#fingers fuckin crossed it works out gang

[ratbastarddotfuck]

new job start 9am tomorrow morning gamers wish me luck

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Aight here’s a few of my favorite SP fics that no one asked for

I’m generally more of a one shot kinda lad but since getting into South Park I’ve read SO MANY GREAT longer ones so here’s just some highlights: (all on ao3)

Ship In A Bottle FayOfTheForest. One of the first sp AU’s I read, we got PIRATES. HOMOEROTIC SWORD FIGHTING. WLW CREEK. SLOW BURN STYLE. (Injured stan my beloved) KENNY. BUNNY. The parents SUCK. Literally such a kickass story!

This House of Mine by OrcaTimes. VIOLENCE. GANG ACTIVITY. CREEK. I really love the characterization of everyone in this fic, especially Craig. Seriously man. Also THE K2 IN THIS SLAYS (we got some PRIME Kyle injury too god I love him) THE ENDING IS SO SATISFYING TOO!!!

Peppermint by boxwinebaddie. Bro. Literally my all time favorite style fic. I’m so serious. The writing and story are BEAUTIFUL LIKE SO FUCKING AMAZING The PINING. THE HEADCANONS. I COULD GO ON FOR HOURS. Pls if you check out any of my Recs READ THIS ONE.

Maybe For Real This Time & The Kids Are Alright by WeirdBBQDad. Dude. I have no words other than KENNY FUCKIN MCCORMICK. Also Style. Also families. Just- just check it out.

Hang ‘Em High by littledeathsinmusicalbeds. Cowboy au. Creek. Established Style. Bounty hunter Kenny. Massive slay.

The Thief Trilogy by wintergrew. WHEN I SAY IT LIVES IN MY HEAD RENT FREE. The world building is PHENOMENAL literally my favorite SOT AU OF ALL. Long as hell, but SO worth the read holy fuck. I adore Stick Of Truth.

You’re The Prettiest Boy I’ve Ever Seen by burnt_pancakes. CREEK. STYLE. MISCOMMUNICATION. BUNNY. KENNY IN GENERAL. the friendships in this are PERFECT.

Your name written upon mine by sooduhnim. SOT STYLE. Soulmate au that’s INCREDIBLE seriously I love this one and can’t wait for an update.

How We Began by PastorCraigEnjoyer. Ok yes I’m cringy as shit for the self promo but this is my favorite long fic that I’ve written. Slow burn SOT STYLE, no war just fantasy gays falling in love, injury, sickfic, all my favorite bullshit and I loved writing it ok.

N1SM by kiritila. A classic in the fandom. Style. A masterpiece.

Between the Sinners and the Saints by KaiterTot. Oh. My. God. When I say this one altered my brain chemistry… THE ENDING DUDE HOLY-

A Few Last Wolves by Jwink85. Yes, I am a resident of the State Of Style by way of Creek Nation but this is Cryle. And it’s a slay. If y’all liked Frank and Bills episode in TLOU, it’s kind of an au of that. It works man.

Winter Butterfly ALSO by Jwink85 and ALSO Cryle. What can I say it’s incredible. The Style in the beginning is CUTE until shit hits the fan, too, and I thought this fic was a really interesting take on all the characters and relationships. I adore Tweek in this one too.

Something Sweet Like Honey by bluebryy. Ok this one is unsettling and creepy Craig makes me feel icky but I cannot WAIT for an update on that fic, I got my fingers crossed for Style endgame. Also CHECK OUT THEIR ART ON HERE they converted me to a short king Kyle truther and it’s a slay tbh.

Ladies and Gentleman We Are Floating In Space by gremlinteeth. A classic. The first sp multi chapter I read. THE LORE BRO. CREEK. STYLE. STANS CHARACTERIZATION GOES SO HARD HES MY BOIIIII

Ok. That’s all my recs for now. Sry for being insane.

[margowritesthings]

Fate: A Word Meaning Destiny

PART I

PART II BY @cowboydisaster COMING SOON

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!readersummary: you're a ranch-hand, when your home is attacked by bandits. a mysterious stranger comes to save your life, but who is he? word count: 11.9k words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, murder, attempted sexual assault, sexual relations, fingering (r receiving), penetration, loss of virginity, mentions of virginity, talk of trauma a/n: here it is!! finally!! this is the longest piece I've ever written, and I'm so fuckin proud of it!! It is a collaboration with the incredible @cowboydisaster, who will be releasing part 2 when it's ready!! I worked so hard on this, so I hope you love it!! <3

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire@punctillous @missvanderlinde @twola @pine4pple-b0i @alice-vanderlinde @photo1030

The day started and progressed like any other, with absolutely no indication that your life would be changed forever until it did. Free time slipped through the cracks in your packed schedule of chores while the sun rose and fell again, casting brilliant orange and pink hues across the sky you now sit in awe of on the porch of your lodgings. Your muscles ache from a full day's work, but it’s a satisfying sensation, one begat from happy horses, milked cows, and a fence fixed by your own hand. Sure, your work earned a mere grumble from Mr. Varner, but throughout the 6 months you’ve worked on the ranch, he has never once had a conversation not directed at your breasts, so you’re not too upset to not have received praise tonight. 

Honestly, you’re just glad to be able to relax. The ranch hands rarely speak to one another outside of work, and there isn’t a damn thing to do around here, but it’s better than shovelling shit in the sweltering heat. You’ve even got a glass of fresh apple juice, a rare delicacy to celebrate the end of the week.

Every so often, when the breeze dies down and each animal agrees to quiet, there is an almost absolute silence surrounding you, and you close your eyes to bask in it. This moment would be the perfect time for a feeling or an intuition that everything is about to change, but it doesn’t come. You feel nothing but peace. Years from now, when you look back to this night, you’ll be grateful that the sense of foreboding didn’t hit you until it was too late, knowing these are the very last moments of the life you once knew. 

The first sense that something is wrong doesn’t come until the gunshots dart through the darkening coral sky and scatter the birds out into it. Your brows pull together, eyes squinting to search for the origin of the disruption to your peace. They’re distant, for now, but the silhouette against the horizon is unmistakably coming closer to the ranch, rifles and pistols pointed to the heavens by a group of men whooping and cheering as they ride straight towards you. 

Everything seems to slow but your racing heart, and it feels like hours between your drink leaving your grasp and the glass shattering all over the porch. Shards disperse over the wood, along with the golden liquid pooled at your feet. In the mere seconds you spend glancing at the floor, the group has advanced and the time you have to figure out what the hell you’re going to do has quickly declined. You’ve heard of gangs hitting up ranches for supplies, heard stories of outlaws on benders pillaging and hunting people simply because they can, but it never crossed your mind to be worried about it. Whenever your momma told you all about the criminals hiding just past the horizon, you’d roll your eyes, chalking it up to a cautionary tale to get you to stay close to the house. Now, your heart hammers against your chest as you realise that if you don’t act now, you’ll become one of those stories, passed down to worry children into obedience. I knew a girl once, shot by bandits for taking too long to hide… 

Not today.

The fear of becoming folklore finally overtakes the fear that has paralysed you for what feels like hours and hours, letting you stand and rush into your cabin, shutting the door behind you. Shaking hands reach for the wooden chair by the tiny kitchen, sliding it across the floorboards and hooking it underneath the handle to barricade the door. It won’t keep anybody out for long, but will at least warn you if someone is trying to get in. 

Your cabin is small, made up of only one room, and while you’ve always thought it was cozy, right now it feels claustrophobic. The gunshots and laughter are getting louder and you’re scared. Your Momma spent so long teaching you how to stay away from outlaws, but she never told you what to do when they found you. You have nothing but a kitchen knife, which you clutch close to your chest as your eyes frantically dart around your room, searching for anything else you can use to protect yourself. There is nothing, thanks to a minimalism forced upon you by a barely livable wage. You can afford to feed yourself, just about, but life saving luxuries like weaponry or a heavy bookshelf are out of the question, so here you are, back against the log wall, a measly blade normally used for bread gripped close to your body. 

Hooves pound against the dirt outside and you swear the ground shakes beneath you. You can hear everything so clearly: spurs clicking against stirrups, heavy boots on the earth, sneering men reloading their guns and thankfully walking towards the main house instead of the smaller cabins you and the other ranch hands reside in. Back pressed against the wall, you wait until the voices dwindle, before you peer out of the little window to get a better view. Some of the fences are already smashed in, including the one you’d just fixed, and somebody has opened all the gates, letting cows and chickens and horses run free amongst the chaos. They’ve reached Mr. Varner’s door, kicking it down with a thud that echoes around the whole ranch. Two of the outlaws go inside, emerging after only a few seconds with Varner’s collar firmly in their grasp. They throw him to the floor and he falls to his knees, and even though you’re at the other side of the ranch, you can see the absolute terror in his eyes. He’s vibrating with fear and you’re not much better, especially when the supposed leader of the group begins to reload his pistol.

You can’t hear his pleas, and even the people who can hear them aren’t listening. The leader lifts his arm, finger resting on the trigger. You’ve heard gunshots before, but none that shake the Earth quite so much as this one. 

You don’t hear Mr Varner’s last words, and the aftermath of his murder couldn’t possibly outmatch the ringing in your ears as your chest heaves with pure panic. They killed him. They killed him, and there is absolutely nothing stopping them from coming for you next. 

“No… no no no no- fuck!” you whisper to yourself, to any deity out there who might be listening, hoping that they don’t mind the colourful language. You have to get out of here, lest this ranch become your grave. Tears prick at your eyes while your brain works ten thousand miles a second. You’ve retreated back to the floor, not wanting to be spotted by wandering eyes while the outlaws start to ransack Varner’s house. 

Your eyes wander desperately around the room, finding only the small window above your bed. It leads out back, so they wouldn’t be able to see you escape, and if you’re stealthy enough you might just be able to make it to the barn. If you’re not, they will find you and surely kill you, but at least the choice of where you’ll die would be in your hands. A small dignity, but a dignity nonetheless that you grasp to with all your might. Most of the horses have fled after the shock of the gunshot that killed your employer, but if you’ve counted correctly there should still be a couple in the barn that you could escape on.

It takes exactly six deep breaths to quell the shaking of your joints enough to stand, stash your knife in your boot and make your way over to your former bed. From the corner of the room, you take a second to look upon your home, knowing it’ll be the last time you see it whether you live or die here. There really isn’t much, but a sad fondness lingers. Everything looks rosier through the lens of somebody being forced out of their home for fear of death.

The window sticks to its frame like it’s covered in treacle, and for one awful second you fear that it won’t budge open, but a desperate push manages to force it just enough to fit you through. Your boots hit the ground with a soft thud and you peer around the corner to find the gang still pulling any valuables they can find from the main house. It’s enough distraction for you to run as swiftly and quietly as you can, tunnel vision stopping anything but your destination from infiltrating your thoughts. With the way the ranch is laid out, you can’t get in through the door without being seen, but you can get to the back of the wooden structure and in through another window, where you will hopefully have more options for getting out of this alive. 

When you reach your destination, you don’t even think twice about using your elbow to smash the window in on itself when you realise there’s no hinge. The crack of glass is loud, but nowhere near loud enough to beat the hollering and whooping of the gang. Shards slice through your shirt and skin, crimson quickly pouring from fresh cuts but you hardly notice. It’s pure adrenaline that drags you through the freshly made entrance, and you land on a pile of hay that is quickly decorated with splatters of your own blood. 

You’re in.

And you’re alone. 

It feels like your fate becomes sealed, shut up with a lock and key you can no longer reach. There are no horses here. There’s no way in hell you can outrun a bullet, nor any man with a horse of their own, so you’re faced with the only option left: hoping they don’t notice you. There’s a chance they’ll go for the cabins over the barn, going after the other ranch hands and their measly belongings instead of piles upon piles of hay. It’s not a chance you’d like to bet your life on, but you no longer seem to have the luxury choice. Your frame fits into a gap in the hay, hidden by a ladder and some crates. For the first time in your life, you’re grateful for your messy colleagues not cleaning up properly. You curl into as small a ball as you can, wrapping your limbs around each other as if it will protect you. You won’t let yourself cry, even after more gunshots start to shatter the air around you. It sounds like they’re getting louder, and you can almost picture a great big flashing percentage chance you’ll survive this decline by the second right above your head. 

Your chest tightens to the point that breath can no longer move around in it when the large barn doors creak open, the streak of light cast on the dusty floor almost bright red in hue now. The skies are on fire, your equilibrium in flames as two of the bandits saunter into your makeshift sanctuary. 

“See, I told you. Just a buncha’ hay, ain’t even no horses.”

“Just shut up and search over there, bastard could’a kept his stash anywhere.”

You’d snort if you weren’t so debilitatingly terrified, if it wouldn’t be the very act that had you murdered. Varner could barely scrape enough money together to pay you on time and still have his nightly whiskey, there was no way in hell he’d leave a stash of cash lying around in here. But they weren’t to know that, how could they? Who knows what he told them to try and save his own skin. 

Spurs scrape across the floor, creating a noise that makes your skin crawl, getting louder and louder as one of the men approaches. You hold your breath until your vision blurs in the corner and you can feel your struggling pulse in your temple, but it is futile. You see his boots first, and somehow force yourself to drag your eyes up his body, finding poorly patched up jeans, an empty holster hanging by his hip, a deep green waistcoat clasped close with a silver chain, long, greasy, graying hair, and an expression you’re sure will burned into your darkest nightmares for the rest of your life. His grin feels as though somebody is pouring acid over your back. Neither shivers nor chills truly justify whatever happens to your skin when the stranger lifts his ivory pistol to you. 

Because you refuse to let the tears pooled in your eyes fall, they tremble in droplets along your waterline, your sight flicking between straight down the barrel and back to its wielder. 

“Ain’t no stash, but I sure caught me a pretty treasure…” 

Logically, it could only have been a second of silence, but time hasn’t worked right for you since you were on that porch, far away from danger. To you, there’s hours. Hours of watching a monster reach for you in slow motion, claws digging into the flesh of your arm with a bruising force. It feels like he tears your skin apart, and if you didn’t know your wounds had come from the shattered window you’d believe the deep gashes were his doing. You scream loudly, half from the sheer panic, half in agony as your blood coats his hands and he drags you across the floor by your injured arm. It doesn’t phase him, at least it doesn’t seem to. Your scream is a droplet in an ocean of pain and terror inflicted by him, it simply joins the chorus of victims you hope haunts him when he’s alone at night.

You kick and claw, but it serves little but to amuse the bastard, who chuckles lowly at your writhing, waving his equally greasy companion over with his pistol.

“Hey, Timmy! Look here what I got!” 

It doesn’t take Timmy long to walk over, sneering at you while you try your hardest to do nothing but glare. Your knife feels all too present tucked in your boot, but you know if you tried to grab it now they’d shoot you dead. 

“Ain’t she a purty thing, Ace?”

“W-What do you want from me?” You ask, swallowing the rock forming in your throat down, “I ain’t got no money- I-I ain’t got nothin’, just let me go.” 

“Oh, you’ve got somethin’, pretty little thing you are…” 

No…

The smirk Timmy and Ace share tells you everything you need to know. It feels like your chest is about to crack open from the way your heart pounds against it, longing for release from your body just as much as you are right now. There is nobody to scream for help, no way out, and even if you did escape the barn there’s at least ten more outlaws waiting outside with just as much intention on you as the ones looking at you like a meal in here. 

You will never forget your own scream when Ace lunges for you. The taste of cigarette ash and gunpowder on your lips when he clamps his hand over your mouth will be ingrained in your senses forever. The tears finally fall down your cheeks, mixing in with your own blood from your arm as you try and claw at Ace’s arm. It’s fruitless, as even if you could match his strength, Timmy is right there behind him to grasp your arm and pull it painfully behind your head. 

“Who’s goin’ first then? I reckon she’s a wriggler, one of us’ll have to hold her.”

“Quit squealin’, I can’t hear myself think!” Ace demands, landing a swift punch to your gut that really doesn’t help the nausea. You can barely feel the pain of anything, so consumed in your panic that you could probably have been shot and wouldn’t notice. Hell, you’d prefer getting shot to having these men’s hands on your body for a second longer. His hand isn’t enough of a barrier to stop the ear splitting noises completely, only dull them a little, but they still don’t deter either man. 

“You don’t ever think, what’s the difference?” “Shut up, dumbass, and hold her down proper!”

Their teasing would have floored you, if you weren’t already pinned there. They speak as if mocking each other in the saloon, as if it’s another day, while they hold your life in their hands. If you live to see the end of today, you’ll never forget it. This trauma is one to be carried until the end of your days, and they act like it is merely just another Thursday. 

Vehement screams intensify when one set of hands, you don’t know which, begin to pull at your shirt, exposing your shoulders more with each seam that rips. Your eyes are screwed shut, wanting to close off as many senses as you can as the tears freely fall down your cheeks. Their touch feels like acid, bubbling and burning on your skin. You try to bite down, but Ace’s grip is too tight. You try to kick at him, but from his vantage point it is easy to swerve. It seems your fate is sealed, and your heart breaks in a way that can never be truly fixed, a way that changes the course of the remainder of your life. You’ll think back, eventually, and wonder if it would have been different had he arrived just minutes earlier, but he didn’t. He doesn’t. He arrives now, emerging from the fiery sunset like an angel disguised as a demon.

You don’t spot him until Ace falls to the floor, clubbed over the head with the handle of the peacemaker held by the mysterious stranger. You don’t know what to do, who to be scared of and who to be grateful for, he could well just want you all to himself. But when he spots you, covered in blood, sweat and tears, that petrified look in your eyes, the surprise is evident in his features. There’s only a split second for the two of you to exchange confused glances, before Timmy lets go of your arms to grab his own pistol and point it at your saviour. You’re not the only one this man’s intense presence is affecting, it seems, with the way Timmy’s sweaty hands start to shake. 

“H-Hey! She’s ours, mister. Get your own!” 

That seems to piss him off, a low growl emitting from deep in his chest.

“She ain’t nobody’s. Let her go. Can’t get your own ladies without forcin’ yourself on one, huh? Makes sense I guess, lookin’ at you two…” 

There isn’t anything holding you down anymore, but you’re frozen to the spot, pinned down to the floor by the sheer energy of this stranger with the chiselled jaw and the most striking ocean coloured eyes you’ve ever seen in your life peering out from under his gambler’s hat. His face is cast in shadows from the brim, but you can tell he’s handsome, right down to the rugged scar on his chin. You have no idea who he is, but something tells you to trust him. 

You’re so lost in him that you don’t notice Ace waking up from his brief stint of unconsciousness, grasping at a handful of your hair to pull your body flush against his on the floor, craning your neck to fit his pistol under your chin. All you can do is claw at his wrist, leaving rosy scratches on his skin that don’t appear to bother him in the least. There’s a sharp pain shooting from your neck down your spine thanks to the strain he is forcing on your vertebrae, which forces a whimper from you. You’re truly stuck in the crossfires, with Timmy’s gun pointing at the stranger, who is pointing his barrel at Ace, who has his pistol right up against your chin, leaving indents of the metalwork in your skin from the pressure of it. 

“You drop that gun, or I’ll blow her pretty little head off, ya hear? Drop it!” Ace demands, shoving the weapon even further into your flesh to prove his point. You can’t help the tear that escapes when he does so, this awful reminder of your mortality prodding oh so painfully into your jaw. The stranger only thinks about it for a fraction of a second, holding one hand out in a surrender, while the other leans down to place his peacemaker on the floor slowly. 

“Alright, easy.” His tone is much calmer than before, his eyes never leaving yours despite everything going on around the two of you. You’re terrified, and he knows it, but even though you’ve never met before this moment, the way he looks at you soothes you, almost like you’re conversing with no words spoken at all, “We can all put our weapons down and talk, huh?”

Ace seems to relax at the sight of the stranger disarming himself, which you can tell by the way his grip on your hair slackens a little. It’s still mighty uncomfortable, and having his clammy hands all over you makes you want to cut your skin off with a- 

Kitchen knife. 

The metal of the weapon you’re just remembering burns into the skin of your ankle, glowing like the bright white light to freedom. If you play this right, it could be. There’s always the chance you could mess up and get blown to pieces, but if the choice is that or more of having to breathe the same air as these scum bandits, you’re willing to take your chances. 

The good lord seems to smile down on you for the first time today when He wills both Ace and Timmy to reach for the discarded peacemaker at the same time, leaving them distracted enough for you to throw your weight into elbowing Ace in the gut and grab the knife from its makeshift holster. 

Time slows again, the next few seconds playing out like confusing hours, the four of you a mess of limbs as everyone attempts their separate feats. Timmy goes for the gun, while Ace recovers his breath enough to try and wrestle the blade out of your hand. The mystery man boots Timmy in the face, knocking him out cold and out of the way, and he manages to kick the peacemaker out of anybody's reach too. You don’t see what happens next, as Ace pins you to the ground, slapping you hard across the face. The shock causes you to drop the knife, which he swiftly recovers, raising it high above your head with a maniac, unhinged grin on his face. For a moment, you’re almost glad of the fate you see sealing before you, as you’re sure that image would have haunted you for the rest of your days anyway. 

They say that life is supposed to flash before your eyes in your final moments, a speedrun of your best and worst moments laid out before you while you take your final breaths, but it isn’t your past you see when you realise that this is how your story is going to end, your own damn kitchen knife about to be plunged into your chest. No, you don’t see what has happened, you see everything that could no longer be. You see the ranch you’ll never own for yourself one day, the children you’ll never get the chance to bear, the wedding you’ll never attend… You let your dreams go in that moment, watching them fly further than you ever will again. 

You shut your eyes tight, determined to block out the horrendous last view you think you’ll ever have, so you don’t actually see your knight in dusty leather throw his body into your attacker. His weight is no match for scrawny Ace, who hits the floor with a thud. The stranger grapples at Ace’s throat while he splutters helplessly. When you see him lift the knife, after managing to sit yourself up and slide out of the way, you shout out, but it is too late. Ace impales the man in the shoulder and he cries out, though it comes out as more of a growl. You wince at the sight of it as the stranger pulls together all the adrenaline from being stabbed to punch Ace in the nose. The crack seems to echo in the chaos, followed by a quiet just not possible when the two bandits were conscious. 

The fire in your lungs burns hot, your chest struggling to contain the breaths you’d resigned yourself to never take again as your mind starts to attempt to catch up. It is just you and this man now, both wounded and covered in blood, neither knowing what exactly to say next. You pray your intuition to trust this man is right, though with the way he looks at you, you’re sure he couldn’t mean harm to you even at gunpoint. 

You look like a deer caught by a rifle, wide eyed and unable to move save for the frantic shaking you can’t seem to stop. The man winces as he removes the knife from out of his shoulder, but you’re so desensitised to everything right now that the sight of blood running down his arm and pooling through his shirt doesn’t bother you. 

“It’s alright now, Miss. They won’t wake up for a while yet, you’re safe.” He speaks while reaching for his gun, worried, tired eyes never leaving you, “They hurt you?” 

The shock has paralysed your tongue and slammed your jaw shut, your molars grinding together near painfully, but you manage to shake your head. They did manage to get a few hits in, but besides a slightly winded feeling in your gut and a slinging where you were slapped, the wounds they left are far more intangible. Spiritual.

He watches the trauma immobilize you, and you see his heart break for you, right in the crease between his eyebrows and the way his features soften, “Hey, sweetheart, it’s alright. It’s gonna be alright, I promise.” He approaches you, slowly, holding his empty hands out in an act of surrender to you. When you don’t flinch or move away after his first step towards you, he continues his journey to you, good arm gently wrapping around your frame, careful not to bleed on you or harm your own wounds, “Shh, you’re safe. I’ve got you’.”

The comedown comes hard, the sobs erupting from your lips nearly the second you feel his touch on you. It all becomes real, hitting you, body and soul, like a freight train, crushing your bones and spirit like they’re nothing.

“They-they-” “I know, I know… it’s okay. I’ll get you outta here, I promise. You got someplace else to go?”

You shake your head, sniffling to attempt to gain control over the sobs wracking your body. Using the circles this man is rubbing into your back and his soothing words as a compass, you find your way back to him. 

“It’s alright, miss. I’ll get us outta here. You okay to ride on my horse for a while?”

You nod, starting to feel the true sting that smashing a window with your bare hand should incite without adrenaline numbing your senses. The tears wet your cheeks, mixing in with god knows whose blood splattered across your features like crimson freckles. You feel a warm, calloused thumb pad rub a tear track away, before the stranger stands and extends his hand out to you. Both of you have injured your left side, so interlink your right hand fingers so he can help you to your feet. Standing is hard when it feels like your bones igniting and shattering through your flesh, but you manage with the help of this man’s strength.

“I took care of those guys outside, but the law could be here any minute. Boadicea’s just outside- don’t let her size fool you, she’s friendly enough. We’ll get you somewhere safe, alright? Figure out what to do next…” He guides you outside with an arm around your shoulder, whistling a stunning chestnut Hungarian half-bred over to you. He mounts the mare, patting her on the neck and murmuring “Good girl,” into her ear.

On a better day, you’re more than capable enough to mount a horse by yourself, but you just can’t bring yourself to deny the man when holds an arm out to you. You fit perfectly behind him, your chest moulding against his hard back, wrapping one arm around his waist. Despite the whirring in your mind of everything that just transpired, you manage to pick out that he smells like a wonderful mix of whiskey and tobacco. Normally, you can’t stand either of them, far too strong and smoky for your tastes, but somehow it suits this man. You cling to him while he kicks Boadicea into a gallop, inhaling in his scent and letting it soothe you. The wind whips your skin and you shiver, glancing back only once at your former life, watching the flames lick at Varner’s house as it crumbles to the ground. It’s spreading fast, and you can’t imagine Timmy and Ace will wake in time to escape before the barn is taken. Ironic, that their demise will come from their own destruction.

It’s a near silent ride, where all your energies have to be put into not breaking down all over again. You know that if you start to cry, you just won’t stop. Everyone you know is dead, you’ve lost your job, your home, and almost had a part of yourself stolen that you’ve never freely given to anybody before. It’s too much, but you force yourself to focus on anything but. You think about the feel of this man’s shirt on your cheek, the way the muscles of his back ripple beneath your supple chest each time he moves to ride Boadicea. You hear the occasional wince, especially until he senses you’re far enough away from the ranch to slow down a little. He’s hurt, clearly an outlaw in his own right, and you struggle to understand why exactly he’s helping you instead of protecting his own back and leaving you there in the flames. But you’re too tired to be skeptical, running completely on empty. 

Boadicea carries the two of you into the woods. It’s getting dark, and you’re surprised at how well she navigates the trees and branches, following the winding path until you reach a clearing. 

“Here alright?” Your saviour asks, glancing over his good shoulder at you. You nod wordlessly, still clutching right onto his waist despite the fact you’re now stationary. 

He dismounts first, holding both arms out to you despite the clear pain written across his face. You dismount Boadicea, the front of your body sliding down the mystery man’s thanks to how close he’s standing. Your legs still feel like jelly, but you somehow manage to stay standing. 

“I’ll set up a tent. You know how to make a fire, sweetheart?” He asks, starting to rifle through a satchel he wears across his body. You nod again and take the flint and steel he’s offering out to you. Your hands brush, sending a shiver down your arm.

While he uses just one hand to hammer some tall branches into the ground to hang the canvas from, you set up the fire, finding enough dry wood around to not have to wander far at all. It isn’t long before you’re both sitting beside the fire, a makeshift roof over your head while the stranger plucks some items from his satchel. 

Your wounds appear to have stopped bleeding, leaving dark pools of a near maroon hue seeping through your shirt around gashes that wind around your flesh like ivy. You didn’t get the chance to properly look before, too engulfed in panic to notice how deep they are. 

In the glow of the firelight, the lines etched into your saviour's face seem harsher, telling the tales of the pain he’s in and betraying the heroic facade he’s so clearly trying to put on for you. You know it all too well right now as your arm throbs, a stinging, aching mess of sensation that scrunches your nose up as you try to flex your fingers.

“You’re hurt.” He states, watching you intently as your hand shakes from the strain,

“I’m okay.” You manage, the very first words you’ve spoken since being back at the ranch, “I had to smash a window in to get to the barn. Figured there’d be something in there to help me, but…” you trail off as he nods knowingly. 

“Can I help you with your arm? I ain’t no doctor, but I’ve had enough scrapes through the years to know what to do.” He offers and you nod, trusting him more than you have the sense to. You don’t even know his name.

The man moves slowly over to sit beside you, the heat of the flames and the closeness between you setting your cheeks alight. You don’t really understand it, you just got assaulted by bandits, and yet all you want to do is shuffle closer and bury yourself into this one, letting everything melt away while he tells you it’s gonna be alright. 

His hands are upturned to the stars, awaiting your arm which you give him without question. There’s a tugging need to trust him deep down in your gut that allows you to do whatever he asks of you.

When he looks over the torn, stained fabric of your shirt, his brows pull together. The mud and paint from the ranch is barely noticeable for all the blood, but neither of you can really see the cuts to your skin. 

“Shall I take it off?” you offer, not particularly eager to undress but smart enough to know he can’t help you without.

“‘Fraid you might have to, miss. You can trust me, I ain’t nothin’ like them men, I promise.” 

“I trust you.” 

Your words are spoken so quickly, barely audible, but they still echo around the tiny space the pair of you occupy. You start at the bottom button, knowing that it will start to hurt when you reach the halfway mark because you need to bend your arm. He notices your discomfort, probably in the way your bottom lip slips between your teeth and your jaw flutters when you grind your teeth together to have another sensation to focus on.

“Let me.” he mumbles, a hint of a growl catching his low voice. You let your hand drop back to a comfortable position to do as he says. It feels as though your breath gets stuck in your chest when the hardened skin of his hand brushes over your belly and the contact burns through your chemise. The tension in the air is palpable, both suffocating you and keeping you breathing just so you can experience whatever is to come. 

You’re both silent as he works the buttons through their tiny holes, looking like a giant manoeuvring something so delicate. You can easily get the shirt off one shoulder, but he has to help with the other, his hand sliding down your arm with the pooling fabric before he can carefully peel the shirt away from you and discard it to the floor. 

The air chills your skin, leaving goose pimples scattered all over you. You feel exposed, but somehow not uncomfortable. Your chemise is a simple one, with a bodice that clings to each curve unseen by another. And yet here you sit, in front of a nameless man who swallows thickly as he tries to keep his eyes trained on your injuries.

“You got a name, mister?” You manage, watching him rip up a bandana he found in his satchel and dousing it in water from a flask. He seems to hesitate, before eventually answering without meeting your eye.

“Call me Callahan, for now.”

For now?

“That a first name or a last name?”

It looks as though he hesitates for a moment, before he starts to clean your wounds and the blood begins to flake off your skin. 

“S’just a name.”

Strange answer. Evasive answer, but if he truly is an outlaw going round town rescuing strangers from bandits, it makes sense to not go around advertising who you are.

You wince at a particularly deep cut and Callahan apologises, renewing his efforts to clean your arm as if restoring an antique painting that could tear apart at any moment. It stings, but you handle it. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve already experienced today.

“How ‘bout you, miss?”

You pause, for the first time in your life not quite knowing how to answer such a simple question. Of course you have a name, but it feels wrong to twist your tongue to say it. It no longer fits you, like a jacket worn long before you truly grew into yourself. Your name belongs to a woman who lives on a ranch and loves nothing more than a fresh painted fence and a glass of ice cold apple juice… but she doesn’t exist anymore. She died in the barn, along with that fierce naïveté you’ve held so close to your chest for your whole life, the one that believes in the world and the kindness in it, the one that thinks you work hard in life to earn your place and that goodness will be rewarded. It’s all gone, replaced with the images of Varner’s skull shattered across his own land, his life's work up in flames at the hands of men who refuse to follow the right path. 

In the end, you give him your name, knowing deep down that it will be the last time you ever use it. Every single person who knew it, your family, employer, friends… they’re all dead anyway. And now so are you. To the world, the young girl they knew perished in the barn fire.

“S’a pretty name.” he mumbles, seemingly pulled into the focus needed to not hurt you again. He’s good, really good at patching up wounds, you notice, despite his calloused hands being so huge. With the concentration etched across his face, and him sitting so close to you, you can finally get a proper look at him. Those ocean eyes you noticed back in the barn are just as stunning without being the last thing you think you’ll ever see, framed with little crows feet at the corners of his lids. His face is tanned, scattered with light freckles you don’t think you would have noticed if not for the privilege of being so close to him. He has sandy hair and stubble that covers his whole jawline, save for that little scar on his chin. He is without doubt the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, body and soul, and you feel your heart fluttering against your ribcage and your skin tingling at his contact. 

He expertly ties strips of the bandanna around your arm, and while the pressure stings, it also feels a lot less like your flesh is being pulled apart. 

“I think you’re gonna be alright, miss. Might scar, they’re mighty deep, but they’ll heal well enough with time.”

“T-Thank you.” You stutter, holding your arm out to survey his handiwork.

“Don’t mention it.” He dismisses, though you notice he doesn’t move any further away from you. You’re glad for it.

“No, not just this… everything. Thank you. I didn’t get the chance to say it back there, but… I think you saved my life. And saved me from a far worse fate than death, I… I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” You mean every word spilling from your lips, and suddenly, with your hand still placed in his, fitting more perfectly than anything personally made for you ever could, you watch your fate seal. You know what you want, and after the most prominent life lesson you’ll ever receive that life can be cut short at any moment, you know you have to get it. 

“It’s what any man would do, sweetheart… I ain’t a good man, believe me… but I couldn’t stand by while those bastards took advantage of ya’.”

The reminder (not that you needed it, with Ace’s unhinged grin permanently burnt into your eyelids) pulls your brows together as sadness etches across your face. Callahan notices, giving your hand the gentlest of squeezes you might have missed if your body weren’t in hyperdrive around him, every slight brush setting you alight. Your fingers entangle together, and you don’t quite know who initiated it, but it feels right. Comforting. Everything. 

When your gaze roams from your entwined hands to his face, you stop at his shoulder, suddenly feeling foolish for letting him patch you up while he has an open stab wound.

“I can help with your shoulder, if you like.” You nod towards his injury, trying not to think about what it was like watching the blade be plunged into his flesh. He doesn’t hesitate to nod, managing to undo his buttons and take off his shirt without aid. At first, your eyes fly to the stars, before realising there’s no escaping looking when you’ll have to clean him up.

When you look back, it takes everything to not audibly gasp. What is clearly a lifetime's worth of hard and manual labour has sculpted him into something beautiful, with thick arms, wide shoulders, and a defined chest adorned with a trail of hair leading right down to…

You clear your throat to drag yourself out of that train of thought, a somewhat strangled sound that leaves a flush of pink on your cheeks. You can hardly be to blame: for the first time seeing a semi-naked man, you pretty much hit the jackpot.

The glow of the fire is just enough for you to see what you need to, though you shuffle just that bit closer to Callahan until your knees brush against his and it feels like embers scatter over your skin. Years of being the careful one means you’re no stranger to cleaning up injuries, but they pale in comparison to being stabbed with a kitchen knife. Luckily, it doesn’t look too deep, but you’ll still need to clean it and it’ll hurt. 

You use a fresh piece of fabric to wash off the blood. Callahan sucks in a pained breath, but the curses you expect to fly from him don’t come. From the way his cheek hollows, it looks as though he’s biting into it to keep restrained. 

“Sorry. This might hurt a little.” You admit, feeling his muscles twitch and flex under your touch. 

“S’alright, I’ve survived worse.” 

Another elusive answer, one that has you fighting a strange urge to ask him all about all the times he’s been hurt, all the adventures he’s been on. Up close, you can see hints of a life well lived, from each scar to the battered black hat he’s wearing that looks older than you. Everything about him seems to tell a different tale, each more intriguing than the last. 

A comfortable silence settles around you, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional pained hiss from Callahan. The wound doesn’t seem as bad without the copious amounts of blood framing it, but it still looks rather painful.

Attempting to clean a particularly deep section of the cut has you leaning up close, so much so you’re all but sitting on Callahan’s lap. You’re so engrossed in trying to help him that you almost miss the way his heart pounds when your breath tickles his skin, how he tenses at your touch, feeling a fire of his very own burning through him. 

With the angle you’re leaning into Callahan’s body, it is all too easy for a stray piece of hair to escape from behind your ear, the end of it brushing against his chest. You go to push it back, but he beats you to it, hand remaining by your cheek firmly as your gazes lock into each other's. The air changes. You don’t understand it, but it does. It gets thicker and thinner all at once, the world melting away around the two of you. The cogs in your mind begin to whir frantically.

You’ve never lain with anyone before. Not for some religious reason or personal rule, you just never found anyone who felt special enough to share the intimacy with. Honestly, it felt like too big of a moment to share with any of the boys you knew back home or on the ranch. But in those moments in the barn, with Ace and Timmy’s hands all over your body, you regretted it. You wanted to make the choice of who and when, not some low lives with just about enough IQ points to reload a gun. You felt powerless in that moment, when you thought they’d take whatever they wanted from you, and the second survival became a possibility you swore to yourself you’d take that power back for yourself. You grasp it, hold it close to your chest. You’re never going to relinquish it again.

Callahan watches you intently, watches you process everything with his hand on your cheek, his skin on yours, and you suddenly know exactly what you want to do with your power of choice. 

“Will you kiss me?” 

The words fall out of you before you can even really consider them. You’re tired of considering, tired of being the good little girl who spent her life hiding from danger only for it to find her anyway. What is this fight for safety and survival, if you’re not going to live anyway?

Callahan’s surprise is evident in the creases in his forehead and the way his crows' feet disappear as his eyes widen. His lips part, stutters spilling from them. Your heart falls for what feels like forever when he takes his hand from your cheek to take off his hat and run a hand through his dirty blonde hair. 

“Christ, sweetheart, I-I… I dunno if that’s the best idea.” 

A heat unrelated to the fire before you bursts across your face as the rejection stabs you hard in the chest. You thought you’d figured it out. The way his eyes lingered on your every move, the way his hand stayed on your hip just that second too long when he helped you dismount Boadicea, the spark… you couldn’t be the only one who felt it. It was unspoken, ethereal, but just as real as the cuts on your skin or the boots on his feet. You were sure of it, even if there was nothing else in your history to compare it to. 

“You don’t want to?” You don’t mean for it to sound desperate, or desperately sad, but it might just have come out that way. He notices the way your fingers anxiously pick at one another and grasps your hand again, electricity shooting out from the point of contact all over your body. 

“No, no it ain’t that- I-I do. Very much so, but… you just went through somethin’ real traumatic, darlin’. I don’t wanna take advantage of you.” 

You understand, thinking about how pathetic you must look right now. He rescued you, patched you up while all you could do was try not to cry. In the exceptionally short time he’s known you, he’s done nothing but save you. How could he see you as anything but the damsel in distress you so feel like right now?

“You wouldn’t be. You couldn’t- I…” You take a breath, knowing just how crazy you must sound to this man, this stranger, “I ain’t ever slept with anyone before. And when those men came… I thought my first time was going to be stolen from me. It terrified me, Callahan. I never want to feel that way again, that powerless... I want to choose. I want to choose you. And I ain’t gonna go all crazy on you and cling to you and make ya’ marry me, this doesn’t have to mean anything, I swear it. I just… I want my power back. I don’t want that choice ever made for me, any choice ever made for me again. I want to do this.”

Your words process across the cowboy’s features, your heart quickening with each inch he leans in towards you. His hand feels cool against your burning cheek when he cups your face, the ocean from his eyes washing over you as he studies each and every minuscule detail of your beautiful face.

“Are ya’ sure, sweetheart? Cause if I kiss you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself…”

“I’m sure. I’ve never been so damn sure. This is what I want. Please.” You plead, shuffling forwards so your legs are tangled together by the fireside.

“Well, who am I to deny a lady so beautiful as you?”

When you were young, before caution sunk his possessive claws into your mind and made you too sensible for your own good, you got stuck in a rope swing, suspended over a pond by your ankle. You only spent a few minutes in the air, mere inches from being plunged into the cool water on that sticky, hot summer's day, but it felt like hours until the twine snapped and you fell in. Those few seconds come right back to you in those moments between Callahan moving towards you and the pair of you falling into the cool water together. His lips connect with yours, and the relief of no longer hanging on the precipice of the unknown washes over you, with it the euphoria of your choices. 

Your lips fit together like long lost puzzle pieces, drawn together by a thread weaved in fate itself. It tugs you closer, until your chests are flush against each other and your uninjured arm is reaching to tangle your digits in Callahan’s hair. You feel his muscles stiffen for a moment, thanks to the stab wound in his shoulder, but he still manages to wind his hand around your waist, resting on the small of your back. When your lips part, his tongue delves into your mouth, eliciting a soft moan from you. He tastes like everything you’ve always been too sensible to do, just how you imagined when his smoke and whiskey infiltrated your senses back when you were riding with him. 

Of course you’ve been kissed before, but never like this, and you’re surprised at how quickly you pick it up from him, teasing your own tongue into his mouth. He growls, God help you, a hint of a not-so-honourable outlaw hiding under the caring cowboy shell he’s treated you with since you met. You feel something coiling tighter deep in your core that hints at what is to come, a seed of desperation fed and watered with each movement, sound or touch Callahan makes. 

When his lips retreat, the loss is so prominent you have to hold back a whimper. 

“Christ, darlin’… I-“ 

But you don’t let him finish, grasping onto his neck with both hands and dragging him back into you. A hunger burns in you, shown in the way you nip at Callahan’s bottom lip with your teeth, pulling out another growl from him. It’s a silent plea to not treat you like you’re breakable, one that he responds to by pressing his lips more firmly against yours until you have no choice but to lean into his hold and let him carry some of your weight. He wraps both arms around you, his skin so warm against yours it fans the flames of whatever is burning inside you. He feels so safe, despite every piece of common sense telling you he’s a stranger, who really shouldn't feel safe.

You don’t speak, neither one of you wanting to stop kissing the other for even a second, but you can follow his wordless instruction as he pulls you onto his lap. You straddle him, winding your legs around his waist. An ineffable wave of something you’ve never experienced before ripples through you, starting between your legs, where you feel Callahan’s hard bulge prodding against your core. You can’t help but arch your back, dragging your hips over Callahan in the process. The pleasure shoots through you and you can’t stop the gasp that parts your lips from his, your eyes flying open. 

The sight you look upon is one you’ll never forget. Callahan’s eyes are tight shut, his features twisted in a look of bliss. His jaw is so tense you see the muscle fluttering. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away. His finger’s clutch onto the flesh just above your hips, and you can feel the tension of the restraint he’s forced to employ to not hurt you or push you too fast. This huge, muscular man, who saved your life tonight, is falling apart beneath you. 

You can’t help but reach to his mouth, running your thumb so faintly over his bottom lip, still wet from your kisses. He looks to you, eyes locking onto yours as you drown in his seas. 

He speaks so softly, “If you wanna stop, or we’re goin’ too fast, you just say the word and we’ll-”

“I don’t want to stop. I want you, please.” 

He growls again, and you squeak as he scoops you up with him when he stands. Your legs are wrapped around his waist tight, your core brushing his member every time he makes a step towards the makeshift tent he put up earlier. He carries you with such an ease, kneeling down to lay you on the bedroll laid out on the floor. Even with his injury, he puts all his weight into his arms so as to not crush you, pressing more kisses to your lips as you writhe beneath him. 

“God, you’re so beautiful…” He whispers, his kisses reaching the corner of your lip and travelling down to your neck, “From the second I saw you, I thought you were so beautiful…” 

Your heart aches with his words, and you’re sure at this moment it beats only for him, your saviour, your knight in shining denim. The hours you’ve known him stretch into a lifetime, tears welling in your eyes from the purest of emotions. 

You mean to reply, but when his lips latch onto the pulse point in the crook of your neck, you melt into the earth. It feels nothing short of heavenly, and you can’t imagine what is to come if this man makes you feel these things from simple kisses. You’re purring for him, the heat pooling between your legs becoming near torturous, coiling every one of your nerves into a messy bundle inside you. 

There’s a moment where Callahan looks to you, a silent question of permission as his hand hovers over the strap to your chemise. You nod, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth so hard you’re scared it might break skin. The tingles from Callahan’s touch ripple from your shoulder as he pushes the fabric down, exposing both breasts to the cool night air. He wastes no time in taking one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling oh so lightly and pulling a moan from your lips. He laps you up, your back arching against the wool of the bedroll to give as much of yourself to him as you can. His hands work your pants, impressively considering his attention is elsewhere on your body, unbuttoning them with ease and sliding them down your legs as far as he can reach without leaving your contact. You manage to kick your boots off and slide the jeans off completely, leaving just a layer of cotton covering you. 

Your fingers entangle in Callahan’s locks, scratching at his scalp as he licks and nips at you. 

“God, please,” you moan, feeling that coil inside you tightening to impossible levels,

He’s quick to look up, a lust burning in those irises, “What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me, and it’s yours.” 

“Everything.”

Your patience is hanging on by a thread, your need for him growing and your heart pounding faster with every passing second. When he takes his hands to the fastenings on your undergarments, you could sob from the relief. With one slow pull at a ribbon, the chemise falls from your body, and Callahan opens it up like a present at Christmas. His eyes roam over you, and while you always thought you’d feel exposed when you were first bare to a man, nothing could feel more natural than being naked underneath him, to have his skin on yours as he rubs his thumbs over your nipples, before dragging a hand gently over your stomach, hovering just above your weeping cunt. 

“Can I touch you, darlin’?” His voice is gruff, threatening to crack from the restraint he’s deploying by not taking you with the urgency tearing him apart right now. 

“Yes. Yes, please, I… I feel so…”

“I know, I know… Let me take care of you, alright beautiful?” 

Your back flies off the bedroll when you feel two fingers plunge into your cunt, curling upwards slightly. It feels incredible, in spite of a strange stretching sensation that quickly ebbs away. He starts slow, sliding his fingers out and back in, dragging against your walls deliciously. You cry out, eyes shut tight and face contorted in pleasure. You don’t see how he watches you, smile tugging on his features as he remarks to himself how beautiful you look like this, but know that it happens. 

Sweet moans fall from your lips in time to the thrusts of Callahan’s fingers, your body singing for him. You’re climbing, higher and higher to a destination you don’t even truly understand. It is then that Callahan presses a thumb to your sensitive bundle of nerves and a gasp is ripped from deep inside you, your eyes flying open.

“Oh, God, I-”

“I know, baby, easy… I got you, let go, angel.”

And you do. 

Without even knowing where exactly he’s leading you, you follow, falling over an uncharted precipice into ecstasy. It ripples throughout your entire being, doubling your vision. Callahan leans back down to you, heat and want radiating from his bare skin like a burning flame.

“That’s it, sweetheart, good girl.”

He closes the gap between you, catching wanton moans in his mouth and swallowing them gratefully, needily. It feels like forever lasts in just that moment, waves upon waves of a pleasure unlike anything you’ve experienced crashing over your body and curling your toes.

The waves turn to ripples, which dissipate into a pleasant tingle that buzzes more intensely wherever Callahan’s skin is on yours. Your legs are entwined together, and you’re not sure when he removed his pants, but you can feel his warm skin against yours everywhere. It’s dizzying, the heat of him and the size of him stretching over your body. Your eyelashes flutter up at him and you reach to run a hand over his cheek. 

“Wow…” You breathe, “That was…”

“Was? Oh, I’m not done with you yet, darlin’...”

Your cheeks flush, a melodic giggle escaping you. This whole experience is so much more comfortable than you could have ever imagined your first time would be, with laughter and looks of such adoration you forget you’ve only known this man a few hours. 

“I wanna show you more…” He whispers into your skin, pressing soft kisses wherever he can,

“There’s more?” You joke, knowing full well what happens next but wanting so badly to make him chuckle again. You’re addicted to the sound, and he supplies it, shaking his head ever so slightly, 

“Are you ready, beautiful?” “Please, I need you, Callahan. Take me.” 

He doesn’t make you wait long. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. Nerves take over, but only for a second, numbed quickly by more kisses pressed on your forehead and nose. You haven’t actually seen his member, almost too shy to look, but God can you feel it when he slowly slides in. It’s a stretch, and you hold your breath until the pinching feeling falters. Callahan waits there, deep inside you, until you nod your head to wordlessly reassure him you’re okay. 

“Good girl…” another kiss, “you beautiful,” and another, “good girl.”

His praises wash over you, relaxing your muscles to the point where there is no pain, only the intense pleasure of you gripping and rippling around his cock.

“O-Oh… Feels… So good.” You manage, scratching your nails into his back and pushing at him to move. Ever the gentleman, he obliges, slowly retreating and pushing back into you. Your eyes roll back into your head as you get filled so wonderfully it’s hard to breathe.

Callahan’s arms shake around you and you watch him grasp on his composure. It’s taking him everything he has in him to not slam into you and fuck you senseless, but he clearly wants to make sure you feel safe. It swells your heart and piques your curiosity all at once, wondering what would happen if he let go in a way you know he won’t right now. 

“Y-Yeah? You feel alright, sweetheart?” He stutters, hips spluttering slowly as he thrusts gently in and out. You’re already coiling, reaching that blissful state, but you want him to feel the same. He’s growling and groaning and it’s music to your ears, but you want more, you need all of him, every last unrestrained molecule of this man. 

“I feel wonderful… Please don’t hold back. I’m not breakable, I need you, please.” 

How could he refuse? Hearing such sweet pleas and begs, he’s putty in your hands.

“Baby girl, a-are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you, and you feel so damn good, I-I don’t know if I can hold back…”

“Please, Callahan.”

It doesn’t escape your notice, how he winces whenever you say his name, but you can’t think straight about it right now, not when you feel his cock reaching every last inch of you and prodding that sweet spot he seems to have a map to. You’re delirious with pleasure, even when he’s holding back.

When he lets go, you scream, tears of pure intensity forming in the corners of your eyes. Callahan pulls back, completely out of you, before diving back in. The tears fall down quick tracks on your skin, and he kisses them away, growling deep in his chest. His pace picks up, and now you’re used to it it doesn’t hurt a bit. It’s heavenly, it’s ecstasy.

“F-Fuck, angel, what am I gonna do with you?” he asks, his lips pressed against your collarbone to muffle the words. His teeth scrape against your skin, leaving white hot trails that will be burned into you forever, you’re sure. 

“T-Touch me, p-please- oh!” Your pleas are interrupted by a particularly wonderful movement and Callahan grins at you, loving watching you fall apart like this for him. 

He can’t say no to you, would never want to when you ask him oh so nicely. He snakes a hand down between your two bodies, tickling your clit with the pad of one finger in slow, delirious circles. In response, you involuntarily squeeze around his shaft and he moans loudly in your ear.  It might have just become your favourite sound in the whole world. 

“Christ, darlin’, I-I’m so fuckin’ close I can’t last much longer, baby.”

You respond with a kiss, a passionate, almost loving kiss, where your tongue licks up the roof of Callahan’s mouth to chase his taste. You catch his desperate groans, feeling how the rhythm of his hips falters the closer to losing it he gets. His fingers get sloppy, rubbing in an indescribable pattern and bringing you right where he is, whimpering and writing beneath his body.

You cum together, your cunt constricting around Callahan’s cock, feeling every vein pump and twitch as he too comes apart. He parts his lips from yours, only to breathlessly moan your name into your ear, his hot breath tickling your lobe and scattering an inexpressible feeling over your skin. He’s pounding into you and it hurts a little, but you feel far too good right now to care. Your pulse hammers for him, over every inch of you, blood rushing around your body carrying something magical with it. Callahan groans loudly, almost fully retreating his length before thrusting a final time, deep inside you. His lips connect with yours again, the tear tracks on your cheeks wetting his own skin from how close you are. You feel his cock pulsing as he releases the last of his spend into you, with no care in your mind for the consequences. 

When you open your eyes, still coming back to earth, he’s there for you, looking down with an expression you could only describe as blissful. 

“You are… somethin’ else…” He whispers, reaching to push a stray piece of hair from your face. 

═══════☆═══════

In all your years, there has never been such a comfortable silence as the one you and Callahan are existing in now, disturbed only by the gentle thrumming of his heart against your ear. There’s no awkwardness, wasn’t when he slid out of you and helped you get cleaned up either. The moment is peace, especially when you feel your own heart beating to the exact same rhythm. If it weren’t for this man, it might not have been, and now you’re synchronised to him. 

A clean shirt from his saddle bag is wrapped around your shoulders, while Callahan’s fingers gently run over your hair. You want to thank him again, but the silence hanging around you both seems too precious for you to break. 

Your anxious mind is kind to you, allowing you a few more minutes of complete peace in this heavenly sanctuary, before everything comes crashing back down to Earth, dragging you with it. 

“... God, what am I gonna do now?”

Callahan doesn’t hesitate. 

“You could stay with me.”

You freeze, leaning up on your good arm to look him in the eye, hair cascading over your face once more. As always, he pushes it back, though there’s something in his expression that tells you he’s surprised those words left his mouth so freely.

“Stay with you? Where?” 

“Well… I run with some others, folk like you who have nowhere to go. We keep a camp together, keep eachother safe and fed. I… I’m sure they’d welcome you.”

“You’re outlaws, right?”

The great unspoken question. It lingers between you for a moment, and Callahan swallows hard. 

“Yeah, outlaws. But we ain’t as bad as those others, we… we try n’ help people, where we can. I could talk to Dutch, get you somewhere to sleep ‘till you get back up on your feet.” 

Your mind races, setting itself off faster than a spooked horse spotting a snake. Outlaws killed Varner, outlaws tried to rape you, and would have surely killed you had they had the chance… Outlaws were bad news, everything you’ve ever been warned about in your life… 

And you slept with one, and now had a standing invitation to join them??

He must sense the turmoil twisting your previously calm features, and quickly goes back to that soothing motion across your hair.

“Hey, just think on it, alright? You’ve had a pretty damn rough day, ain’t no use doin’ anything but restin’ now. We can stay here tonight, talk about it in the morning.” “A-Alright…” 

For now, you let his words wash over you, his gruff voice trying to pull you back to that tranquil state. It works, and you rest your head back on his chest, careful to avoid the makeshift bandages you tied around his shoulder. 

You shut your eyes, intertwined with your saviour while the moon watches over you both. 

“Thank you, Callahan…” you mumble, sleep already grasping you with its tempting claws.

You’re the first to drift, while Callahan stays awake as long as he can to make sure you’re alright. He watches you sleep, watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes flutter every so often. 

“It’s Arthur, by the way…”

═══════☆═══════

You’re pulled out of the realms of sleep when an owl hoots nearby. For a second, you panic, expecting all the comforts of your own bed and finding the open air. It comes crashing back all too soon, the bandits, Varner, Callahan…

He’s right where you left him, arm wrapped around your frame to keep you safe from the elements and otherwise. His handsome features are illuminated by a moon glowing high in the sky, fast asleep, and you know it’s now or never.

You’re not sure when you make your decision, whether it was when he first asked you, or some wider wisdom from a dream you can’t remember influenced you. You’ll regret it a hundred times over and thensome, but you know that even when you’re doing it. 

You allow yourself a kiss, just one soft kiss on his sleeping lips, before somehow managing to slide out of his embrace without disturbing him. He stirs, and you freeze, but a tiny snore later and he returns to complete slumber. 

There are tears welling in your eyes when you approach Boadicea. She looks at you solemnly, as if she knows exactly what you’re doing, but she lets you do it anyway. Every movement pains you in a way you’ve never experienced before, your heart aching more violently than any mortal flesh wound ever could. 

Boadicea stays still while you look through her saddle bag, picking out a couple of tins of food and one of the opened tonics, though you leave most of the provisions. It feels wrong, stealing from him, but you know you have to to survive. You’re on your own now.

Just when you’re about to wrap everything up to go, you spot a book in the back pocket of the bag, a stick of charcoal poking through the pages. Glancing at Callahan’s sleeping body, even for the fraction of a second you do so, hurts so much you can barely breathe. 

You pick the book out, flicking over stunning sketches of landscapes, animals, and a few portraits. You’re careful not to read the words, fearful that knowing any more of his soul could change your mind in an instant. The charcoal scratches at the paper as you write, more grateful than ever that you learnt how to in your free time on the ranch. 

I can’t. I’m sorry. 

Each step out of the woods pulls at that tether, the one you noticed before when you first kissed him that resides deep in your heart, the one that feels like fate. But you’ve met her before, and she scares you. Fate means destiny, yes, but she also brings doom. And that is no longer a risk you can afford to take.

[bumblepony]

For a ficlet request 😊

I've been rewatching all the Tommy content from the show recently and just keep replaying this exchange in my head.

So I'd like to request an Uncle Tommy/Sarah ficlet. Canon verse or AU is up to you but bonus if it includes them somehow ganging up on or teasing Joel.

(P.S. please ignore the low quality of the last GIF. I couldn't find it anywhere on the web and making GIFs is harder than it looks)

My Wifey @ameerawrites, here is your little ficlet under the cut and cross-posted on AO3. I really hope you like it!

Let's Give 'Em Something To Talk About

"Dad," Sarah wines as she waits at the front door, shoes on feet, bag on back, lunch in hand. "We're gonna be late."

"I'm coming, can ya wait one second?" her dad calls from upstairs. Sarah sighs and rolls her eyes, looking over at her uncle Tommy, who's leaning against the wall, swinging his keys on his fingers.

Dad comes downstairs, and both Sarah and Tommy's jaws fall open in unison.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Tommy asks.

Her dad is dressed in pressed dark blue jeans, a white dress shirt, and a navy blue sports coat. His boots are polished, his hair is slicked back, and his beard and mustache are trimmed short and neat.

"It's just a sports coat, okay? It's nothin' to make a big deal of." Her dad says, a blush creeping up his neck.

"I think it looks really nice, Dad," Sarah says, placing her lunch bag on the floor for a second before stepping forward to adjust the collar on his coat.

"What are you all dolled up for?" Tommy says, his eyes sharp.

"I'm meeting a client after I drop you off at the site. I got a change of shirt in the trailer at work, so I can change it when I get back." Her dad says, eyes shifting away from Tommy. "Let's get goin'. Don't want Sarah to be late."

"What's different about this client, you never dress up this much for any of our other clients." Tommy muses as they all leave the house and climb into his truck.

"It could be because this client's name is Tess, and she's a tall, pretty lady with long auburn hair, and she made Dad blush last week when she came to the house to drop off the blueprint from the architect," Sarah says with a nonchalant tone as she buckles her seat belt.

Dad turns around and gives her a look like, 'You traitor.' She gives him a smirk.

"Oh ho ho. Now I think I'm catchin' on. Is this the same Tess that I saw your daddy almost trip over his own damn feet when he was showing her around the construction site last week?" Tommy says, giving Dad the side-eye as he pulls out of the driveway.

"Hmm, I think it just might be," Sarah says, lips curved, and she watches Dad turn absolutely red with embarrassment.

"it ain't fuckin' like that. She's just a client, okay? I got dressed up because the meetin' is at a restaurant for brunch or somethin' like that."

"Dad, it's a date!" Sarah says, leaning forward to grab his shoulder excitedly.

"It is not a date. It's just a meetin', and sit back in your seat." Dad says as he adjusts his sports coat so it won't get wrinkled.

"Well, date or not. If for some reason you can't make it back into work today, can ya please make sure to get me back my truck by the end of the day so I can go home at least?" Tommy says, adjusting his rearview mirror so he can give Sarah a knowing look.

"It ain't like that. I will not be stayin' later, and it's not a fuckin' date." Dad says and then looks at the two of them as they exchange a look like 'sure it's not.' "Can you two cut it, please?" He asks.

Sarah smiles and pats him on the shoulder. "Okay, Dad, we'll stop. Just be careful, ok."

"Yeah, don't forget to bring protection. There's some in the glove compartment if you need it." Tommy smirks.

"Goddamn it, Tommy." Dad groans as both Sarah and Tommy break out in laughter.

---

"Hey Joel, what's up, big brother," Tommy says, balancing his cell phone on his shoulder as he struggles to measure the wood he's getting ready to cut.

"Ah, yeah, I'm gonna be a little late, but I'll be back in time to pick ya up by the end of the workday."

A smile creeps over Tommy's face, and he puts down the piece of wood and pencil so he can take his phone in hand and turn so the other guys can't hear him. "So it was a date?"

"Shut up, Tommy. I swear to god, if you say anything to Sarah about this, I am goin' to make sure she hears about why you were late to her 15th birthday party," Joel says, his voice tight.

"Jesus, don't do that," Tommy says, chuckling. "I won't say anything, I swear. I hope you had a good time, at least."

"Yeah, yeah, it's been pretty good," Joel says, and Tommy could swear he hears a feminine snort in the background. "Oh yeah, that reminds me, you're gonna have to buy more of that protection for your glove compartment, you're all out."

"Christ Joel, there were at least four of them in there, what the hell."

"Well, it was a very productive meetin'," Joel says, and this time, there's no mistaking the female laugh Tommy hears on the other end of the line.

[actuallycassidyiambusy]

I know u don't talk too much about ur original work on this blog, but I've seen the posts where u do and I am so intrigued.

Who is ur favorite OC to write in ur Helpless series? If u have one😊

I'll happily talk about it if asked! My favorite?

Blake Stahller. Easy.

Let me tell you, this man is 𝐓𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐂 toxic. A kiss you and stab you in the stomach at the same time kind of man. A make you suck on the barrel of his gun before he kills you brand of toxic.

A red flag with green hair.

My BPD and NPD king.

Brooklyn badass that will shove his fingers in your eyes if you look at him funny.

Black blooded demon with an extremely short fuse and drinking problem.

He makes his first appearance in book one. He comes off as rough, slick tongued and foul mouthed. Despite his rocky exterior, Blake is as loyal as they come. That is if you're lucky enough to earn his loyalty. He has a very dominant personality. He's extremely antagonistic.

A few small things about Blake is that he was raised by his hard headed, Italian mother. He knows Italian very well and sometimes lets it slip when he's pissed off or flustered. He's openly pansexual and makes a habit of flirting with others. It's like a sport to him. Nothing really sticks with him romance wise. No one can catch his eye long enough.

Except a spitfire blonde boy named Zeke who hits back. Blake just can't seem to shake the brat and it really pisses him off🤭 though he can't deny how much he craves the struggle and aggression that Zeke brings to the table. The only scar he has is the one given to him by Zeke with a broken bottle🥴

Blake is extremely explosive and his only outlets are violence and sex. More than often at the same time. Every other word that comes out of his mouth is a cuss word or insult. He's not easy to get along with and nobody has been able to tear down his walls, and let me tell you, there's some serious trauma behind those bricks. He's from Brooklyn, NY and is known as a vicious gang leader. He runs some of the biggest underground organizations all through the state and across the country. He's clever and he's terrifying.

Blake is also open about his intentions. He won't lie to you. If he wants to fuck you, he'll say so. If he wants to kill you, it was nice knowing you. If he wants you to work for him, you'll see a charismatic side that will lure you in. If he wants to fight, he'll throw the first and last punch.

He doesn't take disrespect or stupidity lightly. You might as well have spit on his boot if you cross him. He's cut off people's hands, scalped them, tortured and humiliated them, burned their eyes with a cigarette. His interrogation skills are impeccable.

You can't touch what's his. God help you if you steal from him or attack one of his men. There are only two things exempt from his rage. Kids and animals. He'll respect a woman if she respects him. Plain and simple. You can't tell him what to do or how to act because you're "not his fuckin' mother."

It's why he's my favorite to write. His character has so many possibilities. There are tons of layers to this character and each one is more interesting than the last. I can go down any road with him and just be like "that's Blake" he's that unpredictable and wild. He doesn't give a shit how big and bad an opponent is, he will always find a way to come out on top.

[tboybuck]

WIP wordsearch game!

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

tagged by the lovely and wonderful @delta-piscium

my words: laugh, wear, sleep, look, thigh

(all snippets are from greatest hits and subject to change at a moment's notice because we are in editing mode on this bad boy <3)

laugh:

“And I apologized. Y’know, the comment about old habits, Harrington… that was kind of out of line.”

“Yeah? Well, I meant it. You were running away.”

“And you weren’t?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs and drags his hand through his hair. He leans with his hip up against the counter and crosses his arms again. “Can we not do this again today?”

Eddie scoffs a laugh and shakes his head, moving to the fridge to get them each a beer. “Civil for the kids, right?” “No, Eddie, not just for the kids. You piss me off like no one I’ve ever met but goddamn. I want you here, okay? Who else is gonna gang up on Mike Wheeler with me?”

wear:

“You’re so hot. So fucking hot. You’ve got this fuckin’ mouth, Stevie. Looks like you wear that fruity lip gloss sometimes, makes me wanna taste ‘em. Sometimes,” Eddie hesitates, unsure if he should say it. “Sometimes I wonder what you’d look like suckin’ me off.” 

He watches Steve take that bottom lip in between his teeth, his hips and thighs twitching a little. Like he’s enjoying hearing Eddie talk about him like this.

sleep:

It lingers between them, taking up space. Eddie waits. Eddie'll wait forever, if that’s what it takes. He looks away from Steve. “I won’t,” he says. “Not till you ask.”

“Thanks.” Steve clears his throat and slaps the tops of his thighs as he goes to stand, effectively resetting the anxious silence between them. “Tired?”

Not in the slightest, Eddie wants to say, but he stands as well. “Yeah. Let’s get some sleep. It’s late. Should I, uh…?” he gestures to the couch, still a little unsure of where they are after the fight.

Steve’s expression is unreadable. “If you want.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then come to bed.”

look:

Maybe if Steve doesn’t feel like the pressure is on him to initiate their fooling around, Eddie will be able to have a little more of him, a little more frequently, and they can take their time a little quicker.

Steve touches him then, as he and Eddie stand there in the kitchen. He draws the tip of his finger up the back of Eddie’s bare arm, goosebumps rising in its wake, before encircling his wrist in a loose grip. “Your arms look good in that shirt,” Steve murmurs, his voice so quiet it’s as if he’s afraid any more volume would shatter the moment.

“Yeah? Tell me more about how good I look.”

Steve rolls his eyes and scoffs, and he reaches up to tug at Eddie’s ponytail. “In your dreams, Munson.”

thigh:

“Is this okay?” he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of Steve’s ear.

“Yeah.” 

“What happened to not jumping back in, dick first?”

“Will you shut up already and just -” Steve presses back against him again, and Eddie can feel where the seam of his ass is against his cock. 

He’s sure Steve can feel it too, the implication of what they’re doing. They are both right at the edge of that line, the very first and most important boundary. Eddie can’t penetrate him like this, of course, with two layers of cotton between their bodies, but it’s a direct simulation of what could be. It’s a technicality at best. Eddie thrusts again, gasping at the catch and drag of the head of his cock against - what? Steve’s thigh? His crack? His hole? At this angle, Eddie can’t tell.

“Turn over,” Eddie whispers, and Steve does. Eddie takes a moment to position them the way he wants, with one of his thighs between Steve’s legs and one of Steve’s thighs between his. He goes to put a hand on Steve’s hip but stops himself, moves his hand up to his waist instead. He guides Steve to thrust against his thigh.

wait this was so fun, i forgot some of these bits existed, but i'm feeling super motivated now to spend the rest of the night writing!

no pressure tags: @barbariansteves , @corrodedbisexual, @matchingbatbites, @anzelsilver

your words: first, blank, under, lips, deep

(you're right del coming up with words was hard)

[zeeroweenies]

having thots about toman bullying the reader but specifically chifuyu, mikey, draken, baji and mitsuya 😮‍💨

this ask got my mf spidey senses tingling😫

cw: recording (not consensual) ; bullying i guess ; humiliation ; denial ; public fingering ; anal ; cum swallowing.

bully! draken and mikey can’t help but wanna tag team you. They’re on your ass at all times, literally. Dapping each other up like bros do and giggling at the way you nervously hug your books to your chest from them secretly recording under that tiny skirt when you’re in a rush to get up the stairs, only to prevent you from getting to your destination by flipping it up to get a closer look at those pretty panties you always wear, bending you over the nearest surface to fuck you full with two whole loads leaking from your slutty pussy before sending you right on your merry way. It’s not their fault you’re so breedable.

bully! mitsuya always dresses you in the sluttiest shit he manages to craft up no matter how embarrassing it may be. Dragging you out in public in the tiniest tops with your tits hanging out and mini skirts that barely cover anything or showing off his hard work by making you put on a private show for the entire gang, every stitch that holds the indigo blue lingerie against your body makes everyone in the room stare in awe, accompanied by stifled groans and catcalls along with the hardened tents in their pants when Takashi makes you twirl on your heels and bend over to reveal your soaked pussy through your crotchless panties.

“She looks so fuckin’ hot,” a voice chirps up from behind him, making an egotistical “I know” fall from his lips before throwing his drink back with a smile. Don’t forget to say thank you, Mitsuya.

bully! baji loves getting you flustered. You’re a shy lil’ thing, exactly how he likes em. That’s why it’s so fun getting you off during class, staring you down though those intense grey eyes while he’s two knuckles deep inside your tight little cunt, a mischievous grin on those roguish features from the way you try to contain each small whimper and gasp the entire time during your suspecting professor’s lecture. Leaving you displeased and hot in the face when you look up at him through begging eyes when he pulls out of you to suck his digits clean, dick throbbing in his pants at the way you rub your thighs together in a secret plea for more. God, good girls were the fucking best.

bully! smiley uses you for his own pleasure. You don’t need to get off when you’re his personal cumdump, in his eyes you don’t deserve to. So he pumps you full, heart swelling with pride at the way you take all of him even though he’s far too big for you, that trademark smile plastered across his carefree mug contrasting your fucked out features when he’s pounding into you, eyes crossed and mind bleary before he quickly pulls out to cum on that pretty face. Maybe if you beg good enough next time he’ll be nice enough to cum inside you like the bitch you are.

bully! toman as a whole loves to pass you around to the gang. Fucking their favorite whore full of cock and cum until you’re an incoherent mess. Gleaming at how you willingly slut yourself out to them like a cheap skank, even allowing them to put a cute little tramp stamp of the gang’s insignia on the side of your hip should you ever forget you’re Toman property. “And what’s your name?” Your chin is lifted harshly by Draken who’s shoving a camera in your flushed face, spit and cum leaking onto his hand with Mikey and the other men towering over you with their dicks in hand waiting for your answer. “Tom– Toman’s cumdump.” You barely manage to mumble. That’s a good girl, maybe they should collectively reward you with a facial. It’s only fair that they treat their favorite hole nicely.

[gm--requests]

Sweet Dreams - Daddy Dom! Gang Orca

g e n r e - s m u t.

w a r n i n g s - Dom! Sakamata, daddy kink, breeding kink, light! degradation, oral (f. receiving), praise, size kink (this mammal is 6′6-6′8, my body was shaking just thinking about it), low-key monster fucker aspects, belly bulge (he is whale-man...), mind break, squirting, contains lots of time skips because i lose interest easily and suck at writing filler.

o r i g i n a l  c o n t e n t - i did write this

w o r d s - 5335

r e q u e s t s - closed

a / n - YES i understand that is was shigaraki’s chapped ass that clapped re-destros’ shit, but for fanfic purposes just play along. literally pls don’t try and eat my ass over this, i will cry. i don’t even watch my hero y’all, i just do a lot of fuckin research and hope for the best. if something is wrong just lmk (nicely) and i’ll look into it. anyways this is written with a plus-size reader in mind anyone, of course, can read it, and i highly encourage it because i worked hard on this piece. also please leave feedback if you have any. please do not engage in unprotected sex unless you are in a long term relationship with a trustworthy partner.  that being said please enjoy sex as much as you want with the use of aforementioned protection!

(03/19/21)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Aizawa called you into his office and told you that you’d be assigned a pro hero to shadow/side-kick for you were ecstatic. How could you not be? This was a rare opportunity to learn alongside the best of the best. Of course being Aizawa’s teacher's aide was helpful, but it had nothing on being in the field learning with hands-on experience. You sat nervously, as you watched him sifting slowly through the paperwork he’d been given about it.  You crossed your fingers, hoping to be paired up with someone of super high ranking like number 5 hero rabbit quirked Mirko, she was blunt and powerful and had been your role model for ages, or maybe even number 2 hero Hawks. Just thinking about being teamed up with him made your heart beat out of your chest. He was fast, mentally and physically, sharp just like his feathers and painfully handsome. Aizawa cleared his throat and snapped you back into reality.

“You will be paired with number 12 hero Gang Orca.”

His words hung in the air and you processed them over and over again.

“Huh?!”

He tapped the ends of the papers on the desk, straightening them up before passing them to you. You looked at them with something similar to horror and absolute dread. Honestly there was nothing wrong with Gang Orca. He was strong and intelligent, but he was also absolutely terrifying.  A 6’6 sea mammal, with a muscular build and a deep almost haunting voice, he wasn’t ranked number 3 as heroes who look most like villains, without reason.

You look up from the papers in your hands to meet Aizawa’s indifferent gaze, “He is kinder than he looks and you will learn a lot. If you really have plans of becoming a top ranking pro-hero in the future you should look at this opportunity as a gift and learn all that you can.”

He’s right, this isn’t something that happens often, I’m sure I will learn a lot! You think to yourself. You nod, “You’re right!”

A small smirk pulls at the corner of Aizawa’s lips, “You will be his sidekick active tomorrow. There is no set time limit to this mission, it is over when it’s over, understand? If you prove to be more of a hindrance than a help, he is allowed to send you back here, so make sure to give it your all and stay safe,” he adjusts his scarf a bit, “I would like my teaching assistant back in one piece.”

You stand up abruptly, determination and a bit of excitement coursing through you, “Right! I’ll be back in no time sir!”

Aizawa watches as you bow politely, excuse yourself from his office and head down the hallway. Your attention fully on the mission briefing that you grasped between your hands.

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

You spend your entire evening running through different scenarios, all of them about meeting your terrifying predecessor. Of course you’re nervous about the mission, which seems way above your skill level, but how could you worry about that when in less than 15 hours you would have to come in contact, and spend the rest of god knows how long with the Gang Orca. Letting out a sigh you continue to pack the recommended items on the list and then some. Thanking your past self for watching Marie Kondo videos as you pat yourself on the back for fitting so much into 2 small carry-on sized bags.

Once done packing, you spend the rest of the night calming your nerves and relaxing before finally sleeping away the anxiety. The morning comes too soon. You are met with the loud alarm from your phone, as usual it incited a sense of violence within you that had you getting out of bed with a scowl. You quickly showered and checked your bags again, making sure you had everything packed, before slipping into your hero suit. It felt a bit odd to have on after so long, it was more snug than you remembered, but in all the best ways. It hugged each and every one of your curves, making you look soft and shapely. It was a form fitting one piece, with the cut of a tank top at the top, leaving your arms and legs completely visible.

Your quirk is called mindful duplicate. Your quirk has two names because it comes in two parts. The mindful part is in regards to your ability to read people minds for up to 1 minute of time up to 35ft away. The further away the person is the more concentration it takes to do so. For every 1 minute of mind reading there has to be a 3 minute cool down period. During this time if you continue trying to read thoughts, you will essentially overheat and lose functions of other parts of your body. If pushed too far you can lose those parts/their functionality permanently. The duplicate part of your quirk is similar to the Phantom Thief’s, as it allows you to copy the quirk of anyone you touch, however, you can only hold 2 different quirks at a time and you only have the stolen quirks for 6 minutes before you will need to touch the original quirks owner again. Also, unlike Neito, you can use these two quirks simultaneously, allowing for more damage. Your hero suit leaves you more exposed in order to avoid as much costume damage as possible.

This quirk may have left you a little more clothes-less, but it also gave you more self control. It is hard to keep the mind reading in check, hard to turn it off and on, but if anyone had mastered that it was you. You were a hard worker and a great teammate. Not to be cocky, but you were a valuable asset and you wanted to be deserving of every compliment someone gave you. So as you stood in front of your full length mirror, a bit self conscious about the tighter squeeze of your uniform and the daunting hero you were about to be on a mission with, you reminded yourself that you were just as capable. No matter what happened you would make the absolute most of this opportunity. Smiling widely at your reflection, you turn around and grab your civilian clothes. A pair of high-waisted, loose fitting shorts and oversized shirt covered your hero suit. Sitting on the bed the wrapped your feet, opting to have no specific hero shoes as they could be pretty expensive and hard to replace, and then slipped on a pair of your old worn out skater shoes.

Just as you had finished getting ready, there was a loud knock at your door. Startled, you quietly walked to it, standing almost on your tippy-toes to look through your peephole. You were surprised to see one of Gang Orcas sidekicks. You opened the door and greeted them warmly. They bowed to you politely and somewhat awkwardly gestured towards the hallway they’d come down, “Oh!” you exclaim with a nod, “You’re ready to go?”

They nod back at you and you smile softly, “One second, let me grab my bags,” you turn and begin walking to your room, “Please, step inside,” you call out over your shoulder, turning to see them awkwardly step into your apartment. You stifle your giggle and grab your bags, briefly stopping through every room to make sure that lights were off and electronics were unplugged. Once back in front of your door, Gang Orca’s sidekick gently grabs your bags from you, eyes a bit wide at the small amount of things, “I know,” you say as your grab your keys off the wall-hook beside the door and step out of your apartment behind them, “I pride myself on being able to travel light!”

Checking the door to make sure it locked properly, you shove the keys in your pocket and begin walking down the hall with your new acquaintance. “Tell me,” they look at you expectantly, “Is uhm, is Mr. Orca downstairs in the vehicle already?”

Their eyes turn into crescents as they nod at you, “Oh goody,” you murmur nervously. You can’t help the way you fidget with your fingers as you approach the vehicle. Your jaw almost hits the ground as you see the black limousine in front of you. Following the sidekick to the trunk, you try your best to prolong the time by pretending to have a need to do something with your bags. Once you shove your keys in one of them and grab your phone from the other, you awkwardly walk to the car door. Before your hand can reach for the handle, the sidekick is opening it for you, thanking them profusely you slide inside the car.

Opposite you is the enormous pro-hero you’ve been panicking about. He looks up from his phone and watches you as you buckle your seatbelt and bounce your leg nervously. He does his best to control his urge to chuckle at the way your anxiety so obviously dances across your features.

You clear your throat and straighten your posture, “Uhm, Hello Mr. Gang Orca, I’m-”

The giant mammal cuts you off, with what appears to be a smile, “Y/n, and please, call me Sakamata, we are partners as of today and I’d love for us to be able to be trusting of one another.”

Your face heats up at his bluntness, “Oh yes, uhm, of course Mr. Sakamata!”

He chuckles softly at the lingering formality but knows that it is something that is probably there to stay. Your eyes trail over his suit clad body and suddenly you feel extremely underdressed, for what exactly? You weren’t sure. As if he were reading your mind, he brought one of his large hands to the cuff of his shirt sleeve and undid the button, rolling it up to his elbow, “I’m sorry for such formal attire, I all but live in these suits,” he began rolling up the other sleeve, “I just came from a meeting and you know, time is valuable asset, so I skipped over changing into more casual clothing.”

“It’s a really nice suit,” you murmur as your small hands grab at the end of your shirt.

“Thank you,” he responds, the amusement in his voice barely hidden, “I have read all about your quirk and really look forward to working with you for this mission. I’m assuming you’ve taken it upon yourself to read the briefing files in their entirety?”

You nod, your eyes glued to your lap, the nerves only heightening when you hear him chuckle, “Little one, I assure you that you have nothing to be afraid of. I apologize if I’m doing something to bring you any anxiety, but please know that you can’t let this hinder you on our mission. This is a high-grade assignment and despite this fact, I don’t intend on returning with any injured parties.”  

Your skin heats up at the seemingly friendly pet name, “Yes, Mr. Sakamata,” you take a deep breath and look up at him, doing your best to hold his gaze, “I plan to work really hard and do my absolute best during this mission! I swear that I won’t be cause for worry or get in anyone's way.”

“That’s good to hear, little one, I look forward to working with you. We can discuss the case more once we get to our destination, for now, I have some phone calls to make and I suggest you take this time to relax and prepare yourself for what could be a very long time of undercover work and battle.”

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

And it was. Two months had passed of undercover work, sneaking into and destroying lower villains hideouts, and prying any information possible out of enemy after enemy. As time went on you and Sakamata inevitably became closer. Spending all of your “free time” together, discussing plans in order to fully be able to take on Re-Destro. As time would tell, Sakamata was kind and driven, he had so much to teach you and he found himself learning things from you along the way as well. It was easy to feel, well, at ease with the giant whale because he was understanding and simple to talk to.

As two months turned into three and the weather began to heat up, you were thanking your past self for packing cooler clothes and also thanking  the gods for blessing you with the toned view that was Gang Orca, shirtless. The mammal had eventually found himself comfortable enough to parade around in nothing more than sweatpants and house slippers and you weren’t complaining. Why would you be? If anything you felt a bit guilty. Here you were supposed to be focused on this important mission and instead you were finding yourself more and more focused on the way his muscles rippled when he leaned back against the couch with a tired sigh, or how his enormous frame dwarfed yours enough that his shadow overtook your own when he was stood in front of you.

Despite your best efforts to cover up your lingering gazes or the seemingly innocent, if not accidental touches, Gang Orca was not a dull man. He noticed the way your eyes trailed down his body when you thought he wasn’t looking, the way you weren’t so hesitant to touch him as you walked by or when you laughed, all of it seemed almost blatant under his watchful eye, but he knew better. Of course, the mammal knew you were trying your hardest to keep the scandalous thoughts that clouded your brain at bay, but your attempts weren’t good enough. They were beginning to become a distraction for him.

You in your entirety of existence were becoming a distraction. Your shorts got shorter and your all of your shirts seemed to follow suit, your plush body all but on display for him at any given moment, whether it be “lounging” around or during battle. He was better at being discreet with the way he looked at you, ogled you really. Everything jiggled so deliciously and he couldn’t help but think about how well you would take him, what a great mother you’d be. Despite these thoughts, he told himself that there were more important things to worry about, and there were, but it seemed as if the universe was allowing him the pleasures of you. When you both got word from intel that Re-Destro and many members of the Liberation Army had settled down in a new area, that would need a few days of scouting out before any attacks could be made, he found himself creating a new type plan, one that would end in your writhing underneath him as he fucked you full of his potential calves.

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

A few days after packing up your things and moving to the new location, you quickly realised how much further above your pay grade this mission was. Watching more than a handful of villains/villain companions enter and leave the new Liberation headquarters.

You sat back in your chair and placed your binoculars on the table beside you, a long sigh leaving your lips as the back of your hands rubbed the tiredness from your eyes. Sakamata could sense your stress long before the signs started showing, but didn’t point it out for fear of it making you push yourself harder. Now that you were so openly distressed, he couldn’t ignore it.

“Little one, maybe you should take a break,” he deep voice startled you, causing you to shoot up and quickly grab the binoculars from the table.

“N-no, I’m okay! We’re so close, I couldn’t possibly-”

He placed a large hand on your shoulder, your body tensed and then relaxed as he gave you a gentle squeeze, “It was my mistake for making it seem as though you had a choice in the matter,” Sakamata leans down to bring his head beside your own, “you will be no use to me if you are too exhausted to use your quirk.”

The closeness made your face heat up, “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The orca stood up, moving the hand on your shoulder to your head, rustling your hair a bit, “Good girl.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the praise, your eyes almost bugging out of your head. Standing abruptly, you avoid his eyes as you walk around him. He removes his hand from your head and watches you quickly shuffle to the bedroom.

No more than twenty minutes after you’d laid down, he heard your light snoring, he chuckled to himself, glad that you were resting well, before returning his attention to the building across from your airbnb.  For a while it stayed like this, his impeccable focus and trained eyes following each and every individual walking in and out of the building. Making note of who and how many. It was easy to get lost in the meticulous, yet mundane task of surveillance and so he did, and he would have stayed that way too if not for the noises you were making getting louder.

Gang Orca quietly straightened up in his chair, his attention now completely on listening to you. Almost immediately, worry shot through his body as you let out another noise, louder this time. It sounded almost like a whimper? Were you in danger? Had someone snuck into the room that quietly or had he just been too focused on his task to hear it. All but jumping out of the chair, he bounds to the room and throws open the door, only to find you still asleep. A bit disheveled, but resting well.

He sighs and lets his body relax. After regaining his composure, he hears the noise you’re making again. The mammal watches your soft, chubby form writhe back and forth in distress, and his nervousness begins to rise a bit again. Really he is unsure of your problem, that is until  your hand trails down and slips underneath your sleep shorts. Of course, he starts to realise the gravity of the situation, becoming flustered quite quickly, but he can’t pull himself away.

Kugo watches as your eyebrows knit together and your breathing becomes a bit more ragged. He wonders what you could be dreaming about that made you feel the need to do all of this while still deep in slumber. He swallows hard as the noises leaving your lips become more frequent. Closing his eyes and sighing, he gathers up all that is left of his resolve and turns around, and walks back through the doorway.

As he’s closing the door he hears it, the moaning of his name. Though he wants to help, wants to hear it again and again, louder, with more fervor, he thinks better of it after all, he knew the guilt of staying there to watch or doing something without your actual consent would eat him alive, and he was a better man than that. He instead opted to wake you up. Sakamata knew you’d be embarrassed if he told you the real reason, so as he thought of a different excuse, he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand from between your legs. He was doing his best to ignore the way your chubby fingers glistened with your slick and he was succeeding until you instead rolled around to latch onto his arm, your wet fingers wrapped around his forearm as you nestled into him needily. Your noises were less frequent once again, but nowhere near stopped.

He felt bad for the way he grew in his pants as you continued to latch onto him, so taking a deep breath, he shook your sleeping form gently with his free hand, the one you weren’t clinging to.

“Y/n,” he grumbled, his voice deep and low, “wake up, y/n,” his call was calming and soon, along with the rocking of your body, had you slowly opening your eyes. It took you a minute to come to your senses, your thighs pressed together and dampened, your body snuggled close to his as your arms were wrapped around one of his significantly larger ones. When you realised all of these things you shot up, detaching yourself from the mammal, eyes wide and worried. Your hair was a mess and your chubby face was hot with embarrassment.

“Sir, I am-”

He cut you off, a large hand coming to pat down your hair, despite the vastness of his size and strength, his touch was gentle, his eyes forming crescent like shapes as he smiled softly at you, “Do not worry little one, I only woke you because I thought you were having a nightmare.”

The lie tumbles out of his mouth easily, but he knows you don’t believe him, especially with the way you shift uncomfortably in your wetness. The lie he tells almost makes you more worried. If he felt the need to lie you must have done something ridiculous in your sleep.

And with that thought dread washed over your body.

“Uhm, sir, I uh,” you stutter over your words as you look away from him. Your eyes falling and your hands coming to clasp in front of your body as you readjust yourself to be kneeling. You bow your head deeply, “I’m so sorry for anything I may have said or done in my sleep to cause you any type of problem.”

Kugo’s hand stills on your head, his eyes trailing from the top of your bowed head to the overflow of your thighs as they press against one another.  

With a sigh, he pulls his hand away, “Must you always make yourself look so small and helpless, it renders me almost completely incapable of managing myself.”

You raise your head slowly and look at him, straightening yourself up you reply, “I’m sorry sir, I don’t think I understa-”

He lets out a dark chuckle, “You are quite naïve for such a talented hero. We have spent so long together that you must think I can return the need to fulfill my fantasies as well,” your eyes widen as he speaks, “I would normally apologise for saying such things, but after hearing you so sweetly call out for me and then have you so unabashedly wrap yourself around me, I know that I am not mistaken by how you feel.”

“Sir, I-”

“Would you like me to assist you y/n? Rather,” he brings his hand to his tie loosening it a bit, his eyes never leaving yours, “would you be so kind as to assist me?”

His words have you lightheaded already and he has done nothing to you. The handsome hunk of mammal in front of you has your heart slamming into your ribcage and your breathing ragged without needing to even touch you. How could you answer with anything other than, “Yessir.”

Kugo stands from the bed and removes his tie, dress shirt, and vest, and your eyes instantly attach their gaze to his impeccable muscles. He is chiseled and defined and so so fucking big. He stands over you, his aura automatically making you feel like an ant in his presence.

His voice is gravely and his tone is serious as he speaks, “If you need me to stop you will say ‘quit’ and I will do just that, do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” you nod small and he continues.

“I will do my best to be gentle with you, so long as you are a good girl for me. Also,” his eyes fall from yours, almost as if he is a bit embarrassed, “I would like to ask that you call me Daddy.”

You swear you forget how to breathe, instead of talking you nod fervently, but his hand comes and grabs your cute face, “Say it now,” he commands gently and you obey with a small, “Yes Daddy.”

His hand cups your face gently and his voice falters a bit as he speaks, “Such a good girl, c’mon guppy get comfortable on the bed for me.”

The change in his tone is enough to send shivers down your spine and of course in your excitement you move in a hurry. Helping him by slipping off your shirt and shorts first, you get comfortable on the bed beneath you.  

In an instant he is on top of you, hovering over your small soft body. If he thinks too much about how tiny you are in comparison to him, the tightness in his pants grows more and more uncomfortable.

Instead of kissing you, Kugo’s tongue comes out of his mouth to lap at your exposed body. First it trails down your neck, long and wet, it leaves a trail that cools with the air. It laps at each of your exposed nipples, hardening them quickly, small whimpers falling from your lips as your chest heaves. His hands come after, flicking and pinching gently. He watches you, enamored by your responsiveness and the soft pants leaving your mouth. Then his tongue is back, this time between your legs, licking at the sticky wetness from your sleep laidened arousal. Sakamata hums at your taste, quickly moving from your squishy thighs to your dripping cunt.

Dragging his tongue through your folds, he chuckles at how sensitive you are for him. One hand splaying across your fleshy tummy, the other keeping your thighs apart, as he eats you out with obvious experience. Your orgasm is quickly approaching and your cunt spasms around nothing as his sharp teeth nip carefully at your clit, before his tongue pushes into you without warning. His tongue is long and hot and opens you up beautifully. “Daddy! Daddy! S’good!” you cry out as his tongue fills you up. It spurs him on as he pulls his tongue out of you and pushes it back in.

Instantly you cum, covering his skilled tongue in your arousal. He removes it from you and once again comes to your clit, helping you ride out the pleasure. When your moans become pitiful and your hips stop canting off the bed, he pulls away. He stands off of the bed to remove his pants. His eyes sharp like a predator, “You’re so beautiful little guppy,” you grumbles down at you as your eyes trail down and widen at his impossibly large cock.

He can see the nervousness on your features and it makes him twitch. You swallow hard as he climbs back on top of you, “Don’t worry guppy, I know this greedy, wet pussy of yours can take Daddy’s cock.”

You nod slowly before letting your head fall back as he rubs the head of his dick through the folds of your soaked cunt. “Please,” you take a deep breath, “Be gentle Daddy.”

A soft groan leaves his lips at your gentle plea, “Of course I will be, remember to say ‘quit’ if you want me to stop. You do not owe me anything little one,” you reply with an “mhm,” and he presses his tip against your fluttering hole.

A hiss leaves his mouth as he presses his tip into you with an audible pop. Already your mouth is hanging open, a silent moan turning into a silent scream as he presses a bit further into you. Tears spill from your eyes and his tongue laps up the salty water as he continues to press on. He brings the pad of his thumb to your clit, trying to help aid the both of you as he continues trying to sheath himself within your small pussy.

“You’re s-so tight little guppy,” he groans into your ear. All you can do is cry out at the seemingly never ending stretch.

It hurts, no pleasure is evident in your body, even with his menstruations against your erogenous bud, but you don’t want to tell him to stop. Even though you feel as though he going to rip you in half, you can’t help but marvel at how full you feel.

When his hips finally settle against your own, your tongue is lulling out and drool is falling past your open lips. You swear you can feel him in your stomach and you can, his large hand comes to place your hand on your tummy, where even through the plushness you can feel the head of his cock.

“Do you feel me little one? You’ve done so good for me, I will go slowly.”

You warble out a whine of “Daddy,” before you completely lose yourself in the drag of his enormous cock as he pulls out of you.  

You don’t know if it was with the first thrust back in or the fourth or the twelfth, but somewhere it changed from pain to unsurmountable pleasure. His thickness touching further than anything you’d ever experienced, his hips slow with each thrust, your back arching off the bed each time he fully tucks his length back into you.

Your fully stretched cunny leaking like a faucet as he grabs your thighs and pushes them back gently. Even this simple angle change has you blubbering, eyes rolled back, as he presses back in.

“S-so good,” he praises, “You feel so good wrapped around me like this little one, ah~”

His moans are luxurious in sound, deep and silky and they only add to your pleasure. The bulge in your stomach returns each time he buries himself back in. You continue to orgasm, time and time again, each time losing yourself a little more.

“Daddy, don’t stop, never stop, please Daddy please,” you cry out, but it’s slurred and frantic, your hands grabbing at the bed sheets and your hips coming up to meet his thrusts.

“I-,” he cuts himself off with a groan as he feels your arousal splash out around him and add to the wet mess already on the bed, your pussy gripping onto him tightly, “Fuck guppy, I’m gonna fill you up, alright? I’m going to fuck you deep and fill you with my calves,” his breathing is labored as his speaks, his hips coming down with more fervor.

You let out a choked sob as he folds you in half and finally fucks into you with the aggression he’d been wanting to. The stretch hurting again as he gets somehow deeper, “Do it Daddy please, wanna have your whole pod, wanna be full of your babies Daddy please.”

“You’re going to be,” his cock now twitching inside of you, his hips against yours making disgustingly wet slaps, “ such a beautiful little mother, guppy.”

“Please Daddy!” you cry and he doesn’t make you wait any longer, pressing completely into you. His cum pours into you hotly, warming your insides. It’s so much, your stomach swelling a bit as he pants above you. Your tiny hands coming up to cup his face, his skin smooth and almost slippery in your grasp. You place a messy, weak kiss to his mouth and he smiles down at you lovingly.

“I’m so full Daddy,” you whine out and he chuckles softly, pushing our hair from your face.

“I know pretty guppy, you did so good for me,” you smile up at him, your face still carrying a fucked out haze upon its features.

You cry out at the immediate emptiness you feel as he removes his softening length from your overworked cunny. His cum seeps from your gaping hole and he can’t keep himself from pushing on your slightly inflated tummy to watch more of it pour out. You writhe underneath him and whimper. Sakamata just smiles and stands from the bed, “I will return to clean you momentarily. Do not move too much, the mess is already quite extensive.”

“Please hurry Daddy,” you pout and his grin widens.

He fucked you so well that you may have forgotten to call him anything other than Daddy and that was a thought that weighed happily on his mind and heart.

[babbushka]

Omg “Really? You wanna have sex….here? Now?” and “I may or may not have left some….marks.” has suck biker!Kylo vibes. Love everything you write so I can't wait to see everything you bless us with this May

Anonymous said:  Ohhh, what about Biker gang!Kylo w/ possessiveness, marking and "Suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me." I always get so excited for Sinday and all the fabulous writing you create. Ahhhh

2k, NSFW (big dom!Kylo, frottage at the mechanic shop, praise kink, oral fixation, finger sucking, fingering, spit as lube)

It takes him all of two seconds to recognize the look in your eye, when you come walking into his office at the shop for Kylo’s lunch hour. You’ve brought him takeout from his favorite deli, a big hero with all the fixin’s on it, and you’re right on time.

Kylo’s stomach growls, but he’s got a bad feeling that he won’t have much time to eat his lunch, because you’re smiling at him, a pep in your step, eager anticipation written all over your face you sit yourself down on top of his desk, greeting him with a cheeky sing-songy, “Hellooo honey!”

“Really? You wanna have sex….here? Now?” Kylo folds his arms over his chest, looking you up and down, admiring your choice of outfit.

You always knew how to get him good, with your short skirt and low-cut top, covered up and yet revealing at the same time.

He’s going to give you what he wants, because he always will -- but he’s going to make you work for it, just a little.

“Please?” You bat your lashes at him, hope high in your chest.

You’ve been thinking about him all day, have been wanting him ever since he ate you out for breakfast before heading off to work. You weren’t always able to visit him during his lunch hour, but today you tried extra hard to make it happen -- you had gotten a taste of his pleasure and you weren’t finished yet.

Which is why you’re wearing what you’re wearing, hoping it’ll catch his eye and get him in the mood, seeing your tits practically spill out of your top, especially when you arch your back ever so slightly, pushing them out purposefully.

“I’m busy.” Kylo raises a defiant eyebrow, and you bite away a smile, knowing this game all too well.

“Then take a break.” You counter , and he glares, muscles in his jaw working tight.

His eyes rove over your body, stopping at the hem of your skirt. You’ve got your legs crossed, ankles swinging over the edge of his desk, and he can see straight through the little gap that you’re not wearing underwear. Another little move that you hope he’ll appreciate, such a sucker for easy access, you uncross your legs and re-cross them, giving him a flash of your pussy.

“You’re being a real fuckin’ brat right about now, you know.” Kylo’s ears start to turn red, and you grin, because that means he’s getting hard.

“Yeah but you like it.” Reaching out to caress his cheek, you lean forward to ghost a kiss over his mouth and twirl a lock of his hair around your finger, silky and soft from the shower that morning, “Don’t you? You like that I give you a run for your money.”

“Get over here.” He snaps his fingers, and you can barely contain your excitement at the instruction, hopping off the desk and instead sitting sideways on his lap.

Kylo recently renovated the shop during the winter slow season, and now his office was bigger than ever -- and all his own. He used to share it with the general manager, Gwen, which made things considerably more tricky in terms of when he was alone and could fuck you. But Gwen had her own office now, and Kylo’s door is locked, and you moan softly when he taps his blunt nails against your lower lip with a scowl.

"Suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me." He orders, a pleased hum rising out of his throat when you open your mouth just wide enough for him to push them past your teeth, rubbing them against your tongue with a deep, “Atta’girl.”

You take your time, savoring the feel of the fingers in your mouth. They’re so big, two of them alone feels like too much, and you have to really keep your jaw open when he forces in a third. He’s wearing all his rings, they leave a metallic sort of taste in your mouth that has you moaning, your hands wrapping around his thick wrist to hold him in place.

Kylo loved watching you suck on him, whether it’s his cock his tongue his fingers, all of it makes his dick throb, and while you lap your tongue over his digits, you can hear the familiar jingling sound of his belt, of his groans. Sighing and whining, your thighs rub together, pussy wet from the anticipation, as he shifts you around to get a better angle.

“Are you gonna fuck me with your cock?” You peer up at him, kissing and drooling all over his fingers and palm, slicking him up. Not that you need it, you’re wet enough as it is, you just like to do what he says, you like when he’s happy that you’ve done a good job.

“Not today sweets, you’ll get my fingers or you don’t get anything at all.” He grunts, pulling his hand away from you, “I’ve got a big meeting today, I have to be sharp. Can’t be all fucked up from coming in this tight cunt.”

The belt must be just for comfort then, and even though it’s a little disappointing, you know he’s got a good reason.

“That’s okay, your fingers are more than enough for me.” You smile, lips swollen and tingling from all their hard work.

Kylo kisses you then, wanting his lips on yours, wanting to taste your spit straight from your mouth. You were chewing gum on your way over, and he can tell, the fruity flavor a reminder that you’re sunshine in a bottle, with the way you’re so good.

Kissing Kylo is one of your favorite pastimes, you could do it all day. There’s only about forty-five minutes left on his break, but you could do it for that whole time if he lets you. Maybe he will, you think, when his soaked hand nudges between your thighs, your own spit smearing on your skin as he pries your legs open.

“Such a good slut you are, look at this, not even wearing any panties.” He smacks your pussy lightly, making you suck in a breath and frown at him, as he continues, “Shouldn’t be going around town like a whore with this short skirt and no panties, someone could see how well fucked my girl is. What were you going to do if I came in you? Walk around with it dripping down your fucking thighs?”

“Yeah, and what about it?” You challenge, grinding your hips down against his palm, your hands clutching at his chest, trying to spread your legs wider as his fingers skim across your folds, not really giving as much pressure as you need.

“You’re so spoiled.” Is all Kylo can manage, before he’s plunging in the first two fingers, pushing them straight up into your cunt, making your grin drop open into the most pretty O.

If Kylo’s fingers felt big in your mouth, they feel huge in your pussy, thrusting up against your walls, stretching you. You don’t even bother to hide how good it feels, your head rolling back, pushing your chest into Kylo’s face, a silent demand that he anchor himself to you while you undulate on his lap.

He takes the hint, and latches his mouth to your cleavage, to the flesh that’s spilling out of your tight shirt. He moves up your neck, suckles there, eyes shutting closed as he focuses on pushing your slick back into your body where it drips onto his palm.

“Mm, Kylo,” You moan, your eyes shut too, savoring the feeling of his thumb on your clit, rubbing harsh circles in tandem with the fingers that crook against your front walls, searching for your gspot. “Another? I can take it, give me another.”

“Bossy.” Kylo grunts against your throat, biting sucking licking at the sweat that starts to bead there as you try your best to rock onto his hand.

You don’t have to respond to that, because he’s shoving that third soaked finger up into you too, stretching you further. It’s not as much as his cock would, but that’s because his cock is fucking huge -- huge and throbbing against his stomach where it’s wedged between your bodies.

“Oh --!” You yelp, when the third finger finally finds the spot that Kylo was searching for, but he quickly grabs your jaw with his other hand that’s been holding the back of your neck steady.

“I’m going to need you to be quiet for me sweets,” Kylo kisses your throat as he warns you, pushing and moving your face from the grip on your jaw he’s got to expose a broad expanse of your neck to him, “There’s shop boys and customers just outside this door, and I don’t want them knowing what we get up to in here.”

“Right there honey, oh fuck that’s good -- sorry sorry, I’ll be quiet.” You apologize around little moans and whimpers, the harsh grip of his hand on your jaw a reminder of just how strong he can be.

Your pussy clenches and throbs around those fingers as they thrust in and out of you, hitting that spot over and over again, fucking you rough and fast because there’s not much time now, not much time at all and you can feel the hot licks of pleasure traveling up your spine, starting to crest when he returns his thumb to your clit.

“I’m coming, fuck fuck -- oh!” You give him virtually no warning, but he doesn’t care, you’re positioned in a way that your come is only going to soak into the fabric of your skirt, it won’t get on his jeans.

Your orgasm hits strong at first, and then settles into something pleasant and warm. Eyeing the clock, you’re glad to see that there’s still ten minutes left on his lunch break, enough of a chance for him to eat something, even as your bones and muscles have turned to jell-o. Kylo’s face has gone red again though, and you quirk a brow at him, tucking some of his hair behind his ears, asking, “What’s the matter?”

“I may or may not have left some….marks.” Your man doesn’t often look sheepish, but he looks like it now, biting on his lip as he surveys the damage that he’s done to your pretty skin.

Fumbling around in your purse that’s sitting on his desk, you find your compact mirror and hold it up, letting out a blissful laugh when you see just how many fucking marks he’s left.

“So much for keeping things discreet.” You roll your eyes, and he only pinches your thigh for the comment, helping to stand you up on your feet without wobbling. You want to offer to jerk him off or something, but there’s no time right now, and the both of you know it. You’ve been enough of a distraction as it is, so you embrace him one final time, kissing him with a happy sigh, “Good luck with your meeting, I’ll see you later?”

“Here, take my jacket. It’ll cover you up.” He pulls the heavy leather riding jacket off of the back of one of the chairs in the office, and bundles you up in it. The arms are a little too long because he’s so tall, and the shoulders are too wide because he’s so broad, but you feel safe and warm inside it.

“Kylo Ren, giving me your jacket? Does this mean we’re goin’ steady?” You tease him, before bolting when he starts chasing after you, thinking that there was no way in hell was he going to get around to having that damn sandwich.

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

Tagging some Kylo lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @lovinghufflepuffgirl @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here

[dejwritesarchived]

Pssst *opens wallet* how much for a Shuya angst fic—after what we just talked about my mind is spinning😭😭

HE WAS SURE HE GOT HIS ANGER FROM HIS FATHER. When you grow up witnessing your father use his hands to express his anger in such a bloody way, what do you expect? Perhaps Shuya's words were a bit harsh. He was a blunt person. An asshole by nature if you asked some. The ones whose face he bashed in when they were late on paying their debt off. Large rough hands that have been stained with others' blood countless times. Burning up his own clothes with blood splatters on them. Being his father's son was the reason he was such an angry man.

Currently passing back and forth in his office, fingers combing through his messy hair, tie to his nicely tailored suit loosened around his neck. Despite hating his father's guts, Shuya still hated to disappoint the guy. So finding out a man who was in debt with his father had fleed New York City caused the eldest Sato brother to grow easy. Guzzling down the expensive scotch in his glass before eventually grabbing the bottle and taking a long sip from it. He's plopping down in the large black chair, his youngest brother on FaceTime on the giant Apple desktop computer screen.

"Don't panic, we have men in each state that could track him down. Plus dad's been getting sicker and sicker, he probably doesn't even fuckin' remember who owes him," Shao answered truthfully. "But we gotta find him, people find out people that are in debt with us is getting away...it's not a good look."

"I know that Shao. Thanks for being fucking captain obvious," Shuya rudely spat at his brother as his head fell back on the chair he was sitting in.

"No need to get rude, asshole, but I have to go. I have to officially finalize this deal with this gang." Shao says. "Just don't stress out about it, make your men work overtime to try to locate him. For all we know, he probably still in New York City."

The call ended leaving Shuya alone with his own thoughts. Even when his father was close to croaking, he still could feel the harsh burden burning at the pit of his stomach at the thought of disappointing him. He took another sip of his alcohol hearing his office door creak open. When he saw the beautiful woman at his door frame, on usual days his cock would instantly get hard at the sight of her. Tugging her in for a stern kiss while his large hands cup at her asscheeks. She always playfully pushes him claiming that his version of PDA is gross. [Y/N].

He didn't really want to be bothered right now. Especially with the shit that's been piling up on his plate at the moment.

"I don't really want to be bothered right now [Y/N], I'll get my driver to drive you back home." Shuya firmly said as his eyes were glued to his phone attempting to get updates on the current situation.

"But you promised we'll go out to dinner tonight. I spent two hours getting ready and you're not even properly dressed and you're already drinking," [Y/N] lip gloss-covered lips parter. Her arms crossed over her chest. Her skin already radiating so much heat in annoyance. He didn't even bother to look at her and take in her beauty.

"I said I don't want to be bothered right now." Shuya firmly repeated as he's leaning over, taking another sip of the alcohol in the bottle.

"You said that last time." [Y/N] argued. Even though he had already made up for canceling the last date (at the last minute), it still pierced her heart even thinking about it. So here the young woman was challenging the eldest Sato brother with so much confidence.

"I know what I fuckin' said. I made up for it, didn't I? You're literally wearing it." Shuya spat at her as his brown-colored eyes went back to his phone.

[Y/N]'s mouth gasps open. Her hands are firmly placed on his desk as she's leaning forward. "Is it another woman? I know you seem to can't keep your shit in your pants Shu, so I wouldn't be shocked if you fucked another woman."

"You're pushing it [Y/N]. Just go home, we'll talk about it tomorrow. I just have-"

"No, we're going to talk about right now. Are you fucking other women?"

Shuya's nostrils flare as he's breathing in a sharp breath. He was getting frustrated at her actions, her words. No, it wasn't frustration. It was annoying. Why couldn't she understand that he just didn't want to be bothered right now? He had shit to clear up right now.

But instead of communicating that with her. He chose the same route his father used to do with his mother, pushing her away.

"Do you want me to fuck other women? I can call up Isabella right now and fuck her right here in front of you." Shuya says as he looks at her. The same challenging eyes that she once was giving him softened. That tug some strings.

"You're such an asshole, go-ahead..go fuck Isabella. I don't care."

"I will and I'm going to enjoy it too," Shuya says. He's really watching himself ruin a perfect relationship.

[Y/N] lips parted to argue, but instead, she twirled around in her red bottoms leaving his office. The door slammed shut so aggressively behind her it caused a picture that was on the wall to collapse to the floor.

Shuya's head fell back into the chair once again as he took a sip out of the bottle once again. His hands trembling out of stress, frustration, and anger.

"FUCK!" He would yell before tossing the bottle halfway across the room as it collided with the light-colored walls.

There you go Shuya Sato pushing away people again?

[brighteyewrites]

Invisible (Fooling Myself)

I am right here with you I couldn’t be more close Pretending that I’m in this moment, When I’m only a ghost -So Far Away [Red] Prompts 4 & 25 and Prompts 28 & 47 | Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela Ziegler / Gabriel Reyes

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Cassidy watched the woman seated across from him from under the brim of his hat; for all appearances, he’d tugged his hat down over his face and fell asleep. She looked small and frail, fingers clutching tightly at the serape he’d wrapped around her hours earlier - but it was her face that truly gave her away. Pure grief clouded her eyes as she stared down at her lap. It was the saddest he’d ever seen anyone, and he had seen a lot of sad people - usually right after he’d killed someone they knew. Maybe she had known someone on that strike team? Cassidy was tempted to reach out and try to comfort her, or at least make her hands relax because they sure looked like they hurt, but he doubted she would want that from him - or from anyone, if rumors were to be believed. He’d never talked to her before, though he’d heard of her and might have passed her once or twice in a hallway. Doctor Angela Ziegler, the only person he’d ever met in over twenty years whose last name started with a ‘Z’. She was also the only person he’d ever met whose initials matched the ink on his left ankle - AZ. He wondered if she was his match in some way. Jesse was pretty sure he’d figured out one set - AA, for Ana Amari, a woman who couldn’t help but mother everyone. Jesse had wondered, when he had first met him, if GR was for Gabriel Reyes - but if it was, Jesse sure didn’t know what role he filled. They weren’t close enough to be friends, angry enough to be enemies, and Jessie didn’t swing that way so they definitely wouldn’t be lovers. But that still left three roles to fill - assuming he’d gotten the AA right. He couldn’t imagine Angela as his enemy, for a number of reasons. Hell, Cassidy doubted she was anyone’s enemy, not with her sterling reputation for saving lives both on and off the battlefield. She wore a fuckin’ halo and set of wings; her callsign was Mercy. She was probably the best goddamned person he’d ever met, and they’d barely said more than ten meaningful words to each other. He probably hadn’t even introduced himself. Not like there’d been much time for pleasantries, considering he’d just pulled her out of a strike mission gone straight to hell. No, if she was bonded to him in some way it was one of the other two - friend or lover. He knew it was always possible that she was his match - and that he wasn’t hers. Far too many people had to settle for less because theirs wasn’t a perfect match, and wouldn’t it be just his luck to be in that position? Considering who they both were, Jesse was doubtful that he could ever entice Angela into his bed - so he could only hope that she wasn’t soulmated to him in that way. Of the three options, being his closest friend was far more preferable than the heartache of the other. Not like that was any likelier. Who was he kidding? She was the fucking angel of Overwatch and he was a semi-reformed gangster that had been press-ganged into becoming a Blackwatch agent. It wasn’t like there was any reason for their paths to even cross, except in rare - and extreme - situations like this one. Angela would forget he even existed once they landed - and damn if that didn’t sting, just a little bit. It shouldn’t, since they’d barely spent three hours together and had said practically nothing to each other, but there it was. Cassidy knew better than this, he did, but the idea had taken root somehow. Like a sore tooth, he couldn’t help but fixate on the idea. He’d get over it in a day or two, after exhausting himself in training and burying himself in mission planning. He’d forget her, just like she would forget him. He’d become a footnote - if that - in her life. The carrier jolted as it landed, breaking him out of his thoughts. By the time he looked up again, he was met with cool eyes and a gentle smile. It was the exact opposite of the sorrow that he had seen on her face, to the point where he wondered if he’d imagined it all. As soon as the carrier rolled to a stop, they were both climbing to their feet. “I do not think I have thanked you,” Angela said softly as they waited for the ramp to lower. He glanced over at her in surprise; Cassidy hadn’t expected her to speak to him at all, much less to thank him. “Don’ worry about it; it was nothin’,” Cassidy said - though he was pleased at the recognition. If anything, he’d expected her to rail against him for arriving too late to save her team - but if he had known about the bomb, Cassidy doubted she would have been in the field at all. “Maybe not to you,” Angela agreed, “but you saved my life, and I am grateful.” She shrugged out of his serape and offered it back to him. “If there is anything I can ever do for you, I would be more than happy to oblige.” Cassidy blinked as he grabbed the cloth; surely he had heard her wrong. There was no way she meant that; those were just pretty words to make her feel better. Cassidy doubted she expected him to ever even attempt to collect - how could he? Okay, yeah, he was Blackwatch and he could probably find her with some digging, but not without drawing a whole lot of attention that he’d rather avoid. “Sure thing,” Cassidy agreed anyway. There was no reason to antagonize her; she was more than capable of making his life miserable, considering her rank and who she was friends with. Angela nodded once before making her way down the ramp and into the sunlight as he settled his serape back into place over his shoulders. Fuck, it smelled like her. Cassidy headed down the ramp after her, steps hesitating briefly as he saw who was waiting: the Commanders and the Captain. For a moment, he panicked - he’d never done anything to warrant a visit from more than one of them, and now all three were here - but then he realized that they were all looking at Angela. Ana drew Angela into a hug, which was unsurprising: that was what Ana did. What did surprise him was how Angela threw her arms around the woman in return. That didn’t match the cold woman of rumor or the calm one he’d just spoken to - which reaffirmed the grief he had seen on her face. As Angela pulled back, shoulders tight with the stress of the day, Cassidy realized this was a private moment, one not meant for his prying eyes. Before they could realize he was watching, he slipped away into the shadows of the carrier to find a way off the roof. Still, Cassidy couldn’t keep himself from looking back at her one last time, the AZ on his ankle practically burning, and froze. Reyes’ hand was on her cheek, his face far more gentle than Jesse had ever seen, and Angela was smiling sadly up at him. Something - jealousy? He wasn’t jealous, he couldn’t be - twisted in his gut as he forced himself to turn away before they caught him staring. He was absolutely fucked if Angela was the one who was his fated lover, because there was absolutely no way she’d ever look at him the way she looked at Reyes.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Hello again, lovelies. This is tagged as "Part One" because it comes before the other posted parts in this timeline. Also, due to the change in Cassidy's name, I want to make a note here. Based on the official release from Blizzard regarding Cole's name, he would be known by his previous name during the original Overwatch [at the very least]. I am following that canon. But, because I understand the gravity of the events surrounding the name change, I will not actually use his old name - I will either tell the story from Cole's POV [to avoid casual usage] or descriptive language. Therefore, unless otherwise shown in this story, only a small handful of people know Cole's real name [Cole] and instead know him by the [unstated] previous name. Any other story, you'll find that Cassidy's name is actively known correctly - this is because it's easier to write instead of finding ways around his old name.

[babylooneytoonz]

A Gangster's Heart - Tommy Shelby x Reader

A/N : I just felt like writing this because I was feeling weirdly emotional when I woke up. Also, I didn't get a chance to proofread it so please pardon me if there are some grammatical shits. I was on a Peaky Blinders hiatus and I just hadn't written in so long, please forgive me if this is bad .

Warnings : Just Angst , Mentions of vulgarity

You glared at the man in the Blinder cap that was leaning against the doorframe of your quaint little shop in Small Heath, Birmingham City. You pulled out a small brown box from one of the drawers and slammed it rather loudly against your desk, sliding the keys in as you twisted it around and the box unlocked with an unceremonious click. You looked at the bills that were securely resting inside, and a hollow feeling filled you up when you realized that you had been saving this to buy your mother that dress at the seamstress shop.

"I always pay my bloody rent. This month the business 's tight. I even told Finn that this month I need a relaxation on the bloody rent and I will pay it all with the next month's rent. Why are you here again asking for the goddamn money?"

"Listen, Miss, we really are in no fucking position to not do what Tommy asks us to, so if Tommy –“ the man you knew as Curly shuffled the weight of his body from his left foot to right, and his palm slid into the pocket of his pants as he pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"So if Tommy asks you to jump off a fucking building, you are going to jump off the fucking building, yeah?' Exasperated, you slammed the box shut, and slid it back into the drawer again.

"I can come back tomorrow, Mr. Shelby won't ask me for the money until 9 in the morning. I can come collect it at 8."

You let out a loud groan of frustration, and involuntarily, your elbows came to rest on the desk as you buried your face into your palms. Finally taking a deep breath, you looked up, and your lips parted, your lower lip almost quivering, "Listen, I - I can't bloody pay Tommy the rent this month, the business is tight, and I barely made enough to pay my apartment rent."

Curly almost shook his head, scratching the side of his face as his hand mechanically flew up to his lips and he took a drag of his cigarette. Finally he nodded, and cleared his throat, "T's okay, Miss Y/L/N, I'll inform Tommy."

"You do that." You nodded and watched him leave. Almost instantly, you slammed your fist against your desk in frustration and let out an unceremonious groan, more so at the sudden onset of a headache at the side of your head. "Great, just fucking great."

An hour later, you grabbed your trenchcoat, throwing your arms through the sleeves in a hurried manner, and wrapped your scarf around your neck to keep yourself warm. These days, you were staying at your shop for longer hours, and this meant that you left from the shop at the odd night hours, mostly after 10. You grabbed your house keys, and walked out of the shop, your boots crushing the faint hue of ice that blanketed the streets of Small Heath, and you locked your shop.

Hugging the side of your arms, you started walking down the sidewalk, keeping your head to the ground, when you heard the sound of hushed whispers that made your head snap up in the direction of the voices. For the people of Small Heath, the men who belonged to the Peaky Blinders always stood out, perhaps it was because of how they dressed, and the unmistakable razorblade caps on top of their heads.

Of course, Tommy Fucking Shelby had sent them to probably collect the rent from you. You didn't know what came over you, but the nearest you could classify it as was a fit of rage, as you found yourself walking towards the men, your nostrils flared, and your fingers clenched together in a fist, balling the side of your coat.

"Listen here, I already told Curly that I'm in no fucking position to pay this month's bloody rent. You can all go and tell your boss that intimidating me by sending you lads is not going to fucking get me to pay the fucking rent."

One of the man took of his cap and stepped a bit closer, raising both his hands in the air, "but Miss Y/N, Mr. Shelby hasn't – "

"Oh, please lad. Don't justify the threatening acts of your boss, just because he runs your razorblade gang, it doesn't mean that I'm scared of him. Where the fuck is he anyway? I would rather settle this with him on his bloody face than stand around in the middle of the street at 10 at night and argue with you all." You huffed, as words shot out of your mouth like bullets raining down on them. The man who had began speaking stood there with his jaw slightly hanging, and no words came out of his lips.

"Well, I'm gonna go and settle this at the betting shop. Talk directly with Tommy." Before waiting for them to reply, you turned your tail, and started walking down the same street again, in the same direction from where you had come. But this time, your steps were confident, your head was raised as you found yourself walking towards the Shelby Betting shop.

•·················•·················•

"Miss, where do you think you are going?" Someone's voice called out as you barged through the front door, and pushed your way through a few men that were already on their way out, ignoring the voice of the man who had called out to you.

You walked up to the massive copper door that held a plate that read TS, and you abruptly knocked on the door. You waited a few seconds when you heard the muffled voices inside the room go off, and heavy footsteps began ascending towards the door on the other side.

You crossed your arms over your chest, and waited until the door finally opened, and you saw John leaning by the door.

"John."

Acknowledging him barely, you pushed past him and stepped inside, until you were striding towards Tommy who was standing by the telephone, speaking to someone. His icy blue eyes met yours and he slowly raised his palm towards you, asking you to hold on to whatever you had to say to him, while John just made his way to where you were and fixed himself by your side, giving you a confused look.

Finally, after about a minute, Tommy finally hung up and placed the receiver back, slowly turning to you.

"Is there anything –"

"Cut it, Tommy. If you think you can scare me off by sending your Blinders to do your dirty bidding for you, then you're wrong. Here– " Your fingers flew to your scarf, and Tommy just squinted his eyes, his confusion evident from his face as he turned to look at John and then back at you.

"What are you– "

You pulled off a gold chain that you remembered wearing almost all your life; ever since you were a little girl. It was that one piece of jewelry that you owned, and that you cherished, because it had been given to you by your father. You literally pulled at the chain, hissing slightly as it detached itself from your neck and you curled your fingers tightly around it, and finally slammed it on Tommy's desk.

"There. I hope this will be enough. I don't have anything else that I can give you. I hope to God that this settles it."

Turning around, not even waiting for Tommy to reply, and without sparing a look at his confused brother, you turned your tail and fuming, you walked out of Tommy's office, without giving him another look. Brittle tears stung in your eyes and your cheeks felt hot. You kept walking, ignoring the way your body was shaking, like an autumn tree shedding its leaves until you were outside and fixed to the wall, the back of your head resting against its surface. Finally, you broke down, your palm pressed to your trembling lips as you were taken over by uncontrollable sobs.

You didn't know how you calmed yourself; but somehow you did. You wiped your tear stained cheeks with your sleeve and looked up at the sky for a bit, staring at the moonless night, as you started walking back home, with your thoughts and your heavy heart. You were angry with Tommy Shelby, you were angry with yourself, and how you had to depend on the Peaky Blinders to run your little shop.

You kept walking, until the familiar silhouette of your tiny apartment was visible, it's dull grey white walls a striking contrast to the red brick buildings around it. A lonely flickering lightbulb illuminated the front door, and the windows of the building looked like they were about to fall off. It wasn't the best place to live, but it was home. You smiled to yourself when you saw your mother standing by the kitchen window, her frail little hands working on the dishes as she scrubbed them relentlessly. And just as quick the smile was, it vanished into thin air at the sight of her.

You lifted your foot, ready to walk towards her when a vulgar leer subjected to you made you freeze on spot, "Oi look what we've got here, eh lads, what a pretty little thing she is." You could only look at them, with bewilderment and fear in your eyes, as two men stepped out of nowhere, and fixed themselves on either side of you.

"Yeah, leave me the bloody hell alone," you mumbled as you tried to manoeuvre your way through the space between them, in an attempt to walk away, but one of them grabbed your arm, and pulled you back with a rough tug, "Now who the fuck asked you to leave eh? Fuckin' whore."

The man stank of booze and sweat, and it made you want to throw up. You threw him a look full of disgust, and anger as you placed your palm where the man was gripping your arm and tried to pry his hand off you, "Get your fucking hands off me. Don't you dare touch me."

"Maybe you didn't hear me, you whore. I didn't ask you to leave. Where's a pretty little thing like you headed when I can show you, yeah, a bloody good time?" He only laughed, while his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed the hem of your coat, his fingers now dragging it up so he could reach your skirt. You smacked at his hand, hard enough for the slap to echo back into your ears and tried to move away.

"Maybe you need to be taught a fucking lesson." The man spat at the ground beside you, and the other man grabbed your other arm, as they started dragging you towards the dumpster by the side of the street, on the sidewalk. You screamed, as loud as your throat could, thrashing your feet and trying to get away, but they were two, and you were a woman, nowhere as strong as their grips on you were.

The men somehow managed to drag your protesting form to the dumpster, and they pushed you over it, so you had your front pressed to it, your body bent over it at an awkward angle. You hissed, your eyes closing as reflex when you felt a slithering hand latch itself to your thighs, underneath your coat and the hand started moving upwards, forcing you to try to press your legs together to stop him from going any further, "Quit whining you bitch, and let me show you what a real lad takes a whore like. You must like it rough yeah? You must love to have our cocks smashin' into that tight little cunt of yours?"

You closed your eyes, your throat now parched from the screaming, but you knew, deep down that no one was coming. You were on your own.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" That voice enough was enough to tell you that the men had their death sentences already laid out. Maybe it was Tommy's voice, or maybe it was the realization who he was, the hands that were seconds back trying to grope you immediately pulled away.

"We were, uh, just having fun."

"Would you still have fun if I decide to fucking cut your throats and leave you to bleed to your deaths?" Finally, he stepped closer to you, and that's when the men saw who he was, and the realization finally sunk in, as the pale moonlight now illuminated his face, his emotionless eyes and the vein that popped over his eyebrow.

"Mr. Shelby, we .. we.. oi, get the fuck out of here, Jack.." He screamed at the man that was accompanying him, and the two of them turned around immediately, pulling you by your arm and thrusting you into Tommy's chest, to buy them time to escape. The minute your body collided with Tommy's, his arm immediately wrapped around your waist, his hand coming to hold you from the low of your back to steady to your feet. Once he was sure that you were okay, he roughly shoved you towards the wall, and his form stepped in front of you, shielding your vision from what he was going to do.

"Look away, Y/N," his voice commanded.

"Tommy, please get me out of –"

"What bloody part of look away do you not understand?" He practically snapped at you and the crudeness in his words made you almost whimper and press yourself against the wall, as you turned towards the wall and pressed your face to it.

Your body shuddered, even more so when you heard the two shots that were fired from a gun, and suddenly it went silent.

"Come on, love," you felt someone place his arms over either of your shoulders , almost pulling you towards him and slowly, numbly you turned around, tears freely spilling down your eyes, the shrill ringing sound buzzing through your ears. Tommy pulled you close, almost into his chest, as he protectively wrapped his arm around your shoulder and nudged you to walk with him.

"You killed them, you fucking ... killed them." Words began spilling from your mouth as tears began spilling again from your eyes, and you didn't stop mumbling, it was like your mind was blank, and your lips were moving on your own. It was only when Tommy's index finger pressed to your lips, that you stopped mumbling those barely incoherent words, and craned your neck to look at him as you mouthed, in a low voice, "you killed them, Tommy."

Tommy kept you pressed to himself, his arm holding you as he began walking down the street, and you moved along with him.

"This is who I am. Yeah, I fucking killed them, and I would do it again, and will not feel a bloody ounce of regret if they tried to do that again."

It was as though your mind had frozen out, you couldn't think straight. You were still shaking from the aftermath of what you had just witnessed. When you didn't reply, he slowly let go off your shoulder, and you stepped away, almost immediately. He didn't say anything though, as his hand slid into his pocket and he pulled out his box of cigarettes, "I'm going to walk you home."

"No, I need a fucking drink. Just walk me to a place where I could get a fucking drink."

•·················•·················•

Tommy Shelby brought you to the Garrison. And now you were seated on a couch, in the private room of the pub that Thomas Shelby owned. You had already drank two glasses of Irish Whiskey and Tommy was pouring your third glass for you, when you finally looked up at him and reached out, roughly grabbing his other free hand that was laying on the table. He immediately looked up, his eyes meeting yours halfway, as you tilted your head and questioned him silently with your eyes, "I appreciate what you did for me, Tommy, but you didn't have to shoot them."

Tommy leaned forward, sliding your glass towards you and he sat back again, his hand mechanically moving up to his lips as he inhaled the smoke from his lit cigarette.

"Listen, there are things that I do, I do them for a fucking reason, I didn't want you to see which is why I asked you to bloody look away." His voice was cold.

You curled your fingers around your glass and lifted it up, bringing it to your lips as you took a small sip of the drink, letting the burning liquid rush down the canal of your throat. When you didn't reply, Tommy leaned forward, his fists clenched and his lips pressed together.

"I can see that you want to say something, Tommy." You almost whispered.

"This is the fucking reason why, I don't like you working at the shop after the sun sets."

You almost snorted at his words, and instantly your glass flew to your lips, and this time you gulped down two mouthfuls of it and placed the glass back, giving Tommy a look that reflected the annoyance you felt at the situation, "Are you telling me it's my fucking fault, that I wanted this to fucking happen?"

"If I wasn't there on time," Tommy almost began, but his voice was incredibly low, and he immediately stopped his words from spilling out, thinking that you hadn't heard, but you had heard him nonetheless, "Where the hell were the boys when this happened?"

"What?" Your head snapped in his direction, as you gave him a look of confusion.

"Nothing. Come on. I'm gonna walk you home."

"Thomas –" You stood up almost immediately, your eyes burning a hole at the back of his head. "What did you mean about the boys?"

Tommy took a last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it into the ashtray as he stood up, and slid his hand into one of his pockets, before placing your gold chain on the table.

"Curly told me of the word he had with you today. And I told him that it was alright." He pressed his palm against the chain and slid it towards you, pulling his hand away. You kept glancing at the chain for a few seconds before you slowly lifted your gaze, fixing it on him.

"I don't understand. Then why were your Blinders following me?"

"They weren't. They were just doing what I had asked them to do."

You stood up, striding towards Tommy until you had placed your palm on his arm, and yanked his head towards you so you could stare into his eyes. "You asked them to follow me. So you could get the fucking money."

The man in front of you shook his head, and pulled his arm away, without uttering a word. You watched as he walked up to the door and fixed himself by the doorframe , his back turned towards you.

"Harry? Where the fuck's Curly? Send him in, yeah?"

He cleared his throat, and turned back towards you, not meeting your gaze.

"I won't accept that chain. You should keep it. And as for the rent, Curly can collect it next month."

You opened your mouth, but at that exact moment, a rather flustered looking Curly knocked on the door and Tommy's attention drifted away, "Curly, can you please make sure Miss Y/ L/N gets back home?" Without giving you a second glance, he walked off and you were left to look at Curly, wondering what you had said to him for him to react the way he did.

"Curly?"

"Yes? Miss Y/N?"

You walked up to the doorframe, and looked out, your eyes scanning for Tommy but you didn't see him anywhere. You craned your neck back so you were now looking at Curly, "If Tommy was okay with me not paying you today, then why were the Blinders following me?"

His hand flew to the back of his head and he gave you a sheepish smile, before flicking his glance away and then back at you.

"It's not really my place to say."

"Curly."

"Oh alright! Tommy sends the Blinders everyday. He just wants to make sure that you safely reach home from the shop and no one bothers you on your way."

•·················•·················•

"Harry! Have you seen Tommy anywhere?" You were literally out of breath as you slammed both your palms against the counter and the bartender looked at you.

"Mr. Shelby just left a few minutes ago."

You didn't even listen to anything else, you had already turned your tail and were practically running out of the Garrison, not bothering as your shoulders knocked into people on your way out.

Stepping into the cold, brittle street, your arms reflexively flew to the side of your arms as you ran down the street, ignoring the way the people were looking at you and murmuring whispers amongst each other. You weren't bothered what they were thinking about you, and your eyes were fixed on the man who was now inches away from you, smoke coiling around him and his back turned towards you as he walked down the street.

"For fucks sake, Thomas Shelby, are you really going to make me run after you like this in the dark?" You called out, watching him freeze as he turned towards you.

"Does that man never listen? I thought I asked Curly to take you home."

Immediately, your hand shot up, and you almost placed your palm up so you could let him know you were speaking. His cold, emotionless eyes moved from your hand to your face, his expressions unreadable.

"I was wrong. But you are worse than me. You send in your fucking Blinders to make sure that I get home safe but never once bother to tell me why. You secretly care about me, but never let me fucking find out. Thomas Shelby, I really don't understand why you do the things you do. You see, from the day I've known you Tommy, the only impression you've given me is that you probably hate me. Or, I don't exist. And then you secretly do this. I am tired of playing these games Thomas Shelby, and I am done begging you to answer. What is wrong with you?"

You watched as Tommy parted his lips in an attempt to reply, but all that shot out of those lips was the foggy winter air before he clamped his mouth shut again. He almost took a step closer and suddenly all you could feel was a weird tension lingering in the air.

"You know what your problem is? You think too much, you bloody assume too much. You're telling me you think I fucking hate you, when all I've ever done is to make sure you're okay."

"Why would you even fucking care about me?" Your voice sounded weak, but you didn't care. You hadn't realized when your lips had started trembling and hot tears had started skimming down your cheeks. Tommy let out a barely audible sigh as he brought his palms closer to your face, his reluctance to hold you pretty evident. Finally, after fighting with himself for so longer, he let his palms cup your cheeks as he pled your face to his, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Some things are best left unsaid, love. I will always care for you, whether you like it or not. Who knows where you'll be tomorrow, who you'll be with, but you will always mean something to me." You smiled when you felt Tommy's lips press against yours, and in those few seconds he kissed you, he gave you all the answers that you wanted, and he didn't even have to say a word.

Permanent Tommy Shelby Taglist ( Fill the form here if you want to be added ) :

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @really-dont-forget-it @thepeakygurl @baumarvel @nyotamalfoy @peakyfooky

[winchest09]

Life for Rent - Chapter Twenty Seven

Pairing: Mobster!Dean Winchester x Escort!Reader

Universe: AU

Summary: Y/N can be anyone for a price. Her life is ruled by contracts, men and money. It’s all she knows; countless identities, seedy clients, and strict regulations. She has to obey the rules, but her past is full of secrets and her future is resting in the wrong hands. But will her next client be the same as the rest?

Rating: 18+ W/C: 5216

Warnings: (spoilers) Angst, violence, threats, death threats, talks of death, imprisonment, suicidal thoughts, violent outbreak, swearing, blackmail, deceit, double crossing, guns, trafficking.

PLEASE HEED THESE. IF ANY OF THEM ARE TRIGGERS, DO NOT READ.

A/N: So...three chapters left after this one...are you ready? ;) 

Special thanks to this absolute babe @katehuntington​ <3  My worldie, my bestie, my beta whose reaction to this always has me beaming, without her, i’d go insane. She’s my cheerleader <3

I hope you guys enjoy this add! Thanks everyone for sticking with me and this fic <3

Love you all.

xox

– I absolutely adore your reactions to this, so please if you do read, reblog, comment or send me an ask and let me know how you feel! It means the world to me.

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<– Chapter Twenty Six

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Do it.

Those words echoed around Dean’s head as he stared down at the woman who had managed to fool him entirely. Not again, not her, not Y/N. After everything they had been through, after what he had done for her; what he felt for her. He didn’t understand how she could do this to him. He’d given her everything, he’d allowed her to be a part of his family and yet here she was, on her knees waiting for him to end it all. Never in his life had he come across someone that was so accepting of death. She wasn’t pleading her case or begging to be spared. Neither was she making excuses for what she had done. 

His hand shook as he felt the weight of her forehead pressed against the muzzle of his gun. Her eyes closed as she waited for him to pull the trigger. Dean had always been so collected in these situations, taking the shot without hesitation, but staring down at the woman who had invaded his heart, he lost that impulse. Turmoil rolled through his mind as he fought with his instinct, with the way he had been raised. A traitor’s life is ended. No ifs, no buts, no maybes.

Dean didn’t move to swipe at the tears of regret that stained his cheeks, he didn’t blink away the pain that was captured in his green orbs; he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the escort who had threatened his entire family. She had pulled the wool over his eyes, had been the wolf in sheep's clothing this entire time. He’d let her into his home, into his bed; he’d allowed her to fill his head with an endless stream of unachievable dreams through her sweet words. Dean thought she was different, that he could finally break down the wall around his heart and allow himself to be happy. He was a fool. 

There was no excusing what she had done, not now his family was in danger, their lives threatened. She was a traitor, and traitors needed to be put down. His lips curled in a slight snarl as his jaw clenched, tears of frustration coming together at the end of his chin. His thumb steadily made its way to the hammer of the gun, pulling it slowly back, hearing the chilling click of the readed shot. The pad of his forefinger twitched over the trigger, the tip pressing harder against the metal ring as he made his decision. 

No ifs, no buts, no maybes. 

With a loud echo, his shot rang out. The noise ringing through his ears as fresh tears caraded down his cheeks, his weapon hot in his hand. He didn’t make a sound, his eyes now hazy with unshed sadness as a vice gripped at his heart. He really wished it hadn’t come to this, maybe it had just proved to him that he wasn’t allowed to give himself to anyone, that he would be better off on his own. With a short sniff, he moved to tuck the gun into the waistband of his jeans. The sight in front of him was getting too much for him to bear, he needed to get out, he had more important matters to attend too. 

The broken Winchester marched out of his room, slamming the door shut behind him before he turned to lock it with his key. Shutting out his darkness, his shame and the woman who had been the cause of it all. He frustratedly slammed his fist against the wood, his angered roar tearing from his throat before he pushed himself to storm down the hall, trying somehow to formulate a plan in his mind to protect the people he cares for most. 

Hurriedly pulling his phone from his pocket, Dean’s shaking thumb quickly dialled Sam’s number as he put his cell to his ear. He paced down the hall, one hand combing through his hair as time seemed to slow. 

“Pick up, dammit,” Dean growled down the line, his heart pounding in his chest as the dial tone echoed in his ear. Each ring longer than the last. “Pick the fuck up, Sammy.”

“Dean?” 

The relief that flooded his being at the sound of his brother’s voice felt like ice on fire. 

“Turn around, get home. Now!” he barked, rushing down the stairs towards the foyer, his eyes scanning every doorway in case of a possible ambush. 

“What’s happened?” 

“Just do it, Sam,” Dean snapped, “It’s a trap.” As soon as the words left his lips he felt the anger surge through his veins. 

The older Winchester made his way to the windows next to the front door, gingerly using his fingers to peel back the voils in the windows, peering to see if anyone was coming for him. 

“We know.” Those two words that Sam uttered made Dean frown, his gaze breaking away from the outside, “Charlie figured out it was a ruse a few moments ago, we’re setting up a diversion so they don’t follow us home.”

“Good,” a silent sigh of relief left him, his eyes squeezing shut briefly as he was thankful for his brother's safety. Dean strode into the living room, his mind trying to formulate any kind of strategy to keep his family safe from harm. “Watch your backs, go the long way home, keep your hand on your gun at all times.” 

“What’s going on?” 

Dean bit his bottom lip, his tongue running over his teeth as he resisted the urge to spill everything there and then. “Just get back in one piece,” he instructed, “both of you.” 

Immediately ending the call, his next thoughts were on Benny and Cas, the two of the best soldiers he had in this raging war of dominating gangs. With his phone back to his ear, he listened to the agonisingly slow dial tone as he walked around to the pool table, his fingers running slowly along the wooden frame.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, another long ring echoing in his ears. “Come fuckin’ on,” he growled, his eyes pinched closed as he tapped his digits against the wood. “Dammit Benny.”

He couldn’t prevent the worry that ate away at his stomach, the way his heart thumped harder in his chest and the panic that tightened his torso. Dean needed to keep a rational head, his friend may have not heard his phone plus there was always Cas. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he dialled another number and waited impatiently for him to answer. 

“Answer the phone, answer the phone,” he chanted, his fist curling into a tight ball tighter at the sound of each ring. 

I’m sorry, this caller is unavailable. Please leave your message after the tone.  

Before he could react, his phone pinged with the sound of an incoming message, one that his thumb was quick to open when he saw it was from Benny. Even though he thought he was prepared for whatever was in the message, he still felt like he had been punched in the gut when he opened the text. There, tied to two chairs, blindfolded and gagged were his men, his best friends. Their faces were beaten and bloody, their shirts stained with crimson. 

“NO!” Dean screamed, throwing his phone to the floor in a blast of rage. He was too late, Nick and Alistair had gotten to his family and he didn’t know how long he had until they were dead.

He couldn’t contain his anger as his torment roared from his chest, his hands breaking and destroying everything in their reach. Picture frames; shelves were ripped from the walls, Dean was on a destructive warpath and nothing was safe. He surrounded himself in glass, in broken porcelain and tainted memories, the noises that left his lips were nothing short of animalistic. He didn’t stop to take a breath, he didn’t falter as he tipped over a bookcase and sent many works of fiction scattering across the floor. He spotted the rows of pool cues resting against the wall, and one by one tore them from their fixtures and beat them against the table, splinters of wood flying through the air. He broke every single one of them, leaving his bloody hands holding nothing but the broken remains of his rampage. His eyes burned embers as his face wore a snarl, his nose flared as he looked for the next perfect thing to destroy. Because that was all he was good for. 

“What the hell happened here?!” Sam’s voice cut through the red mist that had descended over him, his head snapping over to where his sibling and Charlie were standing, visibly confused. 

With his chest heaving, Dean dropped the broken pieces of wood to the floor as he walked over to where the two were standing, pulling his little brother into a crushing hug. He could feel Sam hesitate for a moment before he returned the embrace, the action calming his enraged spirit, relief flooding the fire. Thank god he was safe. 

After a few drawn out seconds, he pulled back, clapping the shoulder of the taller Winchester before he headed towards the one thing he didn’t destroy, his alcohol. He needed the burn of whiskey in his throat for the news he was about to tell them, the liquor in his system to numb the sting of the past hour. 

-

Dean’s bedroom was still. The dust had settled on the broken scene; on the shattered glass, the split wood and the broken body that was still rooted to the spot. There was not a sound to be heard, the screams were long gone and so were the uneven sobs from the woman who had torn his world down around him. 

It was then that Y/N heaved in a shaky breath, her eyes still clenched tightly shut as she hadn’t dared to open them. She had never expected to still be kneeling in this spot with air in her lungs and a beat to her heart, yet here she was. Her ears ringing with the sound of the gunshot, her body tense with fear as she didn’t know whether she should be grateful that she was still alive, or dreadful because of it. When she had heard Dean pull back the hammer of the gun, she was at peace. She accepted that this was the end of her story, but he chose not to finish it. He chose to aim the gun and shoot it in another direction, leaving her in dismay. 

Y/N didn’t understand his actions. She deserved the bullet that Dean was going to shoot into her head. As far as the escort was concerned, she shouldn’t be here right now, she should be long gone and away from this world, away from the torment and this horrendous life. She hadn’t expected him to keep her alive and she would never forget the look he gave her when she fed him the truth. The way his eyes grew cold upon the realisation that she had betrayed him; it solidified her view that there was no coming back from this. Her thoughts were chasing their metaphorical tail as she went around in circles. There was nowhere to run, no way to forget what she had done.

Her body was still shaking as she gained the courage to open her eyes, bracing herself to cast her gaze over the damage she had caused.  The room was a mess, his belongings destroyed and it was all because of her. Her lips trembled as a warm tear dropped onto her pale cheek. It was then that she looked upon his bedroom door, the barrier she heard him lock with a faint click as she was dazed on her knees. Y/N knew there was no point in trying to escape, she wouldn’t get very far even if she tried. Dean would most certainly see her leaving his manor and if on the slightest chance she did get away, The Master would find her. 

The Master.

She couldn’t leave this house, she didn’t want to subject herself to the hours of torment she was going to face in isolation. The humiliation, the beatings, the assault. Her body was fractured enough as it was, her wings had been snapped and her spirit had been broken long before Dean had found the light in her again. But like a long burning candle, her flame had burned out, she simply had nothing left to give. 

With quaking legs she stood, her cheeks still warm from the overflowing shame she felt, as she turned around in the spot she was standing. On the floor she spotted Dean’s clothes from which he had changed out of, the clothes in which he was teaching her how to defend herself from the horrors of the world. If only he had known then, he wouldn’t have wasted his time or energy on her. Taking a sharp breath, the defeated woman took an unbalanced step towards the mobster’s bed, her forehead slightly creasing as her mind plagued her with a question. Where did the bullet go? 

She knew it didn’t matter, it was just a piece of metal to anybody else, but to her it meant something, to her that was the thing that was meant to end her life. So, with curious eyes and a determined head, she calculated the shot. Casting her vision over the room as she scanned every possible place it could be. It was then that she saw it, the small, circular entrance that had been created on the side of Dean’s luxury mattress. 

Y/N took a deep breath, her feet taking her the small distance needed to clamber onto his bed, eyes fixated on the hole that was meant to be in her. With slim fingers and a bit of patience, she located the small metal casing and pulled it out. Bringing it up to her eye level, she rolled it between her forefinger and thumb. She could just throw it to one side and be done with it yet, instead, she allowed it to fall into her palm as she curled her hand around it, squeezing tightly. It was a stark reminder of what her life had led too.

As the day bled into nightfall, Y/N was going under fast when she was desperate for somebody to hear her. But she came to realise that there was no one left to change the course of action. She didn’t mean for any of this to happen, she didn’t want to break his trust or his heart, she was just so terrified of any consequences. For a month, the escort had been living a life that she had longed for since she was six years old, a life without rules or chains, a life where she was free to breathe. Dean eased her suffering, yet he could only mask her agony for so long. 

Flickers of faint moonlight caught her attention, her face slightly angling towards the broken glass on the floor next to the bed. Y/N almost felt as though they were calling to her, one shattered object to another. She gracefully bent down, her fingers tracing the shards that were scattered amongst photo frames. It was then she saw Dean’s warm smile staring up at her, his eyes crinkled and light as he stood next to his family. Her hand hovered above it, the pads of her fingertips gently caressing his face on the picture. He had already given her so much more than she could have dreamed and for that she would be ever thankful. Now, it was about time she took matters into her own hands. If he couldn’t stop the horror that she had been living, then she would. 

It was bound to end in blood and tears. 

-

“Sammy, sit down.” Deans instruction was calm, one finger lifting off the glass of his whiskey filled tumbler to point at the couch. “You gonna join him, Charlie?”

“I think I should leave you guys to it,” the redhead mumbled, hooking her laptop bag over her shoulder before turning to move out of the room. “I’ll be in the dining room if you need me.” 

“I need you to look into The Hemlock, Alistair and Nick. I need everything that you can find. Surveillance, movements, birthdays, I don’t give a fuck. I want it all.” Dean didn’t bark his orders but the authority in his tone made Charlie instantly nod in submission. 

“I’ll get right on it.”

Sam scoffed as he watched their technical right hand walk away, his head shaking causing his brunette locks to frame his face. He was visibly perplexed by his brother’s sudden change in demeanour. 

“What the hell is going on, Dean?” he questioned, one large hand gesturing to the rest of the room. “You’ve snapped every single pool cue we own, the room is a complete mess and where the hell is Y/N?!”

His voice rose at the end of his burning question, one that made the older Winchester’s burning eyes snap to his. With a shake of his head, the defeated mobster took down the rest of his liquor in one hit, hissing as it stung his throat. 

“Benny and Cas have been captured and Y/N... She’s locked away,” was his simple response as he turned to grab for the whiskey bottle, the remainder of the alcohol calling to him. 

“How?!” Sam's brow knitted together. “And what the fuck do you mean ‘locked away’?!”

The news Dean was about to share felt like a hard pill to swallow. He still couldn’t believe it, he didn’t want to, but it was the bitter truth. “She betrayed us, Sammy. betrayed me...that’s how.” 

He scoffed harshly as he brought the liquor with him, sitting opposite his little brother on the couch. “Lied to our faces, just like fucking Cassie.”

Sam watched as Dean refilled his glass before placing the bottle on the still intact table, the gears turning in his head as he tried to understand. “You’re not making any sense. Wh--”

“- You were right, okay?!” the mobster snapped, rubbing at his forehead frustratingly with his palm. “I shouldn’t have hired her, I should have never stepped foot in that bastard’s place.” With a deep breath, he took a moment to calm the rage that was flowing through his veins like molten lava. “Nick, Y/N... They have been working together to bring us to our knees.” 

“What?” Sam urged, not quite believing what he was hearing. She was part of The Hemlock, how could she be working for the enemy?

“That’s right, she told me, Sam,” Dean disclosed, a disapproving tone laced in his words. “Judging from what she said, I can only assume that the plan for today was meant to be our undoing.” 

It was that statement that caught the younger Winchester’s attention, “What did she say?”

“What does it matter? Benny and Cas are in danger, Sam. That’s our priority right now,” the mobster stressed, his voice gruff with emotion.

“We have other men, we’ll send them ahead to scope the place out but we don’t even know what we’re walking into right now. We’ve got to be smart about this.” 

Dean knew his sibling was right, yet the feeling of losing his blood brothers because of one stupid mistake was more than he could bare. “I can’t lose more family, Sammy. I just can’t.”

“And we won’t, not if we play this smart,” his little brother advised, sincerity lacing his tone. “Now I need to know what Y/N said. Her exact words.” 

“I helped plan it,” Dean fired back, shaking his head as he clicked his tongue against his teeth. “That it wasn’t just her but The Master and Nick.”

“Wait,” Sam held up his hand,  “The Master?”

Dean threw his head back against the couch and sighed deeply, his forefinger and thumb pinching across his eyes and nose. He still felt like his head was swimming with information, that he couldn’t focus on one particular thing. When he woke up that morning, he was happy and was ready to take on the world. Now he was back to square one, on the break of losing the family who he loves yet again by his own stupid actions. 

“Alistair,” Dean sighed, his focus on the ceiling. “That’s the name his girls call him.” 

“That’s seriously messed up.” Sam grimaced, shaking his head as he stared at his brother. 

“So he’s into pet names,” Dean shrugged while he lifted his head off the couch with annoyance. “You’re missing the entire point of this.”

Sam just huffed, his tongue poking in his cheek as he looked over at his older brother. It didn’t take him long to look at the bigger picture here. Unlike the man in front of him, he could see the situation clearly as he wasn’t being driven by his raw emotion like Dean was. There was a lot more to this situation, it went a lot deeper than just Y/N double crossing them. Sam had suspicions about her behavior since he had spoken to her after playing pool, and especially after the previous night when a phone call had interrupted them, but his doubtful thoughts were never about her dedication to her job and his family, it was about her past and what she had been experiencing. 

“I don’t think I am, Dean,” Sam announced, lacing his fingers together in front of him as he rested his arms against his knees. 

“Y/N betrayed us all.” Dean’s face turned into one of exasperation, his mind not fathoming how he couldn’t understand exactly what the escort had done to them. 

“How?” Sam questioned, his tone still steady and reasonable. “By saving us?” 

“She sent you to your death, Sam!” the mobster snapped, his deep voice bellowing off of the walls as he stood from his seat brashly, his right hand throwing his glass against the wall. His green eyes darkened, his lips twitching as he held back a snarl. “I was the one that pulled you out of there!” 

“Because she told you too,” came the younger Winchester’s reply, not even flinching at Dean’s actions, which he had gotten used to by now. He raised his eyebrows as he watched the pacing man in front of him, sucking in a deep breath as he ran a hand through his long hair. “Look, calm down for a minute and let’s talk this out, yeah?” 

“Why are you on her side in this?!” Dean fumed, his hands running through his hair as he continued to pace the broken mess of the room. 

“Dean, I’m not. Believe me, if I’m wrong in all this, I’ll be handing you a loaded gun,” Sam assured, his dark eyes that were trained on his big brother full of conviction and promise. 

It was then that the frustrated man stopped in his tracks, angling his body to look down at the voice of reason. “You wanted me to murder Cassie the first chance I got, hell you still do. So what’s changed?”

“She’s not Cassie,” Sam’s reply was almost instant and it basically winded the head of the family, the darkness in his gaze fading as he collapsed back onto the couch. “Dean, Cassie did what she did maliciously, off her own back. Y/N’s held her hands up and told you before it got too far,” he began to explain, his hand rubbing at his jaw. “Look, when I brought Azazel back here, and I kept Y/N company whilst you did your thing, she opened up to me slightly. I didn’t like what I had to hear.” 

At that, Dean frowned, his anger subsiding slightly to make way for the uneasiness in his stomach to break through. “Which was?” 

He watched his little brother, how he rubbed his hands together before he spoke. It did nothing to settle the anxious feeling that was resonating in his chest. 

“She said that you were the first man that had treated her like a person and not an asset,” Sam began to explain, his voice soft and compassionate as he judged for a reaction. “She tried to cover up her words but I know how to read body language, Dean. She was uncomfortable, she was lying to me. Even when I challenged her about it, she couldn’t tell me the truth, so what does that tell you?”

“That she’s a liar,” the mobster seethed, pulling in his bottom lip with his teeth. 

“Or that she’s trapped in a corner with nowhere to run,” Sam implored, causing the older to halt his actions, the words resonating through him. 

His anger faded, the red fog clearing slightly, causing him to think carefully over his brother’s comments. Maybe he was right; all the evidence that he had gathered so far had already pointed to a not so normal life. So could it be that she was forced into this situation? That she was truly trapped, or was that an easy excuse to make?

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean sighed, shaking his head slightly as he pursed his lips. “But you don’t know everything.” 

“What do you mean?” Sam enquired. 

“Charlie found some information. I asked her to look into Y/N and report back to me,” the mobster admitted, rubbing at his chin as he edged closer to the edge of his seat. “Her records were dodgy, Sam. There was nothing past the age of six. It was like her life had ended there. I was convinced she had taken on someone else’s life as an alias.”

“But that’s not true?” His little brother's question made Dean shake his head slightly, his lips pursing.

“No. She told me a bit about her past, she confided in me and the woman I saw was so damn vulnerable. But Hell, that could have been an act too right?” A scoff past his pink lips as he reached for the bottle of whiskey that was on the table in front of him. “I don’t know, Sammy. Something isn’t sitting right. The woman I returned to The Hemlock yesterday morning was not the same one I got back. Something changed in her while she was there and then I noticed a tattoo on her neck.” 

“A tattoo?”

Dean nodded, walking over to where he’d thrown his phone earlier. “I don’t just think it’s just any kind of ink, Sam,” he doubted, picking the device off the floor and hoping it still worked. A slight wave of relief washed over him when he noticed that all his cell had suffered was a partially cracked screen. 

He pulled up the picture that he took, zooming in slightly on the detail before handing it over to the younger Winchester. “I just need to work out the numbers.”

Sam took a moment to study the photograph, the image fanning the flames of his suspicions with a heavy heart. “That’s because it isn’t normal ink, Dean,” he started, swallowing hard as his gaze went back to the awaiting green orbs. “I think she’s been a victim of trafficking.”

Dean’s face changed, his expression slack as his eyebrows twitched. “What?”

“It makes sense, right? The way she acts, the fake personas, the change of personality, the way her walls fell down around you when you took her to do perfectly normal things.” 

Did his brother have a point? The mobster took another long gulp from the glass bottle in his hands, his mind racing as he tried to pinpoint his thoughts. Surely he would have noticed it, he’s a mob boss for fuck’s sake, surely he would have seen something. How could he not know? But then even if he did, would it change how he felt about her now? Y/N had still deceived him, lulled him into a false sense of security before aiding the capture of two of his men. If Sam had been caught too...

“I still can’t trust her. Not now, not after this,” Dean admitted, the morbid thoughts of losing his family taunting him. 

“She’s just been a pawn in this war, Dean,” Sam tried to reason, sliding his phone back over the table. “And the fact that you’ve left her alive in your bedroom speaks volumes for itself. You need to talk to her.”

The older Winchester huffed a breath before he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “And what is that going to solve, huh?” 

“I know what she means to you, and she means more to you now than Cassie ever did,” Sam spoke truthfully, his eyes full of empathy as he stared at the stubborn man across from him. “You need to speak with her, maybe now she’s in a position to tell you the full truth.”

“But Benny and Cas--”

“- I’ll deal with that. You need to do this, Dean. You need answers.” 

There was a brief moment of silence between the pair, neither of them breaking their gaze on the other, a psychological standoff. 

“Fine,” Dean relented, closing his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath, pushing himself back off of the coach. His legs felt heavy as he made his way towards the staircase, his palms sweating, his throat dry, even though he tried to drown his thirst with liquor. He hadn’t got the time he needed to process the series of events that turned his world upside down, Benny and Cas were in danger, the woman who had captured his soul laid on his bedroom floor. A possible victim of trafficking. Could she have really been forced into this? Why couldn’t she have just told him the truth? Did she not trust him? 

Making his way along the long corridor towards his room, he brought the bottle of whiskey back to his lips, his eyes slightly glassy as he thought about how he had left her. Broken, defeated, at his complete mercy on the floor. She was so accepting of punishment, so willing to welcome any harm that was coming her way. Casting his mind back to the first time he truly spent time with her, he remembered her not knowing how to shop. That memory bled into the one where he told her she could keep the dress he had made for her; the look of childish glee when she tried pizza for the first time, the eyes full of wonder when she tasted chocolate covered strawberries. It was all flashing in front of him like it was a damn show. The need to do well continuously, to be the best of the best. The fear in her eyes when she thought she’d failed him. It all made sense now. 

With a partially shaking hand, he pulled the key to his room from his jeans pocket, the metal shaking in the lock as he slowly turned it to open. The click echoed through his soul, causing him to inhale deeply as he readied himself to face Y/N once again. With a forceful push, he opened his door, words spilling from his lips before an unexpected sight greeted him.

“You need to explain yourself.”

——————————————– Chapter Twenty Eight --> ——————————————– A/N: *screams* Guys...three more chapters...that’s it! *sobs into a pillow* We’re so close to the end of this story. I hope you’re enjoying these last few stops. 

I love you guys so much for reading this…so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

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[oikawasass]

Can I pleaaaase get some reader comforting bakugou after he had a really bad day?

hope this is alright

it’s just a bad day.

‣ pairing : bakugo x fem reader.

‣ oneshot.

‣ synopsis : the bomb that is bakugo katsuki being defused by his girlfriend after a long day.

‣ wordcount : 1.4k+

‣ warnings : angst if u squint, swearing.

it was sometime after 1700, and class 1-a was joined together down in the common room for dinner. everyone was in their small cliques at their own unassigned, yet claimed tables. the table of interest, for the time being, was occupied by kaminari, kirishima, (name), mina, and bakugo. their small squad would sit in the same seats, at the same table, for both breakfast and dinner. it was a bit of an unspoken rule.

the table was often filled with lighthearted bickering and arguing, stupid jokes and the gang making fun of each other, complaining about whatever insane amount of homework aizawa had assigned that night, and any other kind of things that crossed their minds. to anyone outside of the group, it would seem like they were constantly at each other's throats. but to them? this was the type of chaotic, yet friendly of energy they all gave off. perhaps that’s what caused them to click so well.

today, however, something seemed off at the table that was usually so lively and energetic. it was like a thick blanket of tension hung over everyone’s shoulders, yet no one could exactly figure out why.

at least, they couldn’t figure out why it was coming from where it was.

the aura was obviously coming from the hotheaded blonde, seated at the edge of the table beside his girlfriend. he had seemed a tad more rigged than usual all day, but now that they were all seated alone together outside of class, it seemed to shine through much more than it had earlier.

it was tolerable, sure, things went on as they usually did between the rest of the friends, but no one could shake the...awkward feeling that strung through the air.

of course, kaminari was the first one to actually speak up about it.

" yo, kacchan, what's got you so grumpy today? " he asked, words barely audible from the rice stuffed in his cheeks that he’d shovelled into his mouth right before speaking.

bakugo didn’t answer, simply sighing heavily with a low growl beneath his breath as he continued to pick at his food.

everyone shot each other the same worried look when katsuki passed the opportunity to chew out denki, only confirming their suspicions that something was wrong.

kirishima was the next one to give it a shot.

" y’know you can tell us right? even if you think it’s stupid or something we’ll still lis- "

" just leave it the fuck alone already. "

he snapped back, cutting off the redhead before he could finish. his head didn’t lift up from his plate of curry, continuing to push around the rice. his voice wasn’t as loud, or as angry as one may have expected, it just sounded irritated. maybe even tired.

mina had her turn next.

" hey, you don’t gotta tell us if you’re not feelin’ it. but just remember the offer is there if ya change your m-! "

she too was cut off, this time by bakugo standing up with a slam of his palms against the table. roughly pushing his chair aside, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began to stomp away.

" wait wait! kacchan where are you go- "

" I said to fucking leave it, kaminari. "

the group once more all gave each other the same look, except this time it was one of pure shock. something was definitely up.

normally, they wouldn’t be too concerned if something might’ve been wrong. bakugo tends to get over things pretty quickly, and is good at handling is own issues on his own. they knew to give him his space to work things out if something was bothering him.

but when something was visibly wrong with him, that’s when they knew they had reason to worry.

katsuki knew how to put up a good front. despite his attitude and overall personality, he knew how to keep his composure when it came to his weak spots. rarely did he ever let himself be noticeably upset.

kirishima stood up to go follow the blonde, only to have (name) place her hand down on his shoulder to keep him seated.

" stay here, I got this one. "

she stood up and quickly followed him out of the dining hall, making her way up to the boys’ dorms in a small sprint.

after managing to catch up with him, following the sound of a door being thrown shut, she approached his dorm room, knocking lightly before letting herself inside.

" katsuki? "

she shut the door behind her, walking up to the blonde who was face down on his bed, head buried into his pillow.

" the hell do you want? "

sighing softly, (name) shuffled up to his bed, hopping up onto his mattress with him and plopping herself down on his back so she was straddling over top of him.

" talk to me. "

" ‘bout what? "

" whatever’s bothering you. "

" just fuckin’ drop it already, you’re givin’ me a headache. "

" babe. "

he stopped answering after that, continuing to keep his head stuffed down into his pillow.

" babe. "

still no answer.

" babe, cmon. "

" babe. "

" b- "

he finally snapped, that angry vein in his forehead poking out.

" fucking- what?? "

(name) couldn’t stop the small chuckle that fell from her lips, leaning up onto her knees so that katsuki could move.

" flip over, will you? "

she asked, poking the back of his head a few times. with a loud, annoyed, this close to throwing her out of his dorm room window groan, bakugo flipped onto his back, (name) sitting back down right after so that she was comfortably sat across his lap.

the girl leaned down to kiss him, softly cupping his scratched up cheeks. katsuki slowly reached up to gently, yet firmly hold around her waist, feeling all of his stresses and worries that had been sitting on his shoulders like a heavyweight all day be lifted off. for the first time that day, he felt like he could actually breathe.

(name) hugged around his shoulders, resting her head comfortably in the crook of his neck and placing a soft kiss on his jaw.

" you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you really don’t want, but sometimes it helps to open up. you know I’m here to listen no matter what, okay? "

katsuki normally would have defended himself in the scene taking place, assuring he was fine and telling her to drop the topic, but truth be told he was too tired.

the way he felt was odd. it was the first time throughout his whole day he was able to take a breath and relax, but now he almost felt more upset than he did before. maybe it was because he had been pushing all of his negative thoughts to the very back of his head since he woke up, now everything he’d been ignoring was surfacing right back up to the front.

he subconsciously wrapped his arms tightly around the girl on top of him, tightly hugging her waist and burying his face into her shoulder.

(name) turned her head to kiss his cheek, moving one of her hands up and atop his head to slowly run her fingers through his tangled blonde hair. she smiled softly to herself, the softer side of her boyfriend never failing to make her feel this warmness in her chest.

" you’re sure that you don’t wanna talk about it? "

(name) asked once more, voice calm and patient as to hopefully not anger him with the question.

katsuki shook his head, tightening his hold around her torso and lightly clutching to the fabric of her t-shirt.

" no. just-just stay here. my day was shitty and I just wanna be with you right now, alright? "

he admitted against his own better judgement, his voice was low, his words coming out more as muffled mutters rather than a clear sentence, but (name) was still able to hear him just enough.

kissing his cheek another time, continuing to rub small, slow circles on the top of his head to relax him, she nodded.

" okay babe, I’m here as long as you need me. "

they sat in silence for a while, and (name) slowly started to drift off to sleep on top of him, not being able to help her sudden feeling of drowsiness from being wrapped up in his warm arms for so long.

right as she was about to doze off, she heard a soft, ever so quiet mumble come from the boy she laid on top of.

" thank you. "

smiling to herself, she hugged herself closer to him with a light sigh, mumbling just as quietly against his neck:

" that’s what I’m here for. "

[mrs-gucci]

The Angel, Chapter One: Intel {Flip Zimmerman x biker!Reader}

Chapter One: “Intel”

series summary. The Angels are the newest biker gang in town, looking to dethrone the current high-riders, The Sharks, a notoriously violent gang. Fresh off the Klan case, Detective Flip Zimmerman and his new partner, Detective Ron Stallworth, are tasked with finding out more information about this new gang. After a passionate affair behind the bar with a mysterious woman calling herself Siren, Flip discovers that perhaps he’s a bit closer to this investigation than he originally counted on. Can he manage to use this newly-recruited ally to not only take down The Sharks before they strike again, but perhaps use it to benefit his lonesome personal life as well? Find out all this and more in “The Angel”!

chapter summary. Flip and Ron head over to Ace’s, a local bar in Colorado Springs to gather intel on The Angels, the newest biker gang in town. The young detective gets more than he bargained for when he meets and beds a mystery woman named Siren. Except ‘Siren’ ends up being the last person Flip expected to get intimate with and now, he’s entangled in this case, both professionally and personally.

table of contents. Intel (NSFW) * Saint Siren Turned  Sharks Intercepted Epilogue

(a * indicates where you are in the table of contents)

author’s notes: hello, hello! saw a few bikers as I was driving on the highway, and my mind decided that I wanted to write a multi-chap fic about flip with a biker gang reader love interest. I love exploring the whole ‘flip with an independent/dom fem reader’ trope. so, here I am, designating an entire ten chapters to it.

**this multi-chap will have 5 parts total (4 ‘story’ chapters and an epilogue). due to the shorter number of chapters/parts, expect each to be longer, usually between 4-6k words.

word count: 6.1k 

warnings: smut. heavy flirting. swearing. a generous amount of dirty talk. degradation. oral sex. reader smokes. use of the term ‘pig’ to describe the police.

(possible) tw’s: tobacco use (as is canon for flip’s character). public sex.

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268​ (if you’d like to be added to my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist. I’m also willing to do a series-specific taglist if enough people are interested!)

---

“Alright, everyone. Rumor has it that there’s a new biker gang in town, called ‘The Angels’.” Chief Bridges says. “We gotta be on top of this, make sure they’re not the violent type.”

Flip rubs his chin, stroking his beard as he listens to the limited intel the department has on this new group. 

“I’m putting Zimmerman and Stallworth on this one. You’re gonna hang out at some of the local watering holes, see if you can gather some more information on this new group.”

His eyebrows raise and he looks over at his partner. “C’mon Chief, don’t you think our talents could be used elsewhere? It’s just an intel mission, a beat cop could do it.”

“This is incredibly important, Zimmerman, and I only trust my top talent to do the job right.” Bridges crosses his arms, staring daggers at the dark-haired detective. “It’ll be a quick job, I’m sure. No more than a week’s time. Now, get over yourself and do the damn job.”

He huffs softly, nodding as he looks away. “Sure thing, Chief.”

“You’ll head to Ace’s tonight, since that’s where they’re said to hang the most. Meeting dismissed.”

Everyone piles out of the small conference room and back out into the bullpen. Flip lights a cigarette as he sits down at his desk and continues typing up a report from last week’s home invasion-robbery. 

Ron sets the ‘Angels’ file down on his desk a few minutes later, sighing as he sits on the edge.

“What are you thinkin’ about this case, Flip?”

“I just wanna get it over with, rookie.” He leans back in his chair, shrugging and taking a drag. “I think it’s nothing to worry about, since they haven’t done anything yet, but the Chief wants us to check it out so I guess we have to.”

Ron nods.

“Well, we’ll head over to Ace’s after work. Hopefully we’ll find something and then we can get back to finding the Sharks.”

The Sharks were the biggest gang in Colorado Springs, spreading violence and dominating the northern part of town. But, all of them wore masks or helmets with masks, so no one’s been able to identify any of them. 

“Mmhmm.”

Flip hums, stubbing the cigarette butt out in the mug on his desktop.

Before he knows it, the clock hand lands on 6, and everyone starts packing up. Flip gets up and puts his freshly-typed reports on the Chief’s desk before heading over to Ron’s desk. 

“You ready to go, rookie?” He asks, hopping up on his partner’s desk.  “I need a fuckin’ beer.”

Ron laughs, shaking his head as he stands up and both men walk back to get the mics and listening equipment together. Flip clips the lauve to his white undershirt, then re-buttons his signature buffalo plaid flannel. 

They head out and hop into Flip’s pickup truck. He pulls away from the station and heads down the freeway towards Ace’s while Ron sets up all the audio equipment in the front seat. 

The parking lot of Ace’s is almost full when the two detective’s pull in, and when Flip puts the truck in park, he immediately catches sight of a series of bikes parked at the front. 

“They’re here.” He says in a low voice, nodding over to the bikes.  “I’m gonna go check the jackets to make sure.”

Flip casually gets out from the cab and walks over. He sees one of the jackets draped over the seats with the words ‘The Angels’ and a logo on the back. 

“Yup,” He says to Ron through the window of his truck. “It’s them.”

Ron’s eyes widen slightly. “Well then, get in there, partner. See what you can find.”

He chuckles, sticking a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his lighter on as he walks into the bar. His eyes scan the room, looking for biker-like characters, but his attention is quickly drawn to a certain young woman sitting at the bar. 

She’s not much younger than himself, if Flip had to guess, and her subtle smile was infectious. Flip was absolutely taken with her, but he maintained his cool, approaching the bar. 

“Hey, Earl.” He says, leaning against the bar.  “Get me a Miller, would you?”

“Sure thing.” The bartender nods, giving Flip a handshake before heading over to the beer fridge. 

You can’t help but look over at the handsome man that’s leaning against the bar. His eyes move over to you, and yours dart away quickly. He smirks, and when you look back over, he gives you a quick wink.

Your cheeks warm as you and the handsome stranger make eyes at each other. You’ve only been in town for a little while, and you’ve certainly never seen someone like him around before. 

Once the bartender hands him the dark brown bottle, mister tall, dark and handsome casually makes his way over to where you’re seated. His presence is intimidating in itself, patrons suddenly hushing their voices as he stands behind you.

“Like what you see?” He asks in a low voice, smirking. You chuckle.

“Perhaps, although you don’t have much competition. The human eye is naturally drawn to the most appealing sight in the room and quite frankly, I’m so damn tired of looking at old white men. You were the reprieve.”

“Mmhmm.” Flip laughs, sitting down next to you at the bar, pulling out a cigarette and holding it between his teeth as he flicks his lighter on. “I’m impressed at your ability to spin such a convenient story for your obvious ogling.”

“Don’t act so innocent, prettyboy. Your eyes were not keeping to themselves either.”

You huff softly, taking a drink, the smoke from his latest drag clouding the space between you.

 “Perhaps.” He retorts, taking a sip of his beer before looking over at you. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, I bet you’d like to know.” You hum softly. “You can call me Siren.”

His eyebrows furrow.  “Siren, really? What, is that a nickname or something?”

“Something, yes.”

He’s intrigued by your mysterious and closed-off presence, your casual yet extremely confident demeanor. God, how he’d love to make you crumble on his cock, scream his name and beg him for release.

The thought has him stirring in his Levi’s.

“Phillip.” He says after a beat of silence, taking a drag off his cigarette. “In case you were wondering.”

Back in the truck, Ron shakes his head. “Did you really just use your own name, Zimmerman?”

Flip realizes his slight mistake, mentally kicking himself for not having an alias name already prepared.

Your finger swirls around the rim of the whisky glass. “I wasn’t.”

His eyebrows raise for a moment. He liked this game you’re playing with him, in fact, he loves it. 

Finally, a woman giving him the thrill of the chase, making him work for it.

“Are you new in town, Miss Siren? I think I would remember seeing someone like you around here before.”

You nod silently. “Got here a few weeks ago. I’ve got some business to take care of, y’know, tie up some loose ends and such. Then I’ll be out of here.”

“What’s the rush in getting out of here? You don’t like it?”

Your lips curl up into a small smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, it almost sounds like you’re sad to hear that I’ll be leavin’ soon, prettyboy.”

He huffs softly in amusement, although his liking of your nickname for him is much greater than he anticipated or would ever admit aloud.  “No, nothing like that. Just curious, is all.”

“I’m more of a city girl. All this fresh mountain air makes me sick.” You quip, smiling softly. “I like the polluted smell of New York much better.”

Flip laughs. “Oh, a city slicker. Yuck.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. He’s kinda cool.

“What, Colorado Springs isn’t enough to convert you, or at least open your mind to the idea?”

He takes one final long drag before crushing the butt out in the ashtray on the bar.

Your eyes linger on his seated figure for a moment before turning your attention back directly in front of you.

“Well, now that I’ve met some more of the locals, I’m thinkin’ about it a little more.”

“Yeah?”

His voice lowers an octave as he leans in a bit closer, one of his large calloused hands now resting on your denim-covered thigh. You shiver slightly beneath his touch, the smell of cigarette smoke and freshly-chopped lumber intoxicating as it ensnares your senses.

“I think you’d like it out here, if you gave it a shot. We’ve got a few things New York can’t offer.”

You’re biting your lip as his husky voice rasps in your ear, his close proximity thickening the tension between you. You haven’t been this rattled by a man in a long time, and damn, it feels good.

“Oh really? And what is that, besides trees and grass, hm?”

His chuckle makes you squirm in your seat.

“Men. Real men. Not the city pussies that gel their hair up all fancy and can’t get a speck of dirt on themselves without throwin’ a damn fit. I mean...”

“Big,” He leans a bit closer.  “Strong,” Closer. “Men.”

His lips are practically on top of your ear now, hot breath tickling your eardrum. He smirks. “And that’s all you’ve ever really wanted, isn’t it, slick? A big strong man to take care of you, protect you...satisfy your every whim and desire.”

You can barely see straight, vision blinded by the sheer lust rolling off his tongue. He’s so damn cocky, a real alpha male type, and you were eating it up. You couldn’t wait to break him.

“I’ll have to see it to believe it, prettyboy.” You say, voice unwavering as you turn to look him directly in the eyes with a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lip.  “So why don’t you go ahead and prove it, hm? I’d like to see you try.”

His jaw clenches along with his fists, body turning lurching forward slightly to the edge of the chair, now fully facing your side. 

“You’re walking an awfully thin line with that trap of yours, slick. I’d watch yourself, ‘cause the folks out here won’t hesitate, like city folk do, to make an example outta brats like you.”

Your eyes don’t leave his as you lean forward a bit, challenging him right back. “Lotta big talk from you this evening, prettyboy, but no action has come to match these claims. All bark, no bite, just like everyone else in this town.”

Flip is hard as a fucking rock, erection urgently pressing against the seam of his Levi’s, but he can’t even focus on that right now. You work him up like no one else ever has before, and he’s not about to let you just leave with the last word. No, he’ll have the last word tonight if it fucking kills him.

“You wanna see some fuckin’ bite, slick?” He growls, standing up and grabbing hold of your jaw, keeping a firm grip on it. “Talk to me like that again and see what happens.”

You grin deviously, wrapping your hand around his wrist, holding it as you remove your jaw from his grip.

“Heard it all before and nobody’s gotten me just yet. You’re no different, prettyboy.”

A twenty is thrown on the tabletop and then you’re leaving.

His blood is boiling, cock twitching with excitement as he lets you walk out of the bar, letting you think you can get away with this. Then, as soon as you’re outside, he strides across the room, flings the door open, and grabs your arm.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

He walks you to the side alley and pins you to the bricks, body caging yours in. You’re breathless and defenseless against him as his wiry whiskers tickle the side of your neck. His legs spread out and his large hands grip your hips as he scoops down, grinding his arousal against your ass with one long, rough stroke.

The denim-trapped bulge presses incessantly against your backside when he stills and lights up a smoke behind you, taking a brief drag, exhaling through his nose.

“Y’know, I work hard all damn day, seven days a week, bust my fuckin’ ass to get shit done.” He stands up again, kicking your ankle so your legs spread open. You gasp softly at his brazen moves, which only fuels his arousal. “I come here to kick back a few beers and have a few cigarettes, relax, unwind…”

 His hands yank your jeans down your hips suddenly, then one curls around to cup your clothed mound, lifting up against you.

“But instead of that, now, I have to bring you out here and fuck some goddamn manners into your bratty cunt before I can go back in to finish my beer.”

You can barely formulate words at the moment, his every move dripping with pure power and unwavering dominance. You’re absolutely taken by him, but that doesn’t mean you won’t fulfill your own agenda. 

Let him think he’s the boss, that he’s got you wrapped around his finger. It’ll only wreck him harder in the end.

The small jingle of his belt buckle being undone brings you back to reality, as well as his fingers swiping over your clit through the material of your panties. He pulls away for a moment, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, yanking them down far enough so that he can pull his length out. 

Luckily, due to his massive body size and the fact that you’re in a dark alleyway behind a dumpster, nothing is too exposed in case someone happens to come by and see the little show about to unfold.

Your panties are torn down your legs quickly and his digits swipe through your warmth. He smirks when he feels how wet you are.

“Now I can call you slick for two reasons.” He chuckles darkly into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I knew you liked this, dirty girl. Bet you’ve been wet all night since I came into the bar.”

His fingers trace over your clit, pressure on and off with his lazy circles, and within seconds he’s got you gyrating against him. Then, suddenly, he pulls away and steps back, hand on your shoulder. He flips you around quickly so that you’re facing him, then forces you back against the wall, flicking his abandoned cigarette away onto the black pavement.

“Why’d you turn me around?” You ask nonchalantly.

He smears some of your fresh arousal onto the tip of his cock, moving it around over his girthy length while his fingers force themselves into your mouth, grabbing and pressing on your tongue.

“I decided that I wanna ruin your disobedient little mouth first. On your knees, use my boots as padding if you need.”

Your legs close and you cross them at the ankle, leaning back against the brick wall freely, arms crossed over your chest. His eyebrows raise and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth.

“Did you not hear me or something?” Flip asks, voice low. “On your damn knees, slick, or I’ll put you there myself.”

Silence. You don’t move a muscle, watching the frustration fester. He leans in suddenly, face real close.

“I’m gonna give you one last chance to do as I say before I force you down.”

Nothing.

His hand wraps in your prettily-done hair, holding the roots just above scalp-level, yanking harshly. He steps back a bit quickly as you cry out, hand on your shoulder, pushing you down as the shock and pain weakens your knees. 

Your knees rest on his work boots and his impressive arousal is lip-level, now. He loosens his grip on your hair ever so slightly, still holding you firmly as he rubs his head over your cherry red lips.

“Don’t make me take this from you too, slick.” He warns.

You offer him a cheeky, close-mouthed smile, batting your eyelashes teasingly. He snarls, pulling your hair again, and when you yelp in pain, he pushes his hips forward. His cock forces itself into your mouth and your eyes widen, choking immediately at the sudden intrusion. 

Flip’s head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut as your throat contracts around his length. He holds your head, keeping your mouth wrapped around him, and he gives you a quick look of concern, breaking character for a moment. 

Once you give him a quick wink and small smile, indicating that everything’s okay, he draws back before pushing forward again. He establishes a consistent back-and-forth rhythm, grunting softly with each thrust of his hips. You’re taking him so well, better than anyone before. Your choking and gagging has essentially ceased within the first minute or so, the quickest recovery Flip has ever experienced.

Look, he knows he’s got a nice cock, there’s no denying it, especially when he’s got women chanting it in his ear on a weekly basis. It’s long and girthy with a slight upward curve that gives him the ability to hit the g-spot almost every time. Plus, he knows how to use it properly.

But, women often have trouble taking him or making him feel good with oral sex because he’s always concerned that he’s genuinely hurting them. A lot of women are also very intimidated by his size, which doesn’t help him in feeling okay about it. 

You, however, didn’t say a word, give it a concerned look, or hesitate even a bit when he put you on your knees. You’re something else.

He groans, fucking your mouth even harder, hands on the sides of your head. Your eyes are watering and tears have already begun spilling down your cheeks, but you’re not complaining in the slightest. He looks so incredible like this, restrain and composure slipping as the pleasure begins to consume him.

You do your best to establish a bit of suction on his length, and when a guttural growl emerges from above you, you know you’ve done it. His hips lose their rhythm soon after, cock throbbing in your mouth, meaning he’s close. 

He’s panting heavily, spine curling as he fucks your mouth harder, shuddering every once and a while from the sheer amounts of lust coursing through his veins. 

Just before his release, he forces himself to pull away, a strangled groan of agony rumbling through his chest as his shaft bobs angrily at the lost orgasm. 

“Christ!”

You catch your breath for a moment, but that moment is brief because within thirty seconds, he’s got his hand wrapped around your jaw.

“S-S…” He takes a second to compose himself. “Stand up, turn around, take your panties off and spread your fucking legs.”

This time, much to his surprise, you obey, getting into position with little resistance. He smirks, giving your ass a quick swat before rubbing his head through your folds.

“Mmm, shit, you got wetter just from having your face fucked?”

His chin digs into your shoulder as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes in quickly with a long, low groan, then settles inside of you to allow for an adjustment period. 

Your eyes go wide and you whimper, walls stretching out to accommodate the large intrusion. Soon, you move your hips a bit, looking over your shoulder.

“You can m-move.”

Flip nods, drawing back before pressing his hips forward again, sighing through his nose as he picks up a steady thrusting rhythm.

“Fuck you’ve got a good little cunt, wrapped around me so goddamn tight.” He growls in your ear, mouth lazily kissing and nipping at your neck.

The burn of being stretched out subsides soon after he begins, replaced with copious amounts of pleasure, jaw slacked as your body jolts back and forth with each powerful movement.

“I can feel you clenching around me, slut...I know you like this. I wanna hear you fucking admit it.” He breathes. “Tell me how good I’m making you--fuck--feel. Tell me how much better my cock feels fucking you than any--goddamnit--other f-fuckin’ city slicker’s cock.”

When he doesn’t get a response, his pace suddenly quickens a bit and one of his hands comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing experimentally.  “Say it, slick, admit it!”

“Y-You, you feel...okay.”

You smirk, eyes squeezing shut when he brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

Flip huffs. “You’re a fucking brat--god fucking damnit.”

He snarls, hand closing tighter around your neck, lips right up against your ear.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ destroy you, slick. I’m gonna fuck your tight cunt so hard and stuff you so fucking full of my cum, make it run down your fucking thighs when you go home. You’re gonna have to walk into your fuckin’ house with my cum leaking out of you like the dirty slut you are.”

A loud whine comes from your lips, goosebumps spreading like wildfire over your skin at his words. You’re close already, the anticipation and sensations too much to hold off much longer.

“I know you’re lying, slick, I know you love this fucking cock, and I know you’re close. Say it, say it and I’ll make you cum so fucking hard you can’t see straight for the rest of the night.”

He growls into your ear, panting heavily.

“All you gotta do is--shit--say it and I’ll give you what you want, what we both know you want.”

Your walls clench and pulse around his shaft, preparing for your approaching orgasm. But, even though the temptation is sweet, you hold out.

“Eh, I’ve h-had better. You’re really--oh--not t-that big, prettyboy.”

“Fuck!”

His reaction is exactly what you were looking for, hips thrusting impossibly quick as his hands grab your wrists and pin your hands behind your back. Part of him liked this, being called ‘small’ and being taunted, although he’d never admit it to anyone.

“It’s your fucking loss, slick.”

“Oh, is it?” You smirk, adjusting your hips subtly until you find the right spot, crying out softly as you teeter on the edge of orgasm. “I don’t t-think so--fuck!”

“NO! Goddamnit, f-fuck...NO!” He tries to stop your climax, but it’s too late, you’re already there.

“Y-Yes, fuck...yes!”

You’re trembling as you ride out your intense high, his hips pumping you into a delicious overstimulation.

Your release gushes out around him and Flip feels his own climax rapidly approaching, hips starting to lose their rhythm.

Flip’s absolutely pissed that you made yourself cum, allowing his frustration to fuel his thrusts. His teeth sink into the muscle on the curve of your neck, drilling into you as hard as he can manage.

“Brat!”

He snarls against your skin.

“You’re a fucking d-dirty, filthy--yeah, so fuckin’ tight--naughty brat! O-Oh fuck, shit, gonna--fuck goddamnit--cum…”

“Are you gonna cum? Fill me up, prettyboy?”

You clench around him one more time, bringing him over the edge. 

“Oh f-fuck, yes, gonna--unnhh!”

Being fully prepared to bury his load deep inside you, fill you up, it took him by great surprise when you suddenly pulled him out of you. His eyes fly open and a choked cry leaves his lips.

“FUCK, N-NO!”

He roars, load erupting out onto the bricks and alleyway pavement instead of inside you. His hips rut forward instinctively as he rides out his high, groaning against your skin.

You smirk, slipping out from beneath his grip, pulling your panties back up over your hips. He’s still panting and recovering from his climax, hands spread on the cool brick of the building, eyes catching sight of his seed dripping down the wall as he redresses.

Before you walk away, you run a hand through his silky black mane. You give it a gentle tug, earning a low growl from the handsome man.

“Told ya, no one’s gotten me yet and no one ever will.” You pat his cheek, giving him a soft smile. “Have a good rest of your night, prettyboy.”

You’re quickly overtaken, within the first few steps of walking back towards the front entrance, by a large set of hands. Flip turns you around in his arms and crashes his lips on yours, pulling you close to him.

At first, you’re taken by surprise, but that lasts for only a few seconds before you melt into his touch, melding your lips with his. He pulls away a minute later, a big smug smirk stretched across his face.

“Good night, slick.”

He walks back towards the side door, lighting a cigarette on his way, leaving you frozen in suspension for a moment. Every inch of your skin, every fiber of your being, is buzzing. You find yourself unable to wipe the small smile off your face as you walk back towards the front of the bar.

You look through the window of the bar as you slip your leather jacket on, then your helmet before swinging your leg over your bike. The engine rumbles, ground quaking beneath it as you pull out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, wind whipping around your body as you disappear into the cool Colorado night.

-

Flip is drunk on you as he pays for his drinks and stubs his cigarette out in the plastic ashtray on the bar. The damn bastard’s essentially grinning and giggling with joy as he walks back out to his truck, or at least ‘grinning and giggling’ by Flip’s standards, which pretty much just means a small smile.

It’s quickly wiped from his face when he sees Ron in the passenger seat. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Ron was listening the whole time, and he can only hope that his partner took the headphones off before anything too explicit happened.

He hops up into the cab and immediately, Ron begins chuckling to himself. 

“Oh, shut up.”

He says, frowning as he backs out of the parking lot.

“I hope you took the headphones off.”

“So, did you find out anything about The Angels?”

Ron asks, snickering.

“Or did you focus on learning more about the inside of her mouth?”

Flip growls under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Can it, rookie. We’ll go back tomorrow. And, for the record, I cased the joint when I walked in, and there were no bikers in sight. No one that seemed the type, y’know?”

“Well, the bikes were there. They had to be there, right?”

His jaw clenches, kicking himself for losing focus. Although, he doesn’t exactly regret anything he did with you, he just wishes he had worked the case a bit beforehand. 

“They should’ve been there, but I’m telling you, there was no one.”

Ron gives him a look and Flip shakes his head.

“Look, I know what it looks like, but I’m serious. I cased the joint when I went in, and there was no one even close to the basic look of a biker gang.”

His partner sighs.

“I know, and I trust you, Zimmerman. We’ll go back tomorrow, like you said. We should go a bit earlier, maybe try and catch these bikers coming to the bar.”

“Agreed.”

Flip nods as he pulls back into the station, sighing when he puts the truck in park.

“Alright, let’s go report to the Chief.”

The Next Day

It’s another long ass day at the station, although there was a bit of excitement when the Chief went out to his squad car and found the window busted out.

Everyone chuckled to themselves as he flipped his shit, almost as if he’d temporarily forgotten that he was a police chief. 

Flip and Ron went out to lunch at the local diner, discussing the ‘Angels’ case, and of course Flip’s back-alley hookup last night, much to the detective’s dismay. 

He just resorted to sucking down as many cigarettes as he could while Ron fired off questions, hoping the nicotine buzz would get him through this all quicker. It didn’t.

Finally, with the Chief’s approval, Ron and Flip head out at five to Ace’s in hopes of spotting The Angels as they come to the bar.

Luckily, when they reach the bar, there are no motorcycles in sight. Flip backs the truck into a spot facing where the motorcycles were last night, putting it in park before lighting up a smoke. He and Ron pass the time with some casual chit-chat before the telltale rumble of motorcycle engines.

The first bike comes into view, the leader no doubt, and slowly rolls up to the front of the bar, foot planting on the pavement. There’s something so oddly familiar about this leader to Flip, the way they move, their demeanor in general, but he thinks little of it, determined to actually focus on the case this time. 

Once the whole gang has pulled up, Flip grabs his notepad and a pencil, ready to write down the names on their jackets while Ron pulls out his camera. The bikers' engines all shut off almost simultaneously, pavement settling back into the dirt as they all dismount their bikes. 

Flip looks at all the names on their jackets, each beginning with ‘Saint’, writing all five of them down before pausing when he reaches the leader’s jacket. It read ‘Saint Siren’, glitter-infused stitching catching in the evening sunset. 

No, it can’t be.

Saint Siren reaches up to pull their helmet off, and when they do, Flip is stunned into utter and total silence. It’s you...you’re Saint Siren. 

You're the leader of ‘The Angels’.

Ron’s snapping a bunch of pictures as the rest of the gang takes their helmets off, revealing the women beneath each. Both detectives were surprised to see that ‘The Angels’ were all women, considering the general ‘man-ness’ of biker gangs.

Your hair flutters in the gentle breeze as you hang your helmet on the handlebar of your bike, reaching into your jacket pocket for a cigarette and lighter, hand shielding the flame from the gentle breeze. 

“Zimmerman?”

Flip faintly hears his partner say, but he doesn’t process it, too focused on the reality hitting.

“Zimmerman!” Ron says, shaking his partner’s arm.

“What’s the matter with you?”

His eyes dart over to Ron, a serious expression etched on his face.

“That’s her. That’s the girl from last night.”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ sure!” He snarls. “I only spent all night with her. I’m not that shallow, rookie.”

Ron stifles a laugh. “Uh huh. Well, now we understand why no one could ever figure out who this gang was. No one would ever suspect women to be bikers, much less in a biker gang.”

Your jacket is taken off and draped neatly over the seat of your bike, and Flip quickly tosses his notebook on the dash, clipping the lauve to his undershirt with a sense of urgency. His face is steadily turning redder the more he thinks about it, and Ron can almost see the smoke coming from his ears. He’d be whistling like a damn tea kettle if that were true. 

“What are you gonna do when you get in there? Remember what the Chief wants, intel only.”

Flip huffs, buttoning his flannel back up before flicking on the microphone set on the front seat, tapping the top of the machine. “I know how to do my damn job, I know what Chief said. Just be sure to listen and write the important stuff down.”

He hops down, the heels of his work boots reverberating off the pavement as he walks, more like storms, into the bar.

Earl, the bartender, greets him, but he’s already closing in on you. He doesn’t even hesitate, just walking right up to the table you’re sitting at and putting his hand on the top.

“Can I speak with you a minute?” He says in the calmest voice he can muster at this point, staring daggers at you, teeth gritted. “Please?”

All the girls look up at him, then back over at you, awaiting your answer. You stub out the cigarette between your lips before gesturing for Gladys to scoot out of the booth. She does, and you slide out, standing in front of the familiar man.

“Lead the way, Flip.”

He spins around on his heel, then stops, stomach dropping. How do you know that name?

You giggle to yourself as you walk by and out to the alley. He’s hot on your tail, slamming the door shut behind him, bounding down the stairs.

“I figured it out pretty quickly.” You say, twirling your hair as you lean back against the wall, arms crossed in front of you. “After I saw the mic clipped to your undershirt last night. Looked through the yellow pages this morning and found the contact information for one Detective Phillip Zimmerman of the Colorado Springs Police Department. There’s only one other man by the name of Phillip living in this town, and he’s the guy down at the gas station.”

“Could’ve been a fake name.”

Your lips curl up into a smirk. “Yeah, coulda been a fake name, I guess. But I saw the way you reacted when you said it, looked like you wanted to kick yourself in the nutsack. The mic on your shirt tied it all together, and then when I did some surveillance on the station, I saw you.”

Flip isn’t sure if he’s more nervous or impressed by your ability to observe and fact-find. 

“I’m not the only one that hid my true identity last night, Saint Siren. Nor are you the only one that did surveillance today.” He growls, standing in front of you. “You’re one of the ‘Angels’, the leader, in fact.”

Your face is unchanging, still wearing a neutral expression, before a small smirk tugs at your lips.

“Congratulations, Detective. I’m a little surprised you didn’t put two-and-two together last night when you read the name on my jacket.”

His eyes widen, which makes you laugh. Had your name really been on the jacket that he’d seen, and he just missed it?

“Saw you not so discreetly snooping around the bikes before you came in last night. You ought to check your surroundings a little more thoroughly before ‘casually’ sauntering by the bikes and leaning over to read the jackets...someone might see you.”

You laugh quietly, shoving your hands into your jean pockets.

He’s pissed, you can tell, but there’s also a sense of respect buried deep within his gaze, and perhaps there’s even a bit of desire mixed in, too.

“I...you’re…”

Suddenly, an idea pops into his head, and the rage suddenly melts away. He could use this to his advantage.

“Join me.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you look up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. Think about it, it’s beneficial for both of us. You want to knock the Sharks on their asses and kick ‘em outta town, and I want to stop them from taking over the whole town. We both get what we want.”

You just burst out into laughter.  “You’re a funny guy, Detective, thinking I’d ever even consider becoming an informant. Ha! Sure, I hate the Sharks and I wanna kick ‘em out, but I don’t need the pig’s help for that.”

His jaw clenches. 

“You’re trying to turn her now, Zimmerman? What the hell are you thinking? INTEL, Zimmerman, we’re here for ANGELS INTEL, not the Sharks.”

He shakes off his partner’s words, staring deep into your eyes.

“You know this is a good idea, I know you do, slick. All we need are some names. It’ll be quick work, and in return, we’ll help you get rid of them and stay off your ass after they’re gone, as long as you don’t start or engage in any violent altercations.” 

“Man, you gotta stop. You can’t make promises like that without the Chief’s approval. C’mon, Zimmerman, get outta there!”

“I’m not falling for that bullshit, and I’m not becoming a pig, even if it’s only for a few weeks.” You say, pushing off the wall and standing up straight. “G’night, Detective.”

Flip quickly grabs you before you can even take a step back towards the door, holding your arms as he steps up behind you.

“I never say things I don’t mean, and I never make promises I can’t keep, slick.”

He grabs one of his business cards out from his wallet, teasingly sliding it in your back pocket, giving your ass a quick squeeze.  “In case you change your mind.”

Your skin has erupted in goosebumps as you walk back into the bar, overly conscious of the business card tucked into your back pocket, gently poking your bottom with each stride.

As you sit with your crew, drinking and chatting the night away, you can’t stop thinking about this proposal. 

The thought of being an informant scares you.  The thought of turning on the Sharks scares you.

What scares you the most, though?

You’re ready to get to work.

[rebelliouslala]

4 Something

warnings- character death, language, cult like behavior, angst

word count- 1.7k

You had been introduced to everyone, but to be honest, you felt as if you could not memorize the men you had just met.

To be fair, there were 16 other men.

Selen was the eldest, and therefore the elder brother figure of the entire Pound. Mouse was the youngest. He was an “intern” at the Dream Gems. He sat next to Chenle, and whispered to him quietly in Korean. He looked so small in this gang. You assumed he had to join when he was possibly younger than you became a member in the Ripple.

Selen had made you meet the others, and even repeat their names. Victory sighed as he endured everyone hugging him and strangely calling him Orpheus. Selen, surprisingly, went quick. With each snap of his fingers, as if it were the 1920’s, he pointed and named.

Your head spun with the names; You only went by small descriptions to memorize each man. And even then, you had no idea. Osaka, or Herac was sitting next to a lean man, Zeus. This man was lanky, but smiled widely and laughed as he sang.

The one that Johnny sat next to, with his statuesque face was Aphrodite. He was breathtaking. Gogo- Hermes, was faced away from a very energetic boy, with feathery hair, Helios. You looked at another man, with a pinched nose, named Athene. Selen sat next to him. You stared at him, and he nodded at you silently. 

And in this room, Johnny was not even referred to his name, his English nor Korean, but as Ares. You held his hand under the table.

“So, Eos has made this, Psy is their name, as a new spy. Now, Athene will make the plan.” Selen said loudly.

The man mentioned nodded, before he did a double take. “What? Hyung—?”

“Eos orders.”

Athene blinked, and he stood up, quietly kicking you.

“OW.” You stated with disgust, glaring up.

“Oh! Pardon me, would you mind punching Selen?” Athene said like a gent. 

There was an ahem. The man who made the noise placed his hands under his chin. “Continue, Athene.” Aphrodite said with a coolness.

The other man sighed quietly, but he got out a scroll. It was curled, but he laid it out so everyone can see. Yuta -you didn’t even want to try to remember his name-, helped it keep it open with his elbow, and another boy who was introduced as Songbird, who smiled up at Athene.

Athene now read loudly, “My fellow Gods, demigods and mortals; we invite a new, fellow mortal by the name of Psy. They have a chance to take down our enemy. Because of this, all business is now closed. We will be quiet and we will,” Athene leaned closer, muttering to himself in Korean, “We will now not be active. Herac, Dolphin, Psy and Ares, shall all go to the West Side and take the corrupt Ripple down. Any news from our spies will be delivered by Songbird and Orpheus.” Athene sighed as he pulled away, “With Godspeed, Eos.”

You hid your smirk at his flat tone. Perhaps Eos was too much of a narcissist to even realize his team was much too sick of his dramatics.

Athene pulled the scroll back, and he blinked. “Any questions?”

“Yeah.” You crossed your arms, “Is Eos okay?”

Aphrodite scoffed and he looked at you through his lashes. The other men, including Selen, scoffed and harrumphed at your response.

“Well don’t look at me like I’m some sort of goon.” You stood up. “You all might’ve thought the same.”

“Eos,” said the young man you saw training earlier, you believe his name was Achilles, “Is a God among us. I am lucky to be seen as a demigod—,”

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed Johnny’s shoulder, and whispered loudly, “What a cult, am I right?”

“Psy,” he whispered with guilt.

You turned, and sighed, holding the bridge of your nose as you looked upon everything. The shining waxed table. The white suits everyone wore. Their stares. How they all looked down.

“I’m going to take down the Ripple my way. Chenle—,”

“He is known as Dolphin!” Orpheus, started.

“Not another word out of your mouth.” You glared at him, before turning away, gently tapping Johnny.

He sounded worried. You’re already in enough shit. You should be dead. More than ever in this situation. With Eos. This is the worst scenario and your best friend didn’t know how to act. You held his hand tightly above the table and smiled.

“Let’s go. I will contact Ch- Dolphin, with updates. And or, Victory- Orpehus.” You giggled as Johnny stood up with you.

“Then Godspeed,” Helios said to you calmly.

“God damn,” you replied with a smirk, and pull your friend out as the others daggered your back with judgement.

And another, foreign dagger stared above the table, witnessing every single move you had just made.

The funeral was that. A funeral.

Nothing prepared you for the pain you felt staring at Yangyang’s body. His face was still, no smile, and he was so, so pale. Unlike the photo that was next to him. It was only from a few days ago. He was grinning. Laughing. It was with Mr. Money and Sushi, but they were edited out.

His real name was read out in multiple languages. From German, Chinese, Korean, English. It read the same. Liu “Dreamer” Yangyang. Friend. Son. Brother.

You gripped onto Johnny, and looked up at his eyes, trying to find his warmth. It had to be. It was supposed to be. Impossible. It had to be.

Johnny sighed quietly as his lips contorted, before he finally grabbed onto the words. “D-Do you remember how Dreamer always knew what you wanted for your birthday? And how he always shared with us the photos of Louis and Leon?”

A hot tear escaped your eye, as you hid in his huge chest and nodded. You nodded frantically as you began to sob. Johnny’s big hands held you, and he placed his chin on you, sighing quietly again. 

The plan was ruined. You lost the man who should be here and hugging you and Johnny before you both went on a cruise to Korea, and then after that, the world.

You let go to breathe, biting the inside of your cheeks with anger. Your gaze turned to Victory’s tears, and Sushi looking at the youngest member’s body

His face reminded you, strongly of how you were young once. Running away and living with Johnny out on the streets of Baise. You had only one television, the news, and that broadcast that evening was of a grown woman crying, over and over in Taiwanese, “WHERE IS MY SON? WHO TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME?”

His eyes shared the same pain.

“Psy.” You turned as Mr. Money hugged you. Embraced you. He hid in you. “I-I can’t we could’ve lost you too. And John, we- fuck.”

Osaka was in the corner, looking down as he stared at the Ripple mourn.

Once Mr. Money had released himself, you stared at Jewel letting Smalls and Henry hug him tightly. Jewel despised any touching. 

The fierce, cunning man, couldn’t even look what is inside the coffin. He only held the two now youngest members close to his heart.

Your hands gripped, nails digging to your palms. Now this was something you couldn’t take. The Pound may have you and Johnny’s lives on a string. But nothing could describe your frustration, to Sicheng. Victory. Whatever his name was.

To Yuta himself.

Osaka got up from his place on the wall, and he strutted himself to the coffin. He peaked over. 

Today, the man wore not the white cult suit from the Pound, but a simple, and dull outfit. He took off his grey jacket, his white shirt bulging out oddly, as his black shoes, matching his black suit pants, had rubbed against the table that Dreamer was placed upon.

“He knew.”

Everyone turned to the man. Osaka took a katana from inside his shirt, and now the cloth hugged him. The weapon had a sky blue diamond handle. The blade itself was an opaque diamond. Osaka placed it in Dreamer’s hands.

Jewel stopped him, gripping it and he glared at him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I thought perhaps—,”

Jewel grabbed it with both hands, and he threw back into Osaka’s chest, stepping forward. “You don’t touch his body. You don’t look at it. What the fuck happened there.”

“John already explained,” Smalls tried to explain.

“No, bullshit. John is a nice guy. We don’t even fuckin’ know Osaka- in fact. It seems his Japanese is a little shaky.” Jewel pushed Osaka now, speaking in Japanese quickly, with poison. Your ears weren’t the best in the language, but he did say something along the lines of, “Speak now or hold your peace, bitch.”

Osaka took the blows from Jewel. But he looked up. “We were all ambushed by Dream Gems. You know that they work under the Pound. We believe Chenle—,”

“BBall.” Mr. Money held his cane and separated the men.

“Listen. I’m sorry. I wanted to pay my respects—,” Osaka tried to reason.

“YOU DONT DO SHIT HERE!” Jewel roared, his eyes glowing with anguish. “YOU GOT HIM KILLED!”

“He’s not dead.” You said.

Everyone turned.

“Really? He’s okay? Di-,” Sushi started.

“He’s in a very deep, deep coma.” You slowly take your hand back, and put it in your pockets.

Henry teared up, hugging Smalls, “G-Good.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. Yuta needs to be investigated. On our last and final mission all of the sudden it goes wrong?” Jewel said as he glared at Osaka from the side of his eye.

“Then let’s attack The Pound.”

Johnny held your arm and gently pressed four times.

What.

Are.

You.

Doing.

“We need to make the Pound pay for what they did. And if Osaka isn’t bad, he’ll help.” You look at Osaka. “Won’t you?”

Osaka’s cold face suddenly melted to the side as he leans on a hip and he raised a brow, his smirk curving out as he said, almost naturally, “Perhaps I will for ya, doll.”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Who should go with us?”

“Gogo. He’s reliable, after all he’s known Sushi for a long time too, hasn’t he?”

The big man nodded. “Yeah.”

You look at everyone. You planned for a bigger plan. A bigger dramatic. But that’s the Pound’s job. Right now, a plan, quite without common sense, was forming.

And the goal is was for you, and Johnny to be safe.

“For the Dreamer.” You said firmly.

“For the end.” The Ripple echoed back.