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[samfurniture88]

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[its-yashas-strong-arms]

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[tejuskumar13]

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[seraphimcollections]

gentle giant | Konig x medic!reader |

chapter 5

warnings: abduction, non-consenual drugging, language.

summary: little bird is trapped in the cat's jaws with only one way out - into the belly of the beast.

w/c: 2.1

a/n: hello again! I'm really looking forward to this chapter and the next! I wanted to be a little extra care in this chapter. I'll be putting together a master list to pin to my page if that'll be easier. Oh! Do me a solid and reblog if you like this series! Final part coming soon! Thank you!

chapters: | ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 |

The air had changed. With the news of your clear abduction quickly spreading across the base, the reality of both the 141 and KorTac’s failure weighed heavy on each of their shoulders. Soap’s playful demeanor was reduced to silence. Gaz didn’t know what else to do with himself besides try to keep himself busy cleaning his weapons multiple times consecutively. Price holed himself in his office, chain smoking countless of his precious cigars. No one knew where Simon was, but some say they could hear firing out in the yard at odd hours of the night. As for Kӧnig, he hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t stepped foot out of your office. In the beginning, he couldn’t help his rage, taking it out on his surroundings -- the bookshelves, the files, anything. Quickly, the guilt settled in and he just as quickly began to try to put your office back to how he remembered it was. 

  Konig sat in his same chair, staring at the emptiness in yours’. He sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together and clenched. He stared into that empty space, the rage still bubbling in his chest. Slowly, the rage began to bleed into anxiety and fear. You’ve been missing for two days. You could be anywhere, a different country, a completely other continent. Anywhere. Konig’s hands became fists in his lap. Millions of questions swirled in his head. Were you hurt? Were you even alive? Who took you, and what did they want with you? And as if the universe heard him, the bearer of answers stopped in the doorframe, not quite daring to enter, just as Konig had done many times. 

Konig’s cyan eyes caught on his stature, the 141’s loyal captain. From sight alone, Konig could see John was having as difficult a time as him, maybe even more so. In his hands held a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses in the other. 

“Mind some company?” John said gruffly. 

Konig sat up a little straighter and shook his head. John sighed, placing the glasses on the desk. He sat on the creaking wood, as if confirming they both knew that the other chair belonged only to you. Handing Konig a glass before taking his own, John took a slow sip. Konig carefully moved the glass under his hood, his lips coming to press against the lukewarm glass. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you,” John finally broke the silence, “but neither have you, Colonel.” 

Konig nearly choked from hearing his formal title. John chuckled, setting his glass down. 

“I-I don’t like to mention my title, it makes people act on false intentions,” Konig explained. 

John waved dismissively, “now need to explain it to me, soldier. We all learn to play our cards close to our chests. Just in this case, I lost more than I looked to gain in the first place.” 

Konig looked at the older man in confusion, “what do you mean, Captain?” 

John’s eyes glazed over, “I never told you why we were here, did I?” 

“No, but I figured you were all on the run,” Konig said. “And that it had something to do with Maus.” 

John’s eyes lit up hearing Konig’s name for you as he took another sip. 

“Wren, she saw something she was never supposed to see,” John frowned. “Something that goes all the way up to the top. Something that lacks all honor that those sods tried their damn best to bury it. But Wren found it, and it dug it all back for them. And so they planned to do what they always do-” 

“They’re going to kill her,” Konig said, dread sinking into every ounce of his being. 

John frowned before finally nodding., “but your comrades seem to think they’ve fulfilled their end of the bargain. They left, off to the next highest payer. You’re the only one who stayed. Which is why I came to you.” 

The two men could ignite wildfires with the heat of their gazes toward each other. 

“Are you with us on this? Will you help us get our bird back?” John said with all seriousness. 

Konig’s eyes narrowed, “you have me, Captain.” 

John nodded, standing on his two feet, “good, we move out at dawn. Get ready.” 

“I’m always ready, Captain.” 

“I will see you soon, kleine maus.” 

↭

  The ringing in your ears refused to cease. Your eyelids feel heavy, most likely swollen. Your entire body ached, your wrists and ankles bound tightly together, the zipties digging into your open skin. You laid on your side, your head limply laying on what felt like leather. You tried your best to tune your ears to what was around you. You wiggled trying to find something that could tell you where you were. Your throat felt so dry that even if you tried to speak you worried it would crack and bleed. You groaned, forcing your eyes to open to blinding sunlight. You were in a car, that much made sense. You laid on the back seat, the leather seats sticking to your clammy skin. 

You squint your eyes to see the dusty blonde head of hair over the driver’s seat. You blinked in confusion, trying to piece together how you got here in the back seat of this mystery car driven by a complete stranger. Your memory came back to you like an unwelcome friend. You remember the struggle, the bruise you were sure going to get from being thrown back onto the desk. The sickly sweet smell of whatever chemical your abductor used to put you under. The back of Konig’s head as he left to see what Price wanted. 

Rage burst into you heart as you tried your best to pull against your restraints, only to find yourself weak. 

“It’s useless,” the man you thought you knew as Richards said  in an annoying sing-song voice. “The drug won’t wear off for another few hours. Don’t waste what little energy you have, sweetheart.” 

You glared up at the rear view mirror, finding the man’s eyes peering back at you with amusement. 

“Who are you? Where are you taking me?” You growl. 

“We’re going back to my place,” he smiled as if saying this to his date, “then you’re going to tell me everything you know, and then, I’ll kill you.” 

You felt your blood run cold at his words. Your eyes narrowed. 

“Shepherd sent you.” 

“Ah! There’s that sharp cunningness Shepherd told me all about!” 

You glared at the man with a stare of thousand daggers. This gaze did little to faze your abductor as his smile never left his smug face. 

“Why not just kill me? Save yourself the trouble,” you said. 

“Ah, where would the fun be in that!” The man said, sounding like he was going on a day out at a theme park and not like a man who was your executioner. 

“No, I intend on taking my time with you,” he said, his gaze connecting with your own, letting you see the true darkness in his eyes. 

You fell silent, instead trying to look outside to try to get a clue on where you were, or how far you could be from base. From Konig. You could feel your stomach drop as the tall Austrian popped into your mind. Did he know you were gone? Was he even looking for you? In the end, he was part of KorTac, a company not renowned for loyalty to one agency. But…Konig was different. He was caring, empathetic and kind. If the two of you had enough time, you could find out why such a quiet soul could be in such a messy business. But then again, so were you. 

“You won’t get far,” you said with a huff. “You have no idea who’s coming for you.” 

“Correction: I know exactly who's coming for me, little bird,” Richards said. “And I’m counting on it.”

You brow furrowed at his words, making him snicker, “you really think Shephard would just let their insubordination go? Come on, you can’t be that naive!”

“Shut up-”

“You know, I should really thank you, not only do I get to take out the 141, but now KorTac’s finest? Ugh, it’s like Christmas morning,” Richards sighed. 

You lurch forward in a rage, “you leave Konig out of this!” 

“Oh, like you did?” Richards cocked a brow. “If my memory serves me right, it was because of you that KorTac even got dragged into this mess. And it will be because of you that your beloved Konig will die.”

You felt your chest begin to tighten in panic as the thought of everyone you ever loved, ever cared about being reduced to nothing but cold flesh all in your name. You begin to struggle against your restraints, pulling at them wildly. 

“Ah, doctor?” Richards said. 

You look up at the man and in a split second you catch the small almost travel size bottle in his large hand before Richard squeezed the little trigger. You recoiled back but to no avail, the mysterious potion infiltrated and coating your throat. You cough violently, your vision beginning to swim. 

“Trust me, it would be best if you sit this part out. Easier for both of us,” Richard smirked. “Sweet dreams, little bird.”

You fell onto you back with a groan, eyes rolling back up to the roof of the car. You fought to keep your eyes open but only to be swallowed back into the darkness. 

↭

73. 

73 hours since you’ve been abducted. As each hour passed, your trail got colder and Konig became more restless. This was clear with his foul attitude that no one could dare miss. What was left of the men on the base sat around a makeshift table with schematics scattered across it. Konig stood hunched over, his palms supporting his weight on the table. Price stood at the head of the table, Ghost to his right, Gaz to his left. Soap had tried his best to try to keep Konig cool so he stayed a safe but supportive distance close to Konig. 

“What you know is that Shephard all but lost most of his clean contacts to DC, so there’s a good chance he won’t be able to smuggle her into the States,” Gaz said with arms crossed. 

“That doesn’t completely squash the possibility,” said Ghost. 

“But would he even go through the trouble? I mean if he’s already got what he wants. Why drag it out?” Gaz said. 

“You’re right, if he was smart, she’s long dead,” Ghost said matter of factly. 

The wood of the table creaked under Konig’s fist at the mention of the idea. Soap leaned over. 

“That’s not going to happen, because we’re gonna get to the fucker first,” Soap said. 

Price agreed, “Soap is right. If there’s one thing I know about that snake is that he likes to play with his food. He won’t just kill her quickly.” 

“That doesn’t make it better,” Konig said, finally standing to his full height, effectively dwarfing the rest of the men. “There must be some sort of lead of where she could have been taken.” 

“He’ll want to take care of this quietly and under the radar,” Gaz said.

“Slimy bastard won’t even come to do it himself most likely,” Ghost scoffed. “Won’t want to get his hands dirty, ‘why he sent that fucker.” 

“And we know he’s petty-” 

“That much is clear,” Soap rolled his eyes. “The bellhead chased across half of fucking Europe.” 

“So he’ll take her to a place that holds some kind of memory, maybe?” Gaz shrugged. 

Price’s eyes shot wide with realization, “Las Almas.” 

These words caught 141's attention. 

“Would he really be that obvious?” Soap said. 

“Or stupid,” Ghost chimed in. 

“But that’s exactly wants,” Price said, “he’ll want to take this back to ground zero: Las Almas.” 

“What’s in Las Almas?” Konig asked. 

“It’s where we first found out how dirty Shepherd liked to play,” Soap grunted. “Evidently he slipped out of our hands, until Wren found data suggesting his whereabouts and what’s been keeping the sorry fucker busy. Guess he didn’t want anyone poking around in his business again.” 

“And you think he’s taken Maus there?” Konig said. 

“It’s our only lead,” Price sighed, hands gripping his vest. 

Konig sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly before nodding his head, “then we shall go.” 

“And luckily for us, we have friends on the other side,” Ghost smirked underneath his mask. 

“Los Fuerzas Especiales,” Soap smirked looking up at Konig, “Mexican Special Forces. They owe us a bit of a favor.” 

Konig looked back to Price who almost looked at him as if to give him the word. Konig stoney gaze didn’t waver.

“No more waiting. We leave tonight.”

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[spinchip]

NEVER THE DARK

Chapter 16

Read on Ao3

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15

warnings: head injury

HOW DOES IT END THIS WAY? ONE BITE INVITES ANOTHER.

Cyrus only black outs for a moment, maybe a few heartbeats- but when consciousness returns he wishes he’d stayed blissfully unaware of the pain lancing through his brain. The world loses its finer details and all he can focus on is the blood dripping down his temple and the way his brain feels too big for his head. He’s grateful for the blindfold, actually. He imagines the brightness of even the gentlest of lights would feed into the agony he’s feeling. He wills himself not to throw up.

His chair is straightened and the world spins and turns on its axis which makes the aforementioned not throwing up a whole lot harder. A warm hand probes at the wound on his head and finally, gratefully, he forces himself to pass out. For real this time.

The next time he wakes up, he’s not blindfolded anymore.

The first thing he registers is the floor to ceiling windows looking out on Ninjago city. It’s a great view, in the heart of the city and tall enough to look over almost every building surrounding it. Except Borg tower, which rises above the skyline in beautiful silhouette against the afternoon sun.

The next thing he notices is the man sitting in the lavish leather chair overlooking the cityscape before them. His captor. His head still hurts, will probably ache for days after this (if he survives,) and that does nothing to facilitate using his brain to figure out who exactly this man is. There’s a fancy silk handkerchief crumpled and covered in blood sitting on the dark oak desk he’s sitting at, and Cyrus can see ugly yellow bruising forming around his nose and eyes. It fills him with a viscous satisfaction even as his head throbs in memory of that headbutt. Worth it.

Cyrus wracked his brain- this office screams old money. He peeks around the room, trying to find something that might tip him off to who exactly had kidnapped him from his home and why. The room is luxury in overload, expensive not for quality but for status with overpriced furniture and art filling the room. The desk is specially carved solid wood, the plush rugs covering the floor thick and hand woven, modern lavish brown leather couches paired with a glass coffee table sitting in the middle of the room. The coffee table is stacked with Forbes magazines and history books in a flashy, ingenuine way. The bookshelves are decorated in a similar performative style. He’s trying to appear more worldly and elite and maybe it worked on others, but to Cyrus it screamed of insecurity- the room was so overtly ostentatious it became nothing but a superficial impersonation of sophistication.

All of that in conjunction with the designer pinstripe suit, the expensive drinks, the luxury watch purposefully shown off with a raised sleeve- all of it painting a picture of a man in the same tax bracket as Cyrus himself. His most distinctive trait is his long, curly red hair... which led Cyrus nowhere. Surely he’d have met this man before- as a charity banquet, a fancy gala, a high society party? He certainly knew Cyrus, and had a grudge against him at that.

Cyrus knew he wasn’t the kindest man in his youth… he could admit he was a bit of a self centered prick, but not so much that anyone would want him dead.

The few things that seem genuine in this soulless, shallow space is the bar cart filled with fancy liquors and two portraits along the back wall.

“My father and I.” That low, smooth voice makes Cyrus jump. The man at the front of the room has spun the chair around to face him, observing Cyrus’s gaze on the paintings behind him. He’s referencing the first of the pair, an older man with salt and peppered rusty red hair and a severe looking face, with a heavyset brow and dark eyes. There’s a boy in the picture with him, with slicked red hair and an equally sour expression. Even his father doesn’t ping anything on Cyrus’s radar. He tries to focus his head and pull up any possible memory he might have of this man- he can almost see him in his mind's eye, perfectly manicured nails and sleek hair and opulent jewelry introducing himself at a charity event-

Blue eyes that swam with obsession Cyrus mistook for intrigue.

“Who are you?” He asks, the man's perfectly white teeth reminding him of a shark's maw tasting the water for blood.

The facade of serenity melted off his face, irritation bleeding to fury at the question. Appalled and annoyed and so, so angry that Cyrus even had to ask. As if he should have known of the animosity between them despite cordial greetings and passing smiles in those nebulous memories when they did run into each other, “Do you know how old this company is?” He asks Cyrus sharply, who barely refrains from saying I don't even know what the hell we're talking about, “It’s existed for far longer than you were even a thought in your father's head. The Voss brand was a powerhouse before time had a name. It was respected- revered. We were above you all.”

Voss. Cyrus grabs that with both hands, desperate for any tidbit of information. He searches his mind-

Voss Enterprises. Cyrus remembers that name, back when he’d first brought Borg Tech to Ninjago City. His own company had ballooned out so quickly that any possible competitor was choked out before Cyrus really had to worry about them- Voss Enterprises being one of them. He’d surpassed them and stayed ahead. Their CEO was… Simon Voss- no, that was their old CEO. His son had taken it over. What was his name?

He nods to the other painting. It’s older, framed behind glass to protect it. It's on yellowed parchment and it’s not a full painting, mostly sketch lines with the occasional pop of color to contour or define certain areas. It shows an older woman with deep red hair pulled back with fancy pins and braids, “That is my grandmother, several times great. She built this company with her bare hands- after she lost her whole family. Akane Voss. Each generation after her grew our enterprise larger and larger. We were number one, always ahead of the competition.”

Those acidic blue eyes pin Cyrus with a jealous gaze, “Until you.” He grins, and it’s all teeth, “Borg. your family had money, sure, but you weren’t even a blip on our radar. You were nothing. I was everything- and then you came and took it all.” his voice trembled with rage and he shoots to his feet.

He waves his hand and a rudimentary android unfolds from a box near the door with an inquisitive beep, “Help our guest keep up.” He says shortly, striding towards the door. The bot trundles over on skinny legs and begins to push Cyrus’s wheelchair behind Voss.

“Is that what this is about? Jealousy?” Cyrus asks, disbelieving as he’s bundled onto an elevator.

“And then,” Voss ignores Cyrus with a chuckle and drags a hand down his face- he’s wearing a blue gauntlet. He’s wearing the blue gauntlet. Cyrus feels himself go pale. “Then you burned it all down. You and your ego led the Overlord home to roost and the city crumbled and I thought- surely, this is the end of Cyrus Borg. Your reputation would be tattered, your company would go belly up, and Voss Enterprise would swoop in where we rightfully belong to fill the gap.” He hisses as they ascend only one floor up to the roof.

He steps out onto the tarmac and whips around. His hair blows in the wind and when the sunlight catches his eyes, the blue seems to glow, “But you didn’t die. You stuck around like a parasite and Ninjago City welcomed you right back in. This isn’t about jealousy, Cyrus Borg. This is about what I deserve! This is about how you came along in all your arrogance and hubris and stole what was mine!” He storms up to Cyrus and tangles his hand in Cyrus's hair, wrenching his head back so he can lean in close. He pulls back punishingly hard, still sore about his bloody nose, “I have been in your shadow for far too long, Cyrus Borg." He mutters, the words cloying in the small space between them, "This city has fallen into sickness, infested with your technology and pushing everyone else out.”

Cyrus blinks wide eyed at Voss and tries to shake his head, incredulous, “What are you talking about? Borg Industries is not a monopoly! I pulled back- I understood my mistake after the destruction of the city, I learned my lesson. This is madness!”

Voss releases Cyrus’s hair and stands back to his full height, “We weren’t thorough enough the first time around, in the aftermath of the digital overlord. We didn’t cut you out at the root. There was too much Borg tech influence- so you grew back like a tumor and kept me from my place above it all.”

He turns around to face the city, the wind carrying his voice back to Cyrus crystal clear, “If I can’t have Ninjago City, no one can.” And Cyrus almost wants to laugh at the sheer banality of it all if it weren't so terrifying. He raises the the gauntlet he’s wearing and holds it out, pointed towards Ninjago city, “I’m going to raze it all to the ground- and in the ashes, after every ounce of Borg Tech is destroyed and the wound is finally clean, Voss Enterprise will swoop in and rebuild until you are nothing but a bad memory.”

“My name is Broden Voss.” He says calmly, turning to face Cyrus with his hand still outstretched towards the city. He smiles and there's a wild, triumphant edge to it, “Remember that Name, Cyrus Borg. It will go down in the history books as your successor... though I suppose that won't matter to you, since you won't survive to see it. Say goodbye to your empire. it's time for you to finally fall.”

Behind him, all across Ninjago city, hundreds of portals open.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Night Nurse ~ Chapter 10

A John Wick x Helen Fic

Masterlist / Chapter Map

Author's note: It's been a minute since I posted on this fic, I'm so sorry!! I lost a good chunk of this chapter to an untimely computer update (fuck you very much Windows) and I was so frustrated I just had to let it sit for a while. BUT I finally managed to re-write it, so here we are! I hope you enjoy! 💗💗💗 (Oh and the illustrations here are from the turn of the century version of Afanasyev's Russian Fairy Tales, the book John hid his marker in, in JW3...you'll see why.😉)

Times gets tough

Oh, they get tougher

Hold on to me

I got you, darling…

-I’ll be your man, The Black Keys

X.

The walls of his library were lined with built-in bookshelves, filled to the brim with antique and vintage books. A single leather reading chair sat in the corner with a lamp and a small table. A larger table took up the center of the room with a proper book cradle. Helen breathed in, reveling in the magical smell of old books. She realized that this must be where John gets some of that intoxicating scent of his, bottom notes of leather and parchment paper. The chair in the corner looked well-worn, and she imagined him spending hours of his downtime just sitting and reading away the day.

For the umpteenth time, it squeezed her heart to the point of pain.

Throughout the course of the tour, they did not let go of each other once. John didn’t seem to mind handling books with one mitt of a hand, the fingers of his left laced tightly with Helen’s.

“Do you still have your book of Russian fairy tales?”

“Yes.” Gingerly he pulled it from a shelf, resting it in the cradle on the table. 

They perused the book together, Helen leaning against his shoulder. He was warm, and solid as a tree, and for a heady moment it was difficult to concentrate on the antique tome, no matter how beautiful. The illustrations were utterly gorgeous, and she mentally kicked herself into focusing. She thought about a young John toting this beloved book around the world with him like a Lost Boy with his teddy bear, and the thought succeeded in tying her up in inextricable knots. 

John turned to a page of an illustration of a lovely peasant woman in the woods, holding a torch made of a glowing human skull. “Oh, who’s that?” asked Helen.

“That’s Vasilisa the Beautiful,” answered John.

She hovered her finger over the first line of Cyrillic, careful not to touch the paper. “What does it say?”

John read it aloud, his voice low and all for her, and she sighed a little, not understanding a syllable. For some reason hearing him speak another language so easily, and something about the lilting cadence of the language in his deep voice, the soft shh and musical ya sounds of the Russian words inspired a curl of lust in her belly, a small thrill zipping down her spine. She shuddered lightly, and prayed he hadn’t noticed.

He absolutely noticed, his pupils blowing wide with desire. Doggedly, he kept them fixed upon the page below.  

“Is that, ‘Once upon a time’…in Russian?”

“Something like that. This is a Cinderella story about a young woman who outsmarts her wicked stepmother and the Baba Yaga with her determination and the help of her magical doll. It’s one of my favorites.”

He’d seen a bit of himself in Vasilisa as a young man, straining under the yoke of his unforgiving masters. He turned the page to reveal a witchy old woman riding in what looked like an upright log. Helen couldn’t suppress a grin. “Oh look, it’s you, Baba Yaga.”

John snorted at that. “I still don’t know what idiot started that damned nickname,” he groused.

Actually, he suspected it was Marcus, but he’d never found out for certain.

“It sounds fierce, at least.”

His lips twisted in a smirk, and he couldn’t help himself from turning to look at her, then. Their faces were torturously close. “Think I should get some flaming skull torches for out front?”

“Yes, I think the neighbors would love that,” she deadpanned, and more felt than heard John’s responding chuckle.

He turned the page to a new illustration of a strapping knight on a black horse. “Oh hello, handsome. Who’s this guy?”

John narrowly resisted the urge to ask if she had a thing for men in black, even as that telling warmth clouded his brain.

“That’s…Night.”

“The night Knight?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Her lips twisted in a cheeky smile. “Nice. I like him.”

“You would.”

“I have excellent taste, John.”

He found himself looking at her mouth again, thinking her taste would be excellent. For the umpteenth time, he managed not to kiss her by the skin of his teeth. By the way she was looking at him...maybe he didn't need to be exercising such restraint. But maybe that was the excellent wine talking

Maybe he really was an idiot.

“So...in reward for being clever Baba Yaga gives Vasilisa one of the skull torches. She takes it back to her house, and when she lights the candles her wicked step mother and awful step sisters burn up.” 

“Oooh. And she lives happily ever after?”

“Well...she marries the tsar, for what that's worth.”

Helen wrinkled up her nose, communicating her opinion on that. “Overall, I give it a nine out of ten.”

John couldn’t help it then. He actually grinned, showing teeth. “Glad you liked it.”

“Thanks for sharing with me.”

“My pleasure.”

She was still leaning on his shoulder, and was it him, or had she somehow sidled even closer, her body pressed to his side? Her eyes traveled leisurely from him to the book to the chair in the corner. It was then that she noticed that the bookmarked novel on the side table was a mass-market paperback she recognized quite well.

He’d taken her recommendation on the Codename Villanelle spy thrillers, despite teasing her about her taste in books, what felt like a lifetime ago that fateful night in the subway. The fact that he was on the second one touched her to no end, and she squeezed his arm.

“Aww, you’re reading about Eve and Villanelle,” she purred. “You like them?”

“Yes. You were right, they are fun.”

“Taking notes from Villanelle?” The Russian spy was wickedly clever at finding ways to kill her targets.

“Maybe. That poison hair stick was something. Think I could pull it off?” Helen reached up to curl a lock of his dark hair around her finger with a smile, and John couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation of her touching his hair.

He was hopeless.

“Oh, definitely. You could so rock the man-bun.”

John rolled his eyes at that, reluctant to admit that he often did when training.

Helen looked back to the book, now with what John was learning to recognize as a sly glint in her eye. “I’m on practically the same spot in that book,” she noted. “Want to read me a chapter?”

John looked at his reading chair, the comfortable old soldier that it was. It was also the only place to sit in the room, and he went a little cross-eyed at the thought of Helen curled up in his lap in it.

There would be zero reading done, of that he was certain. He would debauch her for the first time in that chair, and maybe again on the table for good measure.

A virulent heat licked at his collar as he imagined it. Fuck him, but she was making him blush.

“Sure. Let’s take it to the living room,” he proposed, ignoring her lips pursed in a theatrical pout.

Minx. She knew exactly what she was doing to him—and he was increasingly unsure why he wasn’t just letting her have her way.

He scooped up the paperback book, her hand still firmly clasped in his other while he led them back to the recessed living room. He set the book down on the couch. “Want another glass of wine? I’m going to clear these dishes.”

He needed to clear his head, and he felt Helen look at him with some disappointment that felt a little bit like being stabbed.

“Can I help you?”

“No, this is your night off. Sit, relax. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” She seated herself on the couch with only the book for company.

She watched John practically flee into the kitchen, and wondered if she’d done something wrong.

Regaled by the sound of clinking dishes and the faucet running, Helen looked around at John’s shelves. They were rather bare, though she noticed he had a bit of a CD collection on display. It plucked at her nostalgia for the days before everything could be so easily accessed via the hand-held computers known as phones but so rarely used for actually talking.

Standing, she decided to be nosy and thumb through them. He seemed to favor classics, from classical music, to rock and blues. There was very little on the shelf dating from past the 90s, and that made her smile for some reason.

“See anything you like?”

She turned to find John with two freshly-filled wine glasses in tow. He set them on the coffee table, before joining her at the built-in cd tower.

“Some good stuff here,” she agreed with a Chili Peppers cd in her hand. The fiery pool with the ocean in the background on the cover tickled the nostalgia center in her brain for sure. “Who are these guys?” She pulled out a black and white album with a high contrast photo of a guy with glasses, and a bearded dude.

“Never heard of the Black Keys?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, honey.”

She chuckled. “Ok, do not pull the my taste in music is better than yours card. I will leave.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he defended with a sly close-lipped smile. “I reserve that card only for books.”

She snorted in answer, and found herself gravitating closer to him, even just standing there looking at his music. She just couldn’t help it.

That really was some good wine he served with dinner.

She watched as he popped open the jewel case, feeding the CD into the slot of his player. He hit a couple buttons, and the speakers erupted with a very bluesy distorted guitar riff. It was loud, and John laughed a little as she jumped—conveniently, into his arms.

“Sorry.” He turned down the volume slightly, his arms circling her waist almost of their own volition. It felt so easy, being with her. Maybe from the very moment they’d met, it just felt like she should be in his arms, and acting on it made something loud and uneasy always clamoring in the back of his brain to go quiet. She swayed her head and shoulders a little to the beat; it was impossible not to.

“John?” she asked from beneath his chin, brushing the soft scruff of his beard with her nose. It filled him with a tingling warmth, in the very marrow of his bones, a pleasure in this closeness that just seemed too good to be true. It was like a drug, better than cocaine or heroin or anything else he’d ever tried, and he didn’t know how he would ever let her go.

“Yeah?”

“They made you learn ballet at your…school, but do you like to dance?”

He’d spent so much time in night clubs, hunting, and acting as backup muscle for Tarasov while he closed business deals, but it wasn’t a setting he really enjoyed. He wasn’t sure he really classified the writhing and arm waving one engaged in at the club as dancing. He was familiar with other dance forms, but they didn’t come up often in his life.

 “I feel like you’re actually asking me a different question,” he teased, leaning into her to reach out to skip to a different track.

“I am?”

“You’re asking if I want to dance with you?”

The first metallic notes of Dan Auerbach’s guitar rang out, and John swayed to the beat, a hand on her svelte waist pinning her close. With a smile she moved with him, her other hand finding his.

“Do you?”

He looked down at her with a glint of mischief in those shining dark eyes, and so much warmth that a flood of heat washed through her from her hair follicles all the way to her toes. This man. She really would follow him anywhere. Maybe the wine they’d drank lubricated this thought process, but she knew that didn’t make it any less true.

John knew that his answer to any question that involved an activity with her would be a resounding yes. Groceries? Yes. The dentist? Fine. Just hold his hand. He was broken for her.   

 “Of course I do.” He lifted his arm to guide her in a turn before pulling her close again, and she simply couldn’t help it. The joy in her heart soared.

Then the vocals in the song began, and Helen couldn’t help the fuzzy warmth that spread in her chest. Need a new love? I’m ready. Want my time? I’m willing.

There wasn’t a huge amount of open space in the living room, but John was very good at making do, leading her in steps to the beat, throwing in fun checks and turns and behind-the-back maneuvers that made her giggle. She knew she sounded drunk. It was on him though, far more than the wine. He made her happier than any one had in a very long time. Maybe ever, if she was being honest with herself.

To make things even worse, the chorus of the song rang loud in her ears with the infectious guitar riff: I’ll be your man. Mmm, I’ll be your man. She didn’t know if he picked this song on purpose for the lyrics, or the intoxicating rhythm, but she felt it in her bones, and in her heart, and every cell of her being; she was so attuned to this man.

She almost tripped when he attempted to twist her up like a pretzel in a figure-eight step, but he caught her, laughing with her as he held her close.

“I’m not that good,” she apologized, clinging to him more than she really needed to. He was just…so solid, and if she was being honest all she really wanted to do was climb him like a fucking tree.  

His arm around her waist was like a warm band of iron, and he smiled gently down at her. She felt herself melting like chocolate in the sun, her knees gone weak beneath her.

“That’s ok. I’ve got you.”

She couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped from her throat. Because, she knew it was true, and not just here being silly dancing in his living room. She realized she trusted him not to drop her no matter what they were doing, or what they were facing. That kind of faith in another person, much less a man, was a rare and precious thing.

“John…” she said softly, looking up into his warm dark eyes from so very close. She wasn’t sure if she was asking a question, or if she just needed to cite his name like a prayer, invoke him like a saint in her personal pantheon. Maybe it was madness, but wrapped up in his arms like this, he felt like something to believe in.

Her eyes drifted down to his mouth, those full lips she’d coveted since the moment they’d met, if she was telling the truth.

This was the moment that John’s will to fight it broke at last. He felt it inside, not like a hard snap, but a definite release, like a boat coming unmoored, being swept down a swift stream. There was no more resisting. He was lost to her.

Pulled like a magnet, he finally leaned in that fraction of distance to press his lips to hers. His kiss was like a sunrise in her heart; warm and bursting, soft and sweet. She couldn’t stop herself from standing on tiptoe with a low moan, looping her arms around his neck as she pressed her body against his. It won her something like a deep growl that thrilled her to her toes, and greedily she wanted more.

She teased the seam of his mouth with her tongue, begging entrance he gladly granted. She felt the tremor in his arms as he held her, so tightly that he nearly lifted her from the floor. He kissed her like a starving man offered a life-giving meal, and her fingers fisted in his hair at the back of his head, holding him to her, holding on.

His heartbeat a thundering timpani in his ears, John felt like Helen’s lips on his was the answer to a question his heart had been asking his whole adult life. She was the air he breathed, the sustenance necessary to live, and the desire to drink her down, to eat her up, was a dogged, insistent demand from the darkest depths of his soul.

He never wanted to let her go.

With a ragged breath he pulled back to rest his forehead against hers, his fingers digging into her sides. She might have bruises later.

She didn’t mind.

She wanted his hands, rough or gentle.

She wanted all of him, and if he didn’t return his mouth to hers she was going to scream.

“Helen,” he panted. “I—”

The tinny electronic sound of his phone ringing in his pocket interrupted what might have been a foolish—or a life changing—confession. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, knowing he had to answer it. That was the deal with the devil he’d signed, when he didn’t really have any better choice. He was on call all the time.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

She nodded, but did not extricate herself, leaning on his shoulder while he pulled the device from his pocket. It was Viggo Tarasov, and his heart dropped like a stone. It was rare that the boss Himself called. He absolutely had to answer it, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t like what his pakhan had to say.

With a heavy heart he lifted the phone to his ear, his other arm still wrapped possessively around Helen.

“Da?”

“Good evening, John.”

John fought to keep the impatient snarl out of his tone, but feared he failed royally. “Evening, Viggo.”

“I’ve just heard some interesting things about your latest adventures about town. I think we need to talk.”

That was probably the understatement of the century.

“When?”

“Now.”

Of fucking course.

“I can be there in an hour.”

“Good.”

Viggo hung up, and John clenched the phone in his fist, fighting not to throw it across the room. He knew Helen heard every word for the way she sighed with disappointment, snuggling into the bend of his neck. The sensation of her front molded to his was heaven, and he didn’t know how to let her go.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized with lips to her forehead. “I have to go.”

“I understand.” There was some consolation, in that she sounded as devastated as he was.

“You’ll be ok here? My house is your house. Help yourself to anything you want.”

She made a kittenish little sound that sent all his blood straight to his groin. “What I want is leaving,” she informed him with a pouting lip, tugging on the front of his shirt.

He couldn’t stop himself then from stealing another kiss, a deep and probing thing that left her breathless and starry-eyed.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told her.

“Promise?”

“Yes.” John wondered what Viggo had in store. If he was in trouble, or if his boss would send him out to teach the Medvedev boys a lesson tonight. He didn’t want to go hunting that night. Everything he truly wanted in the world, he realized, was standing right in front of him, looking up at him with melted toffee eyes. He cupped her cheek, memorizing every detail of her all over again.

He realized with a startling clarity that he could never get enough of her.

The intensity of his stare sent a thrill jetting down her spine. “John…” He worried her a little, when he got like this. She wasn’t afraid of him, exactly—but some little intuition in the back of her brain sang out that something bad might happen.

“It’ll be alright,” he told her, sensing her unease. “I have to change.” He kissed her forehead again, and disappeared up the stairs to his room.

Helen plopped down on the couch with a sigh, crushed with disappointment but knowing this was how it was, and she understood more than ever now that it wasn’t his fault or his choice. She picked up the Villanelle book, No Tomorrow, stroking her thumb over the cover, but not cracking it open.

When John stalked down the stairs he was wearing one of his slim-fit all black suits again, his hair slicked back from his face. He looked beautiful, and predatory, sleek as a panther stalking in the jungle, and fierce attraction warred with dread in Helen’s breast. She had a feeling that someone might die tonight, and it was so strange to think in those terms with such a sense of acceptance.

At least she knew John’s prey would be no one innocent.  

“Don’t forget you owe me a chapter,” she said in a sing song tone as he approached, waving the book, trying to lighten the pall that had fallen upon the room.  

The smile he paid her was filled with melancholy; she felt it like a knife between the ribs. “I won’t,” he assured her, taking her hand to press his lips to her knuckles. He paused, looking down at this beautiful woman seated on his couch, with her legs that went on forever and the warmth in her eyes all for him. There was nothing he wanted more, than to stay there with her. To lay her down and kiss every inch of her perfect flesh. He probably should have told her that, but he just sighed, and let her go.

“I’m going to leave this here, just in case,” he said, all business as he showed her a blocky black automatic pistol. “There’s one in the chamber. All you have to do is pull the trigger. It has a long trigger pull but please do not touch it unless you need it, and be very careful.” He stashed the Glock in a drawer beside the couch. “I’ll leave the alarm on. If it goes off I’ll get an alert on my phone.”

With wide eyes she nodded. “Do you…think the Medvedevs will come here?”

“No, or I wouldn’t leave you here alone.” He honestly thought this was the safest place for her. “But…” One never knows.

“Okay.” He could tell that he managed to scare her a little, and he hated himself for it.

“I’m being paranoid,” he tried to assure her. He dared add, “Because you’re precious to me.” She softened then, and stood to wrap her arms around his neck once more. Embracing her was as intoxicating as kissing her, and again John warred with himself as to how he was going to leave.

“Come back to me,” she demanded softly, kissing the soft scruff of his cheek.

“Always,” he answered without allowing himself to think about it, pressing his lips to hers in a long, gentle kiss filled with all the yearning in his heart.

Reluctantly, he slipped from her grasp, and didn’t look back.

She watched him go, admiring his tall dark form even as he was leaving her.

She heard the roar of the Mustang starting in the garage, and the trail of its growl as it prowled across the driveway, disappearing down the street into the night. She couldn’t help but feel like her heart sped away with it.

[loiteringandlurking]

okay so this is that self indulgent javey oneshot ...

it gets an eeny bit spicy towards the end but it's like only a little bit ...

consider this my bday gift to you guys !

Jack and David didn't realise it had gotten dark out until they could see their reflections clearly in the windows.

They weren't alone, of course, many other late night studiers still sat at their own desks, but Jack and Davey were lucky to be separated from most others by some rows of bookshelves.

And in the mellow lights from overhead, Davey's unkempt curls made shadows on his face, illuminating and accentuating his high cheekbones, sun-kissed freckles and roman nose. Jack watched the way his long fingers glided across the pages of his textbook, occasionally dropping to the desk to pick up a highlighter. Jack watched the way his eyebrows drew together as he reread a passage, the way his cool blue eyes blinked a few times.

God, he was inconceivably pretty. Jack is a very lucky man.

Davey glanced up at Jack, once quickly, as if to check what Jack was doing, then again, realising Jack's eyes were already on him.

Davey shot him a questioning look and a smile, and Jack grinned back. He watched Davey's tongue as it swiped across his beautiful soft lips, and watched those elegant fingers tuck a stray curl behind his ear. Watched as he parted his lips slightly, to sigh, resting his head on his hands, gazing at Jack.

God, what Jack wouldn't give to have his lips on Davey's right about now. It was a never-fail remedy after a long day.

Davey must have read Jack's mind, because he smiled, that downward-pointed smile that Jack loved and Davey hated, and stood, waiting expectantly. Jack stood too, wincing as the squeak of his chair echoed in the near-silent room.

He let Davey take his hand and lead him into an aisle of books- philosophy, judging from the covers.

See, their university was very old. Solid-oak-wood-shelves type old. So solid, in fact, that the only noise was a quiet 'oof!' as Davey turned, his back against a shelf, grabbed Jack's collar, and pulled him in close.

'Hey.' Davey whispered, smiling coyly.

'Hey.' Jack replied, feeling blush heat his cheeks. 'God, you're beautiful.'

Davey circled his fingers on Jack's shoulder, whisper-giggling. God, talk about seductive.

Jack let one hand rest on Davey's hip, the other on his cheek, and gently connected their lips. Electricity flowed through him, like it was their first kiss all over again. Davey smiled, pulling Jack impossibly closer as he opened his mouth, giving Jack's tongue entrance. Jack gladly obliged, running his tongue over the inside of the mouth he knew so well. He sighed happily against Davey's mouth, moving both hands down to the other boy's hips.

When Jack pulled away for breath, he took great care in memorising every detail of Davey's face. His lips, now teasing a new, slightly bruised look. His nose and cheeks, dusted pink. His eyes, storm-blue and horribly sparkly. His pupils, blown wide.

Jack lifted one hand just inside Davey's shirt, dragging his thumb over the jut of his hip-bone, revelling in the way Davey seemed to vibrate at the feeling.

'God, you're...' Jack whispered, unable to find the right words. 'Just incredible.'

'You too.' Davey sighed more than said. He gazed dreamily at Jack, making his heart skip a beat. 'Tu es plus beau que le soleil... j'ai besoin de toi.' Davey murmured, moving a hand to play with Jack's bottom lip.

'Fuck, Dave...' Jack whispered. 'You can't just talk to me like that.'

'Like what?' Davey asked innocently, snaking his arms around Jack's shoulders. 'Comme ça?'

'You know I think it's sexy.' Jack groaned, dropping his head into the crook of Davey's shoulder.

'Tu es adorable, mon amour.' Davey whispered in the most silky tone Jack had ever heard. 'Tu aimes quand je parle comme ça, n'est-ce pas?'

Jack had no idea what Davey could possibly be saying, but man oh man was it doing a number on him. And his dick. And it sure did not go unnoticed, seeing as Jack had pulled his hips flush to Davey's at some point.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Davey's mouth. 'Ah chérie, tu es déjà excitée?' Aha. Jack knew that one. Excitée. Horny. 'Juste d'après mes mots?' Davey took on a more teasing tone, which only turned Jack on more. 'Oh, mon beau garçon.'

'Oui.' Jack grunted, letting Davey rub his back, almost sympathetically. And Davey had the audacity to giggle, and it was just about the most sultry giggle Jack had heard from him.

'Dave.' Jack tried to sound stern, but it came out more pleading. 'Gimme a break.'

Davey leaned in close to Jack's ear, and whispered, obviously now trying (and succeeding, the little bitch) to sound seductive, 'Non, pas pour toi, mon amour.'

Jack physically couldn't contain it. He ground his hips up, into Davey's, slowly and needily. Davey gasped quietly, not expecting the sensation.

'Jack!' He sounded scandalised. 'We are in a library!'

'Oh, and the library was just fine when you were talking dirty to me in French?' Jack snapped back playfully.

'I was not talking dirty!' Davey placed a hand on his chest defensively. 'I had no idea it was having an effect on you!'

Jack looked pointedly down at his now obvious boner, pressed against Davey. Davey snorted. 'Okay, well, that is not my fault.'

'It is so your fault.' Jack frowned. 'Can we get out of here?'

'Only if you use my textbook to hide your situation.'

'Oh, you asshole. You're about to have your own situation.'

'Can I have my situation at home?'

'You asshole.'

Davey shrugged. 'At least I have a situation that's under control.'

'Say sorry. Right now. Or I'm taking care of my situation, right here right now.'

'Jesus!' Davey held his hands up placatingly. 'I'm sorry. .... Mon amour.'

'You ass.'

[chachadelight]

𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝑴𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑯𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒆 | Part 2

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 1 | 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 2

𝕽𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 & 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: NSFW 18+ , No actual smut but smutty references, violence (against female OC), blood, toxic relationship, swearing, ANGST, No use of Y/N

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Here is part 2!! Big warning for this fic in general is that this relationship starts out very rough. It is angsty and it is toxic and you have been warned it can get abusive. Reader and Tangerine are killers and are inherently bad people who do bad things. So they're not exactly the loving type. So don't be surprised if they fuck with each other physically and mentally.

Tags: @marialikescherries @st1nkyf4rtboy

𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Tangerine x Fem!Assassin!Reader

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.3k

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Tangerine doesn't love, he can't. He knows that. So why does she make him feel the way she does and why does it piss him off so much?

𝔹𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕎𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤 & 𝔹𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤

Walking through the hotel lobby together was probably the least inconspicuous thing that the three of them could be doing and the trio looking out of place was the least that could be said. They were a strange mix of people, with two of them covered in blood, not all belonging to then. Tangerine was utterly dishevelled. His tie long gone, shirt unbuttoned, trousers stained and ruined. Damsel’s dress ripped in several pieces, a fragment of it tied not only around her arm and shoulder but also taking residence wrapped around Tangerine’s solid, injured thigh. All three of them had blank, unimpressed expressions across their face as they crossed the foyer. Clearly tired and done with the night.

The hotel was nice, not overtly extravagant but the kind of place you would need to flash enough cash to get a decent room out of. The dark wooden floors were polished to perfection, a strip of red carpet running down the expanse of the lobby. The furniture was lined with gold and was clearly outdated however would be considered lavish and therefore valuable, adding to the vintage feel of the place as a whole. Walls decorated with old paintings and lined with dark wood bookshelves that were stacked with books dusting with age. If Tangerine wasn’t half dead, he would have made a note to himself to come down here later to take a pick of one the old books.

She sauntered out in front out them having had offered for the twins to come to her safe house inside the Hollyvale Hotel, a place she often frequented when she had a job around the area. Tangerine had a clear limp as he walked, gritting his teeth with every painful step as to keep any noise hinting at his discomfort to come out. Damsel noted the way the receptionist stared at them and the few sporadic bell boys struggling to keep their heads down as they finally reached the front desk, yet she kept her stern, mascara smudged eyes on the receptionist.

Tangerine frowned as he peered between her and the man, not failing to notice his concerned expression and folded hands that failed to hide his subtle shaking. He did not speak however as Damsel reached into the front of her dress, pulling out a sizeable wad of cash between her fingers. She slammed it onto the counter to which the man gently slid it to himself and exchanged it with a single key card with the numbers ‘704’. In a silent exchange she took the card and slipped it between her breasts and began walking away. Tangerine raised a brow, swearing he saw her smirk before he turned to leave.

The elevator ride was quiet as the trio stood in utter silence. Damsel’s face never changed, if she was angry or annoyed, she definitely did not let on. Tangerine wandered if she was still furious at him and Lemon messing with her job and the argument they shared inside the car. He kept his mouth shut however until they all emptied the elevator and made their way to the hotel room.

She slid the key card into the card slot and with a single beep she swung the door open, and they all trailed inside. Both Lemon and Tangerine made their way into the room first, alert, and immediately searching their surroundings to ensure they were safe. The room was larger than Tangerine could have thought. A small hallway that led to a sizeable living room that looked nothing like the lobby downstairs. Much more modern furniture and décor furnishing the room. If he turned towards the left of the living room, that’s where he supposed the bedroom and bathroom would be.

Lemon flicked open the white chiffon curtains at the other end of the apartment across the living room, quickly taking a peak out of the oversized window only to be met with the view of the city below, cars filling the traffic jammed streets.

“Pff, bloody London traffic”. Lemon broke the nauseating silence between the trio, causing both Tangerine and Damsel to look up with frowns.

Lemon looked at the two and raised his brows, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips as he let his shoulders slump. “Right well…I’m fuckin’ starvin’ so”. He started making his way back towards the door. “Did you want anything’?” He paused, hand on the handle.

All he was met with was the death stares of the other pair, both silently standing at opposite sides of the room. “Awesome, Tangerine I know what you like and you-“He pointed to Damsel, her brow raising at that. “I feel like you’re a fish n’ chip kinda’ girl”. Before she could even open her mouth to retort Lemon was out the door, making sure to slam it before he left.

Great

She thought to herself. Now she was left with the absolute psycho who has decided to name himself after a fucking fruit. ‘Tangerine’. What kind of stupid fucking name was that? And now as he started to take of his suit jacket and began unbuttoning the vest he still had on, she really started to wonder why she ever offered the twins to come stay at her safe house in the first place. Had it perhaps been the fact there was a moment in between fighting Tangerine she had gotten lost in those ungodly blue eyes and the way he smiled at the fact that she had almost killed him. A man who grinned at her attempt to maim him. Nothing she had ever experienced before.

“Don’t get any blood on the floor. Or do, I don’t give a fuck, you’ll pay for it”. She made a noise similar to that of disgust as she started to unzip the back of her dress, turning away from the man across the room as she let the fabric drop to the floor around her feet. She was left bare save the black pair of panties she donned before attending the gala, and a thigh holster still wrapped securely in place. What she didn’t see whilst turned around was how Tangerine had turned his head at her voice, gaze locked on her bare back as she undressed. His eyes scoured the length of her, taking in the large tattoo that slid along her spine and disappeared into the waistband of her panties. Black words written in what seemed to be Russian, a phrase or sentence of some sort that twitched as her back muscles tensed with every movement. There were scars and faded marks etched along her skin, each one probably carrying its very own story.

Tangerine swallowed, unable to break away as his eyes met with the curve of her arse and led to her toned, muscular legs. A body designed to kill. He thought.

He was finally pulled away from his trance once Damsel had pulled a simple white tank top that she had taken out of a black duffel bag over her torso, promptly covering her bare upper half before turning to face a bewildered Tangerine.

“Like what you see fruit boy?” She called out, fingers clicking in the air as if she were attempting to grab a child’s attention.

Tangerine rolled his eyes as he begun taking off his watch. “Don’t be so full of yourself sweetheart”. He smiled to himself at that, carefully placing the golden watch on the nearest table, his gaze trailing up to the small kitchenette adjacent to the bedroom door.

“You think you’re so irresistible, don’t you?”

“I absolutely do”.

She scoffed; arms crossed over her chest. Her arm was coated with dried blood, she must have been in so much pain, but her expression or demeanour showed naught. “I bet no woman has ever turned you down before”.

Tangerine stood his ground as she started to move closer to him. Those perfect hips swaying the same way they did when he first met her hours prior at the gala. “Sounds accurate to me love, now what’s your point aye?”

She eyed him carefully. Making sure she had enough distance between them as she crept closer to him. She couldn’t quite figure him out completely, but what she did know was that Tangerine was an arsehole. He was narcissistic yet he was smart and was able to make well calculated decisions. He would have had to at some point in his life to be this successful.

“My point is Tangerine…” She cooed, his name slipping over her turn sinfully. “That there must be something about you that isn’t all of this”. She stepped closer now, her arms opening for her to gesture to Tangerine’s figure.

He looked down at himself before looking back up at her with a brow raised. “What’s that sposed’ to mean?”

“Charming, handsome, macho, not a care in this world…” Her voice had dropped an octave now, her eyes darkening and a sinister smirk spreading over her lips. “I can read you like a book Tangerine”. She said his name like that again, like it was the most sinful word she could ever speak.

“Stop saying it like that and what the fuck are you on about?” He was getting annoyed with her now and she could see that in his eyes. The way he started to fiddle about with frustration, unsure of where to keep his hands and arms as she simply stared him down with that sick smile on her still red lips.

“You… a poor little boy. Unwanted by his parents”.

Tangerine’s eyes widened at that, a single eye twitching. How can she know that?

“You stop that now”.

She did the opposite. She knew she was on the right track, and it only egged her on.

“Unloved by everyone. So much so that they simply gave him up, not bothered to deal with him. The burden of an unwanted child”.

“I fucking mean it”. He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Hated even by his foster parents…not just one, but every single one of them”.

By the look in Tangerine’s eyes, she knew she had struck a deep-rooted nerve. How she knew this? Well, she didn’t. Damsel had grown skilled in the art of reading people and when it came to Tangerine, she simply took a guess, and judging by the way he has reacted she knew she was right. She took joy in breaking down his walls, kicking them in until she could wrap her cold little hands around the shrivelled part of him that he hides with his manly bravado. He had fucked up her job and made her look like an amateur. She’d be lucky if she even got paid half of what she had originally asked for.

“Weak and useless and kicked around all his life. You developed this bullshit bravado act and fuck your way through any whore you can get your hands on”.

“I’m fucking warnin’ you for the last time, I swear to god. You’re bein’ a right fuckin’ brat I tell ya’”.

Damsel dared to take one final step closer to him until she was toe to toe with him. She was grinning now, the title ‘brat’ only encouraging her to keep it all up. She took that work with pride, going straight to her head. Gazing up from beneath her lashes she swore she could hear his heart pounding out of his chest, his eyes wide with fury and his breath heavy through his nose.

“I wonder if your brother knows how fucking pathetic you are”.

It was when the mention of Lemon slipped from her mouth that Tangerine final snapped. To bring him into whatever this was; was Tangerine’s last straw. Without hesitation he grabbed her forcefully by the neck, spun around and slammed her against the wall. A gasp left her lips as all the air from her chest escaped her completely from the impact. Tangerine growled angrily as his fingers curled tighter around her throat, the feeling of her struggling under his grasp giving him a small amount of satisfaction.

“I told you to shut your filthy fucking brat mouth”. Damsel reached up, weakly clawing at Tangerine’s hand before gripping his wrist in a desperate attempt to get him to let go. He had taken her so much by surprise that she hadn’t had the strength to fight against him, especially with her injured arm. A small, strained nose left her throat, her face beginning to turn red due to the lack of oxygen, the blood rushing to her head.

“Sorry love what was that? I can’t quite hear you; you’ll have to speak up”.

She looked at him with a desperate gaze as she started to whack at his chest with a closed fist. It did absolutely nothing to sway Tangerine as he kept his hand at her throat. “Not a lot to say now hey?”

Damsel was growing weary from the lack of oxygen, her vision beginning to blur and darkness slowly making its way into her line of sight. She let out one last burst of energy as she brought her knee up, landing it square against Tangerine’s nether regions and causing him to cuss out in agony.

“Fuck!” He immediately let her go as he keeled down in excruciating pain. Damsel had fallen to her knees, gasping for air as she clawed at her throat, choking, and sputtering all over the place, wondering if she’d ever be able to catch her breath properly.

“Fucking bitch!” Tangerine called out as he cupped his balls in one hand whilst the other pointed an accusatory finger.

She gasped one last time, sucking in as much air as she could as she stomped her way over to a suffering Tangerine. “You almost fucking killed me you bastard!” She raised an open palm and landed an Earth-shattering slap to Tangerine’s face that was so out of place it stopped him dead in his tracks.

Tangerine cupped his quickly reddening cheek before slowly turning to look at her. At this moment all he could feel was the intense stinging against his cheek and the burn of her gaze as she stood there staring at him in nothing else but a stained wide beater and black panties. He could feel nothing else. Not even the bullet hole in his thigh was comparing to the way the slap and her stare combined felt in that moment. That hit was the most personal of the night. She had broken him down on purpose, found his weakness and dissected him like a demented child with a rat’s corpse. Yet here he was, almost guilty that he had laid a hand on her.

“You’re just like every other fucking man out there”. She stared at him as if he were the most monstrous being on the planet and for some reason this hurt him. There had been countless times men and women alike had looked at him like this but for some reason coming from her it felt terrible. Tangerine noticed fresh blood trickling down her arm, droplets forming at her fingertips and threatening to fall at any point. The wounds had obviously opened up again during the struggle.

“You’re bleeding”. His voice was soft. Way softer than either himself or Damsel could expect. Tangerine lowered his hand from his face and locked eyes with her once more, finding it hard to keep eye contact.

“No fucking shit”.

He frowned slightly as he reached towards her. She immediately slapped his arm away, refusing to let him touch her. “Don’t you fucking touch me”.

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He didn’t listen to her, quickly grabbing a hold of her wrists and forcing her to stand still. Damsel’s face twisted with utter distaste to this and tried to fight his hold. To no avail he held her in place.

“Stop being a brat and just stand fucking still and let me help you”. His voice dropped multiple octaves, a gravel in his tone as his fingers tightened around her wrists. Her eyes blew wide open at his command, pure rage still boiling inside her but something else lay within her for a sudden chill to surge through her body, prompting her to still within an instant. She searched his gaze for some sort of explanation for his sudden need to heal her, but she couldn’t find a single hint anywhere within those blue eyes. So, she stopped struggling, her tense body relaxing in an instant.

“Are you going to let me help you?” He asked, eyes never leaving her own as she flicked through every racing thought in her head. When she took too long, he clicked his tongue and shook her by the wrists. “Are you!?”

All she could do was nod her head softly once, unable to form any other words as Tangerine did nothing after that but begin leading her to the bedroom, through to the ensuite bathroom. His grip had lessened on her wrists at this point as they both entered the dimly lit room.

He had let go of her wrists long enough to enable her to move towards the sink, looking up at the mirror for a moment and catching a glimpse of him in the reflection. She paused; eyes boring into his own. What did she do wrong for her to run into him? Everything was going her way at every moment and there wasn’t a single day or job where things didn’t go her way. Her fingers curled against the edge of the sink, her gaze flicking to the way her blood stained the porcelain. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to stitch her own wounds yet the thought of him helping her, seeing her at one of her most vulnerable states was still unbearable after what he had just done to her. She had her fair share of terrible men in her life, far too many to count. Far too many stories she’d rather not share.

“Turn around”. He spoke suddenly, pulling her from her thought. She did as he asked, not bothering to speak back as she leaned herself against the sink, her gaze refusing to meet his again. “Where’s your first aid?” She pointed to the cabinet behind him to which he opened and took out a dark green box. Tangerine let out a puff through is nose as he laid out the box’s contents, sifting through before he finally pulled out the needle and thread.

He noticed the way she refused to look at him now and he frowned, knowing well what had caused her to do so. He felt somewhat guilty about it however remained indignant at the way she had spoken about him moments prior. Perhaps she didn’t deserve to be choked out for it but that is how Tangerine operated. He didn’t really have a place inside him for tenderness or patience, and that meant creating meaningful relationships was not his forte. Excluding with his brother.

Tangerine reached up slowly to begin unravelling the soiled fabric from Damsel’s arm, careful to pull slowly as some of the blood had dried and crusted to her skin. He paused for a moment when she flinched, his gaze flicking up to her to see her reaction. When she didn’t say or do anything he continued until both the bullet wound and cut were visible to him. He examined her arm briefly. They were sizeable and deep wounds and no doubt needed multiple stitches.

“Jesus…really did a number on you didn’t I”. She let out a breath from her nose that sounded of amusement, yet she still refused to look at him. “This is going to hurt love”.

“Shut the fuck up and sew me up arsehole”. She spat impatiently.

Tangerine didn’t react to her outburst and took it as his signal to get things going. He brought the needle up to her arm and used one hand to prop under it to keep her steady. Lining up the point of the needle with her cut first, he gently but purposefully pushed it into her skin. Damsel hissed at the first push of the needle, screwing her eyes shut and squeezing the edge of the sink. The pain was unpleasant but not unfamiliar. The countless scars across her skin reminded her of that every day.

“Sorry”. His voice was soft as he made the second stitch, the needle pushing through a particularly sensitive spot that caused her to suddenly latch onto the white shirt he still had on, gripping the fabric roughly as to cope with the pain.

“Fuck! Gentle…!” Tangerine looked up to the spot she had clung onto, a small smile on his lips as he continued to sew up the wound, he had been guilty of.

“What? Don’t like it a little rough sometimes?” He grinned at her and only became more prideful once she snapped her eyes to him angrily. He had gotten her to look at him.

She noticed the look on his face and scoffed, a smile matching his growing on her face. “Always do”. Tangerine kept his smirk and shook his head at her.  He tied off the last stitch, yet he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. The way she looked back at him now, eye to eye. They were so close, and he had only just realised it then.  

“You’re a fuckin’ strange one love”. Tangerine kept his voice low, his hand still wrapped around her arm gently. He watched her smile again and something inside him churned. She had a beautiful smile he thought. Not as wicked as he once thought before.

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He smiled at her like she was beautiful, and it made her feel ill. No one usually smiled at her like that unless they were sleazy men wanting her purely for her body and nothing else. Perhaps Tangerine could be the same, but the way his fingers gripped at her skin and how gently he sewed up her wounds told a different story. There was something so insanely intimate about this interaction that was so much more than even if he had her pressed to a wall and fucked her senseless. Damsel grimaced at the thought of it. The last thing she could ever need is to be cared about or care for anyone else. There was no room for it in her line of work. Not to mention she had tried it once before, and what did she get out of it? Nothing but heartbreak and a giant scar on her leg to prove it.

Yet here he was, inches from her body. His chest was pressed against her side, his body firm against her. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of his musk and it was all so nauseating. Maybe it was the blood loss, but her senses were in an overdrive at him being so close to her. He was still in his shirt but it was heavily unbuttoned now, revealing the tanned chest beneath. Soft curls of hair decorating his muscled chest and a gold pendant swaying temptingly against his skin. No doubt a piece of great importance to him that she knew he would never confide in her. Everything within her screamed and clawed out to tell her to get away. Yet she remained. Some voice telling her to stay. The same voice who had probably told the twins to come back with her. She hadn’t even felt him stitch her bullet wound to the point he had finished and was now locking eyes with her once more.

They stood in silence. He was hunched over slightly, and this caused their faces to remain only inches apart. “You should shower”. His breath fanned across her face, her eyes fluttering softly at his tone.

“I’m sure you’d enjoy that”. She retorted, her sarcasm failing to reach her expression. The dazed look on her face betraying her.

He smirked and stood up straight, pulling her briefly from her haze. “Up”. She listened with only a moment of hesitation; black stained eyes looking up at him as he pulled the tank top from her gently. She stood bare in front of him then and she didn’t miss how his gaze fell onto the sight of her bare breasts. He half expected him to jump her there, yet he didn’t. Instead, he spun around and turned the shower on, his hand floating beneath the stream of water until he deemed the temperature appropriately warm. Turning back around he stepped closer to her again, the smell of him brining yet another wave of nausea to her. Tangerine leaned down until his lips pressed against her ear causing her eyes to flutter shut once more.

“Get in before I change my mind and get in with you”. With that he pulled away from her and headed for the door, leaving her alone without looking back.

Damsel opened her eyes and watched him leave, her chest rising and falling heavily. She listened to the way her heart thrummed and sneered. Fucker. As if she would have let him.

Yet she would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t thought about it. But she knew that it would have been the worst idea.

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Tangerine let out the biggest breath as he closed the bathroom door, unaware of just how hard he had been holding it in the whole time he had been with her. The intimacy of the whole interaction, how close he had gotten to her. The feel of her skin against his own, burning every inch of him. The swell of her breasts and the look in her eyes as she watched his every move had him on fire. To say he was turned on was putting it in the mildest way possible. He could feel himself straining uncomfortably against his trousers and started to wonder if he should barge back in and take her right there against the shower wall. The mere thought of it had him twitching, aching horrifically to find out how she might feel wrapped around him. How warm her walls must be, how wild and lustfully she could ride him if he could just get his hands on her.

He was going to need a cold shower.

Tangerine advised himself against it, however. Initiating that with her would undeniably end badly. Usually, he would never turn down the opportunity to fuck a gorgeous woman however this one was different. Something told him this was not the last time he was going to see her. Not because they may cross paths but because Tangerine knew he would subconsciously try to see her again. And that in itself was a very, very bad thing.

[onemeangreenbean]

Anything Chapter 8

SUMMARY: On the precipice of death Wynter does the only thing she can think to do to save herself. Something that is forbidden in her practice….to summon a demon and make a deal. The demon that answers her call ask what Wynter is offering  and in her delirious state she answers with the only thing she can think of  “Anything”.

PAIRING: Demon!Yoongi x BlackWitch OC 

GENRE: Demon AU, Mystery, Strangers to Lovers, Soulmates, Smut, Fluff, Angst, slowburn

WARNINGS: violence, gore, murder (maybe), eventual smut, panic attacks, wayward love potion, some dry humping, f. masturbation, m. masturbation

WORDCOUNT: 6,198

A/N: Sorry this is so late! But I hope some spice will make up for it 🥺. I felt it was time to release some of the pressure, so I hope y'all enjoy!

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Life had been a blur of routines, work, and training for Wynter. She got up listened to Yoongi’s, early as fuck morning lectures. Went to work, where she then had to learn about whatever topic Namjoon thought to teach her about. Only to then come back home and have to do physical training with a demon who seemed to be hell bent on beating her up every chance he got. Wynter had made so many potions and gotten so many bruises in the past month one would think that she was preparing for battle. 

The past month they had been doing renovations to the shop with Taehyung. Namjoon had been adamant that the shop was completely fine, but Tae had stood on the counter and proclaimed that he had a “vision of a great mural that would bring peace to the world” that needed to go along the far wall filled with shelves of books. Namjoon had rolled his eyes so hard that Wynter thought they would get stuck in the back of his head. 

Alas, here Wynter was struggling to move one of the tall bookshelves over to it’s new home behind the counter. She rued the day when they would have to move the solid wooded counter over to it’s new home in front of the mural. Her muscles strained as she tried to shimmy the shelf. After what felt like 10 minutes, she decided to take a break to gather some of her strength back. Only to look and see that she had barely moved the shelf five feet from it’s original spot. 

A small cry of defeat left her lips as he hung her head. A squeaky cackle behind her alerted Wynter to an audience she didn’t know she had. She peeked around her shoulder to see Jin and Taehyung walking over to the shelf and picked it up together with ease. “You need some big strong men to help you?” Jin got out through his laughter.

“Shut it! I was moving it perfectly fine on my own.”

“Oh yeah,” Taehynug grunted out, “The whole inch you moved it from the wall was impressive.” His boxy grin was on full display as he readjusted his grip on the bottom of the shelf. 

Wynter opened her mouth to to rebuttal and was immediately cut off by Jin, “Why don’t you just go and be pretty away from the heavy furniture.”

“I am more than just a pretty face, Seokjin,” Wynter was pouting so hard she might have well stomped her foot. 

“Yes,” Jin grunt as he and Taehyung sat the piece down in it’s new home, “We know you are a highly intelligent, strong and capable woman.” Jin squished her full cheeks in his hands and shook her head back and forth. “But sometimes it’s okay to just be pretty and help elsewhere.” Turning her still squished face over to where she could see Namjoon trying and failing to organize the  potion display case, a pile of broken glass already swept neatly to the side. “Now you can’t be as pretty as me, but Joon does need your help. He would be lost without you at this point.” Jin smiled down at Wynter’s pouted out face. 

She guess he was right. She could just be pretty today. Sighing she pulled her face out of his large hands and scrunched it up in resignation. “Fine. I’ll go assist mr.clumsy with my pretty face.” She held her hands up under her chin and smiled as she walked away leaving both men chuckling as they continued. 

It was a good thing that Jin sent her over because Namjoon had broken seven potions already. Sighing she grabbed a rag that was laying around and got down to start cleaning up the red and milky white liquid spilled over the floor. “No wait-” Namjoon had tried to warn her before she could mixed the two together but it was too late. Wynter felt a tingle and then a burning sensation before her body filled with a warm and gooey feeling. It happened all in a matter of seconds and ended in the same amount of time as well. 

“What the fuck was that?” Wynter slowly turned her head to see a painfully remorseful look on Namjoon’s handsome face. 

“Okay, but you can’t be mad,” he started. When all he got was a more intense glare than before he fussed up. “So the white potion was one to help open someone’s mind up to suggestion,” hearing the small intake of breathe Wynter took in he rushed out the rest. “Not in a mind control way but in a you’re able to suggest things that the effected person was already thinking about or feeling in one way ot the other.”

“Like my sweeten’ tea?”

“Yes! Like your sweet tea.”

“And the red potion,” Wynter could feel a severe headache coming on. 

“Ah, a love potion,” Namjoon shyly said, “You know just a weak one.”

Wynter felt like the world had stopped because he could not have possible just said a love potion. Even a weak one was able to influence and provoke strong emotional reactions from a person. Granted they only lasted for a day or so and didn’t control or coerce the person into doing anything they didn’t already want to. A glorified push some folks, mostly matchmakers, used to move folks in the right direction. 

“And combined,” She bit out lowly, watching as the normally imposing shaman try to make himself even smaller. 

“An aphrodisiac of an unknown strength and duration,” he squeaked out. If Wynter thought she could reach his face she would punch him right in it. Instead though she just closed her eyes, took a deep breath and nodded her head as she got up from her kneeling position, because what do you even say to that. 

She couldn’t say that she felt any different at the current moment? No intense feelings of lust had taken over her body. What she was feeling that was a slow burning rage towards the man in front of her. Rage was a passionate emotion sothe potion may be working. Opening and closing her mouth multiple times Wynter tried to find the calm center inside of her but was failing to locate it. So she just settled on turning and walking away. 

Wynter could her Namjoon’s apologies as she collected her stuff and stalked past Jin and Taehyung, who both looked on the scene with pure confusion. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She said out of habit before she made her way home. The day had been a great temperament day that now made Wynter feel like she was walking through hell. The feeling of her t-shirt rubbing against her skin was driving her absolutely crazy. As was her hair touching her neck. 

Walking in the apartment she threw down her bag at the entryway. Rushing over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, hoping that it would cool her down. The cool liquid sliding down her throat seemed to be helping a little bit. Maybe if she just holed up in a cocoon in her bed she would be able to just wait out whatever effects the potion would have on her. Yeah. That would have to work because not knowing when whatever was going to happen would hit was not a chance she was willing to take. 

Sighing she made her way over to her bed stripping off her shirt, bra, and leggings, the fabric irritating her now too sensitive skin. She would take everything off but she never knew when Yoongi would be back, so she opted for her lights pair of sleep shorts and and a cropped tank top.  He had been gone more and more as of late, only really showing up to do combat training. An aspect that Wynter is still resentful of, pouting she crawled under her covers mummified herself to where only her face was sticking out of the mess of blankets. 

If the sensitivity of her skin was all she had to worry about she had never been more happy that she investing in silk sheets and a soft down comforter. Wrapped in a silky soft cloud with a fan blowing cool air on her face, Wynter dozed off for what felt like a total of fifteen minutes before she was rudely awakened by her cloud being ripped away from her. 

Wynter groaned and flopped on her back starfished. Opening her eyes she knew that it had been more than fifteen minutes by how the sunlight was now hitting the far wall. Knowing what time it was she looked up to see Yoongi standing at the foot of the bed. “Can we skip today? I don’t feel good,” she whined out. 

“Are you sick?” If Wynter didn’t know any better she would say that the question was tinged with a bit of worry. 

While she could tell him that Namjoon had accidentally dosed her with aphrodisiac at work, she knew that the conversation would not go as plan. Plus it was just embarrassing. Taking stock of her body and feelings, the tingling and sensitivity of her skin had not subsided. It wasn’t horrible so she knew she could still technically train. “Wynter.”

Kissing her teeth she looked off to the side pouting, “Not particularly. Just a bad day.” Wynter’s back hit the hard floor as her soft bed disappeared from under her body. “Why?” She groaned out as she rolled over to climb up to her feet. The space in the middle of the studio apartment have been pushed to the walls, creating a space for them to train. When she had mentioned that she had downstairs neighbors, Yoongi had simply stated that he had soundproofed the apartment, to which Wynter rolled her eyes. 

“People wanting to kill you don’t care if you have a bad day,” Yoongi stated in a flat tone as he tied his hair up out of face. He hair had gotten longer since he had been up top, which Wynter had noticed. What Wynter had failed to notice was how soft and full it looked? Also, had his arms always been that big? His black shirt looked like it was just one flex away from being ripped apart. It wasn’t like it was tight or anything just around his biceps. Wynter’s eyes trailed from his biceps down to his abs sill hidden by the fabric, and found herself wondering if he had a six pack or if he was just soft and lean. Roaming further down his body to the baggy gray sweatpants that left just enough to the imagination. If she looked hard enough she could see his - “Why are you staring at me?”

Snapping her mouth shut not even realizing that it was open. So, maybe the potion was having some other effects. Shaking her head she shrugged not really trusting her voice to respond without cracking. Giving her a confused look he shook his head before getting in position. His formed blurred before three extremely hot demons stood before her. The only way she could tell them apart was that the clones faces were still slightly blurred like an out of focus picture. 

Wynter bounced on the balls of her feet as she took a deep breath centering herself - opening herself up to the frigidness that was her power. The iceness crept down her arms until it rested in her hands. She usually described it as the feeling of nothing, they feeling that you get when you look in a empty room and get the feeling that it’s not actually empty. It was a weird add feeling but one that she had grown accustomed to. 

Yoongi didn’t give her time to acclimate like he normally would throwing her off as clone one rushed at her. Panicking she tried to dodge but ended up tripping and falling onto her side. Taking the opening clone two went to stomp her head narrowly missing as Wynter rolled away and got back up to her feet. 

She could barely get a hit in as both of the clones were coming at her from both sides. Her moves were feeling sluggish due to the potion but Wynter was feeling pretty good that she was holding her own. Apparently that was not enough for Yoongi since she could hear him yelling at her from the sidelines. Wynter knew that the point of the training was not only to prepare her to fight but also learn to integrate her power into different fighting styles. Being versatile was always an advantage in battle. The annoyingly right statement Yoongi constantly repeated stayed in the back of her mind. 

Taking a deep breathe she covered her fist in anti-matter before throwing a right hook that landed on clone two’s face. She felt the molecules disintegrate upon impact.  It’s head slowly turned back around to face her, half of it’s face a black void that reached up from its chin to the inner corner its right eye. Wynter’s chest still tighten every time she saw the damage she could inflict. No matter how many times Yoongi reassured her that the clones weren’t real and didn’t feel any pain, she still had the same visceral reaction. Knowing you had the power to rip atoms apart terrified her. 

Swallowing down her fear and unease she continued fighting until the clones resemble nothing but broken porcelain dolls- to void and broken to keep moving. Bending over with her hands on her knees Wynter gulped for breathe. The fight took more out of her than she thought. She spent most of it avoiding the clones making contact with her afraid her overly sensitive skin would cause her to fumble. Luckily their touch was cooling and seemed to calm the burning sensation down. 

“You’re sloppy today,” Yoongi walked over from where he had been perched on the kitchen counter observing her. Looking up from where her head was hanging she gave him an incredulous look. 

“I thought I did fine,” she huffed still trying to catch her breathe as she stood up tall. Watching him through weary eyes.

“No.” he stated flatly, waving his hand and disintegrating the clones the rest of the way. “If an actual opponent with half a brain and even less technique fought you, you’d be dead,” he finished flatly coming to stand in front of her. Yoongi’s presence loomed over her she tried to hold his gaze. She failed ultimately looking over to the side and before pushing some stray curls out of her face. 

“What do you suggest than?” When she looked back up at him she could of sworn that she saw his eyes flicker back up to her face. 

“We’ll fight.” Before she could start to protest, eyes widen in fear, Yoongi held up his hand to cut her off. “Fighting mindless clones is making you lazy. You need an actually challenge.”

Wynter couldn’t even disagree, even if this was a harder fight, it was just because she wasn’t at her best. Letting out a loud groan she nodded her head and got back into position ignoring the tingling of her skin. Her breathing was still heavy but that had to be from the previous fight. “No powers,” Wynter pleaded with round puppy eyes. 

Rolling his eyes Yoongi got into position as well, “No powers.” They stood there for a few seconds, each waiting for the other to attack first, but when Yoongi just quirked an eyebrow Wynter knew that he was waiting on her. Steeling herself she lead with her fist only to have it caught and be flipped onto her back. To say that groan that she let out was from pain would be a covenant lie. The place where Yoongi had gripped her arm felt as if a million nerves caught on fire, lighting the place up in the most euphoric feeling that went directly down to her now throbbing clit. Wynter just stared up at the ceiling trying to come back to herself. If this was the full extent of the potion she was not going to make it through this fight without having an orgasm through contact alone. 

Wynter needed to get it together and make it though this fight quickly. Slowly she climbed to her feet barely getting balanced before Yoongi lunged at her again, this time she dodged and kept dodging all of his hits. “You can’t just keep dodging,” he gritted out trying to land a kick. Oh yes I can. Wynter thought. You always said that when fighting an opponent stronger than you always fight to live not to win. I am perfectly aware I can not win against you. Wynter had taken to talking to Yoongi in her head when they were training cause fighting, breathing, and talking were too many things to focus on. 

Yoongi was annoyed that she had actually listened to him during that lecture. They had set up a safety zone for fights to mimic getting away from the opponent and he could see that was exactly where she was headed. Instead of attacking her, Yoongi simply just used her momentum to grab her arm and wrap her around until she was locked in his arms pressed to front. Wynter couldn’t control the moan that slipped from her mouth at the feeling of being pressed against the demon. 

Furrowing his brow Yoongi was sure he had heard that incorrectly but when he slightly pulled her closer and a small whimper fell from her plush open lips he was sure. He could feel a thrum in their bond that made him feel like he was boiling alive. “Can you please let go,” Wynter sounded breathless in his arms, chest heaving as she bit her lip to hold back any unwanted sounds. 

Giving a brief hum Yoongi reluctantly let her go. Once his arms freed her, Wynter had to stop herself from falling to her knees. On wampling legs she turned around to face Yoongi. Wynter could see he was confused, his brows furrowed and his hands arms to hovering in the air where he held her. She knew she looked flushed and the glistening skin was not because of her working out. Next time she saw Namjoon she was going to kill him. 

Taking the opportunity of Yoongi being stunned she delivered a swift kick to his chest causing him to stumble back a bit. Trying to take a capitalize on the momentum she tried to deliver a second kick, but by then Yoongi had regained his bearings. Using her kick he flipped her over pining her to the floor beneath him. Wynter’s arms were squished in between their bodies unable to move, especially with Yoongi’s grip binding her wrist. She struggled to grapple him off of her. The tighter Wynter wrapped her legs around his waist the harder Yoongi pinned her down with his hips to stop her from moving. 

“Stop moving,” Yoongi bit out trying to keep himself compose as Wynter kept brushing against his clothed bludge. He was thinking about literally anything to keep from getting hard finally just using his free hand along with his hips to pin her down. 

Wynter stopped in her struggle to escape the way too hot confines of Yoongi’s pin to really take in their position. They stared into each other’s eyes panting. Yoongi’s gaze was dark as he took in Wynter’s blown out eyes. Every place their bodies were connected caused a buzzing under her skin. Her body felt like a live wire and the heat of Yoongi’s gaze was igniting something in her that she had been trying to tamper down since they had first met. 

Yoongi shifted his weight on top of her causing Wynter to bend further in half. Biting her lip did nothing to hinder the sound of the moan the movement pulled out of her, nor did Wynter miss the way Yoongi’s eyes narrowed at the sound and flicker to where her full lips were tucked in between her teeth. The only sounds in the apartment were the sound of their panting and the small whimpers Wynter let out as the buzzing slowly became a raging fire. 

Slowly, Yoongi let his gaze wonder around her face and down to where her breast were spilling out of the top of her tank top before traveling back up to her eyes as if asking for permission Wynter freely gave. Yoongi slowly leaned down, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, his hip giving a tiny roll against sensitive core. Wynter’s fluttered shut, as a surprised low moan came from her now freed lips, an even smaller “please” just barely reached his ears. Their lips ghosted over each other before Yoongi worked through his hesitancy to go in for a kiss. 

Wynter’s ringtone blaring through the apartment seemed to break both of them out of whatever trance they were in. Scrambling out from under the demons body Wynter stumbled over to where her phone was laying on her bed. Bring the phone up tp her ear. “Yeah,”  she cleared throat gather her bearings. Yoongi watched from where he was still kneeled on the floor as Wynter fidgeted as she listen to Namjoon on the phone. “Um,” clearing her throat again, “the potion did have some,” pausing Wynter looked over at Yoongi giving a brief smile before turning back around. “Effects.” 

Namjoon prattled on a bit longer about working on a potion to reverse the effects and how if it’s still effecting her by the morning than she needed to call him ASAP. Everything going in one ear and out the other as all Wynter could concentrate on was heat cycling through her body as she tried to think of anything but the demon still on his knees behind her. “Yeah . Got it. Look, Joon, I get it you’re sorry but I gotta go,” she rushed out before hanging up and throwing her phone onto the bed. 

“What potion?” Wynter whipped around at the deep murmur on her ear. Yoongi was stood right behind her gaze locked onto hers. Unlike before being in this close of proximity was effecting her just as much as if he was touching her. 

“Uh, Namjoon dropped some potions and when I went to clean it up it made an aphrodisiac based love potion.” Yoongi’s brows shot up at her run-on sentence. Everything now made sense to him, smirking he looked down to where she was unconsciously leaning into his space, eyes slightly cloudy as she looked up at him. The potion seemed to be hitting her harder since they were soulmates and she would have already been naturally drawn to him.

Cupping her face gently in his hand, Yoongi ran his tumb over her bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to slide the tip in between her lips. “Gongjunim, is there something you want?” Yoongi teased curious as to how far she would go. He knew that the potion wouldn’t make Wynter do something she wouldn’t in her normal state, just lowered her inhibitions enough to give her permission to what she really wanted to do. Removing his thumb from between the softness of her lips, he took hold of her jaw guiding her face up towards his. Her umber eyes bouncing back and forth between his, clearly debating with herself on what to do. To give in or not. 

The brief clearing of the haze in her eyes told Yoongi her decision. Calmly pulling his hands back to himself he said softly, “I’m gonna go to a sweep of the neighborhood.” He slowly stepped back giving her enough time to change her mind, but to his slight disappointment she didn’t move forward. Seemingly forcing herself to stay put, as to not go to him. 

Wynter simply nodded not trusting her voice to work. It took all of her will power to not pounce on him as she watched him apparate out of the apartment and to god knows where. She heaved in a lungful of air and made a beeline for the bathroom, ripping her shirt off in the process. A cool shower should be able to calm the now constant buzzing her skin was feeling. Wynter peeled her shorts off her skin, her soaked through panties clung to her folds as she took them off making her flinch slightly when the cool air hit her. 

Never had she been this wet before. Turning on the water she jumped under the cold water her body seizing in shock from the stark temperature difference. The cold water rolled down her skin leaving icy hot trails down her body, doing nothing more than creating an unexpected type of sensation. Grabbing her breast in her hand she rolled the already pebbled nibbles in between her fingers as she leaned back against the wall. She could see why people enjoyed temperature play. The fluctuation between the heat of her body and the cold water was throwing her nerves into overdrive. 

Cupping her sex she didn’t even bother trying to suppress the relieved moan the small contact ripped from her. Sliding down into the little alcove, ignoring the way he body caused her hair and body products to clatter loudly to the shower floor. Letting go of her breast she grabbed under her thigh, lifting it to spread herself open. A shudder racked Wynter’s body at the first swipe of her clit. She wasn’t sensitive by any means but every nerve ending seemed to be sending every single every sensation straight to the small bud. Sucking in a breath she tilted her head back, licking her lips as she tried to regulate her breathing. 

Wynter hadn’t touched herself since Yoongi had came into her life - far to embarrassed at the prospect of getting caught, but in this moment she couldn’t have given two fucks if he walked into the bathroom while she was two fingers deep inside herself. All that kept playing in her head was the way that Yoongi had felt pressed against her. The way he held her down with no effort, taking control of her body. She knew that if she was any weaker she would have given in to him right than and there. 

The coil in her lower belly was beginning to tighten. Wynter wanted so badly to drop to her knees and unveil the impressive bludge she felt pressed against her core and swallow it whole. She wanted him to fuck her face. Fuck her into the mattress. On the kitchen counter, the living room, the floor. Her moans and squelching from her fingering her cunt fought for dominance in the small space. The sounds bouncing off the walls, no doubt amplifying the obscene noises. Wynter wanted Yoongi to fuck her until she forgot her name, until she was his and only his. The coil that had been so tightly wound in her belly finally snapped as she mewled out her demons name. The powerful orgasm his name ripped out of her caused her body to shudder and convulse in the aftershocks. 

Letting her leg slip out of her hand and onto the tub floor, Wynter allowed the cold water to sting against her skin as her temperature went back down to normal. It was like a fog had been lifted as a shiver racked her body. Jolting into action she quickly turned the water up to a warmer temperature and stood under it until her teeth stopped chattering. Her mind kept going back to what Namjoon said was the main function of the potion. A potion that opened the affected mind up to feel a strong physical reaction to a person they desired. Wynter went with desired as the L word had far too many connotation for her to even begin dealing with. 

Besides she wasn’t in love with, Yoongi. Right? Even if she had feelings for him they had to be just because of close proximity. Everyone fell in love or were at least attracted to their roomates at some point. Either way no matter the reason she reacted that viscerally to him was because of the potion and definitely not some underlying feeling she was intentionally suppressing because confronting it would complicate her life way too much. That and she clearly just needed an orgasm to get the potion out of her system. There was no way she admitting that to Namjoon though, so she would need to make up a lie to tell him that seemed believable. 

Yoongi stood outside the bathroom door with his cock still in his cum covered hand. He really had tried to go and do a check in the neighborhood, but the arousal beaming through the bond made it difficult to concentrate on his task. Aware that the fastest cure to love potions were orgasms he knew he needed to leave so that Wynter could have privacy to reach it herself. Though he was more than willing to give her as many as she needed even if it was just with his mouth. 

Tucking himself back into her sweats he cursed himself for coming back so early. Her sweet sounds and thoughts drew him in like a moth to a flame, and while he couldn’t see her, he could see the scenarios in her head crystal clear. Really her fault for having such a vivid minds eye. Yoongi knew that when the sound of his name fell from her lips, he needed to hear it for the rest of his life. She could be screaming at him for all he cared as long as she was saying his name. 

Fuck this was the exact opposite of what he was trying achieve. He had been initially keeping himself away from Wynter. Thought that throwing himself in the hunt for Jiyeon and leading a rebellion would keep him away from temptation that was his beautiful soulmate. Fuck. Turning he apparated as he walked away towards the window. The world turned into black smoke until it came back into focus. The smell of weed filled the air as he walked through the living room of the penthouse before plopping face first on the overly stuffed couch. “Why do you look like you want to murder the first person that speaks to you?” Hoseok asked as he exhaled the smoke. 

“And yet you’re still speaking,” Yoongi’s words came out mumbled as he shuffled over onto his back. Hoseok hum had Yoongi tilting his head back to look at the red haired demon, joint extended out for him to grab. Usually he would partake but he needed a clear head to sort through his thoughts. Shaking his head he turned his gaze back up to the exposed beams in the ceiling. He needed to clearly look at his situation. Their situation. Every bit of research he had done on soulmates had lead him to realize that it was rare, or at least rare enough that most people never met theirs. Even rarer to find regarding demons or entities without souls. The scroll he found at the monastery was the only one he found that every explicitly stated it. 

“What do you think about soulmates?” Yoongi heard Hoseok take another hit. Maybe he just needed to talk it out. Hobi had been with Yoongi since the very beginning. Growing up with him within the palace walls. A shining light of guidance who he knew had his best interest at heart and wouldn’t judge him for his thoughts. 

Making a noncommittal noise Hobi spoke, “I think that if they’re real  anyone who is able to find theirs should keep them as close as possible.” Yoongi hummed in agreement. “Why do you ask?”

Biting the corner of his lip he contemplated how to word what he had found. This was one of the first times Yoongi had kept something from his right hand man. Sitting up to look at Hoseok, he crossed his legs under him. “You know that contract that I took?”

“Yeah?”

“The bond feels different with her?” Yoongi huffed out. 

“Like incomplete, or..?” Hoseok’s lips were turned down into a frown as he waited for Yoongi to elaborate. 

“No,” Yoongi picked at his nail beds and he tried to gather his thoughts. This was surprisingly harder to talk about than he thought it would be. “Like you know how contractual bonds are always thin and cold. Faint because they’re temporary?” He wanted for Hobi to nodded before continuing. “The one with her feels concrete and warm. So warm and bright.” He whispered the last part in disbelief. Licking his lips he continued on, “When you found me at that monastery I had just got done reading about how demons can reform soul bonds.”

Looking up from his picked raw fingers Yoongi saw Hoseok’s brow furrow in a cross between confusion and disbelief, “Crazy I know! Since we renounce all of those but,” pausing he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “I’ve felt it everyday since I’ve met her. Since before I even made the contractual bond with her. Her summoning was deafening. It filled my head making it really difficult to ignore and when I got to her I felt the bond snap into place before even speaking to her. It was a little frail. Out of curiosity I took the contract. That’s when it was like my world shifted and she became crystal clear.” 

It felt so good to finally admit that out loud. To admit that to himself. Yoongi had been avoiding that truth since the moment it happened, not wanting to face the reality of the situation. Because to face it meant making it real and making it real challenged the foundation on who Yoongi was as a demon. Who he had been for well over a century. “I know I sound crazy, but Hobi I feel it here,” balling his sweatshirt up right above his heart, Yoongi watched Hoseok’s face relax from it’s confused expression. “I feel it deep in my being. My emotions are coming back. My conscious is returning. I’m terrified of what any of this means. Terrified of what it means about who I am. Terrified about how dangerous it is for her if anyone finds out. Terrified about what this means for the rebellion. It doesn’t matter though because what I do know ia that denying it is no longer an option.”

Silence settled between the two friends at the end of Yoongi’s rant. His chest heaving as he pleaded with his longest friend to understand him. Hoseok’s face was unreadable and that scared Yoongi. Did he lose his trust? His respect? Was he gonna out him and lock him away? “Okay,” Hobi’s voice pulled Yoongi back to his friend. “If you believe that this is happening than I believe you.” The soft heart shape smile on his face sent a wave of relief rushing through Yoongi. 

He didn’t realize how much he needed the reassurance that he wasn’t crazy. That this was something that was actually happening to him. “I don’t know what this means but what I do know is that I’ll find any scrap of information I can to figure it out.” Patting Yoongi knee he watched Hobi make his way over to the bar cart in the corner and pour two glasses of whiskey. Bringing one over to Yoongi before sitting down and taking a swig himself. 

“I also think it’s a good idea to keep this as close to you as possible. If one of Jungsoo’s were to find out,” The implication in Hobi’s statement was loud to Yoongi. Having a weakness was bad at anytime, but especially in times of war. Yoongi saw it first hand with his own parents. It never ended well, and he would do everything in his power ensure that Wynter never saw that type of ending. 

The amber liquid burned his throat as too a sip, “I need to find out a way to keep her safe. Fuck,” hanging his head low Yoongi sighed, “I have to find a way to tell her.” That was really going to be the hardest part of this whole process. Yoongi knew that Wynter wasn’t going to accept or even entertain the idea of being soulmates with a demon. She barely accepted him now, but today showed him at least that feelings were there, the attraction was there, and that Yoongi could work with. 

Hoseok’s laughter filled the penthouse as he doubled over ignoring Yoongi’s pouts that it wasn’t funny. “I’m sorry, bro, but I haven’t seen you like this since you have a crush on that handmaiden when we were kids,” he spoke between laughs. Wiping the tears gathered in the corner of his eyes Hobi got up, patting Yoongi on the shoulder as he walked past him. “I’ll figure the scary shit out. You just worry about getting you pretty soulmate to fall for you.” Yoongi listened as his friends laughter tapered off down the hallway until he could no longer hear him. 

[starlitangels]

In the CEO’s Office

After slightly eavesdropping on a brief piece of conversation between @zozo-01 @taelonsamada and @frenchiefitzhere … have an AU! It’s a No Powers AU 4.1k words

—

I knocked carefully on the door.

“Come in,” the soft, gravelly voice called.

I twisted the handle and pushed the door open. “Mr. Shaw. You wanted to see me?” I asked.

I’d been in the CEO’s office a couple times before, but it had always been in the daytime. There was a grand majesty to it lit by the golden light of the lamps after dark. The rich wood tones of the large desk, the towering bookshelves casting shadows up leather-bound spines with each ledge. The lamps themselves with translucent glass shades and gold marble bases. A floor-to-ceiling window taking up two walls of the corner office, Dahlia glittering like the jewels of a dragon’s hoard through tinted glass. Two leather armchairs nearest me—

And the black throne-like office chair where Mr. Shaw sat.

He gestured to the armchairs. “Have a seat.” His voice was solid and unyielding, but not angry.

I crossed the floor and took a seat. I couldn’t help chewing a bit at my lower lip. Called before the CEO with no warning—my mind had been spinning all day.

David Shaw was a tall man. Broad shouldered and well-defined by a crisp suit. His vibrant emerald eyes missed nothing. They never did. He didn’t get to where he was by making foolish mistakes. If he wasn’t my boss—or, rather, my boss’ boss’ boss—I probably would have stared a little more shamelessly than I already did.

He sighed. “Don’t look so nervous. You’re not in trouble,” he said. His tone wasn’t sharp, but there was force behind his words. “I apologize for the late hour. It was a busy day.”

I tried to relax. “How can I help you, sir?”

A laser-sharp smile appeared on his face. “I’m glad you asked.”

A knot of dread formed in the pit of my stomach.

He pulled out a binder from a drawer in his desk. Removing three pages, he set them out in front of me. The letterheads with the name of employees were all redacted in black ink. “Which one is correct?”

“Sir?”

“Which ones have the correct figures for this past quarter?”

I leaned over the desk, briefly skimmed each page and ran numbers in my head.

I tapped the one on the right. “This one, sir.”

“Where did the other two go wrong?”

I glanced the other two over. “The holiday dinner for the middle one,” I answered. “The staff bonuses for the left one.”

David Shaw “Hmm”ed and leaned back in his chair. It didn’t even squeak.

“The one on the left was submitted by your boss,” he said. “The one in the middle was submitted by his boss.” I nodded. “The correct one on the right was submitted by you.”

I blinked. “O-oh.”

“You. A simple team lead who did a little extra work under the promise of a small increase to your quarterly bonus. Somehow managed to get the finances perfect to the cent when two higher-ups failed.” He tsked. “But the hours you submitted of working on this sheet show you did it in less time than either of them, but far more time than someone of your standing should have done.” He leaned forward in his chair, eyeing me. “How’d you do it?”

I shrugged. “Numbers come easy to me,” I said.

“That’s all?”

“Sir, this kind of figuring is my second language. I read it like a language and I write it like one. But this is a language with consistency and logical flow and rules. It’s easier than most people believe. Or make it out to be.”

His lush green eyes cut into me like knives.

He pulled another page from the binder. “This is a hypothetical quarterly expense sheet for one week at this company,” he said. He nodded to it. “Run the numbers.”

I patted the pockets of my jacket for my pen. “Where is—”

“Here.” He passed me the one that had been in his suit coat’s inside pocket. A fountain pen that probably cost more than a month’s rent at my apartment.

I took it hesitantly and started to work over the sheet.

After a few minutes, I handed him back the pen and the page. He took another one from the binder. I had a sneaking suspicion it was an answer sheet.

He compared the two for a moment.

His eyes met mine over the top of the two pages. “Are you aware that our CFO is retiring?”

“I’ve heard rumors,” I said.

He smiled. “She is. After many long years of diligent service, Marie gets to retire. I’ve been scouring our staff for an in-house replacement. Thought all hope was lost and I’d have to look outside the company. Until I saw this page.” He tapped the quarterly I’d submitted.

“Sir?” I asked again.

“You’re replacing her as the Shaw Security National CFO.”

“Holy sh—I mean. Yes sir?”

He smirked. “Pack up your desk downstairs. You’re moving up here.”

“Thank… thank you, sir.”

He waved a hand. “You’re on the board now. David is fine.”

—

“This is Asher Reed, our COO,” David said, gesturing to the man around the same age as David sitting at his right of the table. “This is Milo Greer, CMO.” Both gentlemen gave me a wave. “Our Chairman of the Board, Amanda Murphy. And the surly one at the door is our Head of Security—”

“Call me Tank,” the Head of Security said quickly before David could give me their real name. I caught a glimpse of the chain of military dog tags poking out from under their shirt. That was a story I’d ask for later.

I nodded in greeting to each one and shook hands as distances allowed.

“Everyone, this is our new Chief Financial Officer.” David gave my name to the group. Asher beamed bright and waved. Milo gave me a single wave. Amanda tilted her head. Tank vaguely jerked their chin upward in almost a nod. David gestured for me to take the empty seat at the table. I did. “This upcoming quarter is going to be busy, and I expect everyone to be pulling their weight,” he continued.

In the corner of my eye, Tank’s lip quirked in what was almost a smile. Like they were about to say something teasing, but decided against it.

“We’ve got a few things to discuss, so let’s get started,” David said. “Ash, you first.”

Asher stood up. “Alright. So. I’ve been working pretty closely with Aaron the past couple weeks—”

—

The door to my new—huge—office opened. “Oh. You’re still here,” Tank said. “I thought you’d left the light on and I was coming to shut it off.”

I looked up. “Yeah, I’m still here,” I replied.

“Everything alright?”

“Sure. What are you still doing here?”

Tank raised a brow—the one with a scar bisecting it—sarcastically. “I’m the Head of Security. I’m pretty much always the last higher-up to leave the building. Unless David orders me to get out while he’s still here. I trust my night watch guys, but I like leaving everything secure.”

I nodded in understanding.

“What are you still doing here?” they asked.

I gestured to the piles of papers scattered across my desk. “The last CFO was incredibly meticulous, but the people under her have left these reports a mess. I’m trying to fix them.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Uh... breakfast?”

Tank pursed their lips. “That won’t do. I’m ordering pizza.”

“No—I can’t ask you to—”

“Nuh-uh. Don’t even try.” They folded their arms over their chest and leveled a stern look at me. Well—not stern so much as stubborn.

“Are you and David related?” I asked. “He makes that same face.”

That broke the expression into an amused smirk. “Nope. But we grew up together. I spent more time at his parents’ place than my own home. Long story. We get this look from his mom. She’s...” Tank actually smiled. Fondly. “She’s so stubborn. David gets it from her.” They pulled out their phone. “What kind of toppings do you like on your pizza?”

“Tank—”

Another sharp look made the rest of my protest die in my mouth and I gave my answer.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” they snarked.

“S’pose not.”

Forty minutes later, Tank was sitting opposite my desk from me, leaning back in the leather armchair (not as fancy as the ones in David’s office) with one foot resting on their opposite knee, a slice of pizza in hand.

“I caught sight of dog tags under your shirt at the meeting yesterday. Are you ex-military?” I asked.

“Yup.”

“So. Tank. I’m guessing that’s a military nickname?”

“Yup.”

“How’d you get it? I thought military nicknames came from dumb things that happened.”

“They do. I walked face-first into a stationary tank my first day at training. I did eventually become a tanker, but I’d been distracted by something else and just...” They mimed smacking the side of their face with their open, flat palm. “Bonk. Everybody laughed as I bounced off the damn thing like a rubber band and landed on my ass. So I became Tank.” They rolled up the sleeves of their long-sleeve T-shirt to reveal scars. “But... the name fits. I’ve always been the tough one. If you didn’t notice, the board is pretty young. David’s the oldest of us.”

“I noticed. Thought it was interesting.”

“We all grew up together. I’m the tough one. David’s the serious one. Asher’s the funny one. Amanda’s the happy one. Milo’s the feisty one. David’s dad Gabe founded Shaw National before David was born. Made it big. Then, when David was old enough, Gabe and his wife retired. Gave the company to David. David’s been working here since he was eighteen, even when he was going to college. Worked his way up the ladder on his own merit—probably expedited by the fact that he was eventually going to be running the company. Gabe’s board’s kids all grew up together as a consequence and they all... just kinda took over. Marie was the last to retire, just barely giving up CFO. You’re the first non-original-board-descendant to be on this board.”

“Was Marie Milo’s mom?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“Was it weird for the CMO to be the CFO’s kid?”

Tank snorted. “Nah. We’re all so close we generally refer to this as a family business anyway, despite none of us being blood-related.”

I smiled. “Kinda sounds nice.”

“It is.” They took a bite of their pizza. I did the same.

“So... David,” I said. Tank cocked an eyebrow. “Is he always just... big and intimidating?”

Another snort—this was loud enough that Tank covered their mouth to avoid spewing out their pizza. “Well...” They trailed off. “He’s always pretty serious. It’s rare to see him loosen up. He wears ‘grumpy’ the way he used to wear his body armor when he did field work for the company. But he takes running the company very seriously and that pressure he puts on himself... it puts up a lot of walls.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” I leaned back in my office chair. “Let me guess... penthouse uptown and... a Tesla and a Porsche?”

Tank scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Nope. Man’s got a house out in the suburbs, a Toyota Corolla, and a truck.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have—”

“David’s too practical to waste money on fancy things that break easily. He gets it from both his parents. He could afford all that stuff, but he’d rather keep things simple and reliable.” Tank shrugged. “Unless it’s watches and suits. David doesn’t believe in good luck charms, but he believes in battle gear. So he’s a big fan of expensive watches and suits.” Tank took another bite of pizza and thought while they chewed and swallowed. “You wanna talk about fancy, fashionable, stylish stuff, you talk to Milo. The only person in Dahlia who can hold a candle to Milo’s fleet of expensive cars is Vincent Solaire.”

“William Solaire’s son, right? Of Solaire Property Management?”

Tank nodded. “My partner is William’s nephew, Vincent’s cousin. Vincent and Milo share similar taste in... the finer things in life, I guess. ‘Being stylish’ works too.”

I snickered. “I shoulda guessed that with the suit Milo had on at the meeting yesterday.”

Tank laughed. “Yep. He’s always like that.”

I ate some more pizza. “So what’s your partner do? They work for William?”

“Nah. He’s a doctor.”

“How’d you two meet?”

Tank didn’t meet my eyes, looking out the window at Dahlia. “I got invalided out of the military. Injured too bad to finish my tour. But... because of my family’s money and status, I didn’t really deal with the VA much. Private medical care, and all that. Sam was one of the doctors who helped me get better.” Their eyes unfocused. Looking back into their memories. “Long story short—too late, I know—we caught feelings while we spent so much time together. Once I was better, he asked me out and we’ve been together ever since.” They shook their head to clear it. “Anyway. I’m not usually much of a talker.”

“Sorry. I just... I have a lot of questions.”

“Understandable. You’re the new kid in a tight-knit buncha idiots who were somehow entrusted with a multi-million-dollar company.” They chuckled low in their throat. “I don’t envy your position at all.” They took another bite.

“Anything about David I should know? Or the rest of the board, really?”

“Asher is a hugger and he can read people like nobody’s business. He’s also an incredibly gifted artist and really should have been the CMO but David wanted him as his right-hand man so... COO it was.” Tank took a deep breath. “David... he can wear on the nerves a little. Don’t take his sharp exterior personally.” They paused and a mischievous smile grew on their face. “Also... he’s been collecting Pokémon cards since we were kids.”

I choked on the drink of whatever radioactive-looking soda Tank had ordered with the pizza that they said Asher insisted was the best to have with pizza. “That wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know? That David hates being interrupted in the middle of his morning coffee so I shouldn’t bug him in the mornings before nine?”

Tank shrugged. “I can tell you whatever I want about him. He’s not here to stop me.” They started laughing.

I found myself laughing along with them.

—

Six Months Later...

—

“What—what are you doing?”

The voice was low and gravelly and woke me from a dead sleep. I jolted—and regretted the movement immediately. My neck, back, and shoulders were so stiff they all shrieked in protest at the sudden motion.

I slowly picked my head up off my desk, grumbling as a paper stuck to my cheek and I smacked it off. “I must have fallen asleep looking at some reports.” I rubbed my face and then my eyes to clear the sleep away. “When’s the shareholder meeting?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Dammit,” I muttered, pushing myself to my feet. “I, uh, I have a fresh set of clothes in the closet. Give me five minutes to change and freshen up.”

As I moved toward the closet of my office, David caught my forearm. “Hey,” he said gently. “You’re working yourself into the ground.”

“Had to be ready for the meeting.”

He regarded me, green eyes glinting with hints of gold in the sunlight streaming through my office’s huge windows. “When it’s over, I want you to go home and take the rest of the day off. And tomorrow.”

“I don’t have time for that—”

David gave me the same sarcastic, stubborn look Tank had that night my first week as CFO when they caught me working late. I closed my mouth. “If you don’t take today and tomorrow off, I’m driving you home myself, got it? In the past two quarters, you’ve already done wonders for the financial side of the company. It can survive two days without you.”

“David—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he growled, suddenly a bit aggressive. “You’re taking time off, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He let go of my arm. “Good. Now get changed. You have a meeting to blow out of the water.”

I smiled triumphantly. “Yes, sir.”

He left my office. I went to the closet and got out my spare change of clothes that I’d hung up for just such an occasion as this. Every executive office had a small bathroom attached to it so I splashed some water on my face to clear the sleep off of it and brushed my teeth.

I went to leave my office—pausing at the door as I heard voices on the other side of it.

Namely, Tank’s laughter.

“—my God, David. I’ve never seen you so... moony-eyed!” Tank was saying as I tuned in.

“Don’t you start. I’m not moony-eyed.”

Tank’s signature snort of disbelief. “Uh-huh. Sure. Don’t think I haven’t been watching during board meetings. I have never seen the Wolf of Dahlia stare the way you’ve been! Big alpha male guy like you drooling over your—”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Tank challenged. “Or am I calling you out?”

“Tank—”

“Look. You’ve got crush on your CFO. Is it probably a conflict of interest? Sure. Would anyone bat an eye if you asked them out? No.”

“I do not—”

I opened my office door. David and Tank shut their mouths immediately.

“Are my ears burning?” I asked. “You ever get the feeling you were being talked about the second you walk into a room? Or out of, in this case?”

David and Tank exchanged a look. “It’s nothing,” David said.

“All good things. Promise,” Tank said with a small, conspiratorial smile and a wink.

David rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go. We don’t want to be late.”

“Late for the meeting that’s on the other side of this floor and takes two minutes to walk to?” Tank asked.

David stomped off. Tank smirked at me and we followed after him.

“How much of that did you hear?” they whispered.

“How much of what?” I asked.

They eyed me, like they were waiting for me to spill the truth. But I gave them an innocent look. They narrowed their eyes like they didn’t quite believe me before giving up (at least for now) and continuing on our way.

The three of us were the first ones in the conference room. “Don’t know what you were worried about,” Tank said sarcastically, sitting at the far head of the table and immediately getting comfortable.

“Boots off the table,” David snapped.

Tank rolled their eyes and took their feet down. David also rolled his eyes, but then met my gaze.

“This is your time to shine,” he said to me. “Normally Ash sits on my right. Today it’s gonna be you.”

“Understood.”

“You ready for this?”

“I’m ready.” I nodded in determination.

“That confidence is hot,” Tank said.

“Tank,” David warned. “If you can’t behave—”

“What? You’ll have security escort me out? The team I hired?” The mischief in their face made me snicker to myself. “Good luck.” They snorted. “That said, I’m just messing around while I can. You know me. I’m all business when it’s business time.”

“You’re on the clock right now.”

“Pffft. That doesn’t mean it’s business time. I’ll be professional during the meeting, as always.” They shrugged. David narrowed his eyes, but seemed to decide to pick his battles—and this wasn’t one of them.

Asher, Milo, and Amanda came in. “Are the shareholders here yet?” Amanda asked.

“Not yet,” Tank replied. “Miguel was escorting them from the airport. They’re down in the parking garage but they’ll be on their way up any second.”

“Good. We ready for this?” Amanda’s eyes met mine.

“Ready,” I confirmed.

—

Knock-knock-knock!

“Come in?” David said.

I pushed open the door to his office. “Why are you here so late?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “I thought I told you to take the rest of today off.”

“I did. I forgot my laptop here. My personal one,” I added quickly as his eyebrow lifted like he was gonna tell me off for taking work home. I raised the laptop bag dangling at my side to prove my point. “I’ve got a video call scheduled with my nieces and nephews tomorrow. They live out of state and I hate doing it on my phone.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He leaned back in his office chair and regarded me. While I tried to ignore the way my heart was pounding in my chest. There was something inherently hot about the way he was fiddling idly with the gold-faced watch around his wrist, top button of his shirt undone and tie loosened. My brain was having a hard time maintaining concentration in favor of wanting to just stare at him instead.

I licked my lower lip and bit it lightly, trying to decide what to say. “You never answered my question,” I pointed out carefully. “Why are you here so late?”

He shrugged. “Company to run,” he said.

“You’re usually out of here by seven,” I pointed out before I could stop myself.

He scrunched his eyebrows. “Didn’t realize you paid such close attention.”

I made a face. “I’m good at pattern recognition, remember?”

His eyes bored into mine. “Hmm,” he grunted.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Just getting caught up on some things.”

“O-okay. I... I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said, turning in the doorway.

“Wait,” David said. I halted and twisted to meet his eyes again. “I’m not stupid, y’know.”

“Sir?”

“Cut the crap. I know you heard Tank joking around before you came out of your office this morning.” He folded his arms across his broad chest and I tried very hard to stop my brain from noticing the way his legs spread wider too with how he sat.

Get your mind out of the gutter, weirdo, I thought harshly to myself.

But... ya gotta admit he’s hot, another part of my brain said.

“I didn’t...” I started, not sure what to even say. I blinked several times, trying to gather my thoughts. “I don’t want to complicate things for you.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t hear. Your life is your business, David.” I moved to leave again, setting a hand on the doorframe. Wondering, for just a moment, if he’d call me back.

“Wait,” he said again.

I probably looked too eager with how fast I turned back to face him.

He sighed. “Tank blows things out of proportion to try to get a rise out of me. They’re family. Hell, they’re practically my younger sibling at this point. But... they... aren’t... entirely... wrong.” He looked like the words physically pained him.

“David, you don’t have to say anything you’re not ready for.”

“I know. But you deserve to know this.” He took a deep breath. “I... ever since your promotion... I’m not going to deny the fact that I find you attractive.” He got up from his desk, circled it, and approached me. Slowly. “I know we’re colleagues and I know that can get messy but... but you’re smart and you’re bright and exuberant and the day you met the board you fit right in. And I’m not... I’m not used to this kind of thing. I’ve never had to do this before. If you’re willing to... to give this a shot... I’d... I’d be open to it.”

He was standing a few inches in front of me. I hadn’t even noticed my laptop bag falling off my shoulder, but he’d caught it, setting it down gently next to the door.

My eyes, completely outside of my own control, flicked to his lips. “I really want to kiss you right now,” I said softly. “I’ve been thinking about it for months.”

His eyes glanced at my mouth. “May I?”

“Please do.”

He gathered me close and kissed me.

It was everything I’d fantasized about and a hell of a lot more. He was warm and firm and his arms around me were strong but gentle.

When his tongue tested at my lips, I parted them immediately to let him in.

He tugged me deeper into his office, kicking his door shut. “This okay?” he whispered.

“More than okay,” I replied.

He led me over to his desk and perched me on it, kissing me harder.

“I take it you want to give... us... a try?” he asked between kisses.

“Very much so. Sir.”

He smirked. Wolfishly. A gleam in those green eyes. “Come here,” he breathed.

—

Tag list: @thegoldenlittlerose @mainhoesstuff @darlin-collins 

[huskylluvr]

The newest snapshot is out!

(Here's the patch notes)

Highlights under the read more !

[Image ID] Hello there! We are now releasing the first snapshot for 1.19.3! You might have been thinking that this snapshot would be for 1.20, but times are changing. Going forward, we are taking a bit of a different approach to how we release minor and major versions for Minecraft: Java Edition. Essentially, we will be releasing minor versions more often. You can find out more details about this in a post over here. [End ID]

(Hyperlink in the screenshot)

I heard some people complaining they didn't want this to be a major update and just a smaller one. Looks like that's what's gonna happen!

[ID] ADDED CAMEL Camels are now available when Update 1.20 experimental features are enabled. • Camels can be equipped with a saddle and ridden by two players • Camels spawn naturally in Desert Villages • Camels are tall - Most hostile mobs will not be able to reach you when you are on a Camel - They can walk over fences without a sweat • Camels are very graceful, but grumpy mobs • They randomly sit down • While sitting, it is difficult to convince them to move • Camels can either walk slowly or sprint quickly - They can also dash forward but will lose stamina for a while when doing so. [End ID]

[ID • Camels are tall [End ID]

WOAG!

Bamboo woodset is in this snapshot

[ID]CHISELED BOOKSHELF A new, chiseled variation of the Bookshelf is now available when Update 1.20 experimental features are enabled. • Crafted with 6 planks and 3 wooden slabs • Can store Books, Book and Quills, Written Books, and Enchanted Books • Holds up to 6 books - Keeps the stories and lore of your world safe • Comparators can detect the last book placed/removed - Perfect for hiding secrets in your spooky library [End ID]

Chiseled bookshelves are here!

[ID] HANGING SIGNS Ever wanted to hang up your signs? Fetch a few chains, strip some logs, and now you can! Hanging signs are now available when Update 1.20 experimental features are enabled. Hanging Signs are a more expensive version of normal Signs - Crafted with 2 chains and 6 stripped logs of your preferred wood type Crafting results in 6 Hanging Signs • Can be hung up in the following ways: Underneath a block that can provide support in the center, like a full block or a fence • Attached to the solid side of a block • Attached to the side or underneath another Hanging Sign • Unlike normal Signs, they cannot be placed directly on the ground without support from the side or above • However, Hanging Signs that have a horizontal bar will not pop when the supporting block is removed [End ID]

So those are the four big things that they advertised in the live stream!

Here are some smaller things that are new (not all of them. Check the snapshot link for everything)

Here are some smaller things that are new (not all of them. Check the snapshot link for everything)

[ID]• Various wood types now have unique sounds when placed, broken, or walked on - There are three sets of unique sounds: Overworld wood types, Nether wood types, and Bamboo [End ID]

[ID] CREATIVE INVENTORY The ordering of tabs and the contents in the Creative Inventory have been tweaked to makethe experience of finding relevant blocks and items easier. [End ID]

[ID] • Some items can now be found in more than one tab [End ID]

[ID] • Petrified Oak Slab has been removed from Creative Inventory - It can still be accessed through commands [End ID]

[ID] • The game now contains built-in datapacks (similar to the "Programmer Art" resource pack) that enable features and provide associated recipes, advancements, loot tables, etc [End ID]

Thank you to @light-blue-stained-glass for the image IDs!

[bookwormscififan]

My Guardian Angel

Read on AO3!

A/N: Imagine Mare with black angel wings. Now imagine I've written this with every intention of developing it into an AU.

--

Mad hummed quietly to himself as he moved through the shelves, eyes scanning the spines of neatly organised books until he found one that piqued his interest. Reaching for the book, he paused as the sight of his gold band around his ring finger came into view, sighing with an undefinable sadness before taking his book and returning to his table.

It was strange, the things that grief affected. Sometimes Mad would find himself breaking down in the middle of the grocery store because a song would play on the radio and remind him of Mare. Other times he was screaming at the edge of the woods for fate to take him away.

Opening his book, Mad skimmed the pages, continuing to hum as time passed around him, losing himself in the printed words instead of memories he couldn’t have back. Lost in his own world, he was unaware of the faint rumbling echoing through the library walls or the tingling down his spine that told him he was being watched.

He was ripped from his daydreams by rubble falling onto the pages of the book, making him look up to see the huge cracks spanning the ceiling of the building, ground shaking beneath his feet as he stood up. Panic gripped his throat as he realised he was on the second floor, and the stairs were already falling apart.

I’m going to die. The thought echoed in his mind as shelves fell around him, and he was scrambling through the wreckage to the nearest stairwell before his mind caught up. There was a pang in his heart at the thought of dying without Mare, but the rushing of blood in his ears flooded that feeling in preference of self-preservation.

Coming to the stairwell, Mad was met with crowds of people shoving through piles of books to descend, each step making the structure collapse a bit more. As the last person stepped onto the stairs, the structure heaved a heavy groan and began to fall sideways, cutting off Mad’s exit.

Dashing away from the scene, Mad crouched behind fallen bookshelves, hands close to his chest and heart pounding as he figured out his next move. Chances of another stairwell still standing were slim, considering the sounds of panic from the first floor, and elevators wouldn’t be working in a crisis like this.

Peering around the shelves, Mad spotted the railing marking the balcony section of the library, overhanging the shelves below just enough that if he was lucky, maybe he could jump down from there. He mapped his path through the shelves, then with a deep breath, bolted to the railing.

“Oh, god…” Mad’s head grew light as he looked over the rail, seeing the shelves he had wanted to jump onto had all fallen as well. The distance to fall had grown, and despite his confidence in jumping off things, Mad was pretty sure this jump would break something.

Most of the library patrons had left the building, gathering in the parking lot outside as emergency services watched the collapse. Nobody seemed to notice the quiet scientist trapped on the second floor.

The ceiling on the other side of the library fell, letting in the daylight and making Mad start, looking over to see the cracks widening toward him. If he didn’t move now, he would be crushed. It’s either crushed to death or break your legs. Time to choose.

Biting his lip, Mad glanced down at his wedding band around his finger, feeling the soothing pressure of it against his skin where he was holding the railing. What would Mare do? Closing his eyes and adjusting his grip on the railing, Mad took a deep breath before hopping over the bar.

Trust. Let go, jump, land on the shelf. Coaching himself in his head, Mad slowly released the railing behind him, waiting just a beat before leaping off the balcony. Hearing the rumble of the building collapsing around him, Mad kept his eyes closed and waited for the inevitable crunch of his bones hitting solid ground…

Only, it didn’t come. Instead, he was wrapped up in strong arms and propelled out of the building, head pressed against a broad chest and wind flying through his hair. Mad tried to look up, to see what had saved him, but the hand on his neck pushed him back, keeping his vision obscured as they travelled through the air.

Gently, Mad was laid into the soft grass of the clearing by his cabin. Soft fingers brushed his hair out of his eyes as something covered the light as he blinked dirt out of his eyes. Slowly Mad began to register the quiet humming surrounding him, furrowing his brow as he recognised the voice.

“M-Mare?” His voice cracked on the word, a name he hadn’t spoken in months, tears brimming in his eyes as he tried to look through the grime on his face and darkness around him.

Gently, gently, open your eyes.

My appearance surely will be a surprise,

But know I never left you,

And believe these words are true.

Crouched beside him was Mare, smiling soothingly as he brushed fingers through Mad’s hair. He looked just how Mad had seen him the last time: loose purple shirt over black jeans, a scrap of Mad’s shirt tied around his thigh. Purple tear tracks and scars littered his cheeks and forearms, but what caught Mad’s attention were what was blocking the light.

“Wings…” Sprouting from Mare’s back were two huge black wings, feathers neatly smoothed as they fanned over them like a canopy. Mad couldn’t help but compare them to angel wings, large and broad, perfectly shielding them from the world outside. And if he squinted, Mad could see a slight purple shimmer among the black, amethyst wisps coming off the wings like steam off a hot car.

“Dabbling in necromancy meant that I had to leave,” Mare explained, cupping Mad’s cheek with one hand. “It also gave me wings. I’ve been keeping an eye on you all these months, making sure you were safe. I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay.”

“Can you stay now?” Mad asked, voice hoarse as he clutched at Mare’s shirt. “Stay here, in the woods. Stay with me, please.”

“Sorry, dear heart,” Mare’s voice trembled as tears welled in his eyes, gently taking Mad’s hands off him and backing away. “They won’t let me stay with you.” With a tearful smile, Mare vanished into thin air, leaving Mad crying as his heart shattered all over again.

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

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @rattyboyisemo @dungeon-dragons-dragons