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gloomwitchwrites · 9 months

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Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical swearing, female masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), non-penetrative sex, erotic audio, consent / seeking consent, interrogation

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: Part Three of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

Price gets that audio of you begging for him. Nikola breaks.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

It’s the hesitation before the touch.

The moment before skin meets skin.

It is the collective breath of anticipation before everything snaps, falls apart, or is pieced back together.

That is what simmers under your skin. Anticipation.

Anticipation of the words to fall from Price’s mouth. Anticipation of what it will feel like if he touches you. Anticipation of how your heart will burn, your stomach will flip, and your brain will melt like ice cream in the summer.

This situation may be shit, and your options limited, but fuck—Price is a handsome man. The words he’s about to utter will be fake. Forced. Yet you still long to hear him say them. You’re still curious as to how your mind and body will receive them.

It does not matter that this interaction is happening because Nikola is a piece of shit or that Price promised him that audio. In the moment, when Price told Nikola he’d return with a recording of you begging for Price’s cock, you were furious. Angry. You slapped the man. Cracked him across the face so hard the left side of his cheek bloomed bright pink.

Now, you’re transfixed, observing Price as he fiddles with the tape recorder. His large hands seem too large cradling the ancient device. It’s cheap and gray. Clearly from a decade when you were a child. But it’s useful, something that cannot be easily faked once it starts recording.

Captain Price is serious about this. He wants Nikola to believe him. What is Dimitri up to? Who does he run with that a member of the British Special Forces is asking you to fake sex with him?

Fake. Fake.

A part of you keeps bringing up the idea of the two of you not faking anything. That, if you’re going to do it, you better go all the way. Put on a show. Make it fucking count. But the very idea is absurd, and you nearly laugh out loud.

It’s true, you were mad. Furious with everyone involved and everything about this entire goddamn situation. You were ready to rage. The fangs were out, venom dripping, and in some capacity, they still are. At the slightest hint of danger, you will bite. You will sink your teeth in with the intention of escaping. You’re good at that. Survival.

But right now, you’re not sure if you’re ready to bolt. Safe isn’t the exact word, more like a reluctant trust sits heavy in your chest. There is no one for you to run to. The only person you have in your corner right now is Captain Price.

He stands opposite you, just an arms-length apart, the tape recorder in his hands. Around you is a wide-open space. It is barn-like in appearance with high wooden ceilings and walls. You and Price are on concrete in a kitchen area with a communal table. Next to that are two worn sofas and a coffee table that has seen better days. Beyond that is the metal door that leads into the underground portion. The place you and Price recently emerged from.

The concrete drops off into straw-covered dirt where several vehicles are parked. There is a classic military Humvee, a dusty compact car, and a beat-up farm truck. Along the far wall are several sets of large, metal storage cabinets. One sits open, revealing a variety of different sized guns. In that same area are two large boards hanging on the wall. Pinned to them is a World Map and one of North America. There are also a few smaller photos attached to the maps themselves with lines and string indicating certain directions. None of it means anything to you, and while you’re curious, you’re not stupid enough to stick your nose into their business.

As Price continues to fiddle with the tape recorder, the gnawing, anxious dread returns. It’s the same one that wrapped itself around you when you first woke up here, when Price tended to the small cuts and bruises on your body, when he said such soft things to comfort you.

Some of that anxiousness removes the resolve you’ve built, pushing it aside to make room for its ugly insistence.

You’re a survivor. That’s it.

“Right,” says Price as he turns the tape recorder right side up. He hits the red button. “This is Captain John Price. Testing.” He presses the red button again and then rewinds the tape, hitting the play button.

The recorder replays his gruff, British voice and Price nods in approval. It’s a bit staticky and not the best quality, but it’s clear enough. Nikola might believe it if you and Price are good enough actors.

Price clutches the recorder in his fist. “You ready for this?”

Are you? No. But you agreed, and you don’t like going back on your promises.

When you don’t answer right away, Price takes a step closer. “You can back out—”

“It’s fine,” you say sharply, immediately regretting your tone.

“Okay.” Price messes with the tape recorder, deleting the audio of him testing it. Once done, he hits the red button and then gently places it on the table beside you.

Silence follows and you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. How do you improvise sex? Should you just go for it? Start making noises? There is no script, and Price didn’t go over what he expects from you. Do you touch him? Do you keep your hands off?

Confusion and frustration flood in, and you completely forget all the anticipation that held your body hostage. This whole thing is Price’s idea. He told Nikola he fucked you. He put his hand on your pussy and collected your wetness on his fingers. He held those sticky digits in front of Nikola’s face and then licked them clean afterward.

This is Price’s doing. If he wants you to act, he needs to tell you how it has to go. He needs to lead. Because right now, he’s just starting at you like he’s expecting you to perform first.

Fuck that. And fuck him.

With a sultry movement, you wrap you fingers around the tape recorder and bring it up to your lips. Price’s eyebrows rise in surprise and then furrow with concern.

In the flattest, most monotone voice you can muster, you stare Price down and give him what he wants. “Oh, John. Please. I need your cock.”

“Fucking hell. Give me that.” Price yanks the recorder out of your hand and turns it off. He presses a few more buttons, deleting the audio. He glances up and glowers.

“What?” you ask, all feigned innocence.

“You’re not helping,” he mutters.

“This is your idea, and you didn’t tell me what to do. Nikola won’t believe any of this if we just,” you gesture vaguely, “improvise.”

Price gently sets the recorder down on the table. “He seemed pretty upset when I sucked you off my fingers.”

You freeze, trying desperately to not let the shock of his words filter out into your physical features. Is that…a smirk? Does Captain Price find all this amusing? Or did he enjoy licking your juices off his fingers?

She’s fucking delicious.

That’s what Captain Price said to Nikola after he was done. He wasn’t slow about it either. Price took each finger into his mouth, one by one, and savored it all before those words dripped from his lips.

Your cheeks flame, and you cross your arms over your chest defensively. “Why should I continue to help you?”

You’re pushing again, throwing up your walls. It’s habit. It’s survival. It’s what you fall back on every goddamn time. The very act is instinctual, and you hate that it is, because you don’t want to fight with Price.

Watching him now, you’re enticed by him. He’s dressed down in his uniform. Gone is the utility belt and bulletproof vest. He’s down to his basics, and Price looks fucking good. The space between your thighs heat, and you absently flex your hips where you stand, adjusting yourself without actually doing so.

“Because I can get Nikola off your back,” answers Price. “I can make Dimitri disappear. You won’t ever have to deal with them again.”

“Dimitri pays me a lot of money while I work his room. And why should I care about what you think is best for me?”

“I’ll be doing you a favor.” Price gestures at you, open palmed. “But you need to do me a favor in return.”

You laugh. “Quid pro quo. Got it.”

“If that’s how you want to see it,” replies Price, clearly growing annoyed with this back and forth. “We’ve been over this. You said you were fine with it.”

It’s true. You did say that. But you also said that you were allowed to back out at any time and for any reason. Price agreed to that condition.

“I don’t think it’s worth the effort,” you murmur, glancing away from Price’s intense stare.

“I’m not doing all this for shits and giggles, love.” Price moves into your space and you’re forced to look up at him. “Dimitri Radovic works for a dangerous man. And I’m after that man.”

You shrug, putting up a front. “There are plenty of dangerous men in the world. How is this different?”

Price takes a deep, calming breath. You’re agitating him, working him up, and you like it. “You think I handle petty criminals?”

No. Captain Price is British Special Forces, which means he handles people you’d never actually want to meet in real life.

“I’m aware that you’re likely not after the local drug dealer.”

Price snorts and then he runs his hand through his brown hair. This one action makes it a bit messy, like he just rolled out of bed. For a moment, you picture that very image of Price waking up in the morning beside you. Your heart flutters.

“Are you willing to do this?” he asks. When you open your mouth to answer, Price cuts in before you can get a word out. “And actually try.”

“Fine,” you acquiesce. “I will try. But only if we discuss what it is we’re doing.”

It doesn’t matter how embarrassing this conversation might be, the two of you need to hash it out, to lay out exactly what needs to be said and by who.

“Good,” nods Price. He takes another deep breath, and then suddenly looks nervous, like he isn’t sure where the two of you should start.

You tug on the hem of your cocktail dress. “How do you want me?” you ask.

“Excuse me?” Price’s head snaps up, his eyes a bit wide.

“Is this where you want to do it?” You gesture at the room and the table you stand next to. Price flushes. He clears his throat, almost chokes. “What do you think I mean?” you say with a slow sultriness.

Do you have an effect on him? Did he truly enjoy the taste of you? Is he picturing that in his own mind? Because you’re thinking about it. You want to know what thoughts swirl around in his head.

“This is fine.” Price fiddles with the recorder. You note his slight nervousness and the light twitching of his fingers.

You nod. “Okay. How should we go about this?”

You’ve certainly faked many an orgasm, but it has always happened during sex. This is entirely staged. Made up. You’re not an actress, and everything about this feels awkward.

“We do what comes natural,” answers Price, as if that somehow answers your question.

You don’t like that answer. It leaves too much open for interpretation. But you don’t know what the two of you should do short of doing the act itself.

“Fine,” you agree. “But you’re taking the lead on this.”

He glances up at you. Price’s grin is infectious. “You like to be led in the bedroom?”

You immediately punch him in the chest and then promptly shake your hand. “Fuck. You’re solid.”

His grin widens before he glances down at the tape recorder in his hand. That lovely smile of his starts to fall away, disappearing like melting snow. He taps it against his open palm once…twice…and then gently places it next to you on the table.

“Follow my lead,” he murmurs, his features almost solemn as he presses the button to begin recording.

The right light is on, bright and bold. There is a brief pause of silence, and then Price steps into your space, one hand resting on your hip while the other rests against the top of the table. He leans in, trapping you against the edge of the wood. Instinct has you reaching out, placing one hand against his firm chest to keep some semblance of distance.

Price’s eye contact is intense. Unbreakable.

You immediately think of his hand between your legs, touching your clit, fingering your wetness, and how after he collected you on his fingers, Price wouldn’t look away from your face until he was in the interrogation room.

“You want more than my fingers, don’t you?” Price leans in a bit more until he’s almost standing between your legs.

You’re so surprised by his words that your mind completely spaces. Every word and phrase utterly exits your head like leaves in the wind. All you do is nod, as if the tape recorder could pick it up.

“No,” he murmurs, his pelvis resting against your own. “I need to hear you say the words.”

This is your chance. This is your turn. Ball is in your court.

“I need you. John. Please. I—” Your voice cuts out when Price’s hand on your hip squeezes, draws you closer.

“Yes, love? Use your words.” His voice is a purr. A soft caress.

“I need your cock. Please. I need you inside me.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Price abruptly pulls away and picks up the tape recorder. His leaving is a shock. A blow. You nearly stumble forward from his sudden absence.

Price shuts off the recording, rewinds it, and then hits the button to play it back. As it goes on, it is incredibly clear to you how staged it sounds. There is nothing remotely believable about it. Price’s mouth forms into a frown which only deepens by the second.

“Nikola won’t believe that,” you murmur, saying the thing you’re both thinking.

Price shuts off the recording. “Why not?”

“Would you believe that?” you question, head tipping to the side.

Price sighs loudly. “No. I wouldn’t. It sounds like two people talking.”

“Exactly.”

It does sound like two people talking. There isn’t anything breathy or sexy or erotic about the recording. It’s supposed to sound like the two of you are having sex, that his cock is buried inside you, and you should be begging him for more.

“It’s what we have,” shrugs Price. “It’ll have to do.”

“Wait.” You can’t believe you’re about to throw around this idea, but fuck it, you’ll take the risk. “It doesn’t sound believable because you only hear our voices. There isn’t any realism to it.”

Price crosses his arms. “What do you suggest?”

While you don’t want to be helpful, getting Nikola off your back sounds good, and you could give a shit about what happens to Dimitri. Someone will eventually take that VIP room, and the money will return.

“I could—Fuck,” you mutter, running a hand over your face. “I could touch myself. Have the recorder close. Let it pick up the sounds…” You wave your hand in the air absently, trying to get your point across without having to actually say the words out loud.

“Pick up the wet sounds you’ll make as you pleasure yourself,” finishes Price.

“Yes,” you say slowly, holding out the s a bit like a rattling snake.

Price takes a step forward. It is slow. Deliberate. There is something primal about the way his hips lightly sway with the movement. “And where do I fit into this?”

You swallow back the little moan that wants to escape your throat. “You need to be close enough that the microphone will pick you up.”

Price smirks. “I’ll need to be almost on top of you to make it sound believable. You want me that close to you while your hand is between your legs?”

“Depends,” you reply, squaring your shoulders. “Are you going to be a gentleman about it? Or a creep?”

Price drops his arms and then picks up the recorder, erasing everything that just occurred. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, love.”

I’ll be whatever you want me to be, love.

“Then that’s what we’ll do, Captain.” Your voice is breathy, almost needy, and you hope he doesn’t hear it. “You stand close to me.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, and you hear the genuine concern in his voice as he takes another step toward you.

You swallow, trying to steady your racing nerves. “I’m sure.”

Price sets up the tape recorder and then presses the red button. He nods, indicating that you should go ahead.

A brief flare of embarrassment pauses your hand. You’re the one who proposed this and now you’re scared? Turning tail? No. You need to see this through.

Slowly, you part your legs enough for your hand to slide between. The heels you wore to work are long gone, and you go up on your toes, the curve of your ass resting against the edge of the table as you make room for your hand.

Your fingers find your underwear, push the delicate fabric aside, and you’re already so wet that you inhale sharply when your fingers slide through it. You start to swirl one finger around your clit. Each is a delicate little stroke that teases and draws forth bits of pleasure.

The need to look at Price is strong, almost overwhelmingly so, but you keep your gaze fixated at a flat point of concrete. It is safety, a way to bring yourself back to reality.

But all of that is shattered. All of it is destroyed. Yanked right out from under you.

Price moves into position, standing directly in front of you. One of his hands reaches out to your bare thigh, his fingers dancing across your skin in an upward movement toward the hem of your black cocktail dress.

“Fuck. You’re gorgeous, darling,” croons Price. “Look so good like this.”

The praise goes straight to your core. Clenching around nothing, your thighs shake, and you hear Price’s soft inhalation as his other hand rests on the opposite thigh. His hands are warm and rough. You want them everywhere.

Price lightly squeezes your thigh as the same moment you begin working your clit a little faster.

“Putting on a show for me?” Price’s head drops, his forehead pressing against your temple. He leans in a bit, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek. “All for me.”

A whimper leaves your lips. Hangs in the air. Price catches it, responds to it by sliding his hands to the back of your thighs to lift you off the ground and onto the table. The black cocktail dress immediately reacts, sliding to your hips, revealing the sight between your legs easily.

For a brief moment, you almost clamp them shut, but Price is swift, peppering you with praise that makes them fall wide.

“That’s better. Isn’t it?” he murmurs, nuzzling the side of your face as the peak of your orgasm starts to ascend.

It’s about to crest, to tip over the edge, and fall into oblivion. You’re wet, and that is very clear by what you’re hearing. But you also hear Price’s breathy, almost heavy inhalations and exhalations. His hands squeeze and massage your skin, fingers itching to touch you. And his lips, which are surprisingly soft, keep brushing against your cheekbone.

All of it is too much, and you come undone, hips jerking as the orgasm rolls through your body. It is not faked. It is not staged. But it is soft, and gentle. Nothing earth-shattering about it. Just pure, simple pleasure.

“John,” you breathe, turning your head a bit to meet him. “I—I need your cock. Please.” It’s easy to say the words. It’s easy for them to fall from your lips for him.

Price releases one thigh and wraps his hand around your throat. He squeezes lightly, and turns your face so that you can look into his eyes.

“It’s my turn, love. Spread those fucking legs for me.”

You’re so obedient. Perfect. Falling wide and then wider.

Price is gentle as he releases your throat and then grabs your wrist, guiding your hand away from your pussy, only to replace it with his own. The moment his fingers brush against you, you moan, hips rolling into his touch.

His lips are parted, and through half-closed eyes, you watch his gaze move from your face to the space between your legs. Price can see everything. You know this, and that only makes you that much more eager for his touch.

Those fingers of his trail upward, touching every spot, only to withdraw. The retreat is heartbreaking, but short-lived. Price brings those fingers to his mouth to savor your flavor. He tastes each digit that is coated in your juices, and the very sight of him enjoying you again sends your body into a shiver.

“So sweet,” he says softly, before returning his fingers to your sex.

This time, Price slides one, thick finger into your pussy. You clench around him, moan, head falling back to expose your throat. Price groans, runs his sticky lips over your neck as he sets a pace with his finger. With it, he presses his thumb to your clit, pressing and swirling.

“Fuck you’re tight,” groans Price. Your pussy responds by sucking on his finger, drawing him in as his thumb hits just the spot on your clit to cause your hips to buck into his touch. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

With one hand pressing into the top of the table, you reach out with the other, grabbing Price’s wrist as he finds a pace that has you a whimpering, moaning mess. Your hair is everywhere. Your dress, which is damaged and beyond saving, is shoved up around your hips. Price’s arm moves with the pump of his fingers.

He is not unmoved. The hand on your thigh is fierce, digging into your flesh, and he keeps brushing his mouth against his skin like he longs to kiss you but retreats every time. The pleasure building in the base of your spine bursts, thrusts forward, explodes outward.

You cry out, clenching hard around Price’s finger. Price’s answer is a groan.

There isn’t any time for you to come down from it before Price is withdrawing his hand, pressing on your stomach to push you flat onto the table.

“I’m gonna taste you now, love. Yeah?” Price’s timbre is its own begging. You hear it in the slight break between syllables. He wants you.

You nod, clawing at him, at the table, at anything you can hold on to.

“Please,” you beg. “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and then Price’s mouth is on you, sucking your clit into his mouth.

It’s a sharp ache, a dangerous glow of need that bursts behind your eyes. You nearly jump off the table from it. Price releases your clit only to swirl the tip of his tongue around your clit in quick flicks.

Price is enthusiastic, eating you without care for himself. He chases and chases until you’re done, crying.

“Fuck. Please. John. John!” Your thighs tighten around his head and Price smiles against your pussy.

“Be a good girl and come for me.” Price lightly flicks his tongue against your clit, and that’s it. You’re done. “I want to hear you.”

Your entire body shakes, lifting off the table, curling forward, clawing at Price’s arms. When he releases your clit, Price’s arms go around you, dragging you to the very edge of the table.

Not caring that you’re now a fucking mess, you reach for Price, palming him through his pants. His hips reflexively roll against you, and he groans, his fingers digging into your skin as you continue to stroke him.

Your fingers curl around the belt, and pull him close. “I want your cock. I want you inside me.”

Every word is true. Fuck the audio. Fuck the interrogation. You want Price to fucking use you until you’re both empty.

Price’s hand closes over your own, and gently guides your hand away. At first, you’re confused, believing he’s rejecting you after all that. But then his hand is back on the belt, undoing the buckle, sliding it out with one hand, tossing it aside.

“Come here. Edge of the table. Sit up.” You follow the command, sliding forward. “Arm around my neck.” Complying, you slide your arms around the back of his neck, locking them there.

Price is staring you down, keeping you focused on his face. You’re entranced, enamored, desire pumping through your veins like a wildfire. You hear a zipper sliding along its track, the shuffle of clothes, and then Price’s hands are angling your hips.

This is it. This is the moment Price sinks inside you.

“What do you need?” asks Price, voice lusty yet serious.

“I need you inside me,” you answer, the words from your lips a pleading enticement to slip inside.

Price’s eyelids flutter and then he rests his forehead against yours. You feel it then, his cock, rock hard and thick, sliding through your wetness. He rocks his hips, moving slowly, the head of his cock rubbing your clit with each light thrust.

There is no penetration. And you almost hate it, but then Price is rubbing against you, sliding up and down your sex, rubbing against your clit with each movement, and suddenly you don’t care anymore. If this is what Price is going to give you, you’ll take it.

It’s a back and forth. A wet rocking as your bodies slide against one another.

You’re already strung out on the previous three orgasms, and the fourth is on you like an animal biting at your ankles. It is sharp and fast and bold. So loud that all you can do is hang on to Price as his hips stutter against you.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’m gonna come inside you, yeah? Be a good girl and keep it all in once I’m done.”

You nod, eager for it. Price’s head falls against the side of your face, and his lips press against your ear. He speaks so softly you almost don’t hear him.

“Keep your hips still.”

There is a brief pause, and then warmth explodes onto the inside of your thigh where leg meets pelvis. It’s just you and Price, and your combined breathing. The silence stretches, and then Price hits the button on the tape recorder to shut off the microphone.

He steps back and your arms fall away from around his neck. Price is stuffing himself back into his pants, as his head sweeps back and forth like he’s looking for something. You’re frozen, a little frazzled with Price’s cum slowly sliding down the inner crease of your leg.

Price heads for one of the sofas, snagging a worn blanket. He brings it back to you, draping it over your shoulders before grabbing your hips and helping you to the ground. Your legs are wobbly and nearly slip out from under you.

“You can clean up in a minute,” he says reassuringly, his warm palm resting softly against your cheek. Then, Price moves his hand to your back, grabbing the tape recorder and ushering you toward the door.

All you can do is follow, still in disbelief that everything fell completely out of control, tumbling toward…what? This. Whatever the fuck it is.

When the two of you reach the interrogation room, Price points to a spot near the wall. “Stay there.”

You deliberately stand elsewhere as he rewinds the tape, pushing into the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Nikola and Price stare each other down. It is then that you notice that Price’s lips are still glossy with your wetness.

Price hits the play button and you blanch. The audio is loud. Blaring. There is no mistaking what is happening on that tape.

“Is this not enough for you, Nikola?” asks Price, face stony.

Nikola snarls and Price retreats, heading for the door. He throws it open and grabs your arm, hauling you along with him. Nikola’s snarl drops when you enter, a realization forming on his features. He didn’t believe Price that you had slept with him, and now there is no doubt.

Without saying anything, Price reaches under the blanket and between your legs, his fingers swiping up of his cum that still remain on your inner thigh. Price presents those fingers to Nikola.

“I came inside that tight cunt. And let me tell you, Nikola. It was fucking good.”

Nikola’s face flames, and your own heats in answer, not because of the words but because just minutes ago, Price was sliding his cock over your soaked pussy.

Price guides you back to the door, releases your arm to open it, and then promptly smacks your ass. The spank is quick and sharp, and it juts you forward through the door. There is no time for you to spin around and snap at him because Price has slammed the interrogation door shut again.

“Is this better proof for you?”

When Nikola shows his teeth, Price shakes his head. He glances between the cum dripping from his fingers and Nikola’s face. Back. Forth. Back again.

“No answer? Fine,” shrugs Price. He pulls his hand back like he’s about to smack Nikola. But he doesn’t. Price doesn’t make contact at all. He whips his hand toward him, not with an intention to strike Nikola but to launch the cum at him. It hits Nikola’s face.

There is a brief moment of silence and then Nikola shrieks. Rages. He’s a feral animal as he tries to throw himself at Price.

Price doesn’t even acknowledge the outburst. He leaves the interrogation room, securing the door behind him. You’re frozen. Legs shaking. You’re fuming but you’re also impressed with how calm Price is.

He glances at you and frowns. “We need to clean you up.”

We.

“I’m fine,” you stammer, turning your gaze on Nikola through the glass.

“You’ve been through a lot. You deserve a shower. Clean clothes. Food.”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

Price blinks. Shifts on his feet. “I’ll take you back to that room you woke up in. There is a bathroom connected to it. Clean up and I’ll grab some clothes for you to change into you. Take your time and then come up. Get you a hot meal.”

He takes a few steps back toward the door to the main hall. “Come on.”

You want to fight. To argue. To bite back. And just as you think it, you also remember his hands on your body and the way he begged. That didn’t sound like acting. It couldn’t have been because Price touched you with his fingers, with his mouth, and with his tongue.

Reluctantly, you follow Price into the room you previously woke up in.

“Shower is through there.” He points at a secondary door. “It’ll have everything you need.”

It feels like a dismissal, but you see his gaze and how it lingers on you. There is no denying that there is something greater at work here, some battle that’s happening that neither of you can see but both of you can feel.

Price dismisses himself with a nod, closing the door behind him.

The blanket is easy. It’s the dress that’s a torn mess. It falls apart in pieces, and nothing is better than when the fabric is gone and the hot water of the shower rains over your skin. The steam invades your lungs, and while you clean yourself of Price’s touch, you wish that you didn’t have to.

You’d like his scent to linger on you a bit longer.

Staying under the falling water for far too long, you finally decide to emerge, only to find clothes on your bed. It’s nothing fancy. Just slim sweatpants, a tank top, a zip-up sweatshirt, and tennis shoes that might run a little big but will have to do the job.

Every nerve ending is buzzing, coiled with anticipation as if the two of you are about to come together again. But that won’t happen. That was it, and you’ll have to accept it.

Running your hands over your face, you reluctantly leave, heading back upstairs. You expect to find Price alone, but you come to a halt when you notice Gaz, Soap, and Ghost all standing around him. They must have just arrived because there are still droplets of water on the three of them like they’ve been out in the rain too long.

The door slams behind you and they all cease talking, turning in your direction. You notice the flex of Price’s hand and his sudden attention, his entire body turning in your direction. But he doesn’t speak first. It’s Soap.

“Our guest downstairs is ready to talk.” He turns toward Price. “Not sure what you did, but I thought he’d never break.”

Price briefly glances at him before returning to stare at you.

You know exactly what he did.

What the both of you did.

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sylveon-and-velveon · 7 months

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@fandomhungryuwu You son of a bitch I'm in! I love that song so much XD

Playing "Here Comes the Hurricane Bitch" around the slashers

This will include: Michael Myers {OG & RZ}, Brahms Heelshire, Jason Voorhees, Billy Lenz, Freddy Krueger, Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Harry Warden, Tiffany Valentine

Feel free to request any shitpost writing prompt ideas you can think of in my asks, I love silly non-serious ideas XD

OG Michael Myers

Silently judging you

Also probably just hearing a bunch of random noises instead of the absolute banger that is this short song

Yeah my headcannon still stands on this man being a Kate Bush fan. That man would would fucking listen to her songs while killing people

Slowest middle finger you've seen someone give you while "HERE COMES THE HURRICANE BITCH" is blasting out of the speakers

RZ Michael Myers

Confused would be an understatement for him

But he'd mainly be annoyed by the loud noise blasting from the device you're playing it from

Reminds him of the shitty people from his past :<

Just turn down the music enough for you both to vibe to while eating some yummy food :D

Brahms Heelshire

Bro hears "hurricane" and one of two things happen:

1: He thinks a hurricane is nearby.

2: He's confused as fuck on what a hurricane is

Secret third option is BOTH-

Please reassure this poor man that it's just a song, until he either understands or stops freaking out TvT

Homie only knows the sound of pianos

Jason Voorhees

Nothing sexual? Damn he's fine with it, just a little uncomfy with the continuous "bitch"

Other than that he's happy to watch you enjoy the music, even if you're going full gremlin mode throughout it all

If you're happy, he's okay with it

Just don't start blasting NSFW music in his vicinity-

Billy Lenz

Wanna see a gremlin be a gremlin with you? Billy's got ya back!

Whether he understands the song or not, he will be a gremlin with you the second he sees you are now a gremlin to the music.

You are now one with his gremlin kind, you can't run now

I dunno what that means either, but it makes sense XD

Freddy Kreuger

Pure chaos, that's the song. Of course he'll love it

But the second he finds out there was indeed a hurricane called "Katrina"? Ohohoho.... ya fucking lost him

What, is he dying of laughter? Dunno, but ya lost him XD

Oh he'd totally copy how "bitch" is said in the song as an inside joke between you two

Stu Macher and Billy Loomis

Oddly enough I think they'd be their own type of gremlins to the music

Billy's killing someone to the beat of the chaotic music that's somehow a vibe

Stu's just going fucking feral to the music, enjoying his heart out

You're either watching the chaos unfold or joining in with one of them

No inbetween-

Thomas Hewitt

Oh look another judger-

Probably not judging as much as the others

If the music makes you happy, he doesn't mind

But that ain't stopping him from being confused at your taste in music being in his mind "loud and obnoxious"

Bubba Sawyer

The most confused out of all of them, change my mind

Doubt anyone's told him what a tornado is, let alone a hurricane

Also I highly doubt he's seen either in action, that be on TV or not

He'll probably vibe with you, but just a little confused on everything about the music lol

Harry Warden

My point still stands, I need GIFs of this man-

But with the music? Most traumatized

You've somehow unlocked some kind of PTSD that motherfucker had in the back of his mind

Totally not helping when you're blasting the music that literally says:

"HERE COMES THE HURRICANE BITCH-"

Tiffany Valentine

All here for it

Oh she's slaying the music with all her outfits

Probably would join in with you dancing to the music, but would take it a little more seriously lol

Is my love for her fabulous outfit choices too obvious?

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night-dazai · 6 months

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helloo can you please do a threesome with toji and nanami but in a non sorcerers au maybe like a office au and they are my higher ups?

The au isn't necessary but pls do a threesome with toji and nanami

Toji x Reader x Nanami

Tags: Degradation, rough sex, threesome, smacking ass, female reader, blow job, slight voyeurism smut with little plot.

(picture taken from Pinterest, shoutout to the original artist )

This was the worst, the most horrible thing that could happen this Friday.

Tears threatening to spill from your eyes you stood there listening to your manager Nanami scold you. His voice was not loud or rough or anything but it was cold and demanding and ordering you to work better and you have not been doing it for a week.

Your bf broke up or more like got caught by you when he was cheating with your best friend, your house water pipes all broke and you are staying at a hotel. It's the month's end and money is not flowing for you, crying about your break-up was not an option.

You just had to mess up the worst client order to get shouted at now “I should smoothly fire someone for making such mistakes for a whole week y/n do you hear me ?” he asked looking at you as if you dared not give him a glance of your ugly face sobbing “so..sorry …I am sorry …sorry “ was all you could say looking down.

Nanami sighed knowing he could not make up look up but smirked listening to your rambling “ I had a … bad…break …up ..it was not …water …pipes….house gone …” you kept rambling. Nothing made sense is what you thought and would greatly bend down again apologising “sorr..I am sorry “.

Getting fed up with your rand words he spoke “ I should fire such a useless employee but .. it seems you could not get fired “ he said. Cold face getting smug as a smirk played on his lips as you looked up for the first time in 30 mins to look at him “Yes sir, what is it “ you asked.

Tears still running down your checks, but no black lines. Means you don't wear makeup or if you did it was not too much .” She looks naturally slutty huh ?” he thought and pushed his chair and manspread his legs throwing the files to the side “Kneel “ his voice still the same cold and demanding.

It took you a few seconds to understand the demand, your face getting red and more tears spilt down. You were grasping at straws and this is the straw that you got but who cares “ he cheated not me “ you thought. Your boss was always the eye candy in the office, he was everyone's dream man but if you can spend a night with him why say no?

Slowly you walked near him as he pulled you down making you kneel and grab your pony pulling your face to look at him “Now that's a good girl “ he mumbled and spread more to let you in. Pushing your face closer to his bulge by your hair “Be good the door is still open and it's 7:30 pm only office closes at 8 pm only “ he said and pulled you inside his desk and scooted closer pushing you inside the desk.

Fumbling for a minute you freed his cock from the restraints of the creamy pants, and you stared. It was big mush bigger than your cheat of a man's dick and thick you could never imagine something so big in you. Testing waters you licked the tip with a strong lick and earned a hiss and tug at your hair “Don't play around or else it would be bad for you . “ the warning went straight to your core while your mouth to his dick sucking it.

It tasted nice and salty but hot it throbbed each time you licked it, slowly you tried putting the tip and a little of the shaft in hollowing your checks, while you were busy thrusting his dick into your mouth little did you notice your wet panties and the knock on the door.

His grip on your hand did not lose “Come in “ he said in the stoic voice he reserved for general business. You could not hear who it was but your heart was thumping hard very hard when a surprise thrust in your mouth had you moaning but nothing came out.

You kept sucking him while the other person kept talking about how the client was very mad and that they might have to change the project manager itself. Hearing this your head hurts from the strong grip and your jaw burns with pain due to the subtle but firm thrusts.

Clawing at his thighs you were forced to suck him off while after talking for what seemed like ages the person closed the door. The click sound was the same time your hair was free and your mouth empty.

Coughing you looked up at your boss with tears strained, a red flush face while he looked at you with a blank face, eyes unreadable due to his glasses “Get up “ he said holding your hand and pulling you up and at the same time the door opened “ boss ..” a rough voice spoke.

In an instant, you were pushed back to your knees and inside the desk “ Toji ..” kept saying looking quite surprised “Boss I know it's late have a minute ?” the bull-like man asked.

Your heart was beating faster than ever, he was the person sitting next to you at the desk, the other man girls drool over and someone who has the reputation of a fucking anyone.

Nanami nodded while pressing his foot on your thigh and slowly worked his way to your cunt as you sat legs open on the tiny desk, pressing it.

Holding your breath you covered your mouth to stop the moans from spilling out as he continued to press on your clothed clit, you scooted closer to him and opened your legs more.

“Do you remember y/n ?” Toji asked making both you and Nanami pause “Yes what about y/n?” your boss asked and counited to rub his foot on you. “ Well I think she is having personal problems, she is not the type to mess up such a project. She has been looking down the whole week and one day she looked like she might have cried all night “ his voice got a little annoyed towards the end.

Nanami pushed an eyebrow up “Mh… yeah I do know but you should also know that this project is about to leave our team cause of her “ his voice was lanced with anger. Toji nodded “Yeah I did hear that but …why not let her off with a warming or something, “ he asked scratching his head.

Scoffing Kento spoke while giving a particularly harsh press on your cunt “Why are you supporting her so much ? You have some relation with her ?” he asked. Toji smirked and looked at his boss without speaking he walked towards the door “No, her boobs and I say hi to each other . That's the only reason I look at that girl “ he locked the door and turned to face his boss with a smug look “ time is 8: 25 pm and more than half the people left the office you can let her out boss “.

His words shocked Nananmi but he soon gathered his compurese “Well you are sharp “ he said pushing his chair back to let you crawl out.

You did not want to, you were horrified. Your co-worker found you giving a BJ to your boss and he also just said that he likes your body.

“Get out “ Kento spat as you crawled out and showed your drool and pre cum dripping chin and tear-filled eyes and wet checks.

“Thought I could join your game “ Toji said losing his tie and walking towards you and Nnanmi just sat and waited for his subordinate's next move. Whic was to rip your buttoned-up shirt open in one go and remove your bra as you struggled “Noooo….Toji !” you squealed but soon it stopped when Toji sealed your lips.

Struggling under the man as he kept removing all the clothes on you “Please…. don't do this…” you cried and looked at your boss but he was busy enjoying the show. “Bend her here” Nanami said moving a few files and then you lay bent over the desk ass towards Toji and face towards your boss “Can I sir ?” Toji asked permission and got a nod in response.

Soon you felt something hot, big at your entrance “Nooo..” you cried but it was not loud from your earlier dick-sucking. You tried to push him by his stomach but Toji grabbed your hands in one move and pined it on your back “Quite “ he said and entered your tight walls.

“AH…….big…too bigg” you said squirming but not able to move much stood and took his length. You need not turn and look, you knew the was big and thick and not everything was in but you felt full as if it reached your throat.

Kento grabbed your jaw “Keep busy “ saying he stuffed his dick back in your mouth.

As to rammed his strong hips on your cunt, balls slapping your clit. You were there in between 2 men whimpering while the other abused your mouth. Thrusts from the back made you jerk forward but thrusts from Kento made you move a bit back.

Being naked on Kento’s desk which was made from nice original oak wood rubbed at your hard perky nipples creating a lot more stumialtion. Never in your life did you imagine such a situation.

But never in your life did you also receive so much pleasure, a dick filling you to the brim on both ends “Don't cum so fast “ Toji said slapping your ass again on the same side making it throb with pain.

He pulled out when he felt your walls clenching on him tighter “You don't deserve to cum yet “ he said while your cunt clenched around nothing Nnankmi emptied his load in your mouth holding your jaw tightly making sure you took each drop.

They switched positions while Nnami entered your already wet hole, Toji took your mouth and rammed in with the same force while your pussy got abused more. “That's much better might think of keeping you around “ Nnami said giving strong thrusts as you moaned on Toji’s dick he hummed in satisfaction “Do it more “ he said.

“You said his boobs were nice right ?” Nnanmi suddenly asked stopping his actions and making Toji stop his too “Yeah?” and with that, both men pulled out again and in a second you were flipped on your back by Nananmi “Let's have a look “ he said entering your hole again and flicking a nipple while Toji took your mouth again.

The grip on your jaw tightened, and your neck hurt from the angel but your throat inside felt nice and soon you feel both men twitching inside your mouth and pussy. Toji came in your mouth which was already filled with Nnanmis's cum now mixed with his “Don't spill slut “ he warned gripping your neck while Nnanmi pulled your nipples while fucking you.

Eyes rolling back both you and Nnananmi came at the same time, the laid hot and lots filled your gummy walls, he slowly pulled out with a lewd sound. Both men took a moment to admire their artwork “One more ?” Toji asked not satisfied.

Coughing and stuttering you lay on the desk trying to catch your breath and life which seemed to be slipping away “Yes of course “ Kento said removing his shirt and revealing a chiselled body while Toji did the same and soon you knew, this was going to become your life in the office.

At least you are not fired and you can still pay bills.

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wen-kexing-apologist · 9 months

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Random BL Superlatives: 2023

Well @lurkingshan did it, so I must do it. So here are some random, WKA themed superlatives for the 2023 BL selection.

Best Hands: Mhok and Day, Last Twilight

gif by @singularities

Listen. I know. I KNOW. There are so many incredible options, and I have written at length about a number of them. I mean come on, La Pluie is right there, I Feel You Linger in the Air is right there, Sing My Crush, Moonlight Chicken etc. etc. etc. But

But, Last Twilight came in with the steel chair right at the end of the year here with that FUCKING HANDSING SCENE. Can you blame me? The handsing scene is shrimply too powerful.

Best Lighting: Playboyy

You know, it's funny cause I don't usually end up writing about lighting in shows, despite the fact that lighting design is absolutely one of my favorite things in film, stage, and television. Chains of Heart has really interesting lighting too, but Playboyy is an objectively better show, and it is doing some absolutely gorgeous lighting design.

Best Sex Scene: Olive Oil, I Feel You Linger in the Air

gif by @pharawee

THE OLIVE OIL SCENE, WHY ARE THERE NO GIFSETS OF THE OLIVE OIL SCENE? WHY IS TUMBLR SUCH A FUCKING HATER???? They didn't even fuck in that scene, but holy mother of GOD it was the best thing I've seen all year. I Feel You Linger in the Air has some of the most inventive and beautiful intimate moments, and spreading the olive oil as a stand in for arousal and masturbation was absolutely goddamn brilliant.

Best Faen (Non)Fatale: Porjai, Last Twilight

gif from @khaopybara

I know Last Twilight hasn't finished yet and will take us in to 2024, but Porjai and Mohk's relationship is absolutely my favorite lovers to friends dynamic I have seen this year. I was showering praise upon them all for this in the tags of a reblog today, so I have to give it to them. Massive shout out and extremely close call to Nara from La Pluie.

Best Emotional Roller Coaster: What Did You Eat Yesterday? Season 2

Ok there were quite a lot of shows that I think would have applied here, but man oh man this entire season has just run me through the wringer with how much Shiro has grown over the course of the last two seasons. Episode 11 had me laughing my ass off, and then absolutely sobbing by the end. So it's going to Kinou Nani Tabeta?

The Shirt I Want to Steal Most from Wardrobe: Blue and White Button Up, The Sign

gif from @ohshinytrinketsmine

I know this will be contentious when the Fart Proudly shirt is right there, but I really loved the blue and white button up shirt that Phaya wore I do not know what is in the water at IdolFactory, but they have hands down some of the best shirts I have ever seen. When I watched Secret Crush on You I wanted the entirety of Sky's wardrobe, now I am having shirt envy for this sexy little blue-with-white-lines-that-are-vaguely-rabbit-shaped (wka do not write a post about rabbits, do not write a post about rabbits-) button up.

The Character Who Most Changed my Opinion of Them: Phupa, OS2 x BBS x ATOTS

gif by @alexshenry (double PhupaPat whammy for @waitmyturtles)

Okay, so to tell you the truth, I made new superlatives cause if I took the superlatives from @lurkingshan's post it would have been at least half the same if not more (because as always, Shan is right about everything). But, I will put an overlap here because I absolutely could not let this year go by without applauding Aof, Earth, and Phupa for really putting in the work to help me understand this man better.

The Show That Most Surprised Me: Wedding Plan by MAME

gif by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Okay not only was this show that I absolutely was not planning to watch or initially interested in actually one of the best of the year, but it was also a MAME show. And a lot of us have our critiques of MAME's writing, but this was so outside of her typical MO that I am shocked it came from the same writer. Love Sailom, love a Lavender Wedding, love Nuea, love it all.

The Trope This Year That Most Accounted for the Fact These Are Gay MEN: Boxing! Sing My Crush, Wedding Plan, The Sign

Sing My Crush did this the absolute best, but I really genuinely loved that multiple shows this year let men fight in controlled settings to get out some of their frustration and to process their feelings. Han Ba Ram crying in the gym? One of my favorite scenes of the entire year.

And yeah sure, Phaya and Tharn are fighting for the intricate rituals that allow men to touch the skin of men, we get the horny vibes, but fundamentally this fight does occur because Tharn is angsty and ignoring Phaya and that cannot stand. I like seeing Phaya sparring with the punching bag at the end of the most recent episode as well because he's fucking furious about Tharn telling the doctor about his dreams. I love it, I love it so much.

#bl superlatives #last twilight the series #playboyy the series #i feel you linger in the air #what did you eat yesterday?#kinou nani tabeta?#the sign the series #our skyy 2 x bbs x atots #a tale of a thousand stars #sing my crush the series

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kirisunshineboy · 2 years

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𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧 | 𝙮𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙞 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

☆ 𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: min yoongi/reader ☆ 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: pure fluff ☆ 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: a little to much fluff ☆ 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1.6k ☆ 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: Yoongi arrives home late. Again. So much time off without him has made you think that maybe there's someone else he's interested in now, and you can't bear the pain of that thought.

☆ 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦: The word apapachar comes from Nahuatl, and means "to caress with the soul". It is considered one of the most beautiful words in Mexico, and, personally, it is my favorite of all the words in my language. Btw, sorry for any grammatical errors, English isn't my first language.

You always wait for Yoongi awake. Or at least you try to. The first few times weren't that hard: you just sat on the couch in front of the front door and after twenty minutes he would come in apologizing for being late. You didn't care. It wasn't that big of a deal.

He would come up to you and give you a kiss on the head, kneeling in front of you to rest his head on your lap as a way of apologizing. You always played hard to get, but you could never resist him and ended up accepting his offer of peace, starting to slip your fingers through his soft locks to brush them and massage his head.

It would all continue with Yoongi carrying you in his arms to his room to tuck you in, giving you kisses with quick flutters all over your face between his every move, ending with him hugging your body gently as he traced slow circles on your back.

"I love you" was the last thing you heard before falling into dreams.

But that wasn't happening anymore.

Not in a long time.

You can't remember the last day you even saw him at a time other than him coming out of the bedroom early in the morning, leaving you alone in the big bed you share.

In fact, you can't even be sure if you're still sharing it, as it's been two weeks since his presence in the evenings has been non-existent.

You've almost forgotten what his soothing touch feels like on your heavy back.

You glance at the clock by the door. 03:25 a.m.

Your eyes feel heavy and you don't think you can stay awake any longer. Although to be honest, not that that's of any use. Deep in your heart you know that Yoongi probably won't make it home tonight. Or the next.

Work? Yeah, maybe. You know how obsessive he can be when it comes to producing music. But you're suspicious. And it's at times like this that your doubts are triggered, embracing your unconscious in a way you hate.

You'd be lying if you said you've never wondered if there's someone else. It's normal, isn't it? And sure, you'd have your reasons for doubting, but it doesn't take you long to bury those thoughts to the back of your mind every time.

Only this time it's different.

The back-to-back unexplained absences and the strange barrier of distance that has risen between you do nothing to dull your thoughts.

Yes, maybe you found someone else. Someone who shares the same passion he does for music. Someone who doesn't need so much annoying physical affection. Someone he can talk to about his work without having to explain every little concept.

You feel your eyes fill with tears and your eyes sting.

3:50 a.m.

It wouldn't be hard for him to get someone else. You're the first to say he's the most handsome man you've ever seen, I mean, why did he pick you in the first place? Having thousands, millions, of options. Maybe you were just a passing fancy. Maybe he realized the women he could get and decided to pass you up. You wouldn't blame him if he decided to dump you in a corner at the drop of a hat.

At this point, you're curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around you. Silent tears slide down the surface of your skin and land on the soft fabric covering you.

It's okay, isn't it?

You love him. And people who love should step aside if they are no longer reciprocated. That's the way it should be.

You feel a blue feeling run through you from top to bottom. This only intensifies when you hear the door lock rattle heavily.

4:10 a.m.

Yoongi arrives.

When the door opens, you can see his silhouette walking wearily into the house, closing the door carefully behind him. His shadow moves and leaves his coat on the coat rack, sighing heavily. Yoongi moves toward you, but without noticing you yet. Not that there is any light to indicate your presence.

You feel a new horde of tears threatening to come out and you tremble.

Yoongi seems to notice a lump on the couch and turns on the lights just in time to see your figure writhing in spasms under the blanket.

His face goes from tired to worried in an instant.

"Honey, what's wrong, what are you doing awake at this hour?" Yoongi whispers as he approaches your trembling figure. His face looks alarmed as he stands in front of you.

What Yoongi watches closely are your watery eyes and flushed nose. Your flushed cheeks and tousled hair make him fidget.

You still can't speak. Not with the lump in your throat.

"Honey, please talk to me"

Yoongi insists, kneeling in front of you and reaching for your hands underneath the cloth. His heavy eyes are flashing an alarm signal beneath you.

"You are late. Again."

The words leave your throat in a wisp of a voice that Yoongi wouldn't have heard but for the silence there.

Yoongi clenches your hands and looks down, guilty.

"I... The job took me longer than expected, you know I've been working on the album I told you about and-"

You don't let him finish.

"You're going to leave me?" You ask, your voice hoarse. Your tone is the complete opposite of your current appearance, which is destroyed and tearful. Yoongi looks up at you, surprised by your question. He lets go of your hands.

"What are you talking about?"

You feel your chest tighten. You open your mouth again and try to speak, but only rubbery, unintelligible gasps come from your lips. Yoongi distinguishes a few loose things among your babbling, "You're always late," "I know I'm not as interesting as other women," and a halting, "I'll do better."

You don't know how to describe Yoongi's expression as he stands up and turns his back to you, mumbling. He holds his hair before asking you. "What woman are you talking about?"

You look up from the blanket and he turns to face you. Your eyes meet.

"Isn't that why you're not home?"

"I'm not-"

"Isn't that why you don't hug me?"

Yoongi can swear he feels his heart melt with an acidic sense of guilt after hearing you.

He rushes to hug you tightly, wrapping his arms around your sobbing body.

You are like this because of him.

It's his fault.

You feel like you could burst into tears right there.

"Oh, honey," Yoongi's voice sounds broken. More crying builds up in you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

You allow yourself to relax under his embrace. You missed him so much. Yoongi tightens his grip on you and drowns your sobs in his chest.

"I thought that- that I was the problem and that you didn't like me anymore-" you cry.

"Please, please don't say that," he begs. He takes your face in his hands and removes the hair over your face to look at you. Now you can make out the dark bags under his eyes. Now Yoongi's nose and cheeks are red too.

"I'm sorry" He says."Sorry for being away so much, sorry for not explaining anything to you, I didn't mean for you to feel this way..... I'm just- sorry for everything, honey..."

Yoongi kisses your face in messy motions, desperate to let you know he loves you, that he would never stop.

More apologies spill from his lips between each kiss. He takes special care to cover your nose and forehead with affection, mingling his own tears with yours.

"I-I love you so much and it has never crossed my mind to have anyone else. You're all I want with me, forgive me..."

Yoongi catches you in a protective embrace. You wrap your limbs around his torso, wrapping your legs around his waist and clinging to his body. He smiles, tracing the familiar circles on your back to reassure you. Your eyes close longingly at the movement of his fingers on your skin. You had missed him so much.

His breathing begins to soothe you, calming your crying after a few minutes. Yoongi buries his face in your hair, breathing slowly. He had missed you too.

After a few moments that felt long, you feel him stand up and lift you with him, carrying you all the way to his bedroom. He sets you down on the bed and asks you to let go.

"It will only take a moment, I promise. I'm not going anywhere," he says and gives you one of his rubbery smiles. You reluctantly agree, letting go to hug yourself.

Yoongi turns his back on you and walks over to the closet to find you some comfortable clothes to sleep in. He decides to bypass your pajamas and goes straight to his part of the closet to give you his favorite shirt and a pair of shorts. He pulls out his own change of clothes and lays them on the bed next to you.

You feel tired and it's no wonder, as it's after five in the morning. Yoongi takes off your top and puts on his shirt, kissing your shoulders before doing so. Then he puts on his shorts. When he finishes changing you to sleep he doles out more kisses on your face, leaving a soft one on your lips.

You wait for him to finish dressing and when he does, he takes one end of the blanket from the bed and wraps it around you, moving you around until he has laid down as well. He pulls you in until you are facing his chest and turns off the light, lulling you to sleep. His arms tighten around you as he draws slow patterns on your back.

Your eyelids feel heavy and you cling closer to his warmth, feeling yourself slowly fade away.

"I love you" Is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

#min yoongi #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x y/n #bangta boys #bangtan #bts suga #yoongi x reader angst #yoongi fluff #bts #yoongi oneshot

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amusingmusie · 7 months

Note

After seeing the non-canon demon interactions of Nel and Al in your god blessed writing. I can only imagine the mischief Nel would get up to after realising she can use Lucifer to her advance to get back at Al.

The chaos, I can see it now.

THIS IS FOR FUN ONLY AND NOT CANON TO YOURS TRULY

An Apple a Day

Lucifer motherfucking Morningstar is in the hotel. Nel is fighting not to stress smoke or shit her suit pants.

She cannot fuck up in front of this guy. Not fucking up is decently easy. She’s made plenty of mistakes- some of which landed her here in this inferno of eternal torment- but she’s also made plenty of sound choices, like huddling away in a corner of the lobby as she watches Lucifer occupy himself with rambling about the intricacies of crafting rubber ducks to his daughter and her girlfriend.

Because peace is never an option, a chill washes over her and static tingles dance on her skin- it's the only warning she receives of the incoming suffering.

Alastor materializes at her side with a crackling hum, one elbow propped up to rest on her head while the other grips his microphone. Nel doesn’t even flinch.

“Hello, my Negative Nelly! What are you doing skulking around this cobwebbed corner? You’re missing out on all of today’s grand fun!”

“The fun of you ribbing the big cheese of Hell, you mean,” she snaps, sticking out a finger to jab him in his ribs. “Cut that shit out. You’re playing with hellfire.”

Alastor drops into the floor before reforming on her opposite side, his other elbow weighing down on her skull.

“Jealous? Don’t be! My disdain for him could never compare to the special contempt we share.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I speak from the heart.”

“You don’t have one.”

“Oh, my sweet, you wound me!”

His dramatics grate on the single nerve of Nel’s that his hoofed feet haven’t trampled already. At this rate, he threatens to draw attention to them, and by proxy her, and she is not going to have Lucifer associate her with the jackass like everyone else in this ratty hotel already does.

She’s going nuclear.

“Allie,” she coos, placing her hand over his upon his staff, “I heard all that mess earlier with you and Charlie. If you wanted to have a daughter so badly, all you ever had to do was ask me.”

There’s a harsh, sharp pitch in radio waves while Alastor’s gray face twists into one of pure, utter, absolute mortification. The beanpole sinks down into his shadow on the musty carpet and darts away, becoming nothing more than a black mass fleeing to his radio tower.

Ah, she’s still got it.

A very pleased snicker catches her attention, and she snaps her head to the side, coming face to face with the devil she’d been trying to avoid all day. Mortified, she stammers over herself, staring up at Lucifer who’s beaming so widely that his red cheeks are pressing upwards into his eyeballs.

“Oh Jesus Christ- shit, no, not him- Your Majesty, I am so sorry you had to see that. Look-”

He holds out one hand to silence her. Nel brushes aside the indignation of being told what to do by a man and falls silent.

Then, he bends over and giggles.

“Are you kidding?” Lucifer wipes away a few tears threatening to fall down his rosy cheeks as he keels over cackling. “Oh, oh, oh! Woo! You! Ah, sweet Eden, that was incredible, phenomenal, fantastic! Way to stick it to that tacky piece of crap! Keep up the good work, uh-?”

“Penelope, sir. Or, uh, Nel. Nelly.”

“Keep up the good work, Nancy!” he chirps with a wink, clapping a hand onto her shoulder.

She blanches. “It’s Nelly.”

“That’s what I said! That’s what I said, right? What did I say?”

Awkward tension settles between them. One of her yellow eyes twitches.

After the brief pause, a mischievous grin slithers onto the king’s bone white face. “Well, Mel, if you ever find yourself in need of some assistance with that halitosis-ridden bellhop, don’t be a stranger!”

“...You don’t say?”

“Mhm! Now..." he leans in close to her, deathly serious, and Nel begins to fear that she's done something terribly wrong. "How do you feel about rubber ducks?”

Oh. Huh.

Maybe she does have an ally here after all.

#my asks #a drabble!#wow first time literally EVER writing for Lucifer #I hope I did him justice bc I'm SWEATING #the pookies

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euphoricfilter · 2 years

Note

hi love 💓 for the drabble game~ maybe to be festive hehe* "will you be my valentine?" or if not feeling that idea then maybe "oops, too late" with either namjoon or jungkook? au themes: dd/lg, vampire. ty in advance if possible to do ☺️ !

happy valentine’s day:

pairing: vampire! jungkook x vampire! reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au || established relationship || vampire au

summary: everyday is valentines day with jungkook

word count: 1.5k

tags/ warnings: fluff, soft vampy boyfriend! kook, mentions of blood/ consuming blood, injury that have been inflicted by jungkook on himself, slight dd/lg themes— he’s kinda just casually dominant and she’s very softy sub, manhandling, intended lowercase

notes: anything is possible my love!! so many options for me to choose from too, so i hope this is okay!! if you want me to write another with namjoon + the second sentence then let me know!! ~ prompts from this drabble game

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“will you be my valentine?”

jungkook feels you stop gnawing at his neck, lips detaching from his skin with a wet pop, eyebrows creasing.

he can’t tell if it’s from confusion, or him disturbing you when you’d finally settled down for the night; the prettiest little pyjama set clinging to your body, and the fluffiest little fox clung between your arms. buzzing world outside your four walls muted by the low hum of the television, both your chests deflating in unison with each breath you took.

the both of you so in-tune with one another that Jungkook often wonders if your hearts beat languid with one another, if his blood runs through your veins like he can feels yours flow through his. connection deeper than that of flimsy words that taste sweet on his tongue though never sweet enough; not as sweet as your blood when he drinks from dainty wrists and delicate arteries.

your lips were a pretty shade of pink that he expects matches the color of his neck, tender skin tickled against the cool air when you pull your face away far enough he can no longer feel your warm breath fanning over his skin.

with a recent visit to the doctors, your sharp canines had been filed down— a mean way to stop you from puncturing any more holes into your boyfriend’s skin.

he wasn’t fussed, never minded when you got a little carried away, cute little fangs always a little sore that you couldn’t help but bite down on his neck, teething on a shoulder, even an arm would do. you never had been too picky.

really anything to alleviate the throbbing ache in your gums; and precious things like you always get a little carried away, especially when your precious little fangs sink a little further than you’d intended. sweet blood coating your tongue until you’re lapping it up off jungkook’s skin until you’re sated a sleepy. always an accident though you never minded the outcome.

however, your doctor hadn’t been all too happy with this revelation, and you’d curled into Jungkook’s side when the both of you had been berated, with your legs kicking out anxiously from atop of the medical table. because as much as you wanted to drink your boyfriend’s blood until you dozed off in his lap with his hands tangled in your hair— cow’s blood was a lot more nutritional.

since then, the two of you had been figuring out ways to work around this little dilema. you still had sore gums, only this time the worst you could do was give Jungkook a hickey and then cry pitiful crocodile tears until he slashed his palm open and let you feed off his blood.

Jungkook was a weak man and he couldn’t bare to see you crying. not when you tugged at his sleeve, begging him to pull his sweater off so you could get a small taste, only for your blunt canines to nibble over his skin; unable to do anything other than chew until his skin was painted red and purple and you were left hungry and fussy. hard to settle down of a night time and grouchy in the morning when you had to wake up for an early lecture.

“valentine?” you ask, finger running over your bottom lip in thought.

“yes, my valentine specifically” he confirms, “what do you think, baby?”

you nod, eyes meeting his own and you can’t help the smile that curls onto your lips.

“why’d you look so unsure?” he whines, hands hooking under your arms, pulling you over his lap until your thighs are straddling his own— weight settled over his lap with grounding hands running up your sides until you shiver in sweet pleasure.

“i was just thinking” you start, fingers petting over the soft fur of your fox— a one year anniversary gift Jungkook had bought off a whim years ago, “you treat everyday like valentine’s day”

“that’s only because i love you” he coos, “and my pretty little baby deserves the best”

“i love you too” your nose scrunches up, a giggle bubbling up your throat when he presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

“yes to being my valentine then?”

“mmhmm” you nod, smile stretching out into a yawn.

“my sleepy baby” he croons, fingers brushing your hair from your face, “how about we get you to bed and kookie will plan you the best valentine’s day, yeah?”

he smiles against your forehead when you wrap your arms around his neck, “good girl”

Jungkook had always been meticulous with his planning, especially when it came to you. and when you’d told him he treated every day like valentine’s day, he took it upon himself to outdo what he does for you all the time.

you hadn’t seemed all that skeptical when he’d asked you to pick up next month’s worth of blood-bags alone— simply sending him a sticker in reply to his request without any further questions after your last lecture of the day.

he thinks you must have fully forgotten it was even valentine’s day to begin with when you open the door, eyes wide where he can’t tell if you’re simply overwhelmed or there’s little stars of interest dancing behind your irises.

“kook?” you ask, fumbling with the paper bag as you drop it on the kitchen table, any prior confusion morphing into pure wonder when you catch sight of the blankets laid out in the living room.

“hey baby” you jump, hand flying to your heart when your boyfriend almost skips out of the bedroom, arms piled with all your favorite plushies.

“is that from the bedroom?” you point to the mattress, eyes flitting between all the velvety blankets that shield the couch.

“yep” he smiles, dropping what you assume to be his second load of plushies onto the bedding, if the pile that already lined the back of the couch were any indication, “happy valentine’s day”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, arm weaving it’s way round your waist until your head knocks against his chest. heartbeat slowly thumping against your ear.

“you did all of this for me?” you tilt your head to look up at him.

“of course, i tried to bake cookies but they lost their shape, i thought you’d still like them with some milk”

“yes please” you nod, kicking your shoes off, Jungkook bending to pick them up— placing them beside his own by the front door before he’s slinking into the kitchen.

he places the plate in-front of you, keeping your cup of milk on the coffee table before he’s sitting down behind you, legs spread wide enough he has no problem tugging you between them.

“i tried salvaging them with icing, they don’t really look like hearts anymore” he cringes, hand running over the length of your thigh, fingers teasing the skin under your skirt.

“they’re pretty, thank you kookie” you tilt your head backwards, head knocking against his throat, and you can feel the vibration of his laugh when you place a gentle kiss to the stubble on the underside of his chin.

“i’m glad you like them” one of his hands hold your jaw, thumb brushing over delicate skin as you chew, humming as your feet wiggle; always happy when it comes to sweets.

“drink up, baby. hopefully this helps your pretty little fangs grow back stronger than before” he presses the cup to your lips, hold still firm on your head as he helps you tip it backwards; thumb brushing the little bit of milk that dribbles down your chin.

“they don’t hurt as much these days” you tell him, barely able to finish your sentence before you’re chewing on another cookie.

“do you think that teether helped?” he hums when you sink further into his chest.

you think about it for a moment, “maybe the ice one”

“i’ll buy you another one, they only had red last time— how about pink?”

“i like that”

“wanna hear my plan for the rest of the day?”

you blink, craning your neck to get a better look at his eyes, “plan?”

“this isn’t all we’re doing, i’ve planned the best valentines for my best girl”

“you’ve already done a lot for me though”

he presses a finger to your lips, “none of that. we’ll get you dressed all nice and pretty, i’ll even do your hair if you want, and then i called that little place in the park to make sure they’re open and you can pick whichever cake you want. and then we can open your gifts—“

“gifts?” you push yourself up, “what kind?”

“that’s a surprise, baby” he coos, firm kiss pressed to the corner of your lip, “and then i may or may not have bought you a new friend for bed and he’s all tucked in with your little fox”

“really?” you bounce a little, fingers grasping onto his arms, “thank you, thank you”

“come on” he pats your thigh, “kookie will dress you up in that cute pink dress you have and then we can go get cake and if you’re good then i’ll let you feed off me before bed”

💕 thank you for reading!! feedback is always encouraged, and happy valentines day!

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts jungkook #bts #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts non idol au #bts x reader #bts au #vampire bts #bts fic #drabble game

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kaybreezy3000 · 9 months

Text

Bad Things (Five Hargreeves/Reader)

~Psychopathy is a neuropsychiatric disorder marked by deficient emotional responses, lack of empathy, the inability to distinguish between right and wrong, poor behavioral controls, and behaviors that contradict social norms which then commonly result in persistent antisocial deviance and criminal behavior.

Enter, Five Hargreeves, everyone's favorite little psycho.

(Chapter Three Post)

---If you need to go back to read the summary and the first two chapters first, hit the link below. Chapter 4 through seven will be added soon...

Link to Chapters 1-2

Warnings and tags: Mental disintegration, psychological trauma, effects of isolation, masturbation, non-consensual voyeurism, explicit sexual content, bondage, POV altering, touch starved, obsessive behavior, inanimate object love, and many other sexually deviant themes all mixed with a lovely twist that you will hopefully enjoy...

---In this chapter, we start the POV switches, and they will be made clearer by large page breaks in-between.

Chapter Three: Creep

Running through his options, Five makes the quick determination that after what he just did, he can’t stay here. He needs to get the girl back inside her apartment, then he will get Dolores and together they will run.

Thanks to his fake ID, nobody knows who he really is, but as soon as the girl can, she’s going to call the police and have them search the apartments across from hers. His family will figure out what he’s been doing, and Five can already hear them going on and on about how disgusting he is.

Everyone already thinks he is a psycho, and this further proves it. His siblings may not throw him under the bus because doing so would obviously tie him to them, but it’s still possible that someone could figure out that the once famous missing boy Number Five Hargreeves is not dead like the world thought and he is not at all the person he was before he disappeared.

The possibility of the whole world knowing about the monster he has become is only adding to the heartbreak that the people he has cared about and fought for his entire life will hate him more than they already do. All this has Five questioning everything.

They were all he lived for, and he lost them, and now this.

“You really screwed yourself this time you sick asshole,” Five angrily curses as he starts hauling the unconscious girl across the parking lot towards her building.

As if all that isn’t bad enough, Five realizes that he just ensured himself a lifetime of running from the law. This means no more trying to pretend to be a part of something he’s not, but it also means that he will have no other option but to resort to other, much less legal means of surviving.

He failed at life again and there’s a big part of him that just wants to throw in the towel and let them lock him away. But the same part of him that wouldn’t give up for the last sixty years is still there in the back of his mind screaming at him to keep fighting.

Committed to his plan, Five is about to start crossing the short distance to the girl’s building when a man in a janitorial uniform comes out the back door. Being taken off guard by his sudden appearance, Five inelegantly drops to his knees behind a parked car with the girl folding down with him on the dirty cement.

As the man crosses the lot, Five does his best to calm his heavy breaths to a more manageable level. He hasn’t had the chance to let his racing heart slow down since his extremely drunk sprint down the stairs.

Not being his usual stealthy, in control self and not being able to easily blink himself out of this situation is enough to make Five’s mounting panic much worse. The fact that he just heard the door electronically lock after the guy closed it isn’t helping either. It didn’t even occur to him that her building might need an entrance code.

“God, damnit!” he quietly hisses.

He could slip in behind someone, but that’s not likely at this hour, and not with the girl passed out in his arms. Hitting random buttons in the hopes that someone will buzz him in will get the police called or it will wake the whole building, so that’s a big fat no.

As the other man pulls out of the lot, Five makes a split-second decision based on his most recent plan being blown all to hell. He does not want to leave the girl outside lying on the ground, especially in this neighborhood. He’ll have to leave her in his apartment. He’s screwed one way or the other. It really doesn’t matter where he puts her as long as it is safe. He’ll grab only what he has to, and he’ll be gone before she fully comes to.

Five pushes his back against the car, using it to help balance him as he gets them both upright again. Then swooping the girl up in his arms, the alcohol gets the best of him and Five accidentally stumbles backwards into the car before moving forward towards his own building.

“I am never drinking again,” he declares, weaving with each step he takes. Five is trying so hard to push past how dizzy he feels, but drunk is drunk and it’s getting worse.

After the girl blew him off tonight, Five had the grand plan of passing out in a super sloshed stupor. The whiskey he tried to drown his sorrows in is catching up with him by this point and he’s realizing that finishing the whole bottle was just one more bad decision to add to the many others he’s made tonight.

When Five opens the lower-level door to his complex, he can see that no one is in the shabby hallway that leads to the elevator, and it seems like his shitty luck is changing because the thing is working, and it’s already on the ground floor.

There’s no way he would have made it up the stairs at this point. Heavy feet scuffing along across the worn tiles, Five moves inside, throwing his elbow against the button for the seventh floor.

As soon as the doors close, he woozily drops his weight back on the wall, and sets the girl down, keeping one arm around the girl’s waist to hold her upright and the other angled across her chest to keep her from tipping forward.

Five can hardly grasp how quickly he just fucked everything up. A few minutes ago, he was in the throes of personal passion, about to blow his load all over his costly dress pants, and the next he sealed the deal that he was completely ruining his already ruined life.

Five is being consumed by his deeply depressing thoughts about himself as the old elevator doors close and it groans to life. The girl’s flowery smelling hair is rubbing up against the side of his cheek, and he can feel the heat of her body pressing back against him in a very tormenting way considering his self-self-absorbed cock brain hasn’t caught up to speed yet that he is not sitting there in his kitchen with his hand on his dick about to destroy his own lap with jizz.

His partial erection from that sad whack fest is wedged right between this girl’s warm cheeks, and it’s just like he was imagining positioning himself on her Monday night.

Now that Five has the girl’s body pressed up next to his while he’s holding her in what many would think looks like it’s a very loving embrace, the truth that he has actually been violating her by watching her and getting his rocks off is impossible to ignore.

You can’t imagine something if it’s right in front of you physically touching you. The entire fantasy he’s been creating in his head just completely disintegrated.

Now things just got very real and it’s not in a good way.

“I am so sorry I am doing this to you,” he hotly breathes, his forehead falling even more against the girl’s shoulder as he forces down the growing sickness in his stomach.

With extreme sadness, Five thinks about the trauma he just inflicted on this girl. Five knows trauma and his own experiences with it is what resulted in him being unable to put himself out there to have anything worthwhile in his life.

He had wanted nothing more than to know what it was like to passionately hold someone he cared about and who also cared about him, but the horror of how it’s happening right now is unbelievable. It seems like this must be happening to someone else.

Five is so tormented by all this, and intoxicated, that he doesn’t realize he hasn’t been holding any pressure on the girls’ neck since he carried her inside. Her knuckles make unexpected contact, hitting the bridge of his nose. Five eyes instantaneously pinch shut to the intense sensation of shooting pain that makes everything in his face burn and his eyes flood with tears.

The girl’s furious screech reverberates inside the elevator. “Get off me!”

Taking Five’s momentary inability to function, her other arm wiggles free from the arm he has around her waist. She pulls away, maneuvering her fist back and down at the same time, nailing him right between the legs.

“Ff-ah-ckkk!”

Five’s sudden high pitch yelp comes out just as loud as the girl’s cry, but unlike her, his verbal alarm ends in a very hushed groan followed by a whisper of a wheeze as he frantically fights not to double over and also maintain his hold on the back of her sweater.

Five gags down his vomit that is threatening to make this even worse, and while he is immersed in the sensations of pure agony, she comes at him again.

Somehow, Five manages to move his head back just in time, narrowly avoiding another jab to the face. Her hand hits his upper sternum instead and just as fast, her fingers find their way around his silk tie, yanking his head forward with it.

Five instinctively retaliates by violently twisting his arm around her neck.

“St-ooo-ppp,” he splutters as they choke each other.

“Let go!” she piercingly shrieks before she’s completely deprived of the air to do so.

Dropping her weight as her fingers dig at Five’s arm doesn’t have the desired effect of getting him to let go, so she digs her heels into the floor plowing backwards instead.

Her reverse attack makes Five’s dress shoes slip out from under him on the grimy floor. The impact of Five’s head as it swings back into the metal wall makes a cracking sound that leaves the wall vibrating.

Totally in shock and seeing the brilliant scattering of stars filling his vision, Five’s free arm swings out, searching for the railing behind him, but he misses. He starts to lose consciousness. All at once, his full body weight is hanging on the girl’s neck as darkness begins swallowing up his remaining vision.

The girl lets out a helpless sounding whimper as they start to fall.

Beyond faint and feeling equally helpless, Five inadvertently squeezes his arm tighter, using the girl to pull himself upright again. To his relief, her fingers suddenly release the sleeve of his dress shirt and her arms flop down limply at her sides.

DING!

At the same time the doors rumble open, the girl’s legs give out and Five almost drops her.

Unable to think let alone function like he normally would, Five hoists her back up then unsteadily stumbles out of the elevator with the girl’s feet dragging between his legs.

Light-headedly glancing both ways, he is beyond grateful that no one is out there looking to see what all yelling was about.

Beaten and bloodied, Five makes it inside his own door a few seconds later and his first move is getting them both over to the bed because he still feels like he may fall flat on his face.

Five hastily drops the girl down next to Dolores, then he moves towards his kitchen, swaying as he navigates the short distance.

After getting the shit beat out of him, he is quickly processing the fact that he needs to adjust his original plan to drop her and go. He is going to need to shake at least some of his drunken and concussed brain fog before he can walk even remotely straight. If he doesn’t, he may pass out in the street or his own hallway with his face smacked down in a pile of his own puke.

The idea of the cops finding him like that, with the addition of Dolores lying next to him, is enough to push along Five’s new approach to make this all still work out in both their favor. The most important thing he figures right now is that he needs to keep this girl quiet for a little while before he is functioning enough to leave.

Five throws open the utility cabinet, his unfocused eyes landing on the hook with the wound-up nylon rope hanging on it. The apartment’s previous other weirdo occupant had left many things behind, but unlike the loads of old stuffed animals, this was one thing that Five didn’t throw away being it had many practical uses. In this case, tying someone up.

“They are right, you are a psycho,” Five mutters to himself as he digs around finding nothing else useful.

Next, opening the first drawer next to the refrigerator, he grabs his switchblade and his revolver. It had been Five’s norm to always carry both these weapons, but he stopped when he figured out that there were no field operatives from The Commission coming after him in this new world because there was no more Commission.

Klaus was right, he thinks. He was better when he had an evil taskmaster to keep him in line.

Staggering a little as he turns around, he sets the gun on the kitchen table and tucks the knife into the waistband of his pants. Next, making it back over to the bed with what he figures will be enough to keep the girl safely detained till he is more composed, Five is surprised to see that she isn’t waking up yet.

He says her name.

Nothing.

Five throws the rope on the bed, then picks up her wrist, checking her pulse. He doesn’t feel one, so his trembling fingers move to her neck, pressing against her throat instead. The girl doesn’t react to him touching her, and Five still can’t feel anything.

“Oh, no, no, NO, NO !” He says the girl’s name a few more times, and again he gets nothing. “Dolores, I didn’t mean to- Shit, shit, fucking SHIT!"

Feeling like he’s losing what’s left of his mind, Five doesn’t know what to say, and even though Dolores is right there, she doesn’t respond to his terrified ramblings.

Even though his mind is spinning out of control, Five’s years of training kick in. He jumps on the bed, rolling the girl on her side. Then he lifts her chin, putting her in the recovery position that you are supposed to do for someone when trying to revive them after being fully choked out. The maneuver makes the girl’s mouth fall open and Five checks to make sure that her airway is not blocked, or that her own tongue didn’t slip back in her throat.

Everything is normal. She should be able to breathe, but for some reason she is not, and she is not waking up.

Kneeling over her, one hand on her back, Five starts rubbing. “Come on, breathe! You’re strong, you just showed me how strong you are. Breathe damn it!”

He knows very well how this works, and giving her CPR will do nothing because this is not happening to her because of cardiac arrest.

Lifting her legs so that more blood moves to her brain is not that effective at helping to revive someone in this condition, and it’s sure as hell not going to work if she’s already gone. Five could stand her on her head and no amount of blood running to her brain will bring her back if she is dead.

“Come on! NO! You can’t die!” he angrily pleads, even as both his hands keep at it, one now methodically trying to massage life into her cold legs.

Counting the minutes in his head, Five can’t really say how long he would have been squeezing tight enough to fully deprive her of oxygen. He knows that all it takes is a matter of a minute like that and someone can face permanent brain damage or death.

They were in the parking lot for only a minute or so after she swung the bat at him. He knows he let up on her throat enough during that time because she woke up a little when they were crouched behind that car. She was moving in his lap, and he heard soft moaning sounds coming out of her. Then as soon as the car pulled out of the lot, he carried her in, not choking her at all.

In the elevator, he fucked-up big time and he let her wake up completely. Five is sure that she was never completely out more than twice and for no more than about thirty seconds at a time.

Right?

From where Five has himself positioned next to the girl, one of his knees is pressing against Dolores’s hip and with glistening eyes he looks from the girl to her.

“I didn’t mean to do this,” he insists.

Again, Dolores says nothing to calm Five or reassure him like she normally would. His watery eyes plead with her, but he gets nothing.

“Oh my God, thank you,” Five cries, with his head swinging back to the girl. His hand on her back slowly begins to rise and fall as she comes back to life. “That’s it. Keep breathing, it’s going to be okay.”

The girl slowly begins to move her legs and Five puts his hands under her side, sliding her small body up closer to the headboard. She makes a small sound of complaint at being handled, but he still needs to restrain her hands, or she’ll be trying to fight him again the second she’s aware of what is happening.

Mechanically, Five flips open his long switchblade so he can quickly cut the correct lengths of rope with it. Then just as fast, he makes tight loops around both of her wrists. Seeing that he’s at least not totally fucking that up that lesson he learned over and over as a child, and that her arms are snuggly secured above her head to his headboard, he risks looking over at Dolores again.

“I think she’s okay. I know how this looks, but you know that I didn’t mean to do this. I was never going to go near her. It was only supposed to be just me waahh-"

Five can’t finish that one, and that is because saying that it was only supposed to be him watching the girl doesn’t make it okay. None of this is okay. His eyelids lower and he rubs the area between his eyes.

“Please talk to me, sweetheart. I don’t know what to do. I think something is very, very wrong with me. I need you,” he pleads, winching in pain as the trickle of blood from his nose continues to drip down over his upper lip.

Five gets nothing back, and right now, he needs his trusted voice of reason more than ever. In his head, he can only imagine that Dolores is not acknowledging him because she is questioning why he is tying this poor girl up like this if he supposedly didn’t mean to do this.

To him, she is probably thinking that he is going to hurt her even more than he already has and that makes Five spiral even worse.

“Please don’t hate me. The only reason she’s tied up is because I need to stay here long enough to make sure she’s going to make it, and I can’t leave like this. I need time to clean up,” he tries to explain. “I will get us out of here. We can start over,” he promises.

His blurring eyes dart from Dolores to the girl, then back again.

With tears starting to run down his face, Five gasps out a devastated sob, “Dolores, I need help. Please, talk to me!” Again, she doesn’t react, and his reddened eyes fearfully widen. “Dolores!” The quiver in his voice matches the quiver in his bloodied hands.

Nothing.

Five just drug in the near lifeless body of the very real girl from across the alley, placing her in the bed next to his beloved. Now, having them both laying there opposite each other, all he can see in the mannequin’s normally devoted expression of limitless acceptance is the actual lifeless object she is.

Just like in the elevator with the girl right there with him, now Five is finding that he can’t pretend anymore.

Dolores’s face stares out blankly, the matte finished paint of her sky-blue eyes will not meet his.

In Five’s entire time with her, this has never happened.

As Five moves himself down the girl’s legs, snaking the nylon around her ankles, he does so with the shock of knowing that Dolores finally left him.

Now he really has nothing to live for.

Feeling totally out of it, liquid dribbles from your slack mouth. You feel the softest tickle as the hair that’s stuck to your cheek pulls away.

“Wha thhh-ah," you start to mumble, but you are so groggy that at first you can’t even complete a thought let alone string two measly words together.

It feels like you are in bed, but you don’t remember going to bed.

In your jumbled thoughts, you recall going on a blind date with a guy from a stupid dating website. That obviously turned out to be a very bad decision. You should have known this guy was bad news when he showed up early and he somehow snuck inside your building instead waiting down in the parking lot.

At the end of the night, the douche monger insisted on walking you to your door, and then he really upped his creep factor when he jumped on you.

You remember feeling extremely unhinged and completely repulsed by what he did. As such, you figured that it was a excellent idea to educate the prick on what would happen if he ever tried that date rape shit on anyone again.

As this all comes back to you, your eyes start to flutter open, but the room is dim, and your vision is badly distorted.

More liquid slips inside your parted lips.

“Please, wake up,” the softest male voice worriedly whispers.

Hearing that, you immediately try to move, but like the voice, everything feels wrong. It feels like your arms and legs aren’t working right.

You feel a warm hand on your back slowly moving back and forth.

That’s when you remember that strange man in the parking lot.

“No,” you croak out, as you remember the unmistakable shape of his firm manhood pressing up against your ass as he cut off your air supply with the constriction of his arm around your already bruised throat.

It feels like something is still wrapped around your neck but whatever it is, it’s not painful and tight, it’s cold.

This doesn’t make sense.

Your mouth quickly shuts, your eyes flying open, as you try to sit up. Adding to your horror, you find that you can’t. Your arms flex and pull but they won’t give in to your request. Your chest and bottom rise off the bed only to immediately get pulled back down.

As your vision clears, you realize that someone is sitting next to you.

Dark hair dangles over pale green colored eyes.

The expression on his face is empty, not at all the way it was when you first laid eyes on it. Then, this lunatic appeared harmless. He even looked greatly concerned for your well-being. His eyes were conveying such open sorrow that it threw you off enough to let him approach.

He was acting like he knew you. He called you by name.

You open your mouth to scream but he quickly covers the sound with a thick fold of fabric that a second ago must have been around the cold pack that is now on his lap. His eyes narrow as his hand firmly presses the towel against your face.

As air wheezes through your partially blocked nose, he says, “Don’t. Do. That. Again.”

Every word out of his mouth is filled with warning.

Even if you weren’t already completely scared stiff, just the look in his eyes has the sound of your own blood thrumming in your ears and your heart feeling like it’s going to burst out of your chest.

This can’t be the same voice you just heard speaking so compassionately.

Looking for help, your eyes try to take in the room behind him, but you don’t see anyone else.

Angling your chin backwards, you see someone illuminated by the small bedside lamp, but your own eyes grow even wider when you realize that the woman lying there next to you is not alive.

It’s an old, full body mannequin like you would normally see at a dump or in a second-hand clothing store.

You try to scream again but he pushes his hand down harder, completely muffling it.

“I said, DON’T!” he growls as you yank at the ropes binding your wrists. They won’t budge and that’s because you are tied to a very heavy-looking wooden headboard.

Trying to move your legs again, you realize that each ankle is tied much like your hands, then fastened by extended lines of rope to opposite bed posts at the foot of the bed.

It dawns on you that this is his bed.

This perverted asshole saw what your douchebag date did to you. He has been watching you for who knows how long, and now he has abducted you. Your legs are spread wide, and your skirt is pushed up so high from your floundering that you know he can see right under it from where he’s sitting.

You can’t believe this is happening, but it is.

Again, you remember feeling this fucker pressing himself on you. He was hard.

This guy was turned on by squeezing the life out of you, and he has a plastic woman in his bed!

Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!

This is so bad.

As you mentally lose your shit, his eyes never leave yours. One of his thighs is pressing against your side and he’s still holding the bottle he must have been feeding you with, but from the way he is sitting at the edge of the bed, you can’t tell if he is still aroused.

You want to scream at him to let you go but you can do nothing. You are entirely at his mercy.

The only reasons you can come up with for why he is doing this aren’t good, but you force yourself not to go there. You have to focus.

Since he’s not actually touching, touching you yet, you try to concentrate on the rest of your surroundings, looking for some way out of this.

There is an old looking electric stove in a small kitchen area across the room, with an equally old looking refrigerator next to it. A small beat-up looking table sits under one of the only two windows and it has an empty liquor bottle on it and something black that looks like a revolver of some kind.

Great.

You remember smelling the strong scent of booze on his breath in the elevator. He is clearly shit faced. Your eyes flit back to his. He hasn’t moved at all.

Oh my God, you are going to die.

Looking out again, you see that in front of the bed, there’s a very battered looking recliner. Other than the basics, there is nothing someone would have that would give signs that they lived there. There are no pictures on the walls. No TV, no shelves full of personal belongings. Next to the recliner, on the floor, you can just make out that there is a stack of books, but that is it.

You see what must be the door to get out, and one that is narrower and has slatted vents in it, meaning it’s a closet. Behind you, when you tilted your head back to look at what was holding you from moving your arms, you saw what appeared to be a tiny bathroom.

At first glance, you see nothing that can help you. It’s just some psycho guy’s shitty shoe box sized apartment.

His indifferent reaction as you look around his home is jarring. The flawlessly smooth skin on his face gives the impression of youthful innocence, but what he’s doing proves he is far from it.

You’re betting this fancy dressing Ted Bundy has got piles of bodies under his bed and body parts galore in his freezer. Now you see it; he’s totally the type!

SHIT!

His expensive looking three-piece suit didn’t make sense in this neighborhood. Now splatters of blood stain the sleeves of his white dress shirt. He clearly used the cuffs to wipe his nose based on the numerous red smears.

You wish so badly that you’d hit him hard enough to break his whole stupid face.

You risk looking at more of him, and you see that he is missing the tie he had on before, and you can only assume that is because the first chance you had, you latched on to it and tried to strangle him with it.

He is clearly not taking any chances of that happening again.

Uselessly trying to wriggle away from him, your arms pull down on the ropes and the heels of your bare feet slide across his rumpled bedding.

He took off your shoes!

Your stomach sickens with the realization that he has already been touching you when you were unconscious.

Again, you notice how high your skirt is, but he isn’t looking there, his cold eyes remain fixed on yours.

You can’t help it when you scream under his hand, but that only makes him even more scary looking. His features contort ominously.

“This is not what I wanted. I-” He suddenly pauses, a line forms between his eyes as they run over your face, down your body and back up again. “You never should have lifted that bat.”

You try to tell him that you don’t care what he wants or that he didn’t want his head bashed in, but your words are totally stifled by the persistent pressure of his hand.

“You kept fighting me. I had no choice but to do what I did,” he scolds, like this is your fault rather than his.

He reaches over to the bedside table, setting the bottle of water down, then he picks up another length of rope off of it. The moment he removes his hand from your mouth, he forces your lips apart, jabbing the cloth inside. His other hand is already behind your head, pushing it forward as he works the rope between your lips.

As he ties the ends at the nape of your neck you realize it’s to keep the gag in. Your mouth is so full of fabric that not even the roaring animalist growls coming out of you are even remotely loud enough to get anyone’s attention.

Your teeth bare down on the nylon fibers as you glare at him in blind hatred.

Eyes darting away from yours, he slowly starts to sit up, but he abruptly stops when you let out a pathetic mewing sound. Those green eyes of his give the faintest hint of something as he watches the burning hot tears rolling back into your hairline.

His hand comes up brushing his dark chocolate colored hair out of his eyes before tucking it behind his ears. His eyes close so sluggishly it is like it pains him to take in the very deep breaths he is all of a sudden taking.

The heavy fringe of his lashes sweeps his cheeks covering the dark hued skin under his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, but the faint bruising that is starting to form is also from when you hit him, and it only seems to be showing at all because of how fair his skin is.

First, sexual assault and now you are finishing your fabulous Friday night off being this crazy prick’s new and improved sex doll.

Is this really going to be your final fate? Live a subpar existence scratching to get by, working meaningless jobs to pay the rent, then die because some crazy asshole across the alley from you decided to remove you from the world for his own sick satisfaction?

You would laugh at your ridiculously bad luck if you weren’t crying and if you could actually laugh.

He’s going to kill you. There’s no other way out of this.

“Just let me go,” you beg him. It comes out of you, but with hardly any sound though saying it makes his eyes dart back to yours anyway.

His face is one of those that you’ve seen that can express the most heart wrenching emotion if he lets it. Right now, it seems it’s more of failing to hide it than intentionally showing that he’s not as cold as he is pretending to be.

His prominent jaw line seems even more dramatic as you notice him clenching his teeth. It makes the dimple on his cheek stand out even more. He looks so sad, and that reaction is baffling because a moment before he looked like he felt nothing and didn’t even have the tiniest amount of remorse or humanity in him.

You swear you see his hand closest to you trembling.

That has to mean something.

You try to plead with him again, but hearing it, he steels his expression to nothingness again, he stands, preparing to walk away from you.

Christ! Even crazy vagrants on the street don’t have the gift to emotionally turn off and on as quickly as this guy can, and that’s no matter how long gone their minds are.

If you could just get through to him somehow, then maybe you’d have a chance, but how can you do that if he is mentally all over the place.

As he moves, you can see his entire body more clearly. He has straight shoulders, but he is hunching them forward in an odd way that doesn’t match his young age. His chin is angled down to the floor like he simply can’t stand looking at anything else.

His trim waist is defined even more by his tailored vest. He’s one of those guys who has that V-shaped torso that comes from having zero body fat. He’s all lean muscle and bone. Add the fitted black dress pants enhancing the slim look of him and you’d think he’s nobody to worry about, but you know already that he is not weak. Under this misleading appearance is hiding the very dangerous man that just took you.

Your eyes follow his every move as he travels over to the other side of the bed. Again, you swear you see the look of pure agony in his face as he lifts the mannequin and sets her down a few feet away over by the window on what has to be a stand because the thing is standing there dressed all pretty like she belongs in a 90's department store not this freak job’s apartment.

He goes ghostly still with one of his hands resting on the form of its narrow waist.

You hear him softly talking to it and it’s almost exactly the way you heard him speaking when you were coming to.

“Dolores, please… I love you,” he pleads. He is looking at the dummy like he is expecting it to answer him.

When you look to the window beyond him over there having this extremely bizarre moment with his plastic girlfriend, you see the flowers dangling from your own flower box blowing in the wind.

He was right across from you the whole time.

You look over again at the single chair pulled up at the small table next to the window. You can just imagine him sitting there in the dark, finishing off that bottle, watching you.

Being an opportunistic perv that gets turned on by peeping on others is one thing, but this guy was getting off by watching you get attacked and he was clearly also turned on by attacking you.

He’s a sexual sadist and while he rapes you, he is going to do his best to make you suffer even more!

Animalistic sounds of pure desperation erupt from your chest, and they get even louder when he abruptly turns away from his one-sided conversation with the mannequin and comes back towards the bed.

You see his expression change to something fierce and dangerous. His entire body seems to thrum like a bowstring drawn taut. You can almost feel the carefully restrained violence about to explode all over you.

His gaze is so intense that your whole body shudders and his voice comes out so achingly low that he sounds like a different person. “If you have already done the worst things a human could do, would it matter if you sealed it that the devil owns you?”

You do not like where this is going. You shake your head side to side, denying him. You refuse to draw the parallels he is trying to make in justifying what he’s going to do.

“I lost everything. There is no point in fighting anymore,” he whispers.

Even though you don’t want to give them to him, tears trickle down your cheeks again. Seeing them, the faintest trace of a sound comes from somewhere deep inside his chest.

There is something. Something inside all that coldness. He looks sad. You are the one tied to his bed, and he looks sad…

What?

After another minute of him seeming to consider something, he begins to hungrily study you, or at least it appears that way to you in that slow, languid way his eyes roamed over your body. When they hover over your chest, your breath hitches, and you think you hear his hitch too.

“Go fuck yourself, asshole!” you frantically cry, adding every curse word you know and even adding some new ones specially invented just for him. It comes out garbled, but you are sure he is getting the gist.

He reaches for the bottle of water on the nightstand, his eyes roll back in his head, and he almost falls down as he proceeds to pound it.

After stumbling and then tossing the empty bottle on the floor, he moves across the bed, crawling on hands and knees towards you. The mattress sags beneath his weight as he bends down on top of you.

His weight hovers over you, and your fingers curl into fists. Your arms pulled down but to no avail.

Reactively, when his hand comes towards your face, you pull back as much as you can. He stops for a second, dark brows furrowing like he doesn’t understand your reaction.

“Sweetheart, no, please. You know I'd never hurt you,” he slurs, then his long fingers gently run across your skin to wipe your tears away.

You shudder.

He still has that look. You know it even though you don’t know him. It’s the look of misery.

He brushes your tangled hair back and the frown on his face deepens. Those pale cheeks of his suddenly flush with…

Arousal? Shame? Murderous rage? You have no idea until you look between your bodies, and you see that his crotch region is definitely tenting in a way it wasn't a few minutes ago.

Very slowly, he traces the bruises your date left on your neck with a finger. The sensation makes you shiver in fear, and you see him shiver too. You are sure he’s about to lower himself on you but then he rolls off, staggers to the bathroom, and then slams the door behind him.

Entering his bathroom, Five’s body falls forward over the small counter. He clings to the edge holding himself steady, while hoping he will be able to think clearer now that he is away from the girl.

Five is completely overwhelmed with unimaginable levels of sorrow and gross intoxication, but the worst of it is the very demanding reaction his body is having over seeing the girl laying under him on his bed. As bad of shape as he is in, Five can’t even link together any coherent thoughts other than that when he looked at the girl, he was seeing Dolores.

“Dolores, no,” he breathlessly cries in pure unfiltered agony over the gut-wrenching loss he feels.

Wanting to stop the pain and unable to operate on anything but pure brainless need, rather than hurt the girl because he has completely lost his mind, Five desperately begins to hurt himself.

He lowers his head even more, panting out panicked gasps for air as one of his trembling hands starts to rub the front of his pants.

“Please. Fuck. Help me,” he moans, meaning much more than the words can convey as his other hand fumbles to get his zipper down.

Once he has himself free, Five is quick to start jerking himself with an intensity and cruelty that only makes his head spin even more than it already is.

“Nahhhh-nnnn-” His instant moans of pleasure are followed by the top of his head accidentally banging up against the oval mirror hanging above the sink.

Pumping his hips, Five rams the hand he is using to grope his tight balls, jamming it abusively right up against the edge of the counter. His angry touches feel so damn good despite the punishment that the combination only makes him moan even louder.

His knees bang over and over against the cabinet as he finds every way possible to inflict pain on himself while also giving in to that heady desire trying to consume him.

Five winces as his knuckles begin to split after making contact too many times with the hard surface, but he doesn’t stop doing it. He wants this sweet torture to drown out the rest of his unbearable suffering.

Hair falling in his eyes and his skin feeling like it’s on fire, Five’s other hand continues taking care of the rest of his shaft. His fingers are circled around the end of the hard length, and they are moving up and down so fast that when he peers down at himself, all he sees is a violent blur.

“Yessssssss!”

Mouth hanging open, Five’s come begins to spurt out of him. The near iridescence of his release is somewhere between a milky white and a purely clear watery fluid, allowing it to blend in almost seamlessly into the fake chalky colored marble of his chipped counter. With a dazed expression, Five’s body twitches repeatedly as he watches it drip down into the bowl of his sink.

As the waves of ecstasy all too quickly abandon him, Five’s bloodshot eyes turn up to the monster in the mirror.

All at once, his fist slams into the face staring back at him. The glass shatters, raining down sharp blades of Five’s reflection, scattering his hatred at his feet and all over the counter.

As if what just happened when he was suspending his body over you isn't appalling enough, the sounds coming from the bathroom are making you really lose your mind. You yank at your constraints hard enough to make your quickly abrading skin begin to bleed.

It's very clear what he is doing in there; you don't need to see him to know that he took your advice and is actively fucking himself. The only good thing about this is that he is not trying to fuck you and he is in there and you are out here.

When the sound of glass breaking and things hitting the floor abruptly comes after a another one of his guttural groans, you are pulling so hard on the headboard to break free that it's banging against the wall behind it.

Not more than a minute later, the bathroom door swings open and he's back at the side of the bed looking down at you with those empty eyes.

“I need you to be quiet a little longer." His words don't sound mad or even scary even though he just busted you trying to break free. He sounds very meek but that makes sense considering what he did in there.

You can't help your eyes from moving right from his to his fly, and sure enough, Mr. Psycho's Mr. Happy seems to be momentarily tamed.

Just when you are thinking you might be safe, he shifts himself over on the mattress where the mannequin was.

Just the act of laying down looks like it hurts him. His moist looking eyes open and shut like he can hardly hold them open as he lets out a very pained moan that makes him sound like a child that needs his mommy very badly.

You can see his hand is freshly bleeding but not bad. He doesn't even seem to notice.

“I am going to let you go. I just need to clear my head for a few minutes, and I am cutting you loose and leaving. This will all be over soon,” he hushes when the bed moves from you trying to wriggle away from him.

As he settles into the blankets and his eyes droop closed, his black vest pulls up as he stretches out and you immediately notice that he has some kind of knife tucked under his waistband.

After a minute or two of laying like that, eyes closed still, he rolls over and his arm flops down over your chest, his hand landing way to close to your neck again. You try to shake him off, but you have nowhere to go, and he remains as is.

This guy can say what he wants about letting you go, but him lying next to you, hand on your throat, with this fuck mannequin watching him resting up enough so that he can brutally rape you doesn’t have you feeling any less terrified.

The only reason you are not screaming anymore is because you don’t want to set him off now that he is this close.

Less than a minute later of you laying there thinking this is it, his chin slides down the arm he has folded under his head, and as it happens, the choppy looking fringe of his hair falls over his face.

Holy shit… You cannot believe it, but he just passed out.

His heavy breathing immediately starts to relax.

Whether he was lying or not when he said he wasn’t going to hurt you and that he was also going to let you go, you have no idea, but it doesn’t matter. Seeing your chance, your arms begin pulling again. You twist and torque your wrists, working the ropes.

The sound of loud vibration startles you and you go stark still, your eyes darting to the kitchen table as your heartrate flies through the roof.

You can’t be sure, because it’s so dark, but you think there is a cell phone lying there next to the gun. Just as you start to wriggle your wrists again, the phone vibrates again and at the same time, he lets out an annoyed sounding grumble. “Leave me alone, Klaus.”

Klaus?

The third time the phone buzzes, his upper leg moves over, locking down over one of yours.

You close your eyes, willing your mind to take you anywhere but here.

Stupid phone and fuck you Klaus person whoever you are.

“Don’t wake up the psycho, I am about to shiv his ass! ” your mind yells at the offending electronic device.

Not long later, the hand at your throat begins to move away, but as it retreats, your crazy cuddle buddy snuggles his body even closer to yours. This new intrusion on your personal space seems to make him happy enough at first, but then all of a sudden, he must decide that he is not warm enough. He reaches back and flips the bed spread over you both and in doing so, the cuff on his right arm pulls up and something catches your eye.

He has a tattoo on the underside of his wrist. It’s the silhouette of a black umbrella with a circle around it.

What the hell?

You’ve seen that symbol before. You were a little too young when the superhero kids that belonged to the infamous money mogul Sir Reginal Hargreeves were all the rage, but you have heard of them. They all supposedly disbanded when they came of age, and from what you remember hearing, one or two may have even died before that.

They all were born with different unimaginable powers and were often seen in public as children stepping in here or there during major emergencies to show off their extraordinary skills.

You’ve seen old posters with them, but none of their faces are coming back to you except the girl named Allison, and that is because she has been in the news over the years for different movies that she has been in.

They were all exactly the same age, and this guy looks like he could be ten years younger than her.

He can’t be one of them…

Can he?

Whether he’s one of them or not, just like with your date tonight, as soon as you get free, you are going to show this sorry sack that he may think he knows you and you are just going to lay here and let him treat you like his little play thing, but he got it all wrong.

He picked the wrong girl to fuck with.

If this loser was one of the Umbrella Academy kids, you haven’t seen any signs of his powers, which might be because you recall hearing that they all lost them at some point. If he is one of them, it appears he lost even more than that, and he is in luck because you are about to help him lose even more.

The rope painfully digs into your skin. You are so close. A few more twists and the ligaments holding your thumb together will slide, letting your bones pop out of place. Then you can grab his knife and it’s go time fucker.

Someone is getting a knife through the dick and it’s one hundred percent Mr. Umbrella Academy Tattoo!

The phone lets out another long buzzing sound then stops. He doesn’t say anything this time, but the disturbance must have disturbed him again because you feel his hand slowly start surveying your upper leg, his fingers gently tracing a line northward.

You begin to struggle. Your nasally whines of protest have him swiftly changing course, instead clamping that same hand at your waist. He pulls you closer as he presses his face against your neck.

“I am sorry, Dolores…” he whispers.

He is so close. Everything suddenly feels very hot.

His lips part then they start feather lightly, sweep along the coating of moisture he’s creating on your skin. When the heat of his pelvis moves tight against your hip, you are shocked that he isn’t hard again over violating you.

This guy doesn’t make any sense. You thought that was part of the whole thing he was into, but when he popped a woody from touching your face and neck, as soon as he noticed it was happening, he took off like he was scared shitless.

Maybe right now he is just not recovered enough from his last weirdo whack session or...

Is it possible that he really doesn't want to hurt you. Maybe he wasn’t planning on it when he reached out like he did in the parking lot?

Maybe you had it all wrong in thinking that he was enjoying watching you nearly getting raped. He had clearly been doing something by way of enjoying himself prior to sprinting out into the parking lot, but…

All of a sudden, it dawns on you that he actually looked very upset by what he saw happen. He sounded very upset by it. It was like he was so distressed by it that he ran down there planning to do something about it.

He looked like he wasn’t expecting you to be there. He actually seemed very confused by it.

Was he coming after your date?

At the moment, you didn’t see all that, but now…

Well…

What the fuck?

He is obviously very messed up, but maybe not in messed-up in the ‘I’m going to violently rape you and murder you’ kind of way.

He did abduct you, but he just said he was going to let you go. He said that he was going to leave.

For some bizarre reason, he seems to be very in love with his mannequin and you are almost certain that right now he thinks you are her. He is so delusional; he probably can’t even tell the difference.

Again, your feet dig down into his mattress as he nuzzles your neck and makes one of those super soft whimpering noises.

This does not feel like he’s trying to hurt you. It feels like he is trying to do something else entirely.

Something is not adding up other than he is most certainly off his rocker.

He said that he has done the worst things a human can do, and you have no idea what he meant by that, but when he could have raped you while you were out or even now, he didn’t. Besides tying you up, the things he was doing before taking off to take care of his boner problem were all in an effort to help you.

Add all this up and what he said about letting the devil own him, may not have been implying what you originally thought. The more you think about it, it seems like he could have been talking about killing himself, not giving in to raping and killing you.

You can’t see his entire face, but you can tell that his eyes are still pinched shut and it’s in such a way that looks so miserable.

You have no idea what is going on with the guy but it’s clear that something is very wrong with him, and it’s not just that he is mega wasted.

As your mind is putting all this together, he lets out a throaty sound that almost sounds like a sob before he begins placing soft kisses along your bruised neck while vibrating his next words across your skin. “Please don’t leave me.”

His hand at the narrowest part of your waist slips under you, tenderly massaging circles against your lower back. His warm fingers very subtly dig in as if he’s trying to comfort you.

You can’t help it when a similar sounding whine comes out of you as your heels dig in across the bedding again.

He is all over you and not in the hurtful kind of way.

This is not what you’d expect from a sexual sadist who gets their jollies off torturing people.

As he kisses just below your ear in that very sensitive space that makes your toes curl, he does so like he has done this maneuver about a million times, and he lets out the most contented sounding sigh when your body involuntarily shudders from it. This has got you starting to think that you may have read this crazy perv all wrong.

He’s a perv but maybe not the type you thought.

What he’s doing is so unbelievably tender and loving that it has you trembling from head to toe and incidentally not just from fear.

“Dolores, please forgive me.”

Again, he’s not talking to you, that much is very clear.

After saying that, he stops with the kisses, his body motionless as he clings to you like his life depends on it.

After a few minutes of nothing but the sound of his steady breathing, you know that he is fully out again.

To the feel of his chest rising and falling against your side, you start to work your wrists free again.

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

Thanks for reading.

(Chapter four, coming soon...)

If you are hungry for more, faster than I post it here, find this and my other Five stories at the first link below or visit my Blog to see all my Tumblr posts:

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sl-ut · 2 years

Text

want

pairing: alicent hightower x fem!reader

description: alicent needed friends–quickly. she was just unaware of how quickly she would become infatuated with one.

warnings: implied smut (non-descriptive), cheating (alicent on viserys), voyeurism, slight perv!alicent, minor character death, swearing, reader is previously married to a man, fictional religiousness

words: 3.4K

date posted: 27/12/22

There was very little that Alicent had control of. Despite the fact that she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the mother of the king’s only surviving sons, and the daughter of one of the most politically influential men in the realm, there was quite literally very little that she had the ability to influence. The role of queen meant nothing to her–not in the way that it would someday mean to Rhaenyra, who would be queen in her own right–she was simply the king’s wife, not even granted the ability to care for her own children as she pleased.

When she was young, Alicent had dreamt of a handsome lord who would someday approach her father as a suitor. He need not even be wealthy, just enough in order to provide for her and their children. She had hoped for a love match, someone who would genuinely care for her thoughts and ideas, someone to feel comforted by her faith in the gods, and to be honoured to wear her favour in tourneys. Though her friendship with Rhaenyra had not been one out of pure self-interest, Alicent liked to believe that being so close to the princess might make such a thing possible for her. Unfortunately for her, the princess’s small frame casted a large shadow. This left her with very few options who were genuinely interested in the prospect of marrying her rather than using her to get closer to the young Targaryen, and the only one who was interested enough to become her husband was the king, severing the relationship she had with his daughter on the day that they met under the eyes of the Seven.

Alicent came to understand that she had died that day, and was possessed by an ancient Queen who thought to do nothing but breed with her husband and raise their children dutifully. She thought no more of handsome lords, quickly coming to understand that there were no men in the world who cared so much for the ideas of women–not even Ser Criston Cole, who she had once fawned over while he was Rhaenyra’s sworn sword. She no longer dreamt of residing in a small castle, waking each morning to the sound of many brown-haired children clambering into her own bed beside her, and instead focused on her growing artillery of silver-haired children. She was a pawn in their games, one that would someday grow into a rook of her own, she just didn’t know it yet.

She hadn’t considered the idea of creating her own alliances. As the king’s wife, she was meant to take on his opinions as her own and find friends amongst his allies, but that became extremely difficult following the departure of her father, who had previously aided her in making such connections. Friends were not something that she had been used to–Lord Larys Strong was the closest that she could think of, but she understood well enough that he could just as easily turn his favour to her enemies for the right incentive–and she had not even considered taking a lover. Being caught with another man in her bed would be grounds for execution if her husband thought it fit, though she was certain that Viserys was too fond of her to do such a thing, even if he did not truly love her. Then, once she took note of the clear acts of adultery and undeniable lies made by Princess Rhaenyra, she could be silent no longer.

Lord Dorean Fyres was an old man, who could scarcely stand on his own two feet even while being aided by his heavy wooden cane. He was known for being quite a spectacle in his prime; strong, handsome, wise, and a great military leader. It saddened the queen’s heart to watch him stagger into the great hall, a man who she knew solely through melodies and books appearing so frail. He was six-and-eighty, much older than most men lived to be, though it did not seem that he would live to be much older. The man was a legend, creating an overwhelming sense of awe amongst the nobility, though Alicent was more drawn to the woman at his side.

She could not have been any more than a quarter of his own age, dressed in a fine gown of plum velvet. She gripped his arm tightly, as if she were nervous, though Alicent could clearly tell that it was more for the benefit of keeping the large man upright rather than to calm herself. She smiled brightly at the members of the court as she passed by, the slight waver of the corners of her mouth proving to the observant queen that she was struggling to keep the pair of them upright, but was not willing to allow her husband to feel so ashamed of barely being able to walk.

The king greeted him fondly, telling him of the many stories he had heard and how honoured he was to be hosting him. Lord Fyres coughed so hard in response that it rattled his chest, unable to fully form an entire sentence after such a long trek through the Red Keep and patted the hand that held his arm gently, prompting her to answer the king.

She bent slightly at the knee, curtsying to the king, “Thank you, Your Grace, but it is simply an honour to be here in the Red Keep. My husband has told me many stories of the great palace built by your ancestors, but he could truly do it no justice.”

“Thank you, Lady Y/n,” The king nodded to her, “We have long awaited your arrival, I can only hope that the journey was not too long or stressful.”

“Of course not, Your Grace,” She smiled prettily, “Nothing could prevent us from attending your tourney.”

Lady Y/n: the diplomat, Alicent had named her. She reminded her of herself; married to an older man, caring for him as he grows old and weak, speaking for him when he simply could not. The only difference was that Y/n had not yet supplied him any children, though the large group of young men that had accompanied them had proven that his late wife had done the job thoroughly enough. Alicent even doubted that the old man would survive performing his marital duties, though she kept that much to herself.

The tourney was drawn out and exhausting–long days in the sun were not Alicent’s preferred way to spend her days, especially while trying to keep her young children calm and quiet enough as to not upset the other nobles who were given the opportunity to sit with the king and his family, and Alicent would not admit that she was more than glad when it was finally over. She had, however, enjoyed the brief moments that she had shared with Lady Y/n while watching such a gruesome event.

They had scarcely spoken more than a dozen times, but Alicent could not prevent herself from silently observing as she tended to her husband dutifully, or made the king laugh harder than she’d seen him laugh in years, and especially so as she conversed with her children. The young princes and princess were enraptured by her nature–Aegon, while having very little to actually discuss with her, was clearly enjoying the way that her gown allowed him a simple glance down her neckline when she crouched to speak with him; Aemond was in awe at her knowledge in the histories, not to mention how enthusiastic and animated she was as she recounted it to him; Helaena was simply glad to have someone who did not gawk at her when she said strange things, and giggled when Y/n allowed her to place a small spider in her palm, despite the clear discomfort on her features at the feeling of the creature crawling around her skin.

Alicent was certain that Y/n was the kind of person that she had been searching for–someone so similar to herself that she could estimate her every move. She needed someone who understood her place in the world to be on her side, to defend her and devote themselves to her cause. She needed to seek out Lord Fyres on his own, finding some way to convince him to remain in the capitol for a while longer, though her plot was quickly spoiled on the morning following the closing feast.

“Your Grace,” Alicent was shaken awake by her handmaiden Talya, “Your Grace, you must wake up.”

“What is it, Talya?” She murmured, propping herself up on the goosefeather pillows.

“My Queen,” The young woman bowed her head, “I regretfully came to inform you that, early this morning, the Lord Fyres was found dead in his chambers.”

Alicent choked on her breath, “What?”

“The maesters believe that he may have suffered a stroke, but that he met the Stranger in his sleep, thank the gods.”

Alicent frowned, “And what of his lady wife?”

“Lady Y/n is awake, Your Grace, I believe she is at prayer.”

Alicent nodded, pushing herself out of bed hurriedly, “Quick, help me dress.”

The sun had only just begun to rise when she was woken for the day, but she cared very little as she sent word to the newly widowed lady, asking her to join the queen and her daughter for their morning tea. When she arrived, Alicent admired the dark shade of amethyst that she wore, hair confined in a simple style, and while her face was clean and her smile warm as she greeted them, the swollen nature of her eyes and lips betrayed the fact that she had been weeping.

“My lady,” she greeted her, rounding the table to grasp both of her hands within her own, “I am so very sorry for your loss. Your lord husband was a fine man, a legend. My only regret is that you have not yet conceived a child with him to keep him in your memory.”

Y/n smiled at her graciously, “Thank you, Your Grace. I assure you that my late husband and I were not seeking children in the months that we were married, but the sentiment is appreciated all the same.”

Alicent smiled softly at her, “Please, sit. You must be starved.”

Helaena was eager to ramble on and on to her new friend, grinning to herself each time that she received small phrases of praise from the woman, and blushing when she stroked her cheek affectionately. Alicent sat silently, simply watching as her daughter bonded to the woman so easily, something that was quite rare for the young princess, even in the case of her own father and brothers.

“How are you fairing, My Lady?” Alicent asked, leaning forward on the table, “I cannot imagine the stress that you must feel.”

“I am doing well, all things considered, Your Grace. I only pray that my late husband has found peace and has been reunited with his first wife. I have only heard stories of my predecessor, but my husband spoke of her so fondly that I am certain that he was truly in love with her.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Lady Y/n. It must be difficult to know that your husband’s heart belongs to another.”

Y/n smiled fondly, “To be quite honest, Your Grace, my marriage was one of purpose, not love. My husband needed someone to care for him just as I needed to marry a wealthy man to support my own family. Lord Fyres offered me a safe home, and a somewhat happy marriage with him until his death. We had a… an agreement on the matter.”

That left Alicent feeling uncertain. She spent the remainder of the day wondering what sort of agreement could be made in such situations, though she felt unable to ask in the presence of her daughter. Y/n remained close, greeting her in the hallways and joining the pair for tea on a daily basis, and finally agreeing to return to stay in Kings Landing as her companion after travelling to her husband’s funeral in his ancestral home. She was away for two months before her return was announced, though Alicent decided to offer her the day to rest after her long journey before she would invite her back to her chambers.

“Talya,” Alicent called impatiently, tapping her fingers forcefully on the arm of her chair, “Where is the Lady Y/n?”

Talya appeared nervous, “I do not know, Your Grace. Ser Criston has gone to summon her, but they have not yet returned.”

As if his ears had been burning, Ser Criston entered the Queen’s chambers, but was on his own. Alicent frowned at him, raising her brow in question as he explained to her that Y/n was not in her chambers, and her servants had told him that she was on a stroll in the gardens.

Peeved, Alicent thanked him and ordered Talya to serve the tea. Helaena was quiet without the Lady’s presence, and drank her tea quite quickly before excusing herself, leaving Alicent on her own. Alicent sat there for a few moments, staring at the empty seat opposite her own, and scowled as she forced herself out of the chair and crossed the room.

The air was warm outside, and a slick sheen of sweat quickly coated Alicent’s flesh as she reached the gardens. Ser Criston reluctantly took post at the entrance back to the Red Keep and she continued to wander throughout in search of the young lady. She stopped several times to reluctantly speak to noblemen and women who were eager to gain her favour, but she was quick to bid them farewell before they could begin any overly prolonged conversation.

She quickly grew more and more angry when she could not find Y/n, taking a seat on a stone bench surrounded by hedges, leaning back and releasing a long-withheld sigh. The queen took that moment to admire the gardens; Flowers blooming under the unforgiving sun, the sea casting a calming breeze over the city, while the large water fountain directly across from where she was seated provided some ambiance so that no one within the Red Keep would need to hear the busy streets of Flea Bottom, or the men in the harbour, or the quiet moaning from nearby–

Alicent froze, easily recognizing the erotic noises coming from behind her. Glancing back and forth to ensure that no one was watching, she peeked through the hedges, eager to find the source.

Her eyes widened as she recognized the figure of her favourite lady at court, propped against a half wall with her back facing the queen, hips wiggling eagerly as her head tipped back, pleasured noises falling from her lips. Alicent could easily spot the large mound beneath her skirts, someone had clearly slipped underneath in order to pleasure her, forcing her thighs apart.

Alicent cringed as a pang of hurt found its way to her chest. Had Y/n abandoned her in order to bed another man so soon after her husband’s death? Perhaps this was the arrangement she spoke of, her freedom to take other men to bed while she provided him with companionship.

She felt guilty, watching such an act, but simply could not look away. Her eyes wandered her figure, admiring how her body shuddered with pleasure as she chanted profanities. Her moans were melodic, growing faster and more eager as she grew closer to her climax, before her jaw finally dropped open with a silent cry, her body stilling as she reached her peak. She chuckled quietly as she came down, a sight that Alicent revelled in as she felt heat pooling in the pit of her own stomach. She averted her gaze down as she noticed the fabric of her skirts moving, wishing to discover which man had been causing such pleasure, though her heart stopped when she laid eyes on a tall serving girl, hair mussed and lips shining with Y/n’s arousal as they embraced in a warm, open-mouthed kiss.

Alicent jumped to her feet, cursing to herself as she knocked a small statue over. She turned, hoping to escape before anyone noticed her, but stopped in her place when she heard Y/n’s voice calling to her.

“Your Grace?” Y/n’s head was tilted in confusion, cheeks darkened with a deep blush as she rounded the hedge.

Alicent stared at her, stunned and unsure of what excuse to make as the young lady peered through the bushes, noting that any acts taking place behind them could, in fact, be seen from so close.

“Your Grace, were you…”

“Lady Y/n,” Alicent cleared her throat, “I have half a mind to ruin your reputation, but as a friend, I will simply advise you to keep such improprieties within your own chambers.”

“Your Grace, I beg of you…”

“And I will advise you not to be late to tea again.”

Days passed, and Alicent did not bring the situation up again, despite facing Y/n for several hours each day. The lady seemed to be uncomfortable with the queen ever since, having been caught in a compromising position by a woman as religious as the queen was. She was quiet, spoke when spoken to, and made as little eye contact with the queen as possible, though Alicent simply could not drag her eyes away.

She imagined the serving girl, how she had kissed Y/n’s plush lips, how she had tasted her sweet nectar, how she had brought her more pleasure than Alicent could even imagine. She wondered if other women had been granted such a luxury, or perhaps were able to take in every inch of her supple flesh, touch her as they pleased, and had her do the same to them.

One morning at tea, after Helaena excused herself, Alicent dismissed her servants, claiming that she had urgent business to discuss with Y/n in private. Y/n appeared nervous as she watched them all file out of the room, gulping as the door closed behind them, leaving the two women alone.

“Your Grace, if this is about the other morning–”

“It is.” Alicent confirmed, standing from her seat and crossing the room to gaze out the window, “Tell me what happened.”

Y/n was silent, “Your Grace?”

“Tell me what happened. Did she force you?”

A small smirk appeared on her lips, though she fought to disguise it, “No, Your Grace. She approached me, that is true, but I wanted it just as she did.”

“I see. And do you… want it often? With other women, I mean.”

Y/n shrunk into herself, “I do, Your Grace. I am very sorry.”

Alicent chuckled, “Do not apologise, you cannot help this affliction the gods have given you.”

“I beg your pard–”

“And neither can I.”

Alicent turned to face Y/n, finding her expression as one of shock as she understood the queen’s words.

“Do not misunderstand me, I love my husband and my children very much, but I look at you, and feel desire like no other.”

Y/n stood from her chair, “Your Grace, I had no idea.”

Alicent cleared her throat, “Have you been with other women?”

“I have,” Y/n shrugged, “That was the arrangement I spoke of, the one I had with my late husband.”

Alicent chuckled, “And would you be with me, if I asked it of you?”

Y/n grasped the queen’s hands within her own, stepping closer so their chests brushed one another, “Are you asking it?”

Alicent breathed, “I am.”

Y/n smiled, forgoing a verbal response and opting to lean forward and capture the queen’s lips with her own, a gentle embrace that allowed them both to get a feel for one another.

Alicent pulled back, “Thank you.”

Y/n laughed, “You need not thank me, Your Grace. I want you just as you have wanted me.”

Alicent kissed her again, this time raising her hands to cup her face, “Have you done what that girl did to you?”

“I have. Would you like me to show you?”

“I would.”

Y/n grinned, kissing her once more before she gently pushed her away, “Get on the bed, and I will show you more ways than you can imagine.”

#alicent hightower #alicent x oc #alicent hightower is a lesbian #alicent hightower x reader #alicent x reader #alicent hightower fanfic #alicent hightower imagine #hotd #house of the dragon spoilers #house of the dragon #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

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nari-writes · 11 months

Text

Blogging (and other dangerous activities likely to get you adopted by the Batman)

Inspired by Latchkey by goldkirk

Tim wakes up to Batman in his room.

It- well, it's not fair to say it's a surprise, but seeing the looming figure in his window does make his heart seize. Even after the time Tim's spent watching him with the Robins, it's still nerve-wracking to have Gotham's nightmare show up. Especially since Batman does little to dissuade the notion that he's here on genial business.

Maybe Bruce has figured out he knows and is going to silence him. Maybe this isn't actually Batman, but Man-bat, and Tim's about to be twelve-year-old bat jerky. Maybe-

His parents are home this week though, so if he really wanted he could probably scream and get himself some thinking time; but as he takes a breath to decide what to do, Batman puts a gloved hand over his mouth.

And, ugh. It smells kinda gross. Like leather and motorcycle fumes. Probably the right Batman, but also. Super gross? Why does he smell so bad? When did he last rinse his gloves?

“You've been blogging.” Batman says, which isn't a question but is a very unhelpful non-sequitur.

“Mmrnhm?” Tim says, largely unintelligible but not entirely intending words.

What the shit. Batman's only here because of the blog?

Also, unfair. He'd had to jump through so many hoops to spoof his IP and make his own VPN and switch which library he posted from, and Batman still found him? This sucks.

“Don't scream,” Batman says, and Tim nods. Batman pulls his hand away slowly, potentially having expected Tim to lie, but Tim's not stupid. Batman doesn't have to do this nicely, even if he is a kid, and Tim also knows that if he did scream, Batman would either a) be prepared and gag him again or b) vanish, and then Tim would be in trouble with his parents. Either option sucks, so he'd rather opt for the one that lets him keep taking in the details of Batman's suit. It's hard in the dark, but still way easier than through his camera.

“It could've been my parents,” Tim says, when it seems Batman's waiting for him to answer his earlier not-question. Batman hums, and Tim wiggles back so he's against the headboard. “Yeah, I figured you'd already researched their flight times. Have to try though, right?”

“The blog. Why?”

“It's-” he starts, because there's so many reasons and he doesn't actually know which one Batman wants. Or, actually, would like the least? Probably 'I wanted to see you in action' would land with the grace of a sleep-deprived Jason Todd, but 'I was lonely' may be worse. 'I didn't expect it to blow up?' may be okay, but in the end he hesitantly settles with: “I just think that- seeing you, being- human? Or, showing you have humanity- was important.”

“Did you ever think that I wouldn't want that?” Batman asks, and Tim shifts awkwardly.

“I mean. Yes? But also, the way people- talk about you and the Robins. It sucks.”

Batman's mouth looks very displeased.

“It just, it shows that you're human!”

“How do you know?” Batman asks, and he actually kinda sounds like Bruce Wayne now, like this is a joke he's used before, and Tim thinks through what he'd been about to say very quickly and shuts his mouth with a snap. Ow. Now his teeth hurt.

Batman, on the other hand, does something to his cowl that makes him look like he's very slowly raising his eyebrow. Is it weird to think he looks tense, looks more threatening now, even though he'd literally just been looming with the promise of violence? Tim swallows hard.

“I don't?” he offers, his voice breaking, and he literally doesn't think he's ever been more humiliated by puberty. “I mean, I don't! Know you're human, that is. You could definitely be an alien if you wanted. Or a spirit of revenge, or-” Tim flops backward on his bed and pulls his blanket over his head. “I shouldn't be so bad at this,” he mumbles, and doesn't think about he's definitely going to die because Batman's suspicious and Tim's an idiot when he's tired.

Batman is damningly silent, but when Tim finally, hesitantly, peeks his eyes out from the hem of his blanket, the Dark Knight is still standing in his room. Actually, he's half-hunched over Tim's desk, looking at the corkboard of Tim's photos and reminders. He reaches out, and Tim's heart thuds. “Oh, please don't!” he says instinctively when Batman grazes Tim's camera. Batman stops and tilts his head over his shoulder to look, and Tim swallows down the anxiety clogging his throat. “Please don't take my camera. I can get another one but I- that one was-”

“Stop taking photos of us.” Batman says, short and to the point.

“Stop posting them to the blog?” Tim offers, and this makes Batman turn around properly, looking at him head-on again. He's judging Tim, now, and Tim wonders what part of him will be found wanting. In Batman's eyes is Tim's wealth a precursor to change or stagnation? Does he think Tim should be doing more with his life? Or does he simply expect that this is a rich kid's hobby, no sentimentality involved? Bruce Wayne took his billions and made himself a hero and Tim knows he can't do the same, considering his parents are in charge of the Drake fortune, but there's probably a million other things he could be doing that don't involve stalking superheroes.

“You're a child,” Batman says slowly, and his voice has lost the harder overture that's affected his speech so far. “When Batman is out, it is late, and dark, and dangerous. You are a child and shouldn't be anywhere near-”

“I don't go close!” Tim protests, “I'm not stupid!”

“There are always people in Gotham. What does it matter if you're not in the area of the most danger when you're still in danger?”

“I'm not stupid,” Tim protests with a hiss that contains more vitriol than it really should, considering his conversation partner, but he can't help it. “If you never saw me how'd you think anyone else could?”

“How do you know I never saw you?” Batman asks, like a challenge, and Tim scoffs.

“Come on, you think I don't know that if you saw me out there, you'd have me thrown in the back of the Batmobile and at the closest precinct before I could blink? Jason almost-” Tim freezes, then quickly blurts, “-before he took your tires, and got adopted by Bruce Wayne, Jason tried to do the same thing whenever he saw me. I know what I look like, to people in Crime Alley.”

Shoot, shoot, shoot, this is actively a terrible lie; Batman only needs to ask Jason when he met Tim and the whole thing would be blown. And, also, name-dropping a specific kid, like Batman would remember who stole his tires? The connection is tenuous at best and damning at worst.

“You've been taking photographs of us since you were eight?” Batman asks, sounding horrified, and Tim winces internally. Please forgive me, Robin, he whispers in the back of his mind, and then says with all the glib disdain he can muster:

“Well, you let Robin go out when he was barely older than me. It's the same thing.”

He has never seen Batman do a full-body wince before. He's not entirely sure he could get Batman to do it again, and wonders if he should add it to his board of accomplishments. He’d have to encode it if he did, even if the board’s mostly for his own reference, but imagining it pinned up next to his photography awards is making him feel a bit hysterical. Then again, that could also be the fact that Batman is still in his room and Tim is lying.

“He was not eight-”

“I just think that unless the same orders get applied to him I think you're being a bit of a hypocrite. He’s actively in more danger than I am, considering he ends up in grabbing range of Rouges and I don’t.”

“I will be telling your parents,” Batman growls, and this time Tim smirks.

“Yeah? And how do you think that's going to go for you?” Tim can almost exactly imagine it: there's no way his parents will believe Batman, because it's crazy and they'd be freaking out over Batman in their house, and if he does it as Bruce Wayne it'd be a crazy coincidence for Tim Drake, known genius, to have access to. If Tim hadn't already solved their identities, that connection alone would probably tip him off.

Well, maybe Batman wouldn't think about the potential implications - academic strengths don't always translate to detective-solving skills, and it's just Batman's misfortune that in Tim's case it's a little bit the other way around. Detective skills that he's carefully and stubbornly honed have led him to a dogged dedication to his studies.

“Robin is a trained professional,” Batman says, and Tim volleys back with,

“Yeah and I'm not doing the same thing he is at all, so my standards can be different.”

“Tim Drake,” Batman says, this time actively growling his name, and Tim doesn’t know if he should cackle or wince. For one thing, he’s pretty sure Batman has lost this verbal volley, which is why he’s pulling out the doom and darkness voice.

On the other, this is the voice he uses on men triple Tim’s size and with twice the bravery (and crazy), and having the full force of it directed at him makes his stomach drop. He clutches his blankets, fabric pulled tight, and tries to pretend his hands aren’t shaking.

“The blog is being removed - do not start it again. I will not see you on Gotham’s streets again during my patrol.”

The lens of his mask are so narrow that the white is barely visible. He holds Tim’s gaze, like he’s imparting the orders, like he’s checking to see Tim’s fear will keep him obedient, and then nods slowly. The cape swishes behind him as he puts Tim’s camera back on the desk, and then he’s leaving. Leaving, and Tim’s secrets are safe and he is unharmed and undeterred.

“You won’t,” Tim whispers as Batman slips out his window and into the dark.

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