the past, Adrien failed to notice his friend fishing something from his bag to hand to him until it was waving in his face.

A pair of aviators.

The blonde thanked him before putting the glasses on, reducing the ever present sting of light on his hungover brain. And just in time as a car pulled up to take them to their destination.

The ride to the bar was blessedly short and Adrien had managed to keep his stomach from rolling for the most part, but was very thankful when they climbed out of the silver economy compact with a half hearted wave and 5 stars.

Looking up at the ostentatious entrance to Chez Moune, the blonde had the strangest rush of dejavu. Something about the gold embellished entrance trim sparking familiarity that he couldnt place.

Nino walked right past him and through the doors, making his way up to the main club room and Adrien shook off his thoughts to follow after.

The former cabaret turned dance club was lit brightly for the early staff, stocking and preparing for another night of fun for tourists and local party seekers alike.

It was a club that Nino had managed to land more than a couple gigs, and had reserved a portion of for the going away party they’d all thrown him the night before. Celebrating the next leg of his life...

I’m leaving town soon. Tonight I’m supposed to be celebrating...

The voice wrapped around him like a fine silk, beckoning him towards the edge of a memory. Red - he was surrounded by red and moving shadows. And if he listened hard enough, he could hear the pounding of a bass beat that synced with the beating of his heart - steady and rhythmic and sultry.

There was the twinkling of bells riding on the coat-tails of a sweet voice.

You’ll get over it, I’m sure...

"Hey man - did you hear me?”

Adrien blinked, and the red club lights and shifting bodies disappeared, leaving an entirely too quiet empty bar and bright fluorescents. It took another moment before he realized he’d been asked a question, turning to look at Nino and ground himself in the present once more.

"Dude, you sure you’re good?"

His adam’s apple bobbed with the force of his swallow, but he nodded slowly. He was dizzy, and for the first time, not because he was hungover.

The blonde turned back to the bar and snippets pieced themselves together in his mind, bringing clarity to what felt like a fever dream.

"I actually did make it back."

"What?"

Adrien ran his tongue over parched lips, “I made it back to the club,” he said quietly, almost absently, but with much more confidence as he stared unseeing at a pair of bar chairs on the far side of the room.

There.

That's where he'd seen her.

When he'd managed to make it back to the club and no one was the wiser of his identity behind the black mask, he'd looked up to find his friends, only for his eyes to lock on her almost immediately in the crowd.

Understatement of the year, but, It had been a total shock to his system. Knocking the breath clean from his chest as he took her in.

It wasn't the red mask or the signature pig-tails hidden beneath a chic rimmed hat that had given her away.

Funny enough, it was her skirt.

Maybe not funny, because the presence of that one article of clothing had turned his world on its head.

It was more than possible he was mistaken. It could have been anyone.

But not just anyone could pull off ladybug spots. Which she did. Oh god she did. It was a long, high-waisted skirt with a bow in the same fabric on her hip.

But he'd remember that skirt anywhere. She'd only ever worn it one other time, afterall, and it was the last time he'd seen her, so the memory of her outfit from that day was burned into his memory.

It had to be her.

Right?

Adrien ignored the crowd as he made his way over to her, all the while his heart raced and mind fumbled over what he was going to say. The nerves were killing him. What if he was wrong? What if this was a complete stranger and he made an absolute fool of himself.

But what if it was her, a voice pushed in the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like Plagg.

He fought himself the entire way over, his mind completely unaware of the body's natural magnetism to the woman until he was standing close enough he could reach out.

It was now or never.

“What’s a lady like you doing in a place like this?”

Mentally, he'd face-palmed at the absolutely horrid words spilling from his mouth. Seriously? That's what he went with?

The lady in question rolled her eyes at what was probably not the first pick-up line she’d heard that evening, turning to look at him, blue eyes flashing with something close to shock and recognition before a brow pulled up under her mask.

She searched him for a moment.

The longest moment of his life.

Those eyes (if he was right, and he was positive that he was - oh god please let him be right) had always been so expressive - and he could see everything as it flashed in her expression; uncertainty, disbelief, reluctant recognition again before a smirk slowly graced her perfectly painted red lips, “Really? That’s the best you got?”

"For now, yes.” He nodded decisively, before finally taking the open seat next to her, “Though it did get you talking to me, so, I count that as a win."

She eyed him critically again before commenting, "Smooth."

"I try."

"Too hard."

He chuckled, because she always had been quite sharp-tongued and feisty. Good to see that hadn’t changed. “You never did answer my earlier question, though.”

"Why should I? You're a stranger in a bar."

Maybe, maybe not, he wanted to say, but thought better of trying to be too pushy.

"That's fair. You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He could see her eyeing him critically out of his peripherals.

“I’m leaving town soon. Tonight I’m supposed to be celebrating, but it just doesn’t feel right.”

He didn't let the grin spread over his lips at having gotten an answer, but did nod along, “I understand the feeling.”

“Oh?”

“As it turns out, I’ll be leaving town soon as well. And I too am supposed to be celebrating.” what were the chances they'd both be here celebrating? Slim to nil.

“So what’s your excuse?”

“Well, I saw this lovely lady sitting at the bar and felt it was my sworn duty to keep her company.”

The masked woman snorted a chuckle, trying desperately to hide the amused grin as she brought her drink to her lips, “Wow. That was worse than your intro.”

“Meowch. You wound me!”

He caught the way her eyes cut back over him at the pun before answering, “You’ll get over it, I’m sure.” Laughing lightly into the back of her hand, sweetly, like twinkling bells.

He could spend eternity getting lost in the sounds she made, but he had a mission. He could not allow himself to be distracted.

He waved over a bartender and ordered a rum and coke, throwing a few bills on the counter, exchanging currency for liquid courage before turning back to his companion.

“Why doesn’t it feel right to be celebrating?”

She hummed, considering her words as she peered over at him and the drink he made himself busy consuming, then turning back to stare at the glass she passed back and forth between her fingers on the bar top, "There was - something I had hoped to do before I left Paris, but I don't think that's possible anymore… I missed my chance."

Missed her chance? Adrien fought every instinct in his body urging him to envelope this woman in his arms and tell her it wasn't too late - but he had no idea what she was referring to.

And it hadn't been her that had missed their chance. No, the blame for that was solely on his shoulders. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that." He murmured softly, not quite sure what else to say to her confession.

Which left them sitting in an awkward silence that neither seemed to know how to dissipate. Both turning to finish their respective drinks.

That is, until the bartender came back around not five minutes after their glasses were empty with a fresh drink for the both of them.

Adrien’s masked companion immediately went to rectify the oversight, “Oh! But I-”

“On the house.” The bartender smiled, looking between the two of them - a kid in a candy store kind of giddiness to his stare, nodding his head like he was trying to find the right words to say before settling on, “And thanks. For everything.”

Both Adrien and his masked companion’s eyes widened at his words.

Neither confirming or denying his claims.

And the bartender didn’t stick around long enough for them to do so, either.

There was a moment where both of them just sat there staring at the drinks placed in front of them. Like taking the drinks would confirm every suspicion dancing between them.

“I-it was almost like he recognized us or… something…” She said softly, and had it not been for his enhanced hearing, he probably would have missed it. She reached out and took the drink and Adrien watched as she stared at it, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. A soft yet sad far away look in her eyes.

A small chuckle escaped him as he too took his drink, “... or something.” He confirmed.

They were dancing around their identities again. It was so familiar and so frustrating, but he didn’t dare broach the subject in fear of breaking whatever spell kept her seated next to him instead of leaving.

Because she had every right to.

She had every right to get up and leave and never say another word to him. Disappear into anonymity like a ghost of his past destined to haunt his every waking thought, but dancing just out of reach.

So he accepted the drink and accepted the company even if it meant hiding behind masks again, because - God he missed her.

He missed the easy conversion. He missed the quiet moments spent on rooftops under the stars. He missed her chiding him for his jokes. And he missed the way she demanded he take care of himself. Like her happiness depended entirely on his wellbeing.

And despite everything, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't still irrevocably in love with her.

It wasn't until they'd both nearly finished their free rounds that something caught the lady’s eye and made her groan to herself.

"Whats with the sound of distaste?"

She hummed, and shook her head, remembering her audience of one, "nothing. Just saw something gross." She threw back the rest of her drink then turned back to him, “You know… this place is seriously beat.” grumbling, and looking for sympathy.

But instead, she would be met with a flash of inspiration across his face. “Then what are we waiting for?” he stood, nearly knocking over his chair, but steadied himself, reaching out to offer her his hand, “Let’s blow this joint.”

She sputtered a laugh as she looked between his face and the hand he outstretched to her, “And go where? Do what?”

What couldn’t they do? He smiled, feeling an overwhelming excitement take hold of him. Like he’d just transformed and he could feel the power Plagg once offered wash over him. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

He nodded, not at all deterred by the ‘you’ve grown two heads’ expression on her face, “You said you’re leaving town soon, right?"

"Yes?"

“Then, what would one night of fun hurt?”

Because right now, he was Chat Noir. He could leap great distances, climb towers, defeat evil. They could do anything as long as they were together.

"B-but I don't even know you. You don't even know me!"

He grinned still, "Perhaps we know each other better than we think we do? Either way, we're two people about to leave Paris. We can't just go without giving the city one last chance to give us an adventure, right? Something sweet to remember it by."

She chuckled again, looking dazed and stricken, and trying to convince herself that the man before her was nothing but a creep trying to lure her away. She glanced at something over his shoulder, but her eyes kept coming back to rest on him. The indecision was being overshadowed by a spark of temptation in her features - something giving away how badly she wanted to say yes.

All he needed to do was give her a reason.

“Would I ever steer you wrong, M’Lady?”

The mystery woman's eyes widened as Adrien made the comment, confirmation of his suspicions in a single gaze as he offered her his hand in invitation. He could have said anything, and she could have denied it. She could have brushed off the comment as him being a terrible flirt and told him to take a hike.

Instead, recognition lit her eyes like summer fireworks and painful tenderness filled her stare.

And despite everything, She took his hand.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. Would you, Chaton?"

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #adrien agreste #adrienette #miraculous ladybug fic #chat noir #ladybug and chat noir #ladynoir #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #lastnight

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omega-queen-collects-lipstick · 3 years

Note

Mafia HC?

Oh boy. This is gonna be interesting.

In this AU Mc is an entertainer. She got some pipes on her. She can go honey sweet or seductively smoky. Only real issue is her being a tad on the sickly side. Very fragile. Not exactly in body. But her immune system is rather weak. She can thank her parents for that. For the longest time she's never seen the outside her room but to go to the hospital. In fact it took years to convince her parents to let her WALK. (Ever watch that secret garden movie? Basically that.) Singing was the only thing that brought her comfort.

After she turned eighteen she skipped town with the help of her personal doctor Dr Rosen. She moved into the safer side of a mafia run city. Got a job in a small bar as the entertainer. Of course word of mouth spreads fast. Why else the top three mafia bosses be in such a small bar?

Erik is known as the kinder of the big three. Willing to barter favors if a store or apartment can't pay the full due. He mostly deals in stolen shipments. Preferring to keep with old times.

Your eyes are what catch his attention so full of inner strength and life. It's breath taking. He wants you for his hotels bar entertainment just so he can be in contact with you constantly as he runs the hotel and entertainment when he's not looking at papers and doing boss things. He fully intends to woo her slowly and carefully. He's a scary looking guy with a reputation after all.

Hotaru is Erik's right hand man. Often speaks on his behalf when erik decides to go mute. Loves going on raids cause he can let loose and catch shit on fire.

MCs body language is what caught his attention. Not a hint of shyness while on stage. An absolute goddess of seduction. But then you get off the stage and your a cute shy angel. He loves it

He encourages erik to approach Mc with the job offer. Apparently he's not the only one with this idea.

Sweets is the best escort and eros right hand man. He's basically the house mother to the girls that work for Eros. Believe it or not he's met Mc before. When Mc first came into the city. He pointed out where to find apartments after you pepper sprayed one of his stalkerish fans. He wants you to be the entertainer at the escort club. All classy of course. Anything sex related is on an escorts own time.

Sweets is also pretty fucking crazy. Wouldn't know it just looking at him tho. He cleans up all the ruffians and abusers out of his bosses business. The secretly sadistic psycho with a sweet face. Incredibly clever he's eros tactician as well.

Eros is a don that handles sex trafficking and drugs. However cruel and ruthless tho he is, he takes care of his workers and his escorts. After all he himself made his start as a lowly prostitute.

He noticed MCs flawless performance in the face of what was obviously lack of health due to poor conditions. The pure happiness and joy as mc dazzles the crowd. After a couple minutes of having sweets ask the bartender about work conditions he learns that the owner cut the entertainments pay to save a few bucks and it's been hell because the owner doubled hours and still expects the same amount of work as when they were payed more.

Looks like he'll be buying this bar after an 'accident' befalls the owner.

Now quicksilver is absolutely cutthroat. We're talking sweatshops, hitmen, money laundering, illigal foreign items. Black market and dirty business shit.

He's been keeping an eye on mc tho as a request from an old friend (dr. Rosen) to keep her safe. And seeing as the guy he had hire her for a lower protection fee is getting greedy and jipping his future bride. . . Well the man won't need that money where he's going.

QS is absolutely obsessed and possessive of mc. He's killed off potential suitors. He's bribed others. He's even been in your home. He has some real issues that need to be addressed.

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jeromehoward · 3 years

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