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remyfire · 26 days

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uhhhhh for the kink prompts i think some beejhawk and praise would be delightful 👀

(prompts now closed) (Anon I promised I tried to go for full praise kink here but it went a bit softer than that and I hope you can forgive me and enjoy it all the same!!)

"Christ, Beej, the way you take cock, it's so..." Hawkeye digs his teeth into BJ's trapezius, muffling a shaky growl. As BJ scrabbles at the headboard like he's trying to find some kind of purchase, it triggers a response inside Hawk to keep him closer, fuck him faster. Hawkeye wraps an arm around BJ's waist and squeezes tight enough to make him cry out. He feels like a feral creature—not human, not animal, but possessed by an entity who would stop time to live in this moment for years.

They've been at it for hours, honestly. It's their first shared pass to Seoul since the dams broke and sent secrets, lust, and need spewing through the cracks, and there's no more trying to steal five minutes in supply or an hour in the Swamp with their sounds muffled and the door locked. No one's going to interrupt them, and honestly if they tried, Hawkeye would throw them out the window before he let them get his hands off of BJ for longer than thirty seconds.

Hawkeye has let BJ have the control since they got here, of course, as is their usual rhythm—he's never seen a man quite so frenetically compelled to perfect sexual acts in as short a time as possible, and they've only checked off a few things that Beej has groaned out a desire to experience—but the moment that Hawk woke from a twenty-minute nap to find his lover grinding his ass against him, he'd rolled him over and snatched the power right out of his grasp.

Hawk may have spent over a decade devoting himself to sex, but it has never been more necessary than in this moment. If nothing else, Hawkeye needs BJ to leave this room knowing the unfathomable depths that this adoration reaches.

He drags his palms up hot skin and soft, lush hair until he cups BJ's pectorals. His fingers pillow into them as he drapes his body over BJ like an umbrella protecting him from the storm. He's not sure what there is to protect BJ from here besides the ferocity of what Hawkeye wants to give him, but even still, he holds him here, nuzzling between his shoulder blades with a hum. "You know how good you are?" Hawk prompts, barely waits for an answering wordless whine before he shifts his angle just a hair to fuck more directly up into him, right over that sweet spot that has Beej punching the headboard just the once to shake his energy out. "God, you take it so well. Like you're made for it. I've never fit this good in somebody before, you know that?"

When BJ covers his mouth and muffles his moans, something flickers through Hawk's head, and he knows it's stupid, and he knows he's courting danger, but the last thing he needs is for Beej to hide himself like this while Hawkeye's filling him with cock and praise alike. Hawk grabs both of BJ's wrists and pulls back on them, holding BJ's body as taut as a drawn bow while he picks up his pace. "Fucking beautiful. Hot, tight..." It's never even once been said that Hawkeye is quiet during sex, but he struggles to let the words pour out of him now, careful to hold certain ones at bay, things he's not sure BJ's ready for.

BJ lets his head drop onto Hawkeye's shoulder, his mouth lolling open. Every thrust shoves a moan out of him like lava bubbling out of a volcano, like he doesn't know how to stop himself either. They're feverish fuel, each goddamn one of them, something for Hawk to put to good use.

"I-I gotta tell you more often," Hawk manages to grit out. "When you, when you look at me, I just..." His tongue goes thick in his mouth as he forces himself to slow down, to keep himself from cramping up. He wants this to last. Wants to remember what it feels like to be buried so deeply in him that he's forgotten how to break free. "How'd you put the fucking stars in your eyes, Beej? How'd I get lucky enough to find you?"

"H-Hawk," he whispers, a thready tone that's barely audible, but though Hawkeye waits for more, BJ melts into wordless, pleading sounds of pleasure.

As Hawk hooks his chin over BJ's trapezius, he gets the prettiest picture of Beej's hard cock, flushed and weeping for him, just for him. It's painfully erotic to see how it jolts with every thrust, how when Hawkeye releases his wrists, his hardness twitches, seems to curve more sharply toward BJ's stomach. The sheer physicality of this man feels more potent than any substance on the planet. It's unreal that so much sensuality could be contained within him, but from his broad shoulders to his powerful legs, he ripples with it all the same. Every lift of his hand, every step that he takes, they're a fluid kind of dance, hypnotic to watch and impossible to look away from.

He thinks sometimes that he could be content just to sprawl back on his cot and watch BJ go about his normal routine while stark nude. It'd be greedy, really, an opportunity to study the flex of his gastrocnemius, his jutting scapula, even visibly trace every rippling tendon in his neck as he turned his head.

The permission to stare. To know he never would have to look away.

"I love that you let me have you," Hawk breathes. He traces the tip of his tongue along his throat and groans at the taste of sweat. As BJ cranes his neck as an offering, Hawkeye's eyelashes flutter, and he nuzzles right against his jugular like a wolf preparing to go for the kill. "You feel so... The way that you..." There's too much to say. I love you. I can't imagine life without you. Words more lethal than poison. They'll taint this fragile moment and make it lose its strength with every second until it collapses, spent, unable to be revived.

BJ's skin vibrates when he murmurs, "You make me feel priceless," a dream of a sentence that nearly brings tears to Hawk's eyes.

"You are." His heart kicks up, urging him on. When he rocks forward, BJ grabs the headboard again and clenches around him hard enough to make Hawkeye squeeze the base of his cock. Not yet, not yet. Instead he zeroes in on the shape of his other fingers around BJ's waist. "You're a dream come true."

With a shudder, BJ lets his head hang between his supportive arms. "Don't stop, Hawk. God, don't stop..."

He could ask Hawkeye to do the impossible right now and he would. Anything. Anything for you.

Hawk drives himself now. Chases BJ's pleasure. He wants to go drunk on this man, madder than a maenad. It almost seems necessary to dull his own ecstasy, but that's a laugh. There's not a universe in existence where just getting to hear BJ breathe wouldn't thrill Hawkeye to the depths of him. Harder, harder, harder, pounding, skin slapping, gasps rising up and barely audible over the sound of the thudding headboard.

When BJ slaps the wall with a choked sob, Hawkeye covers his hand, slams into him, then stills. He reaches to feel along BJ's jaw, his chin, his cheek, finally coaxing him to turn his head so Hawk can see his face. Hawkeye holds him there, leaving kiss after kiss that makes his lips burn from the stubble, gently rutting against his ass.

"I wish this could last forever," Hawk admits. The words are too raw, too real. He buries his face in BJ's neck and picks up a lazy rhythm. He's intentional with the angle of his hips, rolling them as smoothly as he can manage even as his thighs ache and his abdomen clenches from his focus. It can't, of course. Even if he could somehow last physically, there's a world beyond these walls and an immutable future.

"Hawk?"

He expects censure. He shouldn't have hinted at that, shouldn't have—

"I want you to come," BJ whispers. "Want you to hold me. Wanna wake up in your arms, just like... Just like we're home, okay?"

What? Hawk's throat burns. No, there's no way he heard that right. But there's nothing else those words could've been. They were crystal clear. He sniffles, hates himself for not being able to hide his equal measures of hope and grief.

"And we're gonna do it again. And again. And it's not gonna stop. It's not." The certainty in his tone is unfathomable. Hawk's never met somebody who can lie to himself like BJ can.

But he admires that determination too. They've still got two days. Yeah, they're gonna have to eat eventually, take showers, maybe even drag themselves outside for a breath of fresh air, but forty-eight hours is a hell of a long time. He'd rather be doing this than fifty hours of straight surgery any week.

"It's not gonna stop," Hawkeye agrees, grinning despite himself at the pleased sound that rumbles through BJ. "I'll fuck you whenever you want, Beej, you just say the word."

"Will you..."

That isn't a question. Hawkeye can all but read this man's mind; picking out the nuances of his voice is easy. "Will I what?"

BJ whips his head around so Hawk nearly gets a mouthful of his silky hair. "It's stupid. Don't—" When Hawk brings his hips to a sudden stop, BJ tries to fuck back on him, but the angle makes it tricky. "Don't stop," he whines.

"Tell me." Hawk puts his lips right against the shell of his ear and breathes the words softer than a prayer. "Let me give you what you want, Beej."

As he curls his fingers around the headboard until his knuckles go white, BJ sucks in a deep breath. "W-Will you, uh... Goddammit, Hawk." The little laugh is more nervous than the bright humor that Hawkeye is so addicted to. "Make love to me?"

Time freezes. The words drift down like the gentlest snowflakes. And then a thunderous storm overtakes him, pressurized, making Hawkeye whimper as he locks his arms as tightly around BJ as he can. They fall forward until Beej is on his knees and forearms, until Hawkeye is rocking inside of him with deep, desperate strokes. "Oh, Beej," he whispers. He can't breathe. Can't even see or hear anything but the man who had him at Coleman Hawkins. "God, Beej, yes, yes, anytime, always, let me do that, huh? Let me love you."

"You sure?" So much is buried in two little words, and he hears it all—are you sure I'm worth it? Are you sure you want to deal with all my bullshit? Are you sure you're not going to change your mind if it gets harder? Are you sure it'll last?

"All of it," is all Hawk can find the ability to say. Maybe it's senseless but maybe BJ can hear what he means too. I'll give you everything.

His orgasm isn't transcendent, isn't pleasure striking him harder than lightning, but when he lets go, Hawkeye feels as though he rips his ribs open all the same and lets his bare beating heart rest on BJ's skin. As he noses along two vertebra, his tears drip, fall, leave long marks that dry cleanly. But as Hawk reaches around and takes BJ in hand, his frantic whispered words—"Ohh, yes, Hawk, like that, that's perfect, you're perfect."—tattoo themselves on him, invisible but not impossible to forget.

Hawkeye only has a moment to wipe his hand on the blanket before BJ rolls them back over and almost crushes him. "Jesus," Hawk snaps, trying to complain, but he can't stop himself from laughing either. "You wanna kill a guy or something?"

BJ flops on his back beside him, then drags Hawk into place, chest to chest, forehead to forehead. And as Beej caresses his cheek, he grins and his eyes shimmer, sapphires that gleam only for him. He opens his mouth as if there's something he wants to say, something that has Hawkeye holding his breath. But at the last moment, BJ gives his head a little shake and draws him in for a kiss that tells Hawk everything that he needs to know. One day, it'd be nice to hear the words, something to obliterate the fear that he can never quite dispel about what comes during infinite tomorrows. All the same, he can feel it, that if he's slipped his heart inside of BJ's chest, then he's protecting his lover's inside ribs of steel, and he dares someone to even try to take it away.

#anyway hot men wildly in love having hot and affirming sex just like they deserve. this is my kink.#hawkeye pierce #bj hunnicutt #beejhawk #hawkbeej #hunnihawk #my writing #ask meme replies

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stevenose · 1 year

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eeep!! idk what the hell wrong w me but here you are. flayed!steve using vines to fuck reader. heed the following warnings!!

contains: dub!con!!! cannot state it enough!!! reader is having a pretty good time but there’s a lot of implications here that may be uncomfortable, so proceed with caution; flayed!steve; vine fucking; reader with a vagina; breeding mention at the end; face fucking; possessed sex; fucked stupid; soft!steve harrington; cliffhanger ending :0

Two tendrils fuck in and out of your cunt roughly, seeming to slowly swell with the passing time. Another set squeeze and grope your tits, pulling at your sensitive nipples. You’re high on the pleasure, obsessed with it, nearly forgetting why you came here in the first place.

Steve stands above you, eyes dark and hooded as he fucks your face with his cock, groaning each time you moan around him. He pets your head softly, almost lovingly, practically beaming down at you. He’s naked, dark veins sprawling up his pale skin, chest and shoulders broad.

You’re aware that this isn’t really Steve. Steve is tucked away somewhere, far, but close enough to understand what’s going on. Before you were so dazed and fucked out, you wondered what he thought of you on your knees for him. If he’d get off to you being fucked by vines, held back, made to take it. To take him. You wondered if it was him that was hard and not the Entity within him.

You certainly hope so.

You can hardly care now, though. Fucked pliant and stupid, gushing on the vibes below you, squirming against the vines that hold you open. You drool and choke around Steve’s cock, eyes rolling back.

“You enjoy this,” he says. He doesn’t sound like Steve. He pulls out of your mouth, jerking himself off right in front of your lips. A vine climbs up your torso and around your neck, holding you in place. “It makes you feel good.”

You moan and blush, gasping for air and staring up at him through your lashes. Not-Steve smiles and crouches to face you, taking your cheeks in his hand. “Your mind is blank except for the pleasure, isn’t it? And to think you’d come here to distract me.”

His words snap you back to the reality of it all. You weren’t here to get fucked. You were here to buy the other’s time as they tried to close the gate. It’s apparently working - he’s certainly distracted. But so are you.

Finding some strength, you spit square into his face, almost immediately apologizing because - well, Steve’s still in there somewhere.

He only smiles and wipes himself clean with his thumb. “He likes this, too,” Not-Steve says. “So hard, but he is trying not to be. It cannot be helped, though. He has wanted you forever.” He smiles wider, no emotion behind his eyes. “You are the perfect prize for us.”

The words go straight to your clit, just as a smaller, thinner vine finds it. It plays with your sensitive nub, the words in your throat dying out into a broken moan. The vine around your neck pulls you closer to Steve’s face, and Not-Steve studies your face for a moment. “He wants to kiss you.”

Your breath hitches.

“Should I let him?”

You know you’re close to another climax, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on, truthfully. Your mind feels like it’s melting. But most importantly, your desire for Steve overrides any other thoughts, and you nod your head before crying out as the vines fuck into you deeper, harder.

Forced to lock eyes with him, you can see his irises becoming softer, full of color. Your breath is punched out of you with each thrust, unable to speak - only able to squeak out a little Steve before his lips crash to yours.

It’s messy, rough. You can tell only by the sounds he makes that he’s back, even if temporarily. He kisses you deep and moans, licking his tongue into your mouth. You cry out into his, cumming once again on the vines inside of you, starting to fall limp. The vines grab you harder to keep you upright and slow their movements before stopping entirely.

“Just - hang on,” Steve pants. It’s your Steve. “Baby, hang on, I’m so so-“

His eyes glaze over again. His once concerned face relaxes and he smiles again. “He wants to fuck you. Would you let him?”

It takes your brain a moment to process before you shamefully whisper, “Yes.”

“You two are useful,” Not-Steve beams. “I must build. You and the boy are the key.”

“What?” you ask hoarsely, searching his eyes for your Steve.

His hand slowly moves to your lower stomach, touching the flushed skin. “You will breed.”

#IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY. IM SORRY. BUT ALSO NO I AINT 🤪#cw dubcon #flayed!steve #flayed!steve x reader #steve x reader #ns/fw

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carnal-lnstinct · 2 years

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tumblr broke my askbox so i had to screencap it from mobile

Tsundere Bardock, U SAY? Got my boi out here bricked up on a thursday afternoon, the sun is still out.

Pairing: Bardock x Female Reader ( Time Patroller ) Requested by @emmacornell Rating: M / 18+. Minors DNI Prompt Warning: ( canon divergent / xenoverse 2 shenanigans, explicit language, humor, suggestive, canon-typical violence, mentor/mentee companionship )

"C"mon already, I'm barely working up a sweat here." Bardock griped rolling out his shoulder in his approach. "I thought you said you could handle it. You're fighting like some rookie."

"Says you." You murmured, swiping your knuckle across your lip to smear away blood and climbing back to your feet. When you pressed the saiyan warrior to be your training instructor, you thought you would actually be learning something unique from the other saiyans, something that came from his personal experience with battle. But now you're getting the impression you're the one being used for your experience. Three lessons in and it's getting harder to tell if his teaching methods are meant to round you out or to turn you into a punching bag to keep himself loose. How fortunate for him you don't use your full power in your training new techniques, but you get the idea he's pushing you to do so regardless.

"Run it again." Bardock orders, "And do it right this time."

"I did it right the first time, Bardock." You insisted, brushing the dirt from your clothes. "I don't see how not giving me a chance gets it right." Even from where you stood, you could feel the hard glare on you and see the crinkle in his brow.

"Listen, you're the one who begged me to teach you somethin'. You come this far just to quit, fine by me. But the last thing I'm gonna let you do is pull crap like leaving yourself wide open with the techniques I'm showin' ya! No real fight's a fair one, you can at least be smarter with your reflexes about it. Got it? Now run it again." He asserted. Bardock's more than aware you're no ordinary fighter. This strange "planet" he was brought to was proof enough of that, but he's not really giving the rest of the plucky rabble of fighters the time of day. Something about you really jumped out to him that not even his scouter could detect. Just something he has always been able to pick up on with his own two eyes. That special spark of spirit that really makes a person shine above the rest before he even toyed with the idea of training you.

You may have looked all bright-eyed and eager just trying to get your feet wet for a real fight, but he could really sense a lover of battle behind your attractive smile. He'd like to really throw down with someone who liked to cut loose as much as he does, going so far as to push through his own recovery time to see what you're really made of. Every time you've shown up to train, you come with the same spark and every time you left ready for more. Thus far, you have done nothing but impress him with your power. Your path forward was very clear to him and he truthfully would like to be part of that, but who knows what his next big fight holds for him. He is satisfied to be here for this while he can, even if it means roughing you up more than needed. If you're really made of the same spark as he, you can handle it just fine.

You see the ki build in his hand, visibly growing out and then condensing as he lunged forward towards you ready to unleash the power. You mimic his process to act in defense, planting your feet as the two powers were released and the large orbs collided on even level.

"That's it! Now push through, give it all you've got." Bardock rallied, doing the same as he increased the power behind his attack making your arm start to tremble under the force. Through the blue glow of energy, you managed to find the saiyan's eyes and once they see yours you start to smirk. You clenched your hand and the ki start to change shape from a sphere to a spear-like wave, pushing through his and forcing Bardock on the defense now trying to divert the energy back. Not only that, but the power of yours increased as well, dipping into your true strength to let it shine through.

No fight's a fair fight, he says. Might as well pull out all the stops. In your off-hand another blast formed, different than anything he's taught you so far. You snatch your hand back from the overpowering spear blast letting it destroy the two between you and charge forward to flank him with your other attack before he could recover. You are then caught off guard when he charges back into you with an outstretched hand, tanking your awaiting ki black and crushing it in your hand when he grabbed on. Giving you a cocky grin, Bardock then tightened his grip and slammed you down into the ground.

"You really thought I'd fall for somethin' like that?" He speaks through his grin, strong hand still wrapped around yours as he stood over you. You shake your head to knock your senses back straight and look up at him. Brow furrowed with annoyance but then gave him a similar grin. "Look at you havin' fun all of sudden. Fine, I'll give you that one for creativity." He adjusts his hand around yours to help you sit up in the perfect mold of the ground around you. "And who do you think you are hiding that kind of power from me? Have you been holdin' back this whole time?" Bardock questioned you with a scrutinizing eye which put a nervous grin on your face.

"Maybe I didn't know what I had in me?" You shrug, averting your eyes as you rubbed the back of your head.

"Yeah, right. No wonder you're having a hard time with my techniques. From now on, put all your might into it. Hold back like that is gonna get you killed." So he's not being as tough on you as he thought and surely he plans to fix that. As expected, he had no reason to doubt your potential. Your eyes wander back around, honing in on the firm grip he still had around your hand. You were fine enough to sit up on your own but he didn't let go. He catches onto this himself, swiftly snatching his hand away and tucking his arms against his chest.

His action brought a wide grin to your features. He was warming up to you more than he was letting on. You're used to the signs of it by now from some of your other fighting mentors, though it was a cute look for Bardock of all people. You're happy to see something different from his either disinterested or intense stance on matters.

Bardock can just feel your stare on him now and it was starting to get under his skin knowing you probably had some wise-ass remark about that. If you were smart about it, you would keep it to yourself. He peers back over toward you, seeing the awkward gape in your expression as your face flushed with color. Your eyes are wide and fixed on him, his gaze follows yours making him look down at himself. It was only when he unfolds his arms does he see what you see and his own eyes widen with realization before glaring down at you.

"What are you lookin' at?" You hear the ire in his tone and look up at him like a deer in headlights with broken words failing to even fall from your lips. You didn't know what to say, apologize if you're responsible for that to happen? Pretend you didn't see it and lie? He was more impressed with your training today than you thought. You didn't mean to, but it was clear you had already seen it, your eyes couldn't help but flick back a few times as he made no move to shield himself. You were helplessly drawn to the shock of it: the size, its boldness, how it presented itself through the clingy fabric of his suit- "-Quit lookin' at my dick, already!" He practically warned you with a stomp of his foot as well making you snap your head away and shield your face with a raised hand. "This is training, not some peep show! Get your head in this!"

The snort that escaped you at his last words, immediately followed by your hand clasped over your mouth made him sneer. Oh, you were going to regret that.

#my writing #bardock x reader #bardock imagine #bardock #dbz imagine #dbz fics #♚ ;; [ asks ]#♚ ;; [ requests ]#dbz #dragon ball z #dragon ball xenoverse 2 #xenoverse 2

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asksoldieron · 2 months

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SO-21: The Problem with Trolley Problems

If there's a lot of engagement on this, this post is liable to get real long, beware before you expand.

No art, but I am working on it and I will add it retroactively. The eyes are letting me draw, just real slow.

Welcome to the Engagement Lounge, for Black Box (250|21) an instalment! Short comments can go in the replies, but there's a 475 character limit. Longer ones will need a reblog. Remember to @asksoldieron if you're reblogging someone else's reblog, so I can see it too!

And so we come to the point! Well, one of many points, it's a long work. But this is one I'm going to hammer into the ground, because I think if people don't engage with it and understand it, bad things will keep happening. A person can get so used to there only being bad decisions, that they don't even look for good ones anymore.

I don't feel good about the gang doing a war crime, and you shouldn't either. I stacked the deck so you'd forgive them; not everyone is going to read from the very beginning and new readers may not trust me, so I pulled my punch. (You can blame my spouse for advising me to have mercy on you now, so you won't stop reading and run away.) You don't get a lot of humanizing interaction with the innocent tourist they assault, and Erik will, of course, forgive his family once he's able. They lay out their decision process for you, and it really does look like they're making the best decision with the information they have - but it's NOT a good decision. I don't want you to duck that.

And it doesn't matter that it's not. One-by-one, they make their peace with it, each for their own reasons. They even get Maggie to help, because she sees they're going to do it anyway, she can't stop them, and she doesn't want Erik to get hurt even worse. And they do it. It's done and they can't take it back, they can only move on from here.

Then we all find out John did the same thing, and why.

When he saw unknown numbers of innocent lives tied to the track, including children, John elected to throw the lever and run over Erik's family and autonomy. They're not dead, the damage isn't irreparable, but they sure are hurt. Likewise, Erik's family will throw that lever to save Erik's future physical and mental health, at the cost of his and an innocent stranger's ability to consent.

I've been planning this plotline since at least 2017 (My original inclination was to force people to compare the mass kidnappings of immigrant and Indigenous children to the Holocaust, but, uh, my focus has broadened out of necessity. Clearly.) , so I had no idea it would go up while my country of origin is trying to decide between one of two genocidal Presidents, but it has. Much like Maggie, I'm sitting here with the full knowledge that one of two bad things will happen, we will not be able to take it back, and we can only move on from there. And, to add insult to injury, she's got to listen to a person she respects explain why sexual assault is OK in this case, and try to square that up with her opinion of him in general. It's not even like he doesn't care, but it's the only thing he can see to do, so he'll defend it. And she'll let him.

Of course, these weren't the best decisions they could've made, but they would've had to take risks that could've ruined everything to get a better result. Neither John nor Erik's family feel secure enough to do that. They've been hurt enough. So (slight spoiler, but I won't go into it) John missed his chance to pick up Diane to help him, and the NDA rejected calling David back with little consideration.

It may not be obvious, but David was telling lies with purpose. He's trying to protect John and the Rainbows from people who could get them all killed. (Given how mad Milo and Ann get later, this is a valid concern.) If they called him back and he saw they weren't buying that Erik would be fine, he'd explain about the battery and try to take all the blame, even at the cost of burning his bridges with Hyacinth. Then the shopping bag with the info would've arrived and confirmed the nature of the damage. (As well as the decent odds that Erik would recover from it within a week, with better operating instructions to help.) But they didn't even give him a chance. It didn't seem worth doing.

When we have to solve a lot of trolley problems, we get used to the idea that someone is going to get run over and we're just deciding who. It's very difficult to reject the entire premise and find another way. While you're trying to take a third option, the trolley might run over someone you don't want to lose! So you pull the lever and move on to the next awful scenario. You're doing your best!

OK, but we sure are running over an awful lot of people. I do wonder how many more will die before the majority of voters decide the risk of a derailment is preferable to running over whatever's on the tracks. I mean, we're going ahead with the genocide. It's far away and we don't have to look at 'em dying, there is that. If it gets a little closer and both choices involve mowing down (more) immigrants on the southern border, will that do it? I'm really scared that it won't, and I could get confirmation on that during this election too. If we're willing to allow that, what's next? (I'm constantly gripping the edges of my seat and waiting to hear, "Well, both candidates are going to send all the trans kids to conversion therapy, so can we please focus on Roe v. Wade/the Supreme Court/healthcare/student loans/etc...?")

I think, I hope, there's a point where everyone will refuse to engage with "choose who" and refocus on "MAKE IT STOP." But we're not there yet. I don't know what happens when we get there, either. A lot of revolutions just rearrange the hierarchy and change the nature of who gets tied to the tracks. I don't want that, and I don't want this. Maybe, if my work survives, someone in the future will be in a position to make some better decisions, and stop the goddamn trollies forever.

So I keep writing and hoping like hell.

Future readers, if you're wondering how we knew it was wrong and did it anyway, I've tried to express that in capsule form with its own context. I hope you can understand, if not forgive, and go on from wherever you are too.

[Back to Site?]

#tin soldier and soldier on #instalment #engagement lounge #trolley problem

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peony-pearl · 2 years

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Personally I like to imagine that, during The Day of Black Sun, after Zuko confronts Ozai, a guard tells Ozai that Iroh has escaped. Ozai demands news on where Iroh could be, as he refuses to lose two prisoners.

He gathers himself and goes to find Iroh, seething after Zuko has bested him. He needs something to let his frustrations out upon. Eventually, he catches word, and he goes to confront his brother out in a clearing near the coast.

Iroh stands, solemn, silent, and daring. He isn’t afraid.

Ozai’s hands become engulfed in flames as he approaches the ‘Dragon of the West’. He taunts him, laughing, about how he belongs in that cell for ‘his own good’. He doesn’t mention how Zuko was going to go find him. Instead, he tells Iroh that no one wants him; no one loves him. He’s a failure; a disgrace.

Iroh doesn’t move. He doesn’t back down or flee. He doesn’t advance.

But what Ozai may have in sheer power - Iroh has the knowledge of a general.

Iroh has years of war stitched into his hands.

The fight is brutal, something that’s been building for decades. Ozai finally exacts his bitterness over being the spare child - while Iroh gets vengeance for Zuko, and, dare he say it, vengeance for his pride after being overlooked for his birthright.

Ozai’s fire and lightning are nearly outmatched - but Iroh’s force, his brutal strength and determination keep up with Ozai for what it’s worth; punching and scraping his brother with nails that have been chipped away from weeks inside a prison cell. His own fire and lightning are powerful against Ozai, but that’s not what he wants to use... in the end he needs to, but he wants Ozai to know his full wrath.

The scuffle is violent; neither come out without blackened eyes or bloodied noses. Skin is littered with cuts and bruises and burns; hair is singed and pulled and matted.

Azula watches from nearby, having caught up. This is no Agni Kai - it’s a dirty, vicious brawl with snarled teeth and more screams than actual words.

It’s something Azulon had become accustomed to breaking up when they were younger and more agile.

The agility was still there, but in it’s place was years of seething, simmering disgust.

Azula is about to intervene until both Iroh and Ozai cut her off with a barrier of fire, continuing to settle their score with screams that sprayed blood and spittle towards the other.

The Dragon battles The Phoenix, and there is no winner and no loser. Iroh manages to exploit a wound in Ozai’s ribs, punching it until Ozai can no longer stand and struggles to breathe; but he knows he can’t waste any more time before Azula finally intervenes to save her father, so he makes his escape.

Thankfully, Azula is more concerned in helping Ozai than in chasing him, which means he’ll only have to worry about regular soldiers tracking him. He can rest a little easier knowing Azula’s keen tracking sense won’t find him before he can be long gone, even with a limp and burning lungs, he can outrun these ordinary young pups.

Just long enough until he can meet the other Lotus’ and get some backup.

#atla #Iroh #Ozai #Azula #my writing

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serivory · 1 year

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A Run for One’s Pudding

A Mono and Runaway Kid drabble that was inspired by a random writing prompt (granted, it consisted of two words only). But this was pretty fun to write nonetheless. Helped me develop their dynamic a bit better and put my own depiction of the characters out there. Though, there are few things to note before you start reading so I wouldn’t recommend skipping this part. They’re not referred to as “Mono” or “RK/Seven/etc.” here. Check their names listed below: Mono = Fib Runaway Kid = Feo That is all. NOW you can read. xD

━━ ⋆✵⋆ ━━

Food was never served on a silver platter, especially when you were predestined to become someone’s dinner should you waltz into the wrong room at the wrong time. The gaffers of the ship exercised no restraint in fulfilling their duty through whatever means as either a chef, a janitor, or the Geisha herself. Long story short, food never came by easily. If it did, then pigs may very well start flying.

However…the surplus of sugar and fruit sitting on the table for all to see was an exception.

The urge to purloin the plated delicacy was TEMPTING I tell ya. Fib stared at the banana pudding in all of its glory through the eyeholes of his paper bag, trying to concoct a brilliant plan to grab the glass bowl without anyone noticing. Feo, however, threw caution to the wind and was going in without much of a warning or preamble. The boy blew past Fib, which caught the poor soul off guard and rendered him speechless for a good few seconds. He wasn’t given time to say anything in protest when Feo was already pulling himself up on one of the legs of the chair, shoving his foot in the small divots etched onto the wood (which was proven useful as it facilitated the process in climbing up the chair).

Fib sputtered incoherently in confusion, looking upon the shackled boy in disbelief. Aaaaaahhhhh to heck with it. If Feo was going in without a plan, then Fib may as well do the same. With a sigh, he followed in pursuit, scaling up the chair leg, his eyes trained on the other lad who was taking the lead by a large margin. MAN can he move! Fib could’ve sworn that the shackle bound to Feo’s ankle would’ve served as a hindrance, but.. apparently not.

The paper-bag’ed boy ascended up the ladder-back backrest, pressing the soles of his feet against the splintered wood to launch himself towards the table. For a solid moment, he felt like he was flying, gravity’s efforts in taking a hold of him being all for naught as he soared through the air without a care in the world, paying no mind to the altitudinous distance between him and the floor. He was certain that he would make it to the table, only for the realization that he was about to crash into it at full force dawning on him a moment too late. And crash, he did. He smacked into the edge of the table, the impact knocking the air right out of him.

Ooooooh…that looked like it hurt. Feo grimaced, and a pained expression made itself at home on his face. He made haste towards the bagged boy, offering a hand—that of which Fib gratefully took as he was still reeling from the ever-painful mishap. That was going to hurt tomorrow…

“You okay…?”

“. …Yeah…” The strain in Fib’s voice could’ve told otherwise. He was…just gonna lie down…yeah…wAIT no, he simply couldn’t! They had a heist to pull, and he wasn’t going down with a fight. But gOD that hurt like a bi-

“Okay…you take one side, I take the other.” Feo motioned the other boy over, who was making a speedy recovery (surprisingly enough). With stuttered breaths, Fib crouched down so he could easily slip his hands underneath the bowl, which was a lot heavier than he thought it would be. Thankfully, the burden was shared among both him and Feo, so it wasn’t as overbearing as first expected. But it was heavy nonetheless, and they were very small.

But underestimating these two would be a fatal mistake on anyone’s end. They sure packed a punch coupled by something they’ve never fallen short of… *jazz hands* strategy! Or at least some semblance of one.

“Alright…ready? One…two…one...two…”

With every hushed ‘one’, both Fib and Feo moved the foot closest to the edge in sync. And with every ‘two’, the other foot followed. It was a steady, cadenced process that worked wonders. Before they knew it, they’ve reached the very edge. Now…getting down from the table posed yet another challenge. This pudding better be worth all this effort…or Fib would’ve nigh-broken a few ribs for nothing.

His body felt strained, as did their chances of making a seamless escape with the giant bowl of pudding. And to make matters worse, footsteps were approaching, slow and lugging; surely belonged to the fat simpletons—whose minds dwelled on nothing else aside from their stomach—that often roamed around the ship. Oh no, those fat and ugly guests weren’t scoring this viand of a treat before he and Feo were. After everything they’ve been through, they should at least have THIS. Maybe for once, they could rest easy on a full stomach.

━━ ⋆✵⋆ ━━

They made it…

Not unscathed, as eluding the rapid guests on foot whilst holding a heavy glass bowl proved to be a dilemma in itself. But, they were able to get away with not-so-rotten luck. Fib never pictured their “seamless” escape with a lot of holes and loose threads, but he was satisfied with the outcome nonetheless as he sallied forth with Feo and their score towards an empty room.

Well…I wouldn’t say empty, seeing how the first to greet them were a couple of nomes. Though I wouldn’t say greet either, since they scurried off and dashed for the nearest hiding spot the moment Fib and Feo entered the room. The pair deposited the bowl down onto the floor, Feo kicking a pesky sausage away in the process.

Alas! What Fib thought was a false hope built on paper-thin chances of survival became a reality. They’d gotten away with nabbing a bowl of pudding. While this seemed trivial to any outside observer who knew not of the barbaric circumstances they were born in, it was a feather in the pair’s cap. Not only was this another success under their belt, it proved that they could work well together as a team. Yes, there were flaws in a few of their methods (e.g. Feo running in without a plan), but not everything was bound to go as swimmingly as one would expect. Besides, things turned out, didn’t they?

Feo took a moment to catch his breath, the toll this heist had taken on his body finally hitting him with the force of a bullet train. A small “heeeyyy..!!” caught his attention, his gaze redirecting towards the boy donning a paper bag.

“. .You okay..?” It was obvious that Feo was just as spent as Fib was, but it wouldn’t hurt asking.

Feo nodded—which was more of a tired bob of his head. “Y.. Yeah…I just need to uh.. sit down,” There were no chairs in sight. “Oooor not. I’ll…I’ll lean,” He props his hand up against the wall, which now served as a support beam. However, that did little to stave off the exhaustion in his weary arms and legs and he felt himself slipping with every passing second. “Or just…straight up collapse…” Aaaaaaaand onto the floor he went.

Fib felt bad for laughing, but he was relieved that it didn’t draw any offense from the other boy sprawled on the floor, who too found himself spiraling into a fit of laughter ( albeit, breathy having been worn to a frazzle). The bagged lad strolled on over to Feo’s side, taking a seat on the floor next to him. It was obvious what their next course of action was, but neither had the energy to get up and find a utensil of the sort. Not like they had the time to snag a cutlery or two while dodging guests that rampaged the halls like there was no tomorrow.

Fib casted his unseen gaze down at the other boy, paying heed to every minute detail about him. The way his chest rose and fell with every steady breath, his arms resting on either side of his head, and his long fringe sticking to his forehead with sweat. Fib hesitated for a hot second as he reached a hand towards Feo’s face, combing his fingers through his bangs by means of brushing them back a bit. With every strand of hair cleared away, he could get a good view of the clandestine top half of the boy’s face. Feo’s eyes slid open, like curtains parting to reveal a chartreuse mise-en-scène, embodying an untouched plantation with its thriving, dense growths; undefiled and free from corruption. He’d has never seen Feo’s eyes up close before. He’d gotten a coup d’oeil a few times in the past as they peered up at Fib through the long fringe, quite like a komorebi through a canopy of leaves. But being able to view them without any obscurity left the same, wonderful ache one would attain when gazing upon a sea of stars.

The paper-bag’ed boy hadn’t realized he’d been staring ‘til a good few minutes had passed, which was long enough to be deemed awkward—as attested by the subtle left-to-right shift of Feo’s eyes, like tree branches dithering by the gentle force of a zephyr.

Fib withdrew his hand and turned away, clearing his throat. Feo mused over his reaction, suppressing a small grin threatening to make itself apparent.

As a last-ditch effort in ridding them of the awkward tension permeating the air, Feo propped himself up on his elbows, casting a grateful smile up at the flustered boy. “Hey…thanks for having my back…”

Fib’s head swiveled back around so he was facing him (had he looked a liiiiitle closer, he could see Fib’s eyes widen by a fraction of an inch through the peepholes). “O-Oh.. it’s…nothing.”

“No. It’s not,” The clarity in Feo’s voice shook the other boy to the core. Not in a bad way, of course. Something about his hard-bitten tone of voice shunned every doubt or pretension of dispute, which was always followed by a swell of reassurance. It.. was something he could find comfort in. “Now it’s my turn to ask. Are.. you okay..? You crashed into the table pretty hard back there…” How Feo can shift from earnest to timid in a matter of seconds was beyond Fib, who prodded at his abdomen. It was a bit tender, but it wasn’t horrible.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’ve been through worse.” While Fib stated that in a manner to assure the boy that he was faring alright, it seemed to have accomplished the exact opposite.

If Feo wasn’t knackered out to the point of exhaustion, he would be pressing on that matter further. He couldn’t bear the thought of his bagged companion wagering his life on the off-chance that he’d flee from the many imminences the world threw his way. And the fact that he’d placed Fib’s life at stake during this “pudding heist” deposited a well of guilt in the hollow of his chest. But yet again, he was far too tired to dwell on it. His body was demanding the sweet release of sleep (no, not death) at this rate.

“If you’re sure..” Feo sat up, his bangs—which was long overdue for a trim—falling over his eyes, much to Fib’s dismay.

“I’m sure..! I’m sure’ing my head off, see?” Fib vigorously nodded his head, the paper bag bobbing at the sudden movement. This earned a soft giggle from the other boy, one reminiscent of tinkling, handheld bells. ‘Twas music to one’s ears, summoning a hint of cheer to a usually cheerless atmosphere. Even the nomes were beginning to ease up, identifying these two as not a foe, but a friend.

And Fib didn’t have to see the other boy’s eyes to picture two, upside-down crescent moons paired with the toothy grin plastered on his face. An imaginative young fellow he was, always trying to fill in the blanks somehow, even with what little he could pick up on through the little eye-hole cutouts of his bag.

It’s safe to say that he discovered the first two wonders of the world that day: Feo’s eyes, and Feo’s voice.

#little nightmares #mono little nightmares #runaway kid #{{ the prompt was literally just banana pudding #{{ hats off to you if you can spot the Bluey reference

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spidersfanfics · 1 year

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Third Time’s the Charm

Cid nan Garlond x Nero tol Sceva | Confession | Kismesisstude

Nero, as he is prone to doing, tries to leave mysteriously in the night yet again. But this time, Cid catches him.

Taking place in a nebulous, probably not canon-compliant space after Shadowbringers? Because although I have not gotten there yet (pls no spoilers), I can only assume Nero continues the trend of his little disappearing act.

“Leaving us already, Tol Scaeva?”

Nero froze in the midst of packing his suitcase and sighed heavily. “Have I been caught?” He asked without turning around. Not that he needed to in order to pinpoint that familiar voice. Cid nan Garlond, the bastard.

Cid chuckled from where he stood. No doubt leaning smugly against the door frame. Blocking the exit with his stocky build. Burly arms crossed across a broad chest that had filled out infuriatingly nicely since their youth… Nero was going to give him the satisfaction of turning around first though. Or admitting any of that. Especially since he was still talking. “You’ve pulled your vanishing act often enough that I figured I’d beat you to the punch this time.”

“Oh gods, I’m becoming predictable,” Nero lamented dramatically and forced himself to focus on the conversation at hand. “Look what you’ve done to me, Garlond.”

“What I’ve done to you?” Cid repeated incredulously, barely containing laughter. “Nero, I’ve never once met anyone who could do anything to you that you didn’t want.” The door clicked shut audibly and footsteps approached. Nero tensed up instinctively, awaiting whatever was to come. But Cid stopped a little ways away and sighed. “Which is why I’m not going to try and convince you to stay right now.”

Nero blinked, well that wasn’t what he was expecting. He clenched and unclenched his fists a couple of times. “What are you here for then?”

A hand appeared in Nero’s peripheral vision as Cid reached around to place a gentle hand on his chin and tilted his face around. “Nero,” he said firmly but softly, “Can you look at me, please?”

Nero allowed himself to be manhandled for just long enough to face his dearest rival before pulling away with a scowl. “Don’t baby me, Garlond,” he sneered. “Just tell me what you want so I can be on my way.” He hoped it wasn’t clear how much he was shaking and he crossed his arms behind his back to try and hide his nerves. He tried to tell himself that he just wasn’t used to Cid being so forward. But it was hard, standing so impossibly close to this lovably insufferable boy scout. “What’re you scared to miss me? I know my stunning intellect and roguish charm are hard to come by around here.”

Cid laughed again and shook his head. But did as he was told and backed off a little. “Just wanted to look you in the eyes for this next bit. But I guess with your sour attitude I may as well have gone to the kitchen for a lemon and asked it to listen.”

“Oh well aren’t you clever with your words,” Nero scoffed. He straightened to his full height so he could properly tower over Cid but for once it didn’t do much good. He suddenly felt impossibly small. “You’re still stalling, Garlond.”

“Quite the astute observation.”

“Cid.”

The man in question widened his eyes. Nero just about never called him by his first name. He must be really irritated. Better get this over quick then. “Right, right, sorry. It’s just that. Twice now you’ve escaped right when I thought we’d finally learned to get along. And twice now that means I worked up the courage just a touch too late to say what I’ve wanted to say. I wasn’t going to let a third chance slip through my fingers.”

Nero shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. “We do get along,” he said, purposefully dodging the point of Cid’s explanation. “Or at least, I like to think I get along just fine. You’re the one who keeps rekindling our childish squabbling.”

Cid smirked, “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Whatever, that’s hardly the point.” Cid reached up to run a hand through his hair as he considered his next words. “Ever since we ended up more or less back on the same side of this conflict, I’ve wanted to have a proper talk. But we’ve been so busy helping the Warrior of Light that the time never seemed right. Which is when I realized, the time was never going to be right. Not in the way that I wanted it. So I’m just seizing the moment now and seeing what happens.”

Nero blinked, “What in the world could be so important that you of all people would fret over talking about it? I often feel like I’m doomed to listen to your lecturing for the rest of eternity.”

“You’re one to talk,” Cid retorted, “You can’t get enough of your own voice. Though I guess the irony here is that you’ve also been avoiding this talk. So I just have one question for you. When are you finally going to stop running away and address this thing between us?”

“I don’t run away. And there is no thing,” Nero snapped. Then, when Cid just shot him a silent, unimpressed look, he cleared his throat awkwardly and added, “Even if there was, what makes you think I want to talk about it?”

Cid rolled his eyes with an amused smile, “Well what if that’s what I want? Really Nero, would it kill you to think about someone else for a change?”

“I told you not to make fun of me,” Nero frowned.

“I’m not.”

“Of course you are,” Nero insisted and at this point he was starting to actually get angry. Who was Cid to just barge into his room in the middle of the night and try to tell him how he should feel? Even worse, he might be right. But he would never give Cid of all people the satisfaction of knowing that. He’d sooner see his life’s work destroyed than admit that he was in love with Cid nan Garlond.

“Coming in here and acting like you know anything at all about how I feel. Meanwhile I know very well you hate me so what’s the point in me liking you?”

Well shit. Time to get out the torches and burn his workshop to the ground, he supposed. Because there he goes again running his big mouth before thinking for more than a second. “You really think I hate you?” Cid asked. “For someone so smart you can be such an idiot sometimes.”

“Ah, so you admit that I’m smart.”

“When have I ever not,” Cid laughed, “Certainly not with you snapping at my heels all throughout our youth. Success meant nothing if it wasn’t to keep up with you, Nero. But you’re changing the subject again. How are you so sure that I hate you?”

Nero’s unshakable confidence was faltering. The walls that he’d worked so hard to build around his heart were crumbling in the space of an instant and for once he had no idea what to do about it. “Don’t you?”

“Of course not.” Cid smiled gently, his eyes filled with adoration. “I am who I am because of you. How could I hate you? I find you a nuisance and a brat and a reckless fool. But I do not hate you.”

Nero scowled, “Well you should. Because I hate you.”

“Do you?” Cid chuckled, “That’s not what you said a moment ago.”

“Shut up,” And now it was Nero’s turn to grab Cid by the face. Although his grip was far less gentle. He wrapped his hand around the lower half of Cid’s face and pulled the man towards him. “You and I are rivals. That’s the point. That’s how it has to be.”

Cid grinned as best as he could with Nero’s fingers digging into his cheeks. “Why is that?”

“Because if we were anything else we might tear this world apart,” Nero answered. “As it is, all we do is tear each other apart.” His breathing was heavy and his last words felt like a confession. “And for now that seems so much safer.” Maybe it was.

“Nero,” Cid’s voice had an exasperated tone that was oh so familiar. “Can’t we have just one civil conversation without someone ending up in the chirurgeon's wing?”

“Nope.”

That coaxed yet another laugh out of Cid. Nero was really on a roll tonight, despite his best efforts. “Well then why don’t you go ahead and test your hypothesis? See if the world explodes if you just take what you want for once. Rather than what you think you should want.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

Nero growled in frustration and pulled Cid even closer. Finally crossing that last ilm between them. And he kissed him. Open mouthed and hungry. That growl of frustration quickly morphed into one of need and want. He needed Cid and he wanted to stay. Or rather, he wanted to want to stay. But when they broke apart panting, Nero’s poker face had already returned. “I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

Nero shook his head. “It’s too suffocating. I just can’t do it.”

Cid sighed then reached up to run a comforting touch across Nero’s cheek. “I understand. Go, do whatever it is that you do when you’re not with us. And then, when we need you most, you’ll be back. Right? That’s how it always seems to be with you. Until then I’ll be waiting.”

“Gar- Cid. I lo-”

“Shh,” Cid shook his head. “Save it. Tell me when you mean it. Don’t make any promises you can’t keep. For now, I just want you to know your options. And I trust you’ll be smart enough to pick the right one.”

“So you do think I’m smart.”

“An absolute genius.”

#I just started Shadowbringers #I have massive brainrot especially for my snarky garlean boys #So I figured I should make some content #Especially because I have the misfortune of also being a homestuck fan #And these two are a clear kismesisstude #I mean come on #It's so obvious #FFXIV #Final Fantasy #Cid Garlond #Nero tol Sceva #Cid x Nero #Spider Writes XIV #Fluff #Love Confession #First Kiss #No one writes Nero aggressive enough fr

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tempest-toss · 4 months

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Sure, if you'd like!

((Thabk you, although I may still write it for the full experience:> ))

Well let's see... first he broke into Five's room, where I fought him. I almost couldn't fight because I recognized his attack patterns as similar to the King's so I almost got a fist through my heart. I shifted last moment but had a hole punched through me that lost me my kidney.

Two entered the fight to sustain me. He got grabbed but out-choked the Yule Man with his tails. Five regained enough confidence to use her power to dislocate one of his arms, and then Seven tackled him out of the window.

Outside they fought but despite getting many great hits in Seven realized she was going to run out of steam before it did, and called for a tactical retreat, covered by Thirteen who sniped out a quarter of the Yule Man's head. He then began making illusions of Five around him, so she couldn't risk another attack.

Six and Twelve were circling around for aerial attacks, but the Yule Man took this chance to appear on top of Six and stab him with an icicle, and while Twelve knocked him off and had his bugs eat away at his knees, Twelve began being pulled in by the Yule Man, so Twelve cut off his own wings to escape.

Ten began to try to help, and he used his prior MTF training and held his own, even dislocating the Yule Man's jaw. However he got grabbed and began to have his bones broken, and was spared only because Nine was on the roof and shot the Yule Man with a flare, and the Fourteens could help injured O5s escape.

Sunrise was approaching, so the Yule Mam became desperate and angry. He managed to grab Five and almost got away, but was stopped by Three and Eight. Eight broke their silence. One of the reasons they are "Quiet" is because tmof their skill. They let out a sonic scream (Five had her ears muffled by Three, who turned his hands to gold to muffle her ears.) that knocked the Yule Man down and had him let go of Five.

Time ran out and the Yule Man was forced to retreat. Five tells me that she and it made eye contact, and despite the aggression she saw, she claims she saw some fear in it too.

--Four

#long post #shady person #tw: mention of self mutilation #four #werewolf

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bajisbabe · 3 years

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[author’s note] I rewrote this post THREE times...

# DON’T KNOW WHY I STILL TRY, SHE WONDERS WHY

“I don’t trust nobody, not even her.”

they accidentally hit you | Yandere!Mikey, Ran, Wakasa

warnings: accidental violence, brief mention of actual violence, implied kidnap, yandere, Mikey kicking reader, Ran hitting reader, Wakasa kicking reader.

anon said: “Request for a Yandere ran, Mickey and Wakasa where they accidentally hit you? Like they accidentally slap or kicked u too hard for any reason”

song: trust nobody, love nobody the same by sagun (feat. shiloh dynasty)

— is probably beating tf out of someone who thought they could get between you two; maybe someone who came to rescue you or tried to help you escape.

— he is about to end them with that legendary kick of his, but his foot catches your jaw because you thought it would be a great idea to jump in front of whoever Mikey is beefing with in a pathetic attempt to save their miserable life.

— and Mikey is able to slow the kick just enough so that you don’t get the full force, but you still get hit as it was far too late for him to stop when you suddenly jump in front of him like that.

— and you go flying.

— like you’re literally knocked off of your fucking feet.

— and he watches your body crumple on the floor as you land.

— you let out a lil’ yelp as you hit the ground.

— suddenly, he forgets all about the loser he’s beaten bloody and runs over to check on you.

— he kneels over you, tugging your limp body into his lap.

— he smooths back your hair, rubbing his thumbs over your temples as he softly calls your name.

— and when you don’t respond, he gets panicked and begins calling your name louder and louder until you answer with a groggy, “what?”

— he gets so angry at himself that he has to take it out on something, or rather someone.

— so he moves as though he is going to go back to kicking ass, but you weakly tug at his wrist and beg him not to.

— and he sees how weak and vulnerable you are at the moment, and how you’re begging him so sweetly for someone else’s life.

— he hesitates, but in the end, he gives up and leaves that person alone. even though he has already given them the beating of a lifetime.

— and he does his best to help you get somewhere safe where you can be treated without alerting the authorities of course.

— he feels really guilty about it and keeps apologizing.

— and if you ask him not to go after that person again, in this moment, when the guilt is eating him alive, he won’t.

— but only if you ask him now, while he still feels like shit about how things ended up.

— he’s not as smart as people give him credit for.

— he really is quite a brute.

— he swings on kids with bricks and batons in parking lots for fun.

— he is most likely testing out his new weapon, whatever it may be.

— maybe a brand new shiny, steel bat that’s sole purpose is to beat in the faces of anyone who tries to take you away from him.

— he had it custom made to ensure that it’s got the right weight to it.

— and he is just swinging it about when you happen to pop up out of nowhere.

— maybe you had heard all the swooshing and just wanted to see what was up.

— but you happen to come too close and Ran doesn’t even see you, having way too much fun testing out his new weapon.

— and Ran is just swinging, swinging, swinging.

— and then he turns and you’re right fucking there. but it’s too late to stop it.

— luckily enough for you, he is able to lift his hand just enough so that his fist hits you rather than the bat.

— but it still hurts.

— you’re not necessarily knocked off your feet, but you get hit and become dizzy.

— your legs give out and you fall to your knees, cheek aching.

— he immediately collapses to kneel in front of you, hands hovering in front of you.

— he’s too afraid to touch you. he thinks he might hurt you again.

— “sorry.” he blurts, mouth dry.

— this means a lot because Ran never apologizes.

— but he feels so fucking sorry.

— your eyes are glossy, your lower lip pulled between your teeth as you fight back tears.

— I don’t blame you. I KNOW that shit hurt 🤕

— “I’m sorry,” he blurts again. “Can I—is it okay if I—uhm, what do you want me to…?”

— He can’t figure out what to do or how to help you.

— he feels like shit, and he thinks you’re gonna hate him even more now.

— you just sniffle, taking a deep breath as you blink back tears.

— “can I… Is it okay if I…?” His hands jolt as though he’s trying to stop himself from touching you.

— he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to see you scared, or see you flinch.

— and you don’t really have much of a choice because he might have broken something in your face and you need some kind of help, so you take him up on his unsaid offer.

— you nod softly, swallowing a sob as your cheek aches painfully.

— he slowly tugs you into his arms, soothing his large hands over your back.

— he cups your face gently in his hands and tilts your face to get a better look.

— your eyes are stinging as he asks you where exactly it hurts.

— “Sorry,” he murmurs again. “I’ll get Rindou to check on you,” he says. “He’s good with medical shit.”

— actually thinks you look rather nice when crying but won’t mention it because he can read the room.

— coddles you and calls you all kinds of nicknames.

— “baby, I’m sorry.” / “it won’t happen again, sweetheart.” / “I didn’t mean to, honey.”

— sits there while Rindou patches you up, holding your hand (if you let him) and telling you that you’re doing so good whenever you clutch his hand hard or when you squeeze your eyes shut in pain.

— promises to buy you whatever you want to fix it.

— even if you insist that you don’t want anything, he’ll still get you something.

— probably still tells you that he’s sorry under his breath.

— he is so pressed about the situation that he doesn’t even use the shiny, steel bat he bought.

— it’s expensive and custom made, and he’s not gonna use it at all solely because he almost hit you with it.

— he thought you were someone else.

�� when he heard someone creeping out of the hideout, he assumed it was an outsider who stumbled across the place and was trying to escape.

— and his reflexes are fast.

— so without thinking, he clocks you upside the head from behind.

— he most likely noticed that it was you he was about to hit but by then, it was too late to stop.

— but he doesn’t even try to hold back or slow the punch at all.

— he lets you take it full force.

— you are quite literally knocked off your fucking feet.

— and when you hit the ground, you’re gasping for air because you’re winded thanks to the impact of the fall.

— and he just peers over you, watching you with that resting bitch face of his.

— he doesn’t even apologize.

— he quietly asks you where you were going, knowing damn well you can’t respond because you cannot breathe.

— and he doesn’t help either.

— he just watches you sputter for air.

— your ribs could be broken.

— and if you get upset and scream about how he could have hurt you, he’ll just shrug and say that he pulled the kick so that you wouldn’t get hurt as bad.

— liar. 😔

— if you need any kind of patching up, he will help.

— but he will probably have something backhanded to say about how if you didn’t try to escape then this wouldn’t have happened.

— is a lil’ insensitive.

— your body is probably sore and aching and he doesn’t even care.

— might purposefully run his hands over the place where he knows it’ll hurt most just to watch your pretty face contort with subtle pain.

— might even take his fingers and dig them into the sensitive skin that suffered from the impact just to see if you’ll yell or cry.

— he finds you interesting and wants to see you make as many expressions as possible.

— expressions of pain are not excluded.

— would be a lil’ hurt if you flinched away from him after the whole ordeal.

— but he isn’t stupid, he could understand why you’d fear him. he just can’t find it in himself to care.

— not that he would intentionally hurt you.

— but if it happens, if happens 🤷🏾‍♀️

— might feel guilty if you show that you’re genuinely upset.

— if you want him to stop poking and prodding at your bruises, you’re gonna have to cry.

— he might go easy on you then, but that’s a might, not a will.

#yandere tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyorev #yandere tokyo revengers #yandere mikey headcannons #yandere mikey x reader #yandere imaushi x reader #yandere imaushi wakasa #yandere ran x reader #yandere ran haitani #yandere haitani #tw yandere #cw violence #cw yandere #cw kidnapping #yandere manjirou sano x reader #yandere manjiro x reader #tw kidnap

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tommyspeakycap · 3 years

Note

Shelby!Sister getting poisoned whilst at dinner with the whole family?

changed it up a bit; reader is roofied at one of Tommy’s fancy ball type parties and there’s one particular gentleman around to help her out.

Good Team

Tommy had, since you were merely a little girl, endeavoured to introduce you emphatically as (y/n) Shelby, with your surname stated soaked in ferocity and warning. You are a Shelby. You are his little sister. He makes sure people know this. He makes sure they’re aware. He sees it as a pre-warning, the kind that lets them know that you are very very important to him without actually saying those words. He sees it very much as a pre-warning for grievous bodily harm had any trouble befell you at another persons discretion. It was made incredibly clear from the moment you were born that you were so far from off limits to the enemies that it didn’t even need to be spoken.

However, it was a relatively occasional occurrence that this message was not accurately conveyed no matter how clear your elder brother was about the matter.

You were usually so cautious and so careful, but you were in your brothers own ballroom with his own supplied champagne and you had very few worries of such a simple business gathering for Christmas. You were adorning an extortionate dress that Tommy had made for you with a beautiful fur shoulder wrap, cheeks dusted with a champagne blush and a gorgeous smile as you mingle with rich business people and rich couples who were born into money. They were amazing at times to ogle at, coming from such a poor background. It was hard enough to adjust to your new life flaunting pretty dressed and walking around with a purpose and a job that had significant purpose.

But it would be safe to say you weren’t so worried around these people. You should’ve known better.

You keep blinking, squeezing your eyes shut to try and find vision again that wasn’t restricted by blurriness. The heels on your feet didn’t aid you much in the way of keeping your balance as you stumble into a long hall. You don’t remember where you last saw Tommy and you can’t remember where the glass you were holding had gone. You don’t know much, but you know you have to find one of your brothers.

Heavy footsteps behind you send a rush of hazed adrenaline through your veins, forcing your legs to move you faster, your arms scratching off paintings lining the walls as you attempt to use the wall as a stabiliser.

“Someone’s ‘ad a bit much, eh?”

Your eyelids flicker as you try to keep them open against the light that makes you feel like your head is exploding. “No, no I- there’s someone trying to get me!” You hiss in a slurred whisper with arms that flail somewhat aimlessly as you attempt to point out the person behind you. The man with his his on your biceps steadying you leans around to get a good look behind you. “Mhm, there me no one there love.” He says, confused. You can only vaguely make out who the person is that holds you up and it’s someone you know your brother only invited so as to attempt to talk him into taking on more Blinders for distillery protection.

Alfie Solomons wasn’t entirely the most trustworthy person that surrounded your family. Him and Tommy had a bit of a tendency to betray each other, no matter how expected it always was. The London gangster probably wasn’t the best person for you to bump into and definitely not the most reliable, but he was who you had ended up with and although it could have been him that drugged you, it didn’t seem incredibly likely. He told Tommy and Grace when greeting people at the front door; “No need for the fucking niceties eh Tommy? I’m here for the free booze mate yeah?” and walked on through with a pat on your brothers back.

Despite the fact you didn’t have much trust in him, you really holed that he wouldn’t pass you off as being overly drunk and leave you alone. You feel dreadfully unwell. Alfie looks down the hall, then back at you and with a sigh, he slips his strong arm around your waist and pulls you into his side for your stability. “I think you’re right, Shelby.” Alfie mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for even you to hear. “Something‘s just not right.” He turns to you, using his arm that wasn’t wrapped around you to lift up your eyelid. Beyond the terror in your eyes in huge pupils. “You’ve been drugged,” he states, his voice still low. “Better find those brothers of yours.”

That brings you some form of relief, but the terror still remains. It’s a scary situation, to know what you want to do with your limbs and know exactly what you want to say, but to be unable to speak or walk or even hold up your head. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing and you were drenched in sweat. It’s a shock you didn’t recognise you had been drugged before hearing Alfie say it.

His arm is tight around the waistline of your expensive ballgown, keeping you steady against him as he walked as quickly as he could manage while supporting your weight. He only vaguely knew the way around Tommy’s huge country house, but he did know where the man’s office was, and he’d likely have a maid in waiting there who Alfie could send to fetch him once he got you there. As you both rounded the corner into the corridor that would take you to Tommy’s office, there a man dressed like a waiter standing seemingly waiting for you. “Mister Shelby sent me to collect his sister when he heard she was overly inebriated.” The man spoke. Alfie furrowed his eyebrows tightly, but nodded and walked you closer to him. You want to protest, but your mind still won’t coordinate with your body and the most you can do is grumble. “She’s a bit hard to deal with,” Alfie admits, “So a tip you should really know for the future?“ He pauses, moving as though he’s going to pass you over to the arms of the other man. Alfie leans in until he’s only a few inches away and whispers a warning “I fucking hate liars,” before sharply drawing back his head only to but it forward forcefully into the man’s face.

He stumbles back and Alfie takes that opportunity to grab the front of his suit jacket and throw him behind the two of you with a kick to his ribs a few times for good measure. He wraps his arm back around your waist and continues on down the hall as if nothing had ever happened. “Could tell by his-fuck!”

A yelp leaves you as your legs tangled when you attempt to bare your own weight and instead clatter to the floor with a thud. Alfie grunts and you fight to open your heavy eyelids to see that a man had dove out at him from a doorway along the long hall and there were now two of them and two of you, except they were both conscious and had full control of their own bodies, whereas it fell upon Alfie to fight for both of you. The Londoner truly does not know why he has put himself in this situation for anyone, never mind for a Shelby he had only met a handful of times. But every time he had met you, you were incredibly sweet and kind to him. He knows that they’ll stop attacking him if he allows them to take you and do as they please with you, but something in him prevents him from doing that. There’s a part of him that encourages him to spit the blood from his mouth and stand in front of where you lay in and out of consciousness on the fell, ready to fight for you like he had something to lose if he couldn’t protect you. Tommy would never know Alfie was there with you if he walked away now, but something in him wants to be there. Wants to fight for you.

And so fight he does, throwing punch after punch, trying to take on two at once. Alfie managed to take the blonde assailant out of the game by cracking the wall with his blonde head of hair, leaving him out cold and potentially dying on the floor. When he does that though, his moment of glory is short lived before the other appears behind him with an arm tightly around his throat. Alfie squirms and grunts, kicks and scratches attempting to get him off, but the attacker holds on despite the blows. Alfie thinks he may well have to accept his fate.

Then he clocks you again on the floor, except this time your hands and trailing up your leg, hiking up your dress and he is utterly confused at your behaviour, thinking that it must be the drugs acting weird in your system. That is, until your dress reaches your upper thigh and the London gangster feels what he thinks may be butterflies when he spots the holster and gun that had been well hidden by your long ballgown. He would laugh, grin even if he wasn’t being strangled nearly to death. He watched with blurry vision as you try to steady your hands enough to point the gun at the attacker that was too bury trying to hold Alfie Solomons down to notice your movements. Alfie squeezes his eyes shut as you move your finger over the trigger and he hopes to God your heads are steady enough to shoot the right person.

The bang goes off and very suddenly he can breathe again. He notes that’s a good sign. He scrambles away quickly, turning around to press his foot onto the bullet wound in the shoulder of his attacker. “I will come back for you.” He growls in warning, pressing his foot harder to elicit a scream before he nods and turns back to where you stand. He wipes the blood off the bottom of his shoe on the carpet before he steps forward to swoop your gun off the floor to slip it back into your thigh holster, and then he helps you back up. Except this time, he opts to sweep you off your feet and into his arms bridal style.

“Good shot.” He notes. You breath a chuckle with hooded eyes in response, but can’t manage anything else. If you hadn’t been severely drugged, Alfie might’ve kissed you.

He makes it to Tommy’s office with ease, ordering the maid to get your brother immediately. Alfie lays you down on the soft couch in the office, placing you carefully on on your side for safety in case you’re sick. He uses the not blood tinted side of his handkerchief to wire some blood splatter and sweat from your face gently, and offers a gentle smile. “We make a good team, Solomons.” You hum with words slurred and jumped, but he understand what you said nonetheless. “That we do, Shelby.” He rumbles back in response.

The moment is as any moment of yours often is, interrupted by your elder brothers storming in. Immediately, Alfie is ripped from your side by Arthur slamming the him roughly against the wall with a loud clatter and bang. John goes to stand by Arthur’s side, and Tommy takes a knee beside you. The patriarch places his cool hand against your forehead before dipping down to place his ear just above your lips. “She’s breathing.” He concludes, “What the fuck did you do to her?” He sneers through gritted teeth as he takes steps towards Alfie.

“And why the fuck and you covered in blood.” Alfie sighs heavily, rolling his eyes and flaring his nostrils at the proximity of the three Shelby brothers. “Funny story, you see Tommy.” He grumbles discontentedly, “Seems as though someone tried after your sister right under your fucking nose, mate. Drugged her drink, removed her from the crowd. I found her wandering the halls all fuckin’ disoriented yeah. Now I don’t like a man who targets a woman, much less has to fuckin’ drug her to achieve it.” Alfie shrugs. Tommy narrows his eyes, but something in him believes what the Camden Town Gangster is saying. Alfie doesn’t have much in the way of necessity for taking you and it wouldn’t make sense for him to have the opportunity to but instead to bring you here. Right to them. “Doesn’t explain the fucking blood.” Arthur hisses, slamming his back against the wall again.

Alfie holds up his hands. “You’re little sister isn’t such a damsel as you make her out to be, Thomas. She has a fantastic shot. Some cunts-“ Alfie’s words drop with pure venom as the reminder of the man nearly strangling him to death reenters his mind, “Came after her. On that note, you’ll need a carpet cleaner and some body bags just along that hall. Don’t let the missus see that mess.”

Tommy paused for a moment, his eyes not leaving Alfie’s even when he speaks. “John, check that corridor.” He orders, making his younger brother grunt in annoyance but do as told nonetheless. “Arthur,” He grumbles, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Take our sister upstairs and get Polly.” Arthur is hesitant. Tommy might believe the words that Alfie speaks, but Arthur despises him and the only thing he hates more than Alfie is the thought of Alfie’s hands on you without any of them being there to help you, protect you. He knows that he and a Tommy are asking themselves the same question. How could something like this happen to you right beneath their noses. How had someone managed to get to when they were so close, literally right in the same room in an event organised by them. Arthur couldn’t answer the question, but could probably have killed Alfie in his rage at that moment. “Arthur,” Tommy repeats more firmly, “Go.”

This time, he listens. But that’s not without a warning glare at Alfie, who simply offers a smirk in response. “And you,” Tommy says finally, turning his attention to Alfie, “Fuck off.”

Alfie chuckles, but begins to walk past Tommy to leave the office when the smaller man grabs his arm in a vice like grip that makes the tips of his fingers tingle with the strength of it. Alfie feigns the urge to fight back in reaction to the pain. Tommy leans in close to his ear with a low snarl, “You don’t just help people. I don’t care what the reason was eh, but don’t you ever go near my sister again.”

Then he lets go and Alfie simply shakes off his arm and walks away. He hasn’t listened to Tommy Shelby any time in the past, and it appears as though today will be no different.

#alfie solomons x shelby!reader #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons prompt #tommy shelby x sister!reader #shelby reader #shelby!reader #peaky blinders blurb

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hongism · 2 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 42

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 7.9k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter warnings: suicide is mentioned but not in detail, talks of death ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act six ➻ part one

You presume that hell is meant to be a miserable place full of horrible and awful things, but if you’re being honest with yourself, that fate sounds much more enjoyable than the one you find yourself trapped in right now.

The first day spent on Jisung’s ship goes about as smoothly as expected, and by that, you of course mean that you picked a fight with at least three different people — including the ones you recognized from Wooyoung’s time on the very same ship who tortured him and San. And while you were quite literally held back from killing either of them by Jisung, you imagine they understood the extent of your fury given how one nursed a broken arm and the other earned himself a very broken nose that you hope doesn’t heal normally. Given your “uncouth behavior” as Jisung put it, he said you were not allowed to leave his side as long as you planned on harming anyone and everyone in your vicinity.

Unfortunately for you, that included nighttime when he forced you to stay in his quarters throughout the night while he went off and celebrated his precious little victory with his crew members outside. You didn’t get a wink of sleep that first night, not even after Jisung returned to the room and promptly fell asleep on the couch pushed into the corner of the room rather than joining you on the far too large mattress.

The second day offers much of the same atrocities, but at the very least, Jisung doesn’t force you to leave the confines of his room and instead brings two meals that day — one in the morning, and a second in the late afternoon. It’s almost amusing how he trusts you enough to give you a fork and knife alongside a spoon, things you could easily use as weapons, but he leaves almost immediately after delivering the food to you on the coffee table outside the bedroom. You’re growing familiar with the room thanks to your night spent without an ounce of sleep. It’s simple, just a square room attached to another square room meant to be the bedroom and a bathroom nestled behind that which contains a mirror you could easily break with a quick punch. He has a desk, some couches, chairs, a table here, three bookshelves there, some random memorabilia that looks to have little value in your eyes, and that’s pretty much it. The items, while basic, add some layer of humanity to the man, as odd as it sounds.

He’s just some guy.

That’s what you learn to tell yourself every time he makes a sorry attempt at interacting with you.

He’s just some guy. Hardly a man who held you under bloody waters and tried to end your life years ago.

Certainly not a man who sent an assassin to kill your former teammate simply because he didn’t want you knowing the truth about what he did to you.

Kidnapped three of your crewmates, threatened murder and all sorts of less than pretty things, fully engaged in psychological torture on multiple occasions to get you to comply with his wishes.

If you think about those things, you feel more inclined to slit his throat, and it takes a great deal of restraint to remind yourself that you only need to suffer through this for a little more than a week, depending on how long it takes The Horizon to catch up to you. The tracking device Hongjoong gave you sits on the underside of the mirror in the bathroom, at the place where the glass pulls up a hair and doesn’t fully stick to the wall.

On day three, Jisung asks if you’re behaved enough to at least leave the room to walk around the ship some. You let him extend a hand in your direction when he thinks you aren’t going to lash out, then you twist his arm and dislocate his elbow for good measure.

The way Jisung reacts to your aggressive behavior is probably the most peculiar thing you’ve noted while here. He cracked a smile when you yanked his arm out of place, then laughed as he pushed it back in as best he could before walking out the room with a simple ‘I suppose not yet then’. It’s unsettling at best and dehumanizing at worst. And while you aren’t doing yourself any favors given how you’re acting, he treats you with about the same amount of care and patience that a trainer does to a dog minus the punishments for bad behaviors.

When he returned later in the evening with a tray of food for you to eat, you snatch the knife from the plate only to find that it’s terribly dull and won’t cut through a bite of meat, let alone Jisung himself. That foray is followed by a brief yet impactful conversation that leaves you with a lot to debate internally in the hours afterward.

“You’re putting an awful lot of trust in me, Han.”

“Ah, come now, you only hurt my elbow. You could’ve done worse, but you didn’t.”

“I can break your mirror and stab you in your sleep.”

“So why aren’t you?”

“You’ve got a knife in your boot too, tucked next to your calf, I noticed it yesterday morning.”

“And why aren’t you using it?”

“Your gun—”

“Why haven’t you killed me yet, little lady? Here you go talking about all these opportunities, yet you haven’t taken any of them. Why is that?”

There had been enough silence on your end to have Jisung speaking again, although it was only to taunt you further to a point where you wanted to strangle him on the spot.

“You won’t kill me because you can’t kill me. You can get away with minor behaviors like this — breaking a nose, twisting an arm, so on and so forth — but you can’t kill me because you know my crew won’t spare you if you do. Face it, Y/n, right now I’m the only thing keeping you alive. The bounty on your head? Big enough to bring you in dead and still share the spoils. You’re just a little fish in a big pond, and you’re on your own without me.”

That same night — night three — your body gives in to the pressure of lack of sleep and has you passing out on the floor of the bathroom as you’re dressing yourself after a shower. You wake in a fit of panic and confusion, finding a soft cushioned mattress under your body rather than the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. A quick look at the clock Jisung has set on the bedside table reads that it’s supposedly two in the morning somewhere, although you have no clue what planet that’s meant to represent. The man himself is nowhere to be found.

You almost pass it off as Wooyoung coming into your body while you are vastly unaware again.

Almost.

There’s some part of you that aches constantly, a place almost behind your heart if possible, and you can’t pinpoint what it is or where it’s coming from. At first, you thought it to be somehow feeling Wooyoung’s emotions despite the vast distance between the two of you, but you yourself feel far too empty for that to be the case. You can’t explain it, you don’t know what it means, and you have no way of figuring it out. The one thing you do know is that it’s distinctly different from any feeling that resonated off Wooyoung and Seonghwa both, like something inside you is inexplicably unhappy.

Thinking of San brings about a different pain, one that’s far sharper and more intense in every way. It’s the kind of pain that makes you curl onto your side and clutch at your chest like it will do any good. You pride yourself on the fact that you don’t cry once in those first days. If only because you’re too stubborn for your own good and don’t want to give Jisung the pleasure even if he’s not around to witness it.

In short, you find yourself trapped in a miserable place full of horrible and awful things, all of which are manifested by Han Jisung himself.

The shift that comes on day four is either thanks to your body finally getting some fucking rest or just something in the air because you find yourself sitting across from Jisung in the makeshift living area of his room with a coffee table separating your bodies, a plate of food atop it, and your eyes firmly set on his as he remains in the room after delivering the meal. You pull your knees up on the couch, bringing them close to your chest.

“We’ll be in Sombre by the end of the day.”

“Why?” The question comes out in a breathy whisper, most likely because you haven’t used your voice at all in the past four days. His gaze lingers on yours. You stare at the point between his dark eyebrows, not at all keen on seeing into those equally dark eyes. If you think about it for too long, he’s still a human. A living breathing person with who you spent many years of your life, and although those years were spent in manipulation more often than not, you can’t trust yourself to continue being objective like this if you let your guard down anymore. Or perhaps you’re simply moving towards the brink of insanity after being cooped up in a quiet room for days on end.

“We’re going to Rathmos.”

“Why.”

“Y/n…”

Jisung’s voice dies in his throat, and for a moment, you see that stony facade that tries to be so unforgiving crack a hair. It’s not enough to break through, however, and you’re back to staring into the eyes of a psychopath seconds later.

“There’s someone we need to meet there.”

“Why Rathmos?”

“That’s where he is.”

“Who?”

“That’s enough questions from you, little lady.” Jisung presses his palms down onto his knees, squeezing around them through the billowing fabric of his pants, and you watch him ready to stand up once more without speaking. “Explaining to you won’t do any good. I’d rather you see with your own eyes.”

“It’s far too late to rectify any of the mistakes you made,” you utter as he stands. This time there’s a bit more confidence in how you speak, some layer of venom there too, but you don’t move from your seat. “If they were even mistakes in your eyes.”

“Which ones do you even remember, hm?” When you fail to respond to that question, Jisung takes it as a win and lets his lips curl upwards at the corners. He adjusts his jacket, pulling the leather closer around his body, then he pauses to stare down at you. “Everything I did back then was for you. How can you call those mistakes?” Jisung clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The act itself isn’t nearly as condescending as the way he seems to soften his gaze with faux pity moments later.

“Why did you take my memories of those things away then?”

“Why do you want to remember things that are no longer important?”

There’s a knife on the food tray. You could easily —

“Be sure to sleep tonight. I don’t want to find you on the floor of the bathroom again.”

— put the knife through his hand in the very least. But he’s already gone through the door before you have the chance.

Hongjoong said you only had to survive a single week of this madness, yet you can’t help wondering whether it would be easier for you to resign yourself to your fate here. Had you not done what you did with Hongjoong on the bridge, would you be able to curb your impatience? You drum your fingers against the inside of your knee. The admission of what exactly happened in that conversation with Hongjoong isn’t an easy one, and you haven’t put any effort into thinking about it since. You are far from guilty though, that’s for certain. You did what had to be done in order to guarantee both your survival and getting back to the crew (to San). Would Seonghwa look down on you and chastise you for what you did? Absolutely, both because he’d see you as irresponsibly using your Siren abilities as well as because it was Hongjoong you chose to manipulate.

Besides, it’s not like you reached into his chest and squeezed his heart until he submitted to your will — it was just a slight little twist of his feelings, a feeling amplified by that ring with the pale gem inlaid in it.

“The ring on my middle finger — this is what’s called a conductor.”

“It amplifies class abilities for the wearer, but it’s also strong enough to conduct the wearer’s energy through another person with physical contact. Which is why holding your arm allowed you to slip through the door with more ease since the ring was touching you.”

What you did isn’t wrong by any means — you simply used the abilities you were supposedly born with to tip the scales in your favor, encouraged by both the conductor on Hongjoong’s finger as well as the threat of your life hanging in the balance. The repeating thoughts that rang in your head over and over: if he sees no use in me, then I’m simply going to make him change his mind, you will need me, you need me, I need to be here. Was it wrong for you to push those thoughts onto Hongjoong and into his skin with all your might?

If he never finds out, then no, it’s hardly wrong in the slightest.

Should he ever find out, however, you can’t imagine that what little trust he has for you would linger for much longer.

In all honesty, he could very well realize what you did now and decide that you aren’t worth the trouble, not come looking after you, not follow through with the plan you orchestrated, then you’re abandoned here to do god knows what for god knows how long. Going in cold like this with no communication was a terrible mistake, only heightened by Wooyoung’s lack of connection and efforts to reach out to you now of all times, which is a selfish thought and you know that. Yet even when you sit on the corner of the bed and mentally beg Wooyoung to let you in, to let you know how he is, to just see if he’s alright after the horrific argument you witnessed prior to leaving — all you get is radio silence there too.

You suppose the other issue with that whole predicament is that matter of how exactly you knew to do such a thing, and frankly, no matter how much you rack your brain about it, you cannot come up with any explanation beyond it being a visceral and immediate reaction that your brain provided in the heat of the moment. Maybe brought on by reading Seonghwa’s books, some old stories about Sirens who could twist people to their beck and call, anything and everything to make you feel less like you’re losing your mind after just a few days in this place.

The food before you is almost taunting in how it steams just a bit, a delicious smell wafting up to your nose and inviting you to eat it.

You get up and walk away. The exhaustion in your body lingers after going so long without proper rest, and you don’t find yourself all too opposed to the idea of sleeping the time away just so that you don’t have to interact with Jisung any more than you have. Although you deeply consider leaving the room to go beat up those guards who hurt your crewmates if only to expend the seething energy in your bones, you opt to curl up under the coarse sheets covering what used to be Jisung’s bed. A soft murmur from your lips has the lights shutting down around you, taking away the artificial brightness and leaving you shrouded in the dark in an unfamiliar place. It still hasn’t grown on you, and you will continue to refuse its welcome in your mind so long as you have the slightest bit of hope of returning to The Horizon.

Your fingers curl around the sheets beside you, into that empty space that’s not warmed by a body, and you wish, perhaps for the first time in a long time, more than anything that you weren’t alone as you are now. You’ve had a taste of the sanctity of human companionship, the inherent need to not be alone, to have someone present even if it’s just to take away the edge of coldness that follows. Having it ripped away so quickly is cruel, isn’t it?

You don’t consider yourself to be a desperate person, but tonight you beg. Wordless pleas sent out into the infinite amount of space between you and Wooyoung, tonight you beg for him to let you in for no other reason than to feel less alone.

Sleep doesn’t come easily, nor do you expect it to.

…

The dream you come into is far from what you asked for or expected seeing as you wake on a cold metal-plated floor with tall walls stretching up all around you. For the briefest of moments, you think you recognize the place, think you’ve seen it somewhere in the recesses of your memory of your time on Eros, but then that memory dissipates as you glance over the walls and see a far too familiar crest displayed across the metal. It’s painted with the color of blood, a deep red that almost leans towards brown if not for the fluorescent lighting.

An abstract image of the head of a red rose, four black thorns sticking out between the petals, and a winding emerald snake behind it.

The emblem of the royal family on Aera, the one belonging to the king, that of the Kang family.

It takes all of two seconds for you to scramble to get on your feet, eyes already scanning your surroundings for any idea of what’s going on here, but all you get is the face of a young boy who looks startlingly familiar.

“My lord, sir, where are you going?” The voice comes from a man behind the boy, one that can’t be even in his teenage years yet already seems to have lived several lifetimes just based on the crease between his brow. “Your father — His Majesty asked that you attend the council for your own knowledge!”

“Tell him I won’t be going then.” Even with the slight pitch to his tone, you think he hasn’t changed a bit. Kang Yeosang might have gone through great efforts to hide who he was in the past, but just changing his hair from blonde to black and letting it grow out from the close-trimmed and neatly tucked style he held as a child can’t keep you from recognizing him.

“Prince Minhee.”

The young boy ignores the firm tone from the official tailing him and pauses near the end of the hallway where you stand now. If not for how he stares straight through your abdomen, you’d almost believe that he can truly see you right here and now.

“Woo, come with me to my chambers, please?”

That has you reeling, a quick spin on your heel that makes you nearly dizzy with the force of the movement, and just behind you stands another child that can’t be any older than Yeosang. Tanned skin, faded lavender-tinted hair, and a thick metal collar bound around his neck. It’s large on him, hangs loose near his collarbone in a way that looks like it ought to be painful and leave bruises along the bone there, but the flickering zaps of electricity shooting from the inside of the metal to his skin work just fine. It almost breaks your heart in two when you take in the appearance of this younger version of Wooyoung because he hardly looks different than the Wooyoung you know him to be. Still has the same wide eyes that are filled with curiosity and concealing layers upon layers of pain. He’s grown into his collar as you know him now, but the scars are still the same.

“Of course, my prince.”

“Official Kohr, you’re dismissed from my presence. Tell my father I will be in my chambers studying books on law rather than attending his stuffy little councils.”

This isn’t your memory to experience — if it even is that, for all you know it could be some painted imagination that Wooyoung came up with to find solace — but either way, you being here must mean that Wooyoung himself is somewhere, no doubt close by so he can watch over this realm of his dreams.

It feels wrong to follow the young images of Yeosang and Wooyoung through the brightly lit halls, but it’s also the only guaranteed method you have of finding the real Wooyoung.

Yeosang grabs hold of Wooyoung’s small hand when they reach a stupidly tall door, and the smile painting his lips is something you have never seen before on Yeosang’s lips. The grin of a child, one who thinks he’s untouchable and free to do whatever he wishes. The cruel part of your mind wonders how long it took for that hope to be wrenched from his chest and stomped out in front of his young eyes. They slip into the room like that with fingers tangled together, and Yeosang dares to laugh as he tugs Wooyoung towards him in the new room. A bedroom, no doubt Yeosang’s, stands before you now with its opulent decorations and unending items strewn about in haphazard manners. Yeosang is the first to drop his hand, although it’s only to move for the door and push it back into place, sealing the pair in the far too large room with you still standing by.

“Prince Wooyoung, how can I be of assistance today?” Yeosang asks, almost giddy in how he poses the question. He moves around the other with a smile stretching his lips. Black hair against porcelain skin, you can really see the royalty in him like this. His features are almost doll-like, too perfect in how they’re structured, and he hardly looks like that the steely, harsh Elitist you know now. He and Wooyoung truly look like polar opposites in this light. You suppose that beyond appearances, the same could be said for who they are and what they are. An Elitist driven by logic and rationality against a Siren whose emotions make him wildly volatile and a ticking time bomb.

“Stop it, Yeo! If we’re caught playing like this, they’ll have us both drawn and quartered.”

Yeosang huffs out a sigh as he steps further into the room.

“They can’t do anything to me and you know it.”

“Okay, but what about me?” The young boy standing near the foot of the bed falls silent. “Exactly, so can you please quiet down a little, my lord?”

“Yes, yes, my prince, of course! Say… do you want some fresh bread? I heard Nehmi is making loaves for the banquet tomorrow.”

“Yeo… let me go get it then. Your tutor will be here soon for lessons.”

“No,” Yeosang says quickly. His hand darts out to grip Wooyoung’s wrist. “I’m sorry, no, please don’t go.”

“My prince?”

“I… if you want to go down to the kitchens, let me go with you.”

You turn to the door. If the real Wooyoung isn’t here, then there is no reason for you to stay, and this memory is starting to drift too far into something extremely personal for your liking.

“Yeosang…” Wooyoung’s voice falters at the end, a slight break that hurts to hear.

“A-Ah, there’s no banquet tomorrow, is there? I must have forgotten again.”

“There is. There’s the — you know…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, fingers closing around the broad handle, and with a sharp yank, you pull the door open and step back into the hallway.

The scenery before you has shifted when you open your eyes, much like the trip down memory lane you took with Seonghwa, and now you stand in what seems to be a study of sorts with shelves lining the walls covered in all sorts of books. It’s entirely empty save for a new Yeosang, one who doesn’t look any older than the last, and another young Wooyoung who sits at his feet. Yeosang on the other hand is on an oddly shaped chair, something abstract and uncomfortable to the eye. Two small hands cover Yeosang’s knees and blunt nails dig into the pale skin there.

“Yeosang, you have to go or you’ll miss it!” Wooyoung pleads.

“I don’t want to. I don’t need to.”

“Yeo, come on, don’t be like this. Please, it’s your sis—”

“I know what it is, Wooyoung!”

Yeosang jerks his head forward to look down at Wooyoung. You barely catch the expression that flickers over his features, but it’s something terribly distraught in that split second.

“I can’t go.”

“It’s… Yeosang, it’s your last chance to put her to rest,” Wooyoung whispers like Yeosang will snap again upon hearing the words. “You can hate your father. You can hate your mother. Your grandparents, the council, those stuffy officials who don’t give a shit. B-But don’t let that get in the way of saying goodbye to her properly.”

“What?” Yeosang presses his lips into a thin line as he glares, but it’s only a poor attempt to conceal the emotion welling in his eyes. “So they can spit and scowl at me for crying over her? Because I’m not their perfect little Elitist who feels nothing? Knowing my father, he’d beat me down in front of her coffin just to prove a point. I won’t go, I won’t do it.”

“I’ll be there with you, Yeo. He can — he can punish me in your place, while you’re saying your prayers and such.”

“Did he even shed one tear for her? His own daughter? His firstborn? She was barely fifteen, Woo! Killed his own child for being a Normie, expelled her slave for trying to protect her, and didn’t even care!” Yeosang’s face contorts into something ugly and misshapen, overtaken by a grimace as he fights back a sob. The first tear falls, and it streaks down the side of his cheek as his lips curl into a scowl. “Why didn’t my mother do anything?”

Yeosang falls forward, elbows colliding with the tops of his thighs as he breaks down further, and Wooyoung reaches up to envelop the prince with his arms as best he can.

“They sat and watched their own daughter die without batting an eye, what kind of parents do that?”

“Yeo, I’ve got you, I promise, I’ve got you.” Wooyoung clings to Yeosang’s heaving form, trying to steady the older’s body and console him through the sobs wracking him. “I’ve got you, Yeo, and you’ve got me, alright? I’m not — I’m not letting go of you now.”

They’re just two young boys, and yet the burdens on both their shoulders are so immense that it leaves a lingering pain in your chest. You press your eyes shut, listening to the younger version of Wooyoung continue to whisper what’s meant to be comfort.

“It’s funny, you know.”

The voice comes from behind you, a flat and even tone that startles you almost out of your skin, and you jerk to look over your shoulder at the source of it.

It’s Wooyoung. The real one, the older one, the one you know with his freshly dyed hair and red-rimmed eyes that look like they haven’t seen rest in days. You’re willing to believe that his body gave in on itself the way yours did in an attempt to force him to rest.

You’re about to apologize for intruding on these memories when he interrupts, head nodding towards the scene in the study.

“We were so much younger back then, but things have hardly changed at all since.”

“What do you mean?” you inquire as you turn on your heel to get a better look at him. He shrugs and presses his hands into the pockets of his dull sweatpants that pinch around his ankles.

“Still doesn’t listen to a word I say even when I beg.” Wooyoung frowns ever so slightly, but it seems to take over his face nonetheless. “The only thing that really changed was how he became exactly what his father wanted after we left. All that bitching and moaning about how he didn’t even want to be the man his father was, didn’t want to be an emotionless husk, all for nothing. Because he did it regardless the second he heard that hag of a fortune teller say that we shouldn’t be in each other’s lives.”

Teeth sink into skin, and Wooyoung gnaws at his lower lip with a passion as he stares down the scene unfolding before the two of you.

“I… you know, I came here to — to try to see where things went wrong. To see if it was doomed from the start and if I ever really stood a chance, and yet I find myself searching out the memories where we were closest. I keep looking for the ones where I comforted him, where we were happy and together, and it was like I wasn’t a slave and he wasn’t my master and I… I can’t help it.” When Wooyoung blinks up at you, his eyes are glazed over with unshed tears. The pain in his features is laid bare, and there’s a tug in your chest that isn’t your own heart aching but his. “I hate him so much for what he’s made me, but I love him nonetheless. Because I have these memories of him, these ones that are precious and show me who I know him to be but he just — he doesn’t believe that it’s him. And how am I supposed to get him out of his head when I don’t know what’s going on in it?”

“Wooyoung,” you start, twisting fully around so you can step in his direction. Your hand finds his and clings to his fingers like a lifeline.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m ranting.” Wooyoung exhales a deep breath, one that has his chest heaving, and then pulls back from your grasp to stand up straighter. “Do you mind if we walk? I’ll change the scenery, I don’t like being in this miserable place longer than necessary.”

“You mean you… did this? Not Daichi?”

“Daichi? Hm, no, not at all. He’s not here tonight. At least not in this part of the Dreamscape.” Wooyoung nods his head towards the hallway. You take the cue to follow him out, and the moment you both step over the threshold, the dismal and bleak scenery slips into something different. It’s brighter, more welcoming in the very least, but there’s the familiar blood-red moon hovering above your heads and casting crimson light down on the path before you. It takes you a moment to realize what the surroundings have become, and it’s only when Wooyoung leads you down a short staircase onto white sands that you see the familiarity behind it all.

White sands, black waters, red moon.

Wooyoung sinks to his knees in the sand, folding his legs underneath him to sit more comfortably, and you follow suit without saying anything. He speaks again as you’re pulling your knees to your chest, eyes finding yours when you wrap your arms around each other and hug your knees closer.

“When we were younger… well, for a time, Yeosang had a sister. Gaeun was her name, she was only a year older than Yeosang, so what you saw was shortly before things escalated. I don’t think you would remember her, even if you saw her face.”

“…remember?”

“You recognized Yeosang, didn’t you? As the prince?”

“Ah, well, that was only because I’d heard the rumors. I didn’t recognize his face necessarily, I never saw him before meeting him on the ship.”

Wooyoung smiles but the gesture is more sad than anything else. He mimics your pose and tugs his knees up so he can rest his cheek against the bone there.

“She was only fifteen when she died. Poisoned, and even though her slave tested all her food and drink before letting her have it, it wasn’t enough to stop her from the attack. Turns out it was because the king himself had coated some of her jewelry in the poison, particularly the rings she used in her lip piercing. He said she was just a little sick, then when she got worse, it was the queen who stepped in and pushed the blame onto Gaeun’s slave.” Wooyoung draws his lips into a tight furl. “I was close with that girl, the one who belonged to Gaeun. Seeing her get blamed so heavily, I felt like she was going to die. But I suppose there was some modicum of guilt left in those wretched people because they banished her from the palace and city rather than killing her outright.”

“Yet living as a former slave is the same as asking for a death sentence,” you add, finishing the thought lingering at the tip of Wooyoung’s tongue. He huffs out a laugh.

“Which is why Yeo is so adamant about me not being found. He seems sure that one day the Aera Military is gonna sniff him out, then take me hostage as well. I think they’d have a hard time recognizing me, to be frank, but there’s no way in hell I would ever let Yeosang go willingly into that fate without me.” Wooyoung shifts to look over the expanse of water in front of him, eyes tracing over the black waves that threaten to touch his bare toes. “I never knew what happened to that girl after she was banished. I know she was… we came from the same place. Wherever the fuck that is. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn’t been taken from my home and sold as a slave. Sometimes I wonder why it had to be me, why I had to be born as a Siren and live this life, what I did to deserve this. And it would always come back to Yeosang. It was okay because I had Yeosang, I would be okay because he was in my life. He made existence as a slave less miserable when we were still on Aera, and then he freed me from that reality to be Jung Wooyoung instead of a Siren slave.

“I’ve had to face the question of ”who is Jung Wooyoung without Kang Yeosang“ so often because Yeosang is adamant that I do so, and yet I come up with the same answer every time. In answering that question, I don’t know who I am without him. It’s not that I don’t want to; I just don’t remember a time without him in my life and I-I don’t know how to rectify that.”

It’s hard to confront the issue in this way, made even more difficult by the fact that the architect of their destruction was none other than Wooyoung himself. The cracks were left in the surface by Yeosang, yet Wooyoung was the one to bring the hammer down against that fragile glass and shatter it completely.

How can you say such a thing to him now of all times though?

It’s simple enough — you can’t.

So you keep your lips shut and sealed, biting back the accusation on your tongue.

The passing silence leaves much to be desired, but for the time being, Wooyoung seems to be at ease. You hope your next statement won’t ruin that peace.

“Wooyoung, I need to — I have to tell you something.”

“Hm?”

“I manipulated Hongjoong into doing what I wanted. The plans to come get me and save me from Jisung were mine. Me putting the idea into his head and getting him to go along with it.” Dark eyes flit up to meet yours. “I don’t know how I did it if I’m being honest. It was just sheer desperation trying to force the situation to go in my favor.” He goes without blinking for the better part of a minute, then he glances back down at the ground with lips slightly parted and air whistling through his teeth.

“So he… was just wanting to let you go? Without consulting the crew?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I was being hasty, but it wasn’t looking good for me, and he made the decision so quickly that I felt like I didn’t stand a chance.”

“He told us that was the plan from the start. Unless that’s something you planted too?” That’s a bigger sucker-punch than you’d like to admit, but it also stokes the fire in your gut that inches you closer and closer to hatred for the captain.

You shake your head a little to echo your denial.

“Then you did the right thing, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Did I?” It’s funny how in the place of hatred, guilt always finds a way to coexist, and not even survival instincts can keep morality out of the picture. The man beside you offers no answer and rather takes the opportunity to shift the subject again.

“I know you were calling for me for the past few days.” Wooyoung hugs his knees closer until his chin can rest between them. “I heard you. I’m sorry I didn’t let you in.”

“I couldn’t sense you at all,” you respond, voice quiet as the grave, but it sounds so loud in your ears. Wooyoung’s lips turn up at one corner.

“I know. It’s because I wasn’t sleeping. Tonight’s the first night I’ve slept since then. Yunho made me take some pills to help me rest because he was getting worried. Other than him… no one will even speak to me. I don’t think it’s mean-spirited, honestly. I think they want to, j-just don’t know how to.” A dry laugh tumbles from his lips. In one swift move, Wooyoung is sprawling on his back, legs kicked out to the shore of the lake as he throws his arms out across the sand. “Was it that bad? Did I really act bad enough for them to not talk to me?”

“It was…” your jaw stutters as you search for the right words, but you draw a blank. “Bad, yeah.”

“Tch, good. It needed to be bad to get through that thick fucking skull of his.”

“I could feel it, Wooyoung,” you continue, “in my chest. When you w-were crying and yelling at him, I could feel what you were feeling.”

The man beside you falls silent in a concerning way, and there’s nothing but the sound of water sloshing in front of you for a long period of time. When you finally dare to look back at Wooyoung, he’s got a hand stretched towards the sky with his palm outstretched to the moon and one eye closed.

“Is it awful for me to hope that he suffers?”

“You love him still regardless, don’t you?”

“For all it’s fucking worth.”

You take a moment to imagine yourself in Wooyoung’s shoes, with San in Yeosang’s place, but you can’t find anything in you that would wish harm or suffering on him. Another moment passes, and you think of Seonghwa. Still, no part of you hopes for him to be in pain even after the pain he caused you. It’s not comparable, and you know that. It leaves a bitter taste in the back of your throat, however, along with a myriad of thoughts that refuse to leave.

What kind of love hopes for suffering?

“I want him to feel the pain he caused me so he never does it again.”

When Wooyoung speaks, you realize the question slipped out into the open air against your will, and you ready to apologize for saying such a thing, but the man just shakes his head and continues with his train of thought.

“There are things he has to accept on my end. Traumas and pains I can’t overcome yet, or ones that he can’t fix. And I know that it goes vice versa as well, I’m not dumb enough to believe that it’s not. I just… I need him to see that if he doesn’t put in any effort to fix the things he’s struggling with, I won’t stay. The trauma with his parents runs deep, and I can’t fix that as much as I want to. Maybe a selfish part of me hoped that I would be a reason for him to want to overcome it.”

“The boy in the brothel, Wooyoung. Why did his death bother you so much? We live a life surrounded by death day in and day out.”

Wooyoung doesn’t balk under the sudden change of subject but he does lick over his lower lip as he drops his hand to his stomach.

“He was a Siren.”

“What?” That has you jerking to get a clearer look at Wooyoung’s expression, but it’s shockingly flat.

“I saw him in the Dreamscape every night. The nights I slept at least. He begged me to save him every single time. He didn’t want to be alone in his last moments, he didn’t want to be in pain anymore, he wanted me to kill him because he couldn’t stomach killing himself. I didn’t want to. Y/n, you have to believe me, I didn’t want to. I didn’t. I didn’t want to hurt him, I just — I w-was just doing what he — what he asked me to do.”

“What did you do?”

Wooyoung’s expression twists into something wretched.

“Wooyoung, what did you do?” Your tone is urgent in an alarming way, a sense of panic to it that your body hasn’t caught up with quite yet, and Wooyoung rolls onto his side like he’s trying to get away from you.

“I did what he said. I didn’t want to, I didn’t!”

You used to see people die every day. Most times they were wretched and awful people, but you can’t pretend like that’s what they all were. There were times — far more than you’d like to admit — where innocent people died, either at your hands or someone else on your team. The guilt and regret that came out of it was something you had to wrestle with, yet what you’re seeing in Wooyoung is a different beast entirely.

“I wasn’t supposed to hurt him. Seonghwa said… Seonghwa told me that I-I couldn’t — I wasn’t supposed to be able to hurt anyone! Hurting someone in the Dreamscape isn’t supposed to hurt them in real life, you have to understand that, please. Please, I didn’t mean to hurt him, not really.”

“He didn’t kill himself,” you whisper. It’s not a question; there’s no point in posing it as one when the answer is so blatantly laid out before you. It doesn’t make it easier to stomach though.

Wooyoung scrambles against the sand, all but dragging himself forward as he pulls himself into a kneeling position. It’s a moment of sheer instinct when you lean away from him. The impact is there nonetheless.

“I’m not going to hurt you!” Wooyoung shouts.

“I know. I know you’re not, Wooyoung. Please—”

You reach out to touch his shoulder only for the man to snatch you by the wrist with enough force to hurt, and a quiet hiss of pain rushes through your gritted teeth. Wooyoung ignores the sound and jerks against you. Either shock or panic takes over because you feel your body go pliant under his grip. Next thing you know, he’s dragging you along the rocky bed of the lake, into the shallow water that stains your clothes and leaves you cold underneath. Your gut reaction is to expect the worst, so when he drops to his knees in front of you with a quivering lip and wet tear tracks on his cheeks, you’re caught off-guard.

“You know what I did to him, Y/n?”

“Wooy—”

“I took him here, to this part of the lake, and I laid him down on his back.”

The stuttered shakes of your head don’t stop Wooyoung from laying flat against the rocky bed. Black water creeps around his form. The hold on your wrist won’t let up.

“I sat next to him just like how you are now, and I put a hand on his head.”

Wooyoung guides your hand to his face, pressing it to his forehead even though your fingers are trembling against his skin.

“I promised to make it as painless as possible. Then I held his face in both my hands and kissed his forehead and told him that things would be okay. I snapped his neck right after. Can you do that for me, Y/n?”

“No, no. No, Wooyoung, I’m not — I’m—”

“He wanted to die, Y/n. I did what he wanted. Why doesn’t it feel okay?” Wooyoung releases your wrist at last as a choked sob forces its way through his throat. You drop your chin to your chest but your hand lingers on his cheek. “Shouldn’t I feel good because I helped him? I took the pain away, didn’t I?”

“Y-You didn’t mean to…”

“I killed him, Y/n. And now I have to go stare into his younger brother’s eyes every fucking day like I didn’t?”

You try to get words out, some replica of comfort that doesn’t reach the air because a cry leads into a sob instead, and you drop your weight against Wooyoung’s body. His chest heaves under your head. When your hand reaches down in search of his, he meets you halfway and lets your fingers push through his.

“I cried monster to Yeosang when he hurt me, but now I have to face my reflection and desperately pretend like it’s not me instead.”

There’s a voice in your head that doesn’t belong to you, one that pesters at the edge of your thoughts and distracts you from the man in front of you. It’s not your own, nor is it Wooyoung’s or Seonghwa’s, but you’d recognize it anywhere. Your eyes find a figure in white at the edge of the lake, obscured from Wooyoung’s vision but not yours.

Tsukio, the Siren Iboun.

You glare at the man for all it’s worth.

I warned you from the start, Umiko. I told you of his nature. What happens next is your own doing.

When you wake, there’s a band of bruises wrapping around your wrist, ones that hold the imprints of fingers.

✧✧✧ a/n: sooooo yeah... sorry? im sorry T-T we’re kicking off act six with a bang tho! i hope you enjoyed this opener, it sets up for a lot to come and it was heavy on dialogue this time around so thank u for putting up with me :D any theories? thoughts? questions? general yelling? :3

if you would like to, you can take the survey here! if you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez angst #mists of celeste #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #san x reader #ateez angst fluff smut #ateez series #ateez ff #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #san series #seonghwa series #hongjoong series

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lavendertales · 3 years

Text

Take my breath || Frankie Morales x f!reader**

Requested by anon:

Apologies for taking so long with this one, my dear, and I appreciate you being here for so long, love you 💖went with Frankie for this one, hope this is to your liking!

word count: 1.6k

WARNINGS: jealous (but still caring) Frankie, some angst as mentioned, top!reader, spanking.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @theredviper

Casual night out. Some drinks, some dancing and lots of laughter with friends.

The description Frankie had been given at the beginning of the night did no longer match with the image he had to witness.

You and Frankie hadn’t been dating that long. Four months in the making, but it was safe to say that you both felt strongly about each other. Where you lacked in PDA engagement, Frankie had plenty. He never overdid it, but just enough to let anyone who saw the two of you that he was utterly devoted to you.

That’s what he did tonight, too. He danced with you however and whenever he could, he kissed you on the cheek, he had his arm wrapped around either your shoulders or your waist and hoped—deep down—that he was making everyone jealous. How could he not? You were simply stunning, a jewel that many desire, but not all may own.

And unfortunately, many began to realize that as well.

“Hey, have you seen Y/N?” Frankie asks Santiago and the others.

“Uh—she went to the bar, last I saw her,” Santiago replies.

“Bar’s pretty empty.”

“Maybe she went to the bathroom,” Will suggests.

Something doesn’t sit right with Frankie. He simply cannot rid himself of the ill feeling he has, so he starts looking everywhere for you. His former training comes in useful as he scans the crowd, eyes narrowing on silhouettes of different shapes and sizes until finally, they land on you.

And holy hell, do you look uncomfortable.

Making his way further into the crowd, Frankie realizes there is a man next to you, towering over you and smiling wickedly in a way that makes his stomach churn. Your face is contorted in sheer displeasure and that is Frankie’s cue to move faster.

“Come on, sweetheart, just a drink,” he hears the man tell you as you excuse yourself over and over again, but he blocks your every move.

Frankie feels his anger boil in his veins and he finally reaches you and gently grabs your arm.

“She doesn’t want to go with you,” he informs the man.

“And who are you, her spokesperson?” the man laughs mockingly.

“I’m her boyfriend. Now beat it.”

The man’s attention shifts solely to you. “How about you ditch your lame boyfriend and let me buy you that drink, ey honey?”

“I’d much rather go with my boyfriend, thanks,” you reply as acidly as possible.

You move alongside Frankie when the man yanks your arm away from him, and that’s when Frankie loses it.

“Hey! She said no. Take a hint, you dumbass.”

There is no verbal counter attack from the man. The punch he swings at Frankie is loud and shakes you to your very core. A group forms as they watch the possibility of a fight unfold; Frankie fights back with an even heavier punch before you step in and pull him aside. Luckily, security bust through the doors and you point to the man, watching fugitively as they escort the man out.

“Are you okay?” you breathe at Frankie.

He nods several times and regains full balance after being smacked into the wall. You make eye contact with the boys as you help Frankie back to your seats.

“What the hell was that?!” Will shouts.

“A jackass forcing me to have a drink with him,” you clarify. “He punched Frankie.”

“Are you alright?” Benny asks.

“Dealt with worse,” Frankie coos, eyes glued to yours.

He feels something stirred inside of him, something wild and conspicuous that he lets consume him, devour him from inside out.

“Think we should head home,” he tells you.

“Yeah, we’d better get you cleaned up.”

Frankie’s mind wanders elsewhere, truth be told. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline kicking in, making him feel like he was unbeatable, insatiable.

He doesn’t say another word to you as you get into a cab and drive to his apartment. The entire ride he stares at you, eyeing you up and down with admiration and lust alike, stirring that sensation even further. Truth be told, he’s felt this way the entire night, but seeing that sleazy guy trying to make a move on you and him coming into frame solely to protect you… it unlocked something in him. Something primal and needy.

He sits still as you search for instruments to stitch him up with. Eyes carefully locked on your lovely face, concentrated to the tiniest details, Frankie exhales slowly as if to not startle you. You catch his glare a few times, gulping. Frankie notices your nervousness. He had grown to know your body better than you know it and so he knew that your facial expressions always betrayed your thoughts.

“Are you okay?” he checks in.

You subtly frown. “Why are you asking me? I’m not the one who got into a fight tonight.”

“It was hardly a fight. I was close to digging that guy’s grave.”

You stop, throwing him an unimpressed and somewhat concerned look.

“Please don’t say that,” you say, resuming your work on his cheek.

“Sorry. But I would’ve done it. I would kill to keep you safe.”

You never took that lightly. You knew Frankie’s military training could pose both a risk and an advantage and right now, you had trouble figuring out which one was the case. You also realized early on that if things got tough, Frankie had skills that could easily disarm a potential threat.

“You don’t have to,” you say whilst making the final touches to his stitch. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“He grabbed you. I saw red, I couldn’t… if he would’ve touched you in any way, swear to God—“

You cup Frankie’s other cheek, the one left unharmed, and caress it gently. “I appreciate it, baby, I really do, and I love you so damn much. But please don’t kill anyone for me.”

“I still would.”

Realizing there’s no winning with him when he was this stubborn, you chuckle as silently as you can.

“Okay,” you concede.

Frankie holds your wrists and stares at you, making you understand that there is an underlining message to his move.

“I love you too. So… fucking much, I can’t even—“

“I know that.”

Frankie pulls you further in until he reaches your lips, furiously biting your lower one and his tongue breaking through the hot caverns of your mouth. You gladly let him, finally feeling the effect you’ve had on him mirrored into your own actions. Desire fuels you as Frankie pulls you in his lap and the kiss deepens, turning into a full out make-out session, hungry.

You feel dizzy from the sweaty evening out, the adrenaline rush from before and the alcohol consumed under fluorescent lights. You’re not even sure when your subconscious desires kick, but they compel you to grind on his lap as you begin to dispose of his shirt. Clothes come off effortlessly, breaths run out and skin presses against skin. Every touch of his is electric and burns through you, making you more impatient. You’re not sure where do all of those feelings stem from nor how either one of you did came by them but no complaints are being issued.

You’re being lifted temporarily only to dispose of the clothes on your lower half and you remark immediately how hard Frankie is. You give him a few strokes, the bulbous tip of his cock reddening more under your touch and he grunts. There are plenty he’d like to say and normally he would whisper sweet nothings to you, words that get you going good and prolong the foreplay but right now, he feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t get to touch you soon.

His eyes sparkle with lust and adoration when you lower yourself atop of him; you listen to his moans closely, watching every mimic of his face. His hands instantly travel to your sides, encouraging you to start moving and—

It’s shattering. That first roll of your hips is sufficiently maddening, but Frankie immediately feels greedy and grabs a handful of your skin, molding it like dough.

“So soft—fuck, baby—“

You always adored his grunts. Regardless of the position, hearing Frankie’s baritone cuss words was always a treat and especially now as he’s still on that adrenaline rush from before and he’s practically insatiable.

His fingers grab your ass repeatedly and then he spanks you several times. It’s unexpected, sudden and shit, it gets you going.

“Again,” you whisper, smiling in ecstasy.

“You like that?”

You bite your lower lip as you smile wider, eyes closed as you keep riding him. Frankie is nothing if not easily adaptable and eager to learn so he smacks your ass again, giving it a good squeeze right after, repeating the sequence five more times until he feels the skin burn under his calloused hand.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—“

Frankie’s mouth is on your neck, sucking on a spot that, paired with the way he’s grabbing your ass cheeks, sets your whole body ablaze.

“Come on, baby, come on—“Frankie murmurs in your ear, trying his best to thrust up however he can. “Come on, cum around me. You got this—“

“Mhm—I—mm—“

Coherence is no longer one of your abilities when your orgasm hits you minutes later. It’s blissful when Frankie comes around the same time, shooting his load further inside you. Arms around his neck, your forehead rests on his as you ride each other’s orgasms out. His eyes drop and his mouth waters when he sees how deep he’s going in and out of you and how his load is practically dripping out of you.

And again he feels insatiable.

#requests #birthday celebration #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

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uwusenpaiuwu · 3 years

Text

Baji Being A Menace To Society (And Your Relationship) 2.0

Sequel to: Baji A.K.A. The Worst (Best) Matchmaker

Summary: Baji’s at it again, acting out-of-pocket and creating chaos for absolutely no reason, other than to see you suffer. In his own Baji-esque way, of course.

Pairing: Sano Manjiro | Mikey x Male Reader

Warning(s): Boku no Pico is mentioned, but there is absolutely nothing graphic; mentions of masturbation

Note(s): I am so sorry if it isn’t funny. Sadly, I am but an amateur writer, not a comedian. Still, I hope you all enjoy! ^^

"(Y/n), want some ice cream? My treat."

Usually, you'd be the first to jump at an offer for a sweet treat, especially when you don't have to pay. However, as of now, the word 'ice cream,' when said by Baji, instantly triggers your fight-or flight-response. Paired with the fact that he’s broke as hell, your suspicions only increase for the sudden indulgence.

Since you know you're no match for the long-haired menace, your body automatically prepares to flee, legs twitching to lurch into a sprint. Unfortunately for you, just before you can get the fuck out of there, your hand is being grabbed by Mikey, who leisurely begins to tug you along to claim your dessert.

“You like ice cream, right?” he turns to ask, eyes unbelievably soft when looking at you.

And because you’re weak for him, all you can do is nod stiffly, trading in your sanity for the pleased grin that spreads across his face, his confident strides thereafter likely a result of him successfully remembering another miscellaneous fact about you, as has been the case since you officially started dating him. From the most trivial of things, like which brand of pens and pencils you prefer, to the slightly more important stuff, like ice cream being one of your favorite desserts; he’s made the effort of remembering them all.

He really doesn’t need to do any of that, ‘cause you’ll love him either way, but the conscious decision to do so is what makes you love him even more.

Zoning back into reality, you shake your head to reorient yourself. It isn’t the time to be going over the reasons why you’re such a lovesick puppy.

No, there are other things to worry about, mainly Baji.

You squeeze Mikey’s hand as you’re led to the nearest ice cream parlor to try and calm yourself. It works for the most part, especially when you get a reassuring squeeze back.

‘Right,’ you tell yourself, ‘it’s going to be okay.’

After all, Baji wouldn’t do anything too drastic, right?

~~~

You were wrong. So, so wrong.

Despite nothing having transpired yet, every alarm in your head is going off, pounding at the door of reason to get you to wake up and realize that it’s Baji you’re talking about, the same person that sets cars on fire when hungry and punches the first unfortunate soul he passes by on the street when sleepy.

You really should’ve listened to your survival instincts and ran. Alas, it’s much too late to escape, leaving you to wallow in your anxiety, while you wait for misfortune to strike.

And strike it does.

“Please, don’t sit next to me. You make me nauseous.”

“That’s cruel. I bought you ice cream, and you treat me like this?”

Yeah, he may have bought it, but you refuse to eat it because of how intensely Baji is staring at you. Fucking weirdo.

"Oh, do you want some of mine instead, (Y/n)?" Baji accentuates his question with a sensual lick to his ice cream from the edge of the cone to the finessed peak, making you extremely uncomfortable as he stares you down with the full motion.

As slowly as he licks his frozen treat do you slowly raise your middle finger, eliciting chuckles from the other occupants of the table.

You think you won that mini battle, though?

Ha! Nope.

Baji mirrors the vulgar action, not once breaking eye contact as he dips the tip of his finger directly into his ice cream, pulls it out, and proceeds to lick that, too.

Disgusted, you promptly avert your attention elsewhere, praying that Baji won’t continue being, well, himself.

Your prayers fall on deaf ears.

"It's cold!" As soon as the exclamation leaves your mouth, your blood runs glacial, knowing that you've unintentionally played into Baji's trap. The appearance of a sly, almost feral, smirk when you whip your head around to glare confirms what you already know.

The curtain has risen, and you’re standing center stage in a performance you can’t break free from.

"Aw, can't let it go to waste,” Baji continues, reaching over to scoop the ice cream you’re 100% certain he purposely spilled on the front of your shirt, with his fingers.

Then, to your horror and everyone else’s shock, he asks, without an ounce of virtue to his name, "Want me to lick it off with my mouth?"

Chifuyu is seated on the other side of the table, hiding his face in his hands. “Baji-san...”

"It'll stain if it dries like that." Dear God, how you wish to un-see Baji batting his eyelashes at you.

“I don’t care!” At this point, you’ve resorted to clumsily scooting your chair as far away from him as possible, which isn’t actually as far as you’d like considering your surroundings. Hell, so long as you put some distance between yourself and the crazy bastard that wants to see you suffer, you don’t mind having to force yourself halfway onto Mikey’s lap. (The firm hand that keeps you steady by the waist proves that your presence isn’t unwanted either.)

"Geez, (Y/n), you're such a scatterbrain."

Seeing Baji sell the line with a slow tugging of his hair behind the ear has you torn between laughing and dying a little more. Truthfully, his acting is frighteningly impressive, and you would’ve applauded his performance, if not for the fact that the role he’s playing still haunts your dreams.

By this time, most of who accompanied you to the ice cream parlor have figured out what kind of drugs Baji is on this time, which also means that those fuckers have seen, or are at least aware of, the cursed trilogy of questionable porn that’s being reenacted before their eyes, with you as an unwilling co-star. Those that are puzzled as to why people are shoving their fists in their mouths to refrain from laughing are obviously God’s favorites.

“The fuck is going on? I wanna laugh at Baji’s dumbassery, too.”

“Pah-chin... I think it’s best you don’t know.”

Interestingly enough, the one you’re most concerned about hasn’t said anything yet, splitting his attention between observing the scene unfolding and eating his portion of a deluxe sundae.

Then, out of nowhere-

“I understand.”

You and Baji freeze where you are, each of you grasping the other’s collar, you to shove him away, and him to draw you closer.

“(Y/n),” Mikey says, your name rolling silkily off his tongue in a tone much too fond for his next words, “if you like roleplay, just tell me.”

...

“Huh?”

“I’m fine with pissing, remember? So, roleplay shouldn’t be a problem.”

Heat rises to your face at an alarming pace, and it continues to climb as Mikey takes your free hand in his, which serves not to comfort but to unintentionally remind you of the humiliating experience from a few months back. And just when you convinced him that you didn’t want anything to do with getting freaky with the body’s excreta, too.

“You’ve got it wrong! I don’t- arfghfgh?!”

Your prayer to help cool down your flushed cheeks must have been heard, but you’re pretty damn sure you didn’t ask for Baji to shove his ice cream in your mouth!

“Oh, yeah. (Y/n)’s a fuckin’ geek when it comes to roleplay,” the unhinged bastard speaks in your stead, indifferent to the nails clawing at his hand clamped over your mouth. “You should try it with him. We were doing a scene from his favorite anime.”

Mikey tilts his head, interest positively piqued. “Which one is that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, leader?”

Mikey raises an eyebrow.

Baji opens his mouth.

You lunge.

It’s a series of events that happens in the blink of an eye and ends with loud crashing as you tackle Baji to the ground.

“Listen up, Baji Keisuke. We took an oath that day, and if you dare utter a word of what went down, I’ll consider that a breach of the code of secrecy and take you down, making sure you drown in a pit of your own shame and despair.”

Surprised to have been pinned down so quickly, it takes a while for Baji’s brain to catch up, but when it does, he’s frustratingly unfazed at the threat.

“Oho~ How scary. Too bad for you, I have no shame.”

“Not even if I tell Mama Baji where your porn stash is?”

That has the great Baji tensing up.

“You wouldn’t dare use an underhanded tactic like that.”

Your lips turn into a wicked grin. “Are you sure? I have as much dirt on you as you have on me, and like you, I won’t hesitate to use it to my advantage.”

If your grin is wicked, Baji’s is downright evil, showing off his sharp, gritted canines and all.

“You got balls, (Y/n),” he snarls, “but mine are bigger.”

The boy beneath you opens his mouth, and faster than you can stop him, he just...does it.

“(Y/n) (L/n) watched Boku no Pico and liked it!”

Silence.

Silence is all that’s heard for a good, long minute following the booming roar of the revelation.

You dare not look up to gauge everyone’s reactions, instead keeping your icy glare fixated on Baji, who looks smug as shit for having caused the glorious eruption of heat to spread like wildfire across your entire body, from the tips of your ears down to where your skin disappears under the collar of your jacket.

This...

This is war.

Taking in a deep breath, you answer his uncalled for declaration with your own thunderous shout of, “Baji watched Boku no Pico and jacked off to it! Twice!”

Baji laughs. “Oh, pray tell, saintly (Y/n), how many times did you jack off to it?”

“None of your fucking business, asshole.”

“Pretty fucking sure it is, since we were in the same room.”

Someone chokes, while you choke Baji.

“We. Swore. To. Secrecy. You. Asshole,” you practically growl, with each of your words accompanied by a ruthless back-and-forth shaking of the other boy’s person.

“Let up on the choking, dude. I’m not into that. You, however-”

Unable to take the ceaseless slander to your name anymore, you reel your fist back, but, upon seeing Baji’s cheek turned to you, jaw jutted out, as if inviting you to take your best shot, you hesitate. You know you wouldn’t be able to pack enough of a punch to actually leave an impact on him, which is terribly upsetting.

On the bright side, there’s still one tactic you can use that’ll be just as effective, a technique courtesy of your health teacher, who happily taught it to the class to use in case of an emergency.

Technically, it’s meant to be used to assess a person’s level of consciousness, but you suppose it can be used to get back at inconsiderate idiots, too.

“Ow! Ow! What the fuc-! Ow!”

You keep a straight face as you continue to rub your knuckles against his sternum, fully intent on delivering the worst possible pain to the current bane of your existence. It brings a sort of sadistic satisfaction to hear the ever prideful Baji’s screams of pain, and while it doesn’t completely undo the damage done, it does help soothe your wounded self-esteem.

“You want me stop? Beg for it.”

“Pissing, roleplay, choking, and begging? Goddam- OW!”

Your reign of terror comes to its untimely end when you’re lifted up into the air by the armpits, and through the haze of your power trip, you realize that Baji’s saving grace is Draken, who proceeds to carry you out of the parlor with ease.

“People are staring,” he coolly explains when you protest to having unfinished business.

Pouting, you cross your arms over your chest. “It’s his fault.”

Once outside, Draken doesn’t immediately put you back on your feet, until Mikey strolls out of the parlor. Only when the gang leader has his arms outstretched to you are you promptly deposited on the ground and taken into his embrace.

“Are you done letting off some steam?” is the first thing he asks you. Even though you can’t see his expression, the way he holds you and the way he cradles the back of your head, handling you with the utmost care, is indication enough that there will be no reprimand for, essentially, assaulting your division commander. (You would argue that it was an act of self defense against verbal harassment, but whatever.)

There’s just an overwhelming amount of love. So, so, so much love for each other.

“Yeah, I am,” you eventually answer, followed by a content sigh.

“Good.”

Naturally, that’s the perfect time for the tinkling of the bells above the parlor door to pilfer your attention. Baji’s appearance causes your face to morph into a scowl.

You cling tighter to Mikey, peeking over his shoulder to flip the ravenet off and mouth, ‘Go to Hell.’

As always, Baji answers your attempt to appear opposing with an obnoxious smirk.

‘See you there.’

~~~

“Boku no Pico, huh?”

“Draken, don’t laugh! Baji forced me to watch it!”

“All 3 episodes?”

“Twice.”

“...”

“Favorite scene...?”

“As if I’d have one.”

"Actually-"

“Ahh! Shut up! Why are you here, stupid Baji?! You live in the other direction!”

~~~

“Hey, (Y/n). Want to try doing the same thing with me?”

You look up, perplexed. Mikey literally just walked into the room, and that was the first thing he said to you.

“Do wha-?”

Your breath catches in your throat when you turn your head, only for you to come centimeters from bumping noses with him. And because he can, he lovingly knocks your foreheads together, too.

“It’s okay. I promise it’ll definitely be fun.”

You should feel ashamed for recognizing the same sequence of lines from Boku no Pico so quickly, though any coherent words are overtaken by an incomprehensible, high-pitched screech, a feat achieved solely by a teenage boy going through puberty.

A combination of shock and amusement crosses over Mikey’s features then. He’s never heard you make that sound before.

It’s cute. Strains the ears quite a bit, but cute.

While Draken lurks beside him, questioning Mikey’s standards of what constitutes as ‘cute,’ you’re sprinting across the room, red-faced, to Baji, who’s already grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Stop tainting my boyfriend, you piece of shit! Give him back his innocence!”

(Unbeknownst to you, whilst immersed in your fit of hysterics, your use of the word ‘boyfriend’ has a certain blond beaming.

“Did you hear that, Ken-chin? He called me his boyfriend.”

“Wow, congrats.”

Mikey either doesn’t give a shit or is simply too smitten to acknowledge Draken’s apathetic response.)

Baji blinks, unable to believe what you’re trying to insinuate. “Innocent? That little gremlin motherfucker?”

Both of you look in Mikey’s direction. When he sees you staring, he breaks out in a smile and throws a wave.

Your heart involuntarily skips a beat at the sight, and, okay, you’re convinced. Mikey deserves better than knowing of that cursed series’ existence.

Clearly, you’re down bad for Toman’s leader, and as such, Baji figures he can use that to quench his boredom for the day.

“Ooh, if only you knew what he gets off to.”

The tone in his voice instantly rouses suspicion. You narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t care what kind of porn he gets off to.”

“Porn? Nah, ya silly goose-”

“Don’t call me that.”

Baji ignores your comment as he moves to sling one arm around your shoulders, the other raising up to mimic an obscene tugging motion that no teenage boy is a stranger to.

“He jerks it to yo-”

BAM!

One second, Baji is lazily hanging off of your person, the next, he’s sprawled out on the floor, face down, and groaning in pain. You expect nothing less after witnessing him receive a rather impressive flying kick to the chest from Mikey.

Before you can assess the full damage, your view gets obscured by a pair of keys.

“Wanna take my bike out for a spin?”

Yes, you know Mikey is trying to divert your attention from whatever Baji was going to say, and, yes, you probably should check on the figure that has yet to get up.

But do you really care?

You take one glance at Baji’s concerningly unmoving body and quickly come to a conclusion.

You do not.

That being said, you quite literally drag Mikey and, by extension, Draken out of there, chanting an excited, “Let’s go!” on your way, abandoning Baji to wither on the ground.

Baji?

Baji feels betrayed.

~~~

"Chifuyu?”

“Hm?”

“Y’know, I was joking.” Baji flips onto his back with a grunt. “Man, who knew Mikey was all grown up?”

The vice captain of the first division hums, seemingly uninterested in his commander’s musings.

It goes quiet for a few minutes, the sole instigator of noise being Chifuyu flipping the pages of his manga.

Unpredictable is Baji, and the same goes for his train of thought.

“I should punch Mikey for kicking me.”

“No, you’d get beat up.”

“...”

“I should punch (Y/n) for Mikey kicking me.”

Truly, unpredictable and senseless.

“You’d still get beat up.”

Baji opens his mouth to argue.

“By Mikey.”

He promptly closes it.

“Fuck it. I’ll keep spicing up their relationship as payback.”

Sighing, Chifuyu closes his book to crouch down next to him. “Baji-san, with all due respect, you’re an asshole.”

Baji Keisuke has experienced betrayal twice today.

And he deserved it both times.

#mikey x male reader #sano manjiro x male reader #sano manjirou x male reader #mikey x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers x reader #Tokyo Revengers #Sano Manjirou #sano manjiro #manjiro sano #manjirou sano #i tried #im so sorry #pls dont cancel me #PSA: don't masturbate in the same room as baji

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writingfics-passingtime · 3 years

Text

Playing the Part

~8300 words of steamy Loki tickle fluff

PG13 for this one, kids. Lots of making out.

CW: some swearing, suggestive humour, mentions of murder/death, alcohol consumption

Every job has its ups and downs, and every employee their good days and not-so-good days. You’d hardly classify yourself as an employee because you didn’t get a paycheque, your entire occupation was a hazard unto itself, human-resources was punching it out on the sparring mat and your boss was either a 100-year-old super soldier or an eccentric billionaire, depending on the day and who was wearing what suit.

Wait… should I be getting paid for this?

Looking around your room that you paid no rent on, in a multi-billion dollar superhero compound, you decided that wasn’t a question you were ever going to ask. The question of the hour was which dress would best conceal your thigh-holstered gun.

Today, your job entailed one of those tasks that could be fun if you decided it would be, or hell if you had a bad attitude about it. You prided yourself on always being up for any mission, so that answered that question, though infiltrating some black-tie gala undercover was never as exciting as fighting alien forces.

You gave up feeling guilty about being a little excited when Earth faced threats long ago; no one had to know that impending planetary destruction was your favourite kind of mission to help out on.

Selecting a red strapless dress from the middle of your mission closet (which was differentiated because most of these dresses were bulletproof) you slipped it on over your underwear and thigh holster. A knock came at your door as you were reaching behind yourself to zip it up.

“Come in!”

“Agent, we- oh… Oh.” Loki’s featured turned from surprised to playfully smug in a matter of seconds.

“Can you get this zipper?” You winced at the stuck metal. He nodded and approached, you turned and held the fabric up. Before he even made it halfway to you he gave a brief wave of his hand and used his magic to unstick the zipper, bringing it to the top.

“Thanks,” you smiled, familiar with that particular kind of help from Loki. “Can you see my gun?” You did a little spin and he shook his head. “Great. You look nice," you commented, gesturing to his impeccable black suit.

“As do you.”

“Ready?”

”I suppose there are worse charades to play on a Saturday evening. Ones that don’t include fine wine and the prospect of a tussle with a Midgardian security man.”

You shot him a look as you two walked towards the garage together. “You said no Midgardian wine could be classed as fine.”

“Save for one region in Italy, I’ve discovered.” Loki shrugged, tightening the fastener on his cuff link.

You gave him a mock look of shock. “Are you telling me… you were wrong?“

“Smugness is not becoming, Agent,” Loki playfully warned.

“Hmm,” you narrowed your eyes. “Looks like I’m spending too much time with you.”

You bickered and bantered good-naturedly as you entered the garage, which was more like a hangar but only for cars. This mission would be you, Loki, Natasha, Sam and, strangely enough, Tony wanted to drive the van. He gave some excuse about wanting to test some new equipment and spend time with his team. Though you knew it was because Pepper wanted him to attend her aunt’s seventieth birthday, and Tony had a long-standing feud with that particular aunt ever since she went on a forty-five minute tirade about how much she hated Led Zeppelin. You weren’t sure if it was the sentiment behind it, or the fact that she could talk for forty-five minutes straight without the awareness to stop. Either way, Tony was on the job tonight.

“Black Widow is already onsite,“ Tony handed you three some photos as you entered and took your seats. “Your names are on the door, fake ones obviously, here they are.” Tony pulled up some information on the screens and then commanded the self-driving van to go with a few taps at a holographic control centre.

You went over the plan, the objective, who to avoid at all costs, where the gun was supposedly hidden. There was a gun used in a murder of a journalist - the employee of an old friend of Tony's, a young guy working on an exposé of a filthy-rich family dynasty in New York City. The journalist was sure the McDane family money came from arms dealing, but he was found dead just a few short months after he started investigating. The following week, Charles, the charming and likeable newly-married eldest son of the family, announced his run for mayor.

Whether Charlie McDane ordered the murder, or if he didn't even know it happened, Tony's source said this family kept trophies of their victories and the murder weapon would most definitely still be in the house.

On the face of it, it was an unusual assignment for the Avengers. If you didn't think that hard about it, you could have just sent Nat in alone. However, the McDane family was even more powerful than they loved to show on the surface, and this wouldn't be a simple theft. Hence, a small team was going in to avenge the fallen journalist.

Natasha had been planted on the inside, posing as an event manager for a soirée the family was hosting to celebrate Charlie’s birthday and, since he’d invited everyone in the political and social scene, it was the perfect chance to enter the mansion; there’s no way he’d know who each and every person was and should be.

As you walked down the road with your arm slotted through Loki's, you eyed the metal detectors at the front entrance. You gripped his arm and slid your hand into the pocket of your dress, but the pocket was hollow and only existed as easy way to grab your gun. Wordlessly, you passed it to Loki and he concealed it with his magic in the exact same way you planned to smuggle the murder weapon out later that evening.

Maybe it was Loki's elegance or your years of training that started when you were very young, but the way you two could instinctively weave around each other's thoughts, ideas and actions without so much as a glance was something special you didn't take for granted. You both had keen senses, but there was some kind of unexplainable energy that made them align perfectly.

You never let your mind wander on nights like these. On missions. Perhaps if you were less professional you'd take a moment to fantasise about what it would actually be like to go to a party with Loki. If the way he led you through the room with a gentle hand at your waist was more than a ploy to look like an adoring couple, or if he knew your favourite wine because he cared, instead of just having heard you order it a million times before.

He kept things light with jokes and little jabs, never once crossing a boundary when fake-flirting with you, but it wasn't lost on you that it was unusual to have this kind of working relationship that had all of the chemistry with none of the awkwardness. It was almost as if it was second nature now for him to pull you a little closer when you were in a nice dress, considering you'd only worn them in front of him on missions. And so he did pull you closer as you approached the bouncer to give your names.

You spied Nat at the front, leaning around a security guard's shoulder to point to something on his list. She always played her parts so well. She stole a glance at you and Loki through her fake glasses and that was it. No indication she knew you, no special treatment, no way she'd do anything to blow this. She walked up the outdoor staircase as you gave your aliased names to the guard and flashed fake drivers licenses that were pretty much real, considering the government had created them.

Loki declined the arrival champagne for the both of you, immediately leading you to the bar. You looked at him as if to remind him that you weren't here to drink, and his subtle smirk replied that he didn't care. He ordered two glasses of a merlot from the one region in Italy that'd won his respect, passing the glass to you once it was laid on the bar.

"To the finer things," he cheers'ed your glass and you scoffed with a laugh, taking a sip of the wine. The rich flavour burst through your mouth. It was dark and deep, spiced with... with... "Cedar," he offered, reading the analysis on your face. "Rosewood, cedar and some sort of stone-fruit."

"Nectarine."

He smiled and took another sip. "We don't have that on Asgard."

"This wine is good," you nodded as you two turned and deconstructed the room and all of its guests.

It made you kind of sick seeing all of these wealthy people in one place pretending to give a damn about Charlie McDane's birthday. It's not that you liked the guy, not at all, it just felt weird to know that every person in here was the exact kind of person you hunted down. Power-hungry. This mansion may as well be a lion's den. But full of naïve lions, who had no idea two apex predators just walked in.

Just when you started wondering how many people in your line of sight had also committed murder to protect their wealth and power, you saw Natasha give a subtle signal of which way the room with the safe was. Loki saw it too.

It was upstairs, but there wasn't much cover to get upstairs. The great foyer's ceiling was three stories up, the two floors above the ground floor you were on had square balconies that let the people upstairs peer downwards into the masses. Nat's fingers adjusting her hair told you that the room was on the second floor. Thankfully, there were guests on the second floor. Under the guise of admiration for the architecture and a desire to explore the great house, you pointed out works of art to Loki as you ascended the stairs together. When you walked past Natasha she smiled politely, like a good host, and asked if you were enjoying the wine.

"It's most divine. Though, I believe my beloved may be in search of a room to powder her nose."

You would have rolled your eyes at his usual choice of asking for information if you weren't aware that security's eyes were everywhere. Even on the event manager.

"You might find what you need up the stairs, down the first hall, third door on your right."

The way her hands were motioning didn't match her hushed description, so you followed the instructions in her voice instead of the way her hands were telling you.

You allowed Loki to lead you upstairs, down the first hall. When you two were certain there were no eyes, he concealed you two with his magic. The hallway was darkened. He pressed his hand against the lock and unfastened it with an unseen pure magic and you two slipped inside. It was a large office with grand mahogany furniture, decorated exactly as you'd expect Old Money Americans to decorate their office. Right down to the bear head above the fireplace and the first edition novels sitting proudly on the shelf, probably unread by their owners. That also made you a little sick: great words sitting unread as trophies.

Scanning the room for any obvious signs of the safe, your eyes settled on a panel in the wood on the side of the desk. There was a slightly smaller gap in the wood on one side, indicating hinges. You held your hands up to Loki and he conjured thin gloves to grace your fingers, then you pressed gently on the wood to engage the latch. The panel swung open to reveal the safe. Shifting out of the way, Loki took your place and placed a gloved hand on the dial. In less than three seconds, it spun rapidly in each direction before clicking open.

"We should really consider robbing banks," you whispered as the black metal door swung open and you were met with stacks of paper and envelopes.

"Need I remind you I am a Prince? If it's gold you want, darling, say the word."

"Eh," you shrugged, feeling around for the gun. "I meant more for the thrills."

Loki chuckled as your fingers found a familiar-feeling package. You pulled the envelope out and peered inside before showing Loki the sight of a small pistol. He nodded and took it from you carefully, then concealed it in some unknown magical space close to him.

You closed the safe carefully and then your gloves disappeared. Moving quietly back to the door, you listened for several moments to make sure no one was coming. Then, you both slid out and began walking down the hall like a loving couple.

Suddenly, a guard appeared at the end of the hallway. Thinking fast, you opened the closest door to you and pushed Loki inside. There was a shout you vaguely heard before you shut and locked the door again.

"Shit," you hissed. You were in someone's bedroom. Or maybe it was a guest room, considering how clean and un-lived-in it looked. There was a fireplace, like in the office, and a large four-poster bed against one wall. In the middle of the room were two plush couches that faced each other and were side-on to the door. You two walked over to them to get the vantage of being in the centre of the room and quickly searched for an exit.

"I'll cast an illusion," Loki whispered, ready to wave his hands and make it look as if you two weren't here.

"No!" You whispered, eyes wide. "They already saw us come in here. If we disappear, they'll know something's up and lock the place down."

"Then what do you propose?" He held his hands out, annoyingly unbothered by the prospect of blowing a mission. The doorknob twisted and you both snapped your heads towards it, then back at each other.

"Sit," you hissed and shoved him back onto the sofa right behind him. He stumbled and fell with a small indignant noise of surprise. You heard the tinkling of keys and your heart beat in your chest.

"Agent?"

Knowing the security team was about to enter, you acted fast. "I'll never hear the end of this," you mumbled before sliding forward to straddle his lap. His eyebrows shot up his forehead as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and looked at him with nervous urgency. "Kiss me."

Loki didn't question it, and he certainly didn't need to be told twice. His hands found their place. One at the small of your back, one firmly gripping the hair at the nape of your neck. Then, he pulled you in for a fiery kiss.

You barely heard the door open as you lost yourself in the strength of his hold, the steady and eager grasp with which he held you. His hands found their places as if they'd been there a thousand times before, as if he knew exactly how you'd feel the safest, feel the most desired. You pulled him deeper by the back of his neck and could have sworn he made a small noise of satisfaction.

Oh no.

He kept kissing you, you kept kissing him, even after the head of the security team had cleared his throat a number of times. As much as you knew you'd already sold it, and boy you sold it well, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. Were all Asgardians this good at kissing, or was it just Loki?

Oh. No.

"HEY!"

The sudden loud command pulled you away and, much to your internal mortification, you didn't need to feign how flustered you were.

"O-oh my," you squeaked and looked up at the man, blushing profusely.

Okay, the squeak was fake, but it felt almost real.

You stayed put where you were straddling Loki's lap and grimaced when you saw Natasha, still in character, entering the room. "What's going on, I need you downstairs to- oh!" She looked a little taken aback by your position atop the prince who, you were fuming to see from the corner of your eye, had the audacity to be smirking.

"My apologies," Loki drawled in his growly regal voice, trailing his hands around to your sides. "I simply couldn't control myself, seeing my queen in this dress..." He punctuated it with an "Mmph" and a firm squeeze at your hips. You flinched and squirmed a bit under the ticklish touch, trying to keep your composure but letting a small giggle slip out. Then, catching the pleased and mischievous glint in his eye, you dug your nails into the back of his shoulder to warn him off trying that again.

"This room's off limits," the guard tilted his head towards the door and you made to move your way off of Loki's lap. Instead, with his incredible strength, he stood with his hands still at your hips, lifting you to your feet before turning and wrapping an arm around your waist.

He looked the guard up and down, "Of course, good sir." You bit your lip and blushed, cowering in Loki's hold as you exited the room together. Nat smirked at you and winked before proceeding to fall back into character and tell the guards there was a belligerent drunk man downstairs needing to be kicked out. That man would be Wilson, who was playing his part as tipsy distraction.

Loki led you down the hall and you rounded a corner, then you broke off from him and held a hand to your chest. "That was too close," you breathed deeply once, then met his eye. You glared when he saw him smirking at you.

"Do I have lipstick on my face?" He asked, feigning worry.

"Oh, shut up," you swatted his shoulder. "I did what I had to do."

"I never knew you had the passion in you, Agent," Loki smirked again. You glared once more and peeked around the corner, only to jump and hold in a yelp as Loki's pinching fingers found your hip. "I also never knew you were so ticklish."

"That's not something people advertise- cut it ouhout!" You swatted his hand and squirmed away from him as he prodded his fingers into your side. "We have the gun, let's get out of here."

"Tsk, you're no fun," Loki scoffed.

You exited the party and made your way down the block towards the van, knowing that Nat's glasses had broadcast at least the last part of your little tussle with Loki. Steeling yourself as you gripped the handle, you reminded yourself that you were a professional, and this was sometimes a hazard of the job. You needed to play it cool when the eventual teasing came.

"Hey, lovebirds," Tony quipped the second he saw your faces.

"Hey," you chuckled, stepping inside and removing your heels the second you found your seat. "We got it."

"Here," Loki closed the door behind him and pulled the enveloped gun from the magical space he'd hidden it. "So you saw the Agent's display of passion, did you?"

"You wound me, Loki," you deadpanned. "I thought we had a mutual connection."

Perhaps those words were a mistake considering all the truth behind them. However, all the best lies were founded on truth, and for now you needed to convince everyone in the van that you weren't totally freaking out because you'd felt the most passionate attraction you'd had in years with a former villain. I mean... how predictable.

Loki looked at you suspiciously as he took his seat, but something in his gaze told you he wasn't going to prod deeper on this. Not right now, at least. Not in front of everyone.

Nat and Sam joined the fray five minutes later and you all got a move-on back to the Compound. Nat poked more fun at the position she'd found you two in, and you laughed good-naturedly at all their jokes. Loki was uncharacteristically silent, and seemed to always be looking at you when you laughed and instinctively checked to see if he was laughing too.

The jokes shifted to Sam and the wine he spilled down his shirt, then the conversation shifted to the next steps of what to do with the gun, then you all arrived back.

Tony got to work dismantling his rig, declining your help, and so you took your field weapons over to the cabinet to put them back in their places. As you were unclipping the magazine from your pistol, you felt a presence behind the door. You peered around to see Loki.

"What's up?" You raised your eyebrows and snapped the case shut, then closed the door.

He looked at you meaningfully, quizzically, but didn't say anything.

"Okay..." you chuckled uncomfortably and put the latch on the door in place. "I'm going to shower."

You made to walk past him but he grabbed your upper arm, stopping you by his side. Facing different ways, he leaned in a little closer and spoke quietly. "I can spot a lie from lightyears away."

Turning to look at him, you'd probably have been caught off-guard by how close his face was if it hadn't been for the events of earlier. You shrugged, pulling your arm from his grasp. "I didn't lie."

He scoffed and also turned to look at you, eyes flitting once down to your lips, then back up to pierce your gaze with his. "You know what I meant."

You were proud of how composed you kept yourself when you shrugged again and kept walking, swallowing hard.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Never one to waste water, you took an uncharacteristically long shower. Haphazardly smearing face wash over your skin to scrub the makeup off, scrub away the flustered energy. But no amount of scrubbing could help you forget the feeling of his kiss, and shampooing the hairspray from your head only made you remember the feeling of his fingers in your hair.

You reminded yourself that it had been a very long time since you'd kissed someone. You were probably just desperate, definitely a little touch-starved in general, so the fact that it was Loki didn't matter as much as the fact that it had happened.

That's what you told yourself over and over as you threw on sweatpants and a soft long-sleeved shirt. It was cold and the marble floors could be unforgiving, so you thought it best to go for fluffy socks, but then pulled some slippered boots over the top. You didn't bother brushing your wet hair, letting it fall where it wanted as you made your way to the kitchen.

"That smells good," you commented as Nat pulled some dish out of the oven.

"Mmm," she agreed with an excited smile. "Nico is my favourite," she admitted slyly, referring to one of the chefs Pepper would call in to prepare a bunch of heatable meals during busy periods. Delivery app drivers would probably cancel the order if you tried, thinking it must be a joke that a super solider was asking for a Big Mac to be delivered to the Avengers Compound. Besides, by the time it was scanned and made sure to not contain a deadly poison, it would be cold and stale. "There's enough for you too," Nat said, pulling out another plate and serving you a steaming slice of vegetarian lasagne.

"Thanks," you smiled, still a little distracted. Of course, with someone as perceptive as Nat, that wouldn't be allowed to slip by.

She leaned against the counter and poked at her meal, not meeting your eye to keep it less direct. "You alright?"

"Hmm?" You looked up, and so did she, then you looked back down to your food and shrugged. It was no use lying to her. "I think I'm lonely," you laughed humourlessly, nervously, sadly.

"The kiss got to you," she said knowingly, placing her fork down to give you her full attention. You didn't return the favour, nervous about what you'd say if you were really talking about this. Which, as long as you were here eating dinner, you weren't really talking about it.

"It's not like I haven't kissed a fellow Agent before to keep cover," you sighed a little, shaking your head. "It's just been a while, I guess, since I've had... anything... or, someone."

"I get that," she nodded, picking up her fork again. You two ate in silence for several moments. "This is really good," she declared through an extra-large mouthful. You chuckled and nodded, swallowing another bite. After several more moments, she said quietly, "It's okay if you felt something."

That made you choke a bit. Noticeably, unfortunately. You shook your head, but didn't deny it. "No. It's not okay."

"Why not?" She asked as if you were crazy.

"It's not okay," you repeated firmly, stabbing your fork again at the lasagna. "It's not."

Before she could attempt to pry for more information, Thor and Loki entered the kitchen together. Great.

"Good evening," Thor beamed a toothless smile.

"There's more in the fridge if you're hungry," you looked up at them in an attempt to not seem as regressed in on yourself as you felt. Thor looked at your plate and nodded in approval, opening the fridge. Then you looked at Loki, fully expecting to see some kind of calculating stare as before, but his expression was soft. He looked you over, probably noticing your out-of-character hunched posture and the way your head hung a little lower than usual, and he gave you a look that was subtly laced with sympathy.

Now that made your blood boil. Who was he to feel sorry for you?

He seemed to notice the way your jaw clenched under his gaze, and opened his mouth to say something but Thor spoke first.

"There's a film Stark wants us all to watch this evening."

Nat chuckled, finishing off her dinner. "You say that like he's showing us training videos. He's just trying to bond the team over some cheesy nineties movie." She looked at you and nodded to your clothes. "You look ready for a movie night."

Before you could explain that you'd rather go to bed, Thor beamed again. "Excellent, then! We'll all be there."

Thor was always kind to you, so you didn't want to disappoint him over something so inconsequential. You smiled warmly at him and nodded. "I'm gonna go claim a good spot," you excused yourself, aware it was almost time for it to start. You quickly did your dishes and left the kitchen, making sure to get a seat on a large armchair so you made it clear you'd rather have some personal space right now, even though it was the exact opposite of what you wanted. Maybe it would be good for you though, to remember that you were alone for a reason. That this life you chose wasn't kind too love.

Gods, love. Why did you think of that word, of all the ones out there. You were spiralling. Sentiment, you corrected yourself with a swift reprimand. Sentiment, loneliness, desperation.

You busied yourself chatting to Wanda as people filtered in, taking note of how she seamlessly wove herself in and around Vision as they sat on a two-seater next to you. Determined not to look at or think of Loki or romance or kissing or anything like that, you trained your eyes on the screen as the movie started.

But you spiralled.

There were these two main characters in the movie with this undeniable bickering co-worker chemistry that reminded you of Loki, the jokes he’d whisper into your ear during meetings, the harmless mischief he’d pull to make you laugh, the way his hand felt at your lower back- NO. You couldn’t think about that.

Wanda and Vision were in your line of sight from the corner of your eye and you saw her fingers lace through his, you then saw him place a silent kiss on the crown of her head. Biting down on your tongue, you remembered Nat and Bruce, Pepper and Tony, Thor and Jane, Clint and Laura. All those people who seemed to find love, even temporary love, in the midst of all this madness.

So maybe it wasn’t this life. Maybe it was just… you.

Biting your tongue a little harder, you reminded yourself how powerless you were compared to all these super-people. Sure, many of them were human like you, but all the other humans seemed to have someone who loved them.

It felt hopeless, knowing the only person in this room who you wanted close was so extraordinarily out of your league. He was a god. You were a human. Your life was a flicker compared to his, of course he’d never waste time indulging the likes of you.

But it felt real.

Halfway through the movie you decided you couldn’t sit there and see these buddy-cop characters fall in love. You couldn’t watch Wanda and Vision so enamoured with each other. What you needed was to hit something hard, and then go to sleep. So you excused yourself without a word or a glance at anyone. It was late, anyway. You weren’t even the first one to leave.

A turn of a black-haired form told you that Loki noticed you leaving, but the lack of footsteps behind you as you walked down the silent hall told you that he hadn’t followed you.

Slipping into your room and then into some workout clothes, you jammed your headphones into your ears and put on some classical music; you weren't sure you could stand to hear any words right now. You laced your shoes a little tighter than normal and practically sprinted to the gym, very unwilling to have anyone notice you were gone and decide to come check on you.

Hitting the bag felt good. It was the perfect consolation prize for what you'd actually prefer right now, but with every crushing of your knuckles against the thick canvas you found it easier to forget how it felt to have your fingers looped through his hair. The sweat dripping down your face replaced the feeling of his breath against your skin when you'd broken the kiss, and the aching in your obliques from your tensing and turning to hit the bag took the place of any memory of his hands at your waist. The aching was here, and he was almost gone.

After a half-hour of interval sprints, it was just past midnight and you were exhausted. Not knowing how you felt about no one coming to check on you, you traipsed back to your room in silence. The faint echoing of your footsteps through the hallways made you quiet yourself further, stepping as lightly as you could to prove to yourself that you were still a good spy. Good spies don't get caught up with feelings. Your footsteps fell, dead quiet, and you regained some confidence.

Your muscles stung the next morning but in a delightful way. You'd treated yourself to another hot shower when you got back to your room, so this morning it would probably be best to have an icy one.

As the cold water hit your skin, you felt okay again. The boxing and running last night had really shaken everything out of you, only the smallest lingering of lonely desire remained and it could easily be ignored. Of course, that was easy to say. The second you walked into the kitchen to see that Loki had heard you coming and poured you a coffee you felt a tug at your chest.

His hands closed around the mug to pass it to you and you remembered how his fingers had closed around your waist. He smiled good morning and you remembered how his lips felt against yours. Holding it all in, you smiled and took the coffee, then proceeded to have a short conversation with him like a normal person would. He made jokes about last night, but not about that, and you chuckled at them. After perhaps too short a time for how long you usually chatted, you excused yourself to go do some paperwork. You caught the way his brow furrowed a little, but he didn't question you.

The next few days were more or less like this. You'd try to engage with Loki normally but spiral a little more, convincing yourself that the more you continued like you always had, the more normal things would be again. But he was just so... beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful and now you couldn't help but notice.

One evening, nearly a week after you'd kissed, you were having a bit of a vulnerable day and you walked into the kitchen for some ice cream. Loki had just finished cleaning up after his dinner and turned to say hello, but you couldn't do it. You just turned and walked right back out again. He called after you but you didn't stop. It's not like you were going to cry in front of him, but you just couldn't do this right now.

Seeking refuge in your bedroom, you shut the door and slid down to the floor with your back against it. An immediate soft knock frustrated you, especially knowing who it probably was. You sighed and stood.

“Hey,” you greeted Loki with a nod when you opened the door, immediately turning away to make it look like you were about to do something else. “What’s up?”

Loki stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, which made you stop and give him your attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied.

He squinted for the faintest second and smiled a little sadly. “Light years,” he reminded you how he could spot a lie without harshly calling you out. It pained you that he didn’t. That his lack of sarcasm indicated that he saw you as a bit fragile right now.

You sighed a little and ducked your head to the side, conceding the point. “I’m a little haywire,” you admitted. “I think I need to get some stress out and go to sleep.”

”What troubles you?”

Ah. What a question.

You didn’t want to shut him out, but you certainly didn’t know how to explain that one simple kiss undercover had brought a massive crashing wave of insecurity and anxiety that made you feel completely unlovable. Or... maybe you could just say that?

You were silent for so long that Loki spoke again.

“I’d like to offer my apologies,” he said very diplomatically. “If I overstepped the bounds of our relationship.”

“I’m the one that made you kiss me,” you winced. “I should be apologising.”

”I didn’t mean that,” Loki shook his head. “I meant after, when we returned. When I cornered you.”

You had to laugh. “You didn’t corner me, Loki. I appreciate you wanting to make me feel better but you have nothing to apologise for.”

”Very well. But you didn’t make me,” he replied firmly.

“I know, I know…” you rolled your eyes. “A god submits to no one, I just meant that I put you in a situation that I shouldn’t have. Believe me, I’m paying the price.”

That last part came out a little faster than you’d intended it to. In fact, you didn’t really mean to say that last part out loud at all. Or maybe you did. What a perfect Freudian Slip. Quickly collecting yourself, you spotted your headphones and went to pick them up but noticed that Loki was taking slow steps towards you.

”Paying the price?” He asked carefully. You stopped and folded your arms, shrugging.

“People poke fun, you know.” You bit your tongue. Then, you saw him smirk a little. Ah. Lightyears.

“I thought we had a mutual connection,“ he raised his eyebrows, teasing you with your joke from That Night. You gave him a firm stare, but couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t that far away now.

“Loki, that was-“

“A thinly veiled truth,” he interjected, leaving no room for debate. He also left very little room between the two of you. You opened your mouth to respond, seemed to not be able to, and he smirked at your speechlessness.

"Y-you can't." You shook your head. "There's no way."

"There's no way, what?" A smiled tugged at his lips at the way your eyes widened when he took a strand of your hair and wrapped it once around his finger.

"... Mutual?"

“Now that we won’t be interrupted…” he brought his hand up next to his face, flourished it, and you heard your door’s lock click shut. You held your breath as a mischievous grin graced his lips.

Oh gods, you were looking at his lips. You couldn't seem to look away.

He lowered his voice to a gruff whisper. “Might we finish what we started?”

With the smallest nod of your head, he immediately ducked his head to press his lips against yours. Your small noise of surprise made him pull away for a second and grin, before he playfully growled and lifted you from the ground. His eyes stayed trained on yours as he walked a few steps and firmly shoved your back against the wall. Your breath hitched as his hand found that place at the back of your neck, and this time, you kissed him. Eagerly, hungrily, feeling so overwhelmingly euphoric that this was even happening.

It had to be a dream, you thought as his lips trailed along your jawline, his hot breath hit your neck and his strong unwavering arms kept you above the ground and level with his gaze. He kissed you not just like a god or a great lover - he kissed you like he wanted you. Like he‘d also been waiting to do this for an unspeakable amount of time. It felt like relief.

Pulling you both back from the wall, Loki's lips didn’t relent as your fingers tangled once again in his hair. He walked backwards and found his seat on the end of your bed, sitting with you in his lap as he had at the party.

“Gods, you enrapture me,“ he pulled away, a little breathless. He grinned and his eyes were hazy. He looked at you intensely before looking back at your lips, subconsciously slipping out his tongue to wet his own. Before you could respond, he was kissing you again. You could have melted into his touch. In fact, you were fairly certain you just might.

He leaned back and you both fell onto the bed, you on top of him. You laughed at the sudden impact and you pulled away for a few seconds to catch your breath. You looked at his adoring gaze and blushed. “I never thought someone like you could want someone like me.”

He furrowed his brow, unsure if you were about to reference his nefarious past.

”You’re so… mighty. You’re a Prince, a god, you’re wickedly smart and powerful and… and I’m just a human.”

“Watch your tongue,” Loki scolded somewhat seriously and held you a little tighter. “Don’t speak of yourself as if you’re insignificant.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, giving him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do, I’m wickedly smart,” he smirked and you playfully swatted at his chest. He smiled contentedly and ran his hands firmly down your sides to settle at your hips. It was an innocent romantic gesture, one to position you for further making-out with Loki, but your eyes widened at the memory of his discovery the previous weekend and the assumption that the God of Mischief was about to turn the tables.

Unluckily for you, your flustered expression rendered it a self-fulfilling prophesy.

“Loki…” You warned as you saw the glint in his eye.

“That’s right…” His smirk widened to a devilish grin.

”How about you keep kissing me, huh?” You laughed nervously and leaned in closer. Loki laughed and nodded, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of your neck as you pressed your lips to his. Once your arms were around his neck, he deepened the kiss and rolled over, putting you underneath him. Still on the edge of the bed, your feet barely skimmed the floor. Then, he suddenly became the classic Loki you knew.

“Mmmhmhm!” You whined and giggled a little into the kiss as the fingers belonging to his arm around your waist started ever so gently scratching at your side. “Mmnnoho!” You broke away and gave him a pouting look. He lifted his head and smirked.

Gods. He’d never looked so unspeakably hot.

Messy curls framing his face, that look he gave you that said You’re In Trouble in his distinct Loki way, mixed with the desire in his piercing blue eyes; you’d gladly endure his torture if it meant he looked at you like that.

But maybe that’s because you had no idea what was coming.

“Darling,” he cocked his head and kissed your cheek before kissing just below your ear. “I am the God of Mischief….“ he kissed your neck in a way that you were sure was intended to tickle. You giggled and bit your lip. “And now that I've got my hands on you, you simply cannot expect me to not exploit this little weakness to its fullest extent.”

“L-Loki!” You blushed at the very real threat and he chuckled.

“How about you guide me, hmm? Where should I start?”

“I’m not playing this game,” you laughed nervously, squirming a bit underneath him and resting your hands on his shoulders to push away the ticklish kisses.

“Aw, come now,” he lifted his head and that same beautiful smirk made your heart beat quick. His hand behind your neck slid down under your shoulder blade until it sat at your upper ribs. You stole a glance down to where it may be, even though you couldn’t see it. He cocked his head again. “No? Alright, I’ll choose.” With a wink his thumb slipped around the side and up into the hollow under your arm.

“LOKI!” You gasped, clamped your arm down from instinct and immediately started squirming and giggling, even though his thumb wasn’t even moving. He grinned again and kissed your lips once more.

“You've been down all week, love. Let's have a bit of fun,” he whispered, then sprang his hand at your waist into action, scratching and grabbing at the soft skin hidden beneath your shirt. You gasped again and started laughing softly, then squeaked when his thumb started wiggling into the hollow under your arm.

"NOHOHO!" You shut your eyes and then squealed loudly when his fingers underneath you began clawing into the back of your uppermost ribs. Damnit, you thought he may start easy on you, not go for three different places at once. You were already in a desperate cackle, bubbling incoherent pleas spilling from your lips as you writhed underneath his amused self.

"I'm honestly delighted you're so ticklish," Loki teased with a chuckle. "It's adorable, really. So professional all the time, yet..." He finished his sentence by intensifying his touch and speed at all three sites of attack, drawing a small shriek from your laughing lips and a jolt from your body. "Has it always been this easy to undo you?"

“OHMYGOHOD!” You shrieked, throwing your head against the bed and trying to buck your upper body against him to no avail. He paused his torture and kissed you deeply again, lips curled into a smile as he pressed his lips to yours. You shook your head and broke away, still laughing. “Youhou’re ridiculous! We were hahaving such a nice moment and y-you ruined ihit,” you whimpered. He kissed to again to silence your complaints.

“What did you expect?”

“I-I expected a nice romantic moment!” You laughed and brought both arms between you and him to shove at his shoulders. “Now,” you gave him a stern look. “Do you want to tickle me, or kiss me? You can only choose one.”

He scoffed. “I don’t do ultimatums, darling.”

“You do now.”

“Bold.“ He stuck his tongue against his cheek then ducked his head to the side in consideration. He then looked at your face, which you’d been attempting to hold in some semblance of a firm glare. He lowered his lips to your ear and you heard him chuckle once. “Far too bold for someone so ticklish.”

He whipped his arms out from under you and pressed his weight down again, trapping your arms between your bodies as he clawed into the front and sides of your lowest ribs.

“NOHOAHAH!” You immediately fell into desperate belly-laughter as his fingers drilled and clawed into the spaces between your bones. Your feet kicked helplessly, merely grazing the ground as laughter kept spilling from you. “NOHO! NO! LOKIHI I CAHAN’T!” He shifted his hands further up your ribcage and snuck his fingers around to dig in at the back and, after one more shriek, your laughter went silent. It was trapped in your chest as his squeezing and vibrating fingers found every sensitive space on your ribs that made you want to melt into a little puddle. You were gasping for air by the time he halted his attack, squeaking and wheezing as you tried to regain your breath.

It was torture, but you hoped he wouldn’t ask you if it was worth enduring to have him this close. If he could spot a lie from lightyears away, how much easier could he spot it when he was close enough for you to see the flecks of green in his eyes.

”You’re… you’re gonna kill me,” you hiccoughed. He smirked and leaned in for another kiss. “Nuh-uh,” you pulled your finger up as much as you could from where your arms were trapped. “You made your choice.”

He grinned and slid his hands down your sides with a wink, "Oh? Then I'll gladly continue."

"W-w-wait! I dihidn't th-WAHAIT!"

His thumbs drilled relentlessly into your hips as Loki joined in with your loud laughter. You finally managed to wiggle your arms out from where they were trapped at your chest, shooting them down to grab at his fingers. Your feet having no traction and his near entire weight pressing you to the bed made it impossible to buck or lift any part of your torso, so you were completely trapped with nowhere to go as he gripped and grabbed at the skin of your hips, kneading at the pressure points that made you squeak and squirm beneath him.

When he tired of your fingers trying to grab his, he did a devilish swift lift of his own body and slotted his hands between the two of you, settling them palms-down over the majority of your belly. You made a huge gasping noise and started frantically giggling and squealing even before he'd moved his hands. You shook your head and begged for him to kiss you instead, nervous high-pitched giggles interlacing your words.

"N-noho, Loki just kihiss me, kiss me plehease! PLEASE!" You squeaked, cupping his cheeks and gently pulling him towards you. He chuckled and grinned, gently digging a few fingers in just once. You thrashed and renewed your struggling and squealing efforts. "Dohon't you DAHARE! I won't kiss you agahain if you do this!" You threatened. He cocked his head and leaned in a little closer to look deep into your eyes. Then, he grinned and whispered:

"Lightyears."

You thought for certain you'd pass out from laughter when Loki's fingers sprang into action and rippled against your hypersensitive stomach. You laughed loudly, completely powerless to stop his fingers from digging in wherever they pleased. After not much time at all, your laughter went silent and you weakly batted at his shoulders, sides, face, anything your hands could find for themselves since your eyes were shut so tight. Any words your brain even began to think of forming got lost as laughter ripped through your chest from the electric intensity of his fingers against your body.

When your hands finally found both sides of his face, you used all the energy you had left to press your laughing lips against his and, finally, he relented. You fell back with a loud gasp as he retracted his hands with an amused chuckle and took his weight mostly off you, propping himself up with a hand planted either side of your head.

"Alright there, darling?" He teased as you coughed weakly and wiped the tears of mirth from your cheeks. You gave him a scowl, but he found it adorable.

"Thihis isn't fair," you crossed your arms defiantly.

"No?" He smirked. "Pray tell, my love. What isn't fair?"

Oh. My love. His love.

That took any breath you'd managed to get back in your lungs.

"Y-you... you..." But your words were lost in the bliss of being his. He seemed to quickly understand how his words touched your heart, and it softened his teasing demeanour, and softened his smirk into a smile. "You found my worst spots so soon," you managed to murmur through rosy cheeks.

"Was only a matter of time."

"But now you have the upper hand."

"Dear heart, this isn't a struggle for power," he laughed heartily. "I do not seek to rule over you. Anything you ask of me, anything in the Nine Realms, I will give to you."

"Tell me where you're ticklish."

He chuckled and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before falling down beside you. He hummed in contentment as he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you as close as you could be.

"Anything but that."

#loki x reader #loki fluff #loki tickle fluff #ler!loki #ticklish!reader #marvel tickle #marvel fluff #marvel reader insert

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