#so shiny its blinding

[cookies-after-dark]

writing a huuuuge headcanons post for shadow milk cookie and i frantically run to google images because i don't know how the hell to describe lingerie in writing. like how do i manifest shadow milk cookie's tiny ass in sexy clothing through TEXT.....

[lay-z]

Simon Riley, who fucks a pocket pussy for the first time.

On one particularly nerve-racking afternoon, Simon finds a sleek black gift box on his office desk. The little card attached to it is signed by both Johnny and Kyle.

Almost reluctantly, he opens the lid with a deep sigh and immediately feels his heart drop at the sight of the shiny new fleshlight greeting him, a red bow wrapped around it.

And then the Lieutenant bristles as he recalls that brief yet incredibly stupid conversation his Sergeants had during a break on their last op, another chat he didn't even wanted to be involved in.

“Oi, ye own any sex toys, Lt.? Like a pocket pussy? Cock ring?” Johnny had thrown at him bluntly while you and Kyle tilted your heads like a pair of owls, patiently waiting for your fucking superior to answer.

In that moment, Simon had known that every single answer he’d give the bloody Scot would be the wrong one—and the thoughtful gift he just received is a clear sign of that.

Negative, Simon has never owned a bloody sex toy. Never even thought about getting one; the sheer thought of walking into a sex shop, already looking like a bloody creep with his mask and all, is enough to give him high blood pressure and heart palpitations. No, his hand has served him just fine up to this point.

Yet, as he keeps staring down into the box, his cock chubs up in his cargos as he imagines sinking into this perfect mould of a cunt, heart fluttering more violently when he notices the tube of lube that the two numpties have thought of putting in there as well—oh so fucking considerate.

And so what if he ends up fucking himself with the toy while he sits in his office chair? Prick and balls out, manspreading widely, biting his bottom lip so harshly, he’s drawing blood, when he first watches its silicone folds spread as it swallows his throbbing, flushed cock whole.

It squelches obscenely when his hips jerk up and he bottoms out so nicely, his eyes roll back into his bloody skull, blinding him momentarily. His chest heaves with shuddering breaths, balls drawing up painfully as his orgasm builds up pathetically fast at the base of his spine, and his mind is reeling at the feeling of its tight, wet channel gripping his thick shaft so easily.

And so what if he ends up cumming barely a thrust later, when his mind slips him and he imagines it’s your pussy—warm and real and all his—that he’s currently buried inside while you’re riding him?

Well now he sure has a fucking problem.

[amfstargirl]

Yandere batfam x neglected reader

So, pack up your car, put a hand in your heart, sing what ever you feel, be wherever you are

We ain't angry at you love. ⋆·˚ ༘ *

The pain of the neglected soul. Under the heavy mood lingering in the manor. An architectural design that screams wealth but is never wealthy with love and laughter. well, at least not to the second youngest child of Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy, the most powerful man in Gotham City.

Being a product of a mistake between an infamous prostitute and a well-known, almost "celebrity"-like man was not really an ideal life. Being shunned away by the woman who you call Mom, who's supposed to whisper sweet words to you and rock your fragile body back and forth to ease you of whatever you feel bad about, instead shoves you into the arms of an unknown man who's your supposed father. Yeah, that sucks.You've always adored your mom. Despite the horrible words she casually whispers to you - "you ruined me, kid"—you turn a blind eye to her actions and act deaf to her cruel words and instead pretend that she's the mom who loves you and adores you just as much as you do for her. Because it was better. It just was. Your brain can't really process the fact that your abusive mother can be abusive. No, not when she was the one who carried you for 273 days, birthed you, and gave you your name. A 5-year-old's brain can't possibly carry the thought of having that same woman hate you. So even when it was your birthday, you waited for her all day to come home and give you kisses and maybe a birthday cupcake or present. just for once, she comes home drunk, messy, and dizzy with a man on her arms while laughing feverishly. It crazy to think that was the most happiest you've seen her; she was always scowling when she was with you. Strange. Even so you greet her with a hug. "Momma, I've been waiting for you all day—" she cuts you off and tells you to get away from her and calls you this strange name "annoying" huh. Wonder what that means. And for the next hours you spend your birthday alone, in your bedroom. Awake and hungry. But it doesn't matter at least mom came home! Sometimes she doesn't even come home for a few days, but she came home today! That means she must love you. Only for a few days she stays at home with the strange man she brought home on the day of your birthday. It doesn't bother you, it was normal after all. She always do this and then after a few days the man's gone. Yeah, this is just temporary. You say as you clean the house full of dirty clothes and empty alcohol bottles. And then one night the strange man is yelling at your mom; screams filled the tiny apartment with smashing sounds of bottles echoing around the room. You're furious, and you want to defend the woman who you oh so lovingly call "mother" You push the man away, and it angers him. With his bloodshot eyes, he grabbed the bottle and smashed it at the side of your tiny head. You soon wake up in a large room with bright lights and thick white walls. Soon you find out that you're in a hospital; its so cool, it's the size of your living room! Maybe even bigger… Moments later you found out that your mother gave you up to some unknown man who is to be called your "father.". You thrash and scream against the nurse's hold and scream for your mommy, yet she never came.A strange man came and introduced himself. He said he was "Alfred" and said from now on he will take care of you. That's silly because no one in your entire life has had someone take care of you. Soon he drives you to a gloomy big house with lots of statues as Alfred proceeds to tell you that this will be your new home now. Different portraits adorn the walls, and shiny pottery and impressive works of art fill the house. Alfred soon introduced you to your father, Bruce Wayne. Now this is where it all starts. With your new home, hope sparked through your heart, and you believed that somehow, someway, maybe you'll be able to get the love that you have always longed for, yearned for, waited for.

Wrong.

Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, the most powerful man of Gotham, the heartthrob, the Batman, but never the father of y/n l/n. He doesn't even know you. Doesn't even try to acknowledge you and your hard work, desperate to try anything to make him pay attention to you. To give you the attention you crave and yearn for ever since you arrived at the comfort of his home. You weren't stupid. You knew who he was and his nightly activities. You understood. But what hurts was that despite this, he managed to give every. Single. One. Of his children, attention except you. Was it because you weren't like them? Was it because you didn't fight bad guys for a hobby? Or was it because he never deemed you worthy of his time? Why? Were all the things the kids and big adults whispered behind your back true? That you were a child of a whore and you were bound to become one too over a matter of time? Was it true you'll never compare to your siblings? Being compared to your siblings, who had so much talent and had their own special abilities that yours can't compare to, was draining—and partially true. Your little ballet classes can never impress bruce over his other children's combat skills, multilingual abilities, and genius calculations. And you learned to accept that over the years as you grew up.

Richard grayson, dick, the loving big brother, the family guy. Maybe he was a good guy. After all, he managed to acknowledge you for about 6 seconds one time! He even asked you about your ballet classes! Though that was only to distract his self before Damian came. Always the big brother and Lil brother duo! .. Despite being busy with being a full-time cop and a vigilante, he still makes time for family, the ones he considers as family. Not you, never you. Who were you kidding? Dick is the star of the show, and you're just another side character in his main character life! Just a plain, old, boring bystander. That's all you will ever be to little Richard Grayson's glam life story.

Jason todd was different. He was known as someone who was brutal and full of anger. So it was no problem for him to shove you and tell you off. He had no conscience in telling you to go away, and you liked that. You like the fact that at least he had the decency to not give you false hope. Jason todd hates you, and you know it. Jason todd is jealous of your normalcy and how oblivious you are to the danger of the world. In his eyes, you were his replacement; looking at you makes the green monster of envy crawl out of him and take his anger out on you. The way you are so vulnerable stirs something up inside of him, and he realizes that your eyes look just like his when he was full of wonder and innocence. It made him restless and irritated. It reminded him of his mistakes, foolishness, and those memories he buried deep inside his mind to save him from countless nightmares he desperately ran away from.

Timothy Drake, the genius Robin, the hero by choice, the prodigy son. You would be lying if you said that you weren't jealous of Tim at all. I mean, look at him! He's a genius, a hero, a heartthrob, and a role model to several youths of Gotham. He was exactly like Bruce, and I mean exactly like Bruce. His life revolved around solving crimes, fighting bad guys, acing all of his tests, and coffee. Anything was more important other than you. Sure! He has time to cuddle with his family for movie night (without you, of course) but never has the time to play video games with you. Everything seemed to send thrills to his veins and spark an interest in him except your very existence. If you were just a mere bystander in Dick's story, you weren't even in Tim's!

Cassandra. The girl of the family. You have always envied her. Not only was she the only girl of the family and doted on by every single one of your brothers, but you and she also shared the same interest. What's even more infuriating was that she didn't even have to try. She didn't have to beg countless times to have anyone attend her performances because they were all there. Even Jason, who hid in the shadows. They were all there to support her and show her the love you have always asked for, begged for. She swooned all of them with her dancing, and you can't help that maybe her hands are more gentle, maybe her feet are more pointed, maybe her posture is more straight than yours, maybe she's prettier than you, maybe she's more worth than you.

And finally. Damian al Ghul Wayne. The youngest son, the baby brother, the scarred child loved by his family. When Damian came into the manor, you were thrilled. You thought that maybe you and he could bond over the same trauma. Maybe finally someone can understand you.You thought wrong again. Damian thought you were weak and a disgrace to the bloodline of the Wayne family clan. He called you thousands of cruel names and insulted you whenever he had the chance to. He always belittled you and showed you no mercy, going as far as to drag the blade of his sword across your neck, drawing blood, just for him to cruelly laugh in your face and tell you that you are being dramatic. You forgave him. You were a good kid. Right? So why is it that a kid who made thousands of innocent lives bleed through his sword is sitting with his father—your father—on the couch, sleeping soundly on his chest? It's not fair.

They were never fair.

As Dick was checking the CCTV footage of the manor out of boredom, he managed to catch a glimpse of footage—about 2 weeks ago—of a person packing their bags and putting things from the manor into a box and leaving. It must be a thief! But that's impossible. The manor has many securities that even a skilled assassin could not pass through the gates; it's impossible. Unless…Dick took another glance at the footage and zoomed in on the screen and squinted his eyes. And for a second, his breath hitched and his heart pumped fast, his hand trembled, and his eyes dilated.

It can't be.

[carbonfiction]

Ain't no shame

Summary: Riding frank for the first time proves a challenge, one that you thought yourself ready for. When it turns out you aren't, insecurity sparks up your spine. But its just your luck that Frank doesn't mind, infact, hes more than happy to help.. So long as you ask.

Masterlist. Words: 1.5k

Warnings?: as always 18+ MDNI, smut below the cutttt- piv sex, frank being a pleasure dom to the highest form, frank calls reader mama literally once (its hot. Sue me) plus lil mention of insecurity/ bad previous experiences.

Also spotted today i have a lil over 1,000 of you following me for my little ramblings and i am completely blown away. I have so much fun creating stuff for you all and have met some of the best people since creating this blog- long may it continue is all i can say. If you like, comment, reblog, send an ask or even just lurk here.. Thank you. <33

Now.. On with the smut ;)

"How’s that feelin hm? Good?" Frank breathes against your lips, one hand resting against your neck as the other sits anchored to your hips.

Bodies totally bare for the first time as you sit atop of him on the bed, franks back resting against the rickety headboard, cock nessled deep. Your plush thighs bracketing when you slid yourself down slowly. Breathing through the pleasure filled sting as you settled on his lap. Franks eyes filled with adoration as they meet yours, a rough groan passing his lips at the tight heat of your hole.

"Remember, you tell me if it gets too much alright?" he rasps, one hand moving from your hips to thumb over your shoulder soothingly before trailing down. Tongue wetting over his lips as he observes the join of your bodies, glossy slick shiney on your skin. "Don’t ever wanna hurt ya- or my gorgeous girl down here..

You whimper softly as his thumb brushes your clit, a gentle pressure as it prods at the split of your folds. Hips rocking forward just a fraction. "Wish you could see her right now.. all spread open n shiny for me, shit sweetheart, so fuckin tight too"

"S-so full frank.." you whisper, planting your hands against his pectorals as begin to lift up, dropping back down with a soft sigh. The feeling of him inside your walls comforting in a way you cant seem to explain, lip bitten as you watch each reaction to your movements.

With time comes more confident bounces, calculated rocks and grinds that push him deep and nuge against the spot that has you keening. But so too comes the creep of discomfort, tinged with pleasure but enough to fill your expression in a way you cant seem to hide. A wince here and a shuffle of your knees beside him there.

Franks observance doesnt miss this, as much as you pray he does. Gentle hands holding on as you shuffle again; this time not letting you continue without resistance.

"Hey.. There somethin' not feelin right pretty girl?" he murmers, head cocked slightly. His thumbs soothing little circles on your skin. Concern paints his features and you can feel the heat of shame overcome your bloodstream.

You'd begged for this, asked specifically to be on top and now? Now you feel like you cant live up to it and shit.. Shit it makes you embarrassed. Especially with the patience hes given you up until this point; those nights spent having sex with the lights off or with shirts still on, never deviating from missionary.

You'd wanted to try this; to give him- and yourself- something different.

So you do the thing you know best, you push through, because how could that earlier confidence fade so quickly? With a soft smile and unconvincing eyes you confirm, "M' okay, just getting comfortable" and gingerly resume the pace once more.

It feels good, neither of you can deny that. Franks length gliding so sloppily into you. Audible in the way it feeds those warm sparks of pleasure up your spine.

But frank really isn't a stupid man and he isnt blind neither. Theres an inconsistency within your movements, with the rise and falls you make against him. A forced tone to the sounds you let free. Its not feeling as good as it should for you, thats clear to see and for frank? For frank that is a fucking crime. Especially when it comes to his girls pleasure.

A large hand slips up your back, gentle and slow as if not wanting to spook you. Fingers offering a gentle squeeze to the base of you neck, just enough to gather your attention back to his face once again. You hadn't even noticed your gaze waver and lock to the chiseled planes of his chest.

"You got it or you need my help sweet girl?" he murmers, leaning up to press his lips to your forehead. "Know there ain’t no shame in askin, always gon' give you whatcha need."

Your throat bobs as you swallow, anxiety suddenly filling your gorgeous features. And its then your words break Franks heart. "D-dont want you to.. To be mad.. Said i could do it.."

Your lip wobbles and frank engulfs your form immediately, pressing you close to his chest. A shake of his head visible in your periphery as you rest against him. "Christ sweetheart, you listen to me" he says shifting your head up slightly to meet his gaze like your made of glass. "I am never gon be mad bout that. If s' too much then it's too much alright? Not your fault"

Frank watches you breathe in his words, brows creased just slightly when you nod. He doesn't know everything about your past, about the expectations of the few men you'd let touch you, but he can guess they were less than understanding. Enough to make you shrink in on yourself the way you have now anyway.

Your voice is soft when you speak up again, meek and still anxious. "You promise?.. Dont want you to.. To not enjoy it.."

Frank has to bite back the scoff threatening to dislodge from his throat. Him? Not enjoy it? While you're sat perfectly bare atop of him like this? Each gorgeous curve housed by plush flesh driving him wild, indents from his fingers littering your skin. Breasts covered with blooming bruises from his adoration filled attention alone.

What on earth had those clowns you'd been with before made you think?

"Course i promise babydoll. Enjoy just bein with you-" he rasps quietly, fingers tangling into your hair, large palm cupping your head as he rests you against his forehead. The usual crease that lives in his brows gone, replaced by something much softer. "-sittin on the couch watching tv or goin walkin how we do.. this is just a bonus, something extra. Now if you wanna stop sweetheart thats okay too-

"No!" you cut him off quickly, a flicker of fire back into your eyes, cunt clenching around him in your panic as you pull back. "No dont wanna stop, Please frank..dont stop"

He nods, wetting his lips with a gentle hush. "Alright, so how bout we try something else hm? Somethin that works for you" the hand in your hair drifts to your jaw, calloused thumb soothin over soft skin. "Aint gotta worry bout me, just gotta focus on you.. you tell me how you want it n I’ll get you there.. that sound good?"

It takes a second before you nod, the movement still a little sheepish as frank trails kisses over your features. Jaw, cheeks and forehead first, followed by a decent back down your nose to press against your lips, swallowing your words. "M-mhm, yeah.. But i.. I want you to.. to do it like this still.."

"Like this?" frank hums, adjusting you both until hes pressed flat, his feet down on the mattress just like his back. A large arm wraps around your shoulders, pushing gently between them as his head finds home the crook of your neck. Sheets bunching in your fists in preparation. "Sure this is what you want honey? Not too deep?"

"Want it like this." you confirm, pressing yourself down against his chest a little more, pushing him a little deeper, head turning to the side to nuzzle into his chest. "Fuck me frankie..please.."

And following your pleas, he does. His hips lift in a steady succession of thrusts, cock brushing your walls in a way that immediately feels better than before. A soft whimper filling franks ears as he repeats his thrusts over and over.

"shhhh, I know mama, I know." he pants, full balls a steady swat gainst you as you take every inch he has to give; pleasure blossoming quickly. "Doin so good like this, taking everything i got"

"Feels so.. Oh fuck frankie, s' good, gonna cum- gonna make me cum!" you sob out, blood pounding loudly through your ears, orgasm building in your belly as quick as his thrusts.

Franks hand presses harder into your back, the weight between your shoulder blades a comfort as it pushes you against him harder. "Yeah? Give it to me baby, yeah cmon, let me feel it" he groans roughly, lips against your temple.

That very plea is what sends you over the edge, orgasm bluring your vision as franks thrusts remain steady. Quick and sharp pounds as he fucks into your quivering form. Each movement making the squelch of your weeping cunt louder, a creamy ring forming around the base of Franks cock.

Its only a handful more bucks later that Frank's high crashes into him like lightning. Pulsing ropes of cum painting your insides until you feel physically full.

"Atta girl.. My beautiful fuckin girl" he pants against your skin, sweat soaked and spit stricken. "That what you wanted?"

Your head nods, lips sloppily finding his with a soft whine. hips unconsciously rocking backward, cum leaking out of your messy hole, still plugged by his sensitive cock.

[kitten4sannie]

mafia san! always gets what he wants btw, especially when it comes to playing with his favorite toy ♡

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

“Look at me, baby, yeah, like that,” San whispers down to you, his breathy voice hardly reaching you past the sound of the loud, crackling fire blazing away behind you within the lavish living room of the estate, though you’re far too focused on the shlick sounds of San’s hand rubbing eagerly along his stiff, dripping cock to really hear what he’s saying to you. He presses a finger into the underside of your chin, tilting it up. “You look like you want something, princess. Use your words, will you?”

“I want to touch you, sir, please let me?” you ask, not even recognizing your own pathetic voice. When did you get this desperate for someone as dangerous as Choi San, the trusted head of the Park Estate? Your legs and feet start to grow numb underneath you from being in that same position for so long, encouraging you to lean forward, resting your head against his bare thigh, your eyes wide and full of need, feeling his muscles contract underneath your cheek as he tossed his head back, his fingers squeezing around the base of his throbbing erection. “I’ll be good, sir, I promise…”

Growing hotter by the second from the raging fire nearby and his pretty plaything quite literally begging on her knees just to put her hands on him, San opened up his heavy fur coat to expose the entirety of his naked body, his pretty tan skin glowing underneath the low light of the room. He gave you a smug sideways smile, angling his cock down to lightly smack it against your heated cheek, making you gasp. “Be good and spit on my cock, then, princess.”

Swallowing down the rest of your dignity, you pursed your lips, letting a few strings of saliva drip down onto the head of his cock, watching him eagerly lube it up, your cunt pulsating like it had its own heartbeat. His curved length was thick and heavy inside San’s slick hand, decorated with prominent veins that all led to the reddened, shiny tip. Your blushing face was mere inches away from it, admiring the way San continued to pleasure himself, from gripping at his swollen balls to running his fingers over one of his perked nipples. Not being able to do anything was simultaneously killing you inside but keeping the fire lit inside your core, and San knew that. That’s why he controlled you in this way.

“Does my pretty doll want to be even prettier for me? Hm? Does she want to be a good toy for me?” San hummed out in between heavy breaths, a few drops of sweat falling off of his jaw and wetting the fur of his coat, all the while thick beads of pre-cum pooled out of his slit and dripped down the swollen head of his cock.

“Yes, please,” you voiced desperately, your dilated eyes flitting from his pulsing cock to his fiery gaze, tears starting to blind your vision from how bad you wanted to taste the saltiness of his pre-cum on your tongue, drool escaping from your parted lips.

Chuckling softly at you, he reached down to slip his fingers into your hair, tugging you towards him just as his moans began to grow louder, taking his time as he painted your beautifully pitiful face with his hot load, making sure not to miss your glistening lips, smearing the last few dribbles of cum over them to finally give you a taste. That’s all it took for you to shudder and fall completely apart before him, falling forward into his bare lap, your mind spinning. You really were his toy, operating only for his own pleasure, which in turn had become your own, somewhere along the way.

San’s eyes resembled crescent moons, his smile only growing wider. He had molded you into the perfect pet.

“That’s my good slut. Now, it’s time to bend over and take what I give you.”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[xaviesstarlight]

Blind as a Bat

Synopsis: MC has astigmatism, making her extremely nearsighted and loses her contacts in the N-109 Zone. Note: I have astigmatism, so there’s a good chance I’ll write about it again soon in the future.

The wind is a girl’s worst enemy. Not only does the whirling current cause your hair to fly into your face at the worst possible times, but it can also dry out your eyes when hunting wanderers, causing you to lose your eye contacts. You curse under your breath as your vision suddenly becomes blurry after dodging a wanderer’s attack one night.

In the N-109 Zone.

The N-109 Zone isn’t usually so windy, but a storm is currently on its way. You duck behind a dumpster to hide from the wanderer as you assess just how much you can see in the darkness. You have severe astigmatism, so lights are especially blurry. You can see just fine with your contacts, much better with glasses, but the contacts have never caused you issues before. If it wasn’t for this wind… The wanderer howls, its roar breaking through your thoughts. You can still see the large blurry body like a black mass. As long as you aim at that, you shouldn’t miss. You quickly aim your gun and shoot. The wanderer dissolves into dust.

Smiling, you rush from behind your temporary shelter to grab the wanderer’s protocore for the Association. Your eyes search for colors that stand out among the gritty gunk that covers the N-109 Zone. The protocore should sparkle. You stumble as you look for it when something catches you before you land face-first onto the pavement.

“Careful, kitten,” a familiar, sultry voice says from the darkness. “I thought all cats land on their feet after falling, but I suppose that rule doesn’t apply to you.” Sylus. His energy manipulation evol is what caught you.

You whip your head in the direction of his voice to see a tall figure. Unfortunately, you couldn’t make out any details. If you squint, you could notice his white hair and black clothing, but that’s about it. “Sylus? Do you see the protocore? I can’t find it.”

Sylus clicks his tongue. “Stop playing games, sweetie. It’s right in front of you.”

“Where?”

Sylus freezes. He studies you as you stand before him scanning the ground for the shiny red protocore just a few feet in front of you. You squint your eyes, quickly looking left to right, a restlessness stemming from your frustration. Also when you look in his direction, there’s no focus, no softening of your features that usually occurs when you see him. Sylus waves his hand in front of your face. “Can you not see? What happened to your contacts?”

You fill Sylus in on your situation. “It just so happens,” Sylus responds, “you left a spare pair of glasses at the base. You’re coming back with me.” He grabs your wrist to lead you to his bike before snatching up the protocore using his evol. “You should be grateful I found you before something really bad happened.”

“Worse than being captured by Onychinus after being rendered blind?” you giggle, happily following him. You attempt to make the best of the situation, and going home with your boyfriend after a mission is the best possible outcome on a night like this, but the grip on your wrist tightens.

You couldn’t see Sylus’s expression, but you could hear the fear in his voice as he speaks lower, almost as if through his teeth. “You are fortunate it was me who found you in this state. If anyone else did…” Sylus doesn’t finish his thought.

You gulp, a sense of guilt weighing down on your heart. It wasn’t your fault for losing your contacts, especially at night in the most dangerous area in the country, but you don’t like the idea of making Sylus worry about you. You don’t say another word until you are safely back at the base.

Even though you are more than capable of taking a shower without any type of vision aide, Sylus insists on helping you. “You may have trouble reading the bottles, and how will you know which is the shampoo and which is the conditioner?”

You sigh. Fatigue overtakes your body, so you indulge your boyfriend. You want more than anything to hurry up and finish the shower, so you can put your glasses on after getting washed up. You still haven’t clearly seen Sylus’s face, and the idea of not being able to see him makes you restless.

Once you finish the shower, Sylus dries your hair and hands you your glasses. You put on the black square frames and immediately cup Sylus’s face in your hands, giving him a good look. His crimson eyes soften as they meet your gaze, his lips slightly curving upward. You grin, your shoulders relaxing in relief.

“There you are. It bothered me that I couldn’t see you properly until now. I missed you.”

Sylus chuckles. He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear before caressing your cheek. “You couldn’t see me this whole time? That won’t do, kitten. You really are as blind as a bat.”

“That may be, but I have my crow to see for me.” You boop Sylus’s nose.

Sylus chuckles. “Though I hope this doesn’t happen again, I would gladly be your eyes.”

[the-shedevil-writes]

Words of Affirmation (Matt Murdock x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Matt is a very logical man. It's one of your favorite things about your boyfriend. But when you need comfort and he only offers solutions to your problems, it pushes you away. With help from Foggy and Karen, he learns about love languages—and realizes what he really needed to do. WORD COUNT: 2.2k WARNINGS: Miscommunication. Slight arguing.

NOTES: Anyone else feeling the Matt Murdock drought since the show ended? :( Needed to write some for my main man. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3

Matt and Y/n had been together for a little over a year now, and the honeymoon phase was slowly slipping and being replaced with domesticated bliss. The routine they built together was put together by a foundation of tender love and care they had nested. Such as, her swinging by his office with lunch for him. Or when Matt would ask the florist which flowers were pink so he could fill her kitchen vase with her favorite color. Small things to brighten each other’s day. 

And that aspect of their relationship was perfect. Filled with consideration and a sense of knowing each other… But she had been feeling struck by a horrible mood lately. She was going through a bad streak at work where it felt like she couldn’t do anything right. Her hair was at an awkward length because of a messed up haircut she had gotten recently (thank god, Matt was blind). And she hadn’t had time to go to the gym because of her hectic work schedule lately.

It just felt like everything was wrong. Everything brushed her the wrong way. 

She tried to get the support of her boyfriend, but it was like pulling teeth. Matt was a very logical man, and that was something she loved about him. Whenever she was spiraling with anxiety or overthinking something, he was always there to remind her of the more objective truth.

 ‘Nobody is gonna notice.’ ‘It’s just one mistake, nobody will be mad at you.’ ‘The world isn’t ending because of this.’ 

But sometimes that just isn’t what she wanted to hear. And that strategy blew up in his face one night.

One night, after an already stressful day at work, she and Matt were supposed to go to dinner. But the dress she had really wanted to wear didn’t fit right. It was a beautiful, bright blue silk dress that was supposed to hug her curves just right. She had bought it just for Matt because she knew his heightened senses loved the feeling of the material. It was an expensive buy, but she knew it’d get some use with Matt around.

Yet it didn’t look like it had a few months ago. She tried to take in deep breaths, but they were shaky. She was just a little bloated because of her cycle, and she knew that. But it was more than that. She felt like her skin was overly oily, and her hair wasn’t at its shiny, voluminous peak.  The skin on her legs was dry from the winter cold starting to settle in. The ill-fitting dress was just the cherry on top. 

“Sweetheart, we've got twenty minutes before we have to get in the cab, and you haven’t even started your makeup.” He said, peeking his head in.

She stared at herself in the mirror, unhappy with herself. 

“I don’t wanna go.” She said, and she knew she was being dramatic. But she felt just awful. 

Matt’s brows furrowed, and genuine concern washed over him. “What? Why? You’ve been wanting to go to this restaurant for a while now.” He pointed out, which made her feel worse. Because she was looking forward to this. She had seen all the new desserts online and wanted to try some with him. Yet she just felt so… off that she didn’t want to.

“I don’t feel right. I- I think I’m just really tired or something.” She said softly

“Well, I told you to take a nap earlier.” He said. 

Ding. Another thing that made her feel worse. She didn’t want to take a nap because she wanted to get some extra work done at home before her next shift. But his pointing it out just made her feel like he was rubbing it in.

“I couldn’t. And I just don’t look good today, and this dress isn’t fitting right.” She complained, looking over at him as he leaned against the door. He was already dressed in a nice white dress shirt and pants. He always looked nice- it was easy for him. Even though she was getting annoyed, she did always appreciate how dressed up he was. For work. For dates. For errands. He always looked put together… She didn’t feel put together, much less look it. 

“Then wear another dress.” He stated simply, and he was met with furious silence. 

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“What’s wrong? I’m sure you look fine.” He said, confused, and starting to get a little frustrated himself. Even without his super senses, he could tell she was angry. He didn’t need to hear her fast beating heart to understand the frustration building around her. “You know that I don’t care.” He tried to joke, pointing to his eyes… Bad timing.

“You don’t care?” She snapped, “I just- I try so hard to look and feel nice, and you don’t care? I wear the silk and the lotion and the makeup, and-” She stammered. “It’s not working tonight, but have you ever even cared?”

Matt walked further into the room, sensing her spiral. “Hey, hey, sweetie, it’s not that I don’t care. You just know that… I can’t see you. You could be wearing a plastic bag, and all I’d be able to sense is that you’re wearing less.” He tried to explain, reaching to hold her hips.

But it wasn’t really about the looks, and she was too tense and filled with emotion to be able to talk through her feelings directly. “I’m not going.” She said.

He sighed and raised his hands. “Fine. Fine. Whatever you want.” He said, not understanding where all this sudden anger came from. 

“So we didn’t go to dinner. I went home, and she’s barely talked to me since.” Matt said to his friends, looking for advice. 

Foggy and Karen stared at him from across the booth at Josie’s slack-jawed. 

“You’re… you’re joking, right?” Foggy asked after he told them what had happened. 

He furrowed his brows. “No, why would I be joking?” 

Karen scoffed and put her hands on her mouth in disbelief before going, “Jesus, Matt, why would you say… any of that?” 

He looked around confused and leaned in. “Say what? I didn’t say anything. I just told her the truth.”

“So you’re telling me. That your super-hot girlfriend is feeling bad about herself, and you essentially told her that her efforts have been for nothing.” Foggy said.

“On top of telling her multiple times what she should do or should’ve done,” Karen added, “Which is probably the worst part of that.”

“That’s not what I meant! I didn’t mean to do any of that. I was just trying to be honest.” He defended himself, but was definitely starting to understand. 

Karen took a sip of her Long Island iced tea in front of her. “It just sounds like you weren’t really listening to her.”

“Karen, I can’t not listen to anybody.” He said with a huff.

“Matt.” She chided. Her voice was a warning that he needed to actually listen here: “Trying to simply fix everything isn’t listening to her. Do you know what her love language is?”

He took a sip of his beer and shook his head. “No, what’s that?” 

“Matt, you’ve been dating this girl for over a year, and you guys have never talked about this?” Foggy asked, surprised. 

“No. No, I have no idea what you’re even talking about.” He replied, and as much as he wanted the Let’s Shame Matt parade to end, he felt that he needed to feel it.

Karen chimed in again. “It’s like how people give and receive love. There’s like physical touch, gift giving, acts of service-”

“Quality time. Words of affirmation.” Foggy chimed in.

Matt just listened now, wanting to understand this new concept. 

“What does she like? What’s something you do that sends her over the moon?” Foggy asked.

He thought about it. It was hard because it felt like they did everything. He bought her flowers. He was over every weekend. They’d help each other around their respective apartments. It’s not like they were lacking in the physical touch department. 

Then he really thought about it, and a memory popped up. It was from a few months back. She had been studying so hard for a promotion at work. This important test to advance up. And when she came back, revealing that she had gotten the promotion and had received one of the highest scores, he hugged her, of course, then said. “I knew you could do it. My sweet girl is so smart. So so smart.” And that had rendered her speechless. Then she proceeded to practically pounce on him, which he remembered in more vivid detail.

“She… she really likes it when I compliment her.” He said to them.

“Words of affirmation,” Karen said with her hand out, “That’s what I was thinking it was. Because when was the last time you did that?” 

… That test was the last time he remembered. “The time I’m thinking about was a few months back. I’m sure there were other times, but what I’m thinking about was obvious.” He sipped his beer again. “It’s just hard because it’s not like I can see her,” Matt explained why he was so infrequent at this.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you flirt, bud. You can definitely do it without sight. I’m just surprised you’re so bad at it with your actual girlfriend.” He teased

“Hey.” Matt warned with an expression that told him to cool it, “I’m trying.”

“Tomorrow. Go apologize, and use your words to show her just how much you love her.” Karen interrupted the two.

That’s how Matt ended up at her apartment with a bouquet of lilies in his hand and a slice of her favorite cake in a plastic takeout box. The kind of cake with the strawberries and syrupy glaze she liked. He opened the door using the key she had given him. 

“Sweetheart? It’s me.” He called out, “You home?” 

There was no answer, but it’s not like he didn’t know. He could hear her heartbeat in her room, and it had picked up when he opened the door. 

He walked down the hall to her bedroom and gently opened the door. The smell of her vanilla candle filled his senses. The millionth rewatch of her favorite rom-com, Pretty Woman, played on her TV. She lay strewn across in bed in his old Columbia law T-Shirt, she had had it so long that she had practically forgotten it was originally his, and some velvety pajama shorts. 

“Hi.” She said, a drop in her usual tone, but she didn’t stop him. Her eyes were set on the television. 

“Hi, sweetie.” He said, walking in. “I got you some things.” He said, gently putting the lilies and the cake on her bedside table. 

She looked them over. “Thank you.” Even though she was still mad at him, she didn’t want to seem unappreciative. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently reached out to hold her hand. 

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry about the other night. I- I wasn’t listening to how you felt. And I should’ve been a lot more considerate instead of just trying to fix everything.” He said, “That wasn’t fair to you.”

Wow. He hit the nail on the head. She squinted her eyes at him in disbelief.

“Who’d you talk to?” She asked suspect. As much as she wanted to laugh at that, she didn’t want him to blow it off so easily. So she didn’t change her face.

“Karen and Foggy. Who beat some sense into me.” He said, and he looked over at her for a second before leaning down. “And just reminded me of how beautiful and stunning and clever my girl is.” He said gently before kissing her temple.

He heard her heart leap in speed as her eyes widened. 

He gave another kiss on her cheek. “I’m so lucky. So so smart and driven. Always working so hard.” He said, his voice low, and she looked up at him, nodding. She sat up a little so he didn’t have to lean so far. 

“You know, when we’re out together, I can hear all the heads turning to get a good look at you. I can hear their hearts skipping beats because of how beautiful you are.” He whispered just before her lips and then pressed a gentle kiss. 

“Jesus, Matt. Where’s all this coming from?” She asked breathlessly, now wrapping her arms around his neck, wanting him closer. 

“I just realized I wasn’t properly showing my love and appreciation.” He said, “I have a lot to talk about, and a lot of time not doing it to make up for.” 

She smiled. Practically beamed. “Thank you…” She said feeling much better already. 

His hands gently traced up her legs. “You smell really good. You know I like that cherry shampoo.” He said, and he reached up and felt the material of her shirt along her waist, “And I love when you wear my old shirts. I’m sure you look much better than I ever did wearing them.” He planted a kiss on her neck, “Much prettier.”

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, Matt,” She said, sighing, relaxed for what felt like the first time in ages. 

“Oh, sweetheart, we can’t have that.” He shook his head, “Your heartbeat is my favorite sound in the world. I love making it speed up like this.” He said before kissing her again. And again. And again. 

[wantonlywindswept]

another trope inversion of GAR/Guard interactions:

the GAR is entirely aware that Coruscant is a shit posting.

they're not blind; they can see all the anti-clone sentiment when they're on leave. even when they're deployed, it's not like they're cut off from all news - they know how many times bills for clone rights have gone to the Senate floor and been ruthlessly voted down. they can see how even their Jedi are restrained by the Senate dragging its feet and making bad choices and handling the war like it's a game of dejarik since it will never affect them personally.

very few politicians have the respect of the clones.

but the Guard still have to work with the spoiled, self-centered bastards, and the GAR knows that they're not being treated well. but what can they do? they have no rights, the Jedi are as trapped under the Senate's thumb as they are, and it's not like they can get regular citizens to do anything.

so they offer their support as much as they can. any Guard, any Corrie who needs help, all they have to do is find one of their brothers and it will be offered without any questions.

you'd think that crime rate would go up when battle-traumatized soldiers are given leave on a city-planet like Coruscant, but it actually goes down.

way down.

the thing criminals come to realize is that if you are being chased by one of the Guard, if ANY other clone catches sight of you, it is ON SIGHT. clones in casual clothes carrying food and drinks have dropped everything to immediately join a Guard's hunt, throwing themselves into the pursuit with glee and an energy that the usually-exhausted Guards often lack. (some of them howl. those, the criminal underground agrees, are the worst.) 

and with hundreds or thousands of clones wandering around during battalions' leave, it's possible to run into one of them anywhere. and they usually travel in packs.

best just to lay low for a while.

when it leaks that the Guard regularly run low on supplies, all sorts of things start to go missing on the venators. just a box or a crate here or there, ration packs or bacta patches or cold-weather gear. there are millions of clones and thousands of ships; it's not like every little thing can be tracked by the quartermasters. 

(rex realizes that, for whatever reason, his battalion is always prioritized for resupply, and rarely any questions are asked about their requisitions. rex takes immediate and shameless advantage of this. rex manages, somehow, to lose two entire bacta tanks, along with the bacta to fill them.)

and ofc the idea that started this whole ramble - when a shiny Corrie stumbles somewhere where some of the 501st are shooting the shit, causing everything to immediately come to a halt. the kid is clutching his helmet and one of his pauldrons to his chest; his hair is mussed up and there are tears on his cheeks and bruises on his face and unadulterated panic in his eyes. 

there's an angry call in the corridor.

the shiny flinches.

fives grabs him, hears him squeak, snaps out orders. echo yanks off his bucket and his upper armor; jesse lunges for a blanket. they hustle the kid into a chair, drape the blanket over his lower body, hastily swap his upper armor and helmet for echo's. fives shoves the armor somewhere, doesn't matter, it's out of sight with the telltale red, and they all barely have enough time to drop themselves back into the chairs arranged around the table and pick up their cards before some natborn stomps into the room.

anything we can do for you, sir? sorry, no, the Guard didn't stop in here. we saw him head back down toward the rotunda, though. yes, sir. have a nice day, sir.

they close and lock the door. fives goes back to the shiny. fives was instantly prepared to help a fellow clone in need.

fives was not prepared for tears.

the kid gets snot all over the inside of echo's helmet. they take him back to Guard HQ. fox is painfully, desperately relieved to see him. fox looks too-thin and too-tired but there is a fresh GAR-issued bacta patch covering a slash across the side of his cheek. he thanks them for saving the shiny, like that's something that ever needs gratitude, but is swept away before any of them can say that. 

fives doesn't think that misplaced bacta and pilfered rations are enough support for the Guard anymore.

thankfully, rex and the rest of the GAR agree.

[meenaxskz]

blackout in skz dorm | skz imagines

genre: crack warnings: language (i think ??) | mention of a ghost story ! pairing: platonic!OT8 x 9thmember!oc (meena king) summary : one peaceful night in the skz dorm… until the power goes out. now it’s nine idols, one candle, and zero survival instincts. a/n : wrote this for halloween last year and now I'm posting it on april fool's day... because I can. It's so stupid but I hope you enjoy it !

It was nearly 11PM, and the dorm was in its usual state of quiet chaos.

Felix was curled up under his blanket, phone three inches from his face, giggling at a TikTok where a frog got slapped by a leaf.

Chan was in his room with headphones on working, like he was about to drop the next national anthem.

Meena sat cross-legged in her room upstairs, eyes glued to her Switch screen as she screamed at virtual enemies.

Han was in the shower, mid-song, full drama, soap in his eyes.

Hyunjin had half a green skincare mask on and was dancing to some R&B track in the other bathroom.

Changbin was doing late-night squats in the hallway while blasting music in his headphones.

I.N was microwaving something very suspicious in the kitchen.

Seungmin was lying on his bed, deep into a murder mystery novel, highlighter in hand.

And Lee Know? Folding laundry silently in the dark like a serial killer.

---

Then...

Boom.

The dorm went pitch black.

Total silence before chaos :

“…hello?”

“…who touched the lights?”

“DID SOMEONE UNPLUG THE BUILDING??”

Upstairs, there was a loud THUMP—THUMP—CRASH.

Meena, from the darkness:

“…I’m okay! Probably!”

Footsteps scrambled everywhere. A door creaked. Then a scream...

"WHY IS IT SO DARK I WAS NAKED"

A flashlight flicked on, casting a shaky beam across the hallway.

“Was that Han screaming?”

In the kitchen, I.N’s voice piped up, panicked.

“My noodles aren’t done!”

“They’re probably glowing now,” Seungmin muttered somewhere in the dark.

“Don't joke...this is how horror movies start,” Felix whimpered.

“It’s probably just a blown fuse,” said a voice.

There was a long pause.

“…What’s a fuse?”

---

Everyone began staggering toward the living room like blind zombies. Meena limped in, one sock on, holding a Switch in one hand and an ice pack in the other.

“I fell down six steps. Maybe seven. I lost count.”

Chan, unimpressed “Again?”

“Shut up.”

Felix practically launched himself into the nearest couch cushion. “What if it’s ghosts?” he whispered.

“It’s not ghosts,” Seungmin said, already digging for candles in a drawer.

“Are we sure though?? Because the fridge whispered something to me before the power cut.”

Chan opened the balcony door to check outside. The city skyline was just as dark. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, it’s the whole block. Looks like a general outage.”

“Cool cool cool,” Han muttered. “I’m cold, half naked, and I smell like eucalyptus. Great night.”

A phone flashlight suddenly lit up Meena’s face from below. She shrieked.

“PUT THAT LIGHT DOWN.”

Hyunjin strolled in slowly, still shiny-faced and calm. “My face is marinating. I can’t even move my cheeks. Don’t startle me.”

Lee Know entered last, calmly, not even using a flashlight. He sat on the couch like nothing was happening, folding socks in the dark.

“Y’all are acting like electricity never existed.”

Meena pointed. “Why are you so calm?”

He looked up with deadpan calm “Because I am the ghost.”

Felix clutched Hyunjin immediately. “WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT. WHY.”

“I swear if someone breathes down my neck I’m swinging,” Changbin muttered, now wrapped in a blanket like an angry burrito.

“We need snacks,” Meena said.

“There’s no microwave,” I.N replied solemnly.

“Then we die hungry,” Han groaned.

Chan finally lit a candle. Everyone stared at it like it was the holy grail.

“We’ll wait it out here,” he said, voice calm but eyes tired. “Let’s not panic.”

Jisung scoffed “I’m already panicking.”

---

They all sat around in the dim flicker of the candle, slowly descending into a group cuddle pile of chaotic limbs and whispered theories.

“…Okay but like… if one of us was possessed, who would it be?”

Everyone looked at Lee Know.

He didn’t deny it.

---

20 minutes later, They accepted their fate. No power. No Wi-Fi. No hope. So naturally, they dragged all their pillows, mats, and blankets into the living room like they were prepping for war... against boredom.

Within 10 minutes, it looked like a kindergarten sleepover, but messier and louder.

Felix was already clinging to Meena’s side, tucked under the same blanket and whispering, “If the power doesn’t come back in an hour, I’m legally allowed to cry.”

She patted his head. “You’re already halfway there.”

On the other side of the room, Han sat cross-legged, balancing his dead phone on top of a raw potato.

Chan looked up from the candle he was babysitting. “...Jisung. What are you doing.”

“SCIENCE,” Han said dramatically. “You can power a clock with a potato. I saw it in a documentary.”

“That was a third-grade science fair project,” Meena pointed out.

“Exactly. If it worked for 9-year-olds, it can work for me.”

He then started poking the potato with a fork.

Seungmin sighed loudly from his corner. “This is why we can’t have power.”

Hyunjin was face-masking from memory, mumbling, “I swear if my skin breaks out because of this blackout, I’ll sue the entire country.”

Chan sat on a cushion like the stressed dad he was as Meena casually braided part of his hair. He didn’t stop her. He was too tired.

Lee Know was lying on the floor with a pillow over his face. He hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes. Some assumed he had entered a meditative trance. Others assumed murder was loading.

---

Eventually, the silence got too loud.

“I’m bored” Meena mumbled.

“Same” said like, four people at once.

Meena looked around. “Wanna tell ghost stories?”

“NO.”

“NO THANK YOU.”

“WHY WOULD YOU SUGGEST THAT WHEN WE’RE ALREADY IN THE DARK.”

Felix tightened his grip on her arm. “You hate me.”

“I love you, but also, this is character development... so who's going first ?”

Everyone looked around.

Lee Know didn’t move.

Chan looked like he wanted to but also didn’t want to emotionally relive anything.

Then...

Han sat up. His eyes narrowed.

He cracked his knuckles.

He smiled.

“I got one.”

A collective groan rippled through the group.

“NO”

“HE’S BEEN WAITING FOR THIS”

Meena grinned. “No no. Let him cook.”

---

Han leaned in closer to the candlelight, casting a perfectly dramatic glow on his face. He dropped his voice low.

“Okay,” he began, “this happened during our second year of training. Late at night. At the company.”

Everyone immediately got quiet.

Even Lee Know moved the pillow half an inch.

Felix immediately gripped Meena’s arm tighter.

Han continued.

“So, you know the third practice room? The one with the old mirror that’s kind of warped on the edges?”

Everyone nodded. Everyone knew that room. It had weird energy. Always too cold. Lights flickered for no reason.

“Well, I was there one night, working on lyrics. Alone. The lights were on. The hallway outside was dark, but I had the door cracked open a bit so I could hear if someone walked by.”

He paused.

“Only no one walked by.”

Another pause.

“The lights… went out. Just the practice room. Not the whole building. Just that room.”

Felix’s voice came out in a whisper. “Like right now?”

“Exactly like right now.”

Hyunjin shifted in his seat and rolled his shoulders. “I’m not scared, but like, can you get to the point?”

Meena side-eyed him. “You just tucked your knees into your shirt.”

“It’s cold.”

Han ignored the interruption.

“So I’m sitting there, trying not to freak out, right? I get up to leave. I grab my bag, go to the door... except when I try to open it…”

He looked around the group.

“…It doesn’t move. Like someone’s holding it from the other side.”

Felix let out a squeak and immediately slapped his hand over his mouth.

Meena patted his thigh. “You wanna go pee before he keeps going?”

“SHUT UP”

“I tried again. Nothing. So I turn around. And I swear to god there’s a girl in the mirror.”

Dead silence.

“She’s not moving. She’s not blinking. She’s just standing there, behind me.”

Someone inhaled sharply. It might’ve been Chan. It might’ve been all of them.

Han continued, calm, too calm.

“I spin around. No one’s there. But in the mirror? She’s still there.”

Hyunjin cleared his throat. “Okay but like… sometimes mirrors are weird...”

“Her reflection smiled at me,” Han cut in, voice dead serious. “But I wasn’t smiling.”

Felix was visibly trembling now, his eyes wide, both arms wrapped around Meena.

“If she shows up in our mirror I’m sleeping in the fridge,” he muttered.

Han leaned in closer. “I bolted. Kicked the door open. Ran into the hallway. No one was there. Not a sound. Just me and my heartbeat and—this is the worst part—I dropped my phone.”

A gasp. Possibly Meena this time.

Chan whispered, “No way.”

“I had to go back the next morning with staff to get it. You know what I found?”

Everyone leaned in slightly.

Han smiled darkly.

“A smudge. On the inside of the mirror. Like a handprint.”

The room fell into horrified silence.

Even Lee Know, from beneath his pillow, muttered, “Okay. That one was solid.”

Hyunjin scoffed. “Fake. Made up. Drama queen.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“It’s a muscle twitch.”

“I can literally hear your goosebumps.”

Felix turned to Meena, eyes glossy. “What if she’s in our mirror right now?”

“Then she can help pay rent.”

A beat passed.

Han sat back, clearly satisfied.

“So… who’s next?”

8 voices replied at once.

“NOT.”

---

Then...

CREEAAAAAK.

A long, slow, floorboard-creaking, horror-movie-grade sound from upstairs.

Everyone froze.

Eyes wide. Bodies stiff. The candle flame flickered like it knew it was about to witness trauma.

“…Did anyone else hear that?”

“I didn’t imagine it, right?”

“I would LIKE to imagine it, actually.”

BANG.

Something fell upstairs. Maybe a picture frame. Maybe a demon. Unclear.

Han immediately ducked behind Chan like he was bulletproof.

Felix curled tighter into Meena’s side like a koala in crisis.

Hyunjin physically picked up a pillow and used it as a shield.

Even Seungmin looked mildly startled, which meant internally he was screaming.

“Okay,” Chan said, standing up slowly like a brave yet internally sobbing leader. “Let’s not panic—”

“Bro, something is moving up there.”

“Your leadership is not helping.”

“Can ghosts open drawers??”

“I think that was your skincare shelf, Hyunjin.”

“THEN IT’S PERSONAL!”

---

They immediately began the “who’s going upstairs” battle royale.

“Hyunjin, go check!”

“Why me?!”

“You’re tall, ghosts don’t fight tall people!”

“That’s not a thing!”

“Chan’s the leader, he should go!”

“I lead in music, not horror scenarios!”

Lee Know didn’t even lift his head. “Not me.”

“YOU LITERALLY SAID YOU’D FIGHT A GHOST BEFORE.”

“I said if I was already possessed, maybe.”

Then all eyes turned to Meena.

Changbin pointed at her like he’d just solved world hunger.

“Noona should go.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You always watch spooky shit! You’re used to this!”

Meena pointed at him with deep offense. “Hello?? What happened to chivalry??”

He shrugged. “It died the moment that noise happened.”

She folded her arms. “Okay yes I watch horror. Which is why I know we don’t split up and go investigate sounds alone!”

Everyone nodded. Fair point. But still no volunteers.

Eventually, Meena stood up with a dramatic sigh, grabbing her blanket like a cape.

“You’re all cowards.”

“Correct.”

“Yup.”

“Please survive.”

She took two steps toward the stairs when—

A hand grabbed her wrist.

“Wait!”

It was Minho.

She turned, eyebrow raised. “…You coming with me?”

He looked her dead in the eye.

“…No. You forgot your phone. For the light.”

He held it out casually.

Meena stared at him. “Wow.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, going back to his pillow nest like nothing happened.

The room watched in silence as Meena climbed the stairs, flashlight bobbing, muttering under her breath the entire way.

Behind her, the boys waited at the bottom of the stairs like nervous cheerleaders with trust issues.

“Do you see anything?”

“Are the walls bleeding?”

“Text us if you die!”

“Text you if I—WHAT?”

---

Meena rolled her eyes, whispering to herself “Bunch of grown men, scared of creaking wood.”

She slowly turned the flashlight toward the hallway.

Everything looked normal.

Bedroom doors slightly open.

Nothing on the floor.

Then another soft sound.

A faint tapping.

Coming from...her room.

Of course.

Back downstairs:

Felix was hiding inside a blanket fort.

“I’m not scared, I’m just… protecting myself in case the ghost chooses violence.”

Changbin was standing behind Lee Know’s pillow throne.

“She better come back soon. Or I’m sending snacks as bait.”

“Snacks??”

“Yeah. Spirits love carbs.”

“Do they?”

“...I would, if I were one.”

Upstairs, Meena slowly pushed open her door.

Her flashlight scanned the room…

…and landed on the source of the sound.

Her curtain rod had fallen, knocking down a pile of books onto the floor. A pair of her headphones dangled from the edge of her desk.

She stared at the chaos in silence.

Then whispered:

“Seriously? That’s it?? That’s the horror movie jump scare??”

She turned around...

...and immediately screamed.

Jeongin was standing right behind her.

She smacked him with the blanket.

“WHAT THE HELL—”

“Don’t yell!! I thought you died!!”

“WHY WOULD YOU FOLLOW ME?!”

“I didn’t want to die downstairs with those idiots!”

---

Back downstairs, all they heard was :

“WHAT THE HELL”

“DON’T YELL!!”

“STOP BREATHING SO LOUD!!”

“I’M SCARED TOO, OKAY??”

Seungmin sighed. “So she’s fine.”

“Or she’s fighting a demon.”

Ten minutes later, Meena came stomping back downstairs with Jeongin trailing behind her like a kid.

“It was the curtain,” she announced, tossing the blanket off like a cape.

“A CURTAIN?!”

“That’s what almost made me cry??”

“I want a refund on my emotional damage.”

“Hey,” Meena said, pointing at Jeongin. “He’s the one who came up and gave me a heart attack.”

He frowned. “You’re welcome for checking on you.”

“You scared me more than the actual ghost would have!”

“You’re not mad, right?”

“…Only a little.”

Chan clapped his hands. “Alright. Crisis averted. Let’s not do ghost stories again.”

Han looked around “But I have another one-”

8 voices in unison:

“NO.”

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations. Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[duskier]

141 x super fem reader <33

Price loooves that you love all those tooth rottingly sweet pet names. Pet, puppy, honey, angel, baby, sweetheart, good girl, sweet girl, princess, darling, honeybee, starlight, sunshine; you name it, Price has called you it. A thrill running down his spine at how he can call you a simple name and make you squirm and blush and smile. The prettiest, sweetest smile in the world and Price can never resist kissing it off of you.

Soap who loves to take care of your hair for you. Dyeing it, brushing it, straightening it, braiding it, washing it, conditioning it. All of it. He's got strong hands that love to carefully tangle themselves in your hair to massage oils directly into your scalp. Drags a brush through your hair with gentle attention until the brush combs through without a single hitch or knot. Buys you sweet smelling perfumes that you purposefully spray into your hair. You can see him swoon each time you spin your head around, your flowery lovely perfume instantly filling his senses.

Gaz who loves giving you the full princess treatment. You have to bully him into leaving his wallet at home after one too many times of you going shopping together and each thing you look at for a little too long Gaz is pulling his card out to purchase. Opens every door for you, from buildings to his car to your bedroom. Puts careful time and attention into every date- he surprises you with how skilled his cooking is. When you ask when and why he learned it, you see him turn away bashfully. His smile blinding when he looks back to you and says, "Well, I just learned it for you..."

Ghost who finds the little soft things around him and brings them to you. Like a crow collecting shiny trinkets, he goes to Paris? Comes home with a replica of a fine painting he saw in a museum there in his off time. A soft, satiny ribbon he finds overseas finds its way home to be your favorite hair accessory. That time he spent in Greece, the dress he brought you home was so soft and dainty you could weep- handmade, too. An absolute heirloom gem you felt you couldn't wear but he insists you wear it, spins you around in it to get a full view. Slow dancing together and he's so overcome with emotion he has to whisper: "You're so beautiful, love."

[dykeforhire]

The Neighbor

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

Emily Prentiss has a new neighbor… unbeknownst to her, they can see directly into her bedroom from their window…

Warnings: smut, voyeurism (slight stalking if you think about it)

Word count: 9k (SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY)

Available on ao3

Masterlist

Taglist: @chestnutninny @maximoffwitch

Placing the last of the moving box contents on the shelf in your living room, you let out a sigh. It had been a stressful week.

Moving into a new apartment, in a new city, and starting a new job was not for the weak of heart. You cut the taped seams of the box, folded it up, and placed it in a neat pile with the other disregarded cardboard slabs.

Trudging into your shiny kitchen, you reached for the fresh bottle of wine on the counter and cracked it open. Pouring yourself a decent helping of the flaxen liquid before plopping onto the couch. With another sigh, you stretched over to the side table and picked up the TV remote. Flipping through Netflix for a while before deciding on a true crime series. You settled in against the couch cushion and pressed play.

The sun had just begun to set and the open blinds were letting an orange tint fall over the carpet in streaks. You had to admit this apartment was much nicer than any you’ve had before. Only thanks to your new job, of course.

Before you knew it, the series credits were rolling and the apartment was overtaken by the cover of night, the only illumination in the room being your TV and a small candle on the counter.

You got off the couch and made your way towards the bedroom, grabbing a pair of loose boxers, and a t-shirt from the dresser, throwing your hair up into a knot before heading into the bathroom for a much-needed shower. The feeling of near-scalding water was an instant relief to your strained muscles, all the heavy lifting you’ve done the past few days causing quite a tension in your back.

Once you were out of the shower and feeling refreshed, you applied your usual skincare regime, then slathered your body in its entirety with your favorite lotion. You pulled the tie from your hair and shook it out, attempting to tame the mess it had made of itself.

Once satisfied, you sauntered back out to the living room. Blowing out the candle that was still burning and crossed the room, sights set on closing the blinds for the night.

But once you reached the large floor-to-ceiling window, something else beyond caught your eye.

The building you had moved into was built in a sort of ‘U’ shape. Your apartment, being on the inner side of the building, gave you a direct view of the small courtyard below. It also gave you a direct view of the neighboring apartments on the other side of the courtyard.

The yard itself couldn’t be more than 50 feet across, and that just so happened to be the perfect distance to gaze directly into your neighbor's window.

You gripped the pull chord, but your breath caught in your throat upon realizing what you were looking at.

It was a woman, tall and svelte. And from what you could see, insanely beautiful. Her long, dark silver hair shone in the luminance from the bedside lamp she had just switched on. She was almost fully nude, aside from the black panties and bralette adorning her ample bosom.

Looking a bit past her, you noticed another figure come into view.

It was, or at least you thought it was, an older gentleman. But when they pulled their shirt off, you were met with a surprising pair of breasts.

An elder butch?? Nice. You shook away the subconscious thought.

You continued watching as the pair latched onto each other, the taller woman running her long fingers through the short locks of the latter while their lips locked with a fiery passion. They fell onto the mattress, femme straddling the butch’s lap.

You felt a pang deep in your belly, knocking you back into reality.

A rush of guilt ran over you as you turned away from the window, averting your gaze from the vulgar scene. You had never been into the act of voyeurism before, especially in this capacity.

But something was stirring within you at the thought of watching more. Another pang hitting your core at the thought of watching your beautiful neighbor take her partner’s fingers in earnest.

Against your better judgment, you looked through the blinds again. Biting your lip you took in the scene once more.

The femme had begun kissing down her partner's chest, the muscles in her back bending and flexing beneath the skin.

An unforeseen moan left your throat as the woman took a nipple into her mouth. Your hand shot up to your mouth in surprise but soon began tracing the skin of it as you became enamored by the view.

The woman had been flipped over and was now on the receiving end of her partner’s ministrations. A thick hand covers the woman’s clothed center, her head rolling backward as she ground into her partner's palm.

You couldn’t help but reach down and press against your own underwear. The fabric, already damp with the heat and intensity of your arousal. Pushing the leg-band to the side, you ran a finger through your slit. A bit astonished by the amount of arousal that has accumulated.

You continued watching as your neighbor’s actions grew more lewd by the minute. Tongues against mouth and skin, fingers touching in areas you never should have seen. But still, you couldn’t peel yourself away from the window.

That is until the long-haired woman fell backward, her head nearly hanging off the end of the bed as the other woman began dragging her tongue down her torso and towards her center. Her eyes seemed to look directly at you as she gasped at the contact of her lover's tongue.

Your stomach immediately dropped and you jumped away from the window, pulling your hand out from your boxers. The embarrassment and guilt began filling your cheeks with a hot flush.

You waited a moment before peeking out the window again, making sure you were in the clear to exit. To your surprise, her curtains had been shut. You felt slightly disappointed, but the overwhelming concern for your sanity soon sealed that.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you went back to the bathroom to clean yourself up before flopping into your bed and letting sleep slowly consume you.

…

Over the next few days, you had been hyper-aware of your surroundings whilst leaving the building for work. You were petrified by the thought of running into the beautiful woman who’d inevitably caught you watching her personal affairs through the window.

Luckily enough, the past week has been very successful.

You hadn’t seen her at all, not even through the window, and you were hoping that you never would.

But today you weren’t so lucky.

It had been a stressful day at the office, and all you wanted was to relax in your apartment. You’d ordered some Chinese takeout and had gone down to the foyer to retrieve it.

Just as you were about to pay the man, a flash of metallic hair came through the entrance.

Your heart nearly dropped out of your ass as you made eye contact with the silver fox. Her deep brown irises practically melt you into a pile of nothing.

What made it even worse was the stupid smirk she wore as she held your gaze while walking past. The scent of her musky perfume and cigarettes trailing close behind.

She was taller than you thought she’d be, just a few inches more than you, also taking into account the heeled boots she wore. She was dressed in a blood-red silk blouse, black wide-legged trousers, and a matching blazer that hung in the bend of her elbow.

“Ma’am?” The delivery driver interrupted.

“I- sorry… here...” You handed him a twenty and turned around to head reluctantly towards the elevator.

You hoped that you wouldn’t be stuck in there with her, but of course, as you rounded the corner… her hand flung out and stopped the closing door, holding it open for you.

You sighed, wishing that some greater force would just take you out right then and there.

“Thanks…” you spoke sheepishly, avoiding her eyes as she smiled at you. You reached past her to press your floor number but quickly realized she lived on the same floor.

“Same floor, huh?” She questioned, her voice husky. You felt a tickle in your belly at the tone.

“Seems like it, aha…” You replied, still avoiding her gaze and leaning against the wall.

She mirrored your position on the opposite side. You could feel her eyes on you and it made your anxiety skyrocket, but it also made you feel some other type of way.

I wonder if she actually knows it was me… or is it just my brain playing tricks on me? You thought to yourself.

“That smells good. Whatcha get?” She asks, and you finally manage to look up at her. Her eyes were already locked on you as she chewed her gum with a smile.

“Oh, just some chicken and lo mein.” You gave her a tight smile then bit your bottom lip. She only hummed in response, but you caught how her eyes fell to your mouth at the action. You couldn’t help but blush and subsequently dip your head in avoidance of her gaze once again.

“How come I haven’t seen you around here before?” Her tone was a bit softer now, questioning.

“I moved in just over a week ago, actually… so I haven’t had much time for things other than unpacking and work.” you swung the take-out bag back and forth idly, trying to distract yourself from the inappropriate memories of the woman attempting to resurface.

“I see, how’s unpacking coming?” The bell signifying that you’ve reached the floor chimed.

“It’s coming... Work keeps me busier than I’d like to be.” You chuckled halfheartedly to yourself, stepping through the elevator doors and pausing to wait for her, nervously.

“I completely understand… Well, if you ever need help with that or anything else I’m in 63B… or...” She smirks, pulling a card from her purse and passing it to you. “Here’s my contact info.”

You hesitantly reached out to take it, somewhat dumbfounded that she had her very own business cards. Upon inspecting it further, you noticed something even more intimidating.

“Huh, I would not have pegged you as FBI… Emily Prentiss?” you looked up at her, quirking a brow.

“There are a lot of things you wouldn’t peg about me…” She quipped, tilting her head in question to signify you give her your name as well.

“Y/n, Y/n Y/l/n.” you answered, smiling softly.

“Well it was lovely to meet you Y/n, although I must get going.. wouldn’t want you to be eating cold food, right?” She chuckled, and you blushed at her kind comment.

“Nice to meet you as well. Have a good night!” You smiled, giving her a shy wave before starting towards the direction of your apartment.

“You too, hon… Oh, and Y/n?” you spun around at the call of your name. “Next time you wanna watch… just give me a call.” she waved her finger at the card that was still in your hand and smiled devilishly.

You stood there, watching, mouth agape in shock as she spun around laughing, and began striding towards her apartment.

My god, this woman will be the death of me.

…

After finally managing to calm yourself down enough to eat without choking, you figured a little binge-watching on the couch with a bowl of ice cream would make for a wonderful end to your rather eventful night.

Curled up against a throw pillow, with a chilled bowl of your favorite Ben & Jerry’s on your blanket-covered lap, you pressed play on your most recently watched series.

Once the bowl was finished and long forgotten on the side table, you scooted over the cushions to lay down and pull the blanket over your shoulders. Your eyes eventually grew heavy, blinking slower and slower, inevitably letting the angels of slumber take you under.

Until, of course, the phone buzzed loudly on the pillow next to you. You groaned, reaching for it and squinting at the brightness of the screen.

Unknown number?

With a slightly confused expression, you unlocked the phone and opened the message.

“Hey stranger… open your blinds.”

Uh oh.

Somehow, you were now more awake than you had been all day. Sitting up, you began typing with shaky hands.

“How did you get my number?”

“Did you forget my line of work already, baby?” a shudder ran through you at the pet name.

“So I see… and what if I don’t?” The courage you had over text was almost laughable in comparison to what you had felt in the elevator.

“Just do it.” The excitement thrumming inside your chest threatened to burst at the demand.

That being said, you stood up and padded over to the window. Grabbing the lift chord between your thumb and index, you took a deep breath before quickly pulling it.

Upon raising your eyes to her apartment, you let out a gasp. There she was, Emily Prentiss in all her magnificent glory.

She had pulled a chair over to the window and was sitting cross-legged, draped in a silk robe. A similar shade as the blouse she had on earlier that day. Her silver hair cascaded past her shoulders, framing her face in a seductive shadow. And even with the distance between windows, you could tell she was wearing that devious smirk.

You watched as her gaze fell towards the phone in her lap, she picked it up and began typing.

“Do you like what you see, Y/n?”

“Yes.” you let out a shaky breath as you looked back out the window.

She placed the phone on the table next to the chair and placed her hands in her lap. She began pulling at the ties of her robe, letting them fall to the side.

You felt your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat at the sight.

Her slender fingers trailed over the folded neckline, before dipping beneath and pulling it open, bringing the black lace teddy she wore underneath into view.

You thought you might drop dead at that very moment. The oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts you had on were a bit embarrassing in contrast. But alas, you were too engrossed in Emily’s teasing to care all that much.

Her hands ran down the length of her torso and down to her toned thighs, slowly spreading them apart. Your knees felt weak, and your palms sweaty. You wanted nothing more than to spread those legs with your own hands, letting yourself fall in between them to taste her.

A flush spread through you at the thought, chest and cheeks growing rosey.

She raised her left hand, running through her hair and flipping it to one side. The latter continued its journey back up her torso, toying with the bits of lace at the edge of her top.

With a slackened jaw, you stepped backward and sat on the edge of the couch, mirroring her position. And with a burst of courage, you picked up the phone again, hesitating a bit before finally deciding to press the call button.

It only rang once before the older woman answered.

“Mm.. that was bold.” She purred, her eyes aimed directly at you through the window.

“I wanna hear you...” Your voice was soft and breathy, the arousal seeping into your ability to control it.

“Hear me what?” She quirked a brow.

“I want to hear it when you touch yourself.”

“Oh, you do? And what makes you think I’m gonna touch myself?” Her tone was condescending, but you watched as she scooted forward in the seat, leaning back against the chair.

“I’ll do it if you do.” Your breathing was slightly labored, the excitement in your chest causing a chill to run through your body.

“Hmm, that does sound like a good deal…” she paused for a moment, seemingly in thought. “Take off that shirt for me, Angel.” She whispered seductively into the microphone.

You whimpered, your sex ache with desire and begging for some sort of relief.

“Yes ma’am.” You quickly placed the phone on the arm of the couch and began pulling the large shirt over your head, tossing it behind you carelessly. Emily hummed in response to your eagerness.

“So eager to please… I love it.” Her voice is like velvet in your ears, pulling another soft noise from your throat. You sat with attention, hands placed patiently in your lap, awaiting further instruction.

“Play with your nipples for me, baby. Nice and slow.”

Without hesitation you brought your fingers to your mouth, wetting the tips with a swipe of your tongue, then dragging them over an already stiffened bud. You pulled your bottom lip into your mouth, holding back the noises threatening to escape.

“Good girl… so pretty, on display for everyone to see, but so needy for me.” Her eyes blackened as they watched you touch yourself. You couldn’t hold back the soft groan as you pinched your nipple, pulling it lightly before switching to the other side and doing the same.

Emily let out a soft moan, her free hand began to trail down her torso again. She squeezed at her own thighs, spreading them open further.

“Can I see yours, too?” You sounded almost innocent in asking, but the way you burned and ached for her was nowhere near it.

“Say please.”

“Please… let me see you, Emily.” Your voice came out almost like a whine. She smiled, pressing the speaker button on the phone before placing it back on the side table.

You watched as she shrugged the silk robe off and brought her nimble fingers up to the straps of her teddy, looping around the fabric and slowly tugging them down.

You were practically panting like a dog as she revealed the freckled flesh at an agonizing pace.

Once the hem was low enough, her breasts fell out of the cups with ease. Dusky nipples on full display and standing proudly.

You bite your lip to stifle the scream of excitement you so badly want to release.

Emily chuckles softly, bringing her hands up to squeeze at the heavy flesh of her breasts. She throws her chin up and smiles brightly.

“Jesus, Emily…” you sigh, running a hand over your hair to pull the damp strands away from your face, then sliding the same hand back down to your chest.

Then, to test the waters, you drug your nails down the softness of your stomach, dancing over the waistband of your shorts and lower to cup your covered center.

“You’re so fucking hot, I can’t stand it.” You desperately laughed, brows furrowed and thighs squeezing together for some semblance of relief.

“Watch that hand, Y/n…” Her voice was deep and you couldn’t help but release an audible groan, fussing at the idea of waiting.

“Impatient, are we?” She folded her arms across her bare chest, you hmphed at the loss. “Because I will gladly end this call right now.”

Immediately you corrected your position, folding your hands in your lap.

“That’s what I thought… wouldn’t want that now, right?”

“No, ma’am. Just tell me what you want me to do. Anything, please.” She was amused by your begging, letting out a low chuckle at the desperation in your voice.

“Take those shorts off and spread your legs.” The demand was abrupt, and it caused your pulse to jump. You sat in silence for a moment, she noticed your hesitation.

“What? Haven’t got panties on?” She smirked, and you cowered your head in a hot flush.

“No, I don’t…” You looked back up at her through the glass and smiled innocently.

She bit her lip, seemingly in thought, while also trailing her eyes over your mostly naked body. She tittered to herself, looking down at her lap, before looking up again.

“I’d say, if you had panties on, we could continue this little voyeur session. But… I think I’d rather see that pretty pussy of yours up close and personal. Not through a window.” You couldn’t help but shy again, her dirty compliment causing another pang of arousal to hit you.

“Are you saying I should come over, Prentiss?” You couldn’t help the smirk that crawled onto your face at the suggestion.

“Hmm… may-be.” She tilted her head and smiled, crossing her legs.

“Give me five minutes.” You smiled at her and picked up the phone, hanging it up. You shot her a wave as you got up from the couch, throwing your shirt back on before walking away from the window.

Making your way into the bathroom, you placed your palms on the countertop and sighed, leaning against it. Looking up at the mirror, you took note of your flushed cheeks, red and glazed.

You gave yourself a quick once-over, making sure to put on a little extra deodorant and spritzing some of your favorite perfume before splashing some cold water on your face.

Walking into your bedroom, you grab a pair of discarded sweatpants and pull them on over your shorts before step into a pair of slippers, grabbing your keys and phone before rushing out the front door.

You practically sprinted through the halls, nearly losing a shoe in the process. Your heart was racing with exertion and anticipation as you searched for her apartment number.

When you finally reach her door, you stand there for a moment. Hunched over with your hands on your knees, taking a deep breath. You raised a shaky hand to knock on the door but before you could, it was flung open and Emily’s figure stood in front of you.

“Hey, stranger.” She smirked, her scent suddenly overwhelming your senses once again. It reminded you of a gust of cold night air mixed with cigarettes and a rich cologne. Which would prove quite accurate once she stepped aside, inviting you in, noticing the open window and an ashtray still smoking on the windowsill.

“Hey…” You gave her a shy bow of your head, and stepped forward through the door, brushing against her warm, silk-covered chest as you did so.

You smiled proudly to yourself, shocked that you’ve managed to get this far with such a magnificent woman.

Placing your keys and phone on the table next to the door, you took a deep breath to ground yourself.

Hearing the door click shut, you spun around to face her. Immediately, you’re met with her strong hands gripping your hips and pulling you in, then pushing you over to and up against the nearest wall.

Her face was mere inches away from yours, close enough for you to feel her breath ghosting at your lips. She smirked again, her blackened irises twinkling in the low light, thumbs pressing into your hip bones causing you to let out a hmph.

“You know, Y/n… I have been dying to get my hands on you ever since I caught you watching me...” She gave you a once over, leaning in close to your ear and nipping at the lobe. “hands in your pants.. playing with yourself like I was some porno…” She moaned against your neck and you shivered, the closeness becoming all too much.

“Fuck Emily…” Your knees almost gave out when you felt her place a few sloppy kisses on the sensitive underside of your jaw.

Her mouth was so warm and wet, and when she began dragging her tongue from your collarbone up to your ear, the sounds you almost let out could’ve been called in as a noise complaint. Instead, you choked out a soft gasp, bringing your hands up to grasp at her shoulders.

Emily rasped out a chuckle, the vibrations hitting you like a truck. Every sense and nerve ending in your body kicked into top-gear.

“So responsive and I haven’t even touched you yet.” She pulled back and whispered against your lips.

“Well you should…please.” Your voice was barely audible, your eyes heavy as they looked up at her through your lashes.

Emily groaned and pressed herself against you, crashing your lips together. You wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled her impossibly closer. Her fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, running over your stomach before squeezing your waist, urging your hips to roll into hers. You couldn’t help but to moan at the sensation.

And Emily, being the opportunist she is, used that moment to slip her tongue into your open mouth. You graciously welcomed the wet muscle, closing your lips around it and sucking gently. She hummed, pulling back to continue with her assault of open mouth kisses on your neck.

You let your head roll back, allowing her more access as her teeth scraped against the skin before biting down and sucking a bruise into it.

Your hand ran up the back of her neck, tangling your fingers in her nape and tugging at it gently in an attempt to bring her mouth back to yours.

But Emily had other plans.

“Let's go to the bedroom before I have to carry you there myself.” She smiled and placed a chaste kiss on your lips, pulling your arms from behind her and taking your hand in her own.

“Yes, ma’am.” You nodded with a near comical enthusiasm. She beamed at your excitement, laughing to herself quietly before dragging you down the hall to her room.

As you passed through the halls, you took in the decor. Walls, covered in pictures of friends and coworkers. A majority of the pictures were a bit old, as she had striking black hair and a baby face, as well as bangs in some. And very very pretty, you might add. The aesthetic of the apartment was overall romantically dark, with lots of black, red, and other warm-toned colors. She had a plethora of lamps and candles lit, adding a sensual ambiance.

“It’s so pretty in here, smells nice… you smell so nice.” You giggled, practically fawning over the woman. The arousal that had been rushing to your head putting you in some sort of giggly daze.

“You’re sweet, thank you… you smell very nice too.” She craned her neck to smile at you, causing another giggle to erupt from your chest as you blushed.

You admired her form in front of you. The sway of her hips underneath the silk, her toned legs, the beautiful, multi-tone silver hair that cascaded so gracefully past her shoulders. You looked down at the hand that was intertwined with yours. Her fingers, long and slightly aged with a few prominent veins twisting from her knuckles to her wrist, as well as one thicker vein that travelled up the back of her forearm.

“I like your hands.” You blurted out, blushing, a bit embarrassed after the fact.

“You’re about to love my hands, baby.” She quipped, and you flushed even harder. Emily chuckled again, pushing the bedroom door open. You followed in behind the woman eagerly, excitement rising like bile in your throat.

Her bedroom was a bit warmer than the rest of the apartment, and it smelt the most like her out of all the other rooms you’d been in. Her large mattress was dressed simply, with two pairs of pillows and a thick, bohemian patterned comforter. The room was kept neat, not a single stray item of clothing to be seen. There was also a faint humming of what sounded like jazz playing from an older-looking sound system in the corner.

Before you can take in your surroundings further, Emily is pressing you down onto the mattress and her body, climbing over you. Your hands immediately attach to her thighs, climbing up towards the apex as she straddles your hips. She runs a hand through her hair, flipping it to the side before leaning down to connect your lips with a smile.

It’s slow and sloppy and she groans against your mouth when you tightly squeeze the muscle of her upper thigh. Her hands slide under your shirt, nails gently scratching at your stomach before sliding upward, coming to a stop over your breasts and squeezing. You gasp, brows furrowing at the contact. Savoring the way her fingers circle over your nipples before pinching them between her index and middle fingers.

You find Emily’s mouth again, pressing your tongue past her lips to roll against hers. Her mouth tasted like bitter cigarettes and a hint of mouthwash, assuming she took a swig before you arrived. You wanted to taste her forever.

Gaining a bit of confidence, you begin moving your hands up a bit further, brushing your thumbs over her hips, then towards her pelvis. The muscles in her abdomen flutter beneath your fingertips at the touch. She puffs out a breath and presses further into you.

Emily pulls her hands out from beneath your shirt, pushing it up and exposing your bare chest, the rush of cold air causing the buds to stiffen. She runs her palms over them, you arch into her touch.

Her kisses start to leave your mouth, trailing over your cheeks, down the sides of your neck, over your collarbones, and finally to your chest. She smiles against your skin before taking your nipple between her teeth and tugging it gently.

Moaning aloud at the sharpness of her teeth, your head falls back against the duvet. Pulling a hand away from her thighs, you bury it at the base of her head, holding her tight against you.

“Sh-it, Emily…” you pant, raising up to look down at her, but quickly falling back when her eyes lock with yours as she begins trailing lower on your torso.

You quickly pull your shirt the rest of the way off and Emily giggles against the skin of your belly, kissing, biting, marking. She lets her hair fall like a curtain around her face, the strands tickling you as she descends.

With a final nip directly below your belly button, she peels herself out from your vice-like grip, sliding off your lap and kneeling on the mattress.

You watch as she begins untying her robe, letting it fall off her shoulders and tossing it across the room. You sit up on your elbows, taking in the curves of her body up close.

“May I?” You nod towards her chest.

“I suppose…” she smirks, placing her hands on the bed behind her and leaning back, pushing her already ample chest out. You couldn’t help but stare in awe.

Rolling onto your stomach then matching her position on your knees, you reach out, curling your fingers around the edge of her top and pulling the lace down, letting her breasts spill out.

You hum to yourself, palming the heavy tissue before diving in to place wet kisses over the soft skin. You looked up to watch her face as it screwed into a lust-blown expression while watching your mouth envelope her.

Her skin tasted bittersweet against your tongue, and it was utterly addicting. You wrap your arms around her torso, holding her tight and burying your face between the valley of her breasts, pecking and sucking the pale skin. You could feel Emily’s breath fanning over your face, cooling the flush on your cheeks.

She let out a soft hum, her head lulling to the side as you sucked a nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the bud before biting into it gently. She lets out a yelp of surprise, hand grasping at the back of your head.

You smiled against her before craning your neck up to kiss her again. She opens her mouth, inviting your tongue in with a faint disparity.

Flinging a leg over her hip and settling into her lap, you urged her back against the pillows, mouths still locked together. Your hands pressed against her chest, squeezing as she pulled you up.

“You’re a really good kisser.” You whisper against her lips between sloppy kisses, the saliva beginning to spread across your chin and philtrum. Her hands grip your ass through your sweatpants, pulling your pelvis into her.

“Mm, so are you…” her nails rake up your nude sides, before wrapping tightly around your breasts.

“Oh-” you break the kiss, gasping at the roughness of her touch.

“I love your tits…” you cut her off with an urgent kiss, taking her soft, wet, bottom lip between yours sensually. She pulls back, “so pretty-” you cut her off once again, taking her top lip between yours this time.

“Just shut up and keep touching me” your hands grip her desperately below her ears. “Please…”

Emily groans before forcefully suctioning her mouth to yours, tongues tangling against each other.

You began to roll your hips into her, grinding slowly against the softness of her thigh. She grips at your hips, lifting and pulling you down onto her harder.

You let out a pitchy moan that she immediately swallowed. Her hands slip lower, gripping your ass through the fabric of your sweatpants.

“Take your pants off.” You could feel her smile into the kiss, and you hummed against her.

“How about you take them off?” You gave her a quick peck before climbing off her lap, falling backwards on the mattress with a giggle.

She smiled at you, raising up on her knees before running her palms from your shins to your thighs, giving them a squeeze before dipping into your waistband and pulling it down.

Once the pants were completely discarded, Emily placed your legs over her shoulders, holding eye contact as she pressed chaste kisses on the inside of your calves. Baring her teeth against the flesh before biting into it.

You let out a moan at the sharpness, but the pain was quickly soothed when she ran her tongue over the mark.

She began moving further up your legs, leaving kisses along their length. Her hands then drove up the back of your thighs, pressing them up and open.

You whine and your body tenses up as her teeth dig into the sensitive skin on the back of your thighs, hands flying out to hold on to the duvet as your hips raise towards her. She chuckles at your deplorable neediness.

“God.. please.” You release your grip on the bed and move to grasp at her arms as they wrap around your legs, fingertips grazing against the waistband of your shorts.

“I am definitely not God.” Emily humphs, sucking a hickey into your inner thigh, licking over it before turning her head and doing the same on the other side.

“Certainly feels like it…” you pant, running your hand through her hair before balling it up in your fist and tugging it gently. She croons, pulling away from your thighs and crawling up your torso.

You groan at the loss of contact, but quickly quiet down when her mouth attaches to your nipple and her pelvis grinds against your center, still covered by the thin shorts.

“Oh-” your mouth falls open at the pressure, releasing a silent moan.

Emily then wraps her arms around your torso and sits back on her heels, pulling you up into her lap once again. Your thighs squeeze around her hips, and your arms loop around her neck, one hand buried in the back of her head while the other grips the skin of her shoulder.

“I want you.” You pant against her open mouth. She moans against yours, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling it softly.

The room has grown sweltering, and the faint saxophone mingling with the sound of your mixed breaths only thickens the atmosphere.

You feel her hand as it slides from its spot on your waist down past the curve of your ass. You’re practically trembling when her fingers begin to slip past the hem of your shorts.

Her eyes lock with yours when she finally makes contact with your drenched core, watching you. You shudder as her fingers glide through your slit, drawing teasing circles in the slick.

Your head falls against her shoulder with a gasp when she nudges your clit, hips immediately sputtering into a sloppy rhythm. You whimper against the skin of her neck, suckling gently to stifle the uninhibited noises escaping from your throat.

The intensity of it was almost too much. You didn’t realize just how strongly you wanted this until now.

Drenched, whining and moaning against the hot neck of your very attractive neighbor, who just so happens to be employed by The FBI (making her inherently hotter), while she plays with your pussy as you straddle her lap.

God those fingers are good. Too good.

So fucking good you can feel yourself rapidly approaching orgasm and she’s hardly even fucked you yet.

“Put your fingers inside me… want you to feel it when I cum for you-OH!” You cry out as she slips two of those delicious fingers easily inside. Rubbing oh-so-sweetly against the spongy spot just past your opening.

“So fucking wet.. so needy. How close are you, baby? Gonna cum for me?” Emily’s voice is deep but soft against your ear, and you shiver at the brush of her lips against the cartilage.

“Mhm, so close.. I need more.” She hums again, sliding her hand out from behind you and slipping it past the waistband in the front of your shorts.

Her fingers dip down and collect the wetness from your slit, dragging it up to your swollen bud, circling it with a practiced ease.

You're panting hard against her neck, practically humping her hand like a feral dog as she plays with you. You bite into her shoulder with a groan when she slips her fingers back inside you from the new angle

“Emily- oh my god. Keep going.” You chant, leaning back in her grip and bouncing slightly on her hand.

“That’s so fucking hot, keep riding my fingers, baby.” Emily's eyes are wide, watching your body move with intent. Her mouth hangs open slightly, lips swollen and glistening.

Your whines grow louder when she begins thrusting into you as your hips fall back down on her lap, her palm pressing against your clit.

The knot in your belly is growing by the second now, and you know it’ll only be a short while before you're practically seizing against her.

“M’gonna cum…” you pant, breathless and clenching a fist in her hair while the other claws at her back.

“Cum for me, baby… fuck you feel so good.” Emily practically moans, kissing the junction of your neck and shoulder as her free hand moves to pinch at your nipple.

“Fuckfuckfuck… oh, Emily-” your body tenses up, thighs quivering as the quaking force of an orgasm hits you.

You let out quick and breathy moans as your hips stutter against Emily’s stilled hand, fucking the remainder of your orgasm out little by little.

Emily’s tongue darts out to lap up the beads of sweat that have begun collecting over your collar bones. She then moves up the flushed skin of your neck, placing gentle kisses over the marks she left.

“You’re gonna have fun covering those up…” She chuckles, kissing up your jaw and over your cheek.

You whip your head around to give her a ridiculous look, something like shock, but also not surprised because you were practically begging for it.

You definitely did not mind being marked by her, in fact it gave you material to think about when you’d inevitably go home and jerk off to just thoughts of her.

“You’re ridiculous…” you lean in to kiss her, slowly sucking on her bottom lip before tilting your head and opening up for her tongue to slide in.

When she slips her fingers out from your still sensitive sex, a moan falls from your lips and into her awaiting mouth.

You pull away, looking over her perfect face, watching as places her wet digits into her mouth. Hollowing her cheeks and sucking your arousal from them.

Your mouth falls open, you could probably cum again just from watching her do that.

But when she brought the same fingers up to your mouth, smearing the wet mixture over your lips and chin before leaning in to kiss you once again, you thought you might die.

The string of saliva that hung between you and Emily was disgustingly hot. So hot in fact, that you just had to take her hand in your own and bring those beautiful fingers back up to suck them clean yourself.

“Mm, shit…” she grinned, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

You twirled your tongue slowly between her fingers, savoring the taste of her spit mixed with your own arousal. Closing your lips around the digits, you bobbed your head, taking them as deep in your mouth as you could without gagging.

Emily watched you with an impressed face, chuckling to herself with a quirked brow as you repeated the movement over a few more times.

You pulled her fingers from your mouth with a pop and kissed the tips before tilting your head down and looking up at her through your lashes.

“You were right about me loving your hands.” You sheepishly giggle, slouching against her body and wrapping your arms around her shoulders again.

“I certainly was.” She laughs, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning back, pulling you down against the pillows with her.

You smile down at her with the new position, arms braced on each side of her head while your bottom settles over her stomach.

“And what about mine, hm? Do you think you’ll looove my hands, too?” You smiled teasingly, dipping down to kiss her. Placing a few chaste pecks before Emily deepened the kiss, flicking her tongue against your upper lip. Her hands rise up to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer so that your chest pressed against hers.

“Mm, why don’t we put them to the test and find out?” She murmured against your open mouth.

“I like that idea.” You gave her a final deep, wet kiss and pulled away, trailing your lips down to her neck.

Nipping at the soft skin of her throat, you raised yourself off her hips, moving backwards and shoving her legs open with your own so you could settle between them.

“I think it’s time this stupid thing comes off.” You drone, pulling the lace teddy down her torso, leaving gentle kisses on each patch of skin revealed.

“You loved it.” Emily said frankly, raising her head to watch as you peel the fabric away from her skin.

“Mmm…I so did.” You groan, nipping at the softness of her lower belly, causing her to yelp and twitch against you. You smiled, placing a kiss over the spot.

Sitting up, you ran your palms over Emily’s smooth thighs, taking in her flushed state in front of you. Cheeks glazed, hair mused, covered in the marks of your passion. She watches you expectantly, eyes dark and fingers toying with the skin of her lip.

Your eyes drift down to her pelvis that sat in front of yours.

You couldn’t help but notice the arousal that had begun seeping through the lace over her center. With a hum and a bite of your lip, you brought your hand down to her pubic bone, resting your fingers on the covered mound while your thumb brushed over the sticky fabric.

Emily grumbled, spreading her legs further and digging her heels into your ass.

“So wet…” you raise the thumb to your mouth, sucking it in and groaning as you absorb the piquant flavor of Emily’s arousal. Making sure to look her in the eye as you do so. She hums, eyes glinting with excitement.

“I think I know what I wanna do next…” you give her a sharp smile before moving to tug the lace down her legs. Emily lets out an almost youthful giggle, shrieking as you forcefully yank the fabric from her body.

“And what might that be, y/n?” Emily questions sarcastically, sitting up on her elbows.

“You’ll see…” You kiss her knees and shins as you scoot even further down the mattress, flattening out on your belly.

You wrap an arm around her thigh, maneuvering it so Emily’s calf would rest on your shoulder. The other roams up towards her torso, giving her breast a squeeze before tweaking her nipple.

Emily groans, bringing a hand down to your hair, attempting to push your face against her.

“Patience, Chief.” you tsk, pinching her inner thigh.

“You make it so hard, saying things like that.” Emily whines, head falling back in anguish and her fingers tugging at your scalp.

You can’t help but smile up at her from between the columns of her thighs, placing an open mouth kiss on the dewy skin at the apex of her inner thigh.

Her scent is beginning to cloud your ability to think in proper terms. Heady and warm, heat is practically radiating from her sex. You place a gentle kiss on each side of her labia, she lets out a breathy moan.

Before you can get carried away with your mouth, you pull back. Admiring the beauty of her before gliding your thumb through the glistening slit, spreading her folds like a beautiful flower covered in morning dew.

“So pretty..” you whisper, placing a kiss atop the patch of trimmed hair and then another directly over her slit.

Emily moved to sit up again, reveling in the sight of you worshiping her pussy. Her hand ran through your hair, bunching it into a sloppy almost-ponytail.

“Stop teasing.” There’s a sternness in her voice that you simply cannot deny. You bring your middle and index fingers up to your mouth, dipping them inside and pulling them out. Looking up to Emily’s face, you place the moistened pads over her swollen bud. She hisses when you start moving in slow circles, pressing hard then softer with each loop.

The hand in your hair begins pulling tighter, inhaling a sharp breath as the sting becomes more painful.

“More.” Emily huffs, loosening her grip and smoothing the ruffled mess of your hair down.

“You’re gonna have to ask nicely…” your tone is condescending and give her another evil grin before placing more wet kisses on her thighs.

“I want your mouth… please” Emily grumbled, becoming increasingly impatient.

“There ya go… miss big shot, too proud to beg for me to eat her out.” You murmur that last bit before licking a broad stripe over her slit.

Her body arches into your touch, the same hand gripping at your scalp once again as she lets out a breath.

“Oh, I’ll beg. You just have to work for it…” her sentence trails off as you close your lips around her clit, sucking on it gently.

You take turns switching between licking and sucking on her pussy, studying all the little things that make her body tick. Every little tweak and touch that makes her hair stand, prickling to attention.

Emily begins letting out a steady stream of soft moans, panting as her head lulls back and raises up again.

“fingers.. please.” Her eyes are pleading when she looks down at you again.

You hum against her, pressing your middle and index finger against her opening. Dipping in slightly before pressing them in all the way. Your eyes are intent on her face as you turn your fingers over, curling up against her pubic bone.

Emily nods swiftly, closing her eyes and letting the pleasure consume her.

Your tongue continues its lazy circles over her clit as your fingers begin pumping inside of her. Curling upward each time your knuckles bottom out against her.

Emily’s breaths were ragged as she arched her back, grinding against your mouth and hand. Her chest is flushed, and the thin sheen of sweat between her breasts has begun to bead.

“Harder…” the older woman huffs.

You raise up slightly, bringing your knees under you for leverage, pulling your fingers all the way out before pounding them into her once again.

Emily wails a high pitched moan, her fist so tight against your scalp you can feel hairs being plucked from their follicles.

She looks down at you again, slack jawed. Her lips have chapped from all the panting, and her heavy, half-lidded eyes struggle to remain locked on you.

“Fuck, you’re so good…” Emily’s voice has lost its usual rasp, opting for a more high pitched and needy tone. “Kiss me.” She whimpers, curling herself closer to you while also tugging on your head.

You can feel her pussy clench around your fingers in the new position. The curve in her belly, forcing her insides to constrict.

You lick into Emily’s mouth, breathing in her chants of pleasure as you use your knee for leverage, fucking into her with stupifying force and pace.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck-” Emily’s blunt fingernails dig into the skin of your back, tearing red streaks into the flesh, her face scrunched in concentration.

You’re panting against her lips, pressing your forehead against her and putting every ounce of stamina you could muster into bringing this godess of a woman to orgasm.

“Fuck, y/n baby.. gonna cum.” Emily whines, her hands sliding back up to your head and pulling you into a passionate kiss. She whimpers into your mouth with each strong pump of your fingers, hitting that perfect spot deep inside her.

The lewd sounds of your ministrations fill the room, the wetness of her cunt, splattering over the duvet as well as your arm and leg.

“You look so pretty.. taking me so well.” You murmur, palm grinding over her clit. Emily lets out a groan and you can feel her thighs begin to tremble.

She pulls you back in, burying her face in your sweaty neck, biting into the skin and wrapping her legs around you tight as she topples over the edge.

Her moans are breathy and quiet, almost cries as she twitches with the shocks of her orgasm in your grasp. Her inner walls clamp down on your fingers and hold them in place while you work her clit gently with your thumb.

Emily’s bites against your neck turn into sloppy kisses and kitten licks as she comes back down to earth, grip loosening but unmoving from the closeness.

“I think we found our answer.” She pants out a laugh, letting her head fall back against the pillows.

“I think we did.” You chuckle in return, collapsing beside her and resting your head atop of her shoulder. Slipping out her gently, you bring your soiled fingers up to your mouth. Letting the divine taste of her orgasm sink into your tastebuds.

Emily tilts her head to watch, giving you a lazy smile before swatting your hand away and pressing her lips against yours, tasting herself.

She pulls away with a satisfied sigh, letting her limbs fall haphazardly to the bed, but keeping the arm behind your back snug around your shoulder.

She twirls your hair mindlessly as she catches her breath, you inhale the scent of her skin.

“I need a fucking cigarette.” Emily blurts out, you laugh against her collarbone.

“Could I bum one?” You tilt your head to her with a hopeful gaze.

“Only if you ask nicely.” She mocks, turning to you with a jeering expression.

“Please…” you place a few pecks on her neck. “oh please, chief Prentiss,” you kiss her hard on the cheek. “may I bum a cigarette from you?” You give her your best puppy dog eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute. It’s very hard to resist.” She smiles, her dimples on full display.

You lean in, placing a gentle kiss to her bottom lip.

“Not so bad yourself, Chief.” You wink, sitting up and turning your body towards her.

“Oh, cut that out.” Emily swats at your thigh, a bashful glow creeping up her cheeks.

You move to roll out of the bed and Emily follows, picking her discarded robe from the floor and throwing it on, not bothering to tie it.

She pads over to the closet, pulling out a matching robe from the rack and tossing it at you. She buckles over in laughter when it hits you square in the face.

“You think you’re sooo funny.” You gave her a deadpan look, putting a hand on your hip after you secured the silk over your shoulders.

“Oh, I’m hilarious.” Emily grins, walking past you and waving for you to follow her out the bedroom door. And you followed just like a puppy does its mother.

Entering the living area, Emily plops herself into the chair by the cracked windows. Grabbing the open pack of cigarettes, placing one in her mouth and lighting it up.

She looks over at your form, standing awkwardly in the center of the room.

She pats her lap, signaling for you to take a seat on her knee. You immediately beam, prancing over and plopping yourself down on her.

Emily chuckles to herself, grabbing another cigarette and placing it against your awaiting lips. She leans in, pressing the glowing end of hers against yours, lighting it.

That might’ve been the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and you literally just fucked this woman silly.

“Hot.” You plainly state. Emily smiles, taking a drag and blowing it up into the air.

And there you sat, comfortably curled up in the lap of your gorgeous older neighbor, after being deliciously fucked, smoking one of her cigarettes.

Quite possibly the greatest night of your life.

…

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Hunted

Secret Garden

Yandere John Wick X Reader

Category: One-Shot

Word Count: 3K+

Warning: Unhinged John, blood, violence, predator/prey dynamics, implied kidnapping, gaslighting, long train of thoughts, manipulation, hints of power imbalance and general toxicity to be expected from yandere situation

GIF is not mine, credit to its original owner

Listening to Think by Kaleida

Unedited

It’s nothing.

It’s easy.

You tell yourself as you smile and take another swig of your drink. It burns through your throat.

“Take it easy, love.”

His voice echoes in your mind. If he were here, then his hand would be resting over your waist, his other hand ready with a tissue paper to wipe off any traces of the drink over your lips and on your chin.

But he is not here. And you are with your friends. After so long, you are finally with your friends, finally enjoying a night out with your friends. It has been a while. It has been fucking months.

When you met your boyfriend, he naturally took most of your time, but you didn't mind; you were naive to think you could strike a balance between your social life and your love life.

It was passionate, satisfying, and a whirlwind romance at first, until you moved into his house. Two months into your relationship and John already had you sharing his space and food. One would think that this is when your social life rejuvenates. No, far from it. Six months into your relationship and you could feel the suffocation sinking in. The fence once guarding you came too close, the barbs were poking at your skin. 

So, that burning love affair with the older man lasted only eight months; the last two had only been a drag. Like the coward that you are, you waited for one of his many surprise and unplanned business trips to come up. And you broke up right after he confirmed that he had reached his destination---wherever it was, he never specified.

Yes, you are adding this to one of the many embarrassing stories to tell during drunk bonfire nights. How did you pack your stuff the moment he left and wait till he called you next? You did it all in record time. In reality, you had everything sorted out, everything yours was deliberately kept withing your sight. So when the moment came, all you had to do was to put them in your bag and leave.

By the books, John Wick was a catch. Really, he had been ever so sweet to you. But it was like with each kiss, he wrapped a chain around you. Loose at first, you had been dismissive of the signs. Like a fool, you have been lured, blinded by the soft wool around your eyes. Until the chains began to dig in. They poked and pressed, the barbs grew, and you knew you had to get out.

One glance at those soulful brown eyes and you know you still will be weak even now. He used them so many times before. 

Maybe you do have a thing for strays. John was all suited up, shiny shoes and sleek cars gentleman. But he held a certain melancholy and loneliness in his eyes.

His eyes–the shade of brown when sunlight meets leather. The glimpse of warm honey was rare, but at the right angle, those darl, soulful yet intense eyes would turn into a dream and—

Shit!

You’re doing this again, thinking about him, thinking if he would like what you’re doing. Why? This is your life, and you are reclaiming your independence. 

He wanted a wife, he deserved someone to come home to. Someone who was sure of marriage, or love…Someone who could give him what he was looking for. 

You, on the other hand. You are just you—individualistic, trying to figure out life, philosophising yet scoffing at all those deep meaning quotes and trying to get what art truly wishes to convey. You know love, yet you do not trust it. You are not a bad person or a mess. In fact, you know yourself. 

You are just afraid to hurt people with your sense of detachment. Detachment does not equal ‘unloving’, but most people associate the two like that. You know that you are simply not cut out for this, and you know that you can never gulp down and digest those lovie-doevie sweetness, ‘two bodies, one soul’ and ‘you are the center of my universe’ concepts. Sure, you can be philosophical, you can be romantic, but you love your space, and solitude, you need it. You need to have a world of your own, which only you have the key to.

John Wick, on the other hand, seemed straight from the romance novels that girls seem to adore so much–the perfect blend of sweetness, enigma and darkness that you could only get a sense of–like something swimming just under the frozen surface of a lake. From above, you can never tell what exactly it is, or how dangerous it is, but you can see it there. You can sense it.

You wanted a balance, and with him, it simply did not seem possible. You still think that things you had seen as ‘red flags’ might not be so. You still doubt what he really wanted to spend more time with you.

But you know yourself enough, either way, your relationship was set up for a heartbreak. Either him, or you, or both. It was a preparation for heartwrenching sobs and deep-running resentment.

John Wick showed you how it felt to be the most important person to someone. You were his sun, and his world revolved around you. Surely, he was never clear about the true nature of his job, and it set the first alarm bell ringing, but it was so easy to overlook with how perfect all of this was. 

Yeah, perfect. 

It was picture perfect, and that kept nagging at the back of your mind. That became the string you pulled, unfurling every other aspect hidden in plain sight. Like the fact that John already saw you as his wife, and he knew that you do not even like to think of marriage. He knew, but he wished to change your mind someday. He was putting you on a pedestal; he was slithering into every aspect of your life. He was wrapping his fingers around the key to your world. That you could not bear. 

In your own way, you know you love John, or at least a part of you still does. Maybe that is why you chose to pull the trigger rather than watch the relationship rot away. You did not wish to grow to resent him. 

You value your individuality, you value your independence too much to let another person take over your life like John wanted to.

Maybe it was his way of showing his love. Maybe this was how John loved. But this kind of love would eventually suffocate you. You do not know a lot of things, but you know this. 

“(Y/N), you want to head for the pool upstairs, we are headed.”

Your friend leans in, yelling into your ear. You hiss in annoyance but with the loud music and the bass that thrumming in your head as a dull ache now, there seems to be no other way to communicate.

“You booked that pool?”

“A friend’s friend did a favour, got us entry for a night. Let’s go.”

“Yeah.” 

You look around, suddenly mistaking a man’s face with that of John’s. This makes you pause with a gasp. With narrowed eyes, you look closely—it’s just strobing lights and people dancing.

“What’s wrong. All good?”

“Yeah.” You lick your lips and nod, “Yeah, I’m good.” With that, you finish your drink with a swig and head out for the second floor for a dip.

—--

The cool water ripples around your shins. It is soothing, almost. Just you and your friends here with some staff and a handful of other patrons minding their own business.  While they enjoy the pool in their swimsuits, you are comfortable with some beer and a bathrobe reaching your knees while you dip your legs into the pool.

Under the blue and red lights and chill music, anyone can feel at ease. You fall into a daze, too. Feeling the sweet alcohol buzz, letting yourself relax as you eye your friends giggling and drinking. You can only manage a faint, wry smile at the sight.

Perhaps you should sit with a therapist and discuss this… whirlwind of a romance that has left you dangling from guilt to suspicion to assumptions and questions you never thought of before. Looking at your friends, you can confirm that your love life and social life had indeed tipped off its delicate balance in your months spent in his enchanting arms.

John was taking up all of your time; your night outs consisted of him accompanying you. You were never alone, except for his extended periods of ‘business trips’. Even then, you had to always let him know of your whereabouts. He wanted to know everything about you. Now, that should be counted as something an adoring and attentive partner would do. But it was only you being stripped bare—one layer after another until you were all exposed and vulnerable, on your knees, at the verge of depending on his warmth, relishing the way his hands petted you. 

But why was he still clothed? While you were naked, on your knees, he had barely peeled off a layer. The disparity became glaringly obvious; it wrapped around your stomach, squeezing it until there was a pit formed. Subtle at first, but when repeated attempts to peel his layers off were met with cryptic responses and at times, rigid walls of denial. The cold began to prick your skin, the pit turned prominent, yawning with each passing day until it was all too much. Until all the differences lay before your naked eyes and you were left with more questions than answers.

Or maybe it was all your way to validate yourself, to convince yourself that you did the ‘right thing’. Maybe you are too good at self-sabotaging. Maybe you always knew that you can never love the way John deserved to be loved. Maybe you are a little too self-aware but no less a hypocrite. What did you bring to the table in the relationship? You never felt like you belonged anywhere, you were too individualistic and too cynical and distrustful of love to even give it a chance. You had set in your mind that your heart was to break and you were to end up breaking John’s heart with your sense of emotional independence nd detachment. You were going to end up hurting him anyway, you did. But at least it was not something that was rotting and empty after. You are too stubborn, too rigid, you would rather paint him as the sweet talking villain than face your incompatibility with companionship itself.

You will never figure it out by yourself. Your friends are your friends, and you are pretty sure John does not even want to see your face after what you’ve done. Blocked him like a true coward.

So you have finally decided that—

“What the hell!”

Water splashes over your form as someone jumps into the pool, breaking your train of thoughts. Annoyed, you turn to the person, only to watch him enjoying some time underwater. He will be up any mom—

You blink and realise that the person is floating motionless, face down, while a dark ink swirls and swells from underneath him, blooming and mixing with the pool water. 

A staff member screams first—that shakes you out of your frozen state. This time, the glass behind the staff member shatters, and the area plunges into chaos. 

The whimper stuck in your throat finally releases, but it is a bird against a storm, overpowered by the screaming, splashing and rush. You rush to your friends. Helping them quickly climb out of the pool before one of them pulls you up. 

“Hurry!”

You say, turning to look back instinctively.

Under the perfect blend of blue and red lighting, the shelves containing towels play the perfect camouflage, but you can see him.

You know those eyes. But you are looking at a stranger—the eyes you knew were soft and deep. These are the eyes of a bloodthirsty creature. An extraordinary predator let loose for the night to hunt and bite, tear limb from limb, go for the throat, sink its teeth and drag its claws. Then lick its mouth and paws after it is full and content.

John’s gaze meets yours, and in that moment, you are frozen, like a deer meeting the eyes of a panther. Under the blue, red and purple, they gleam, and you whimper once more. 

But that lasts only a moment long.

He ponts his gun and glass walls, tables shatter, more bodies fall into the pool, on the shards of glass, blood on the floor, blood in the water, blood on your hands, on your soaked robe, blood on your friend’s shoulder as soon as you realise that he has been shot.

It's like you are not even there---you are in a nightmare impossible to escape.

You finally scream when your friend falls against you, screaming in agony. The terror merges into horror as you quicken your pace, letting them out first, letting them carry him away. And when the glass by your side shatters too, you scream and duck down, quickly crawling behind a couch, not registering the shards cutting your knees and palms. 

You put your hand over your mouth and press yourself to the back of the couch. You are soaked, bloody and shocked, and it all has happened within the span of minutes. Minutes.

No, you do not dare to move from your position, although you should have. You know you should have. But you are like a frozen prey, heart beating like it would echo in the room soon, throat aching with the faint pulse, eyes wide and body stiff with coiled tension.

You do not need to go to a therapist to confirm anything about John. You will need one if you make it out of here alive tonight, though. Which seems less likely as you watch the last person scramble out of the place. The music below has not ceased, less likely anyone has noticed, or notified the crowd.

Breathe.

Breathe

You will be fine.

Fine.

You will—

You open your eyes, not remembering when you screwed them shut, and strain your ears.

Not a single bullet has touched you, but his gaze has burned into you like you are the marked target. You feel hunted by him. Something you never thought of before, but now it does not shock you as much as the bloodshed has. So this is what he was hiding?

Did you ever know him, even?

Were his hands always stained with another’s blood?

Did the red roses hide the crimson so well?

Or were you always blinded by his charm and his eyes?

His eyes.

Sweet brown now dark as an obsidian night, sharp, merciless, unrelenting. Dangerous.

Doomed. You are doomed.

You are going to die.

Perhaps you do not fear death itself as much as the agony that comes before it. Or perhaps you are not as indifferent to life as you thought yourself to be. You want to live. You will live.

The silence is deafening, the room itself seems to be holding its breath like you. But you have to do something. At least try?

Exhaling slowly, you peek out from behind your cover, only to find the room empty. Food and bodies float on the pool, and other than the flickering of some broken lights and the quiet ripples of the pool water, you hear nothing. No footsteps, no movements, nothing. You inhale deeply, eyes moving between the door and frantically trying to spot John in the empty room. 

He might be somewhere in the shadows, but you have to take the chance. You lower yourself more, ready to spring out and make a mad, risky and desperate dash towards the exit only a few steps away.

That’s when you feel it.

Fingers wrap like heated iron against your cold ankle before you are yanked back, the glass cuts through your palms and knees but all you can do is to manage a yelp.

The scream is there, right there, but it is stuck in your throat. You try hard to force it out, try not to feel the chills that trace your spine or try to stop your tears from flowing. But you simply cannot, not when you are flipped on your back and forced to meet the very pair of eyes that once looked at you like you were something precious. 

“There you are.”

It’s not a sneer like you expected. No, but his voice has an unnerving tone of hunger so prominent that you are afraid that he will sink his teeth into you any moment. Your lips tremble as you struggle to make any sound. In your panicked state, your vision floats, but you can still focus on him. He is all you can see and feel.

“I tried to do every right. But you flew away like a clever, quick, naughty bird.”

His hand cups the side of your face as he leans in, and you smell the blood before you feel it. This time, you manage a whimper, your shaky hands try to stabilise themselves against his chest.

Push.

Push him off!

Kick him!

All the self defence videos make it seem so, so much easier than it really is. What do you do when you are lying under something so powerful, oozing with primal energy? Looking ready to sink its teeth into your neck?

The ‘thing’ is in the shape of a man you deeply care for.

He looks truly wild, with the blood all over and the hair falling over his eyes, capturing his stormy gaze.

“John—”

It has not been more than a whisper but your words dry out anyway when his hand slides to your neck, it covers your neck perfectly, as if measuring. Perhaps he is, your heart thunders against your ribs painfully when you feel his thumb tracing the quickened pulse.

“Let this be a warning about what happens when you try to pull a stunt like this again. Next time, it will be your friends’ bodies lying bloody and lifeless.”

You choke out a sob, feeling cold dread enveloping your form. He leans in and swallows your whimper with his lips over yours. You smell blood, leather, and some sweat mingled with the cologne that triggers sweet, beautiful memories, but it all feels rotten now. His lips are soft against yours, a sharp contrast to the violence he has proved himself capable of. The teeth do not sink for now, it is his tongue that licks, like a tentative taste of the trembling prey.

You do feel like one, pinned underneath him, surrounded by the dreaded stillness after a bloody storm. It’s a delicate violence, a warning and an unhinged display of affection all wrapped in one kiss.

Your eyes close on their own accord, your mind plunges into chaos, still shrouded with a primal kind of fear, yet your treacherous womanhood throbs like it recognises John’s touch and calls for him, like it has been yearning for him, only him.

Like a true predator, he strikes the moment your guards falter. You barely register his thumb pressing on the side of your neck before being plunged into darkness. 

****

Phew! Wanted to write a predator/prey dynamics for a while now. Should I make a darker version?

I think another fic played as a subconscious inspiration. I am unable to find it, but I found it on @treedaddypuff's dash. If you find it, please send the link so I can mention the author.

[stealingyourbones]

While taking an unorthodox cut through the woods to head to the library, something shiny on the forest floor catches Jazz’s eye.

It looked like a polished ore, a glimmering white platinum sheen that nearly glowed with how reflective it was. The strange energy it gave off set Jazz’s senses on full alert. She’d never seen anything like this in the Zone or anything she’s studies.

As she walks toward it she began to feel strange. Her hearing feels oversensitive but it isn’t like overstimulation. She can hear the plants growing. Her vision momentarily wained but then strengthened. It was like she was nearly blind all her life and now got glasses but it was wrong. Looking at the strange metal she could now see odd imperfections and dullness in places she couldn’t see before.

She was so distracted looking at the nicks and dings to the metal that she tripped, throwing her arms out to catch a nearby tree. To her shock and horror, the force of her arm grabbing the tree was a million times more than she expected, instead of feeling a firm sturdy pine against her fingers, it felt like she was pushing through soft kinetic sand. Her arm pushes through the wood, severing the tree from its now stump and throwing the several dozen foot tall tree a hundred feet where it acted like a giant sledge hammer, causing a cascade of fallen birches and pines in its wake. Not only that, but she was now floating one foot above the ground, her tumble sending her upwards instead of plummeting to the dirt below. It felt no different than standing on solid ground, it feels as natural as breathing which made it feel unnatural all over again. She looked from her shaking hands to metal whose energy she could now hear as an audible screeching hum.

What the hell is happening?!?

(Platinum Kryptonite gives regular humans kryptonian powers permanently)

[theegoldenchild]

Chapter Two: The Lamb And Her Wolves

The next morning Sera could feel a shift in the air as her fathers land came alive with unfamiliar motion. Engines grumbled low like beasts waking from hibernation ready to consume everything in its path. And the winding dirt road leading to the entrance stirred with heavy wheels and the stomp of boots thick with city dust.

From her bedroom window on the second floor, Sera watched them come. One by one, dark cars rolled in all sleek, glossy, and foreign against the humble backdrop of worn fences and cotton fields. Then came the men; strong, sharp-jawed and some with cigarettes tucked between their gold-ringed fingers. She didn’t understand everyone’s fascination with wearing gold in a flashy manner but she secretly loved seeing the contrast of shiny yellow on melanated skin. Her father called it sinful and bodacious behavior that’s blasphemous towards God. She didn’t question him about it. She never questions him. Instead, she just tucked his words into a memory bank of worldly behavior to avoid if she didn’t want to burn for an eternity.

The men moved like monsters dressed in silk with their tailored coats and shoulders wide with beaming confidence. And at the center of it all stood two identical figures dressed in matching suits, one with red details and one with blue details that cut through the morning light like blades.

Even from this distance, she could feel it… the weight of their presence made her skin prickle beneath her modest yellow sun dress. They stood close to the nearby farmhouse, flanked by hired men who unloaded crates and tools with mechanical precision. The preacher’s north field was being transformed and piece by piece it was shifting into something else. A fortress? Maybe? Or a war room? Possibly?

She pressed her fingers into the windowsill, breath catching as her eyes followed the one who stood still. Smoke barely moved, only nodded every now and then while others worked around him. He had the kind of stillness that didn’t come from peace, but from control. She couldn’t see his eyes from here, but she didn’t need to. She knew they were cold and sharp as he watched everything and missed nothing. When she saw his head slightly turn in the direction of her window she looked away quickly, but not before her heart gave a little thud against her ribs.

Downstairs, the front door slammed and Sera quickly made her way to where she assumed her father would be. Pastor Samuel had returned from meeting with his appointed deacons and the meeting didn’t go as planned. Everyone has been warning him against getting involved with the SmokeStack twins, but he believes they are his only option if he’s going to keep his land and scare the Klan away. With his face taut and unreadable he pulled off his hat before briefly looking over to Sera and letting out a disgruntled sigh. “You’ll stay inside,” he said flatly, without preamble.

Sera looked up from where she stood by the stairway and nervously toyed with the fabric of her dress. “Yes, daddy.” She gave no rebuttal, just blind obedience like how her father taught her.

Even though she didn’t question her father, today was the first day Sera ever saw him seem so… frazzled. Like he knew more than what he wanted to know but didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words. Shifting his eyes away from Sera, Pastor Samuel spotted his Bible on the kitchen table and grabbed it before speaking again. “Don’t go getting any ideas. They’re not here for tea and Sunday songs. They’re here to keep your daddy alive and that church from bein’ burned to ash. You won’t speak to them. You won’t look at them. And you’ll keep to your damn chores, understood?”

Sera nodded, quietly. “I understand.”

He didn’t soften. “They ain’t good men, Seraphim. This is your only warning. Stay away and let them work.”

She offered a final, “Yes, sir,” and turned on her heels as she made her way to the kitchen. Being the only woman in the house she knew it would be her responsibility to feed these men after a long day of work. Her father said not to interact with the men that are turning the land into a combat zone ready for war… But he technically didn’t say anything about not keeping their bellies fed.

The verbal warning from Samuel kept Sera in line while she worked on cooking a hearty meal… but… her fathers warning didn’t stop him. It started with a creak on the back porch. A slow, familiar sound that was typically harmless on most days. But today wasn’t one of those days. Then the screen door pushed open and Sera stiffened at the sound before she even looked up.

Stack stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame like he was posing for a photograph. One hand tucked into his jacket pocket, the other holding a cigarette he hadn’t bothered to light yet. Today his hat was a rich ruby red and he had it tilted back just enough to show all of his face and that grin. That damn grin. Wide, lazy, full of bad intentions and bold promises.

“Well, now,” he drawled, voice slow and syrup-thick, like molasses simmering over fire. “Ain’t you the picture of Southern hospitality? Whatcha cooking little dove?”

The sound of Stacks' voice made Sera turn too quickly causing the hem of her summer dress to catch on her calf as she spun around. While turning, her elbow nearly knocked the pot of greens from the stovetop.

Her mouth parted to speak but initially no sound came out as she swallowed a nervous lump in her throat and tried again. “You… um… You shouldn’t be back here, Mr. Stack. My daddy said I’m not supposed to speak to you.”

The grin on his face faltered for just a second, letting a flicker of something unknown peak through. Regaining his composure, Stack straightened just slightly and tilted his head at her. “Mr. Stack?”

His voice was quieter now. Still teasing, but edged with genuine curiosity. “You sure ‘bout that, sweetheart?”

Sera nodded, both hands wrapped tightly around the wooden spoon she was using to stir her greens like it might keep her grounded.

Stack pushed off the frame and let the screen door softly shut behind him as he stepped fully inside the kitchen. His boots made almost no sound across the worn floorboards. “Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “You really can tell.”

There was another flicker in his expression. This time it was a flash of disbelief in his eyes as he squinted slightly like he was trying to see straight through her. “We only properly met last night, at dinner,” he said as his iconic smile came back slower and more thoughtful. “Folks we known’ our whole lives still get it wrong. Hell, Stack and Smoke… they say it like it’s one name.”

He let out a breath and a quiet huff of laughter, like he didn’t know what to make of her. “Your daddy tell you which one’s which this mornin’?”

Sera shyly shook her head. “No, sir.” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… knew.”

Not knowing the weight of this revelation, Sera simply stared at Stack with an inquisitive yet cautious expression. Stack said nothing as he blinked once. Then after a few seconds of silence his smirk widened before letting out a low whistle, the sound sliding between his teeth like sin in the dark.

“Well, that’s somethin’, ain’t it?”

He took another step closer. Not threatening. Just… circling. Like a man drawn toward something shiny he didn’t expect to want. “Don’t worry,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “I ain’t here to cause trouble. Just came for a drink of water… and maybe…” His eyes raked over her, slow and appreciative, lingering far too long. “…a glimpse of heaven while I’m at it.”

Sera’s face flushed instantly and she could feel her ears ringing. She turned too fast again and began fumbling for a glass in the cabinet. But the tremble in her hands betrayed her, no matter how still she tried to be.

Then she felt the air around her become heavy as she heard him shift behind her. Not too close. But close enough. Close enough for the heat of him to find her back. Close enough for her to breathe in the heady mix of cigarette smoke, worn leather, and sandalwood cologne clinging to his skin.

“You always this obedient, pretty girl?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper now. “Bet you’d let a man do damn near anything if he said please real nice.”

Sera paused her fumbling and scrunched her brows in puzzled expression. “I… I don’t understand what you mean,” she said, her voice so honest and pure it could’ve broken something inside a softer man.

But Stack wasn’t soft. Stack was stone with a smile carved into it and even she managed to make him go quiet. Then he chuckled silently to himself.. Not in a mocking tone towards Sera but more like he’d just been handed a puzzle piece he didn’t know he was missing.

“You really don’t,” he said, almost in awe. “You really… don’t.”

Sera shook her head and wordlessly passed the now filled glass of water back towards him without turning. He took it gently from her hand and made sure his digits brushed against hers.

“I was taught not to entertain wickedness,” she said quietly, like she was reciting it from memory. “Daddy says it creeps in soft. Real sweet-like. But it always leaves stains.”

Stack stared down at the glass of water in his hand but he didn’t bother to drink it. No, right now he was thirsty for something a simple glass of water couldn’t quench. “That why you so stiff right now, pretty girl?” he asked, stepping closer behind her. “’Cause you think I’m wicked?”

He leaned in just enough to let his breath kiss the curve of her neck. “Or is it ‘cause some part of you wonders what wicked tastes like?”

His voice was a combination of dangerous velvety temptation. He let his eyes travel the slope of her back and the tight draw of her waist before biting back a groan. “I’ve tasted it,” he whispered. “And it’s sweeter than a ripe peach on a July morning… but I think you would be sweeter than that.”

Sera froze. Her hands went still against the kitchen counter as the silence wrapped around her shoulders like a heavy shawl. Her eyes stared straight ahead at the sink, unblinking and unfocused with Stack’s words echoing in her ears. A heated riddle laced with something unholy that made her spine prickle. She didn’t understand all of what he meant—not fully. Not with her mind, anyway. But her body… her body heard him loud and clear.

There was something about the way he spoke. The tone of his voice, the bite behind it and the promise that lingered. The air around her suddenly felt heavier and warmer, as if his words had turned to steam and crawled beneath her dress.

Then suddenly an unfamiliar tension coiled low in her belly. Not pain. Not fear. But something that made her thighs press closer together on instinct. And then she felt it. A second heartbeat. Not in her chest where it should be, but pulsing gently and rhythmically between her thighs. It was soft at first but as the seconds ticked by it grew to a loud drumming and her brows furrowed. She didn’t waste any water on herself, it wasn’t time for her monthly, and she definitely didn’t pee on herself.

She was wet.

Not soaked, but wet enough to make her shift uncomfortably. Enough for a warm drip to settle into the cotton of her panties as her cheeks burned with shame. And instead of trying to rationalize what she was feeling, Sera cleared her throat and gently shook her head.

Maybe it’s nothing, she told herself. Maybe I just need to drink a little tea and pray it away.

Yes. That’s what she’d do. She would drink something calming like Chamomile or maybe her grandmother’s old lemon balm blend. A hot cup of tea and a hot bath. That’s what good girls do. That’s what church girls do. That’s what she would do.

Before Stack could say more, she was saved only by the shift of a shadow lingering behind them.

Smoke stepped onto the porch, still as stone and Stack turned at once, glass still in hand and an expression like a kid that almost got caught stealing candy by their father. “She was just givin’ me some water,” Stack said easily.

Smoke said nothing. His eyes didn’t go to his brother. They went to her. And Sera slightly tilted her head to meet his gaze just for a breath. It held her in place like a hand at her throat. He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. His stare was unreadable, but it wasn’t cruel. It was curious. Like he was trying to figure her out. A woman so tightly wound in rules, yet soft as sin beneath it all.

He looked away just as quickly and turned without a word before vanishing back down the steps. Stack lingered for a moment longer, the tension between them thick and intimate. Then he tipped his hat. “Thanks for the drink, sweetheart. Don’t let ya Daddy’s rules keep you from livin’.” And just like that, he was gone too.

When he finally left, Sera stood alone in the kitchen with her heart pounding and hands shaking. She didn’t know what they wanted from her. But something about their presence excited her and deep down, under the linen and Bible verses, a small part of her wondered what it would feel like to stop being good. Just once.

Smoke stood alone at the edge of the north field, one boot resting on a stump as he lit a cigarette, slow and steady. He watched his men work without needing to say much since his presence did the talking. All around him hammers struck wood, metal scraped against metal, and the morning air filled with the scent of pine shavings, dirt, and the quiet tension of men preparing for war.

Behind him he could hear footsteps crunch over the dry grass and he didn’t need to look to know it was his other half. Stack walked up with that same rolling gait, loose shoulders, cocky stride, and a grin that hadn’t faded since he left the kitchen. But there was a slight shift in how he walked. A restlessness and a subtle discomfort.

Smoke didn’t bother to turn around. “You took too long to get a fuckin’ glass of water. We came here to work.” he said, his voice gravel-dry.

Stack huffed a laugh and came to stand beside his twin. “It was a realllll tall glass.” He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his thighs briefly before adjusting himself through the fabric of his slacks with a wince and a satisfied sigh. “Damn,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Didn’t think a girl that sweet could make me this hard just by blushin’.”

Smoke exhaled a slow curl of smoke through his nose. “She’s the preacher’s daughter,” he said flatly.

Stack chuckled and looked out onto the field with his brother and sighed, long and dramatic. “So serious already. You sure you ain’t still wound up from last night?”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about! That little redhead preacher girl,” Stack grinned, and elbowed him with a smirk. “You ain’t even touch your chicken, and you damn near crushed your glass just watchin’ her scrape plates last night.”

Smoke’s voice was low and sharp. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his feelings and he definitely didn’t feel like discussing them with Stack. “Drop it.”

But Stack wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. “C’mon,” he drawled. “You really gonna act like you didn’t get stiff just sittin’ at that table last night?”

Smoke turned his head, slow as a hinge rusted with tension. “Don’t start with me.”

“Don’t start?” Stack scoffed. “Nigga, YOU started it. Stared her down like she was already on her knees beggin’ for mercy.”

“She’s a child.”

“She’s twenty-five and a grown ass woman.”

“She’s naïve,” Smoke snapped. “Doesn’t know what men like us are.”

Stack snatched the cigarette away from Smoke's hand and walked away from his brother before leaning against a nearby fence post while flicking ash to the ground and grinning like he’d won a round in a fight they hadn’t even agreed to have. “Maybe that’s what’s so tempting about her.”

Smoke said nothing. He looked back toward the house, where the white curtains fluttered faintly behind the kitchen window.

Stack followed his gaze.

“She was shakin’,” he said quietly, like a confession. “Not ‘cause she was scared. I said a few words and she turned red all the way down to her collarbone. Like she didn’t even know her body could react like that. Can you believe that? Her pretty chocolate ass turned red like a damn tomato.” He paused for a second while biting down on his bottom lip. “I wonder where else she turns red…”

Smoke’s nostrils flared. “That’s exactly why you need to leave her be.”

“You jealous?” Stack’s grin sharpened.

“Careful,” Smoke warned.

Stack gave a lazy shrug, unbothered. “I ain’t touched her… Yet. Just asked her a question.”

Smoke didn’t speak, but the tension in his shoulders said more than words.

Stack smirked wider, then stepped in front of him, real close now, so their eyes locked like gun barrels.

“She got under your skin too, Smoke. Don’t act like she didn’t. You think I ain’t notice how you lit a cigarette the second we stepped outside that house last night? And how you needed to ‘take a piss’ foe’ heading back home? What kind of peein’ you doing that take 15 minutes?”

Smoke’s jaw ticked. He had heard enough and didn’t need Stack pointing the truth out to him. “I said drop it.”

“She’s soft,” Stack said, voice lower now, his grin fading into something more dangerous. “Like nothin’ we’ve seen before. You saw her. No rough edges. No lies in her smile. And you—” he poked a finger into Smoke’s muscled chest, “Nigga, you think you’re above wantin’ that?”

Smoke grabbed his baby brother's wrist, hard, but Stack didn’t flinch. He just held that stare full of teeth and defiance.

“I’m not gonna let you ruin her,” Smoke said, voice low and deadly. “She’s not some speakeasy girl you can laugh with and forget by morning.”

“I ain’t forgettin’ her,” Stack said quietly. “That’s the problem.” His devious smirk grew wider as he playfully let his eyes wander down to his slacks and then back up to his twin's serious expression. Smoke held his brother’s wrist a second longer before letting it go, shoving him back just enough to make Stack stumble a half-step.

Stack didn’t retaliate. Just adjusted himself again, another sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he muttered, “She makes it hard for a man to walk straight, that’s all I’m sayin’.” He turned away, but his voice floated back like smoke in the breeze. “Tell yourself whatever you need to, Smoke. Just remember this ain’t the kind of girl either of us forgets.”

Smoke said nothing. But as his eyes drifted back to the window where the curtain fluttered again he caught just a glimpse of brown skin, a yellow dress, and gentle movement… and he knew Stack was right. They were both caught.

And neither of them had any goddamn clue how to set themselves free.

The fading sun was starting to bleed across the treetops, painting everything in a golden hue. The muggy air still clung to everyone’s skin, heavy with the scent of churned earth, engine smoke, and hot oil. But now it was overlaid with something richer, something holy: roasted pork, cornbread fresh from the oven, and collards swimming in smoked pork fat.

Dinner tonight was being served on the long porch that wrapped around the back of the preacher’s house. Men who’d worked themselves raw all day from hammering fences, rigging traps and guarding the land with rifles slung across their backs were now lined shoulder to shoulder on picnic benches while waiting with heavy boots and hungrier eyes.

Sera moved among them like a soft breeze through swamp reeds. Quiet, graceful, and oblivious to everything except the task of servitude. She carried a heavy bowl of fresh cornbread to the table and the weight of it made her arms tremble slightly. Her yellow dress had been ruined earlier, stained with oil and butter so she’d changed into the only clean one she had left.

A white cotton-thin dress that was still a little damp when she slipped it on. Sera hadn’t realized it clung until the resting sun hit it. And she definitely didn’t notice how the dress curved over her hips, hugged the round of her thighs, or stretched just enough across her chest to outline what no man had yet touched.

To her, it was just a modest, unwrinkled, and high-necked dress that any obedient church girl would wear. To the men on the porch, it was heavenly temptation. Their conversation thinned to silence when she stepped outside with the bowl. One man muttered something under his breath. Another chuckled. Then one of them leaned forward and whispered just loud enough for the others to hear, “Lord have mercy… if that ain’t a slice of heaven—”

He never got to finish that sentence.

Smoke was on him in a heartbeat, moving so fast the bench scraped across the wood as the other men flinched back. The high roller’s gun swiftly knocked against the man’s nose with little to no effort causing it to bleed. “You think you can say that about her?” Smoke growled, low and venomous. “You open your mouth about her again, and I’ll sew it shut with piano wire. You understand me, nigga?”

The man sputtered, wide-eyed. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” Smoke snapped. “And you’ll regret it.”

Not even five seconds later, Stack was already checking the rest of the porch. His hands were in his pockets, but there was no mistaking the threat in his mischievous smile. He leaned in close to another worker, whispering like a devil on a man’s shoulder. “You want to keep those pretty fingers, don’t ever look at her like that again. You’re here to build fences and fight the klan, not catch feelings.”

Sera, meanwhile, was too focused on not spilling the food to notice any of it. She was humming a hymn from last Sunday service. Her voice was so soft it barely rose above the hum of insects in the trees. She set down the last dish with a content little sigh, brushing flour from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Y’all eat now,” she said kindly, eyes lowered in modest warmth. “I made plenty.”

Stack watched her like she was something sacred draped in cotton, some creature no one deserved to touch. His smile fell into something almost reverent.

Then—

“Seraphim.” Pastor Samuel’s voice cracked like a whip through the air. Sera was startled by the sound of her fathers voice and wondered what she did wrong to be on the receiving end of his anger tonight.

“What are you wearin’?” he demanded, his voice booming through the still evening.

Her hands went to the bottom of her dress instinctively as she started trying to smooth out unseen wrinkles. “It’s just my white dress, Daddy. My yellow one got dirty—”

“You look naked!” he spat. “What man you tryin’ to tempt lookin’ like that?”

“I—I didn’t mean—”

He stormed up, pointing toward the back door to the house. “Go inside and cover yourself up. Now! I won’t have my daughter paradin’ around like some alley girl while men sit down to eat in my home.”

Sera’s cheeks flushed hot. “I didn’t know—I wasn’t—”

“Now, Seraphim.”

She bowed her head and hurried back inside without another word before anyone could see the tears spilling from her eyes.

Silence filled the air and then Stack’s voice, calm and sharp as a butcher knife cut through the tension, “You ever talk to her like that again in front of me… preacher or not… I’ll knock your goddamn teeth down your throat.”

Pastor Samuel’s spine stiffened as he whipped his head around to glare at Stack. “You best watch your tone, boy.”

“I ain’t your boy,” Stack said, smiling without warmth. “And she sure as hell ain’t your property.”

Smoke didn’t speak, but his eyes hadn’t moved from the door. This battle wasn’t just about land anymore. It was about her. And God help anyone who stepped out of line when it came to her.

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Tag list:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theethighpriestess @imagining-greatness @hearteyes-for-killmonger @blackpantherismyish @theogbadbitch @queenofklonnie22 @underated345-blog @bxrbie1 @harleycativy @hermyowney @kcundercover0

[v1x3n]

SNAP OUT OF IT — j.price

⸝⸝ PAIRINGS ⫶ childhood friend!john price x reader

⸝⸝ SYNOPSIS ⫶ after not seeing your childhood bestfriend for a while, you meet him again at a bar. he says some strange things, things you didnt quite understand after you confirm that your soon going to get married.

⸝⸝ TAGS ⫶ angst - just lovesick john not getting what he wants.

"whats been happening in your world?"

"what have you been up to?"

you and john both accidently speak over eachother, you exchange a soft laugh as your eyes meet his. a hint of something lingers in the air, something unspoken of. "i heard you fell in love." john mumbles slightly, stirring his glass of whiskey aorund slightly.

you nod silently, looking down at your own drink, "yeah," youexhale with a slight smile plastered onto your face.

he could tell by the way your eyes lit up and your cheeks grew rosy that you were inlove with this guy. the guy? john met him ages ago. total dickhead. he wanted you to snap out of this love spell he had clearly put you in but he felt like he left it too long. the effects of the spell had already grown too strong.

"hes uhm asked me to marry him actually," your hand raises to show you the shiny ring. johns heart drops. you dont sound so happy about that though. "oh so your settlin' down?" john peeps up, taking a swig from his drink. letting the fluids travel down his throat with a familiar burn. "more like giving up." you joke with a slight of truth lingering in the words.

"it dont sound like you, yk getting married." he once remebers how you used to cringe at the thought of being tied down, when you two would sneak out as kids and think about the future. "guess things change when you meet the right person" you shrug, glancing him up and down as hes thinking its almost like your under a spell.

your drink sipped when you bring it up to your lips, "itll happen one day for you," you comment. "snap out of it." john says with a brooding voice.

"you- w-what?" you cough slightly on his sudden words. "its like your under a spell. fucking hypnotized." he rolls his eyes and takes a large swig. the liquid fueling his anger.

you tremble slightly, stepping back but it was no point cause john stepped two steps closer. pulling his hands out to hold your face, his fingers moving over your cheeks, "darling, how could you be so blind?" he practically scoffs at you. your confused, eyebrows raised and your dumbfounded expression plastered on your face.

that night you get home, plastered and you couldn't help but think what john was talking about. your thoughts remained on him for the night, even whilst in bed with your soon to be husband, johns face was the one you saw.

you needed to snap out of it.

john also needed you to snap out of it as he sat on his couch. thoughts clouding his mind as he went through old photos of youand him. seeing one where your arms slug around his shouldets, your cherry face showed and he had a daft grin plastered on his face - a smile he ever only did with you. his eyes glistened in the picture. practically glowing of love. his eyes looking towards your rosy face. he thought to himself, how did you never notice?

so he sent a text to you attaching the photo that held a beautiful memory.

'ill be here waiting patiently for you to snap out of it."

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ That heavy breathin' on the floor ❞

Vander x ftm!reader | Sevika x ftm!reader (customer) | Silco x ftm!reader | fluffy, NSFW, angst | reader has had top-surgery & bottom growth | versatile. bottom. reader | NOT PROOFREAD + partly written on my phone | wc: 17k

warnings: violence against a sw, police brutality, r! is nearly assaulted but is saved, r! is a prostitute, brothel mentioned, mentions of addiction, spanking, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, strap-on, minor daddy kink (sevika), pussy-eating, choking, slapping, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like boypussy, pussy, boycunt, cunt are used), murder, graphic depictions of violence

masterlist; pt. 1; pt. 2

authors note: this kind of gets a bit heavy at the end with themes of injustices against s*x workers along side police brutality and r! nearly getting assaulted by a haughty rich dude from Piltover. If its it's too heavy, please prioritize yourself ! *song on repeat: Billie Boss Nova by Billie Eilish *YN is described as being shorter than Vander (202cm), Sevika (185cm), and Silco (182cm) in this fic.

"So, how'd you decide this career was the best course of action in your life?" your lips twitch at the question. Well, less of the question and more of the person asking; there was an accent these Topsiders have. Dripping with condescension and haughtiness. It was like they were bred to have their noses pointed up, as if there was some sort of treasure up those pin-holes.

"You're asking for my life story?" you drawl, watching as his hands crawl up your thighs. They were splotchy with age spots, but plumper than the old timers from here. Figures. You split your legs for him and he wets his lips. "You get off on that sort of things?" you throw an arched brow his way, a look he dismisses with a wanton grope of your unclothed cunt.

"If I say I do, you'd have to indulge, correct?"

Even the way he asks his questions felt like he was talking down to you.

You hated events like these. The brothel hosted them for the handful of clients who could afford to rent out a whole floor for themselves, usually they were sleazy Topsiders with their stupid little kids who'd come of age.

Easier to pop all sorts of cherries in the underbelly of Piltover because 'they'd do just about anything for some coin!'

You take a long drag of your hookah while the old fuck grinds his palm to your dick. It's strange how soft his hands are. You're used to callouses, palms that strike with power behind them and grips that bruises. This was pathetic.

"My dad bailed on my mom before he knew I was even conceived," his eyes glimmer with morbid curiosity. He rubs his hands up and down, a tepid rhythm that sincerely lacks in any semblance of pleasure. "My poor, young, dumb, mother. She tried really, really, really hard." "Did she?"

You nod, looking off at the floor where a whore was sucking off another Topsider; laid on her belly between his legs on the cushions and duvets. The theme of this event had been some dumbass ancient civilization. With white toga's and golden wreaths some of their kids spent a week working on.

"She worked her ass off. Determined to make life worth living for me."

"Did she work...here?"

There it was. That sick fascination. He didn't even know if this story was real, you could be bullshitting him but it doesn't matter. As he strokes your cock, his eyes gleam with a cruelty that only men of his status could possess. Pain was a fetish; it was a welcomed one even. But this? This fetish that he has, of listening to sob stories and fulfilling his torture fantasy. Did he think he was better than a sexual sadist because his hands were soft and wimpy?

He must. Perhaps he even thinks this line of questioning elevates him from your usual customers. Makes this all feel more 'ethical'.

It was funny seeing a predator file their teeth down into shiny sparkling stubs (his veneers were blinding) but forget they still had claws. Your lips curl away from your teeth, in disgust and rising anger.

Then Doe appears in front of you. Her hands stroking up your thighs as she blocks the Topsider's face from yours. The twitch in your brow is hidden behind your mask, but the corners of your mouth twist in confusion. She slips her fingers into his hold, giggling as he greets her.

"Mr. Erikson," she returns the flirting he dishes out, slipping his finger under the strap of her toga and tugging it down. When she brushes her hair over her shoulder, she gives you a pointed expression.

Calm the fuck down, was written all over her face. When she flits her eyes to your trembling hand, you loosen your grip on the hookah and click your teeth. She climbs smoothly onto that old fuck's lap, distracting him with her perky tits while you walk away.

The beaded curtains rattle angrily as you sulk past the threshold. Glaring at every privileged little fuck there on your way out of the hall. When a blonde man tried to grasp at your wrist you tug it away with a snarl. Fucking Topsiders. Going to the Undercity to get their dicks wet, maybe even delude some poor shit into thinking that they could be more. As if they'd ever marry anyone from here, or claim the children they fathered.

Because that's what Topsiders do. They take. All they know to do is take and take and take with no regard nor care —

A hand grabs at your wrist, harshly tugging you back and when you spin you grab the brooch at your shoulder and unclasp it to press the point to Sevika's neck. Your eyes widens and she lets out a low whistle.

"Hello to you too."

"Fuck, Sevika," you hastily bring your 'weapon' down, mindlessly clipping it to the golden make-shift rope-belt at your hip. She lets your wrist go while you lean in to make sure you hadn't actually drawn blood.

"Don't just grab me like that," you chastise. She takes notice of your get-up then glances towards the muffled noises of the hall behind you. "You finished in there?" she asks.

You should tell her no. You'd been asked for by name from the Topsiders, having done well at a previous party like this.

"Yeah. You want me for the night?" she shifts the tooth pick to the other side of her grin, reaching another hand to tug you in by your waist. "C'mon baby, say it nicely."

Sevika tilts her head, her rough hands making your lashes tremble. Both of her hands grab firmly at your ass, hitching you up and close. Her firm body, the scent of smoke and ash and alcohol easing you down as they mingle with Sevika's naturally smoky cologne. Judging from the bag of coin she has hidden in her jacket — that you can feel from under your hand — she was most likely in a good mood from winning a game.

"Say it sweet, how'd you'd ask those Topsiders to fuck you?" she's just getting a rise out of you. It wasn't a secret to Sevika that you despised the Topsiders. Even if you never ranted to her about it, every time they walked into the establishment your mask could barely keep your expression of dismay at bay.

You narrow your eyes at her. Smoothly slipping a hand into her jacket and taking the bag of coins out and holding it out of her reach when she tries to grab it.

"You think you deserve to fuck me?" you play along with her game. Leaning your face in to hers, your mask brushing her cheek. "Little limp dicks like you can barely make me hard, much less cum." Sevika's grip is bruising. The fabric of your toga nearly giving away to her harshness. Sevika was going to fuck you just the way you needed. Fast and hard; a true Zaunite in every way.

Your mask had been tossed aside, most likely on the floor of your room somewhere. The spray-painted golden wreaths, brooch, and belt were safely placed onto one of the dressers. The toga did not get that much grace though. Having been ripped away from your body as Sevika spun you around to pin you down on your stomach at the edge of the semi-circle bed.

"Sevika!" you exclaim in genuine alarm. She can still hear the smile in your voice so she just stares at the cloth material in her hands and breathes out a laugh. It lands next to you while she takes off her cloak.

"That cost money?" she questions mindlessly. You turn over on your back, staring up at her, stark naked. She'd spit out the toothpick before she smashed your lips together up the stairs, yet somehow she's found a cigarette to put between her teeth.

"Yeah," you replied in a matter-of-fact tone, reaching up to your nightstand to grab your box of matches. Striking one to light. She leans over you, her rough hands feeling up your split thighs and you light up her cigarette for her.

"I bought the damn fabric." "Cheap fabric," she replies as she pulls climbs on the bed. Her clothed body pressed against yours.

"Or maybe you're just freakishly strong," you retort with a huff.

"I'll pay extra," she laughs when you raise your brows.

Whores. So easy.

"Fuck, Sevika." She strokes your dick with her fingers which makes your breath hitch. "Yuh - You're gonna...You have to slow down."

"I know you can take more than this." You scowl at her, she just presses down on your poor dick. "I'm talking about gambling, dumbass. You're getting the extra coin from it, aren't you?"

She rolls her eyes, grabbing you face in her other hand and smushing your cheeks — involuntarily making your lips purse out like a fish while she stares down at you. The white smoke slithering up into the air making her grey eyes shine like a vengeful spirit.

"You don't want me here spoiling your ass?" she says gruffly, her fingers now slipping down to your winking hole and smearing your slick over it. "Who else is gonna remind this hole how rough you need it?"

Your eyes soften. She can see your resolve melt as she slips a finger inside of you, she groans just as your brows twitch and knit together. Anal was Sevika's wheelhouse. She always made your entire body shiver and shake when she gets in the mood to fuck you as if you were nothing but her personal flesh light.

"Fuh - fuck you," you hiss out. She knows you don't mean it. Because your customer's moods was your own wheelhouse. You know how they like to play, how much chase they want, how much biting they love. It's why your roster of clients were oddly attached to your fox mask.

She brings her hand to your neck and watch as your back arches of the bed as she fingerfucks your ass while she has her thumb inside of your cunt. Her cigarette was beginning to burn too much and when the ashes drop onto your thigh, you squeak in alarm but don't tell her to stop. So she simply doesn't.

Sevika occasionally slips her fingers back inside of your cunt to gather more lube and you only give her a whine of displeasure.

"You're fine," she reassures, "I'm the first Jane of the night, right?"

When you give her a quizzical look she laughs.

"Your ass is way too tight. Either I'm the first of the night or there's some micro dicks at that party."

"You're way too fuckin' cocky, you know that?"

When Sevika has you fully stretched out, she gives you a moment to catch your breath. Watching your chest raise and fall as you're splayed out on the bed whilst she takes off her clothes and grabs at the cloak and bag she dropped on the ground. Your thighs were wet from your own slick and the lube she'd fished out from your drawers, you watch her move when you lift your arm away from your face.

She's putting on her strap. Just the sight of it has both of your holes clenching. Sevika smushes the cigarette in an ash tray and whistles, twisting her wrist to point down and you hate how much your stomach flutters at the casual dominance. You get on your hands and knees, face pressed to the bed. She grabs the globes of your ass, stroking her dick in the other hand.

"...Are you waiting for me to beg?" you wonder after a moment.

"Might be nice to hear." Your laughter makes her grin. Not that you could see it. You take a few breaths, then look at her from over your shoulder.

"C'mon, daddy. Fuck me." You whine out. Sevika stares on. Unimpressed. You curl your lip, twisting your upper half a bit further to stare back.

"That's a classic."

"I've heard better."

"Hah! From who? Doe?" you fully lay on your side now, smirking as you look up at her. "You're real sweet on her, huh?"

When Sevika grunts, you throw your head back to laugh. She grabs at your ankles but you kick her efforts away and drag yourself further up the bed. She calls out your name flatly but you just giggle.

"You are," you purr. "Thought you said falling for whores are for chumps."

Sevika narrows her eyes, grabbing at your calf and tugging you back down. You squeal, still smiling even when she grabs your ripped toga to tie your wrists together and pull it between your legs as she bends them so far forward your knees are nearly touching your chest.

"Struck a nerve, daddy?" you challenge. Her dick catches on the rim of your asshole, pressing but not breaching.

"You're such a fucking brat. Just a fiend for this kind of shit, huh? Like it rough?"

The thick head of it presses in and you groan. The noise airy — as if she'd knocked it out of you by simply pressing in despite the resistance.

"Your wolfman fuck you like this too?"

You make a noise. Half-squeak and half-gasp, brows furrowing and jumping in alarm when she just slams in more than half of her cock inside.

"Fuck!"

"He fucks your ass like this?"

She readjusts her stance, the bed creaking as she keeps your body at her complete mercy. Pinned under her frame, hands tied up and pulled by her strength while her thick cock is intently filling your ass up. The position makes her hit all the right spots, and you want nothing more than to drown in the overwhelmingly delicious pressure she's pulling you into. But her questions has caught you completely off guard.

"Sevika," you moan out, pushing at her waist with your weak fingers, trying to relieve some of the pleasure. She slopes her brows in faux concern.

"Yeah, you're sweet on him, aren't ya'?"

She slides into you some more, the veins on her cock making your toes curl as your hole clenches around her. She groans as though she can feel it. And you toss your head back.

"You're fucking huge," you whine out.

"Is he bigger or smaller?"

You roll your eyes at her and she smirks. She inches back a few then just drops all her weight down. The moan you let out is nonexistent, mouth opened in a silent scream as your back arches and your vision goes white.

"He make you feel that good?" You suck in a quick breath, as if remembering you could but she doesn't let up.

"I definitely touched something there, huh?"

She starts thrusting. Shallow but quick, just pistoning in and out of your poor ass while your cunt weeps out for a sliver of attention. She ignores it all in favour of waiting for you to flutter your pretty eyes open.

"Duh - daddy," you hiccup out and she just pulls your tied hands out from between your thighs to instead pin above your head.

"S'little too late to act nice, sweet cheeks." You mewl, hips bucking as she continues her onslaught. "Daddy, plea - ah!" The smack of her palm against your ass has your entire body jolting.

"It's a yes or no, baby."

Tears darken your lashes, you bring your hand to her face and use any bit of core strength you have to press your lips with hers but she simply pushes your face down. Not by your neck. No. She's intentionally cruel as she has the space between her thumb and pointer right under the top row of your teeth.

As she thrusts out moan after moan, all you can do is let her hear it. It's humiliating. The noises you make are all choked up, saliva is beginning to pool from the corners of your mouth. No matter how much you thrash or push or try to buck, she just continues to rail you.

You know Sevika would stop if you tapped at her four times in a row. It was something the both of you had long established as a non-verbal safe-word when there's a craving for something harder.

She knows you know how to stop her if you need to. You don't. So she ploughs into you, groaning as she watches you struggle.

"C'mon baby, that's it." She's purring, sweat beading down her face as her hair comes undone. She's a vision like this. Her strong arms flexing under the low lights, her firm stomach clenched as though you were truly milking her cock. It makes you a bit delirious, especially when she's chewing on her lower lip and looking down at you like this.

"Cum around my cock. Like a proper bitch," you groan, knowing she's close from the way her grip on you tightens.

You're feeling the building pressure finally reaching its peak and you bite down on her hand, glaring at her as you moan around her flesh. She just smiles, wide and proud. A true predator.

Her teeth sharp just like her claws.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel your cunt pathetically squirt, the wetness just urging Sevika on as she forces you to bite down harder.

"You alright?"

Vander's voice feels like an ice pack against bruised skin. An apt metaphor considering he was putting an ice pack to your bruised ass.

"Mmm," he chuckled at your muffled response. After Sevika and you got scolded by your madame, you sought refuge at The Last Drop. Of course, Sevika simply thought you wanted a drink and you had. You hung around her side until she got swept up into a game of poker and slipped away to the back. All under Vander’s watchful eye.

He had grabbed an ice pack just as you slipped through the back, tapping another bartender’s shoulder to take over while he went upstairs. Which is where he found you. In his bedroom, shimmying out of your outfit and looking at him with those pleading eyes.

“You’re off early,” he kneaded at the back of your thighs, watching as your muscles jumped and twitched. “You tapped out?”

He sounds rightfully surprised. You’re not the type to just get off work early because of a bruised ass. You’re tougher than most of everyone here. You stare at him, face smushed against your crossed arms. He reaches to brush some hair away, and you melt further on his mattress.

“Darling?” you frown but finally confess. “I ran away from some dumbass party that the madame was hosting for some Topsider fucks.”

“You thought I’d be angry knowin’ that?” Vander arches a brow. Laying down next to you, trusting that The Last Drop could handle just a few more minutes without him. “You’re allowed to be angry at them. Shits bloody unfair.”

You get on your elbows, placing your chin in your palm while he looks down at you.

“Aren’t you angry at them?” you watch his expression shift. It’s a barely noticeable twitch, really it could be written off as a muscle spasm if anything.

“Aren’t you tired of being angry at them?” you continued.

“I put those dreams on the shelf a long time ago,” he attempts to soothe you by cupping your face. It works, just barely, but you lean into his warmth. “I’ve got too much to lose. This place, the kids.” He pauses and brushed his thumb across your cheek, his pinkie tilting your head up.

“You.”

The comfortable silence washes over. You take a breath and sigh, nuzzling into his large palm. The sweet act has him smiling, glad you drop the topic and using his strength to pull you to lay on his front.

“Sorry, I’m a little dirty.”

“Mm, I like you dirty.”

He laughs. The action jostling you a bit but you simply wrap your arms around his neck while he holds you firm.

“You could just work here.” He runs his hand down your back, kneading his thumbs in at a few knots. You groan into his ear, shaking your head. “You dunno’ what you’re sayin’”

“I’m serious,” he adjusts the ice pack and you shiver a bit as the its sweat drips down between your thighs. “Bar could always use a nicer face than mines.”

“Derek’s pretty enough.” Vander laughs. It rumbles in his throat this time and you grin just hearing it.

“B’sides, you’re plenty handsome.”

“Yeah, but not one of us compare to you, darling.” You hum in agreement, sighing as he works more knots loose.

“Don’t have ta’ come here to lick your wounds if there’s no wounds to lick. Could spend more time with Powder and Claggor, the kids are fond of ya’”

Your eyes slip open. Heart squeezing fondly at the mention of those little rascals. Vander and you aren’t exactly a thing, not said outloud anyways, but he introduced you to his kids. That meant something. He taught you how to sneak into his room too. When your landlord had to kick you out for a few weeks to accommodate for her lame ass nephew, you sheltered at The Last Drop and well, you all bonded.

The guilt in your heart stabbing into you night after night as more feelings poured into this already tumultuously boiling pot of emotions.

But Silco thought it was a good thing. He’d probably be telling you to take Vander’s deal on becoming this weird stay-at-home bartender/boyfriend/babysitter to get more information. Whether it be from Sheriff Grayson or the ever restless Vi.

“Think about it?” Vander blinks up at you when you lift your head. When your lips meet, it’s sweet. Slow and sensual, more lips than tongue. Pecks and real long-lasting ones. You murmur his name and he whispers yours back.

“You not sore?”

“Fuck me slow?”

He smiles and claims your lips again. Vander drifts his hand to the ice pack and removes it. The thud it makes when it falls to the ground makes you giggle, so he attacks your neck next; you give him free reign, gasping when he switches your positions to have laid down next to him.

You’re not even sure what happens next. One moment he’s clothed and the next he’s not as he practically snuggle fucks you on your side. He doesn’t have a bed frame but the springs in his mattress makes a few jostling noises as his cock slid in and out of your cunt.

“Vander, ah-mmphf, fuuuuck,” you press your face into the pillow and simply let him move you around. Completely at his mercy as he holds your waist.

Sevika glanced up at the faint thuds she was hearing above her. But refocuses on the table before her, scoffing at her competitor's lame poker face. Someone turned up the juke box and the noises are a distant memory.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he lifts one of your arms to wrap around his neck, kissing the underside of your arm and brushing his teeth there. The sensation of his beard makes you shiver.

“Deeper, please, Vander. Need you s’much deeper.” He kisses you, pulling out to readjust his position. You’re still laid on your side and he straddles your left leg and slides his thick cock inside of you again. Your voice trembles.

“There, darlin’?” you nod, whimpering when he rocks his hips in and out of you. You clutch at the bedsheets, turning your face into the pillow again as your cunt clenches down around him.

“Fuck, c’mon. Don’t push me out,” Vander threads his fingers through your hand and gently, as if you were made of glass instead of jagged metal, turns your head to him.

“Easy, loosen up a bit. Can’t fuck you how you need me to if you’re too tight.”

You whine, taking a few breaths and trying your best not to clench around him. Fuck, he was so thick. Even if you weren’t clenching, you were sure he’d still feel snug. He thanks you with a kiss to your forehead, gently shushing you when he moves again.

“Vuh...Vander...fuuuck, baby, please.”

“I’ve got ya’, come on, cum f’me.”

“You — Are you —”

Vander grunts, nodding as you once again clamp down on him. He knows you’re close, right on the edge and he wants to follow and dive with you. He kisses you, practically straling your breath away as his thrusts get sloppier and harsher. You mewl, nails digging into the back of his hands. Your orgasm washes over like a wave, your hips bucking as Vander feels your cum spurt around his dick and balls. He’s close behind, filling your insides with thick ropes of cum. He’s murmuring something into your skin. Something you can’t make out.

“Shit, shit.”

When he pulls out, your cunt clenched around nothing but air. Twitching and pulsing just like your little dick, aftershocks of pleasure running through you. His cum begins oozing out between your legs and he pants at the sight. You do nothing to stop him when he places you on your back — putting a pillow under your ass — and dives his head between your legs.

“Vander,” you moan out. Breath hitching as he licks a fat stripe up your cunt. “Let me do this for you,” he mumbles, groaning at the taste of your cum and his mixing together on his tongue. “Just let me take care of you.”

You stretch your arms above your head while he eats your boypussy out like he’s a starved man. His beard wet with your juices as your writhe on the bed. He doesn’t even tease, just intently cleaning and eating you out. You moan weakly for him, voice hoarse from servicing the Sevika and now fucking Vander.

You pinch your brows, squirming on the bed and gasping airily as Vander eases you into your nth orgasm of the day.

When you reach that peak, he eases you back down from the clouds. Carefully stroking over your thighs as he watches you catch you breath.

This is where you belong, he thinks. On his bed, legs spread and boycunt leaking with his cum; his name coming out your lips and his hands on your thighs. Vander presses kisses up your hips and chest, finally giving you a kiss on the lips.

“You alright?”

“Mmm.”

He chuckles and you trust him enough to slip your eyes closed.

“Just rest,” he tells you. “I’ve got you.”

Quitting was a sordid affair. There'd been a few passive aggressive claims from your madame about you crawling back and you calling her a cunt. Despite that, the both of you still acknowledge each other when she does walk into The Last Drop — it's hard to hate the woman who'd been generous enough to teach you everything you needed to know to survive.

The month that passed had been smooth sailing. You've gotten closer to Vander and his kids, even Benzo's little protege Ekko had come around to you. Which interests Silco, so you get close to Benzo. When Powder needs help with carrying stuff to his shop, you help. The guy was loyal to a fault and stubborn just like Silco had mentioned.

The first lesson you'd been taught in your ex-profession had been not to get feelings involved. Don't even dare to associate with customers who begin to get emotionally invested — it was bad for business in the long run. Sex isn't complicated but once you tangle in feelings? Bad mix for you. But when it came to listening in and relaying information, that career devastating choice is a powerful weapon. To turn trust into a dagger and thrust it under their ribs, tilting the blade up to hear that poor sucker suffer with each inhale.

So why is it so different this time?

How could you tuck in Powder at night and then sneak off to meet Silco in the docks to tell him what you'd overheard from Vander, Benzo, and Sheriff Grayson's discussions?

Were you that heartless?

Revolution is messy, Silco had once told you. It takes blood, sweat, tears, guts, and more guts. You don't ask for permission and you certainly don't ask for forgiveness after. Violence was necessary for change. Vander had lost sight of that, gotten soft.

But isn't it too cruel to play with his heart this way?

Would he love you if he knew what you were fighting for?

Would he condemn you for how you want respect?

He'd given you free roam of his home. Let his kids get attached to you. Gave you a job. All because he loves you.

"Is this really okay?" Vi says, which pulls you out of your thoughts. Your pupils shrink, turning to face her with your brows near your hairline.

Right. You were at the river with the kids.

The water gleamed and glimmered with metal wreckage in the bottom. There was also the unmistakable sheen of oil in it, but it honestly just added colour to the teal. The kids had breathed in worse, besides, it wasn't everyday they get to swim and just act their age.

"What? It's harmless," you snicker out, smoothly recovering as you lean back on your hands. She frowns, standing next to you on the banks. Vi constantly looks up at every little noise. Even if her head didn't turn, it was like the tip of her ears would just flick up like a vigil cat.

"Vi, it's fine. We're allowed to be here," you peer down at Claggor teaching Powder how to squirt out water between their palms while Mylo is on the shore. Wet and a bit glum looking as he shakes off the water from his hair.

"It's good to get a bit of sunlight," you tell Vi as you swing your legs over and smile as Powder accidentally shot a stream of water up Claggor's nose with amazing accuracy. Mylo laughs and Claggor splashes the water back over him. Her furrowed brow softening the tiniest bit.

It quickly returns as she turns her attention to the tall buildings with their golden ornaments and expensive detailing. You lean on your hands, nudging her leg with your elbow to pull her back.

"Hey, bet if you aim just right you can splash Mylo, Claggor, and Powder when you dive." She raises a brow, smirking at you.

Vi and you didn't have the best beginnings. She knew what your profession was and Mylo didn't exactly help with his long tales of the 'rumours' he's heard. Vander could protect himself, she knows this, but she got prickly when you had unceremoniously moved in during your landlord-nephew fiasco. Over some time though, she finds herself liking your more cynical nature. Although you acknowledge that they're kids, you also give them more credit than most adults do. It's nice feeling respected as a person.

"Hah! What are you betting?" You open your mouth to put an offer of some coins when the yell of an enforcer makes you twist your head and instantly clamber onto your feet.

"You! Stay there!" He yells, his blue uniform gleaming under the light. It's so rare seeing them all armoured up above ground. The sight should mean that you were well within your rights to be here, if he wore the armour that meant you were close enough to the Lanes to get him uncomfortable.

"C'mon, let's go! Let's go!" Vi nods and instantly hurries to gather her siblings attention, Claggor lifting Powder out the water and rushing to the shore while Mylo gathers their clothes. You know the enforcers would take some time climbing down — especially with his dumbass protective wear — so you use those precious minutes to ensure every one of them were ahead of you.

"(Y/N)!" Powder and Mylo call out when they hear you yell behind them. Vi skids to a stop, eyes wide when you find yourself pressed to the brick wall.

"Just go! Go!" she hesitates and you grit your teeth. "GO!"

The enforcer turns his gaze to them, his harsh breathing against your ear making you shudder. Vi is helpless as she grabs Mylo and Powder's wrist to tug them forward.

"We didn't do anything wrong!" you seethe out as you feel him patting you down.

"Not loiterin', not skulking, we were just - Fuck! Take it easy!" he kicks your ankles apart and you try to spin around only to get backhanded by your faceless attacker. He covers your eyes with his gloved hand, moving your head here and there as though he was inspecting you.

"Yeah, you're him," his mask makes his voice sounded inhumane. A machine-like quality that zaps out any bit of remorse or compassion from him. "You fuckin' slut."

Crumpling to the floor, you quickly cover your head and curl up when you see his boots flying in your direction.

Powder can only see glimpses of this violence as she turns her head back. Vi tells her to focus but she can't. Because all she sees is you on the floor, torso bare because you'd been swimming, bare foot too; hair wet, completely defenseless. Your grunts of pain echoing through the tunnel and your eyes having relief in them as the kids narrowly escape.

"What happened?" is Vander's first question when they all tumbled into The Last Drop. Instantly straightening up at Vi's distraught expression. It was still too early for anyone to have stumbled in, even by the Lanes standard, so he gave them all his attention.

"Vi?"

"We - we were just - we were just swimming," Mylo breathes through his nose, knees nearly buckling at the fright and rush of adrenaline. Their run through the underground, barefoot, and wet had certainly brought enough attention as is. Vander ushered them to get in, locking the front doors as they all suddenly find their voices.

"He said it was safe, they just, they grabbed him!" Vi is beginning to stomp, and Claggor nods along.

"(Y/N)?" Vander asks and Powder nods, eyes brimming with tears as she turns her attention to the doors. You should be bursting through it right now. Why weren't you?

"We were just swimming," Mylo repeats. Vander grabs his jacket. "I'm going with you!" Vi announces.

"Your feet are bleeding," he points out. "All you'd do is get in the way. Everyone of you stay here. I'll fix this."

Powder watches on as Vander rushes out the front door. Vi is still arguing, attempting to follow along either way but whatever shit she got trapped in her skin causes her to wince and falter. Claggor catches her, attempting to guide her to the chairs while Mylo is repeating the same thing.

"We were just swimming."

Topsiders had a weird thing for grudges. You understood that better than most. Eye for an eye and all that. But for Topsiders? It seemed rejection was worthy of a grudge. When you come to from the haze, you're on the wooden floors of a familiar face's house. His figure comes in fours, then twos, and finally come together in one.

Mr. Erikson. From that dumbass toga event at the brothel.

He's much more hideous in brighter lights. His plump cheeks and beady eyes more prominent. You cough, attempting to get up onto your feet only to be kept down as a familiar boot presses down on your shoulder. The bruise that was already blooming there made you grit your teeth while he harshly stomped down. Erikson winces, waving his hand to make the enforcer stop.

"Not so rough now. If he's too broken, it'll be painful to look at."

Glaring venomously at him as you stubbornly peel yourself off the floor and onto your staggering feet. The world spins but you stomp your foot to get some sense of equilibrium. There's a pounding in your head that pierces through your eyes and there's blood in your mouth; but all you can feel right now is the numbness in your limbs and the rapid pulse in your neck,

"I named you to your madame. The fox with the sweet (S/C) skin and pretty lips. The boy with the tightest cunt I've ever felt. You were there at a previous party, my other son's birthday."

You spit out some blood, wiping it away with the back of your hand as you sway in your spot. He curls his nose but continues.

"I had been hoping to give you as a gift to my youngest, Troy. But then you left, and when I asked for you again your madame wouldn't tell me just where you went. "

"You fucking kidnapped me because I wouldn't fuck you and your son on his birthday?"

The incredulity of the entire situation makes you choke out a laugh. Even with your spinning vision, this office was clearly that of someone who made decent money. With its mahogany bookshelves and leatherbound covers. Some books here were probably older than your ass, much more priceless too. Hell, you bet even that stupid fucking nameplate with the name Stephen Erikson carved into the gold had costs more than you.

"She said you quit. It was very hard to find you, considering the masks and all." He sniffles derisively. Off-put by your brash display. You were so nice and tender at the brothel, now you were acting like a completely different person.

"There's other guys with cunts, you geriatric chaser —" The enforcer backhands you again and it sends you flying to a shelf, a few books tumbling down while you desperately try not to fall on your ass.

"Troy," the old man reprimands with a drawl. He turns his attention back to you; "We'll pay you handsomely for a night."

You shake your head, digging your nails into the wood as your vision spins again. Troy, that shit, takes off his helmet and he's much more honest compared to his father; his fetish for pain was evident. Perhaps Stephen hadn't filed his teeth like you'd thought. Maybe they were just made to grind bones to dust, prolong their preys pain because unlike a predator with their fangs these teeth aren't for a merciless death.

Clearly he had learned this from his father who was enabling this behaviour. He probably taught him everything he needed to know anyways. You pant as you notice the painted family portrait on the wall of the study. Mr. Erikson and his three sons, all wearing their Enforcer's badge with pride. You recognized them all, each stupid event flashing through your head and each memory makes you more and more nauseous.

"I'm a fucking bartender now, I don't do that shit anymore" you growl out. Stephen sighs, leaning back in his leather tuft chair, looking completely bored by this entire insane exchange.

"Troy tells me he found you with a few kids. Yours?" When you say nothing in reply, he takes your seething silence as a yes. "Following your mothers footsteps, are you?" He shakes a bag of coins. Then tosses it onto the floor, golden pieces spilling out in front of you.

"You can work your ass off. Make life worth living for them."

There was a knock at the door. You waste no time and yell but get the breath knocked out of you as Troy swiftly pins you to the book shelf, a gloved hand over your mouth as he holds your hips in place with his own. Your skin prickles, just his weight on you has your stomach feeling sick.

"Who the hell is that?" Troy hisses at his father, his blue eyes panicked. The old man, as cool as a cucumber, simply tells the person on the other side to state their business.

"It's just the bloody maid," he scoffs out.

But the maid does not state their business. It's just pure silence on the other end until there's suddenly pounding. It makes the old man stand and Troy loosens his grip so you bring your knee between his legs. As he curls over you shove him away and retreat into a corner just as the door bursts open.

You recognize them. Ran, Lock, a few other nameless goons who you don't quite remember, and in the center of it all?

"Silco," you move and you fall to your knees. His expression darkens. The men and women fill the room, crowding Troy and his father to the other end while Silco makes his way to you. He offers a hand and you take it, leaning against him as he looks you over. Your lip was cut and one side of your face was scratched up, bruised and sore. The fact that you were dressed for a swim, torso bare, and feet scratched up from being dragged, made his ire raise.

"They did this to you?" He shrugged his coat off, and slipped it around your shoulders. You drew the front closed, nodding as you tuck your head under his chin.

"I wouldn't fuck them and they got pissy," you whisper to him. Silco growls, the rumbling noise soothing you just like Vander's chuckle would. He cups your face in his hand, his pinkie sliding under your jaw and his thumb across your cheek.

"What is this? Who are you?" Stephen stands, reaching for something on his desk but getting slammed face first onto the hard wood. There's a loud crackling noise that follows and you flinch out of shock. Silco simply guides your head to his neck, one hand smoothing over the back of your head and sighing in relief as his palms lift with no crimson.

"Dad!" Troy's yell gets cut short when he's forced onto his knees. There was a scuffle, fists meeting face and knees slamming themselves into his diaphragm. A small smile twitches to your face as your eyes slip close. Silco squeezes you, jolting you a bit.

"Stay awake, come. Sit."

Silco moves casually. Setting you to lay down on the lounge chair in the study, taking his coat off your shoulders to instead drape it over your. He pulls out his handkerchief to wipe away your blood while he kneels next to you. He takes his sweet time with you, his men keeping the pigs still as they both find themselves pinned down.

"I'd heard an enforcer had been snooping around the brothel. Asking for someone, demanding even" His voice makes your heart calm down, adrenaline ebbing away as he presses down on the cut on your eyebrow. The pain keeps you awake, but he still purses his lips at your hiss. Silco stands up, sighing softly. A kid comes to your side, offering you a flask of water. He's careful as he tilts your head up, watching intently as you sip it down.

"You're a proud man, aren't you Stephen?" Silco admires the family portrait, taking it the details of each face before he turns his attention to the table of trinkets below it. "A family of enforcers. Protecting the city you love." Silco tilts his head as he hears them struggle once again.

"While the city you constantly take from suffer from your greed."

"Fuckin' trencher," Troy spits out. His cheek pressed on by the heel of a boot. His blue eyes were shaking with indignation. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Fissure Folk, Sump Rat, Undercity scum," Silco answers. He steps over Troy's head and jerks his chin to signal Lock to step away from Stephen. He does and Stephen inhales, his entire body shaking as he coughs and coughs. The impressive table creaked under the old man's rattling breathes.

Ran brings Silco the fallen leather tuft chair and he crosses his legs as he sits.

"I'm sure you boast about being a near native to the undercity. With how often you visit our brothels with your men and sons. Using our bodies for your sick desires then beating it when you have the uniform on. Pretending to be a saint as your city fills your pockets. As if you've actually done anything worthwhile."

Stephen continues to hack, wheezing and whimpering. Every breath he took felt like a blunt blade was scratching up his lungs. His ribs were broken, he was sure of it.

"Yet, despite how many hours you've spent with our men and women, you still fail to understand the most important thing about us." Silco spreads his legs, elbows on his knees as he leans in so Stephen was looking right into his eyes.

"We protect our own."

"Please," Stephen's voice sounded strained. Like air escaping out of a broken pipe, the pitch ear grating. "I'm sorry."

Silco openly observes Stephen's splotchy red face. Cheeks full and plump, his brows trimmed and his dyed hair shining unnaturally cherry red. The family potrait was recent, but the artist had covered up their earlier renditions of Stephen's wrinkles while his blonde sons all looked their current age.

"No, you aren't." He states dryly, motioning for the man to slam Stephen back onto the table, him howling in pain just as Ran switches the radio on.

A jaunty tune plays. The singer sighing about puppy love as the melodic background singers and stringed instruments accompany his voice. He leans back in the chair, nodding as Stephen's captor wrings his hands back.

"But you will be."

"No!" Troy twists and bucks like an animal. His eyes wide with horror. As if he hadn't intended to strip you of all your dignity just moments ago. The sight of that fear on their face, that dawn of realization; even when they don't realize that they're only getting what they deserve, it soothes a part of Silco's soul.

"No?" Silco repeats.

"What do you want?" Troy is pleading now. The sight of his old man's hand pulled behind his body, ready to be broken in half, causing him enough distress for tears to fill his eyes.

"We'll give you anything!"

"Troy!" Stephen wheezes out in retaliation. Silco looks at the golden nameplate on his desk and scoffs. Anything? This house wasn't in any impressive neighbourhood. The portrait maker had been shoddy in their cover-up. The trinkets had a fine sheet of dust across them and the books weren't kept in the best conditions. Their maid had been an old woman with her back hunched, making her shrink down to the height of a pre-teen. Tired, slow at work; not the best money could get.

They weren't rich by Piltover standards. It's why they go to the Undercity for their parties. Things were cheaper there and get even cheaper when you flash your badges.

"You've nothing I want." He says simply, making sure Troy felt that pit of dread consume him entirely.

"We didn't know, we didn't know he was yours" Troy squirms, but the thug above him with the lazy eye simply stomped down on him harder. Knocking the air out of him and making him bite down on his tongue hard enough it fills his mouth with blood.

"No, because all that mattered was he was a trencher and he'd rejected your money. So predictable."

Lock smirks as Silco jerks his chin again and begins pulling Stephen's arm the wrong way. He screeches like a sewer mouse. You find yourself coughing as you laugh, reaching a hand up to cover your eyes at the noises. The song kept playing, the contrast of its sweet melody and words to the scenario before you simply adding more fuel to your delirious humour.

"PLEASE!" The youngest son doesn't even try to fight when his enforcer badge does nothing to intimidate others. When he's in a room full of people who wanted nothing more than crush him, he tucks tail and shows off his underbelly.

You try to hear what Silco says next, but the headache begins to grow stronger and the blonde kid next to you panics when he notices your eyes fluttering close. "Hey," he hisses, drawing Ran's attention as they kneel by your side.

Their voices become a blur and unconsciousness beckons you so sweetly. As hard as you try to fight, you find yourself sinking into that dark embrace, floating into nothingness as the pain shrinks away.

There's an incessant purring next to you. Just under your left armpit, warm and comfortable. It's the only thing you can feel and hear, your senses still dulled. While your mind runs a million miles a second, your limbs feel heavy and locked; as if they'd turned into lead. You're trapped in your own mind. Your eyelids feel like bricks and as your eyes move under them, left to right and right to left, you feel his hand slip into yours.

"Easy now," that voice, that honeyed drawl. You breathe sharply through your nose and he squeezes your hand. "I'm here. Easy."

Silco lifts the darkness from your eyes and your vision takes its damn sweet time returning to you. You see him though. Shifting from a blurry figure to that face you adored so much. He offers a ghost of a smile, bringing your knuckles to his lips as he sees the wildness in your eyes tame itself. The damp rag across your eyes is placed back into the bowl.

"You're alright. The Doctor says your adrenaline just ran out," he pushes you down gently when you try to sit up. It was for the best, considering how much your body was aching. Not even in the sexy, satisfied, way. You wince, grunting when you fall back onto the mattress. The purring machine next to you lifts its head and you raise a brow at the furless cat. It yawns, looking a bit disgruntled at your movement but stubbornly staying put as it curls up.

Breathing ball sack aside, you ask Silco what happened.

"What do you remember?" he lets your hand go to squeeze out the water from the rag, wiping away the cold sweat on your neck. "You giving me your coat, then some girl squealing, but don't remember much after."

Your retelling makes him scoff, clearly amused. The sight of your bruised lips and face twists his mouth into a frown. "I should've been there sooner."

"Don't start with that, come on." You wince as your sides pulsed in pain, a boot shaped bruise already beginning to darken. "How'd you even find out about the Eriksons?"

"The kids were running down the Lanes barefoot and wet - " you gasp and cut him off.

"The kids!" You lurch up, the cat growling in discontent as it sprung up into an arched back pose from the sudden movement. Regret is instant and striking, your muscles screaming in pain and head pulsing once again. Silco steadies you by your shoulders, brows furrowing.

"Fuh - fuck, are they alright? He mentioned seeing them, Silco. Tell me those assholes are - "

"They're dealt with."

His tone makes you pause, you peer at him through your eyelashes. "Did you...?" he smiles but shakes his head.

"Him and his father are more useful alive. But a few bones were broken. He was in the academy with Sheriff Grayson's second in command, Marcus."

Silco leans in, pressing his forehead with yours. Uncaring of the dampness of your forehead or your hair. The tip of his nose brushes agaisnt your cheek and you flutter yours eyes at the feeling.

"So he's in your pocket?"

"I was worried," he dismisses the questions so blatantly you wring out a breathless laugh. "Your madame said she had a feeling who the enforcer was, if it weren't for her..."

"I would've been fine," you cup his marred cheek, allowing him to slip his arms around you. "I'm tough."

No, you're not, Silco wants to say. The fever you've developed from the stress and cold and the wounds on your body — you were a statue made off jagged metal but it didn't mean you couldn't get scratched, bent, melted. You would have survived but that didn't mean you should be going through such injustices.

"I plan on staying here until we're free," you promise to him as you slip your eyes closed. "I wanna see Zaun with my own eyes."

You feel him lean in closer and then his lips are on yours. Your brows knit together, the cut there stinging but you don't mind it. Silco kisses you like he wants to devour you. The heat he brings is like a glowing dagger; the silver steaming and glowing orange from the fire. Cutting you and cauterizing the wound at the same time. Painful, seeringly painful, but not deadly.

You part your lips, twisting your head as he clutches the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his hands making the hairs on the back of your neck stand, applauding him almost. You clutch at his vest, whispering his name as he tangles his tongue with yours.

Feeling you, holding you; Silco can't remember the last time he's felt this light and grounded at the same time. He was truly worried, you know. His heart dropping to his stomach when Deckard informed him about Vander's brats rushing through in complete panic. It was a random act of violence. Piltie's finest once again throwing their weight around.

You lean back and he chases. Your teeth clack together and you wince, so he kneads at your nape and lowers you back on the bed.

You should stop. This wasn't right. Your grip on Silco's vest loosens as you remember sweet Vander. Whose kisses felt like burning smoke going down your throat, filling your body with warmth that is entirely too phantom-like and too suffocating all the same. You shouldn't go further, you shouldn't. Silco slips a hand to your chest, pulling your thin blanket down and you wince, pulling away from the kiss to gasp. Silco and you pant heavily, the heat dissipating the longer you do.

"I'm sorry," he shakes his head and assures you it's alright.

"How long have I been out?"

"A couple of hours. He's been looking for you. His accomplices too." Most patrons of The Last Drop had been anxiously waiting to hear your return. We take care of our own. Those just weren't pretty words. Benzo had told them to calm down, saying Vander will handle it but it was evident that a pin could drop and they'd turn over every little rock to find you.

Their respect for Vander's leadership is the only thing holding them back. It's holding you back too, he can tell. Ever since you'd moved in, you stray away from his touches. You've grown a sort of affection for Vander. Just like he had.

"Shit, I should head back then." Silco nods, helping you sit up. "The boy he says he's at the edge of the Lanes. Asking around."

It makes your heart flutter.

Ran looks you over when you walk up to them, a question in their eyes.

'You okay?'

"Could be better," you tell them. Dressed in an oversized shirt and your pants from earlier. They nod, reaching to slip their hand under your arm and you wince.

"Thanks for this and the save," they shrug and look ahead.

'Don't mention it.'

When you do spot Vander, your face brightens up. But Ran frowns, suddenly hiding behind a couple of crates. You don't quite get it until you see blue.

Vander was talking to an enforcer. Not just any enforcer either, the fucking sheriff.

"Grayson, I'm not askin' for much here," he growls out. She looks away, shaking her head. "You're not giving me much to go off on, Vander. The kids say he got taken by an enforcer for no reason in broad daylight but they can't even tell you any more details?"

"They were terrified, I'm sorry if they didn't come t'have a chat with 'em!"

Vander's muscles were tense, shoulders drawn and jaw clenched. He looked exhausted. His hair tousled from him constantly running his hands through them. The greys in his beard looking more prominent all of a sudden.

"Grayson, please."

Please.

He's begging for help from an enforcer.

You dislodge from Ran, giving them a nod as thanks before you limp towards them. The sound of your uneven footsteps makes their head snap your way. Vander whispers your name, then says it again with more volume as he rushes to hold you. He scans you, from top to bottom as he holds you in his arms.

"Shit, shit, you're okay." You're not, but your anger does calm the tiniest bit as he pulls you into a hug. Grayson looks at you and from over Vander's shoulders, you glare daggers into her. That fucking uniform, that breathing mask hung around her neck.

You still hear it. Vander pleading for help from her.

"Are you alright?" Sheriff Grayson says, coming close as Vander lets you go. You push him away, fists trembling as you walk towards her. Her eyes harden, lips pursing at your unrestrained strife.

"Screw you," you hiss, digging your pointer finger to her chest. "Screw everything you stand for."

Vander calls out your name, placing a hand on your shoulder that you shrug off. Even when your life had been in danger. Even when he could've done something. Vander remained a docile pet to Topside, begging for his masters help like a good lap dog.

Your lips tremble, tears filling your eyes.

"I'm here for you, (Y/N). If you could just tell me the name of the enforcer who'd done this to you, I can help you," Grayson tries to reason. Even when you were patched up, it was clear you'd been smacked around.

"It doesn't matter," you seethe out. "I just want to help, I can't if you don't tell me," you shake your head and walk past her.

"Fuck you."

"(Y/N)," Vander offers Grayson a glance but she shakes her head, turning away as he rushes after you. She watches the both of you, the anger in your posture so evident it makes her mouth twist.

Vander is quiet as you get inside the elevator. As it rumbles to life, you grip onto the railings instead of him and he tires to soothe you but you flinch away from him. "Darlin'" he places a hand on your shoulder and you spin, gnashing your teeth as you yell.

"Sheriff Grayson!? You went to her!?"

"What else was I meant to do?" He grits out.

"Fight! Vander! Fight back!" you throw a fist at his chest, he lets you.

"I was fucking terrified, do you - do you know how fucked it was!? He grabbed me off the damn street! He fucking -" you inhaled sharply as your ribs screamed in pain. If you closed your eyes you could hear the thudding noise of his feet flying to your body.

Vander feels his heart drop and he tilted your head up. His large hand cupping your face as tears streamed down your cheeks. You're running hot, fever returning as your emotions ran high.

"I was so scared, Vander." Your sob pierced through his chest. Nothing had compared to that pain of letting you down. Nothing. Not when the skin of his knuckles ripped apart or when enforcer bullets whizzed past his ears and made his hearing tune into a high pitched ring or when he'd been stabbed. He gathered you in his arms, despite your weak pushes and protests. He holds you to his chest and tucks your head under his chin, just holding you there.

"I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry."

Heads raised the second the doors opened. You blinked in surprise at the sight of the usual patrons. A blue blur rushed towards you and you grunted at her tight hug but smile down at her.

"Hey, Powder..." you pressed her face to your stomach, rubbing her back as she sobbed in relief. Vi approaches you next, showing a rare moment of softness as she slips under your open arm. Milo and Claggor rush in as well and you wince a bit but just laugh softly. Ekko sighed out in relief, Benzo's eyes softening at the sight.

"You all worried about me?" you give the patrons a coy smile that they scoff at but the relief was evident. "Cut the bullshit and stop smiling," Sevika says, crossing her arms. "What the fuck happened?"

Vander drapes his jacket around your shoulder. "Story for another time. How about some free drinks, yeah?" the mood lightens up a bit, despite the question hanging heavily in the air.

Powder is glued to you, sniffling as she clings but you don't mind. "C'mon, let's go down," you tell the kids and they nod. Milo rambles about what he'd done if you weren't caught off-guard. Vi shaking his head at him while Claggor just helped you down the stairs.

"He alright?" Benzo asks Vander when he comes around to the bar. Derek waves Vander away, pouring everyone a drink and Vander nods appreciatively his way as he sits. "No, he isn't" he confesses, glaring at the bottles of liquor, at his reflection in them.

"Fight! Vander! Fight back!"

Benzo slides him his pipe and Vander simply holds it in his hands. The look in your eyes. That disappointment etched into every line on your face. The rage that flowed down your cheeks. Vander brought the apparatus to his lips, lighting a match and inhaling to calm his shot nerves.

"He'll be alright. He's the tough sort, yeah?" Benzo places a heavy hand on Vander's shoulder, tilting his frame down a bit. "He was scared, Benzo."

"He was scared and I couldn't do anythin'."

"Powder, I'm okay," you reassured for the fifth time in a row. You don't dare try to peel her away from you but you do make an effort to calm her trembling frame. Poor thing was shaking like a damn leaf as she laid besides you on her bottom bunk. Vi smiles wryly, just watching the scene with more emotion than a kid her age should have. Ekko peers down from the top bunk, asking if the cut brow hurt and you just scrunch your nose and laugh.

"Nah, come on. I'm not a wimp, Little Man."

Mylo nudges Ekko, echoing your statement in his own words. Claggor appears, holding a cup of some warm water and offering it to you. "Here, you must be tired," you thank him and hitch Powder up with you as you sit up a bit.

"You guys, I really am okay."

Powder just tightened her grip around you. All she could hear was the sounds of that scene. You sprawled onto the floor, half-dressed, bare foot; a fully armoured enforcer above you with his legs swinging back as you yell at her to go.

"Don't leave," she whispers against your stomach and you brush your fingers through her bangs. "I won't, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

"Where are you four going?" they stiffen up, twisting their heads to look at you as you leaned against the railing leading to Vander's office and bedroom. You were dressed in a large shirt that reached your knees, eyes still puffy from sleep as you held a mug of something warm. Mylo gawks, mouth gaping like a fish as he tries to find the words; hands coming to scratch the back of his head. Claggor just stiffens up like a board and Powder hides slightly behind him.

Vi lowers her hood, looking a bit smug. "A morning walk," she says cooly. You arch a brow, bringing the rim of the mug to your lips. Last night had been a busy night for the bar, a few scuffles ignited because some dumbass didn't know when to cut himself off when he needed to. So Vander was fully conked out and you wanted him to take as long as he needed to recuperate.

"Mhm," you glance at each of their faces for a moment then sigh and close your eyes. "What's the job?"

Vi's shoulders fall. Damn you and your perceptiveness. It was unnerving how good you were at reading people at times.

"Little Man gave a tip," that woke you up a bit more. "You sure you can pull it off?" Vi nods firmly, her shoulders squaring confidently.

"We're ready."

"Stay safe and stay out of sight," they grin up at you and rush out through the back. Powder gives you a wave that you return before silence washes over the empty bar. You crack your neck, grunting as the satisfying popping noises echo then make your way down the stairs.

You prepare to set-up for the noon crowd. Leisurely moving around as you swept and wiped down everything. When Vander does lumbers down, he gathers you in his arms by wrapping them around your waist. Those damned arms. You swear his bicep was as big as your damn head.

"Mornin'" you chuckle as he rubs his beard to your cheek. "You weren't b'sides me, not a very good start" you roll your eyes at him, patting his arm so he lets you go and you can turn around to look at him.

"Kids awake?"

"They left to get breakfast," you turn and plant a kiss on his lips, smiling as he groans into it. "I made you coffee, c'mon. Gotta start the day right." Vander groans again, firmly cupping your ass in his hand and lifting you onto a table. You laugh, glancing at the windows but he simply blocks your body from view.

"If we're talking about starting the day right..." "Vander!"

"You said the kids are out, right?" You squeal when he brings his face to your neck, moaning as he kisses over the previous hickeys he'd left. He brings your crotches together and you chew on your lips as you feel his morning wood against your clothed cunt.

"Fine, let's start the day right." You feel him grin against your neck.

“Atta’ boy.”

Huck is chipper today. Greeting you with that flush on his cheek that never fails to remind you of a blushing maiden. "Closing that deal, Huck baby?" you asked, smiling sweetly his way. He sputters but nods, asking for a pint to sweeten the deal.

"Coming right up" Vander presses a hand to your waist as he walks behind you, asking if you could wipe down a table and you nod. Sevika bumps her knee to yours as you clean the table next to hers.

"Is he a damn vacuum?" she says as she eyes the hickeys on you. "You jealous, Sev?" her nose crinkles at your teasing but she doesn't deny it. She just laughs at it, turning her attention back to her cards. You lean down, making a grimace as your stare at her deck that makes the others start double guessing.

Who were they to believe? Sevika's calm expression or your grimace?

She huffs through her nose, watching your profile from the corner of her eyes. Though that's cut short by the tense scene in Huck's corner. You straighten up, brows furrowing as you watch it unfold.

Though everything goes smoothly once Vander sends them a simple message, something about that interaction makes your stomach twist. The news about an explosion happening Topside didn't help ease this pit of snakes and they only knot themselves into worse shape when the kids walk in.

Vander and you share a look as he walks to their room, you can't leave the bar unattended so you trusted him to ask. But this feeling just wouldn't leave you. When Vander pops back put with a sack over his shoulder and Claggor following behind, you slip out the bar to stop in front of your boy.

“Who did this?” Claggor shifts under your gaze, trying to cover his bruise with his hand. Pretending to scratch at his cheek. “One of us,” Vander answers for him. That brings up more questions than it does answers. So Claggor just shrugs.

“It was some blonde kid and his goons. Said something about us crossing his turf.”

You frown but let them pass after ruffling Claggor’s hair. Turning your attention back to the bar. The rest of the night goes by smoothly enough, a few verbal scuffs but nothing you couldn’t handle. When Vander returns, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’d Benzo say?” he tightened his grip then sighed. It was a heavy one and you make a questioning noise.

“What? What happened?”

Vander poured both of you a shot and silently handed you the glass. You take it but the frown does not disappear. He clinks your glasses then throws his head back, you copy his motion. Not grimacing as it burns down your throat, simply staring Vander down as that feeling in your gut worsens.

“They need their slab of meat for the explosion today.”

Deckard bumps into you as he gets escorted out by Lock. Who does not waste anytime in flirting with you: “Hey, hot stuff,” Lock calls out and you scoff. “Keep on dreaming, bud.”

“Every night, baby!” his reply makes you smile, shaking your head as you open the door to the lab. The squealing pink vines on the floor never failing to make you shudder as you avoid stepping on them. You know they’re not technically alive but you swear, every creak and whine this rundown factory makes is just these things making their way out.

“Ah, (Y/N),” your smile tightens. “Hey, Doc.” he shares a glance between Silco and you then walks to his station. In his own way telling you to just ignore his presence. Silco continues to stare at the rat cage, entranced at the squealing and yowling. The splatter of blood against the glass makes you flinch but you stand next to Silco and pale.

“What the hell is that?”

“An upper hand,” Silco traces the planes of your face with his eyes. The micro expressions you display — twitches, spasms, tugs. Even when contorted in disgust, you were a marvel. Especially when backdropped by the creatures of the depths. The speckles of light piercing through the water just add to your allure. He knows you’re not fond of his affections, not without feeling guilt, but he reaches for your hand and presses your knuckles to his lips.

You steel your emotions, expressions turning neutral. As if you could hide the way your lips quiver to hide that grin.

“Silco. Did you ask Deckard to jump my kids?” The softness of the moment is broken by the accusation. He lets go of your hand and glances at the savage rat tearing into the corpse of the cat.

“I told the boy to simply observe. I gain nothing from hurting them.”

You purse your lips, crossing your arms as you walk away from the gruesome view. You glance at the table, picking up the gun-shaped needle device, testing its weight in your hands.

“You doubt me?” You frown at the tone he takes. “No, I don’t.”

Because no matter how you spin it, Silco was right. There was no scenario where Deckard trying to beat the shit out of your kids gave him an upper hand in the grand scheme of things.

Silco watches your fingers tinker with his device. Lost deep in thought while you flip it over and trace your touch down every scratch or bump it had. It's on the tip of your tongue, he sees the way your jaw is clenched. How your shoulders are tensed up despite wearing that thick jacket, hood drawn up to hide your face.

A bitterness ebbs its way to Silco's rationale. That look in your eyes, that contemplativeness. It was doubt.

"I won't be able to give you an answer if you don't ask," he turns around to the underwater scene instead. The sight of you weakens him too much. Silco can't allow you to be a distraction, no when the pieces are falling just where they need to.

"There's nothing to ask." You place the device down and slip your eyes closed. No matter what he says, how he tries to reassure you; it wouldn't change what was already set in motion.

"You said the kids would stay out of it, right?"

"Yes."

He wouldn't look at you as he says it. His figure casting a long shadow on the scuffed floors of the lab and the hairs on the back of your neck pricks. The Doctor calls out your name and you reluctantly tear your eyes away from Silco to tilt your head questioningly at him.

"It's getting late. Best to get back before suspicions raise." The unrest was worsening. The Undercity folk have been walking on a tight rope made off steel for years now. The rope digging viciously into your feet, slicking up the material while you held your hands out to your side. This so called 'peace' that the Topsiders called it was laughable.

With how hard the enforcers were hitting now, that tightrope walker's knees were beginning to buckle as their blood gushes beneath them.

You openly glare at their masked heads, nails digging into the wooden crate of goods. Waiting for them to pass you before you stepped out from the tight alleyway. You worry for a moment about your kids. They were in a more secluded part of town, in their little hideout and you hope they're keeping their heads down like Vander had told them too.

A pair of boots appear in your vision, that obnoxious mechanical breathing lifting the edge of your hood. You scowl, lifting your head to glare into those bug-like lenses.

He says your name, you can tell his face is scrunched up as if even muttering it annoys him. You curl your nose, standing your ground. "What the hell do you want?" Troy scoffs, his gloves creaking when his hands curl into fists.

"Just being thorough in my search, we're looking for four sump rats."

You glance over his shoulder, noticing a few other enforcers asking others who do little to hide their anger. Topside really doesn't know how much restraint it takes to continue this 'peace' and they still insist on poking the bear.

"A councilor's kid almost got hurt."

"So they need four kids to get their lick back?"

One kid almost got hurt and Topside is asking for justice. Yet they turn a blind eye to the kids who were breathing in toxins and starve day after day. Because it's never been about unity, it's about subservience.

Troy glances at your crate and you scoff. "Piss of, Piltie," you shoulder through him and Troy lets you. His fathers arm would never bend right anymore so he knew better than to put his hands on you again. But he still glared at the back of your head, burning holes into you. You turn, walking backwards and lifting one hand to flip him off before you make your way back home.

Sevika's voice is the first thing you hear when you walk in. You place the crate down, slipping your hood down and glancing at the small crowd of people. Vander regards you with a nod and you stand besides him.

"We should hit them back. We got the numbers to beat them." Sevika's words makes a few head nod, soft cheers of agreement echoing through the room.

"Yeah. Let's teach them what it means to mess with us." Another voice says, you cross your arms, leaning your hip against the bar. Sevika is looking right at you, tilting her head at the apprehension on your face.

"You sure that's what you want? We crossed that bridge once before, we all know how that ended." Vander is trying to reason with an angry crowd. An exhausted one. You do nothing to hide your frown at his words. He pretends not to see it.

"You're just protecting your kids," she retorts. A vein jumps in Vander's neck, his jaw clenching the tiniest bit.

"I'm protecting our people. I'd do the same for any one of you. We look out for each other. It's the way it's always been. This will blow over. We just need to stand together."

His sentiments were noble. But the tightrope was beginning to tremble and the walker on top of it was now desperately crouched to grip at it with their hands instead.

"The Vander I knew, the one who built the underground, wouldn't be afraid to fight."

Vander stands and you feel a smidge of fear in your heart. He was pulled taut, all of this stress showing through the tightness in his posture. He towered over Sevika, a rumbling growl building in his throat.

"Do I look afraid?"

Sevika doesn't falter. She scoffs, meeting his challenging gaze with no issue.

"No. You look weak."

Marcus walks in with a purpose. His men following behind him making sure to puff their chests with each stride in. The Last Drop patrons find their fingers twitching, readying itself to grab at the blade near their hips. You level your gaze with Troy, he meets it head on and in a blink-and-you'll-miss motion he glances at the stairs leading down.

You straighten up, heart jumping to your throat.

Marcus' arrogance is like rubbing salt into an already festering wound. He doesn't need to say but he does it anyways and your little tightrope walker is now gone. Just two poles standing in the darkness, with no evidence of the rope or the walker ever existing.

You rush down the stairs, the door flying open and calling out for your kids. You instantly gather Powder and Ekko into your arms, checking over Claggor and Mylo while Vi talks to Vander.

"We need to fight back!" her fist slams into the wall and you meet Vander's eyes from over her shoulder.

Still.

Still, he remains stubborn. He tells Vi he has to show her something and you feel that same disappointment build in you. That day you saw him pleading for help from Sheriff Grayson after she had asked if the kids were truly getting their facts right.

Vander was too soft to protect anyone. Your heart squeezes at the revelation, but you numb yourself out to it. Even when Piltover was calling for the blood of your kids, he still deludes himself into this fantasy of peace.

He was weak.

You bring your lips to Powder's forehead, keeping Ekko close to you while Mylo and Claggor shift uneasily as Vi follows Vander out.

"Come on, help me close up early." Mylo and Claggor uncross their arms, nodding. You pull away from the embrace and cup Powder and Ekko's faces in each hand.

"Ekko, you should get back to Benzo's, it's getting late." He pauses but nods, so you stroke over the back of his head and press a kiss to his temple. "Enforcers are gonna be crawling all over, want me to drop you off?"

"No, I can be sneaky!" Ekko beams up at you and you return his grin, standing to send him off. Powder stands next to you, watching as Ekko disappears into the alleyways with an agility of a street cat.

"Why won't Vander fight?" she looks up at you, brows furrowed. "They're ruining everything. The enforcers. They threw a guy through a window, they're -"

"Monsters." You finish for her. She sees the scar running down your brow and inches close, so you wrap an arm around her. Man, she's grown like a sprout, limbs all lanky and awkward.

She couldn't grow up in a world like this.

"All of them are monsters," she whispers under her breath and your silence just cements this further into her brain.

"All of them," you continue.

When Vander returns with your eldest, he knows he's pissed you off. You won't meet his eyes, nursing a drink in your hand while you stare at a card in between your hands. He stands next to you and plucks your old business card from your fingers. It was wrinkled, yellowing with age and some words already fading. But your writing on the back remains.

'Come see again soon'

"Revisiting memories?" that was the theme tonight it seems. You'd slipped that into his jacket after he pulled off a drunkard away from you. Vander still remembers the seat you were sat in, what you were wearing, and that gleam in your eyes when you catch him staring at you for a bit too long.

He sits next to you and glances at the cast iron gloves. Those memories do little to make him happy. You take a swing of your drink, slamming the cup down and moving to stand. Vander calls out your name, grabbing at your arm to tug you in. You grunt when you land against his chest.

"You're pissed at me."

You roll your eyes at him, using your hands to push away but he does not relent.

"You honestly think we should go to war with Topside?" there's a bite to his tone. His patience with Vi had been in abundance, she was young and hurt. But out of everyone else, he thought you should understand him better.

"You want her to live like this her entire life? Keeping her head down and taking every beat down for a noble purpose?" You slur out, ripping yourself from his arms to grab at your coat.

"I want her to stay alive. I want all of you to stay alive" his voice raised the tiniest bit but he restrains himself and it pisses you off more. You put on your jacket and he sighs. "Where the hell are you going?"

You smack his hand away, stumbling a bit as you turned to face him.

He wants to hear it. A scathing 'fuck you' or 'leave me alone, asshole'. But you just narrow your eyes at him, lips trembling as its set in that frown, then just shake your head and turn away to walk out.

You don't know where you planned on going. You let your legs carry you around, aimlessly wondering through the alleyways until you find yourself at a familiar backdoor. You push the heavy door open. The busy wallpaper and creaky floorboards give you more comfort than you expected.

"(Y/N)?" Doe blinks at the sight of you. She takes off her mask and you stare at her concerned face. "Are you okay?" you shake your head and lean in. Her eyes widen when your lips meet hers, she places firm hands on your chest and push you back.

"You're drunk."

You shake your head, cupping her face again and kissing her. She groans, murmuring your name before she bites down. You hiss, back hitting the wall as she shoves you. "You're with Vander." The reminder makes you laugh. You slide down the wall, putting your head between your knees as your tears well up.

Sevika thanks Doe for telling her where you were, crouching to grab a fistful of your hair to raise your head. Your empty gaze makes her sigh. You don't even fight when she slings your arm over her shoulder and lifts you onto your feet.

"The hell are you two taking me?"

"Silco's." Doe answers flatly.

Sevika feels you stiffen up. "I knew you hated them, but never figured you'd been working with him the whole time," she gruffs out. "Wish you would've told me about it sooner."

"Sorry, I'll be sure to invite you into my super secret group club the next time, okay?"

You're sober enough to be sarcastic without slurring words together. She just adjusts her grip on you and makes her way to the factory by the docks.

The Doctor greets you as Sevika drops you onto a chair. A dark shadow moves idly by the windows and you clutch at your neck as you crack it again. "Why am I here?" you mumble, pinching your brows. "To keep you safe."

You look at him through squinted eyes. "Why wouldn't I be safe?"

You had no idea what had happened. Not Benzo's murder and not Vander's kidnapping. Call it luck or a happy accident, Silco doesn't care. He's glad you're not looking at him with an ounce of hatred, just simple confusion.

"Stumbling around drunk," he begins "late at night." He was worried you'd run away. Ran and Lock had looked for you at the bar, even asked around for you. Thankfully, Sevika had found you.

"I'm a big boy" you reply, leaning back in the chair only to smack your hand onto the edge of a table when you realise it was a stool.

"Sober him up," he tells the Doctor who reaches for a small jar on the shelves. "This won't make you sober," he tells you as he unplugs the cork from the top, you grimace and bring your face close. "But it'll wake you up."

The sharp sting that wafts up your nose makes you groan, backing away from his outstretched hand. Doe keeps you from falling backwards, steadying you while you making hacking noises.

Silco and Doe nod at each other. She's got you, he can trust her with this. He turns and Sevika follows in step. They step out, the door thudding close.

It was better to keep you away from this. You cared too much about Vander, he can't let you get distracted from the freedom that's right there. Shimmering like a desert oasis in front of him. Hate him if you must, but Vander had done himself in the second he decided to put on those handcuffs.

The hound of the underground was nothing but a lapdog now. He can't keep his people in check anymore, it's why they've turned to him instead. They need this. Zaun needs this. Vander will be known as a coward who ran away with his kids. Leaving the undercity to save his own skin, so his hands remained clean from anymore blood. Like the true coward he was.

You'll forgive him for this. You'll have to.

You're standing now, peering into the rat cage while Doe stared at the test tubes full of creatures on the shelves. Every time you even glance at the direction of the exit, Doe steps subtly in your way. He wanted to keep you in here? Seriously? You weren't that damned drunk.

You hear muffled voices from outside and as Doe picks up a test tube, you take your chances wrestling with her. She blinks in alarm, nearly dropping the tube as you suddenly dash towards the door. The Doctor stands as the the glass breaks and splatters green glowing liquid onto the floor. She calls out your name and you twist the handle open, slamming it closed in her face. She pounds on the door, cussing you out for being a bitch and you would've replied with your own string of colourful words but a body crashes next to you.

It's Lock. He groans, jaw loose and mouth bloody as he his head limply falls backwards. You notice the shadows from the bridge and look up.

"Vi!" she feels ice in her veins. She chances a glance down and yells out your name in confusion. Silco tightens his grip on the railing so Sevika whistles sharply. You yell as a few of her men try to grab you.

"(Y/N)?' Mylo repeats, his hands trembling even more. Vander's heart drops to his stomach but he snaps Mylo back into focus.

Why was she wearing those gloves? No, what the hell was she doing here in the first place?

"Silco!" you avoid a pair of burly arms, ducking away and bumping into the crates filled with Shimmer. "What are you doing!? You promised!"

He motions for more of his men to rush the bridge. Vi doesn't have enough time to process your words fully. She shakes her arms, cracking her neck as she prepares to fight. She must've misheard. She must have.

"SILCO!"

Your yells are making Vander's heart race. He can't see you. Only hear you. If Silco was ready to get rid of his kids just to ensure his control over the undercity, he doesn't dare to imagine what he'd do to you. Vi is determined, she cannot let her fathers die here. Not when she was the one who'd put them in this situation in the first place. These series of events, this domino effect all began from that damn explosion.

She can't let herself be orphaned again. She can't let Powder be orphaned again.

You continue to evade them, grabbing a wooden plank and smashing it over a few heads to put enough distance. When you reach the stairs, you yell out for Vi again. Silco doesn't dare look your way as you rush towards the bridge. He cannot get distracted. He can't.

Sevika grabs at you, her arm wound around your waist and you snarl. You aim your elbow at her head, making her flinch enough to loosen her grip. It still isn't enough though. Even then, she squeezes you like a damn snake.

"Let him go!" Vi growls out, adrenaline pumping through her veins. You dig your nails into Sevika, slamming your fist onto her arms while you struggle. Deckard watches this half-dazed, purple liquid oozing out from the corners of his eyes as he's bent over the railings.

"Ready to rise to the surface?" Silco holds the glass vial of Shimmer to his face. Deckard's breathing quickens and he downs it.

It happens quick. One second Deckard is just another boy and the next he's a monstrous figure rushing towards Vi. You yell, finally managing to elbow Sevika right in her face. She drops you and the second your feet are on the ground you sprint towards Vi.

You gather her in your arms and damn near skid to a stop once you past the threshold of safety. "The door! The door!" Vi yells, grabbing the handle and you help her. It slams close just in the nick of time, Deckard squealing from the other side as he pounds his fists so hard, it makes you and Vi bounce away from the door. You dig your heels in and grip onto the handle, sweat beading down your nose as you try to catch your breath.

"(Y/N)! You alright?" you cuss under your breath but let out a breathless laugh.

"Never better."

Vander sighs, looking to Vi next. He feels the rush of cool air as Claggor finally makes a hole big enough for them to escape from.

"You did good, Vi."

She feels hope stir within her.

You don't remember what happens next. It's a fiery blur, only flashes of images bursting through every time you open your eyes to blink. The smoke was so thick and the metal door ontop of you was so heavy. Vi is crying.

Vi is crying and Vi never cries.

She calls for your name, her body trembling underneath you. When you wheeze, she sobs. Whether out of pain or relief, you can't tell. Ahead of you, you see the most horrifying sight.

Claggor. Mylo.

Dead.

"I want her to stay alive. I want all of you to stay alive."

You brace yourself onto your elbows, straining out a yell as you try to lift yourself up enough for Vi to shimmy out. It groans above you, scraping against the floor inch by painful inch as you feel your eyes water. Vi calls out your name again, finally looking her age as she tries to crawl out.

What have you done?

When a hulking figure comes close, you yell in an attempt to scare him off. But it wasn't Deckard, it was Vander. Your Vander, with his veins glowing purple and his body nearly double its size. There's heat coming off from him, his rapid growth most likely putting his body through torture. You swear you can hear his enlarged heart as it beats like a war drum.

What have you done?

Vi finally crawls out and she turns to hold the door up so you can too. You stumble and kneel right in front of Mylo's outstretched hand, grasping at it while your other hand tries to dig him out.

"C'mon, c'mon baby. You're okay, you're okay." You sob, lifting your eyes to look at Claggor next and begin shaking your head. It was just ash and debris, he wasn't that pale. He was strong, he was your strong boy. You wipe away some of the dust from his face and choke back a sob when all he does is loll his head to the side.

"No, no, no. Claggor, Mylo."

There's a loud explosion. The building rumbles, the roof creaking as it sinks down. Vi is clutching at your shoulder, crying as she stares at her brothers. Vander gathers you both in his arms and flies through the escape plan. You scream, feeling the heat lick at your back.

Vander takes the brute force of the fall. Cushioning you and Vi as his last act of love. You hear it, his heart as it slows. You shake your head, looking down at him, cupping his face as rain descends onto you.

"Vander," Vi whimpers out.

"No, baby, please. I'm sorry," you brush your thumb over his cheek, one hand remaining on his chest. The shimmer was wearing down, his pounding heart begins to get slower and slower.

"I'm so sorry, Vander."

He leans into your palm, feeling the tiniest bit of happiness that you two were still alive. He'd always joked about dying, how he wanted to have you over him like an angel. And you'd always laugh, telling him he was ridiculous.

"Take care of Powder."

Vi screams next to you. You hang your head, sobbing as you hold his face in your hands. You press your foreheads together, kissing him one last time before you pull away.

"Vi, it worked!"

Who was that?

"Did you see me? My monkey bomb finally worked!"

Vi gets up and you turn your head to follow her. The sight before you is strange. Vi and Powder were fighting, yelling at each other but you can barely hear it over the rain and crackling fire.

Vi hits Powder and you shakily bring yourself to your feet. As Powder begs for her sister to come back, you stumble towards her. She turns to you, crying nonsensically about how she just wanted to help and you nod, trying to form words but your tongue feels like lead.

Silco finds her desperately shaking your shoulders as you sprawl out onto the ground. He sees your chest going up and down so he concerns himself with the girl.

"Hello, little girl. Where's your sister?"

Then the strangest thing happens. She lunges at him, brings him to his ass, but hugs him so tightly he's confused at her intentions.

"She left us. She's not my sister anymore."

Silco brings a hand to the back of her head, understanding just to well about what she was feeling. He glanced at Vander's grotesque body then at yours.

"It's okay. We'll show them. We'll show them all."

What have you done?

He knows you're pissed at him. Actually, pissed doesn't even begin to describe how you're feeling. But Silco remains cool in your presence, standing in Vander's office, looking at the stack of papers. Stock intakes, accounting bullshit, Powder's doodles. You're sat on the couch, staring at your lap with a blanket over your shoulders. Powder's head in your lap as she twitches and sniffles in her sleep.

"You promised me you wouldn't hurt them."

"I didn't."

You bring your hand over Powder's ears, glaring at him. Your face angled down, eyebrows so tightly knit he swears he sees a vein pop out on your forehead.

"You killed my sons."

"She did."

Your expression hardens. Powder shifts for a second and instantly your anger fades, you smooth out her bangs from her head and pat her back rhythmically.

"We share the blame, (Y/N). I didn't do this alone."

He sits on Vander's chair, reaching for his cigar. Vander's body hadn't even gone cold yet and here Silco was, already intending on desecrating his grave by smoking his cigars, as if intently chasing away the scent of Vander's smoking pipes.

You carefully move Powder, shushing her as she stirs and draping your blanket over hers to keep her warm. Silco watches, lighter in hand, poised to burn. You spin the chair, Vander's chair, and kick his legs apart.

He should be more cautious. Foxes are known to get close to their prey, associated with daggers and tricksters because unlike a wolf they couldn't use brute strength to bring down their enemies. You could choke him out, try to pin him down and reach for a pencil to shove through his eye.

But he uncrosses his legs and you sit on his lap. You reach for the box of matches, and strike it. Silco watches you watching him; the orange glow of the cigar not quite piercing through the darkness in your eyes.

"When Powder drinks from the bar, she has her own cup and metal straw. She likes to make gadgets, she gets restless sometimes and snoop around. She's smart, so you'll have your hands full."

Silco arches a brow, inhaling and exhaling out the smoke. Your eyes flutter, burning a bit but you can't even muster a single tear.

"You're offering to babysit?"

"She's my daughter."

You wrap your arms around his neck, your smudged and soot-stained face tucking itself to his neck. You could rip his throat out right now. But where would that leave you and Powder. Running from his men, constantly looking over your shoulder. No. You made your bed. You lay in it.

You said you wanted a better future for your kids. How could you rip Powder away from the only shot she has at being safe?

"I'd do anything for her." You shift your position, bringing your lips to his ears.

"I'll even keep your bed warm. I know you like how I do you."

Silco isn't stupid. He knows how dangerous you are; he hired you to infiltrate and gather information and for years you did just that. Now Vander was dead. You were as wicked as he was.

And now, you had every right to kill him next. So sleeping with you? Sharing a bed, and keeping you close where you'd have access to his operations. You subtly thrusting Powder into the fray, telling him about her needs and how to take care of her. Saying you'd stay if her safety was guaranteed.

This was a bad idea.

But Silco is intrigued. He'd thought you'd be yelling at him. Screaming bloody murder, wrap your teeth around his neck and try to tear it off.

Cunning little fox. You're planning something. Painful and meticulous. You'd make your revenge something people would whisper about as a warning.

He wants to see how far you're willing to go. He's glad that you share the same obsession with him as he does with you now.

Fine.

If the both of you were going to destroy each other, let it be known that Silco allowed it to happen in the first place; if you need to be broken down to be his, then he'll gladly place his chess pieces on the board with you.

Vander and Benzo's death shocks the undercity. You imagine people glancing at each other, confusion and lost written across their faces. Their protector was gone and in his place was the disgraced Silco.

But what truly sends people reeling is you standing besides him. You, Vander's boyfriend, the one his kids called dad among others. The slut that Vander had given a home too. Had given a job to and loved.

No, adored. He adored you, did you forget that?

He looked at you like you hung the damn moon in the sky.

How could you?

You fucking traitorous whore.

You had prepared for this. Steeled your emotions and walked among Silco's entourage with your head held high. Let them hate you, you know you deserve it. You expect the spit thrown your way, wiping it away with no emotion. You expect the harsh words, the cusses and threats.

But you're frozen in place when a man comes running at you, a knife held in his hand. You recognize him; a stall owner who Vander liked to do business with. Often trading fruit peels for this or that. He used them to do an array of things, though Vander recounts that he often used it as a way to smell fresh.

You smell it. That citrusy scent as he rears his hand back. "You whore!" he yells out.

Sevika kicks him square in the chest and as she leans too far back from the lack of balance (you think the loss of her arm was well-deserved) you keep her steady.

But it invigorates the crowd of grieving people. They throw things at you, trash and dirt at first. But then someone flings a brick and you barely dodge it in time before it smashed against your head.

Silco couldn't have people thinking that his entourage was weak.

So he brings you back to that walkway, the stalls now ransacked and the owners all kneeled before you. Hushed whispers come from the windows above you, children peeking curiously and mothers rushing them away.

These people were all Vander's friends. They did business with him, ate with him. You'd been there, eating with them. You glance away, sighing out a shuddering breath.

"Getting queasy?" Silco muses out.

"I've never been fond of butchers."

"Someone has to get their hands dirty. We can't all be expensive whores." You glare at him reproachfully.

"I want to leave."

"No."

Silco motions for Sevika and you scoff; "Look at you. Asking for another person to suck a John's cock for you. Expensive whore, is that what you called me?"

Silco gives you a tepid look, but then pulls out a dagger. He stares down at Vander's friends. Silco then stands behind them, bringing the blade to their throats. They look at you, nothing but pure hate in their eyes.

"You fucking traitor."