#and I’m fucking hoping that once I get this group trained and into our regular rotation I’ll be able to have more of a routine

[sassmill]

Oh fucking no

[princess-of-riviaa]

Claiming

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Erin Quincy (1st person POV)

Summary: You experience your first heat as a brand new shifter. Walter, being the good alpha he is, helps out his struggling omega.

Warning(s): depictions of animal attack, age gap (Erin is 25, Walter is 38), alcohol use, a bit of angsty Walter, dirty talk, possessiveness

Author’s note: This is my first piece of work I made for the ABO Universe. I hope you guys like it!

Word count: 3,931

Two weeks ago, I’d been on a camping trip with my two step-brothers, Scott and Chris, when my life had forever changed. One second, the hiking trail had been clear and safe; the next, some kind of animal was jumping out of the brush and fighting my breakfast sausage out of my hands. I later learned that the animal had been a wolf, but that realization only came when I had my first Shift three days later.

Though the night had escaped my memories, when I woke up in an unfamiliar mansion to an unfamiliar group of faces the next day, they filled me in on the details. The man in front—tall, with deep brown curls that were almost as distracting as his thick, muscular shape—had told me that I had Shifted the night before and ended up on their doorstep. And yes, Shifters—not werewolves, as most fantasy books called them—were real, Walter informed me during my surprised silence.

Walter Marshall—that was the stunning stranger’s name. He was an Alpha of one of the two packs that lived in this mansion, and I was more than welcome to join them. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what had become of myself—and I knew better than to hope that my family would understand—so I accepted the generous offer.

I had been with the pack for three weeks now. Winnie Marshall, Walter’s twin sister, was the Alpha for the mansion’s other pack. Walter had found me first—he had actually been the one to stop me from giving into my animalistic instincts on the night he found me, and had been the one to bring me in from the pouring rain—and technically had claim to me. But, because I hadn’t officially been claimed by him, Winnie argued that she had as much right to me as her brother did. So she took me under her wing. She’d explained everything to me, been there in my moments of panic and embarrassment to assure me that everyone goes through this, and it’s not going to last forever.

The only other two people in the house that were my age were two betas. One of them, a young man named Mike (though everyone called him Mikey), was the center of attention at the mansion, though he surprisingly had his eyes set on the quiet girl who loved books. Her name—I met her last, simply because she’d locked herself in the library for a week-long reading challenge—was Amber Connelly. As the only other beta under the age of thirty, she had an… interesting relationship with Mikey. And by that I mean they were both head over heels for each other, though they only ever bickered, and neither of them seemed aware of the others’ feelings. But they never acted on their feelings, and no one ever expected them to, simply because Mikey was Walter’s Beta, and Amber was Winnie’s, and packs didn’t mix, especially if their was a chance of a Claiming.

Claiming—that was the part of all of this that had intrigued me the most. It started with a bite. One person had to bite their partner directly over the heart, hard enough to leave a scar that would be there forever. In another sense, one wolf had to mark their partner as their territory. It was possessive in every sense of the word, and I couldn’t deny that deep down inside of me, I wanted to share that intimate, lifelong promise with Walter.

It was insane for a number of reasons. Not only had I met the Alpha just a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t even officially in his pack, and a Claiming with an Alpha would make me second-in-command. There were a few steps I would be skipping if that happened. Not to mention that Walter Marshall was the only unclaimed Alpha over the age of thirty-five in the entire city, and there was a reason for that. I didn’t know the details, but I knew it had something to do with his past. Our age was another factor. He was almost 40, while I had just turned 25.

And yet, here I was, wanting his mark anyways. He was quiet and reserved enough to make him mysterious, and that only pulled me in more. In the first week I was there, I found any way I could to talk to him, mainly to thank him for giving me a safe place for this new season of life. But he had disappeared with Andy and Charles Barber—two Beta brothers—for an entire week. Winnie had only said that they were taking care of business on the other side of the city, but when the three men came back, there was a darkness to all of them that told me whatever they had been doing… It hadn’t been fun.

Walter was harder to reach in the days that followed. When I would knock on his office door and ask him if he was able to train me today—something both he and Winnie insisted on their packs doing in their daily routine—he would snap and order me to leave, the sound of his growl following me out the door. He apologized for his behavior three days later, and bought takeout from my favorite restaurant to make it up to me, but I still couldn’t forget that side of him. The side of him that turned his soft blue eyes completely black. The part of him that was all animal, only selfishness and cold edges.

And yet, even after all of that, I still wanted him. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d woken up panting in the middle of the night, rising out of a dream of those blue eyes looking down at me as he fucked my throat, making me gag and cry around his cock. The sound of my own moans had forced me awake before dawn this morning. The memory of Walter’s intense gaze holding my reflection’s as he fucked me in the bathroom had followed me all day.

I was still wound up as I made my way to the game room. The smell of alcohol was strong throughout the house. The packs were celebrating Walter and Winnie’s thirty-eighth birthday tonight, and everyone, it seemed, was intent on getting blackout drunk. There were three kegs in the living room. It took Shifters a lot longer to get drunk, so I wasn’t surprised to find that the kegs were already halfway empty by the time I filled a cup for myself.

But I was surprised to find Walter perched on the roof when I made my way up to my regular hiding spot. He didn’t look over at me when I climbed onto the roof, but he didn’t seem startled when I took a seat beside him, and I knew his Shifter senses had probably heard me before I’d even climbed up the stairs that led up here.

“I see you stole my hiding spot,” I remarked as I took a sip of my beer.

“This way my hiding spot first, actually.” There’s amusement in his eyes as he looks at me out of the corner of his eye, but the amusement is only a cover. I note the darker emotion hiding beneath, and I recognize it instantly. It’s the same thing I’ve been feeling since my first Shift.

Loneliness.

“So technically you stole it from me,” Walter continued, giving me a ghost of a smile.

Though the air was light between us for once, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Why are you hiding on your birthday?”

He sighed and looked out at the valley below us. The city lights reflected in his eyes, making the blue in them sparkle. He chugged back the rest of his beer before answering, “I’m thirty-eight tonight.”

“So I’ve heard.” The light tone was clearly forced, but I continued anyways. “Congratulations.”

His long fingers parted thick curls before he clutched the roots of his hair and squeezed, looking frustrated and… defeated. “I’m thirty-eight—and I still don’t have a goddamn mate.”

Oh.

I didn’t know what to do. Part of me was more than ready to say, Take me. Claim me. I’ll be your mate. But I knew that was overstepping. I didn’t know how to comfort him.

“Walter—” I began.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t burden you with this. I think I’ve had a few too many drinks.”

We both knew that was a lie. He was too collected to be drunk. Everything—save for his brutal honesty—screamed completely sober.

“I just…” He went on, then stopped himself.

I put a hand on his arm and had to physically force myself not to lean into the warmth of his body heat. When his blue eyes met mine, I nearly lost control. God, I wanted him. I wanted to ran my hands through his hair; wanted to know the way his moans sounded as he filled me up; wanted to feel his mouth on me—

I shook my head in an attempt to clear my mind. “It’s okay,” I told him. “You can tell me.”

He hesitated.

“You’ve been there for me since I got here,” I pointed out. “It’s only fair that I do the same for you.”

His eyes scanned my face, and I got the feeling that he could see into my soul. It unnerved me as much as it made me want to bear myself to him. He finally said, “You don’t owe me anything, Erin. I was being a good Alpha.”

“You let a stranger into your home,” I argued. “That qualifies as more than simply being a good Alpha. There’s other packs in the city, yet you were the only one who opened your door to me. And you’ve let me stay here when you could have just as easily sent me away. You’re not just a good Alpha, Walter, you’re…” I almost said, you’re everything, but I caught myself.

But the way he looked at me… I had a feeling that he heard what I didn’t say.

“And maybe you think I don’t owe you,” I went on, “but I want to be there for you. I want to give you whatever you need.”

His eyes left my face to stare at the hand I placed on his arm. He reached for it, and at first I thought he was going to push me away, but he simply held my hand between his own. He opened my fingers and stared at my palm as if he was going to tell me my future. A thick, calloused finger traced across the lines on my palm. The touch was simple and gentle, but it made me shiver nonetheless.

“I’m the only Alpha in the city without a mate,” he finally admitted. “That fact has never bothered me before. I always liked being on my old. I thought I was better that way. It was enough always having to keep an eye on Winnie; I never had a want for someone else to look out for.”

“But now…?” I guessed there was a “but” in that sentence.

His focus was locked on his fingers as he traced the outline of my hand. Something about the way his rough skin felt against mine… It made heat stir in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t realize I had started to lean into him until there was just a few inches of space left between us.

“But now,” he finally said, and sighed. “Now I find myself wanting something I don’t know if I can have.”

“A mate?” Why couldn’t he have that?

“You.” He finally met my gaze, just as the words clicked in my mind.

Heat made my cheeks burn bright red as I repeated his words. “M-me? What do you mean?”

“I mean I want you.” His gaze was unapologetic, yet the twist of his mouth… I could tell he was fighting some internal battle. “When I first saw you in that back alley, hiding under that shed from the rain…”

I was silent as he spoke, simply because I’d never heard all the details of what had happened that night, and Walter was the only one with that memory.

“I had Shifted too,” he admitted. “The pack Shifts together on full moons. The Omegas and some of the Betas are less overwhelmed by it if we’re all together. But something had drawn me away from the pack, like some string had pulled me out onto the streets…”

Only once he said something did I realize that I did remember a part of that night. It wasn’t a memory of what had happened, but rather… a feeling I had gotten. Like someone had been calling my name and I had gone in search of them.

“I’d never experienced anything like that before,” Walter continued. “And when I found you, shaking from fear and the cold… I knew I had to do something. The urge to protect you was overbearing. So I brought you home. I told myself it just from the intensity of the Shift that I felt like that, but when you Shifted back the next morning… I knew I couldn’t just let you walk away. So I told you to stay, and I knew that if you had said no, I would have done anything to change your mind.”

“Walter…” My voice was a quiet whisper as my thoughts began to race. “Do you think… That feeling… I felt it too. Is that what…”

“What having a mate feels like?” he guessed.

All I could do was nod. Somehow I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear him say it.

“Maybe.” When his gaze met mine, I realized he looked as lost as I felt. “I couldn’t say one way or another; I’ve never had a mate. But if it is…” He finally dropped my hand, only to cup my face and pull me towards him. “Listen to me, Erin. Even if…” He paused, as if he was struggling to say it out loud, too. “Even if we’re mates, that doesn’t mean you have to choose me. You can walk away. Hell, you can even…” He practically flinched at these words, as if saying them was a physical blow—“You can even choose someone else. Another man. I’m not going to force you into anything.”

I didn’t know what to say. “I think I want another drink.”

Disappointment flashed in his eyes, but it was gone in a blink. He rose to his feet, insisting that he get it for me. I watched him walk away. He took four steps—and froze. His entire back went rigid, too stiff for a human. His Shifter instincts had picked up on something.

I froze, wondering what was happening, what he had picked up on.

But he merely turned to face me again. Slowly. “Erin.”

I tried to sense his source of distress, but I couldn’t pick up on anything. The only thing I picked up on was how that look in his eyes sent heat straight to my core. “What is it, Walter?” I was on my feet and closing the distance between us in a matter of seconds.

“Don’t move!” he practically yelled.

I paused, almost jumping at his volume.

His eyes were wild, frantic, looking like an animal caught in a trap.

“What’s wrong?” I asked again, resisting the urge to reach out to him.

“Do you know what’s happening to you?” Every muscle in his body was taut as he asked the question.

I frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He simply said, “You’re going through heat.”

Oh.

Winnie had explained that to me on one of my first days here. She’d said it happens to every female Shifter. Her hormones—particularly the horny ones—exploded, and every male Shifter around her could sense it. Apparently, it drove the males as crazy as the females, though it was dangerous to be an Omega—specifically an unclaimedOmega—around any Alphas while in heat.

That’s why Walter wasn’t moving, wasn’t even breathing: he was trying not to pounce on me and take what he wanted. What we both needed.

All those dreams about him… They finally made sense. I was preparing for my first heat.

Only once he brought it to my attention did I realize just how hot I was. My heart was hammering in my chest, flames boiling beneath my skin, and—god, when had I gotten so wet?

“Walter…” My voice was a high-pitched whine.

“You’ll be okay.” He didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. The look in his eyes matched the relentless ferocity rising in my core.

God, I needed him. “Please…”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t, Erin. We’re both unclaimed. I won’t be able to control myself—”

I took a step towards him—and practically cried out. The burning in my core—between my legs—it was unbearable. I needed to ease the ache inside of me. My hand moved of its own accord towards my legs, and before I knew it I was touching myself over my jeans.

Walter’s eyes were locked on my hand. “Erin… you’re killing me.”

“Please, Walter,” I begged, my body no longer under my control. “I need you. I can’t breathe—”

That was when he kissed me. He wasn’t the first person I had kissed, but he felt like the first person who mattered. Our mouths molded together and I moved against him in a way that said, I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you.

“God, I can smell you,” he breathed into my neck, his low voice nothing more than a moan. “You’re already wet for me, baby.”

All I could do was moan as he pressed me against his erection. His mouth trailed down my neck, over my clavicle, and stopped over my heart.

“I want you,” I cried out as I ran my hands through his hair. “Mark me, Walter. Please.”

He brought his mouth to my chest, but he didn’t bite me like I expected him to. Instead, he brushed a soft kiss against my skin. I whined as he pulled away and moved me from his lap.

“Did I do something wrong?” I panicked, feeling like an idiot—

“No,” he assured me. “You’re… god, you’re perfect. But I’m not about to fuck you on the roof. I doubt you’ll want the entire neighborhood to hear you moaning for me.”

My face flushed instantly, but I didn’t say anything as he rose to his feet and pulled me inside, not stopping until we were in his room. An Alpha’s room was a place very few people ever saw. It was more intimate than a regular bedroom; it was stepping into his territory, walking onto his turf, and I knew that something had permanently changed between us as I crossed the threshold into the room.

The room was rather simple. A king-sized bed was pressed against the left wall. The crimson sheets were the only color in the room. The right side of the wall had a desk covered in files and papers. Newspaper clippings hung above it, stamped into the wall with thumb tacks. I didn’t have a moment to read what all the papers were about before Walter distracted me.

He arms wrapped around me as he lifted me up in the air. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. I clung to his shoulders, but he held me easily, as if I weighed no more than a few pounds. The show of pure strength did nothing to help the wet mess between my legs.

Walter walked us to the bed and lied me down on my back. He hovered over me but didn’t move to touch me. The longing and lust in his eyes was so vibrant, so undeniable, that I writher beneath him.

But his tone was calm as he said, “I need to ask you again. Is this what you want, Erin?”

“So much,” I breathed before pulling him against me.

His thigh moved between my legs, and he deepened the kiss as his leg pressed tightly against my core, applying pressure where I needed it most. Though our hands ran along each other’s bodies in a hungry frenzy, he kissed me differently than he had on the roof. It wasn’t rushed or desperate this time, but rather deep and slow and just as sensual. My toes curled.

I cried out as his mouth moved to my ear. He nipped at my earlobe—an action that sent shivers through my body—before whispering, “What is it, baby girl? What do you want? My fingers?”

I writhed against him.

“My mouth?”

Oh, fuck.

“Both?”

A wanton moan escaped me before I could stop it.

“Or are you already too desperate? That’s what it smells like to me. My little omega’s falling apart and I haven’t even touched you yet. You’re already desperate for me to fill your aching cunt, aren’t you, baby girl?”

His tone was different than I’d ever heard it. He spoke in a low, husky voice, and his tone was teasing but demanding at the same time. It made me dizzy.

“Already forgotten your words, omega? Has the heat gotten to your brain?” He buried his face in the crook of my neck and rubbed his nose along the skin below my ear. He was scenting me. “Or is it your Alpha who’s gotten to you?”

Instead of answering, I clawed at his clothes desperately, trying to undress him in my lustful haze. He allowed me to take his shirt off, though he undid his pants himself. His body… how was he even more impressive naked? I took one look at those sculpted muscles, at the dark swirls of hair that covered his chest and stomach, and knew that that was the kind of body that put the gods to shame. His cock bounced against his stomach as he stepped out of his underwear. It was thick and long, and as I watched the red, aching tip release pre-cum, I wondered how I could possibly fit his girth inside of me.

“My turn,” he breathed before moving to hover over me again.

One minute I was clad in my shorts and t-shirt, and the neck my clothes were in shreds on the floor. Walter’s hungry gaze made note of every inch of skin I beared for him, and I was too fucked out to feel self-conscious.

“Fuck me, Alpha,” I begged. “I need you inside of me!”

He growled before spreading my legs and pressing his length against my core. Our lips met just as he pushed inside me, and my nails dug into his shoulder at the burst of pleasure that ripped from me. His mouth was on my chest a second later, and as he kneaded my breasts in his hands, his teeth cut into the skin over my heart.

Claiming me.

...

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[333sth]

dove. (frankie morales)

chapter ii. previous. series masterlist.

pairing: frankie morales x ofc (’dove’) no use of y/n

warnings: ptsd/military service, violence, injury detail, language, angsty.

summary: santi’s hunch is no longer a hunch, but only will knows how close they are to finding frankie’s girl. 

rating: mature wc: 1.8k 

When a strong hand had clamped around her shoulder, Dove’s instinct was to break it. It wasn’t menacing; they were just waiting at the bar to be served.

A burly, middle-aged man was towering beside her, clutching a beer bottle that looked miniature in his thick grasp. His arms, still holding the shadow of what was once impressive muscle, were littered with military tattoos. Dove could spot a stick-and-poke from a mile off.

“I recognise that,” He gestures to her neck, where a small Delta Force tattoo was usually disguised by her long hair. “You ex-forces? Delta?” 

She wanted to kick herself. The sticky atmosphere had gotten the better of her and she’d thrown her hair into a ponytail without thinking.

“Yeah, but that isn’t exactly public knowledge ‘round here.” She murmurs. 

Across the room, Roni throws her head back in exaggerated laughter. A group of men, who looked barely out of their teen years, had come over to make some desperate attempts at getting laid. Dove had excused herself to buy the next round after one of them had cracked a mortifying joke about liking older women.

“That’s understandable.” The man held out his hand, which she took hesitantly. “My name’s Mark, I just retired out here. Served for twenty three years.” He chuckled gruffly, his voice thick from cigarettes. “I got jack shit to show for it, mind you.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughs, but she doesn’t offer her name. 

Mark notices as the conversation lulls. “I trained with a guy who made Delta. Santiago Garcia - we called him Pope, ‘cause he just had that way about him. You probably knew him.”

Dove swallows, chest lurching. “Sounds familiar… You know how it is though, the nicknames all blur into one eventually.”

That’s a lie, you never forget your teammates’ names. Mark knows it and so does Dove. Thankfully, he doesn’t push a conversation she clearly doesn’t want to have, and raises his bottle to her.

“Well, it was nice to meet you anyway. Enjoy yourself out here.”

“You too, Mark.” She tries to smile, but her lips press into a thin line that probably looks more like a grimace.

*

Mark had called Santiago the following day, the alcohol-blurred memory peaking his interest once he remembered his old friend’s plea a few months back. He’d asked around for any heads-up if any ex-Delta women around their age popped up. Mark had thought the man was delusional when he’d heard. If she was Delta Force, she wouldn’t be found unless she wanted to be. 

Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe even the best of the best got rusty after a while.

The town Dove had been spotted in was questionable to Santiago. It was too cosmopolitan for a woman who was starting over. However, after a onceover on a map of Mexico, Santi spotted its smaller neighbour. He’d never heard of it, which meant it must be the place. Small population, right on the coast, with enough amenities and business to get by without any trouble.

“And, man, she had a wicked scar on her throat. Sort of shit you’d only see on a Delta.” Mark had added, with a chuckle. “I can’t imagine that ain’t your girl.”

‘Dove isn’t my girl,’ Santi wanted to bite back instinctually. He bit his tongue, and instead offered, “It sounds like her. I can’t thank you enough, brother.”

*

Santiago only told Will what he knew about Dove. He had the mind to retain that information no matter what this trip threw at them. Plus, he trusted him with his life, plus a couple other lives that came to mind. Call it insurance, if things went south.

Plus, Will didn’t have Tom’s mouth, or twisted morality. Tom was more than willing to accept that Dove would miss out on their prospective fortune, that the ‘hunch’ would have to wait until Lorea was dealt with. Santiago knew his brothers well enough to know Benny would throw a hissy fit if they knew where Dove was and she wasn’t included. She’d spent enough time stitching up their war-torn skin and shoving them out of bullets to deserve a cut.

So, Pope told a little white lie. They had a stop in Mexico to meet with a contact. 

Frankie had murmured, “Better be worth it, stuck in this shitty car with you fuckers for ten hours.” 

Santiago resisted the urge to agree. God, he hoped it would be worth it too. He hoped he wasn’t driving them into a dead end, a bluff on Mark’s part. Or even worse, invading Dove’s beautiful new life without them. That would destroy everything; Dove, the boys, Frankie. What if she had settled down? What if he pulled into that idyllic beach bar she wanted and she’s there, a baby with the same brilliant eyes balanced on her hip? She was never sure about kids. A vivid mental picture of the wrong diamond, glistening on her ring finger in the afternoon sun, and the wrong man pecking her lips, made Santi physically wince. 

Fish would never forgive him. Will and Benny would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself. 

It was a long, apprehensive drive. Santi’s eyes were drying, squinting against the headlights that occasionally glared past them. His jaw had been clenched for the last few hours as his anxiety grew, nothing but open road to stare at while he contemplated over and over as to whether it was the right decision. It didn’t help that Frankie never really slept like the others did on the move. While the other boys passed out, Frankie’s soft eyes continued scanning the scene flying past the window. It was like he stayed awake to watch Pope’s back, as if they were still in combat, or as an unspoken act of kindness to keep him company. 

Really, Frankie was a terrible sleeper. Santi remembered that from the early days, before he and Dove gave it up and became an item. He was the last to drift off and first to wake up, always restless. Once Dove started tip-toeing over to his cot in the night, he became the worst snorer in the division. Always splayed on his front, one arm tossed over Dove’s waist and the other under his pillow. She’d kick him in the night so he’d roll over and shut up, but it never lasted long. 

One night, Benny had enough, and groaned to Dove, “Put us out of our fuckin’ misery and smother him with your pillow, for the love of God.”

Dove had snapped back, “Fuck off, Benny, just ‘cause you aren’t getting any of the action doesn’t mean you have to get all bitter.”

“I’ve told you guys - I’m more than willing to join in-”

“Ben.” Frankie grumbled into her shoulder. It was gruff with sleep but still menacing enough to make the hairs on Dove’s arms stand on end.

Before a pillow smacked into his head, Benny guffawed, “Oh, so he is alive after all.”

*

Wringing a soft rag for polishing glasses between her fingertips, Dove descends the wooden steps at the entrance of the bar. The last huddle of regulars holler behind her, wrapping up their weekend drinks as the evening creeps closer to the early hours; Dove always notices the time when moths start colliding with the lanterns.

Roni rises from a crouch on the ground, dropping a paintbrush into a can with a clatter. “See, your own little touch!” 

The wooden panels that constructed the side of the bar, usually concealed by a stack of cardboard beer boxes, is decorated with little doves. Despite studying criminology, mainly for the satisfaction of her parents, Roni loved painting and insisted on brightening the exterior of their beach shack.

Dove cracks a half-smile. “It’s lovely, Ron. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” She beams, throwing the half-empty cans into the nearby bins. She pauses, glancing hesitantly at the older woman over her shoulder,  “Dove’s not your real name, right?”

“No, no. Nickname from when I was nursing overseas.” Dove chuckles, before adding, “Feels more like my real name than my Christian one nowadays.”

Roni passes Dove on the steps as she returns to the bar, “It suits you. You’re always graceful, but… you’re fucking fast.”

Dove laughs with her, ignoring the familiar clench in her chest. It’s exactly what Frankie used to say. The difference is Roni notices when she almost drops a glass, or her tray of drinks starts to wobble, and Dove is there to catch it with such fluidity Roni never saw her coming. Even the way Dove’s knife slices through fruit like each piece is a slab of melted butter. Frankie witnessed the extreme of that, the stealth and grace that usually ensured the enemy was dead before the others had even thought to raise their guns. Still, he admired her the same way Roni was right now. It was like awe.

It’s probably because he loved her effortlessly, every single aspect of her being without a glimmer of doubt or judgement. And now he wasn’t here.

The group of regulars stumbling down the steps break Dove from her thoughts, chortling and wishing her goodnight. One of the older men turns and jerks his thumb towards the road, “You might wanna tell them you’re closing, bonita.”

Before the road becomes the sand, there is a small, dusty wasteland that doubles as a makeshift car park. A vehicle is parked, glaring headlights facing towards the ocean and forming peculiar, alien-like beams in the dark. She’s definitely getting rusty; she’d barely registered the idling truck.

“I’ll sort ‘em out, Miguel, don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” He jokes, waving to her. “Buenos noches, Dove.”

Military habits are practically impossible to shake, and immediately, Dove’s mind launches into overdrive. She raises her hand above her eyes, squinting against the blinding white LEDs in an attempt to make out a registration plate or even a recognisable model. Her mind is fine-tuned to memorise; most of the locals’ cars are already catalogued in her memory, but this isn’t one of them.

Maybe they’re tourists, ready to push their luck with the opening times. That’s the reasonable side of Dove’s mind. The irrational, dark edges whisper, ‘What if someone found you?’ By someone, it means someone bad. Someone she wronged during her service, an enemy or straggler that got away. Even a civilian that might have been caught in the crossfire. She thought about those ghosts often. Hell, some of them she could still name. When she can’t sleep, sometimes she lists them, pictures their faces if she can recall them, just in case they ever came back.

She inhales a sharp gust of ocean air through her nostrils, welcoming the clarity that spreads through her mind. Parting her lips (the lips Frankie always teased were in a permanent pout), she released the breath slowly, trying to relax the stressed scrunch in her features.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that someday.”

The voice is familiar. A deep, breathy chuckle, barrel-toned and gravelly. It sounds like home.

taglist: @mishasminion360

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (17/?) - Thomas Shelby

Summary: Father and reader are reunited, Reader faces her past and future at once. (Im getting better kind of?) 

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader (Romantic)

Warning: Unhealthy father and daughter relationship.

A/N: This chapter took oh so long but I’m glad that we get to see this relationship between Father and Daughter in this one. Also i named the father George so sorry if you know someone named George. Comments and feedback is always appreciated and as always have a good night and take care of yourselves. 

Italics = flashback

George (L/N), your father was a man that everyone feared. You knew this ever since you were a little girl. You saw the air he prided himself with, the way people parted like the red sea whenever he walked, the way no one would look him in his eye. You used to worship the ground he walked on. You would cry on to your mother why you couldn’t spend more time with the man, she would give you a look that you didn’t understand then. She was horrified when George did decide to take you for a tour of his ‘office.’ She could do nothing but watch you bounce happily away on your father hand. You still remember the day.

 “You can’t take her, not there.” Your mother cried to him

 “Shes gonna need to learn sooner or later.”

 “Then later!” She yelled.

 He ignores her cries as he drags you along. You had a big smile at finally getting time with your father. You didn’t understand why she was against this.

The walk was brisk, you even stopped for a treat. You ended up jumping from one place to another. Your father talking to people, shaking their hands. You noticed how they looked to him like a leader. So you asked.

 “Im a boss honey,” He answered, “You will be too one day. You’ll help me run all this.”

 “Really?” you said

 “You just gotta be tough. Can you do that?”

 You nodded pulling off your toughest face. The next place he leads you is some old train tracks that aren’t used anymore. A group of men stand around in a circle. All of them waiting for him.

 “You brought a kid to this?” One of them says.

 “You got a problem with that?” George says cocking his gun you didn’t realize he had.

 The man shakes his head no and pints where the rest of them gather, “They got him over there.”

Your father no longer holds your hand as he walks ahead of you. You follow slowly. You can see the man in the middle of the circle. Looking worn down and beaten. Your father stands ahead of him, he plays with gun in the air. He talks words you block out. You just watch the man as is eyes loosely follow your father. He cries uncontrollable begging for his life. You see his body fall before you hear the gun. You don’t cry, you don’t say a word. Your father pats you on the head and says you did good.

 Soon he took you everywhere and anywhere, spending more time with him less with your mother. You became a different person as you became used to the violence. You saw different side of your father more than once but he still treated you like a good. He wanted you prepared for anything and you just wanted to prove that you could be. So learning wasn’t an issue and neither was the perfection you set yourself up for. You became a mini version of him, you didn’t mind unlike your mother who was just horrified. She fought for you to stay in school when he would convince you to leave. She wanted to to date, have a normal job. But you wouldn’t listen to her. You father was your hero at the time you saw nothing wrong with anything that was happening.

 “Your tainting her. Its not good for her to be around this stuff.”

 You listen from atop of the stairs, now only seventeen.

 “Son or daughter, my child is gonna learn the business and learn it right!” He yelled

 “Then ill tell the police, everything I know. Ill take her away or- or”

 “Are you threatening me?”

 “I want my daughter back! You’re running her.”

 “She’s growing up, deal with it.” He turns away from her, gives her the side eye before walking out. You go to sleep, hoping for them to forgive and forget.

 You wake in the middle of night for a glass of water when you found your mother dead. You cry for the first time over a dead body. Holding your mothers hand close to her face, hoping for  a reaction. Your father walks in and pauses. You can see through your lashes that his hands were stained red. You don’t say anything. He brings  out two shovels and hands one to you. George tells you nothing more but to dig in the backyard.

 You don’t. He scolds you for not listening, for not working faster. He digs it himself. He doesn’t look you in the eye as you watch his bury dirt on top of your mother. You share a tea later in the night. You just watch the inside of your cup, the steam rising up. He drinks his greedily, eating cookies as if it’s a regular Sunday morning.

That’s when your relationship changed. You begun to bicker and challenge everything he said or did. You couldn’t understand why he would do that. Or how he even could. You didn’t know what you could do, so you held the emotions in for a long time. Growing distant with your father. He confronts you on your behavior and you no longer hokd your tounge with him.

 “You killed her. Why?”

 “You wouldn’t understand.”

 “I had to bury her, do you know what that was like?”

 “In this business you’ll have to bury a lot more like her.”

 “she had nothing to do with it.” You state.

 He looks at your small figure, your eyes welling up with tears. “Don’t cry.”

 “Why did you do it? Why did you kill my mother?” You press the issue your voice growing louder wanting , needingthe answer. Wanting all this to make sense.

 “Why does it matter? So you can tell the whole city?” He turns on you quick.

 “What if I did, does that scare you?”

 “Watch your mouth girl.”

 “Is that why you killed my mother? Cause she didn’t watch her mouth.” He gets up quickly punching a hole in the wall near your face. You stay still as tears fall from you eyes slowly.

 No longer were the two of you a pair. The father daughter duo was dead. He iced you of the business. Meeting happening without you, transactions with your knowledge. He treated you like a stranger he shared a house with. But every chance you got when you would see him. You questioned him, wanted him to feel bad. No answer at this point would satisfy you, you know that. But you hoped the guilt would eat at his soul for the rest of time. You were there to remind him. And he didn’t like that.

It was the day before you turned eighteen, when you were surprised with a knock on the door. The men claimed to be doctors as they grabbed you by the wrist, throwing you in their car, declaring you insane. You didn’t understand what was happening and that only made them laugh sealing their opinion on what state your mind was as you panicked. The doctors told you nothing but that your father had expressed concerns over your health. And that he was doing this for your own good. Being there made you feel insane but you tried your best to repeal the order to get out. But the doctors were well played off, some of the nurses being Georges goons, no one would let you out unless he said so. Until Tommy Shelby came in, of course you were finally free from that cage.

 So now you stand in front of this man, you had idolized and called father. A man who now is only a murderer, a thief, a low life, your enemy. You clench your jaw as he opens his arms to you. The wrinkles on Georges face crease as he smiles. He’s older in the face and hold a cane in his hand.

 “What? No hug?”

 “Fuck off.”

 “What a lovely choice of words. Im glad to see your okay. I meant to visit…” You glare at him, “but I’ve been busy. Its good to finally find you.”

 “You don’t have to play dumb. How long have you been following me. Ive noticed since a month ago.”

 “Hmm you’re slacking. Its been longer than that. You really think I would let my daughter be out and about, not knowing shes safe.”

 “I had hoped the rumors of your death were true. Guess I hoped too much.”

 “Ah yes your little hit on me. Didn’t go as planned did it.” He glances over at the smoke floating in the town miles from us, “Your work I assume.”

 “Did you do that to Trinity?”

 “It wasn’t anything personal. No need to throw a tantrum.”

 You huff and hold yourself back from stabbing right where he stood. “You had no right-“

 George interrupts you, “After the stunt you pulled. Asking Thomas Shelby to kill me in exchange you tell him a few locations. You know what he did when he found me. He shook my hand. The man helps me fake my death, im off to America. Can you guess where?”

 “New York.”

 “That’s right and its bigger and its booming, honey. And here you are sleeping with a man who lies to you, who is no different than me or the other men ive killed or hurt.”

 “Im not-not” You blush at the accusation your father throws to you. You had forgotten for a second how Tommy Shelby was involved in this. You remember asking him and never getting a clear answer. Especially when you were so unsure with what was going on, you should have pressed more. Not been so easy to trust him. You could have been more prepared for this, left the country sooner.

 “Listen, I’m just here to help you-“

 “By locking me up calling me crazy, or was it when you killed my mother, or had me followed or when you killed my friend.”

 “I understand your mad. But honey we are better as a team than not. Remember me and you fighting the world together.” He uses a funny light hearted voice. One that he would use only to manipulate you when you were younger.

 “What do you want from me?”

 He sighs, “I need a peace treaty. And the family’s got this son.-“

 You scoff, “Are you kidding me?”

 “its what best for our family. And honestly you have no choice in the matter. Ill drag you there myself if I have to.”

 “I’d like to see you try.” You pull put your knife and hold it out in attack position.

 “You’re gonna kill me, your old man,” He uses a mockingly sad voice before erupting into a mad laughter, “You might as well do it now cause you wouldn’t want me as your enemy.”

 “I think it might be too late for that.”  You press the knife against your own throat, pressing hard against your skin. You can feel a trickle of warm blood run down. Now George finally panics.

 “Hey, Hey! Don’t do that!” He yells.

 “Walk out of here and don’t turn back.  Now! “You command.

 Your father follows your orders because you knew it as well as he that in this game you were now an important chess piece. And he wouldn’t have no use with a dead bride.

 “I’ll be seeing you very soon.” He says as he walks further and further away. You watch until his figure is nothing more than a blur. That’s when you finally release the grip on your knife.

You sit down on the ground and quietly sob into your hands. You don’t know the time when you finally stop but its still night and still no train. You hear the sound of a lighter flicking on. You curse under your breath as you get up, ready to die tonight if it meant not being in your fathers plan.

 “You are really testing my patience tonight.” You say turning around. Only it wasn’t your father standing there.

 “Cigarette? You look like you could use one.” The deep voice says. And there you are, Face to face once again with Thomas Shelby.

[abundanceofnots]

Ficlet idea: Now that Mickey’s using kevs gym he’s been giving guys tips from his prison workouts. Ian is NOT happy about the level of attention he gets when he stops by one day

(You can read this fic here, or on AO3.)

So, the KevFit membership was still a thing. Cool.

And, okay, listen. It wasn’t that Ian minded Mickey going to the gym. Of course, he didn’t. It was just the way this whole thing came to be that Ian wouldn’t call ideal.

Mickey liked to say Ian body-shamed him into working out, and frankly, Ian could see why he would.

They gave each other shit all the time. Laughed about hairy toes, prodded at each other’s saggy parts. And when they were both in the right headspace, it was just that—provoking banter. But Mickey, being the sensitive creature that he was, sometimes took it too close to heart.

And yeah, maybe Ian nagged him a few too many times about staying healthy after the lockdown started when Mickey’s only method of balancing out his liquid beer diet was riding Ian’s dick. But by then, it felt like they’d been occupying the same 1x1 bedroom for years, so it wasn’t exactly Ian’s fault.

If Mickey decided to go about it this way, great. Seriously. It only meant that Ian didn’t need to worry about getting his knuckles bruised anytime soon. And while he secretly mourned the loss of Mickey’s soft belly, he wasn’t going to complain. Not when Mickey looked the way he did now.

The thought was on Ian’s mind again that morning while he brushed his teeth over the bathroom sink, using the time on his hands to watch his husband in the mirror as he showered.

The curtain was only partially closed, just enough so that Mickey wasn’t splashing water around the tub while still leaving space for Ian to see him.

And boy, did he see him.

His broad shoulders. His arms stretching as he ran his hands through his wet hair. The dimples on his back. The marks Ian left on his ass when they fucked earlier.

When Mickey turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub, Ian found himself drawn to the little water droplets sliding over the Ian Galager tattoo and down his pecs, his abs, the V shape of his hips, and into his pubes.

Ian only realized he entirely forgot to move the toothbrush in his mouth when one corner of Mickey’s mouth curled into a teasing smirk.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey asked, sounding smug as hell as he reached for his towel.

“Definitely not your ugly mug.”

Coming out all muffled, Ian’s words lost some of their intended edges. He angled himself back to the sink and spat.

“You have the tits of a 12-year-old girl,” he added quickly like there was a five-second rule for when you could still save your diss. He looked up just in time to see Mickey scrunch his face in mild outrage.

“Fuck off, these are C cups at least.”

“Like you're such an expert on those.”

Ian let out a low yelp as Mickey unexpectedly smacked his back, right around where his Monica tattoo was.

“Well, they're not your mom's tits, that's for sure,” Mickey noted through a sneer.

He then went back to drying himself, and Ian allowed himself to openly gawk at his slightly misty reflection again.

Several mechanical strokes of his toothbrush later, the thought came back, clouding his mind with an ugly feeling.

The intuitive thing would be to push it back and pretend like everything was okay, but they were married now and told each other shit, right? He had to say something.

“Going to the gym again today?” Ian asked eventually, trying to come off as noncommittal as he could with his mouth full and his eyes trained on the drain.

Obviously, he didn’t mind getting horny over his buff husband. No, the actual reason Ian was so bothered about all this was that other people now had free reigns to get horny over him as well.

You see, since Mickey started paying Kev’s gym his regular visits, he’d managed to attract a flock of followers. Fucking fans.

That, at least, was what Ian called them. Mickey, of course, didn’t see it like that. For him, they were paying customers.

“It’s easy money, man. And the crowd’s gettin’ bigger and bigger every week.” Mickey looked pleased as he wrapped the towel around his hips. “Anyway, it’s not like I have to do much. Most of the time, I just do my thing, and the bunch of ‘em stare at my ass.”

Ian bent forward and spat.

“So basically, they pay to jerk off your ego,” he pointed out, slumping his shoulders to show how totally unimpressed he was by that notion.

“’Xactly. And maybe something else, too.”

Mickey’s cackle followed him out into the hallway as he left Ian alone in the bathroom.

---

It was clearly a joke. A nasty joke that was supposed to leave a sting, but there was absolutely no need for Ian to worry. And he kept telling himself that all day—right until the moment he entered the badly-lit backroom of the Alibi and found himself in the company of a pack of Northsiders in designer label gym clothes.

Before he could spot Mickey anywhere among them, some blond guy in what seemed like an uncomfortably too tight a tank top came to his side.

„Looks like we have a newcomer in our midst.” The guy clicked his tongue, giving Ian an blatant once-over. “You here for the Mickeffect?”

„The what?“

„The Mickeffect. That’s what we call this class. Unofficially, of course, because the class is sorta kinda unofficial, too.” At that, he sniggered, which Ian immediately found annoying. “3pm, every Tuesday and Thursday. You from the Facebook group?”

Ian resisted the urge to scoff. “Uh, no.”

“Just lucky coincidence, then? Well, since you’re already here, I think you’re gonna enjoy yourself. The dude who leads this class is ex-con, so he knows all the right ways to abuse the body if you know what I mean.”

Clenching his fists inside the pockets of his sweatpants, Ian smiled politely and nodded. He wasn’t going to give this blond douchebag the satisfaction and punch him in the face. Not yet, at least.

“Hot as hell, too. And man, that ass. Simply de-licious. The whole thing actually only went off after I posted a video of him doing squats. Got 50k views in a day, a whole article on PinkNews a week later. The title was The Ex-con Hunk Who Makes Chicagoans Sweat Like Crazy – And Then Tells Them Off. Funny.”

The guy shrugged in this wannabe innocent you know how it is way. Ian was relieved to realize he really, really didn’t.

“We get new people all the time, but the return rate is terrible,” Blond Douchebag continued, amazingly. “Most of the boys come for Mickey but then leave with someone else. Maybe you’ll get lucky here, too.”

“I’m married,“ Ian retorted, hoping it would be enough to make him stop talking.

But Blond Douchebag didn’t even blink. “Yeah, so are some of the guys here. And he is, too, but I don’t think he’s the typa guy who would be deterred by that.“

Careful there, pal, Ian thought. Or you might find your pretty face landing very unprettily on a beer keg.

“Oh, hey!“

The familiar voice came out of nowhere, prematurely ending Ian’s plans to show this complete dickwad the practical meaning of the word concussion.

His head snapped to his right where Mickey was now standing, his eyes carefully roaming over Ian. There was a softness in them for a moment before his whole face morphed into a smirk.

„Came to learn something from the expert?” he teased.

Ian clenched his jaw. “Something like that.”

As Mickey moved past them, Blond Douchebag gave Ian a sly wink.

---

Ian wasn’t sure what kind of problems the snooty Northsiders could possibly be dealing with in their private lives, but this whole thing seemed to have almost therapeutical effects on them.

Mickey called them Ansel Elgort (not a compliment) or White Kanye West (also not a compliment) while he listened to their crap, and they giggled like teenage girls. He yelled at them for being pussies, and they were only a touch away from popping a boner. It made zero fucking sense.

And Mickey, well. The dickhead was so clearly giving them an upgraded version to his usual performance. Biting his bottom lip all the time. Flexing his muscles a little too hard. Grabbing everyone’s attention by letting out these exaggerated grunts.

Ian officially reached his bullshit limit when Mickey finished off a set of pull-ups and promptly took his shirt off to wipe his face. The way everything around him seemed to come to a stop for a hot minute had Ian’s eyes rolling.

It was totally ridiculous. Were these guys really so desperate?

Getting a better grip on the skipping rope he was using, Ian caught Mickey watching him, his brows arched, the dare behind them so plain and obvious.  

And yeah, okay, asshole. Two could play this game.

“You know what,” Ian started out loud so everyone could hear him. He let the rope fall to his feet and instead tugged his own shirt off. “We did things a little differently in the army.”

His grin widened when he heard one of the guys audibly gulp.

---

“Fifty!”

“One hundred!”

“Fuck off, you can’t do one hundred push-ups in one go.”

“With one hand behind my back.”

Maybe kneeling on the feet of two wheezing guys doing sit-ups wasn’t the best time to have a whispered shouting match with your husband, but honestly, Ian couldn’t give two shits. Mickey was seriously pissing him off—and like hell was he going to let him win. Even if it was just this one petty argument.

“You need stamina when you’re the top. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to do all the fucking work while the bottom just lies there.”

“Oh, oh, please! Tell us more about your workouts in the army. Was this before or after you tried to run away from there by stealing a damn helicopter?”

They were suddenly aware that their periphery vision got surprisingly still. Almost in tandem, they looked down at the alarmed expressions of their trainees.

“Did I fuckin’ tell you to stop, Asthma Boy?” Mickey grumbled at his guy. “Gimme three more sets of twenty!”

---

Blond Douchebag must have taken a genuine liking to him because he later offered to cover Ian as he pounded into the punching bag. And while he technically did hold onto the punching bag, his eyes were always on Mickey.

“Wonder who Ian is,” he mused as he observed Mickey’s topless form. “Think it’s the husband? Probably doesn’t even realize what a hot piece of ass he’s got at home.”

Too easy. It would be entirely too easy to pretend Ian’s hand slipped and he hit him by mistake, and he wasn’t going to stoop that low. He wasn’t.

Taking in a deep breath, Ian started punching harder.

He wasn’t.

“Everything okay here?”

Mickey had his shirt tucked under the elastic band of his pants, and from the corner of his eyes, Ian couldn’t help but notice the light sheen of sweat that covered his face and upper body. He wasn’t the only one.

“Oh, more than okay,” Blond Douchebag practically purred.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

“Whoa, Ian, hey.” Mickey sounded worried. “Take it easy, man.”

And fucking finally, that seemed to have done the job. Because Blond Douchebag wasn’t looking at Mickey anymore, he was looking back at Ian, and his bravado was long gone. Now, there was childlike fear in his stance, and Ian almost pitied him.

“Oh shit. You’re Ian,” he managed before the next punch landed right into his face, knocking him down on the floor.

Panting, Ian stood over him as he clutched his bleeding nose.

“Yes, I’m Ian,” he snarled at him. “And his ass is all mine.”

Someone gripped his arm then.

“Okay, the show’s over, Muhammad Ali. Better get out of here,” Mickey muttered as he pushed Ian across the gym, past all the Northside wimps who seemed too tired to do anything other than being in shock. “Come on. Ian, come the fuck on!”

From the Alibi, they ran. Sprinted along the streets and over honking cars, zig-zagged through commuters, and flipped off those who wolf-whistled at their half-naked bodies. They ran until they ended up in a dirty alley with no one else in sight, their sides on fire, and broke into a fit of laughter.

Ian only realized Mickey brought his shirt when he used it to slap his chest.

“Jealous fucker.”

“Shut the fuck up. Wasn’t jealous.”

But Mickey was still wearing that suggestive whatcha gonna do now smirk, and his lips were shiny from being licked over just a second ago, and so the next thing Ian knew, he was pushing him against a wall and kissing him thoroughly.

His hands went to Mickey’s ass, lifting him up just slightly as his fingers dug in, and Ian pulled back to let out a moan.

“Mm, I fuckin’ love your ass.”

Mickey groaned. “Jesus Christ, please don’t tell me all of this was because of my ass.”

Leaning down again, Ian murmured into his mouth: “Isn’t it always?”

[aprilsrant]

Start Over | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) has anger issues and a bad reputation that follows. Oliver seems to be the only one who hasn’t been on the receiving end of her outbursts and there might be a hidden reason for it.

WORD COUNT: 2,3k.

WARNINGS: Marcus Flint being an idiot and a missoginy brat, it’s kind of angsty towards the end. Maybe a curse word or two. There is a fight and a duel too. (If I miss any, let me know!)

REQUEST: can’t find it, but yes, this was requested.

A/N: This took me so long and I’m so sorry, but for some reason I couldn’t get this finished. Hope you enjoy it! Like, reblog or leave comment if you like, feedback is always appreciated!!

Also, I made the reader have a holly wand because details are important sometimes.

English is not my first language, there could be mistakes!

Gif is not mine!!

MASTERLIST.

For whatever stupid, possibly misogynist, reason, Marcus Flint never allowed girls to tryout for the Slytherin Quidditch Team, not even when he, and everyone else present, knew of their talent and how much it would benefit them. Now more than ever, with that Harry Potter kid catching every single Snitch flying round him, Flint’s team needed new members. And members that actually knew how to play and not those who would pay their way in. 

Once again, (Y/N) was waiting in the stands for the Slytherin Captain and the whole group attempting to grab themselves a spot. Arriving before them gave her an “advantage” and that was not being completely disregarded the minute Flint saw her in the midst of the line up following him like some kind of lost puppys. 

With nothing else to do than just stand round the edge of the Quidditch Pitch, (Y/N) looked up and watched as a few Gryffindors threw the Quaffle towards one of the three hoops. She didn’t even know why people kept trying out to be a Chaser in Wood’s team when the current three were the best they had. And they were all women. Who would have thought that girls could play that well, right? 

(Y/N) didn’t know why she continued to insist when she was aware that Flint would never let her be on the team. Maybe because it was her last year, or because she had a tiny spark of hope inside of her that something, pretty much a miracle, would happen and the boy’d change his mind, finally acknowledging that (Y/N) was better than the two Slytherin beaters together. 

“What are you doing here, (Y/L/N)?,” the voice of the Slytherin Captain brought her back from the train of thoughts. Glancing towards the Pitch, she realised that it was empty, the only Gryffindor there was Oliver Wood, seating in the opposite set of stands with a notebook and a pencil in his hand. Upon seeing Flint and the trail of Slytherins behind him, he rolled his eyes and quickly left his spot, steps faltering after hearing Marcus’s irritated tone. “I told you, multiple times may I remind you, that I don’t want girls in my team, and especially not those who want to be beaters.”

This was something she saw coming, of course, and she’d tried to assume it for the last couple of days every time the image of being rejected, again, would pop into her head, replaying the times were she had actually been rejected as if her own mind was trying to torture her.

She had also seen the other part coming, and she had tried to stop it. But in her defense, when Professor Snape interrogated her an hour later, Marcus Flint kind of deserved it. 

“Why not, Flint? I’ve been trying to get in the team ever since you became Captain and decided I wasn’t good enough after our fourth year,” (Y/N) had said, voice raising after more words left her mouth. With her broomstick in hand, she stepped down the stands and marched towards him. 

“You said it yourself, (Y/N), you weren’t, and still aren’t, good enough,” Marcus responded while shrugging his shoulders arrogantly and walking past her. 

“I was good enough, you prick, I was better than just good enough and you fucking know it.” All of the group that had gathered to try out turned their heads in her direction when she started to scream, whispers and shared glances expectant of the outcome of the argument. Pushing a third year in front of her out of her way, she kept walking, stopping only after she was face to face with Marcus. “And how can you be so sure I’m not adequate? You haven’t even let me fly around the Pitch for the last two years.”

Ignoring her, Flint commanded the two boys carrying the box full of equipment to leave it on the floor and start to warm up. 

“Can you… Can you, please, let me try this one time?,” (Y/N) whispered, burying her pride and dignity in the same coffin after the word please escaped from her mouth. 

“Now you’re begging, you are pathetic, (Y/L/N), and they say you’re supposed to be dangerous” the boy exclaimed, clearly enjoying seeing her so desperate. He walked towards her, his taller figure towering over the girl. “Let me tell you something. Both of us were on the team, right now one is the Captain and the other one… Well, I’m pretty sure you know your exact position in this whole thing. And that’s why you are not in my place, because you are not good enough.”

Her teeth, jaw and fists clenched at the same time, the rest of her body shaking slightly, lighting up on fire with every sentence Marcus sneered at her. 

From a young age she had people question her, her interests and her decisions, even her place in the House of ambition, many believing the girl to be “too soft” at first. That had changed after the start of her second year. If they wanted her to be violent, rash and reckless, that’s what they got. Now, every time her name was mentioned around Hogwarts, whispers and rumours would be shortly behind. Most of the things people said about her were incorrect, not even close to the truth, but she accepted them anyways. She took each one of the rumours and turned them into her truth.

For some (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was on the right path to become a Dark Witch, a pureblood longing to take on Lord Voldemort’s place and rule over the Wizarding World, torturing muggleborns and blood traitors. To others, she was the Devil’s offspring in the flesh, waiting for the right moment to raise the forces of hell upon Hogwarts. And they were the ones speaking of her mental state while coming up with ridiculous theories. Nonetheless, she had to admit it was a new kind of entertainment seeing the first years getting warned about her, bombarding them with false information and stupid allegations. But the laughs she would have from it on her own company didn’t erase the loneliness and the solemn feeling of having no one. 

Like the symbol of her house, (Y/N) was a creature of instinct. And like what people murmured about her, (Y/N) was also a creature of violence.

As only one can imagine, no one was shocked from the response Marcus Flint got. Not in words, or insults, which were regular, but in the form of a fist connecting with his cheek (although she had intended to hit the nose). 

One would think anger makes people a better fighter, all that pent up rage coming from nowhere and lashing out against your opponent it’s more damaging to you than the person you are fighting. Now, this was not (Y/N)’s first fist fight but that didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. Every time she had punched someone it had happened in the midst of uncontrollable wrath growing, attaching itself to the girl’s body, controlling her limbs, numbing her mind.

For a moment she closes her eyes, one thought in her mind, vanishing as quickly as it appeared, — I did it. Again —. When (Y/N) opens them, she notices the change of scenario, or positions. She is no longer standing on her feet, she is several metres away from her housemate, the back of her body on the receiving end of the harsh floor; the loud beating of her heart thundering in her ears, almost giving her a headache, swallowing the spell Flint had used on her. 

After rising from the grass, (Y/N) marches towards him, holly wand in her hand shooting hexes, barely missing its target. She’s about to whisper the Stunning Spell when someone from behind grabs her wrist, holding her back from trying to curse Marcus, whose responses are getting slower and scarcely protecting him. An arm sneaks around (Y/N)’s figure, distancing her from the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. 

Her elbow moves almost instinctively and hits the person behind her in the stomach, the arm around her waist retreating fast enough for (Y/N) to cast a protection charm and petrify Marcus Flint. 

Turning around, she sees none other than Oliver Wood, bending over his stomach with a hand clenching his right knee and gasping for air.

“What the bloody hell was that, Wood?”

“I was trying to help you!,” he manages to say while looking up at her.

“Help me? You were trying to stop me, you twat.”

“Exactly!,” Oliver shouts, making her move backwards, “Do you want to get yourself expelled, (Y/L/N)? Because if that’s what you want, you are doing an excellent job.”

She should have hexed him right there, no one else was on the Quidditch Pitch with them, except the handful of Slytherins and those weren’t the snitching types, but she didn't, surprising herself and everyone else watching them.

||| 

Later that night, after finishing the horrendous detention Snape had put her in —reorganizing his entire cabinet claimed by suspicious ingredients and potions with terrible smells, making the small space smell like rotten eggs and the Gryffindor Quidditch robes after a rough match—, looking at the moon and the landscape surrounding Hogwarts from the Astronomy Tower, she thought about the reasons to why she hadn’t raised her wand, or fist, to face Oliver. 

He wasn’t special. Yes, he was a great wizard, with problems in Potions and History of Magic, still quite good at Defensive spells but not that good to beat her if she was fully focused, he would be easy to defeat especially after Quidditch tryouts. So, why? Why did she just walk away?

“I knew I could find you here.”

(Y/N) turned around, quickly taking hold of her holly wand and raising it towards the tower’s entrance. The thundering in her chest calming, her breathing going back to its normal pace when she realised it wasn’t Sirius Black, the murderer that had escaped Azkaban and was said to have roamed through the castle. 

“What are you doing here, Oliver?”, she addressed him once the moonlight illuminated his tall figure.

“I wanted to apologise,” the boy admitted, his voice faltered just like his approach, as if he was trying to make peace with a beast; as if he was telling a snake that his feet would not come close to its head, “for what I said earlier. It wasn’t fair because I know how you…”

“How I what? How I tend to react when I’m angry?,” (Y/N) interrupted, the hand holding her wand still facing Oliver, “don’t try to act like you know me.”

“But I used to,” he murmured.

Neither of them said anything, both of their minds desperately trying to find the right words, one to plead for forgiveness once again and the other to accept it if the plea ever escaped his mouth.

The distant sound of creatures soaring through the night sky and the flip of their wings was all they heard for minutes, minutes that had felt like hours; she would dare to say days if the sky wasn’t still dark, filled with bright stars circling a full moon. 

“Why don’t we get to know each other all over again? We can start over, please.”

There it was.

And then it came.

“That’s such a great idea, Oliver!,” (Y/N) answered with a big smile on her face, the quick change of demeanour unsettling Oliver. They hadn’t talked in years but he was still amazed at how much he remembered of her, and how this didn’t mean any good. “We can get to know each other like all those years ago and then, you can abandon me like all those years ago”. The grin on her lips transforming into a scowl right after she pronounced the last part of her sentence.

“Why are you even here, Wood? You felt guilty and now you’re trying to make it go away? Or is it charity?,” the Slytherin kept ranting,” or better yet, someone challenged you to do this? I’m putting all my money on the Weasley Twins. 

“N-No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Oliver explained while moving his hands and walking the final steps leading him to (Y/N),“ I just- I never- I, I never wanted this, I never expected it but everyone was talking about you and-and they were saying horrible things and…”

“And you believed them,” (Y/N) stated, turning around to stop facing him and his hurt expression,” I don’t blame you for doing it. It’s quite funny if you think about it.”

“What’s quite funny?,” his gaze still on her when he asked.

“Most of the things you and the rest of the school heard were invented by me, so people would just stop bothering me,” she pretended to confess only to the stars, for if she didn’t, she would never admit it to him,” you can say I planned my entire doom. And it’s quite funny because, in the end, you still believed me.”

“You could have told me, (Y/N). Why didn’t you?”

“You believed the rumours, I’m sure not the craziest ones though, but that tells me that you thought I was capable of actually doing all the terrible things I said about myself.”

“I’m sorry, I am, (Y/N), truly.”

“Sorry doesn’t mend it,” she murmured, now forcing herself to look him in the eyes and act as if the pain never happened; as if she hadn’t missed his company and his random, permanently out of place Quidditch facts.

“I know, but it’s everything I have right now and I hope you can forgive me one day.”

“I have already forgiven you, Oliver, but I was too proud to reach you.”

“Typical you, (Y/N). I should have expected it.”

A small smile formed in her lips and for a moment she forgot their broken friendship, the reputation that had become her shadow and the future awaiting after Hogwarts. It was only them, (Y/N) and Oliver, with the moon glowing down on their faces and the feeling of being eleven year olds settling over their minds.

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[welcometowcwmondaynitro]

WCW Monday Nitro 09/09/1996

Shit be exploding, so you know what time it is.

Yes sir.

Once again we are not given a location this week, which generally means the town is too small-time for the big shots at WCW to even consider giving a shout out to. My research tells me this broadcast comes from the Columbus Civic Centre in Columbus, Georgia.  

As always we are introduced to our first hour announce team, Schiavone and Zbyszko.

Tony is looking quite smart this evening. Larry as expected has a horrific multcoloured abomination on underneath his jacket. It’s basically his gimmick a this point so whatever. 

They talk about how the balance of power has shifted to the nWo and Larry says Giant is “the biggest traitor since Benedict Arnold”, nice ancient reference there, Larry. We get a recap of last week’s awesome show-ending brawl. 

Once they’re done wrapping this up, Goldberg’s music plays. What? I check my file - yes, definitely 9th September 1996. Has Goldberg time travelled back to 1996 and changed history by debuting early?

Well, either that is one hell of a disguise or no, actually Goldberg’s theme music was first used by this Japanese guy called Pat Tanaka. It’s really weird seeing this random fella walk out to Goldberg’s music. The crowd boo mildly - I guess just because he’s Japanese? I don’t remember there being any storyline reason to boo him, anyway. 

Pat’s opponent is... this.

Looks like a mascot from a early/mid-90s video game brought to life. If this is Super Calo then I am curious as to what regular Calo is like. I am unsure as to what makes this version ‘Super’, but maybe we’ll find out in the upcoming match. Mike Tenay joins the announce crew because it is Calo’s debut and Tenay is the only one likely to know anything about him.

Pat Tanaka vs Super Calo

I was kind of hoping Tanaka would start the match with a spear and then jackhammer Calo into oblivion, but no such luck. 

As one would anticipate from a man dressed like a stereotypical kung-fu master in an 80s movie, Tanaka starts the match off with some kicks.

Calo jumps around pointlessly and then gets kicked in the face. Bants.

Tenay tells us Calo’s name and look comes from the “top rap group” in Mexico. He does not name this group. Confusingly wikipedia claims Calo is named after a Mexican rock group with the same name, but his image is meant to convey a rapper. So, just... what? Also what rapper has ever looked like Super Calo? In Mexico is that how rappers dress? 

Well anyway this odd fellow somersaults over the ropes onto Tanaka outside of the ring. 

The screen then cuts to this.

 Then we’re back to the match. OK then. 

Tanaka hits Calo with a powerbomb, which leads to Tony talking about him being “so schooled in the martial arts”. Yes, because we all know that classic martial arts move the powerbomb. Often followed by a leg drop and a scorpion deathlock. 

The ending to this match is beyond ridiculous. 

First, Tanaka puts Calo onto the top turnbuckle.

Neither man seems to know what is meant to happen next, so they awkwardly wrap their arms around each other.

Tanaka then lifts Calo up like he’s going for an inverse piledriver and falls backwards.

Apparently he knocks himself out, gets pinned, and loses.

What an idiot.

Super Calo defeats Pat Tanaka via Pinfall.

Nothing too super about our friend Calo in this one I’m afraid. His victory came largely because Tanaka is a super dunce.

We got some lads in the front row who are big fans of the classic moustache.

They seem quite pleased that Calo emerged victorious.

Just under seven minutes in and we throw back to Mean Gene in the locker room with Rick Steiner. This should be good.

Shirts hanging out of the lockers behind them, as you do. 

Gene asks Rick Steiner about Nick Patrick’s questionable officiating - referring to the incident last week where Luger was disqualified in seconds for basically nothing. Rick says that he had Luger, and Gene saw it. Total bullshit as the match had barely started, and Gene does point that out. 

Luger walks into the frame as we see last week’s replay. Rick is continually going on about how he was going to win, sounding like a mentally challenged three year old. On the other hand this is a guy who also genuinely thinks he’s a dog, so... I should probably be impressed that he is able to form words and put them into a somewhat coherent structure.

Gene says that Steiner is “a little confused” in the understatement of the century, 

Luger tells Rick that he’s “a great tag team wrestler” but he feels like he has the edge in a singles environment. Rick continues to fail to understand basic english and keeps repeating “I can beat you, ask Sting” and then starts calling for Sting.

Gene then ushers Rick away like an unruly child as Luger walks off as well. Gene says that Luger was alluding that Rick “doesn’t have it upstairs”, pointing to his head. Wow, what a dick. Luger didn’t say anything like that. All he implied was that he was a better singles wrestler than Rick. Not sure where Gene has gotten his interpretation from, but my guess is he just wants to stir the pot as usual.

Next it’s nWo announcement time.

Just the usual t-shirt ad with Nash saying “all proceeds go towards the Ric Flair retirement fund”. Joke’s on him, that fund must have accrued some serious cash before it was finally paid out.

We’re back and...

Somebody buy these poor kids some real nWo t-shirts. 

Where did these people come from? Did they decide to stop by Nitro after a corporate dinner or something? 

Are these pilots in the audience as well? Wtf? Why are all these people coming to the show dressed in their work clothes? Is this a common thing in the States?

Oh, hey, guess what - Glacier debuted. I would say “remember all that hype” but if you’ve been reading this sad collection of nostalgic drivel then you will indeed remember the many Glacier adverts that have been on every Nitro broadcast since May or so. We’re now in September and Glacier finally had his first match... on WCW Pro.

Seriously.

WCW Pro is like... Sunday Night Heat or Velocity in WWE terms. It’s below WCW Saturday Night for fuck’s sake.  Tony calls it “one of the most eagerly anticipated debuts ever” - which is why he made his first appearance on WCW FUCKING PRO. Oh WCW, what are you like?

Larry says Glacier will be “a force to be reckoned with”, which, spoiler alert. turns out to be the opposite.

  Oh good, these two walking charisma vacuums.

And these two lumbering idiots. WCW, the best wrestling on the planet. How could WWF in 1996 find no way to entice people away from Pat Tanaka vs Super Calo and The AFC vs the Nasty Boys? Seriously. It isn’t that difficult. 

The AFC do their usual schtick of singing the Canadian national anthem badly and the crowd get angry because ‘Murica fuck yeah and whatever. The Nasty Boys say “fuck this” and attack the AFC after about 10 seconds of this bullshit, getting the match started.

The Amazing French Canadians Vs The Nasty Boys

You don’t care about this match. I don’t care about this match. Let’s just skip to the end.

Knobbs whacks the eyepatch guy with the flag the AFC brought out. Saggs pins for the win. 

The Nasty Boys defeat The Amazing French Canadians via Pinfall.

Mean Gene comes scurrying out to interview the Nastys, for some reason.

Saggs says everybody has been pointing the finger at the Nasty Boys, accusing them of being with the nWo (can’t imagine anybody really cares but OK, sure). Saggs says the Nasty’s are only worried about the tag titles which are in WCW, ergo they aren’t interested in joining the nWo. Does he not realise that faction affiliation is irrelevent as far as challenging for belts is concerned? I mean, Hogan is literally WCW Heavyweight champion at this point in time. 

Knobbs says that the Nasty’s don’t care about the nWo, they’re in WCW and they’re coming for Harlem Heat to take the tag team titles. Short and to the point, which is fine by me, even if the Nasty’s appear to be under the mistaken impression- that joining the nWo would invalidate them from challenging for the tag titles. 

We’re back from a commercial break to find Scott Norton and Sgt Craig Pittman in the ring.

Sgt Craig Pittman Vs Scott Norton

The commentators bill this as a “hold versus hold” match and I’m not sure what this means, as I was under the impression every match is hold versus hold. But whatever. 

After some back and forth Pittman decides that it’s time to ram his head into Norton’s sternum. 

It looks pretty painful and not especially effective, but Pittman enjoys it so much he does it again. 

They head to the outside of the ring. Norton gets whipped against the guardrail, the entirety of which moves upon impact, but then Norton regains control by slamming Pittman’s shoulder into the ring post. 

Norton locks in the armbar but the Sarge will not give up. Long gets onto the ring apron to beg Pittman to give in, but he won’t. WCW, for reasons beyond my understanding, is very careful about protecting Sgt. Craig Pittman. He never gets pushed, as far as I remember, but this man WILL NOT QUIT.

Then... 

Ice Train wanders out wearing this abomination. Seriously - what the fuck? It’s like a demin vest with a backpack built in. It’s something you would expect to see an eight-year old girl in the mid-90s wearing over the top of a t-shirt or something. What clothing brand figured that this design was suitable for huge, beefy dudes? I don’t know, but they clearly have a customer in Ice Train.

Train throws in the towel for Pittman.  

Scott Norton defeats Sgt. Craig Pittman via Forfeit. 

He enters the ring and stares down at Norton, who is looking at Train’s vest top and moobs like “dafuq?”

The two former amigos have a staredown which doesn’t lead anywhere. 

Pepboys Power Pin of the Week is a submission. Go figure.

We head to the locker room where Gene-o is with Ric Flair, Arn Anderson and Lex Luger.

Three of these men are dressed appropriately. The other is Lex Luger.

Apparently Sting is supposed to be a part of this interview as well but is nowhere to be found. Luger assures Flair & Arn that Sting is in the building, but the Horsemen are having none of it and are concerned that Sting doesn’t have his head in the game. Flair starts going crazy and practically flings himself into an alternate dimension with his erratic movements.

Like a jet propeller is being put directly in front of his face.

Anyway eventually these two sad sacks come lumbering in...

Mongo looks like he’s about to explode, whilst Benoit as usual appears barely awake. Mongo yells about not being able to count on Luger and Sting. Luger reiterates that Sting is in the building somewhere, he’s just not around for the interview. The Horsemen do seem overly paranoid here - how hard would it be to track Sting down and talk to him if they are this pissed off? 

Arn says he’s called ahead to Winston, Salem (where Fall Brawl/War Games is being held) to pre-book himself a hospital room as he assumes he’s going to need one. Seems like a somewhat pessimistic thing to do, but is it even possible to pre-book hospital room? Arn is talking like he’s booked a hotel room for the night. Strange lad. He also suggests Hogan uses battery acid to burn out his eyes which... I mean, don’t give the guy ideas, Arn.  

Interview ends with everybody talking over each other and Flair wooing a lot - so, the same as most Horsemen interviews.

People in the crowd are holding these signs which say “nWo - you haven’t seen bad... but it’s coming!” - indeed, Hogan Vs Piper is coming.

We get a recap of this thrilling DDP/Eddie/Chavo storyline which nobody cares about, but why this is recapped is beyond me as the next match has nothing to do with any of those three. 

Instead, out comes “the desparado” himself, Joe Gomez.

Somebody throws a wad of paper at him as he enters. Obviously not a fan.

His opponent is Juventud Guerrera,  who Tony repeatedly refers to as Juventud Guerrero. 

As Juvi enters he runs past these ladies, who appear both baffled and unimpressed with him.

Cold.

Joe Gomez Vs Juventud Guerrera

The match starts off okay, but descends into disaster fairly quickly as Juvi starts trying various lucha things which poor Joe is clearly not comfortable with. First Juvi stands on the apron, jumps onto the ropes as Gomez slowly walks towards him and does this...

It’s clear from this angle alone that there is no way in hell Juvi is going to reach Gomez. In fairness to WCW they switch camera angle just in time to make it look slightly less terrible, although I imagine it was more down to luck than skill. Nonetheless Gomez at least tries to sell the move, falling backwards theatrically.

Weeee! Points for effort if not execution. 

This happens next, and thanks to Uproxx “Best and Worst of WCW Monday Nitro” series (check it out, it’s great) I have a GIF to put into pictures what I would struggle to put into words.

Speaks for itself.

After this Juvi seems to want to go for a hurricanrana from the top turnbuckle but I‘m not sure if they botch this as well or it was the plan, but Juvi ends up backflipping away from the turnbuckle and then catching Gomez with a weak looking dropkick as he jumps towards Juvi.

Juvi just about manages to hit the finishing move...

But even that looks a little bit dodgy. At least Joe just had to lay there for this one. Ref counts to three and mercifully this one is over. Not sure if Gomez or Juvi are to blame for this shitshow, but either way I advise never putting them together again.

Juventud Guerrera defeats Joe Gomez via Pinfall.

For some reason Mean Gene is on the ramp to interview Nick Patrick. Oh good, more of this storyline.

Before they start the interview though, as Juventud walks past Gene and Patrick, Gene says “very good match there on the part of Juventud Guerrera”, then gives Juvi a disdainful look and mutters “guy just kind of... wanders around here”. LOL. Why is Gene throwing shade at poor Juvi? “Guy just wanders around here”, like he’s a lost child or something. I guess Gene is still salty about the interview with Juvi that went wrong a couple of weeks ago, but come on, that was hardly Juvi’s fault. Obvious Gene is still holding a grudge though. 

I don’t think anybody really wants to hear from these two ballbags but here we are anyway. 

Gene is accusing Patrick of making too many controversial calls for it to just be coincidence, whilst Patrick is accusing Gene of being a shit-stirring cock cheese who needs to get a life. Neither are lying but nobody really cares either. What is funny is that Okerlund is very haughty and dismissive of Patrick - until Patrick threatens to take Gene to court - at which point Gene stutters “well I-I hope that doesn’t happen” before saying “thank you very much Nick Patrick, sir, thank you” to Patrick as he walks off. Pathetic. 

Meanwhile Hogan, Hall, Nash and the Giant are outside in the pouring rain putting those nWo flyers with the “you haven’t seen bad... but it’s coming” slogan on random cars. This seems like a total waste of time as by the time the car owners get back to their vehicles the rain would probably have destroyed those flyers anyway.  Do these guys really have nothing better to do? Tony tells us the nWo are “literally” in the parking lot - as opposed to what, being there in spirit?

Ted DiBiase is the smartest of the lot as he 1) has an umbrella and 2) isn’t wasting his time putting up useless flyers in the pouring rain. He’s talking to somebody in the car, and the announcers are shitting themselves as to who it might be, as they tend to do. For all they know DiBiase might just be talking to the driver. 

“HERE’S A STORY OF TWO BROTHERS, RICK AND SCOTT!”

Just Rick tonight. He comes out doing that sad half-bark he does whenever something is troubling him. 

His opponent, of course, is Flexy Lexy.

Rick Steiner Vs Lex Luger

These two are not exactly known as ‘ring generals’ so I am not expecting a classic here. Let’s see, though. Perhaps we will all be pleasantly surprised. 

After various arm drags, headlocks, shoulder blocks, and so on, this happens.

Uh...

Yeah. Rick is basically molesting Luger in the ring and keeps this up for a disturbing amount of time. I guess it’s meant to show his amateur wrestling background but it basically just looks like sexual assault. Rick’s hands are going to places they really should not. 

Hour two begins with the usual fireworks. Bischoff, Heenan and Tenay come in on commentary for the rest of the show. 

Rick hits Luger with a nice powerslam, and Randy Anderson cannot bear to watch the impact. The crowd bark their approval which, personally, I don’t think is helpful. Rick’s clinical lycanthropy is only going to get worse if people bark at him when he does something good. Or bark at him in general, really.

More cuddling. Back away, Rick. Even Randy Anderson is telling him to cut it out at this point.

Luger takes control with a powerslam and signals for the rack. However, before he can attempt his finishing move...

This dicksplash comes running out waving his arms around. Looks like he’s doing the sieg heil there but fairly sure it’s just the timing of the screenshot.

Anyhow, Patrick tells Luger to follow him out the back, yelling something about the nWo beating up Sting.

Considering Patrick’s recent behaviour, Lex, it might not be wise to...

OK. Never mind. Of course Luger goes running after Patrick, abandoning the match entirely and getting himself counted out. 

Everyone looking towards the entrance way like “where’s he going?” 

Rick Steiner defeats Lex Luger via Countout.

We get a shot of DiBiase talking to the mystery man in the limo. Sting’s voice is heard but it is blatantly piped in from some other promo. He says he’s “tired of the DTA stuff, don’t trust anybody”, so I guess he’s not a fan of Stone Cold Steve Austin. DiBiase pretends to talk to the pre-taped Sting voice until Lex shows up.

A guy who is clearly not Sting gets out of the limo and starts beating up Luger whilst Bischoff screams “NO! NO!”

I have the advantage of hindsight and my monitor is probably bigger than most people’s TVs back in 1996... but still, it’s really obviously not Sting. Were people genuinely fooled by this? 

The nWo along with “Sting” beat Luger down and leave him laying in a broken heap in the rain...

It has not been a good night for Luger. First he got yelled at by the Horsemen, then he spent ten minutes getting inappropriately touched by Rick Steiner during their match, then he gets smacked around by the nWo and left on the ground in the pouring rain. Bad times for sure. Although if you’re stupid enough to follow Nick Patrick anywhere... 

Luger does manage to get back up but ends up just kind of wandering around in the rain looking confused whilst the nWo flee, leaving the limos parked outside the building.

These bois are not impressed by what they have just seen. Tenay looks like a dad who is about to grab his belt and put a whippin’ on somebody. Bischoff is indignant. Heenan wears the expression of a man who was just forced to sit through every Raw from 2015. Pure torture. 

Bischoff says he has an update which is literally “we don’t know where [the nWo] are. I’m sorry. I don’t know”. Well thanks for that. Very helpful. 

We get a long recap of last week’s angle including more footage of the amazing all-out brawl that ended the show. Then we get another nWo advert for their t-shirt. 

A bunch of random jobbers are outside with Luger and Rick Steiner milling around the limo yelling out “DIBIASE!” - as if he’ll just pop up and be like “sup bois?” - pointless endeavour. Rick Steiner is the only one smart enough to bring an umbrella outside. Let that one sink in. Luger chucks a bunch of stuff out of one of the limos onto the floor which seems unnecessary. 

Out comes pre-Flock Billy Kidman. The commentators could not care less, just droning on about Sting’s supposed “defection”. 

The other combatant in this contest is Cruiserweight champion Rey Mysterio Jr.

Rey Mysterio Jr Vs Billy Kidman

The announcers spend the entire match in ‘sad voice’, like their dogs have all collectively died. It’s really annoying.

The match spills to the outside very quickly. Rey gets the advantage and rolls Kidman back in. He attempts to jump off the ropes from the apron, but Kidman knows what’s coming and meets Rey with a dropkick to the chest.

Kidman slams Rey in the centre of the ring, runs over to the turnbuckle and leaps off.

Just a two count though. Rey wins the match soon after this by flipping off the ropes onto Kidman.

It looks weak but whatever. This wasn’t anything special.

Rey Mysterio defeats Billy Kidman via Pinfall.

We come back from a commercial and the Dungeon’s of Doom’s “music” is playing, and I put that in inverted commas because it isn’t really music, just a pseudo-creepy OTT villainous laugh accompanied by some kind of chant. Whatever. Normally any sign of the Dungeon is enough to make me want to hang my head in despair, however!

If Meng is involved, it might be somewhat entertaining. Just to note those aren’t two random arms sprouting out of Meng’s shoulders – the Barbarian is behind him.

The announcers are still going on about how tragic Sting’s supposed betrayal is – and Bischoff apologises for “not giving Rey Mysterio the attention he deserves in his match”. I mean, kind of tough to take that apology seriously considering how often this has happened and will continue to happen until Nitro goes out of existence. It is the only time I can recall any commentator in WCW actually apologising for the routine ignoring of the cruiserweights in favour of talking about/complaining about the nWo, though.

These two are the opponents. Yeah, Public Enemy, they definitely deserve that pyro. Sure. Look at them waving their hands in the air like they just don’t care.

By the way, the commentators are still going on about Sting. I wonder if we’ll get another apology for ignoring this match as well? Not that I’d necessarily blame them here.

Some diehard wrestling fans here. I think we saw them previously – seemingly someone in production has taken a liking to these ladies. They look like they got lost on their way to a PTA meeting, but fuck it, might as well enjoy themselves now. Watch out for the dude behind you though, ladies. That smile worries me a little.

The Faces of Fear Vs Public Enemy

We go to a commercial break, and as soon as we come back Bischoff says “I hate to keep repeating this, but apparently Sting has joined forces with the nWo”. Bullshit, if you hated it that much you’d have shut up about it by now. I mean, jeez, we get it.

This contest is just a brawl, as you’d expect. Not exactly a match for the ages, but all of a sudden, randomly…

This dude on the left appears and begins running/skipping around the ring.

The fuck? It’s like Rockstar Spud’s demented uncle or something. 

He briefly chases Jimmy Hart, then just… vanishes? Oh, and by the way, the commentators make no mention of this. They do not acknowledge this at all. Why? Because they’re talking about everything except the match itself. Literally, I’m not kidding, it’s like this match is not happening. It’s like listening to a radio show or a podcast spliced together with unrelated WCW footage.

Wait, what? What’s happening now? The match is ongoing and they just cut to the back. Judging from the faces of these lads you’d think someone died. It’s a sombre scene to say the least – but seriously, why even have the match in the ring? What’s the point? The commentators are acting like it isn’t happening and we cut to an interview as the match is happening. Bischoff doesn’t even note that we’ve cut away from a match in progress, he just says “take it away Gene”, like this is totally normal. Whatever, I guess. It’s not like I’m desperate to see the Faces of Fear versus Public Enemy, but what a bizarre way to structure… everything.

Gene asks Arn to explain what happened in the parking lot earlier. Seemed quite self-explanatory to me and the commentators have not stopped talking about it since it happened, so the viewers really don’t need any extra information.  

Arn says he doesn’t give a shit about Luger losing a friend, or that he’s lost a team mate, he’s just shocked. He brings up Sting’s loyalty to WCW.

They actually move to a split-screen here – I guess someone in the production truck remembered there is actually a match going on. It wouldn’t be fair to deprive the dozens of Faces of Fear/Public Enemy fans the chance to see their favourite grapplers go at it.

Anyway, Arn says he has a sick feeling in his stomach, he’s shocked, and he’s out of words. He’s said quite a few already, though, so not really.

Flair stands there with his arms folded, eyeing the audience like a disappointed father.

Luger says he doesn’t have any answers, and that his “best friend in the whole world” stabbed him in the back. He then says he knows where Sting lives and where he works out, and he’s going to go and find him “right now”. Sounds like Lex is planning to murk Sting. However, he should keep in mind this is a guy who only last week tried to murder somebody by chucking a rock through the window of a limo, then stole a police car. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why Sting isn’t in jail. Regardless, I wouldn’t be chasing after him without a good plan.

Flair screams that he’s “sick of it” and just generally yells about how they’re going to beat up the nWo at War Games (including Sting). Arn says “it’s a fight to the death – yours, not ours”. I suppose that was worth emphasising? Also Arn has a tendency to see these matches as ending in death, even though it never comes close to that.

We return to the Faces of Fear/Public Enemy match. By “we” I mean the audience – the commentators are still talking about War Games. I genuinely don’t think they have said anything about the match – oh, wait a minute, Bischoff does mention the match, finally. Although he says the teams are “literally fighting for their lives” which is not exactly accurate. What is up with these people thinking matches are going to end so tragically?

Anyway, the brawling continues for a while and eventually, somehow, Rocco Rock ends up lying on a table. Barbarian heads for the top turnbuckle.

Guys, I don’t foresee this ending well. Seriously, what is the absolute best result of this? Rocco (who can clearly see Barbarian on the turnbuckle) for some reason lays there and lets Barbarian jump on him. It’ll be brutal for both. Or, Rocco moves and Barbarian crashes through the table. Either way Barbarian doesn’t win in this scenario.

Uh oh. Jimmy Hart is absolutely useless at holding Rocco down, kicked away like an insect as Rocco sits up.

That is a fucking sick bump. It’s funny because Barbarian barely takes any serious bumps at all, on Nitro at least, then he decides to say fuck it and leaps to the concrete through a table because YOLO I guess?

Well anyway he dead. Rocco brings a second table into the ring.

Looks pretty old. Nick Patrick wags his finger in disapproval, but incredibly that isn’t enough to persuade Public Enemy to stop. They lay Meng on the table, then Rocco goes to the top turnbuckle for a moonsault…

He almost misses the table entirely, only catching Meng with his legs. The table is weak enough that it breaks despite the soft contact.

You’d think that would be the spot that ends the match, but no. Meng gets up like nothing happened and starts brawling with Rocco again. Barbarian is also somehow revived and back in the ring fighting with Grunge. This is weird because the outside table spot with Barbarian getting wiped out, and then Meng getting put through the table by Rocco’s moonsault, felt like the end sequence of the match. Now it’s like we’re back at the start again. Keep in mind the match has been going for about 10 minutes now. That’s at least 7 minutes longer than is ideal for these teams, really.

Whilst Rocco and Barbarian are hugging it out in the corner, Meng puts the Tongan Death Grip on Grunge and now this one is over.

No explanation as to what the fuck was going on with that random ginger guy running around the ring earlier by the way. Oh well. During the replay Heenan accidentally calls Meng “Haku” and then goes silent immediately. Oops.

The Faces of Fear defeat Public Enemy via Pinfall.

Suddenly Okerlund appears at ringside, accompanied by the Dungeon of Doom.

Maxx, Jimmy Hart, Big Bubba, Gene, Kevin Sullivan, Hugh Morrus and Konnan. To quote Rufus from Final Fantasy 7 – “what a crew”.

Sullivan is no longer painting his face with those stupid markings, but for some reason is now wearing a white headband. Does he think he’s the Karate Kid now?

He also starts making this derp face - and this isn’t just a screen grab catching an awkward expression momentarily, he’s making this face on purpose.

For some reason we go to Jimmy Hart first, who tells the Giant “it’s the beginning of the end for you, you just don’t know it yet”. I’m sure he’s quaking in his boots.  

Big Bubba then rants about Glacier, talking about him saying he’s coming for “6 or 7 months” and asking if he’s not debuting because he’s afraid. Slight exaggeration on the 6 or 7 months from Bubba, but to be fair it does feel like those vignettes have been running for at least that long. Bubba actually doesn’t seem to be aware that Glacier debuted on WCW Pro, but it’s WCW Pro, so... understandable. Bubba calls the Dungeon of Doom “the masters of intimidation”…

What he means is that Meng is the master of intimidation. The others aren’t exactly adding much to the equation. Maxx is standing off to the side looking distinctly unimpressed by the entire thing.

With that said, bored does seem to be his default expression regardless of what is happening. I imagine he’d have the same expression even if Bubba was in the process of sprouting three heads whilst doing a kossack dance.

After calling Gene “homes”, Konnan calls Sullivan a “hardened veterano”. He then says Sullivan has seen and led gang wars from coast to coast.

Yes, Kevin Sullivan wearing that silly white headband is exactly what I think of when I think of leaders of gang wars. Sullivan’s ‘wut?’ expression here says it all. I’m not sure you can call the Dungeon of Doom/Alliance to End Hulkamania Versus Hogan and Macho Man a “gang war”. I’m not sure two people can even constitute a gang. Also Sullivan may be worried Konnan is unintentionally (?) implicating him in genuine gang wars… which probably isn’t in the Taskmaster’s best interests.

Konnan challenges the nWo to come out and confront the Dungeon, who he calls “the toughest set”. Yeah, sure. The challenge is not accepted, because the nWo are for sure terrified of a “gang” featuring the likes of Maxx, Kevin Sullivan, Big Bubba and Hugh Morrus.

Sullivan says that Savage thinks he’ll owe the Dungeon “a debt” for carrying him out from the ring last week. I doubt it in all honesty – maybe if they’d actually done something to help him before he’d been beaten down and spraypainted. Carrying him out after the fact didn’t really help much.

Anyhow, Sullivan says Savage can repay this fictional debt by first beating John Tenta, because why not I guess, and then by getting rid of the Giant. That doesn’t really seem like a balanced deal. We carry you backstage after you’ve been beaten up, you make it even by beating John Tenta and the Giant. Hmmm.

Time for some nWo propaganda.

Hogan tells us that they “aren’t here for a stinkin’ reason” – directly contradicting Nash and Hall, who had previously made it clear they’d come in specifically to take over WCW. He then randomly says “we’ve got our boss with us” and points to Ted DiBiase, who’s sitting in a chair behind them.

Homely. DiBiase looks like he’s being held prisoner, but whatever. Hogan says DiBiase makes Ted Turner look like a “pauper”. Honestly I could try to recap this whole thing but it’s really just a bunch of random sound bytes ripping on WCW for the most part. They talk about wanting “their own tag team tournament” for some reason. They also want a segment (on Nitro, presumably) where they can “highlight” their talent. What they actually mean is a segment highlighting Hogan, as we’ll discover going forward. Scott Hall says “nWo 4 life” with the hand sign (might be the first instance of this?) and they all end the segment laughing like it was an amazing joke.

I was a satellite dish owner back then – or rather, my parents were - but no WCW PPVs in the UK, sadly. We only got a butchered hour-long version of Nitro on TNT UK during 1996 & 1997. I didn’t find out that I’d been watching an edited version of the show until many years later. At least now I can sit back and relive the glory of the Faces of Fear Vs Public…. eh, maybe TNT UK were doing us a favour after all.

Back with your bois at the announce desk. Tenay once again has that “stern dad” look, whilst Heenan seems to be whimsically remembering something from years gone by. Take a guess as to what Bischoff is talking about?

A)     The upcoming main event

B)     Meltzer being wrong about everything

C)     Blue Chew

D)     Sting’s betrayal

If you’ve been following along thus far, you’ll know the answer. The lad does genuinely hate big Dave though, and loves that Blue Chew. Come to think of it, what is the main event? I can’t even remember. Sting’s supposed betrayal has been hammered into my brain so many fucking times at this point I can barely conceive of any other event occurring at any wrestling show.

Chris Jericho’s music plays, but…

It’s John Tenta? Still got that stupid haircut by the way. Seriously, fish man, you’ve made your point. Get that shaved.

But yeah, I’m confused here. I thought Jericho was coming out. But hold on, that’s Jericho’s second theme, “One Crazed Anarchist”, aka the Pearl Jam ripoff, not the one he’s using at this point in WCW, which I believe is the Journey ripoff. So John Tenta is in fact the OG “One Crazed Anarchist”. For the record, the theme suits Jericho far more than it suits the former Shark.

As he comes out Tenta says “Savage, you’re not putting me down”. You think so, John?

What exactly has that guy in the hat been up to? That is not the look of an innocent person.

Ohhh yeahhh, it’s the Macho Man. The commentators are pretending that the result of the match is in any doubt, which I suppose they have to do.

John “anti-fish” Tenta Vs “Macho Man” Randy Savage

Savage storms to the ring, but that turns out to be a bad idea as Tenta stomps on the Macho Man’s back as he slides in and then clobbers him with a forearm to the back.

Bad strategy, Macho. Tenta’s moobs though… whoa.

That’s an interesting choice of attire for a wrestling event, madam.

Tenta works over Savage in the corner for a bit. Savage then begins to make a comeback, before for some reason attempting to slam Tenta…

Goes about as well as you’d expect. Macho really needs to work on his strategy.

Bischoff actually specifically says here that Heenan accidentally referred to Meng as “Haku” earlier and wants to make it clear Meng now works for WCW and not the WWF. I guess they were really taking this kind of thing seriously due to the lawsuits flying around at this point in history. Funny though, as you hear these kinds of slip-ups all the time. I mean, if TNA or AEW were sued for every time a commentator accidentally used a competitor’s ex-WWE name there would need to be a legal department created specifically just to deal with the fucking volume. At least Heenan didn’t call it “WWF Nitro”.

Tenta hits Macho with a decent looking drop kick – quite impressive considering his weight. Outside of the ring Savage hits Tenta with a steel chair…

He isn’t disqualified because…? He whacks Tenta twice more with a chair. This is not a no-DQ match, but it is WCW, so fuck the rules unless we need them for storyline purposes, right?

Flying elbow drop!

Macho goes up for a second, but then Teddy Long comes to ringside yelling “Macho!” – what could the so-called “godfather” want with Savage? Also where’s my man Ice Train at? Come to think of it, I just remembered what he was wearing earlier… best for him to stay backstage.

Savage still hits the second elbow drop. Long is gesticulating wildly at Savage and yelling something about the nWo. Savage leaps over the top rope with nice agility.

But before we go any further…

Son, I am disappoint. I can’t even say “A for effort” because that is the lowest tier of effort.

Anyway, Savage follows Teddy to the outside of the arena where Teddy announces “YOU GONNA GO ONE-ON-ONE WITH THE UNDERTAKER PLAYA!”

Actually, they run towards a limo.              

The limo drives off as soon as Savage approaches it. What was the point of that?

Flair and Mongo randomly appear as the limo drives away.

There’s another limo there, but only a box of spraypaint inside it. There are a ton of WCW guys out there now – the Horsemen, the Dungeon, Public Enemy, Juvi, Super Calo, Savage… basically everyone who was on TV tonight. They start spraypainting “WCW” on the limo windows… or rather, they try to. Due to the fact it’s been raining and everywhere is wet it ends up just looking like a green smudge. As an aside, if that is in fact not an nWo limo, somebody is going to be in for a surprise.  

For some reason the commentators are all standing up. Tenay is looking more evil every time he’s on camera. It’s like he wants to reach through the camera and strangle each and every viewer.

Seriously though, he is repeatedly making a “pissed-off dad” face.

“Dad, I borrowed your car…”

“Um… and… I got a speeding ticket…”

“And there’s a dent on the front as I kinda sorta knocked over the mailbox…”

Grounded forever.

Anyway, once they all sit back down Heenan goes on a rant about the nWo which concludes with “if we don’t stop them now then they can’t be stopped”. If only you could glimpse into the future and nWo 2000, Bobby.

Oh, by the way, I guess John Tenta won the match against Savage by count out? It wasn’t announced or shown, but Savage jumped out of the ring and never returned, so…

John Tenta defeats “Macho Man” Randy Savage via Countout.

I guess Tenta was right, Savage didn’t put him down after all. Score one for the fish hating weirdo.

Double A suddenly appears on set. Heenan gives Arn his headset. Can’t help but think it’d be better for Anderson to be in the ring with a mic, as the fans in the arena can’t hear any of this… but whatever.

Arn says that the world is “in shock” and “outraged”. The world is probably a bit of a stretch, but OK. Flair turns up as Arn is talking, as do Benoit and Mongo. Arn says that this all began ten years ago with the original Horsemen, and that they paved the way and showed the nWo how to do it. Technically true. Arn says the nWo want to be the Horsemen “when they grow up”.

Tenay continuing to give that evil stare, even at Arn. Bischoff looks kind of sad.

As an aside, I may have mentioned it before, but I really like this shirt design:

Bischoff begins talking about making mistakes, but Flair interrupts him. Flair screams so loudly that the headset seems to take some damage as the volume decreases slightly. Flair explains War Games – although if you don’t know what it is by this point then what have you been doing with your life? – and says Hogan won’t leave War Games alive. Spoiler alert: he does.

Bischoff then talks about how maybe bringing Hogan in to WCW was “a mistake” and that the Horsemen “haven’t been given their just due”. The same exact sentence could have been said in 2000 and been even more relevant.

WCW then ends the show with a replay of Luger getting beaten up by “Sting” and the nWo. I’m sure he appreciates that. A good thing they reminded us, as I think a whole ten seconds passed at the end there without mention of Sting’s betrayal and my memory had started to go hazy.

[patchwork-panda]

“I won’t tell a soul” (BSD Nakahara Chuuya x Reader #3. Complete!)

“Title: “I won’t tell anybody”/“誰にも言わない”  Genre: Romance Rating: PG-13 for alcohol usage and mild violence/language and a kiss scene. /////>w<;; Reader-insert is written as femme and 20+ Plot: You meet Chuuya at a wine bar and over time, you become close. Your regular meetings become something you both enjoy so when Chuuya stops visiting for several weeks, you begin to worry... When you meet again, you learn the truth... But do you care? Mini Fic is written in 2nd person. title is reference to new Utada Hikaru single                 

CW: street harassment, physical violence

AKA Chuuya saves reader and you get a kiss/get together :3

AO3 link for full fic: HERE

Part 1 Here Part 2 Here                                        

It’s well past last call when you leave. 

You ended up staying until past closing and, perhaps out of a feeling of guilt, the mustachioed bartender decided not to kick you out.

Because his “feeling” had been wrong.

Chuuya hadn’t come.

The bartender had offered to call you a cab but you adamantly refused. You wanted a nice long walk in the cool night air, which would hopefully clear your senses a little. You don’t want to go to bed tonight thinking about Chuuya or you might just wake up crying.

Because this was the last night.

No more.

You needed to move on.

As you leave the bar, you see a group of men, a bunch of hoodlums by the look of it, gathered near the alleyway to your far right. One or two of them give you an appraising look (you wish your skirt were longer but you make no move to tug it down) and to your disgust, another whispers something into the ear of yet another of their companions, who suddenly leers at you.

Ugh.

You keep your eyes trained on the road ahead of you as you walk past them, hoping to get away with nothing more than a wolf whistle but alas, it is not to be. One of them, a man with a scar over his eye, calls out to you.

“Hey, hey you! Lady!”

You roll your eyes and ignore him. You hated running into creeps like this in the daytime as it was. Nighttime is so much worse.

Not to be deterred, he runs after you and stops and slows once he’s caught up.

“Haven’t we seen you before?” he asks, looking you up and down. You suddenly regret wearing heels. You don’t answer but he acts as if you have.

“Yeah, I remember you. You’re here at that bar every Friday, aren’t you? Always sitting there at the counter with that short fellow, the one with the fancy hat and the jacket draped over his shoulders. Chuuya-san, you called him, right?”

You keep walking and scowl when Chuuya’s name crosses his lips. Scum like this shouldn’t have the right to talk about Chuuya like that, much less exist in the same world as him. And how dare this man call Chuuya short when he wasn’t more than a few centimeters taller than either of you.

“Hey, Missy.”

He grabs your shoulder. His tone is suddenly menacing.

“I’m talking to you here.”

“Let go of me!” you snap, tearing your shoulder away.

You turn to walk in the opposite direction but his companions are blocking the way back. In fact, they’re blocking every possible escape route you have. You spin around in a circle, only to come face to face with the man who insists on speaking with you. He smiles and you curse.

“Shit...”

He raises his scarred eyebrow. He looks amused.

“There’s no need for language like that, Missy,” he says, his tone every bit as patronizing as it is threatening. “We just want to talk to you. You see, we’re looking for ‘Chuuya-san.’ Been looking for him, in fact, for a long, long time now and we’re hoping that you can maybe help us find him. You see, we owe him a favor...”

“Well, you’re talking to the wrong person,” you spit acidly, “I haven’t seen him for several months now and even if I wanted to help you find him--which I don’t--”

You voice cracks and you swallow heavily. You hate that you’ve become so upset but that’s what the mere mention of Chuuya’s name did to you tonight. You were really hoping the bartender was right and you were absolutely crushed when he wasn’t.

“I don’t even have his phone number.”

You throw your hands up into the air, as if to indicate that you’d given up. 

“So why don’t you just let me go home and we’ll forget that this whole conversation ever happened?”

The man looks at you. Stunned. Then he starts laughing.

As one, his crew starts laughing at you as well and you feel your cheeks flush in sudden rage and embarrassment.

“Look at that, she just ordered me around, didn’t she?” the man chortles, turning to his companions as if he’d just told a very funny joke. “A real spitfire, aren’t you? And a looker to boot! No wonder he spends so much time with you.”

He snaps his fingers and at once, two of his men come forward and seize you by the arms. You try to fight them off but their arms are twice as thick as yours and you’re still a little tipsy from the wine.

“Why don’t you come with us, little Missy? We’d like to have a chat with you.”

“Hey!” you snap, “Get your hands off me!”

“See, your friend, Chuuya-san,” the man says, a note of humor sneaking into his voice as he copies the way you say Chuuya’s name. “He and that pesky Port Mafia he works for... have been making things difficult for us smaller gangs in Yokohama.”

His eyes narrow.

“Unnecessarily so.”

They start dragging you away. Your efforts to fight back seem meaningless. Panic rises in your throat. You should’ve taken the bartender’s offer of hailing a cab.

“Hey! Hey!!”

You struggle and fight harder but it’s no use.

“And our boss gets the feeling they’re going to be a lot more willing to negotiate with us,” the man continues, following you as you’re pulled backwards by the arms. “If we have a proper bargaining chip.”

His lip curls into that disgusting leer.

“Especially that midget. Can’t wait to see his face after he sees you missing a few fingers.”

You stiffen. Your eyes narrow.

“You asshole...” you growl.

You shoot him a piercing glare.

How dare he talk about Chuuya--your Chuuya--like that. 

“Keep Chuuya’s name out of your fucking mouth,” you spit, “you piece of shit--”

He silences you with a slap across the face and you stumble. The men behind you keep holding you up. Your cheek stings.

“Stupid bitch.”

He laughs and the men laugh with him.

“We’ll see how brave you are after we cut you up.”

As you continue to struggle, they drag you into the alley.

Tears of helpless rage fill your eyes. This was stupid. You were stupid. You should’ve just stayed away like your coworker said.

Now these assholes were going to take you away, do who-knew-what to you, and because of your own foolishness, you would never get to see Chuuya again.

You bite your lip.

Chuuya...

You’re trying not to cry.

Help me...

Just then, a harsh voice cuts through the night. It’s quiet but it rings with authority.

And barely suppressed rage.

“Let go of her.”

You stop struggling immediately. You’d know that voice anywhere.

As one, you and the men gripping you by the arms turn to look down the alleyway, where you see a lone figure standing there at the very end of the street. He is a black shape outlined against the backdrop of the downtown streets, his dark clothes bathed in the harsh blue and red glow of signs made of neon lights. His face is in shadow, but...

The lone figure wears a fancy black hat and a jacket draped over both shoulders.

Chuuya.

“Chuuya-san...!”

Your breath hitches in your throat.

You want to say more. You want to call out to him, loud enough for him to actually hear but for some reason you cannot. Something’s wrong with him tonight. His very presence is unnerving and without knowing why, you begin to tremble.

“Well, look who’s here,” the man with the scar crows.

He takes a knife out of his pocket.

“Nakahara Chuuya. We’ve been looking for you. Come with us. Our boss needs to have a little talk with you. And if you don’t...”

He holds the knife at your throat. You hold your breath as it presses against your flesh.

“The Missy here gets it.”

Chuuya steps forward and out of the shadows and at once, you know why you’re suddenly afraid. You feel the men holding your arms falter.

There’s an odd red glow around Chuuya, around his entire outline. As he steps forward, his long black jacket begins to lift off his shoulders in an unseen wind, billowing around him like a cape. You think you hear something like a dull roar echoing throughout the alleyway and when Chuuya looks up, his gaze is fierce. His eyes burn like twin blue flames in the night.

This isn’t the same Chuuya who’d flirted with you at the bar.

This man is something else.

He continues towards you.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Chuuya snarls, his teeth bared.

When his foot hits the pavement, it cracks underfoot. Rubble rises into the air all around him, glowing red like the aura around Chuuya’s body.

“Get.”

Another step forward. The pavement breaks yet again. It’s as if Chuuya’s weight has increased threefold when he took that second step towards you.

“Your.”

The roaring sound grows louder. More rubble rises into the air.

“Filthy.”

Chuuya’s footsteps grow heavier. He’s now leaving craters in his wake. You don’t understand how it’s happening but the rubble is now orbiting around his body like the rings of a planet.

“Hands.”

The men loosen their hold on you but they haven’t let go. Chuuya sees this and his eyes seem to glow more fiercely in the dark. He looks utterly terrifying.

“Off.”

Chuuya grabs a handful of the rubble around him and draws his hand back. He steps into a pool of dim red light and his body looks like it’s bathed in blood.

“My woman.”

He takes out a stone, flips it into the air like a coin and flicks it with his thumb.

You don’t even see it move.

There’s just a brief whistling sound and a crack.

The arm of the scarred man--the arm holding a knife to your throat--explodes in a shower of blood. Some of it splatters the front of your dress. You’re so shocked, you don’t even scream.

The man next to you, however, does.

He lets out a howl of pain, clutching his ruined arm and dropping to the his knees, his knife clattering uselessly to the ground in front of you. He’s crying and screaming about his arm, blood gushing from the stump of his elbow and into the street. The puddle inches towards your shoes.

The men holding you drop your arms and tear off into the night--the entire crew goes running back towards the street, leaving you in the middle of the alleyway between them and Chuuya.

Chuuya’s bright blue eyes narrow and he repeats his earlier movement, flicking several more stones towards the men in the alleyway with deadly precision. One by one, the men drop to the ground, their screams cut short. The last one is quicker on his feet than his companions and is just about to round the corner when Chuuya crouches down and leaps into the air.

You watch in awe, turning to follow his movements as he soars over you, gracefully arcing through the sky, his body suddenly as light as a feather. The stones follow him, continuing to orbit around him in a ring like a miniature belt of asteroids. With one flick of his wrist, several rocket towards the man who’s almost made it into the street. You turn your face away as you hear the dull, wet squelching of the stones tearing through his body, splattering his organs on the nearby buildings and sidewalk.

The man next to you is still crying and clutching his arm. He rushes past you, desperate to escape.

You can’t see Chuuya, but you know where he is.

You start towards his location but within moments, he’s in the sky again. You whirl around to see him several paces behind you, standing before the man whose arm he destroyed.

He grabs the man by the throat and slams him against the wall. Cracks appear in the drywall behind his body. Miraculously, he doesn’t pass out.

“You tell your boss,” Chuuya hisses, his tone low and menacing, “that if you try this shit again, I’ll send what’s left of his cronies back to him in a fucking bento box.”

He slams the man against the wall again.

“If you’ve got business with me or with the Port Mafia, then it stays with us. You got that?”

The man nods, tears streaming down his face.

Chuuya lets go of him at last and he crumples to the ground in a heap.

Scowling, Chuuya turns to you at last, the glow in his blue eyes suddenly fading as the red-tinted aura around him dissipates. Behind him, the scarred man scrambles to his feet and scampers off into the night.

“Chuuya--” you start but he is in no mood to let you finish.

“You,” Chuuya growls, stalking forward. “What were you doing out here so late at night? Are you an idiot? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

You’re stunned. After all this time, he’s angry?

“I came looking for you,” you protest, equally bewildered and hurt by the sheer anger in his voice. “I haven’t seen you in so long and--and you never gave me a single way to find you--Chuuya, I--”

“Why would you do that?!” he roars, slamming his fist against the wall.

No crater appears, but the drywall cracks.

Chuuya grits his teeth. He seems to have difficulty looking at you. He drops his gaze and the brim of his hat falls over his eyes, obscuring his face. Bits of drywall crumble down around his gloved hand. His fist is shaking.

“Why would you try to find me?” he asks, his voice hushed.

He’s asking you this? Why is he asking you this?

“Because...”

Your hands clench into fists when Chuuya does not not look up.

Fuck.

You bite your lip, hard, so that you don’t cry.

After all this time, he won’t even look at you? After everything you’ve been through? After all this??

“You really don’t get it?” you ask quietly, holding back those hot, bitter tears.

Chuuya doesn’t answer. Still doesn’t look up.

Why won’t he look at you?

It makes you angry. Angrier than you’ve been in years. You want to scream.

“You want to know why I came looking for you?” you ask bitterly.

Chuuya inclines his head slightly, which you take to be a nod. Pissed, you take a step towards him.

“It’s because I missed you, you fucking dumbass!”

Chuuya twitches violently.

He looks up, a mixture of shock and wonder clearly visible in the depths of his deep blue eyes. He looks mesmerized by you.

He’s not moving so you take another step towards him, suddenly feeling like you’re approaching a skittish alley cat. You hold out your hands when you speak.

“Don’t you understand, Chuuya-san? I wanted to see you. I wanted to see you so bad.”

You don’t care that he just maimed or even killed several people in front of you, that he has power beyond imagining and could turn his Gift on you if he so wished. He killed those men to save you.

To you, he was still Chuuya-san.

He was your Chuuya.

“I came looking for you... because you never even said goodbye. I didn’t have your phone number, or address. I don’t even know where you work or what your last name is. Chuuya, I had no way of contacting you.”

“That was the whole point,” Chuuya interrupts but you talk over him.

“So when I heard you might be here tonight,” you say, loud enough that he has to stop talking. “I had to come. I had to, you understand?”

Chuuya falls silent. His expression is contemplative, with an undercurrent of pain. His deep blue eyes are fully focused on you.

It was the same face he made the night he left the bar all those months ago.

“Chuuya-san...”

You swallow, ready to ask the question you’re afraid to hear the answer to.

“Didn’t you want to see me, too?”

But Chuuya doesn’t answer. Hot pinpricks sting your eyes. Shit. You’re going to cry.

“I see,” you say stiffly.

You gather your jacket more tightly about your body, preparing to leave.

“Sorry to have bothered you.”

You’re about to turn around and go when you see Chuuya’s fist tightening. With a start, you see his jaw tensing up. He’s gritting his teeth too. But he still doesn’t speak. You sigh.

“Goodbye,” you whisper. “Chuuya--”

“Wait.”

Chuuya rushes forward and before you can finish speaking, he’s gathered you in his arms in a fierce hug. His grip on you is so tight that you can hardly breathe.

“I did,” he whispers.

His voice is so small you can barely hear it.

“I wanted to see you too.”

“Chuuya-san...”

“The barkeep told me everything,” he growls. “He told me that you’ve been coming here almost every Friday night at our usual time. That you’ve been looking for me.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder and you reach up to comfort him. You gently pat his back.

“And waiting.”

“Chuuya-san.”

You swallow thickly.

“Tell me the truth. Why didn’t you want me looking for you? Are you...?”

You feel his arms around you tensing. He knows what you’re about to ask.

“Are you really with the Port Mafia?”

For a long, heavy moment, Chuuya doesn’t answer. But when he does, his voice sounds slightly hoarse.

“I am.”

As he speaks, you can feel his grip around you tightening, his arms wrapping more securely around your shoulders and waist, as if letting go of you would mean letting go of you for good.

“Chuuya-san...” 

Your fingers slowly curl into fists against his chest and the expensive fabric of his jacket wrinkles beneath your touch.

“My full name is Nakahara Chuuya,” he whispers against your hair. “And I’m not just any member of the Port Mafia. I’m one of the executives.”

Involuntarily, you stiffen and the instant he feels your fingers twitch against his chest, Chuuya groans.

“I knew this would happen. I knew it would. Fuck.”

His arms loosen and unfold from around you. He’s pulling away.

But before he can, you reach out.

“Wait, Chuuya! Don’t go!”

You grab fistfuls of his jacket and pull on it to stop him from leaving. You bury your face in his shoulder and he stops short. You feel his sharp intake of breath.

“Please,” you whisper. “Don’t leave again.”

“H-hey...”

Chuuya’s voice is flustered and unsteady. But he doesn’t move away.

“I kept thinking about it, you know...” you mumble, closing your eyes as you feel Chuuya’s black-gloved hand smoothing down your hair.

“About the way you look when you’re sitting there at the bar with me. The way you laugh when we talk. The way you look at me when we’re together. You were wonderful. Chuuya-san... You’re not a bad person, I know you’re not.”

“But I’m not a good guy,” Chuuya insists.

He drops his hand. Now he’s just standing there as you continue to cling to him. You lift your head and look right into his eyes, which widen in sudden surprise.

“I don’t care whether Chuuya-san is a good guy or a bad guy!” you exclaim. “All I know is... I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as your smile.”

Chuuya stiffens. You can barely feel him breathing.

“You...” he starts, and the emotion in his voice is enough to bring tears to your eyes. “You really think that?”

You nod vigorously.

“Yes. Yes, I do. I think about you all the time... Chuuya.”

I care about you...

He wraps his arms around you and, wordlessly, you do the same. For a moment, you just stand there together, locked in a silent embrace in the middle of this dark, bloodstained alleyway. You nestle your face against the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smells like the subtle musk and spice of an expensive cologne, like roses and gun smoke and something more, something uniquely Chuuya...

Finally he speaks.

“I can’t leave the Port Mafia, you know,” he says in an undertone, his fingers stroking through your hair.

“I know.”

In response, you hold him tighter. There’s a subtle wrenching in your gut, but you won’t let go.

“I’m not asking you to. It’s fine.”

“This isn’t going to be the last time this happens,” Chuuya protests, “You could get hurt.”

“I said it’s okay,” you insist. “Just...”

You swallow with some difficulty. You know what you’re asking and you know how selfish it is... but you can’t let go of him.

“Just let me stay by your side.”

You press yourself further into him. His body is warm, still humming with some kind of energy, but beneath that well-fitted vest, you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“Please.”

Time passes. You stay like this for what feels like hours but you aren’t willing to let go. Neither, it seems, is Chuuya. Finally, he sighs.

“I knew you were special from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he says, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. You can feel the low rumble of his silent laughter travel through his compact frame and despite your worry, you feel better.

“I just didn’t realize,” Chuuya murmurs, “that ‘special’ meant ‘crazy.’“

“If I’m crazy,” you laugh, “then it’s only because I’ve gone crazy for you.”

The words are out of your mouth before you even realize what you’ve said and upon hearing you, Chuuya lets out a bark of a laugh.

“You,” he cackles, “you really are something, you know that?”

His laughter fading, Chuuya loosens his hold on you. He lets you pull back just enough so that he can see your face but not enough that you can move out of his arms--not that you want to. Even in the dim lighting in this dingy alleyway, Chuuya looks so beautiful up close. His deep blue eyes gleam brightly as they stare into yours and without thinking about it, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his lips.

And then Chuuya smiles. Really smiles.

His grin is toothy and somewhat lopsided with obvious delight, and yet, his expression still doesn’t lose any of that cool, self-assured energy you’ve come to associate with Chuuya and only Chuuya.

You smile back. Your body grows warm.

Yes. This is the smile you wanted to see. The smile you’d missed so much for the last few months that it nearly killed you to think that you might not see it again. But right now, Chuuya’s smile is different. Good different.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him looking quite so happy before.

“Chuuya...”

Wordlessly, you wrap your arms around his shoulders as one of his hands slides down to your waist. Chuuya places two black-gloved fingers beneath your chin and tilts your face towards his.

“Makes sense that you would be something special,” he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. “You are mine, after all.”

You close your eyes and the distance between you disappears. Chuuya’s lips are soft and sweet as they move against yours and you feel your breath hitch in your throat as his tongue ghosts over your upper lip. He feels so good and you cling to him as he deepens the kiss, pressing your body to his so tightly, you half wonder if you might be crushed by his strength.

But you like it.

You like the feel of his arms around your body, the way he grips you so tightly that his fingers dimple your flesh, the way he tastes--no wine could ever be as intoxicating as the man called Nakahara Chuuya...

When you come up for air at last, you’re both breathless.

”Wow,” Chuuya breathes, sounding just as dazed as you feel, “You’re... You’re a really good kisser...”

“So are you,” is all you manage to gasp before he dives back in for more.

As the moon rises high in the sky above you, you part at last, flushed and giddy and dizzy with joy. Chuuya takes your hand and leads you out of the alleyway, back to the bar you thought was closed.

He raps on the door with one black-gloved hand, the other tightly gripping yours, and turns back to shoot you that signature cocky grin when that same mustachioed bartender opens the door at last.

“I think it’s time we call you that cab,” Chuuya laughs as he pulls you inside the warmth of the empty room. “But I’ll meet you here again tomorrow, okay? Same time as usual.”

You nod. You’re smiling so hard it almost hurts but you’re just so happy...!

“It’s a date,” you say, to which Chuuya’s grin grows only wider. “So don’t go blowing me off this time.”

Laughing, he tugs you back towards him and presses another kiss to your lips, his grin returning as soon as he pulls away. His blue eyes shine like a bright, cloudless sky.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, holding you close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[uhhhhyandere]

my internet cut off when i was sending an ask so i don't know if it actually went through,, could you write something for reader and a possessive/protective mello? my birthday is coming up in 4 days - i don't have anyone to celebrate it with, and he happens to be my comfort character 😅 feel free to delete this if you don't want to that's totally ok!!

such lies, such lies!

you can celebrate your birthday with me and the rest of us in death note stan hell. i hope you can find some ways to celebrate getting through another year, and that this lil piece brings you the joy you deserve <3 ily

“Can we... uh... go out, then?” You scratched the back of your head. Mello’s eyes dragged across the room until they met yours. You twiddled your fingers together. 

“Why?” He rested his chin between his digits. You glanced around, making sure to scan the calendar to double-check a clearly true fact. 

“It’s my birthday, so I thought maybe we can do something.” Mello twisted in his seat and crossed his leg over the other. Elbow angles against the corner of the table, the hand of the same arm rested above his mouth. “Please? It can be something small. Dinner, or something.” He sighed. 

“Alright,” he agreed. “Take your pick, then.” Your smile grew and he rolled his eyes at the joy sparking on your features. “Don’t get too excited. It’s not that big of a deal, but,” he stressed, “don’t get any funny ideas, got it?” 

You were giddy while you finished fixing yourself up in the mirror. It’s been months since you’ve properly gone out anywhere, much less a date. The excitement of checking yourself out in the mirror (a few moments of self-deprecation, but compared to the last few months of work and stress, it was refreshing to look like a human again.) and the pile of failed outfits on top of your bed was so relieving. 

“Are you done?” 

“Are you done?” Mello always looked good, and there wasn’t any mystical reason as to why, so when he walked into the room in lieu of an invitation, you weren’t surprised to find him in all black, tight-fitting clothes. His eyes flickered from your face to your feet, then back to your head. “Looks like you are.” 

“We’re going to be late if you spend two more seconds in front of that mirror. What do you think is going to change? Whatever detail you fix will inevitably fall back down before we get there.” You shot him a glare. “You’re the one that asked to go out, and now you’re lagging behind.”

“Sorry, I haven’t gone out in a while! I wanted to look nice. For...” you cleared your throat, “you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” You clicked your tongue. 

“Get a better glove next time then.” You twisted towards him. “Okay, done!” Spreading your arms wide, you presented yourself. “How do I look?”

“Presentable. Let’s go, then. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get back. The sooner so many people’s eyes will be off you.” He scowled. “Anyone looks at you for more than five seconds, I’m going to eradicate them.” You hummed and slipped on your shoes, using Mello’s shoulder for balance. Before you can take it off, however, his hand clasped your wrist tightly. He brought it towards his mouth and, without breaking intense eye contact, slotted a kiss between your knuckles. “I hope the place you chose is adequate.”

Adequate. Well, that’s not the exact words you would use for your favorite local restaurant, but that’s the reason why you loved it. After stressful days, you used to always find yourself here. The bar, for some reason, no matter the day, would be stock full of patrons. Most were regulars or friends of the owner until you eventually became friends with the owner too.

“Y/N! Wow, we haven’t seen you in a while! Who’s this?” Mello scowled next to you. Most likely because of the weekend crowd and the heavy smoke permeating the air. This definitely was not the type of place he frequented. 

“This is Mello. We’ve been together a few months now.” The regular smiled and regarded him. Mello’s grimace must have kept him from saying anything else since his focus quickly focused back on you. 

“Ah, I see. Get a boyfriend and you abandon us!” You laughed politely and scanned the floor for an open booth. One nestled in the corner, though still dirty from the previous occupants, was open. You smiled and offered him a few more concise words before leading Mello to the corner. 

“It’s disgusting in here.” 

“Food is nice and greasy. You can just get dessert if you want, though. It doesn’t matter to me. What does though is,” you nodded over to the nearby crowd huddled around a single table, “is that. I haven’t gambled in so long. I wonder if I still got it in me.” You dug your hand into your jacket pocket and pulled out the wrinkled, thinning plastic bag full of poker chips. “Doubt it, though.”

“You play poker?” You set the bag on the table. 

“Yeah. Got into it a few years ago. I’m terrible, though. Luckily, they don’t play for high stakes. Just shots or drinks or buying a round for the group.” He snatched the bag and rolled it around in his hands. “Not that many, I know, but I think I can maybe end the night even. Hopefully.” 

After your old-time favorite comfort meal and Mello’s dessert, you rose from the table with Mello following like a shadow. A few of the spectators you recognized greeted you before growing silent after making eye contact with Mello. A few eyes trained on him. Naturally. You didn’t even need to look back to know he was glaring at them. You grinned while approaching the table. “Deal me in the next round?”

“Y/N,” oh my - How did you not notice him? A devilish smirk on his face, he waved. “I didn’t expect you to be here. You haven’t been here in a long while. I missed you, babe.” You glanced to Mello. His eyebrow shot up and he stared at him. “Still mediocre?” 

“As if... yes...” You scratched the back of your head. “But it’s fun, so,” you shrugged. 

“Of course. I’m sure our pal can deal you in real soon. Just wait your little butt there.” ...Little? Mello hummed next to you but said nothing to acknowledge the aggravation on his face. Once a seat opened up, you sat yourself down. Mello’s hand rested on the back of it. Occasionally, the movement of his fingers would graze across your shoulder. “No cheating from the goth behind you, got it?”

“As if.” 

You tried to ignore the sultry gaze and sugary words from his mouth through the rounds. Not for your sake, but for the sake of the person lurking behind you. Mello didn’t deal with competition so well. You sighed. Maybe I shouldn’t have indulged too much.

Turns out you needed help from the goth behind you. They really managed to swingle you every time. By the number of chips remaining, you would only last two more rounds, and you didn’t want to go back empty-handed. “One more. Then I’m done. I can’t go home without anything. I’m nearly out of cash at this point. My pride would hurt too much.” 

“Alright, alright,” your old acquaintance said. “We just won’t use money or rounds or anything. Winner gets,” he hummed, “your underwear.” Normally, you’d say yes. Who really gave a shit? But that normally was before you and Mello became a thing. You shook your head. 

“Sure,” Mello answered. You paused, turning to him in bewilderment. His face was entirely serious. “One more round.” Did...did he know you’re probably going to fucking lose? Was he that pissed at you that he didn’t care? “It’s no problem, right?” He looked down at you. His eyes widened just a hair for just a second. What was he thinking?

As he flipped his hand at the very end, your stomach dropped. Mello’s face remained the same, however. Even as you stood to... follow through with the demands. Though, as soon as you stepped away from the chair, Mello slid into it, hands folded on the table. 

“One more,” he said. "Stakes are they keep their things, and you don’t look at them ever again. Not even a glance.” He paused. “That goes for every fucker in this shithole,” Mello called. You didn’t get a word in before he urged them to deal. 

He was... he was probably joking, right? 

You replaced Mello’s standing space behind the chair. On it, he leaned back cooly, legs spread with one bend up on the chair’s cushion, the other spread outwards on the ground. The cards in his hand close to himself, you were not able to get a good look at them with the downwards angle. 

“...Royal flush,” he said in the end, the cards sliding into a half circle into the table. Silence. “Did you all not remember the stakes here? Anyone even looks at them, I’ll carve your eyes from your head.” Mello rose, hand clasping yours, and dragged you out of the establishment. You were sure everyone would be glaring in your direction if they were able to look at you. You guessed it didn’t matter if you didn’t pay. It wasn’t like you were going back here ever again.

Once into the brisk air, you ripped your wrist from his hand. 

“What the fuck was that?” You hissed. 

“What the fuck was that? What about you bringing me here to watch all those greasy men leer at you like some piece of candy? What about you letting that fuck do and say anything he wanted? What the fuck was that?” His fingers gripped your chin. “Who do you belong to?” 

“W-what?” 

“Did I stutter?” At your lack of answer, he tightened his grip. “Who do you belong to?”

“You.”

“Yes, me.” Mello ripped his hand from your chin and dug it into his pocket. “I’ll make sure you know. I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine.” He pulled a switchblade from his pocket. 

“Mello, no -,” 

“Stay here.”

“Please,” 

“No. We’ll finish... celebrating your birthday at home, alright?” 

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous  Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

    *Note: I dedicate this installment to the beautiful @ifimayhaveaword, who really made my day today with her lovely messages of support. People like you truly mean the world to me. I appreciate you more than you know.

      * Warnings:  Some minor angst/ miscommunication/ SMUT (m/f oral, fingering, hand job, spicy kisses) Can’t stop the smut train baybeeee choo choo motherfuckers       * Summary: You process the events of the night before, and wonder about your place with Ezra and on the Green       * Word Count: 3879 *Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR*

PART FIVE

    You Awoke the next morning feeling as if it were some erotic fever dream. You stretched your arm out across the emptiness of the cot pushed beside yours. It was only when you moved to roll onto your back that the deep pang of soreness between your legs reminded you that, yes, what you’d wanted for months had actually happened, and you did indeed feel ruined.     Ezra appeared to have left the tent in the early morning haze. You gazed upward at the ceiling of the tent, at the support beams that vaulted the cloth walls. Things were going to be different, that you knew. It did not make you any less apprehensive.     He had told you he loved you. Or, more accurately, that he had love for you.

    You could not forget the tenderness he’d shown you after you were attacked, but you were well aware that things said in the heat of passion were often a product of an intense moment and were not necessarily reflective of the truth. You chided yourself for ruminating; he’d been a nanosecond from coming inside of a warm body for the first time in undoubtedly several months. From your admittedly limited sexual experiences, proclamations of love and devotion and promises of ardent follow-through were often expressed in the heat of the moment, never to be mentioned again. You usually never saw them again.

    This was different, of course, as you literally could not leave. You were both stranded, though you still kept up the pretense of harvesting in the event an opportunity to escape should present itself. The chance of this happening had begun to seem less and less likely- the heyday of the aurelac rush had long since come and gone, and the remaining groups of adventurers to the Green operated more or less on whispered rumors and folklore.     The zipper of the tent pulled upward, and Ezra emerged. The flaps were quickly refastened, and he moved to whip his helmet off as you shyly pulled your worn blanket up to your neck. You had been wanton and vocal the night before, but in the light of the morning you felt fragile, unsure. Ezra looked to you, seemingly amused by your sudden modesty. The corner of his mouth tilted up, his warm brown eyes twinkled. The blond patch of hair, a rogue among it’s dark compatriots, stuck out wildly in response to the chaotic divestment of his helmet. He wasn’t even close to you and your heart started pounding.     “Ah, good morning to you, Dove. I was hoping you would continue your slumber a bit longer. I have spent some time in the early light surveying the Green for signs of life and transport, not necessarily in that order, of course.”     In the months since you’d first met him in the clearing on that fateful day, his arm had fully recovered thanks to your ministrations- all that remained was a cratered, puckering pink scar on the skin of his bicep. He wore a threadbare grey tee under his suit and this drew your eye to the wound. If something were to happen to you, if this did not pan out and you either died or escaped, were separated, would he remember you when he saw his scar? Would it be with fondness, or would it only remind him of how traumatic this all was?      Why am I thinking like this?     It was the fact that he had admitted, out loud, that he was looking for a way out, a way off of the Green. You knew that you would both die if you could not find a way to go, it was only logical. So why were you nursing this pang of melancholy that had emerged when you’d awoken to find his cot empty?     You came back to yourself, and noted the concern etched on Ezra’s face as he contemplated you.     “Have I said or done something to upset you, Dove? That has rendered you mute?”     He moved across the floor of the tent with a lithe grace and perched on the edge of your cot, placing a hand on your knee.     “Are you feeling alright?”     You sighed, smiling softly when you felt his touch on you, warm and heavy. “Better than alright, Ez. I….can’t….I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around what happened last night.”     He creased his brow in contemplation and turned to face you fully.  “I must admit, I myself did not envision such intimacy occurring between us in the manner it did. I…. fear I may have been a fair bit rougher than I meant to be at the outset. I need you to be truthful if I hurt you in any way.”     You bit your lip, and your neck and face felt hot. Flashes of him caging you, filling you, his words, hot breath and hands, the way the cot had creaked like it was pleading for its life…     “I….really loved everything about last night. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone...like that. So honestly, I’m sore. But in a...good way?”     He surged forward, framing your face with his hands. His voice left his plush lips in a hoarse whisper. His eyes held yours, hypnotic and deep.     “Will you feel me with every step you take today? I’m going to watch you. I have never felt such intensity with anyone the way I felt it when we took our pleasure last night. I don’t want it to stop.”     You were flushed, your ears buzzed. Your mind filled with static. How could he practically dismantle you in this way with only words? You realized your mouth was hanging open. You snapped it shut and swallowed audibly.     Ezra’s clever tongue darted to wet his lips before squeezing your knee and standing.     “Get dressed, Dove. We’ve a day ahead of us.”

    It was another hot day in the Green, and you both resumed your digging, harvesting and cataloguing as if it were any other afternoon. For all intents and purposes, it was. Ezra waxed poetic about the juxtaposition of the beauty surrounding you beside the deadliness of the air, how the regular exchange of oxygen, hydrogen and carbon dioxide were perverted carbon copies of the vegetation you were both used to which processed and sustained an atmosphere more life-sustaining.      You hummed at the appropriate moments, but your mind was on your conversation in the tent. What he had said to you seemed indicative of the fact that he intended to continue a physical relationship. It made you feel equal parts giddy and insecure. You frowned in thought.     Snap the fuck out of it. You’re no delicate, blushing maiden. You know yourself. You’re seriously thinking like some incapable, dependent damsel the second you get some good dick??     Except you moved a certain way while crouching down and you winced, gasping softly. Ezra stopped mid-sentence and turned his gaze toward you, his eyes dark, his tongue once again flicking out to moisten his lips.     “Are you injured, little Dove?” he asked, smiling softly.     “Uh, no, not exactly. You know, what I told you before...I’m fine, really.”     He sauntered over to you and held out his hand. You grasped it, and he pulled you to your feet so that your helmets were touching.     “As cocky as I may have seemed at the outset in regards to the way I left my mark on you, do not think it is no little concern to me to see your movements impaired. My words were not meant to denote any sadistic pleasure taken in regards to your objective discomfort.”     His hands were stroking gently up and down your arms as he spoke.     You shrugged under his hands, a flash of annoyance crossing your features.     “I’m really fine, Ez. I’m not some wilting flower that you’ve irreparably damaged with your Godlike virility. I promise you, my delicate, blushing womanhood will recover.”     Ezra cocked an eyebrow in surprise. His hands stilled as he paused a beat before responding.     “Now that is something I would not anticipate. The thought that for one moment I consider you anything less than an equal, in fact a superior to myself in several ways, not the least of which include cunning and resilience. It saddens me that you think that of me.”     All at once you felt like a jerk. Damn this emotional lability, damn this stubborn pride. Ezra was genuinely concerned that you were in pain, and you were jumping at the opportunity to argue semantics and gender roles. On a toxic planet you were both stranded on, no less.     You reached for his gloved hand, squeezing firmly. His hand squeezed back, equally firm.     “I don’t know why I said that, Ezra. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I sound like an asshole, I’m sorry.”     You’ve gotten into me.

    You were back in the tent after determining that the day's work had finished. It was quiet, Ezra ruminated. The tension had surely rebuilt itself over the course of the day, there was only so much harvesting, so much concentration on work that could be accomplished, before it came to this. The both of you, stripped to your thermals. You lay as you had countless times before, facing one another on your cots. Ezra swept his thumb lazily back and forth across your knuckles. You felt like you could drown in the depths of him.      “I’m sorry again about what I said to you today. I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t mean it.”     “Though you have nothing to apologize for, Dove, I will readily accept if it will still the turbulence within you. I meant what I said, and I have you to thank for every bit of happiness I doubted I’d ever feel in this Kevva-forsaken place. My arm, my livelihood. My life. If not for you I’d have faded forgotten like so many other poor, foolish dupes. My very survival is due to your strength and intellect.”     You felt full to bursting at his words, overwhelmed by his sincerity. You couldn’t respond, so you propelled yourself forward and pressed your lips to his desperately. He stilled only momentarily, startled at your boldness, before he responded hungrily. Lips slid, teeth clashed. His tongue begged entry into your mouth, which you granted with a whimper. He tasted somehow sweet, wild. His breaths gasped into your mouth, you pushed your own back into him. Hands tangled in hair. You had yet to see him unclothed, you reached out and grasped his shirt in your needy fist. Ezra immediately took the hint and stripped it. You removed your own and his hands were at once on your breasts, large warm hands that enveloped each in turn, greedy and restless. He couldn’t touch enough of you at once.     His hands moved to your waist, tearing at your pants. You helped him pull them off and fling them to the ground. You felt like you were radiating heat, you were a thermal detonator. Ezra pinched your nipple, applying slight pressure into the bud with his thumb nail. Your nerves sparked and sang, your ass arching off of your cot like you’d been hit by an electrical current.     You gasped, your trembling hands moving to divest him of his pants.     His hand shot down to still yours. You both paused, the only sound within the confines of your quarters were the loud gasps that echoed between you.     “Is….is something wrong?”     Ezra fought to still his breathing. “Sweet girl, I have not forgotten my rough congress with you the night before. I do not want to risk exacerbating your discomfort. You should recover, first, from our mutual enthusiasm.”     You groaned in frustration. “I’ll be fine. Ezra, I promise you won’t break me.”     You palmed him through his trousers, Kevva he was so hard. So hot. You swore you were salivating. Ezra stilled, breath held in an attempt to maintain his composure.     “Please grant me this, at least for my own peace of mind. Just for tonight. Allow me, if I may, to indulge in an alternate form of intimacy, one which I’ve dreamed of sharing with you since your first trick with the Sater.” The last sentence was gritted out between clenched teeth.     Your eyes wide, you bit your lip and barely finished a frenzied nod before Ezra was pinning your hands above your head and scraping his teeth against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. It was somehow different, more measured, if no less intense. You let a shiver run through your body as Ezra moved down to first one breast, then the other. He opened his mouth wide and covered the entirety of your nipple and sucked. You gasped, already overwhelmed. You felt as if you could lose your mind as he possessed you. Teeth scraped and teased, and he made sure the peak of your breast was properly slicked before repeating the motions on your other breast. You keened out into the cycled air of the tent as the wet surface of your skin cooled, warring with the sinful furnace of Ezra’s mouth on your other breast.     He disengaged, intentions clear as he continued to kiss, lick, and nip down the length of your body. You were struck mute and trembling. You didn’t realize he had let go of your hands, and you were so mesmerized that you kept them stationary above your head. Ezra reached your drenched core and settled between your legs, pressing feather-light kisses to your inner thighs as you whimpered. He was going to kill you. He paused, and as you realized he was beginning to part your inner folds you started and reflexively started to close your legs. Ezra huffed, placing a searing palm against the inside of your knee in protest.     “Don’t be shy, sweet girl. There is no shame here with me. I consider it a compliment of the highest order that you are blooming for me like this.” He moved to lay his head against the side of your thigh. He felt inches away from you. You could feel every warm exhale against your dripping sex, hypersensitive, attuned to every word and movement.     “Look at you,” he crooned reverently. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen arousal so profound. Glistening like a jewel. Every blushing fold spread open and ready. The temple of this divine cunt fluttering and weeping for me.”     You choked out a broken groan at his words and tilted your hips toward him desperately. Impossibly, you felt him closer, his breaths tiny explosions on your swollen core. He groaned back in response and dragged his fingers languidly through your slick.     “.....smell so good…”     Before you could register his words he darted forward and licked from your clenching hole up to your clit, his tongue wide and flat. Ezra ran his tongue back down to your base before repeating the motion twice more.     It was a feeling so intense, sensation so overwhelming to you, that you could not speak, only throw your head back with eyes and mouth wide in a silent scream. Your hands hammered down to your sides and you tore at the sheets beneath you.     “....taste so fucking good.”     You gasped his name like a prayer. You were incapable of speech, your mind blank. Over the din of white noise between your ears, you heard Ezra speaking your name reverently.     You forced your head up to meet his gaze. Your arousal was a wet sheen across his face, his eyes blown wide, hair wild. So beautiful.     “You still with me, Dove?” You could only give him another desperate nod.      You then watched, eyes wide and shocked, as Ezra opened his wicked mouth and let a strand of spittle drip down from his lips and roll down to coat your engorged clit.     “Ezra...oh my fucking God,” You moaned. He could kill you in this moment, snuff your life like a wasted candle and you would thank him.     When he next attached his mouth to you and began to tongue your fluttering cunt, you could not stop the noises that left your gasping mouth. You could not keep track of the groans, whimpers, screams, pleas that left you like an incantation. If you’d been able to form a coherent thought, you may have even supposed (correctly) that Ezra would be cataloguing every single one.     When he moved his mouth back to your aching clit, he replaced his tongue with two thick fingers and entered you easily. He began a slow, deep pace while his tongue danced across and upon your bud. Your legs began to shake of their own accord, muscles jumping and fluttering. Ezra placed a hand across your stomach to steady you, murmuring low praises.     “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. So good. Come for me sweetheart. Let go, release onto my tongue, spill your ecstasy into my mouth.”     He resumed the labor of his fingers within your walls and latched his mouth to your bud and began sucking.     The pressure in your belly, between your legs, through your limbs stretched tight and snapped, and you roared Ezra’s name into the void of the Green. You were shaking, you were flying apart, the world could be crumbling down around you, you did not care.     I’m dying, you thought. You could not think beyond the white-hot, searing pleasure that sparked through and lit up every nerve ending. Ezra worked you through your explosive release, easing you down with slow licks and kisses as he greedily consumed every drop of his victory. He finally relented and crawled back up your shaking body. He kissed you wantonly, gasping into your mouth. You tasted your own arousal and release on his lips and tongue- it was intoxicating. He kissed you as if he would die if he stopped, his hands cradling your face.     “Ezra,” you moaned, your breaths and heart rate finally beginning to slow. “Ezra, that was…..” You felt him smirk against your mouth. You gasped out a laugh and wound your arms around his shoulders.     “Proud of yourself, are you?” You swore on your soul that he giggled.     “While I must admit fault has never been found in my technique, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a response so….intense. You do wonders for my ego, Dovie.” He whispered, tucking his nose into your neck. You stroked his back, your limbs heavy and loose. You could have drifted away like this but for the hardness you felt against your hip.     “Hey, Ez?”     “Mmmfff.”     “What about you?”     To punctuate your point, your hand reached down to palm him through his trousers. Ezra’s demeanor immediately changed, lazy grin stilling as he gasped and groaned against you.     “I believe I told you I wanted you in my mouth last night, Ezra. I still do.”     “You don’t have to, sweet one. I wanted to take care of you tonight,” he gasped, even as he began to rock his hips into your open hand.     “I want to take care of you, too,” You whispered against his mouth. You were startled by the desire flooding into you once again- Ezra had fully wrung you out, you should be exhausted. Instead, the flames of your lust were stoked once again as you rolled him onto his back and began to undo his pants. Ezra stared down at you, his breathing hitched and baited. His hands were fisted on either side of him, he looked almost scared to move.     You revealed his swollen aching cock, red and weeping. He was so aroused the head of him was almost purple. You swore you could see his pronounced veins pulsating. Your felt your cunt clench, further shocking you. You realized your mouth was watering.     “I need this divine cock in my mouth, Ezra. I want to watch you fall apart for me.”     Ezra whined, hands clutching in desperation as yours were only a short time before.     You flashed him a salacious grin and opened your mouth to spew your own string of saliva to cascade down the head of his cock. Ezra gasped, eyes wide.     “Turnabout is fair play, Sir.”      Shudders racked his body as you lowered your head, placing delicate kisses at the base of him before working your way up. Ezra quickly became a panting, groaning mess, knocking his head into the pillow. The cords of his neck stood out in stark relief as his hips canted upward in search of more of your mouth, more of anything.     “Please, sweet girl,” he moaned, is voice thin and reedy, “Please. I need more….”     You glanced up at him as your hand slowly pumped his length, considering, before once again leaning forward. Without preamble you opened your mouth and took him down as far as you could. The cries that erupted from him at your action could have awakened any floater within a 15-mile radius. You wanted to hear it again, so you dislodged him from your mouth before repeating your action. You clasped hour hands around the sizable part of him that did not fit, lacing your fingers together. You pressed your palms against the slick shaft and worked him slowly and steadily while the obscene, wet noises coming from your mouth reverberated throughout your quarters.     Ezra was properly wrecked, sobbing and gasping, pleading for you to continue.     “You're going to kill me,” he whined, and it caused a fresh flood of arousal to run down the insides of your thighs. He was so, so close. You could feel his cock twitch and swell impossibly. You raised your eyes to meet his, mouth popping off of him, strands of spit stretching like cables between your parted lips and his glistening head. Catching your breath, you wiped the back of your hand across your mouth.     “Come in my mouth, Ezra.”     Ezra could only whimper in response, hands buried in your hair as you sank back onto him. You bobbed your head once, twice, three times, and then he was painting your mouth and tongue with his seed. You struggled to swallow it all, it seemed neverending. Ezra sobbed, shouting half-formed words and unintelligible praises into the air. His hips twitched and rolled up rhythmically as you struggled to keep him captured within the confines of your mouth.      You swallowed each spurt eagerly until Ezra tugged at your hair, hypersensitized, to pull you up his chest. His limbs trembled in aftershocks as his arms wrapped around you. His heart continued to hammer in his chest as you lay your head on him. You reached a hand up to cup his face. Ezra leaned into it, turning his head and placing a kiss to the palm of your hand.     “You are magical, Dove. Transcendent. I do not deserve you.”     You yawned and burrowed your head into the crook of his neck. You were suddenly exhausted.      You stayed entwined on your cots, breaths slowing and steadying as you both found your slumber. Inhaling as you exhaled, you dreamed of escape, daring to hope against hope that there was a way to leave and make your way to something better.      Something you both deserved.

[sansugar]

An ultimate secret

Pairing: Wooyoung x Female Reader

Word count: 4.2k

Genre: Smut

Warnings: rough sex..?, fingering, maybe something else I’m forgetting

--Finally sharing one of my first writings. This is potentially a 3 part series, let me know if you want to read more. Hope you enjoy!--

The train pulled to a halt and your suitcase knocked against your knees, startling you out of an upright doze where your head had been falling forward and jerking back for 45 minutes. A voice over announced the next station and you realised you were already in Seoul. After signing up for a 3 month, intensive course right in the middle of the city, you were excited to be given a second chance at your getting dream job, especially since the end of high school hadn’t worked out because you had been terribly sick. Luckily for you, your brother Seonghwa lived in a dorm just twenty minutes from your new school. With your small savings pot from years of working late nights at the convenience store and not having to pay rent, you would be able to focus all of your time on your studies. Or so you thought.

Exiting the confined tunnels of the station you emerged onto the street, squinting over the blurred, buzzing crowd. Though you recognised the faint smell of tobacco and deep fried chicken, and the clopping of heels across the pavement, you had to take a moment to get your bearings. As you hesitated in the middle of the path, a man leaning casually against a tree caught your eye. He reminded you of a cardboard cut out, slender with hard features, dark hair hanging across one eye. His navy blazer hung open, revealing a band t-shirt underneath, jeans and a belt buckle that caught the sun. You barely recognised your own brother.

“Seonghwa?!”

His face softened with a genuine smile as he strode towards you, arms out. He smelt expensive, like a brand name you’d seen on a billboard, but his enveloping hug was the same as it always had been, like he could wrap his arms around you twice.

“Was your train delayed? I thought maybe I’d missed you.”

“No I don’t think so” you replied, distracted by the of rainbow of advertisements flapping in the street above every shop.

You let him pull your backpack off your shoulders and take the handle of your suitcase before leading you out of the crowds.

“Are you hungry?”

You hadn’t realised until that moment that you had been starving.

“Yes please let’s get something good” you whined, pulling on his arm.

He chuckled, taking you down a maze of side streets to a tiny, hidden restaurant.

The food was delicious and you couldn’t stop yourself from ordering way more than you could eat, especially because you knew Seonghwa would pay. You talked with him more than you had in years. He told you all about his experiences as part of a rookie idol group and you told him all about life back home with your parents. You were lucky that he had just finished album promotions and had some time off to spend with you between training sessions.

When you arrived at the dorms you were quickly introduced to the other members of ATEEZ in a whirl of handshakes and tentative hugs before Seonghwa ushered you to his room to get you unpacked. It had all gone so fast that your mind began to replay Yunho’s warm touch, Mingi’s toothy grin, Wooyoungs constant chatter and San’s smouldering stare. Somewhere in the pit of your stomach you felt excited. How were you going to get any studying done with that around you 24/7?

You placed your suitcase on the bed and began to rummage around in your disorganised mess of clothes when you heard a knock at the doorframe. It was Hongjoong.

“Y/N. Do you mind if I quickly grab something? I left my charger in here” He pointed past you to the bedside table.

“Not at all, go for it”

He knelt down to pull his charger plug out of the wall when it clicked in your head that this was his room.

“Did Seonghwa kick you out of your room? Am I stealing your bed?”

Hongjoong chuckled and shook his head.

“It’s yours for the next three months. I’m happy to bunk with Yunho and Yeosang. A girl needs her privacy. Well, you will be in here with Seonghwa but…you’ll be comfortable”

He smiled at you as he swung his hands around his sides, unsure what to do with them.

“Hongjoong, haven’t you got somewhere to be?” Seonghwa said, appearing at your side.

He gave him a look that you couldn’t quite see and Hongjoong slipped out of the room without a word.

Seonghwa pulled a handful of clothes from your suitcase and began to fold them carefully. You crawled up onto the bed and sat with your back against the wall. The room was small and mostly bare but cosy. Seonghwa’s immaculately made bed was opposite yours and you were reminded of when you had shared a room with him when you were younger. You closed your eyes, feeling content in your new home. But that relaxation was short lived.

“Have you studied today?” Seonghwa asked, brow furrowed as he tried to match your socks.

“No? Classes haven’t started yet”

“But surely you have some work to do? To get a head start?”

“I guess…”

“Y/N. I hope you’re taking this seriously. You’re not always going to have a second chance”

You scowled at your brother, starting to remember why you had celebrated when he decided to become an idol and moved out in the first place.

A few weeks later, classes had started and you had settled into life at the dorm. Like you, the boys were in and out constantly but once a week you all had dinner together, and soon enough you were just a regular member of the team. You played mobile games with Wooyoung, watched dramas with Mingi and had regular arm wrestles with Jongho who was sometimes kind enough to let you win. Yunho would ask you about what you were learning while San tried to teach you to do pull ups and Yeosang would send you song recommendations every other day. Seonghwa had been overbearing and wary at first of the boys stealing too much of your attention but over time he relaxed, appreciative that there were 7 other people looking out for you.

It was a Sunday evening and you were sitting on your bed after a few hours of actual studying to watch a movie on your laptop, the room shadowed as the sun set behind the other buildings. You were snuggled in your blanket, completely engrossed when Seonghwa thumped into the room, flicked on the blinding light and yanked your headphones off your head.

“Hey!”

“What are you doing? Why aren’t you studying?” He scolded.

“I have been studying! Get off my back.”

This had been such a regular argument over the past few weeks, you felt like your responses were scripted. But today, he seemed to have had enough.

“You seem to think you can just get through life with a pretty face and no work Y/N but it doesn’t work that way. I won’t let you laze around here and waste our parents money on a course you don’t even seem to care about”

“What are you talking about? I already studied today. I’ve done all my homework”

Seonghwa grabbed your laptop out of your lap and closed it forcefully.

“This look likes you’re working really hard. Really practising well” he chided.

You glared at him.

“Look Seonghwa, I don’t know what your problem is…”

“My problem? I’m just trying to look out for you. You sit around here all day, wasting time on your phone, watching TV. This isn’t a holiday Y/N. Anyone would think you don’t even want to be successful and employed. If you’re not careful, you’re going to fail this course just like you failed high-school.”

You threw your blanket off your knees, stood up and shoved him. A painful lump rose in your throat, which you held in place, determined not to let him see you cry.

“I had pneumonia you asshole. You were there. How dare you stand there all high and mighty when you did absolutely fuck all with your high-school degree. I’m so sick of you pretending like you’re better than me when all you do is prance around in tight pants on stage.”

His face was like stone as he stood motionless in front of you.

“I know the real you Park Seonghwa and I can see straight through this facade you put up for your fans. You and your fake superiority can get fucked”

You stormed out and slammed the front door behind you with one goal in your mind. You had to get away from him. The lump in your throat became suffocating and tears peeked at the corners of your eyes. Your face felt hot but the hairs on your arms prickled and in that moment you wished you had had enough sense to grab your phone or a jacket on the way out. You walked aimlessly down the road, staring up at the dusty sky, willing your tears to suck back in so the passersby with their dogs would stop looking at you. You replayed his words in your head and saw his constant disapproving face, wondering what had happened to that soft and kind brother that had taken you for lunch those weeks ago. Your brother had always been a bit criticising, but never this cruel. You felt the sudden urge to hurt him, the need to see his face in shock, for once unable to predict you. But how? He had always been the stronger one, the smarter one, always two steps ahead.

You found yourself outside the dance practise building the boys often visited after hours. The lights were still on so you let yourself in, shivering and rubbing your arms. You wandered down the hallway, looking in each of the little square windows when you noticed a familiar brunette in a practise room by himself, music blaring. You slipped past the door and sat on the couch to watch Wooyoung dance, still oblivious to your presence. You had never seen him like this before; wearing a tank top and grey sweatpants, leg muscles straining against the fabric. You watched wide eyed as the bass of the music surged through your chest, playing your heart like a drum, captivated by his lunges that shook the floorboards, the intricate patterns he drew with his body and facial expressions that made you feel all kinds of things in your lower half. He almost jumped out of his skin when he noticed you.

“Fuck Y/N!” He said, running to pause the music on his phone. “You scared me half to death”

“I’m sorry. I just saw you dancing and I…” you trailed off, acutely aware of how flustered and tearful you must still look, trying to hide your face with your hair.

The smile on his face fell as he approached you.

“What happened? Are you ok?” He dipped his head to look into your eyes, softly touching your shoulders, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Was it Seonghwa again? I swear to god if he’s been on at you again I’ll…” he paused and reconsidered. “I mean I probably won’t do anything…but I will if you want me to”

“I really don’t want to talk about it”

Wooyoung wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. He smelt like sweat and deodorant which you inhaled deeply, leaning into his embrace.

“Do you want to get some food?” He asked, stroking your hair.

“No, I’m not hungry.”

“What do you want to do?”

A momentary idea popped into your head. “Could you teach me to dance?”

Wooyoung pulled away far enough to look at your face, a hint of concern and uncertainty in his eyes.

“To dance?”

“It would take my mind off things…teach me the part you were practising”

He laughed nervously but when he saw you were serious, he nodded. You followed him to the middle of the dance floor and he stood just in front of you, legs in a wide stance.

“Okay, so first you go like this…”

Wooyoung showed you sequence and then broke it down into steps. You were shaky at first, but with his help you started to get it, dancing the choreography almost to speed once he turned the music on. You quickly forgot the fight, laughing whenever you got it wrong and Wooyoung playfully yelled at you for not listening to him.

“You’re not low enough. Squat lower! Yes like that. Now thrust your hips. More. Make it bigger. You’re still not doing it right!”

Wooyoung ran over to pause the music and you sighed loudly.

“The hip thrusts are embarrassing” you whined, fanning your hot skin with your hands.

“They are not. Confidence is sexy. You are sexy. Now come on, your form isn’t right”

You caught your breath as he came behind you and ran his fingertips lightly down your sides before settling them on your hips. You felt your body stiffen and skin prickle in anticipation, desperate for him to either slide his hands lower or to put a metre of distance between you.

He did neither, instead putting pressure on the juncture of your thighs to make you squat lower and lean slightly right, his chest flush against your back, sweaty shirt pressing against you. You could feel his hair tickling your neck as his hands slid down your arms to grab your hands and raise them above your head. It took everything you had to stop your thighs from shaking, body completely new to such a low squat position. You didn’t dare move as he analysed you in the mirror, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“Just like that” he said dryly as his hands came back to rest on your waist, dark eyes fixed on yours, unconsciously licking his bottom lip

You looked away, at anything other than his intense stare. Were you reading this right? Or did all dancers guide each other with such alluring invasion of personal space? His body shifted and you felt the light press of his bulge against your ass, shattering any notions that this was a normal dance lesson. His breath fanned your shoulder and you thought you should move away, pull his hands off of you, tell him off, anything to remove yourself from the precipice of turning your relationship into something else.

But your hips took a mind of their own and you felt yourself gently grind back against him, drawing an involuntary groan from deep in his throat. You craned your neck to look at him over your shoulder, frozen in the painful squat your mind paid no more attention to. Time stood still as his gaze flicked to your parted lips and you slightly inclined your head in a permissive nod. Before you realised you had moved, he had flipped you around and pressed you hard up against the mirror, licking into your mouth and hands roaming over every inch of your clothed chest. His hips bucked against yours and you reached down to the outside of his sweatpants to palm him, drawing a another long groan from him against your lips.

“Please don’t stop” he panted, planting breathy kisses along your jaw to your collarbone, pausing to inhale your scent and pulling down your t-shirt collar to grant him further access to your skin.

“Can I…” he started to ask, but his hands were way ahead of him, travelling up your shirt, kneading your breasts through the fabric of your bra, forehead pressed into the crux of your neck.

You fingers played on the edge of his pants as you briefly questioned yourself again before diving down to take hold of his hot length, earning a simultaneous groan from both of you. You held tightly but didn’t move, causing him to shamelessly buck up into your hand, his touch abandoning your chest in search of your core, which at this point was embarrassingly wet.

You knew there would be no going back the moment his hand slid down the front of your panties. His middle finger swiped up your slit, flooding warmth into you and you instinctively clenched your walls to feel some friction.

“Holy shit” he breathed, mostly to himself as he inched two fingers deep inside you to curl against your spot, causing you to shudder helplessly beneath him. You were insatiable, weeks of pent up curiosity, fantasises and late night masturbation in the shower caused by living in a house of 7 gorgeous men. It was wrong, it was forbidden and you were intent on riding it straight to hell.

“Please fuck me Wooyoung” you whimpered to the ceiling, shaking at the intensity of which he fingered you, tongue pressing into your neck, drinking you in.

He growled into your skin and captured your lips again with both hands holding your face, the fingers which he had just had inside of you rubbing your own juices on your cheek. You suppressed a laugh at his eagerness and pulled his sweatpants down to his thighs as he pulled your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra and burying his head between your breasts, sucking and grabbing at your flesh.

“Fuck I want you so bad” he said, muffled into your nipple, pulling it between his teeth.

In the space of a breath, he hoisted your leg onto his hip, bunched your skirt up around your waist, pulled your panties to the side and entered you in one swift motion that had you both gasping out.

Time stopped again as he bottomed out, pausing with his forehead pushed against yours, inhaling deeply, fingers digging into your thigh. Your walls were screaming with the sudden stretch and you suppressed a painful sound when he tentatively pulled all the way out and pressed back in. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep yourself upright and balanced on your one standing leg. He tested a few more erratic thrusts and the pain began to mix with pleasure and an overwhelming desire to be pounded into the mirror but Wooyoung paused his movements.

“I don’t know if I can control myself” he mumbled with shuddering breaths, hair hanging in his eyes.

“Then don’t”

He snaked his arm around the small of your back and jerked your hips closer to his, your head leaning on back the mirror like a rag doll in his hold. He drew his cock back again and you felt every ridge of him before he thrust up into you, setting a bruising pace that made you gasp for air.

“Fuck, I’ve imagined this so many times” he kissed below your ear, bouncing your body with every thrust and your hands fell back flat onto the mirror to hold on for dear life. “You walking around the dorm in your cute sundresses like you don’t know what you do to me.”

Pleasure started to rise from your core to your stomach and you wrapped your leg tighter around his hips, chasing the promise of your release. You leaned back in to capture his lips in a kiss, deeper than you had all night. He held you in that kiss until the pleasure became too much and you had to pull away, sucking in a desperate breath.

“God you’re so fucking perfect. Tell me-ugh…tell me how good it feels”

You moan as the pressure builds, pleasure sparking in multiple directions, but the pain of your wobbly standing leg starts to pull you away. As if reading your mind, Wooyoung pulls out and turns you to face the mirror, spreading your legs with his feet and pulling your hips back onto his cock. You cry out as he reaches deep inside you, igniting a fire as your walls clamp down on him and your hand automatically drops to rub your clit.

“I’m not going to last” he says, inhaling your hair. “Are you close?”

You moan again as if that is a response and rub your clit faster, knowing your release was within reach, just over that figurative hill, if he could just…

“There, a-ah fuck Y/N, I’m there. God-fucking-yesyesyes”

Wooyoung stands on his toes, boosting the angle of his cock to rub directly on your back wall and pound erratically into your spot. Like the crack of a whip, you inhale suddenly, almost choking on air as he hurtles you towards your orgasm, cock twitching as he cums deep inside you.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop” you pleaded, reaching back to hold the back of his thighs in case he dared to pull away from you or reduce his blinding pace.

Your torso was almost completely horizontal now, back arching, thrusting yourself back onto his cock, his cum dripping down your thighs. Your release hit you like a series of waves breaking, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream as your walls convulsed erratically, spreading a wet warmth throughout your core. Wooyoung continued to pound you, fingers coming down to press on your own, rubbing harder into your clit.

Riding you down from heaven, stars and colours swirling behind your eyes, Wooyoung began to slow. Your knees gave way and you threw your hands out in front of you to stop yourself hitting the wooden floor too hard. Wooyoung wrapped his arms around your stomach and dropped to his knees with you in an attempt to keep his softening cock buried inside of you. His chest heaved against your back but you were both quiet, letting the sound of the squeaky fan and creaks of the building fill the silence.

“Fuck, Y/N I should have asked if I could come in you”

“It’s fine, I’m on the pill”

“Even so” he mumbled, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades and slowly removing himself from you.

You remained awkwardly on your hands and knees, panting at the floor as your senses returned and the reality of what you had done clicked from blurry to sharp in your mind. Wooyoung handed you a towel and you wiped the cum from your thighs, gazing in disbelief up at your smudged handprints on the mirror. Wooyoung was speaking, possibly to you, but you couldn’t focus on his words, caught in a state of ecstasy that wasn’t just post orgasm bliss. As you both got dressed, he tried to catch your gaze, but you barely noticed him, focused on the incredible feeling rising in your chest.

“Hey-where are you going?”

You were halfway out the door when you turned to look at him and forced a smile.

“I have to go back”

You left Wooyoung dumbfounded behind you, revelling in the complete elation of having just done something that would make Seonghwa burst a blood vessel if he knew. You emerged into the night air again, cold wind soothing your red, sweaty face. You felt bulletproof, like there was nothing more Seonghwa could hold over you. Not when you had such an ultimate secret over him.

You heard low voices when you reached the dorm and opened the door to find Hongjoong and Seonghwa sitting at the table, several empty bottles of Soju between them. Something about the way your brother looked at you, eyes glazed over and swaying slightly, told you that the drinking had been one sided.

“There you…I was so…worry” Seonghwa mumbled, standing up to give you a hug though he ended up almost pushing you over and Hongjoong had to step in and hold him up.

“It’s ok, I’m fine” you said, patting him on the back and mouthing a thank you to Hongjoong, who shrugged a smile. You looked up at your brothers’ flushed and puffy face and in this moment you pitied him, a pang of guilt stabbing you somewhere in the gut.

“I wish I…I shouldn’t have-“ he started but you cut him off.

“Let’s get you to bed”

It was a short but slow stumble from the kitchen to your shared room.

“I’m such a screw up” Seonghwa whined, head lolling backwards before you and Hongjoong dropped him on his bed.

“Go to sleep now” you said, smiling to yourself at your brothers complete inability to hold his liquor.

“You’re my sister and I…always…” he trailed off, squeezing your hand, eyes fluttering shut. Hongjoong turned off the light, leaving you sitting on top of Seonghwas quilt in the dark room, listening to his breathing as he started to drift off. You bit your bottom lip, wondering if maybe you had gone too far with Wooyoung tonight.

But your guilt was fleeting as the next morning, a hungover and humiliated Seonghwa berated you over breakfast for leaving the house without your phone.

“What the hell is wrong with you Y/N? What if something had happened to you? It just baffles me how you can be so damn stupid sometimes”

You sat at the table, staring ahead and calmly eating your cereal as he brought up more reasons and memories where you had been what he considered irresponsible. But you didn’t take the bait this time. You felt above that now, addicted to the power of what Seonghwa didn’t know, of how Wooyoung had melted at your touch, and how mere centimetres from your brothers disapproving face, you plotted your next pursuit.

[spencerspecifics]

Badass lady from SWAT coming and Spence always gets nervous about seeing her even though it’s painfully obviously that she feels the same way :) but Spencer is just baby af 🥺

I think this idea is so cute, and I hope I did you justice!! Thank you for requesting, i made it a fem!reader x Spencer fic :)! (So sorry this took forever!)

———————————————————————

SWAT

———————————————————————

You walked into the bureau building tiredly, you were grateful the events of yesterday had somehow wrapped themself up into a neat little bow. But now, you had the aftermath to deal with.

The aftermath of beauacracies, of files and paperwork, of court hearings. Because yesterday was a lot. There was an attempted bombing in downtown Quantico. Key word being attempted, thankfully though- it never happened. And your SWAT team had a big hand in helping.

So yeah, now you were here, meeting up with the BAU- who had lended your team a helping hand in finding where the bomber was located.

~

You entered into the bureau building, making your way up to the BAU’s floor through the elevator. As the machine whirred to life, taking you up to the floor- you were suddenly hit with the fatigue.

You were tired, you had worked nonstop yesterday to prevent a catastrophe, and then when you got home, you couldn’t sleep- who could expect you to? Especially after something like that, your mind was racing. You did eventually get to sleep at around 3 in the morning, but that didn’t help much considering you had to meet with agent Aaron Hotchner at 8 a.m. sharp.

So, fuck. The adrenaline and anxiety of the events had passed, and now you were feeling tired.

It’s not like you could do much about how sleepy you were, though. You had to talk to Hotchner, then you had to speak to their technical analyst to help you input your files into VICAP (SWAT’s computer system wasn’t as fancy as the bureau’s, so you weren’t fully familiar with the system.) but then, maybe after you spoke to the analyst you could get some coffee and go home. That would be nice.

~

The elevator got to your stop, and you stepped out with ease. You hadn’t been in the BAU’s office before, but the layout was simple. Bullpen was straight forward, there was a hallway past that (but you weren’t sure where that exactly led to, you supposed you’d find that answer out when the time came.) and you could see the larger offices past the bullpen, you were guessing that’s where you needed to go.

You entered through the glass doors into the bullpen, there were a few agents sat behind their desks, on phone calls or typing out on their computers- after all, the aftermath was always a lot of work.

~

You didn’t really know anyone in the BAU, except for Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, and one very awkward guy- Doctor Spencer Reid.

You met Spencer a while ago, a few cases back when there was a local robbery turned hostage situation. That’s when your teams first interacted. As a local law enforcement group, you weren’t used to working with the feds- but the BAU was surprisingly tolerable. They let you and the police do what was necessary, all they did was observe and figure things out.

But how they figured things out, you’d never understand. You’d especially never understand Spencer, he would walk into a crime scene and be able to figure out the unsub’s mental state just by how the room was organized. It was surprising, and it was fascinating.

Though, that wasn’t the only reason Spencer especially took your attention when you first met the BAU. The other agents you met were very cut and dry, their personalities were kept mostly separate from their work. Spencer wasn’t like that, his work self and his regular self were one and the same. It was refreshing to see an agent so personable, you found it as a handsome quality.

He was awkward at times as well, which you thought was also an adorable quality. He’d go on to in depth explain a behavioral trait and how that probably meant the unsub was abused as a child or something, and before you knew it the conversation somehow shifted into his favorite medieval weaponry.

So whenever you got the chance to work with the BAU, you embraced it. Mostly because of the cute and awkward doctor, but also because if that meant you could solve a case and arrest a sick son of a bitch, you would.

~

You walked through the bullpen, making your way up the stairs to the larger offices you had seen earlier. You looked for a sign on the door to tell you whose office was whose, and thankfully the first door you saw said in simple lettering “SSA Aaron Hotchner”.

You knocked, hearing agent Hotchner’s voice say a simple “come in”. You opened the door, stepping into his large office.

“Agent Hotchner, good morning.” You said, a polite smile on your face as you made your way to the nearest seat across from his desk, Hotchner rose from his seat to give you a handshake. All these manners and rules were so tiring to do, but you could understand why- especially in such a beauracractic setting. Maybe that’s why you loved being in SWAT, though. There was no time for niceties or manners. You just got to go in, kick ass, and go.

“Good morning, y/n.” He replied as he sat back down into his chair, he reached down to a desk drawer, pulling out a fresh file.

“We just have to recount everything from your point of view, just so the bureau understands what the SWAT’s role was in our investigation.” He spoke as he reached for a nearby audio recorder on his desk, pressing the button on its side to turn it on.

“Sounds good.” You nodded, “Great, I’ll be taking some notes within the file as well. Just start talking.” Hotchner explained simply, before quieting down. You took a breath in before starting to speak, after all- the story was a long one.

~

Once you finished with Hotchner, you decided to wait on going to their technical analyst. After all, they were probably swamped at the moment. So, as you headed out of Hotch’s office, you weren’t sure what to do.

But then, it hit you.

It literally did hit you, and by “it”, it was Spencer. He was walking past Hotchner’s office at the same time you were exiting- you both practically collapsed into each other as the unexpected forces pushed against each other.

“Oh- shit! Sorry.” You apologized almost immediately, trying your best to pull yourself together. You were running on only about four hours of sleep, you were well aware you looked like shit- you were just hoping Spencer couldn’t tell.

“Y/n, I’m sorry- I was on my way to Rossi’s, I didn’t mean to-“ Spencer started, rambling again. And as much as you found it endearing, you didn’t want him to apologize.

“Don’t even worry about it, Spencer- you alright?” You asked him as you stepped back a bit to give him more room. He nodded, you’d swear there was a small blush on his face, but maybe it was the terrible fluorescent lighting off the office that was making it appear that way.

“I’m alright, thank you.” He smiled sheepishly, looking down to adjust the strap on his messenger bag.

“Thanks for your help with yesterday, by the way. I still have no clue how geoprofiling works, but it saved the day.” You complimented him, his sheepish smile only got larger.

“Well, we still couldn’t have done it without your SWAT team. I didn’t go in to stop the bomber- you did. That takes courage.”

Now you felt yourself blushing, maybe it was because you were so sleep deprived. But you had a feeling it might be for another reason as well. You just shrugged, though, doing your best to be casual about it.

“That’s what I train for, all part of a day’s work.”

Spencer nodded, “Still, though. It doesn’t make you any less courageous.”

You broke into a small grin, god- you’ve only spoken to this guy a handful of times. But you really enjoyed talking to him, and he seemed interested in talking to you.

“What are your plans after work?” You found yourself asking, mouth moving too fast for your brain to tell it to shut up in time.

“Uh, I don’t know..” Spencer started, awkwardly fumbling with his hands. “I just had to talk to Rossi, but then after that I’m free to go.”

“You already did all your paperwork?” You asked him curiously, surprised at how fast he could get it done. He nodded simply, “Yes, I didn’t really sleep a lot last night- so I got a head start.”

You frowned slightly, “How much sleep did you end up getting?” Spencer shrugged, “A couple hours.” You nodded silently, before the gears in your mind started turning.

“What do you think about coffee?” You asked him after a beat of silence, Spencer’s face twisted into a confused look.

“The concept of coffee?” He was lost, and it was adorable. You chuckled, “No- I meant, do you wanna get coffee with me after you finish talking to Rossi? I didn’t sleep enough last night either.”

Spencer nodded almost immediately in response, “Yes- yeah. That would be great, I would really enjoy that- you could, um, wait down in the bullpen if you want.” He offered, obviously unsure of what to do now.

You just found that once again, endearing, as you smiled at him kindly. “Sounds good, I’m excited.” You told him, he gave you one last smile before turning to go into Rossi’s office.

With that, you turned to go back to go down to the bullpen, waiting for Doctor Spencer Reid.

———————————————————————

[fearfulkittenwrites]

“Just a normal night”

Inspired by @s-mscott​ - link for the art, please check it out!

Word count: 2832

Notes: HEY. THIS IS JUST BEEN SITTING ON MY FILES FOR THE LONGEST TIME AND I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT IT DKJFHAKJHAKJDFH. Anyway, it's a long time coming. The writing probs isn't as neat or as good as the latest uploads bc of that, but... idk. Hopefully it's good! I couldn't bring myself to edit it again, sorry about that. I hope you can enjoy it anyways and please go check out the artist, @s-mscott​!

“Guys?” Dick asked, on his tiptoes as he rummaged through every cabinet in the huge kitchen “Hey are we out of cereal? I can’t find my Lucky Charms anywhere.”

“I think so.” Jason answered “I ate the last of the Lucky Charms last night.”

“Yep.” Tim said, popping the ‘p’ as he slid through the countertop, landing a bit behind Dick “I had the last of the frosted flakes two days ago.”

“Froot Loops?” Dick asked.

“I had those.” Duke answered “Sorry.”

“Fruity Pebbles?”

 Cass raised her hand, looking at the ground.

“Reese’s Puffs?”

“I finished the box yesterday.” Damian announced, crossing his arms as he leaned against the marble sink.

“Damn.” Dick murmured and pouted as he closed the cabinet’s door “I’ve been craving cereal today.”

“We can always go get some.” Jason shrugged.

“At three in the morning?” Duke asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Actually, four.” Jason corrected, putting up a finger “And yeah, why not? I mean, we had a hard patrol tonight, and if Dick wants some cereal, I say let’s go get some cereal.”

“It’s four in the morning, Todd.” Damian said.

“I mean, the closest Walmart is open 24/7.” Tim interfered.

“You can’t be seriously considering this, Grayson.” Damian frowned at his older brother.

“Why not? I’m not sleepy anyways.” Dick crossed his arms and shrugged.

“Yes!” Jason hissed “Late night adventures with the baby bats. Let’s roll!” He clapped his hands once, and started to walk out of the kitchen, his siblings following him to the garage.

“Oh wait!” Dick said “Let’s ring up Bruce and see if there’s anything else we need.”

“Bold of you to assume he’d know what we need.” Tim interfered.

“Yeah, well, it’s worth a shot. Plus, do any of us really want to wake up Alfred to ask him?” Dick said, taking his communicator out of his pocket and placing it in his ear “B? Have a sec?” He asked

“Nightwing. What’s wrong?” Came the answer, Batman’s raspy voice flowing through the device.

“Oh, nothing’s wrong. We’re going to take a quick trip to the supermarket, I wanted to ask if you need anything.”

“... At four in the morning?”

“Yeah. Do you need anything?”

Bruce sighed.

“We’re running out of the coffee blend that Tim likes. Alfred the cat’s favorite treats have been gone since last week, and Cass’ favorite ice cream is done. Oh, buy Duke that soda he likes, I drank the last can. Also, Jason’s cookies and that brand of chips you like, we ran out of those. Oh, and buy something with Iron in it, I’m worried that Damian might not be getting enough.”

“Like spinach?” Dick said, writing it down on his phone’s notes.

“Yeah, that’ll do. Ah, and we’re a little low on milk.”

“Okay. Will keep that in mind. Thanks B, have a nice patrol.”

“Please don’t give the papers any headlines.”

“You got it, B. Bye.”

He placed the device back on his pocket.

“Okay, there’s a lot of stuff to buy, so let’s get going. I’ll drive.”

“Shotgun!” Jason yelled.

“We’re taking the S.U.V., one of you will need to ride in the trunk.” Dick said.

“I’ll go.” Cass’ eyes twinkled. No one could understand why she was always so fascinated with the idea of riding in the trunk, but she seemed to find it fun and all of them thought that her excitement was cute.

“Alright then.” Dick smiled, ruffling her hair. Her grin grew wider, and Duke set her hair straight again before they got into the car.

“Hey, can I play my music?” Tim asked from the backseat.

“Don’t force us to listen to the atrocity Drake calls music, Grayson.” Damian complained, arms crossed “Let me play something.”

“Uh, I’d rather not listen to Mozart and Bach while we’re in the car.” Duke protested.

“It’s called classic for a reason, Thomas.”

“Doesn’t matter, bat-brat.” Jason said “I’m with him on this one. Besides, universal car rules, shotgun DJ’s.”

“Since when?” Tim asked.

“Since now.” Jason said, plugging his phone in.

“Uh, I don’t think so.” Dick took the cord from him “According to ‘Supernatural’ rules, ‘Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole’. So that’s mine.”

“No one else watches this show Dickhead!” Jason pulled the cord back.

“Doesn’t matter, because I’m older!” Dick pulled it back again.

“Age is just a number!” Tim pushed himself to the front seat and took the cord back.

“Great point Drake!” Damian pulled him back by his waist, stealing the cord from him too.

“Hey, stop with the fuss, I’m gonna crash the car!” Dick said.

“Maybe we should just play Beyoncé...” Duke suggested. The car went silent for a while.

“Okay.” Dick said “Put on ‘Single Ladies’.”

“No. ‘Halo’ is her best.” Damian complained.

“Uhm, no way? I’m playing ‘Drunk in Love’, and that’s it.” Tim shot back.

“Are you crazy? Play ‘Formation’.” Duke interfered.

“I like ‘Run the World’...” Cass said quietly from the trunk.

“Yeah, okay,” Tim murmured “We’ll play that.”

The girl smiled as the first notes from the song filled the car.

There weren’t many cars in the parking lot, which was expected. They picked up two carts, and Dick hopped inside the one Jason was pushing.

“Dude!” Duke started “You’re in your mid-twenties!”

“Leave me alone, I nearly sprained my ankle today.” Dick stuck his tongue out. No one else questioned anything beyond that. The employees simply sighed, used to the two older brothers and their antics.

“Hey Parker.” Jason greeted the nighttime security guard.

“Hey. I see you two brought the whole gang tonight.” He answered.

“Yup.” Dick smiled.

“So this is a regular thing for the two of you?” Duke asked.

“Are you really surprised, Duke?” Tim shot back.

“No. Not really.”

“Okay. First stop, Bruce said we need to get Tim’s coffee.” Dick exclaimed, looking at the list.

Jason led the way, Dick grinning like a child on the cart, Cass quietly following as she pushed their second cart, Duke making friendly conversation with her while Tim and Damian kept bickering right behind them.

“Oh, wait!” Dick held on to the metal bars “We’re right next to the cookies and Bruce said we’re out of your favorites, Jay.” He looked up.

“Alright, a little detour then.” Jason turned them around, quickly grabbing his treats “Anyone wants anything else from this aisle?”

“But... We don’t need anything else from the aisle.” Duke pointed out.

“Um, we have a billionaire’s credit card?” Tim said “Bruce won’t freak out if we buy a few extra things.”

“Uuuh, they have those koala shaped cookies!” Dick hopped out of the cart “How many do I get?”

“I want one.” Cass said.

“Chocolate or strawberries?”

“Uh… I want both.” She answered.

“Okay, one each for the lady, two strawberries for me...”

“I want a chocolate one.” Tim said.

“Me too.” Damian asked.

“Oh, just take twenty boxes, ten of each flavor.” Jason interfered, dumping them on Cass’ cart “We’ll share later.”

“Oh my God, those are expensive!” Duke said, exasperated.

“Yeah. So?” Jason shot back.

“Bruce is a billionaire, bro. He won’t mind.” Dick said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, well, it’s easy for you guys to say it. You grew up like that. It’s kinda hard to accept this when you aren’t used to having so much.” Duke answered, scratching his neck.

“Hey, I get that feeling lil’ bro.” Jason tapped his back “I spent my childhood in Gotham’s streets.”

“Yeah. I mean, I grew up in the circus. I wasn’t used to the idea of getting brand new stuff instead of asking for hand-me-downs from our friends whenever I grew out of my clothes.” Dick interfered.

“But... Just think about it like this.” Jason got closer to him “We now can get everything we couldn’t in the past.”

Duke frowned. Jason nodded encouragingly.

“That... Doesn’t help.”

“I tried.” Jason shrugged. Dick hopped back in the cart “To the coffee aisle!” He exclaimed, pushing his brother around.

“Hang on.” Tim said “This is where they leave the energy drinks. Let me take some.”

“Why do you insist on drinking this crap, Drake?” Damian scowled, reading the label in one of the cans “If you have such a death wish, jumping in front of a train is a much cheaper, quicker alternative.”

“Shut up, little devil.” Tim picked up cans from his favorite brand.

“Jason, push me a little farther down the aisle, please.” Dick asked “They keep their iced teas over there.”

“Ugh, Grayson, you disgust me.” Damian rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be so judgemental Lil’ D.” He smiled, being pushed away by Jason.

As they examined the cans, Dick noticed he had attracted the looks of a middle aged man, a couple of steps from them. He was staring at his hoodie, that contained the frase ‘I love dick’ printed on it.

“Oh,” He exclaimed, smiling at the guy “My name is Richard. That’s why it’s funny.” The man nodded “I’m also queer as fuck, so that makes it better.” He added nonchalantly, and the man’s eyes widened “Okay Jay, I picked up all I wanted, let’s go back.”

“Alright you little shits, back to the coffee quest.” Jason said, leading the way once again. This time, they finally made it to the coffee aisle. Tim crouched down, looking for his favorite blend.

Cass got a little curious once she laid eyes on a colorful package on the top shelf. She picked it up and handed it to Dick.

“Read. Please.”

“This is an espresso roast. Here it says that it has notes of strawberry? Vanilla and... Sugar cane. Colombian coffee. Seems nice. Wanna take it?”

“Yes.” She nodded. Dick dropped it on his cart.

Cass wandered away, still looking at all of the coffee blends.

“Hey girlie,” A guy whistled at her, next to his group of friends “Nice ass.”

She squinted at them.

“Yo, asshole!” Tim screamed, getting their attention “That’s our sister!” He threw a bag of coffee beans at the guy’s face, causing his nose to bleed.

“Hey, who do you think you are?” One of them started to walk up to her brothers. Cass could tell that he wanted trouble, so she grabbed his arm and slammed his face against the shelf, so quickly and brutally that it barely budged, leaving the products unbothered, but the guy fell to the floor, disoriented. She stared at him.

“We are Waynes.” Damian answered, pacing towards them quietly, hands on his pockets “I suggest you apologize immediately for the troubles, if you wouldn’t want to get a hefty lawsuit for your harrasment.”

“Uh, sorry bro.” One of them started, a little scared “We didn’t-”

“Not to me.” He interrupted “To her.”

“We’re sorry, miss Wayne.” All of them mumbled.

“Now promise you won’t do it again.” Damian added.

“We won’t do it again.” They started at the floor, next to where their fallen friend laid down.

“Good.” He squinted “Help your friend up, and get out of my sight.”

They did as they were told, helping his friend walk straight again. As Cass headed back, Dick gently touched her arm, looking up at her.

“Hey, are you alright?” She smiled and gave him a thumbs up. He smiled back.

“Does this happen often?” Jason asked.

“Sometimes.” She shrugged “But they always say sorry after I break their nose.”

“Ayy, that’s our girl.” Jason praised “Alright, we got the coffee. Where to next?”

“Let’s see... Next item is Alfred the cat’s treats.” Dick said.

“Ha!” Damian laughed loudly “As if Alfred would eat the... peasant treats that this store offers. No. I’ve already bought the adequate brand from an online shop.”

“Okay...” Dick raised an eyebrow “Then... Cass’ ice cream is next, but I think we should leave that as the last item, so it won’t melt, which leads us to Duke’s soda because Bruce had the last can.”

“Let’s go then. I think that the cereal aisle is on the way, so we’ll get that first.” Jason said, pushing the cart around again.

“Which ones do we get?” Tim asked, looking through the shelf.

“Everything that has sugar.” Dick answered. His brother began handing him boxes, when they heard a small whisper.

“Oh my God, are those...?” A girl said to her friend, attracting the eyes of the siblings. The duo averted their gaze quickly. Cass frowned at them.

“Relax.” Jason smiled, placing an arm on her back “They’re probably just... Fans.”

“Fans?” She asked, still staring suspiciously at them.

“Yeah.” Dick shrugged “I mean, we’re not super stars, but we do hit the papers pretty often. A bunch of people know us here in Gotham.” The girls were looking again, and Dick gave them a small wave, making them giggle “See? Nothing to worry about.”

“Hum.”

“Hey there, ladies.” Jason greeted, a cheeky smile on his face “What brings you to this fine establishment tonight?”

“We ran out of energy drinks.” One of them answered “What about you?”

“Cereal.” Dick answered, lifting two boxes. They giggled again.

“Hey, um... can we maybe get a picture?” The girl asked “It’s just that... no one will believe us when we tell them about this.”

“Absolutely not!” Damian answered.

“Nah, don’t listen to the little brat.” Jason said “Go ahead.”

Dick held up the boxes again, smiling as Jason made a ‘crazy’ motion with his hands. Tim turned around as the photo was being taken, turning him into a blurr with tired eyes.

“Can we get some selfies too?” The other one asked, grinning.

“No!” Damian protested again.

“Of course you can!” Dick said “Duke, Cass, come here.” He called.

All of them gathered around the cart Dick was staying at, even Damian. He didn’t look so pleased as the photo was taken, but neither did Cass.

“Thanks. You guys really are nice.” The first girl said.

“Oh, you have no clue on how nice I can be.” Jason winked, making her blush “Tell you what, why don’t I give you my phone number and you can text me those pictures later, hm?”

“Sure.” The girl bit her lips as Jason scribbled his number on her wrist.

“You are such a flirt.” Dick rolled his eyes as the girls walked away.

“What, like you aren’t?” Jason snorted, pushing him away, looking for where they kept the soda.

“I think Cass didn’t like that interaction very much.” Tim whispered to his older brothers, who turned around to find a frowning baby bat. Jason chuckled.

“What’s wrong, sis?” She scowled at him “Oh, c’mon, don’t get jealous.” He threw an arm around her shoulder “You know you’ll always be our number one girl, but a guy has his needs. And sometimes, a guy needs a date.”

Cass pushed him away, rolling her eyes as Duke placed five soda cans on her cart.

“Why would you even drink this sugar filled monstrosity, Thomas?” Damian asked, reading the labels “Grandfather wouldn’t even feed his prisoners something as revolting as this.”

“Because, Bat-brat,” He said “We’re all entitled to enjoy at least one or two things that may ultimately be responsible for our deaths.”

“I suppose.” He murmured, lifting an eyebrow “You make much finer points than the rest of them. Father has been looking for heirs in the least suitable places, I assume.” He clicked his tongue “It’s a good thing I’m here to help.”

“Okay...” Duke answered, raising his eyebrows and averting his gaze. There was only so much strangeness that he could handle.

“Great, now we need to get my chips and spinach.” Dick stated.

“Spinach?” Tim asked “Why spinach?”

“B thinks Damian may have been needing more iron in his diet.” Dick shrugged.

“Aaw.” Tim said “That’s actually kinda cute. Do you think he ever worries about our diets?”

“Don’t be stupid Tim, of course he doesn’t.” Jason answered.

“He does.” Dick shot back “He worries about us, he just... Really, really, really, reaaaally sucks at showing it sometimes.”

“Potatoe, potatoe.” Jason murmured.

“Yeah, whatever. Keep me moving Little Wing, we have stuff to pick up and my tiredness is catching up to me.” Dick pointed forward.

“Sure. But the chips are in the opposite direction.”

“Well turn me around then, do you want me to look like an idiot?” Dick said, a little exasperated.

“I wish you had an off button sometimes.” Jason sighed as he made his way to the chips section.

An employee, mopping the floor with a bored expression, looked up from what he was doing when he saw the Wayne gang talking loudly. Dick tried to control his brothers from inside the cart, and had just told Jason to separate a fight between Tim and Damian. Duke and Cass snicker as they saw a bored, six feet tall Jason pushing his much smaller brothers apart.

“Yep.” The employee murmured to himself “Billionaires shopping at Walmart at four in the morning. Just a normal night.”

Hey! If you made it this far, please consider reblogging this? It helps with spreading my fics and it makes me very happy, hahahaha!

Regardless, thanks for reading <3

[prorevenge]

Bully me for months? I'll hit you where it hurts the most, literally.

I want to preface this by saying I'm not proud of what I've done here. To the casual observer, what I did might seem like justice, but, really, I wish it didn't have to go as far as it did. I want my story to be a cautionary tale of what happens when bullying isn't taken seriously. I don't want this story to inspire you to do what I did, but as to what happens when people don't make the right choices the first time. Also, TL;DR at the bottom, the quotes aren't exact, and apologies if this seems a little all over the place. It's not easy for me to bring up stories like this, but I felt maybe I'd do some good by sharing it.

For as long as I can remember, I had a habit of bottling up my emotions. My single father is a staunch believer in traditional masculinity, including the idea that men and boys shouldn't cry. By my early to mid teens, I succumbed to this outdated idea, and accepted my fate as a quiet, stoic drone that just took orders, respected authority, and did hard work (especially manual labor.)

Enter my high school, which had a huge problem with bullying. The worst kids by far were the trashy "gangsta" kids (their words, not mine) from the inner city who targeted anybody they considered weaker than them. I was a pretty muscular 15 year old, but that didn't stop them from saying things like "Dude, you're so fat," or "Wassamatta, fattie? Lose your Twinkies on the way over?" In class, it was mostly petty annoyance: taking my pencil, sticking gum in my hair, insults. They got physical when the teachers weren't looking. Tripping me in the hall and pretending it was an accident; slamming my head against the locker, hitting me with footballs or soccer balls and saying a fake "whoops, sorry!" By themselves, it didn't seem that bad, but enough grains of sand add up to a huge pile, and, at that point, I was up to my waist in it.

Of course, the school didn't do anything about it. Teachers would either tell me "I'll take care of it," and then nothing ever changed, or I'd get something stupid like "I didn't see it. There's nothing I can do" or "You know, if I stopped class every time a kid was acting up, we'd never get anything done." Sure, and if a tree falls in the forest, it didn't make a sound because you didn't hear it. My father wasn't any help either. He'd tell me things like "there's gonna be people like that everywhere you go," or "if you're crying about this, you'll never make it in life," basically telling me to go suck it up because there are worse things out there. As a kid, I was hurt by this, but I was 15, so my self-esteem had been run over by a Combine a few times by now. For months, I just kept ignoring and waiting, hoping my teachers would keep their word about dealing with this problem. Sadly, it seemed they'd rather prioritize pep rallies and Career Aptitude Tests than do their job in keeping kids safe.

By around Spring, I'd had enough. By now, my sadness and annoyance had transmuted into boiling rage that I'd been keeping in me for far too long. If nobody was going to fight for me, I'd do it for myself, literally. I devoted the majority of my weekend to prepping for a showdown on Monday.

One of the few good things about my father is that how knowledgeable he is in self-defense. He believed it was important for a man to learn to fight, so he had me take several different kinds of martial art classes. If I was gonna fight a bully, I had to make it a proper fight. I then researched about Krav Maga, a branch of martial arts that's basically a military-style form of self defense, meant to train you how to fight if you were ever in danger "outside the arena." No rules, no balanced teams, no referees; just you and your need for survival. One of the components of Krav Maga is knowing the body's biggest "weak spots," ones that maximize the most amount of pain when hurt. Things like the groin, toes, and eyes were obvious, but you could also hit the knees, solar plexus, and even the spine. Since my classes didn't teach Krav Maga (you had to be 16 at the time,) I watched many online videos, making mental notes of the techniques used. It was almost always the same kid or group of kids that bullied me, so I already knew what they looked like, and, more importantly, where to strike.

On Monday, I waited for the next chance to come for the bullies to attack. To my surprise, they kept quiet for the most part. Maybe this was one of my lucky days where I'd actually get some work done. Then, while I was crunching for an exam during lunch, one of the bullies, a regular, spilled my water all over my textbook, and saying, "Whoops, sorry!" As he and his pals started walking away laughing, I got a good look at the back of the guy's neck. I raised my fist, aiming for the middle where I'd likely hit his spinal column.

WHAM! I knocked the guy over to the ground. That's when all Hell broke lose. His friends tried tackling me away, and I tried remembering to hit all their weak points: eyes, throat, groin, and jaw. It was fairly sloppy attempt at Krav Maga given my inexperience, and the other kids trying to fight back, but it got the effect I wanted. Of course, I didn't come out unscathed. I got punched in the jaw, a bloody nose, a bruise to the forehead, and more than a few kicks in the family jewels. The other kids noticed us fighting, with some going to get a teacher while others watched in a mix of shock and excitement. Eventually, the principal and a few other teachers pulled us apart, and sent us to the office, after our injuries were treated.

The principal talked with us individually while the assistant principal called all our parents. When it was my turn, I explained what happened. At some point, the principal said, "Why didn't you tell the teacher?" At that moment, I just snapped, somehow managing to sound even angrier than when I was fighting a few minutes ago. "I ALREADY TOLD THE DAMNED TEACHERS, LIKE A MILLION FUCKING TIMES, BUT NOBODY WAS DOING SHIT ABOUT IT! NOBODY! YOU TELL ME OVER AND OVER 'I'LL TAKE CARE OF IT, I'LL TAKE CARE OF IT,' BUT NOBODY EVER FUCKING DOES! I WOULDN'T HAVE FELT LIKE I HAD TO DO THIS OF SOMEBODY HERE ACTUALLY DID THEIR DAMNED JOB FOR ONCE!" I got an extra week of suspension for yelling.

Much to my surprise, my father was rather quiet about the whole thing. Normally, my father had the temperament of a dragon, but maybe this whole fight touched his inner "macho man" that made him go easier on me.

On the car ride home, he said calmly, but firmly, "What happened? And tell me the truth." I told him, "They wouldn't stop picking on me, so I defended myself." I waited to hear my father make some snide remark about hurt feelings, but he just said, "Were you in danger?" I paused for a moment, and said, "...Yes." I knew I was exaggerating, but maybe this could open my father's eyes to see how much I was hurting. He was quiet for a minute, and then said, "I can't judge on your situation 'cause I wasn't there, but it's in a boy's nature to be aggressive sometimes, and it sounds like those bullies were just using it for harm. I also know you well enough t'know you wouldn't lay a finger on somebody unless you felt like you had to." I nodded, holding back tears. "Next time you're ever in that kinda danger, call me. Don't wait for the teachers to fail you again. I'll give 'em Hell." I was stunned, and, once I realized what'd just happened, I smiled. That's one of the few redeeming qualities about my father. As toxic and narcissistic as he was, he was an expert on bringing vengeance to those who deserved it.

During my suspension, one of the bullies' parents wanted to press assault charges on me, but my father threatened to counter-sue the school AND the parents for letting the bullying go on for so long. Thankfully, nobody had to go to court as the bullies' credibility sank faster than the Titanic. Once word got around that I fought back to stop the bullying (rather than the strong, quiet guy going psycho,) more kids decided to come forward to the principal about their experience being bullied, too, and how they also went to the teachers for help. This included a few girls who were being sexually harassed by these kids. This was a PR nightmare for the school that left a permanent stain on their reputation among the locals. In the end, the bullies got expelled, some faced charges for sexual harassment, and I got transferred to a different high school. I guess I'm a little proud that I inspired some other troubled kids to come forward, but I really didn't like violence. I'm built for self-defense, but I don't like hurting anybody unless it's to protect those I love. I would've much preferred if teachers actually did their job, and "took care of it" before I had to.

I did get a gift certificate for summer classes in Krav Maga for my Sweet 16. Thankfully, I've never had to use it yet.

TL;DR: Bullies spend months torturing me, and teachers won't do anything, so I researched and imitated an advanced martial arts to bring maximum physical pain to my bullies.

(source) story by (/u/aitacrybaby)

[roguish-gallery]

How would Jonathan Crane react to eventually reuniting with one of his old students? Someone who actually really looked up to him and admired his passion for teaching, but was one of the quieter students who never spoke up in class. But now that he's no longer their teacher, they feel much more comfortable talking to him?

Sorry this took so long to write! I got... a bit... carried away... uhhh. Here’s my first ever full-ass fanfic, kept under the read more like always! I hope you like it!

p.s. if the formatting on this is too weird, I also have it on my ao3 here

Jon + Reuniting with a Former Student!

It’s incredible how little he seemed to age over the years. His auburn hair might have gotten a bit greyer and thinner, and the lines under his eyes have gotten darker, but he remained just as tall, as intimidating as he was those years ago. After all these years, Jonathan Crane still goes to the same café, orders the same coffee, and even sits in the same seat. In a way, you almost admired how little he cared about keeping his identity a secret.

Of course, the last time you saw him in this café, it was during his office hours, and you had come to talk with him about the midterm. Now he’s… well. You know.

A wanted criminal.

A killer.

The Scarecrow.

You’re shocked how no one has noticed him sitting there except for yourself- a testament to how thoroughly desensitized Gothamites are towards flamboyant villainy. Or, possibly, the burlap mask does work to hide his identity. Probably a combination of the two, you figured.

 You absentmindedly tapped your fingers along the table. You should have left the moment you saw him; anyone who’s watched the news would never want to be in the same room as the fucking Scarecrow. Who knows what he might do? What if he floods the air vents with fear toxin? What if he lunges at a waitress for getting his order wrong?

Yet… you still haven’t left, he has yet to create any incidents, and… you still want to talk to him. It’s not like the opportunity will ever present itself again. When will you get this chance?

Fuck it, let's go. you thought. The worst-case scenario is that you get to take a few days off from work to detox yourself. The threat of fear toxin has almost become as routine for the average Gothamite as getting into a car accident; unexpected, unfortunate, and it certainly ruins your day, but it’s nothing new. Finishing your coffee, you rose from your seat to approach him.

 As you got to his table, you felt your stomach churn as Crane’s eyes darted from his book to you. He watched you with caution, his mouth pressed into a familiar displeased line. He looked mildly annoyed by your presence, but he said nothing. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand his unspoken threat- what will happen to yourself and everyone in this building if you chose to make his presence known. In an attempt to make things appear more casual, you took the seat across from him. He quirked a brow, but allowed it.

You might have thought you didn’t make a presence, but Jonathan Crane never forgets a face. Especially the face of someone brave enough to take his class.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Crane cuts you off. “No need to exchange formalities here.” he gestured vaguely to the surrounding café patrons. “This is hardly the place. Before you ask, yes, I do remember you- your final paper on cognitive dissonance was… adequate.” He took a sip of coffee. “If you’re asking me to change your grade, well, it’s a bit late for that.”

“Oh...” You didn’t even remember the grade you got on that final. “Well… I won’t bother you for long… I just wanted to pop in for a quick chat.”

He rolled his eyes and dog-eared his spot on his book. “Alright, but make it quick.”

...

.......

“Um..." You stutter. "... What are you doing here?”

Crane’s nose twitched. “All the things you could ask me, and you choose that?” He paused for a moment, and sighed. “Fine. If I’m being honest, no one makes coffee as good, cheap, and black as this old haunt does. Furthermore, even I get nostalgic sometimes.”

...

........

The two of you awkwardly stare at each other.

“If you don’t have anything else to tell me, you can leave.” he said.

...Better cut to the chase, then.

“I’ll leave you alone, but before I do…" You linger off, trying to find the right words. "I just wanted to let you know that you were my favorite professor back when I was in college. You changed me for the better... if you can believe it.”

Crane's eyes widened, and he disdainfully shook his head. “Of all the professors you could have chosen, and you decide that I’m your favorite? I thought I had taught you better than that. All of my research, my field data on fear, and yet I somehow fail to scare away a former student. Pathetic”

“I suppose you still have some work to do, then.” You told him.

“Yes,” he mused. “I suppose so.”

 There’s more silence, before Crane decided to press further. “May I ask why?”

“I wasn’t in a good place back in school… I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, and I didn’t know how to articulate those thoughts into a vocal, healthy way... You though, you were always so passionate during your lectures” You explained. “Even if the tests were hard, and I hated having to cram for them. Coming to class and watching you talk about whatever, it was nice. You gave me hope that I’ll have that fire too, once I graduate.”

Something about that seemed to get to Crane. He blinked in surprise, and the irritated expression he had throughout the entire exchange… disappeared. His eyes softened just a bit, and his shoulders lowered into a more natural position. He studied your face, trying to find the smallest hint of deceit; something to let him know that this was just another joke. When he couldn’t find any, he sank back into his chair, his face now unreadable.

....

“... Did you find that fire?” He quietly asked.

“I don’t know... but I at least found enough to talk to you, even after all these years.”

The quiet returned, but it’s less awkward now, more comfortable. The air surrounding the table seemed to settle, and you could finally breathe.

“If it means anything to you, I am... flattered by the kind words.” Crane muttered something else under his breath, but you could make out a very restrained “Thank you”.

 “I’ve got to go now, but thank you for your time, Professor.” You got up from your chair, hesitating. “It was good to see you again… I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while now.”

He graciously nods his head. “It was… good to see you too… I enjoyed our talk.”

Before you could go any further towards the exit, he beckoned you back.

“Before you go- don’t drink from your tap next Tuesday. I’ll be testing out a city-wide experiment then.” He whispered.

Your eyes widened, and you quickly nodded your head. You needed to update your health insurance anyway. You thanked him again, bid him farewell, and left.

 Jonathan remained in his seat as he watched you leave. He took a glance at his watch, wincing slightly at how much time had passed. He ought to be headed back to his hideout, assuming he wanted his plan to work on time.

Hmph- that’s what I get for getting sentimental. He finished the last sip of coffee lingering at the bottom of his cup, and shuffled his papers back into his satchel. It was good while it lasted, he supposed. Jonathan rapped his fingers along the table.

How long has it been since he’s been here last? Ten... no... twelve years? Dear god.

Despite the time gap, the café was just how he remembered it. Of course, things have changed- repainted walls, some refurbished furniture, and all of the regulars he shared the space with have long-since retired or graduated. Still though, things were fundamentally the same. College students mingling with each other, some trying to tutor less than-enthused peers, some study groups feverishly swapping notes with each other. The minimum-wage baristas, as expected, passed the time by flirting, or trying to study for their own classes. Yes, everything was just the same as he had left it.

And in the thick of the chaos, in the corner table sat Jonathan Crane, either up to his neck in library books, or helping out his students. Despite a more casual setting, the café had become just as academic of a place to Jonathan as the Gotham U libraries or the psychology conferences he used to attend.

 His train of thought was broken as the waitress gently cleared her throat.

“Sir?” she asked. “Would you like your check?”

He thought about it for a moment. He did have work to do… but…

“Actually, could I get a refill?”

“Of course. Black coffee, right?”

“That’s right. Thank you”

Jonathan watched her take his cup away, and he pulled his book and notes back out. The fear toxin can wait.

Let him stay in this moment... just a bit longer.

[bastillewolf]

Midnight In Sheffield (VII)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician whilst on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: I took a bit longer to write this chapter, and thank you all so much for the patience. If you didn’t know yet; I got accepted into a writing school! I can’t express the gratitude I feel right now, I owe it all to you. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter VII - I Wanna Be Yours

Her feet dragged across the pavement, and this time they showed no hesitance because they knew exactly where they were going.

She didn’t find the building she was looking for the first corner she rounded, so she took a detour, until the lights seemed to change and the asphalt disappeared and she nearly tripped over the uneven brick road. A group of men turned their heads when they’d heard her swear loud enough she was sure she’d woken up the deaf grandma that lived in the attic at the end of the street.

As soon as she met his eyes in the pub, she wasted no time do drag him away from a very confused Matt, out to the hallway where the bathrooms were. They were occupied by couples doing, well, what you can imagine they were doing, as well as ladies trying to not-so-subtly sniff a questionable substance from its counters, but she couldn’t be bothered right now. Alex didn’t seem surprised to see her, and it irritated her how calm he was while she was practically having a mental breakdown.

“Guess who I met this morning,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

He raised a brow disdainfully, almost offended by the way she was manhandling him and throwing vague questions at him. But she didn’t waver, so he thought he’d humour her anyway. “The wedding planner? I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to be a bit more specific,” he replied.

“Oh, I’ll be a bit more specific,” she ground out, “I was just about to head down for breakfast, when I found that my mum had guests over. A couple, about her age, people I’d never even met before. But somehow, they seemed familiar to me.”

Alex hesitated. He had a feeling where this was going, yet remained silent.

“That’s when I learned their last names. Turner. And they told me all about their missing son, and how he hadn’t even left a note saying he was leaving, and how worried they were. That the only reason they hadn’t called the police yet was because you’d pulled off stunts like this before. But that now, you’ve been gone for years. Without a word.”

“I don’t think it’s any of your business, really-“

“Oh, don’t you fucking start with me, Turner. You made it my business when you started interfering with mine.”

It took her a moment to realize why her mouth was tingling. He had his lips pressed against hers, and they were warm and inviting. He tasted like what she’d expected him to this time around; expensive whiskey with a hint of smoke. His eyes were closed, and without those piercing brown orbs staring back up at her, she almost thought she was kissing someone else.

Hang on a minute.

She shoved him back, “You can’t just do that!”

He raises his eyebrows innocently. “Why not?”

“You’re trying to distract me!”

“Whether or not you get distracted by me is irrelevant, love. I was just hoping we could have a good time, and I was, until you nearly knocked me off my feet and dragged me out into some dirty hallway.”

She glared at him, “You deserved that. I’m engaged.”

Looking across the hall and around the bar, he casually shrugged. “I don’t see him anywhere. And I certainly didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

She felt it at the pit of her stomach when faced with reality; a deep, underlying sense of guilt. What had happened between her and Alex, was something she hadn’t ever felt before. And that scared her senseless. It shouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. And she had to make it very evident to him, that this could not go on this way. She had Mark, ad he was all she needed. He didn’t deserve this. Neither of them did.

“Alex, what happened yesterday, it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let it get to that point, and I’m sorry I led you to believe that I felt that same interest in you that you have for me. It can’t happen again, and I hope you understand.”

He seemed indifferent, but his words were harsh as he took a step closer to her, up until the point where she could feel his hot breath fanning across her already burning cheeks. “You can blame it on wedding nerves, or insomnia, or insecurities all you want, love. But I think you and I both know that last night really meant something. I can’t blame you for lying to me, I really don’t mind. I’ve had enough lies thrown at me before. The thing is, though, I won’t let you lie to yourself. You’re better than that, smarter than that. And most importantly, you deserve better than to be in a situation where you have to lie to yourself to not give into those feelings.”

“Alex-“

“I’ll tell you all about my parents. About what’s going on. About why everything seems to be stuck in time when the moon finally hits the sky. I’ll tell you, but only if you’ll tell me how you really feel.”

“I…” She hesitated.

All she could think about was that night Mark walked away from her. She thought of how sad her mother would be to hear she wouldn’t get married after all. She thought of Rachel and James, who would be telling her they told her so, and then laugh about it all behind their back.

She thought of what might happen to her if Mark wasn’t there. How was she going to get around?

She thought of all that time wasted, trying to make something work that might not have ever been intended to work at all.

“…I don’t know what to feel right now.”

She looked up at him in search for answers, but he wasn’t willing to give her any.

“I feel… scared, confused… and most of all, fucking tired.”

She was glad to see the corner of his mouth quirk up at that at the very least, and comforted when he slung his arm around her shoulders, and said, “Let’s go get you a coffee, then.”

 ***

Alphonse was a trained chef from years of hard work at the cook’s school in Paris. He knew how to make any dish, in any way, shape or form, and most importantly; how to make one with love. It might sound cheesy, but everyone knows that’s the key ingredient to a successful meal.

Alphonse was very good at cooking and working with love. He was also very good with the ladies, if he was allowed to say so himself. But he had to admit, his temperament was short, and he was awfully bad at being patient with people who were subconsciously withholding affection from one another.

So, when Mr. Turner had stepped back into the restaurant with his Cherie asking for a cup of coffee and looking mighty burdened with heavy topic, he scraped back his chair, and stormed off into the kitchen to angrily grind some coffee beans.

“Is he all right?” she wondered, as she hung her coat over her chair.

Alex shrugged it off.

Furthermore, even though their cups nearly cracked from the force Alphonse smacked them onto their table with, the restaurant was as quiet as ever at this hour.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then,” the chef grumbled, and strutted back into his kitchen.

She turned back to the steaming dark liquid, trying to focus her attention on the swirls her spoon were creating instead of the tense feelings she got from being alone with Alex once more.

“It’s a long story,” he finally spoke up, “But I need you to look at me while I tell it.”

She did as asked.

 ***

“When we were still in school, we’d already started the band. Played a few gigs here and there. Managed to catch the eye of a record company once someone had put some of our demos online. We got lucky, and managed to release a few albums with them. But fame isn’t all that fun anymore when your last record flopped and your manager is trying to sell you out.

I’d gone home for a few weeks to think things through; what I wanted to do with what was left of my career. So I went for a walk, late at night.”

She gave him a knowing look, and he nodded conformingly.

“I met Miles at Mardy’s. A pub I’d never seen before, in a street I’d never walked through. I thought I’d seen all of Sheffield when I was younger, but it turns out I was wrong. For when the clock strikes an uncertain hour, and you watch the ground shift beneath your feet when you’re not paying attention, you walk right into what appears to be a glorified version of the twenties.”

She recalled their gig on that night she’d also met Miles. “So your guitars…”

“I’d just taken them from home,” he confirmed, “No electric guitars invented yet at that time, so I had to bring them myself. Strangest thing is, the people don’t question it at all. They just think it’s another fancy new instrument that hasn’t officially hit the market yet.”

“So, what? You just decided to continue your life at night here?” she asked.

“It was simpler. I don’t have to run from the paparazzi, or do interviews where people question my sanity all the time, or get dragged for who I date or knock about with. We released an album with instruments and music that’s way ahead of its time here, and we’re seen as legends. It’s as simple as that.”

“But, Alex… I think this album could easily hit the top charts in the regular world.”

He scoffed, “They said that about our last album. And the one before that. And when they don’t do as well as you’d expect them to, people will say it’s ‘underrated’, but you know deep inside you could’ve done better.”

“Music is about more than just hitting the top charts,” she reminded him.

“I know. Yet it appears that the feeling of validation through it has left a bigger mark on me than I had expected. I expected more from my own music, and was disappointed when I couldn’t deliver. I’ve finally found a place where everyone enjoys my music again.”

“So, what? You just decide to spend the rest of your life here, a fantasy world in an attempt to hide from reality? From your family, all the people who care about you?”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“It’s not as simple? I think you just made it very clear how simple this all really is,” she said.

“Matt thought the same thing. Until he started playing with us for the first few nights, and even he was convinced. It’s hard to explain. It’s why he didn’t want you to stay around for too long when we hung out in the pub. This place gets to you.”

“He was just convinced after a few good shows?”

“I don’t think you understand,” he said, “If you stay here too long, if you spend too many nights in this version of Sheffield, you won’t be as willing to leave. It’s like an addiction; a place where all your dreams come true, if only for a little while, a few hours maybe. But you just can’t stay away from it. Once it takes hold of you, you can’t escape.”

Her brows furrowed. “What are you trying to say? You’re stuck here like this forever?”

His eyes cast downwards. “I couldn’t say. But I’ve never had good reason to leave.”

Her heart was swelling in her chest. “And what if you did have a reason?”

“What?”

“What… What if I wanted you to leave… with me?”

It was as if a spark flashed in his eyes, but then quickly snuffed out. “Don’t do that,” he huffed, “Don’t give me hope. You should be out there, living your life without chasing after the ghost of a man and blaming it on your insomnia.”

She took hold of his hand across the table, and squeezed it tightly, too afraid he’d take off if she didn’t. “I should be out there, living my life. But so should you. You’ve made me feel things I thought I was unable to feel, and I wouldn’t have experienced any of this if it wasn’t for you. You can still escape from this, Alex. I know you can. I can’t do this without you.”

“It’s not that simple, love.”

“Why not?”

“You shouldn’t want me.”

“Don’t you want me, then?”

His brown orbs lit up passionately, as he leaned forwards and captured her lips in a kiss. “Of course. I want to be yours,” he muttered.

He deepened the kiss, gliding his tongue against her bottom lip suggestively. She opened her mouth and her tongue met his, sliding against it and drawing a quiet moan from her throat. He held her cheek in his hand and slid his thumb over her soft skin gently.

When she pulled back, she had finally made up her mind. “I need to speak with Mark.”

*** @alexbandguy86​​​​ @bettyschwallocksyee​​​​ @fookingsummertime​​​​​ @juicebox-baby​​​​@darksydork7​​​​ @edgythought​​​​ @ssadderdaze​​​​​ @h0twasabi​​​​​ @rogerseyeliner​​​​​ @arctic-monkcys​ @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo​ @rosemallowss​