#he can face off the scariest of men without even a twitch

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

"Way to go. No film in the camera? Really? Seriously?"

Leverage S01E09 The Stork Job.

[boosoonhao]

highways: in defiance

hoshi x reader 6.7k words dystopian au sexism and totalitarian regime warning

soonyoung figures out, quite early into your marriage, that you’re a pretty impressive actress. actress is not the world he should use, really; the female form of the masculine ‘actor’. one doesn’t use feminine forms of occupations anymore. but when he looks at you, at the massive shift in your attitude once the wedding is done and over with and you’re both situated in what used to be soonyoung’s home – it is still soonyoung’s, for all intents and purposes; you’re not allowed to own property, after all, but your presence is so huge, so imposing that it feels shared nonetheless – it’s the feminine form of the word ‘actor’ that comes to mind.

he’ll grant you that; that tiny, private nod of respect. illegal and dangerous as it might be, he can’t quite help it. in retrospect, that’s probably the first sign of what the high judges would call ‘suspicious influence’.

during the pre-marriage sessions; recorded meetings in dull, grey rooms at the center of the golden circle, you had seemed like the perfect picture of the kind of woman soonyoung’s supposed to be with. agreeable, pretty, good genes. demure, but not without personality; nothing of that dead, distasteful glare that seems a genetic trait of people from the middle districts.

where you’d been reserved but susceptible during the interviews, you are now cold; eyes shimmering with visible disdain as soonyoung comes in during the quiet, soft yellow hours of the morning. there’s a layer of sweat hidden beneath his trained exterior, a smell of gasoline sticking to his fingers. he glances at the clock right above the entrance to the living room. 5.15 in the morning. he hadn’t expected you awake already, had thought he’d be able to slip inside unnoticed and wash the evidence of his illicit nightly adventures off before falling under your scrutiny.

you’re observant, he’s noticed; quick to pick up on his habits and his preferences. you make him breakfast, cook him dinners; coffee ready on the table every morning, even though he can tell that you despise it. that your fingers twitch with the want to dunk the hot liquid that you’re not allowed to drink yourself right in his face.

he wonders if you think he’s cheating; that his nightly escapades are of the sexual nature. ‘men are creatures of the flesh’, soonyoung’s father used to say. ‘if denied their right in the home, who can blame them for seeking satisfaction somewhere else?’. soonyoung thinks this was meant as a jab towards his mother, who meant that women had one job, and one job only. in any case, the idea never sat right with him. not even now, not even when you sleep fully clothed at the very edge of your shared bed.

and if you do think that’s what he’s doing; do you care? does the slight downwards pull of your lips come from the idea of him entangled with someone else during secret meetings in the night, or does it come from the disdain of the walls that surround you on every side like a lavish, pretty jail cell?

soonyoung can’t tell which option he’d prefer.

(he can’t even tell if any of them are preferable at all.)

____________________

the scariest thing about you, soonyoung finds, is how outspoken you are. he’d heard about it, of course; about the silver tongued rebels of the middle districts. he’d always questioned it; like, would they not be easy to spot, easy to pluck from the normal people and place in their proper places of gallows and cells? evidently, such a line of thought was too simple, too idealistic; here you are, right in front of him, speaking in tones that could only be described as vulgar, illegal.

this thought, soonyoung admits with reluctance, is strangely exciting.

“you smell like whisky,” you murmur when soonyoung comes home from meeting his three closest friends. drinking alcohol is frowned upon, for sure, but not illegal. not for him. still, he feels a sort of guilt tug at his spine. a magical power of yours, that; making him squirm and question everything he’s been so sure of before. you divert your gaze, stare out the window. your voice is nothing but a murmur when you open your mouth again; “must be nice.”

bitterness does not make itself scarce in your expression, nor in your tone, and soonyoung’s jaw tightens. “do you want some?”

he surprises himself by being completely serious. you twist your head back to look at him, watches as he produces a half full bottle of burning, brown liquid from the bag slung over his shoulder. looking for the signs of a test, no doubt; for any traces of challenge. you blink, surprised to find none, soonyoung supposes. he steps quickly over to the cabinet, finds two glasses there and sits himself down on the chair left of yours. you do not take your eyes off of him, not as he shifts to make himself comfortable, not as he pours the liquid into the two glasses.

the only sound in the room is that of whisky being poured, the only smell the strong stench of liquor. he’ll break this one law, he thinks, without giving it too much of a thought. you’ve already presented your cards, already complained and opposed, already made yourself vulnerable. he hopes, with a thud of his heart, that you won’t make him regret this lapse of judgement.

you hum, reach for the glass, twirl the liquid around in the clear glass. “might as well,” you relent at last. “maybe alcohol is what it takes to make this district survivable.”

soonyoung chokes on whisky.

“you’re quite bold,” he murmurs, not without reluctant admiration in his voice. “what’s to stop me from reporting you to the enforcers?”

you tilt your head, watch him with dangerous eyes. “ah,” you breathe, lean your head against the knuckles of your hand. “to the rebellious future enforcer choi seungcheol?” you tap your fingers against your cheekbone, lip curling into something not quite – but close, very close – a smile. amber liquid swirls around the glass, splashes against the rims in something that soonyoung can’t describe as anything but a show of power. “or to boo seungkwan, future brainwasher in command?”

it could be a coincidence that those are the names you choose to mention, of course, but there’s cleverness visible in the arch of your brows, and when you sit back upright in the chair, it’s with the intimidating, powerful aura of any high judge soonyoung has ever met. people used to say – at least people say that people used to say – that men went for women who reminded them of their mothers. of course, people don’t say it anymore; men do not go for women at all, they let the soulmate system choose for them. but in that moment, soonyoung thinks he understands what people used to mean.

“leverage,” you tell him, chug down the last bit of whisky in your glass, looks very little like the image of a ‘proper lady’ that soonyoung has grown up with. you put the glass down on the flat surface of the table, bring your hands up in front of your face, curl your fingers into a fist and flick your wrists in a gesture that soonyoung recognizes only because he’s done it himself countless times. “vroom vroom,” you add, as if he needs the audio to understand what you’re implying. a shiver climb soonyoung’s spine, makes his head tingle. “that’s why you’re not going to report me to the enforcers.”

he stares, throat thick with something that feels a hell of a lot like fear. it’s not something soonyoung feels particularly often, not since he lived with his parents. not since they shut down his dance studio and interrogated him for suspicions of rebellion. he hadn’t been one, then. sometimes he wonders if that was what did it. maybe he’ll ask what you think; you seem to be an expert on the subject of resistance.

“don’t look so shocked,” you murmur, tone a hair’s breadth from mockery. “you always smell like gasoline.”

____________________

“my mother wants to have us over for dinner,” he tells you, watches as you try to keep your emotions under wraps. soonyoung might not have known you for very long, might not actually know you very well at all despite your name tattooed at the top of his wrist, but he recognizes your tells, by now. a twitch at the edge of your lips, a quick, tense rise of your shoulders. to your credit, you do not break eye contact.

things have been… different, since the evening he shared his whisky with you. for one, soonyoung can’t quite help looking over his back when he leaves to ride his bike, can’t help the feeling that you’re always watching. and second, you’ve been far less hostile, though still as loud and assertive in your trash talk. he wouldn’t call it friendly, would hesitate even over ‘amicable’. but he feels it is a win, nonetheless. third, it happens again. it becomes a pattern. for weeks, soonyoung shares his whisky with you, until the bottle is empty and the distance returns.

he knows this, though; there is no mistaking the wave of absolute disgust that paints your otherwise pretty face at the mention of his mother.

he imagines what she must represent to you; a woman born in freedom, who willingly, gladly traded her — and in some small part, every other woman in palatium’s — rights away for a place in the new elite. soonyoung’s father was a nobody before; barely even worthy of living in the high district. soonyoung’s mother, on the other hand, created the soulmate method of marriages. for that, she’s allowed some small, secret perks. books, food, alcohol. clearance to the golden circle. except, soonyoung suspects, it’s not as secret as the elite might think.

“why are you staring at me?” you question at last, defiance blatant and on display in both your tone and your expression. “surely i, the subservient wife, have no say in matters like these.”

“you’re anything but subservient,” soonyoung mutters, mostly to himself. the glare you shoot him is enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. he clears his throat. “i can make up an excuse,” he tells you; the reason he brought it up in the first place. a choice. soonyoung is starting to realize that even in his perpetual state of nodding his head and playing along, he’s taken his freedom for granted. “if you don’t want to go.”

you inhale through your nose, stare at soonyoung from your position by the kitchen counter. in truth, soonyoung had considered not even bringing the invite up, had considered just politely declining the offer and continue putting the inevitable encounter off. but then he’d remembered the bitter commentary you’d made during one of your illicit evenings of soft buzzes and heated almost-arguments; the biting comments about your lack of choices.

he kinda wishes he could have presented you with a better one.

“no,” you tell him, quieter than he expects. he never seems to quite get used to the few and far between moments where you don’t seem to get sick at the mere sight of him. “no, it’s fine,” you sigh, drag a hand through your hair, can’t seem to settle on somewhere to look. “let’s just get it over with.”

____________________

he catches you eyeing the bookcase in the hallway of his mother’s home; something that looks like a cross between envy and resignation ghosting over your features. he wouldn’t even have noticed, had he not been looking for it.

he hopes no one else notices.

“soonyoung, darling,” soonyoung mother enthuses, brings her arms around his neck to envelop him in a bone crushing hug. to the uninitiated onlooker, it must seem like a heartwarming reunion; a mother and a son together again. soonyoung knows better, though, has been on the receiving end of his mother’s overbearing affection enough times to know the truth behind it. soonyoung’s mother might not have a whole lot of power, despite her innovative ideas and her rows and rows of books, but she sure knows how to assert it.

the word for it used to be ‘matriarch’, he knows. of course, that word has disappeared into the box of forgotten things, just like ‘actress’ and ‘queen’.

“it’s good to see you again, my boy,” she goes on, pats soonyoung’s shoulders with long fingers, their nails painted red. a bold move, that, considering nail polish is supposed to be outlawed. then again, rules never seemed to work the same way for the people residing in the golden circle. “and your wife is here as well,” she says at last, notes your presence as one would make note of a new haircut, a new pair of shoes. specifically, a less favorable haircut. soonyoung clears his throat uncomfortably. you refuse to respond.

(it’s the start of a very slow, very painful dinner.)

soonyoung’s mother, despite her active role in the marriage, seems adamant in her blatant ignoring of your presence.

“how’s everything going so far?” she asks, eyes trained right on her son. soonyoung feels the need to hide, to fill his mouth with potatoes and steak and hinder himself from being able to talk.

“it’s going fine, mother,” he replies vaguely, cowers from her inquisitive glare. he glances instead to his right, where you’re picking at your own food, eyes fixed on your maltreated potato. soonyoung’s mother hums, as if that answer has something secret hidden between the words that only she understands.

“it’s been three months,” she goes on, swirls a glass of something that looks like red wine between her fingers. “can i expect grandchildren soon?”

never one for small talk, that woman.

soonyoung hears, somehow, how you stiffen in your chair, the very mention of children a sore, taboo subject between the two of you. you’ll talk, at length, about the unfairness of society and your distaste for the inner circle, but you tastefully avoid subjects that pertain to your marriage, or the expectations that come with it. a part of your newfound almost-amicable relationship, soonyoung suspects.

“only time will tell,” he murmurs, feels two sets of intimidating female gazes heavy on him. he takes a large gulp of his whisky.

she hums again. “she’s not getting any younger, you know. the true purpose of the woman is to provide the man with a child.”

soonyoung doesn’t dare looking over at you. he’s sure the expression he’d find there would be enough to make him sweat. he’s always known that his mother was a bit of an extremist, even as far as the elite goes. he knows his mother is the very definition of a true believer. somehow, these things had been much easier to ignore before. he opens his mouth – to agree? to protest? he doesn’t know – but his mother chooses that moment to address you, finally, directly.

“isn’t that right, dear?” she asks sweetly. the following silence feels sort of like a death sentence. soonyoung wants to intervene. he doesn’t.

“of course,” you reply, voice flat and submissive in a whole nother way than how he’s used to. your subservience has been a mockery, before, a sort of inside joke on soonyoung’s expense, a proof of your opposition. there’s nothing of that present now, and when he finally manages to force his gaze over to your seat, your face is deathly pale. you still have not touched your food, but you still have the distinct expression of someone with a bad taste in their mouth.

you do not speak again the rest of the night.

____________________

after the dinner at soonyoung’s mother’s, there’s a tangible, heavy silence hanging over the kwon jr. household. you won’t speak to him, not when he buys a new bottle of whisky and tries to lure you into the sitting room to join him, not when he starts dropping small hints about his adventures during the night.

not even when he wakes up extra early to try – and horribly fail at – making you breakfast do you say a word to him, though you do push him aside to try and salvage the burnt eggs stuck to the dark pan on the stove. soonyoung feels helpless, in a completely unfamiliar, overwhelming sort of way. he’s always seen himself as a pretty empathetic person, even when being empathetic was not a good thing to be. he buried it when he had to, but it was always there, tucked inside his ribcage.

he’s not sure ‘empathy’ is enough to adequately describe how he feels as he watches you flitter around the house like a ghost.

it seems to boil over inside of you, five days after the dinner. he returns from watching mingyu fight in the underground, the smell of gasoline and of cigarettes sticking to his clothing and tugging at his skin. he loosens his tie and slinks up the stairs towards the bedroom. he doesn’t expect you to be awake.

you twist your head around when he enters, look at him with the same dead sort of gaze that has been haunting him for days and days now. the familiar feeling that’s not quite empathy, that tastes an awful lot like guilt, tugs on his chest. he used to think you were very loud. maybe that’s just another one of those things he took for granted.

you rise from your side of the bed, dressed only in your pale, white nightgown, and take a few determined steps towards him. you grasp at the front of his shirt, fingers doing quick work of his top buttons. soonyoung panics at your sudden aggression, takes a rushed, clumsy step back, but you only follow, wordlessly, keep working on the buttons of his clothes.

“hold– hold on,” he stutters, tries to grasp at your hands. you only press further, until he’s backed up against the door, eyes focused on the shirt and on the skin revealed by every button you undo. “what the hell are you doing?” your head snaps up at that, gaze hard and mouth set in a thin line. soonyoung feels exposed, vulnerable, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“my job,” you reply, with a voice that sounds both eerily like your own and someone else’s entirely. you grip at the fabric of his shirt, try to pull it off of his shoulders. soonyoung’s own fly up to wrap around your elbows to stop you. “a woman’s only purpose is to provide her husband with children, and all that.”

“i don’t–” soonyoung starts, doesn’t quite know how to continue the sentence. i don’t think that. i don’t want that. somehow he doesn’t think any of the options would be particularly soothing, despite his efforts. your fingernails dig into his clothes, make crescent moons along the skin of his chest. it looks like you can’t decide whether to cry or to scream.

“do you know what happens to women who refuses to sleep with their husbands?” you ask, a sort of pathetic, fragile stuntedness to your voice. your fingers are still tightly clutched at the front of his unbuttoned shirt. they shiver; in fear or anger, soonyoung doesn’t know. “they get sent to the lower districts, branded for being ‘barren’.” soonyoung circles his hands around your wrists, tries to pull your hands away. your grip at his clothes tighten, and you stare him right in the eyes. “of course, most of the time it won’t come to that, because men have the habit of taking what they want whether the woman want it or not.”

there’s no word for it anymore, but the old one, the one that starts with an r, still echoes in the back of soonyoung’s head. he feels sick, feels the impulse to push you away from him and run away. his throat feels thick, mouth full of ashes.

“that won’t happen to you here,” he says, voice kept stable only by the conviction with which he says it. he presses his thumbs into your skin. your head is bowed; in shame or in disbelief, soonyoung can’t know. “nothing you don’t want will happen as long as i’m here.” he lets go of your wrists and they fall limply to your side. he takes hold of your face, feels ridiculously bold for doing so, guides your face up so you can see how much he means what he’s saying. somehow, he feels more honest than he’s done ever before. “i swear i’ll do anything to make you happy.”

in the old time, the time when you married someone you loved rather than someone whose genes matched your own, they used to have these beautiful ceremonies. soonyoung remembers overhearing talks about them during meetings when he was a child. something he always was especially entranced by was the concept of ‘vows’, of promises to keep and to honor. they got scrapped for something far more technical, of course, but the idea was especially appealing to soonyoung. this one will have to do, he thinks. there’s not a lot more he can promise, considering the circumstances. your eyes are wet. he finds that he wants to press his lips to your forehead.

he doesn’t. instead, he says, “i’ll sleep on the couch tonight. please get some rest.” and he leaves the room. he hears a sob through the door, and he swears something inside him cracks painfully.

and that is why he ends up in front of his mother’s bookcase once again a mere week later.

____________________

“what’s this?” you ask when he puts the book down in front of you on the table. soonyoung feels strangely disconnected to his own body; almost as if he’s standing in the corner of the room, watching himself present you with the book. people have gone to jail for less than this; people have been hanged.

but then, he participates in illegal races at night, attends betting matches in the underground once a month. he tells himself that’s why despite the rush of fear coursing through his veins, soonyoung does not hesitate once to give you the worn paperback. “it’s a book,” he replies lamely; knows it’s a mistake as soon as the words fall out of his mouth.

“obviously,” you bite back, the exclamation almost more a hiss than a word. soonyoung knows better than to talk down to you, by now, but he finds that old habits are hard to break. and you’ve been tense ever since visiting his mother, too, much easier to anger. he wonders if you still hear her words in your head when you close your eyes. the thought makes him nauseous. “what am i supposed to do with it? fold paper cranes?”

soonyoung blinks, gaze falling down to where your fingers lie curled and interlaced with each other on the surface of the table. you have pretty hands, he notice; prettier than he would have expected from the middle district. “can you?” he looks back up at your face, finds you squinting in his direction as if you’re loathe to even look at him. “i mean–” he amends, clears his throat. sits down on the chair on your left, folds his hands. he can’t quite look you in the eyes. “you want to learn to read, don’t you?”

you blink; scrunch up your nose as if in disbelief and mouth pulled down in a very distinct frown. soonyoung thinks you might be trying to play down how true his assumption is, but the light dust of red that appears at your cheekbones give you away. soonyoung feels awkward, as if his mouth is full of syrup. “i’ll teach you,” he tries, desperately needs for you to react in any way at all. when you don’t, he swallows, breathes out heavily. “if you want?”

it seems as if you’re silent for an eternity; trust still non-existent and doubt still lingering in every corner of your shared home and in every line of your face. hesitant fingers reach out to touch the front of the book, almost as if you’re afraid of breaking it. there a small twitch at the edges of your lips that might be a smile.

“thank you,” you whisper, and something in soonyoung’s chest seems to bloom.

(it becomes a routine. soonyoung points out letters, pronunciations, coaches you through the longer words and sentences. sometimes you’ll make attempts at reading entire pages out loud, eager to learn and thirsty for knowledge. sometimes he’ll read to you in bed, almost too distracted by the new sort of closeness and the way your eyes flit over the pages to even know what he’s reading.

it’s just a simple novel; a story he’d been obligated to read multiple times in school, but you eat it up, entranced by every word. one night you fall asleep with your head against his shoulder. that night, he’s supposed to meet up with seungcheol, mingyu and seungkwan for a race.

he finds that he can’t quite get himself to move.)

____________________

you’re a quick learner. much quicker than soonyoung was, much more proficient than he could ever hope to be. he tries to tell himself that the sense of pride that comes with your impressive learning curve is an innocent thing. tries to tell himself that the way he leans back and focuses fully on your voice, on the way your fingers clutch at the coarseness of paper doesn’t have anything to do with the soft tingle in the pit of his stomach.

“they work so hard to maintain this intellectual high ground over the lower regions,” you rattle on, uncaring for the fact that soonyoung can’t keep up even if he tried. probably you could make anything and everything into an hour long rant, he thinks, but not without affection. “‘the poor can’t be smart, they lack the education’, ‘women can’t be equal, can’t have any substantial thoughts; they can’t even read!’” you run a finger along the spine of the book. when soonyoung follows your finger, he notices that it’s shaking. your words sounds an awful lot like what he used to learn to be treason when he was a child; but then soonyoung is starting to realize that you commit treason with every intake of breath, every twitch of your brow.

then maybe he’s a traitor, too, for being so engulfed, so committed; for the way he hangs on to your every word as if they were holy. he’s surprisingly okay with that thought.

“but the elite are the ones keeping education away from us,” your finger stops moving, and soonyoung forces his gaze up to your face, pauses at the pinkness of your cupid’s bow, at the arch of your nose. every day, he’s finding details in your face that he wants to jot down in his journal, commit eternally to memory.

“honestly,” he murmurs. “even without the education, you’re probably ten times smarter than me.” it’s easier now, to spill sacrilege from his lips, to disregard his teachings for these secret truths between a man and his wife. sometimes he has to look over his shoulder before saying them, too scared of a housekeeper peeping or an enforcer storming the doors. it’s more worth it each time he does it; genuine smiles painted on your features as a reward for his morsels of genuiness.

you hum quietly, something dangerous flickering in your eyes. “that’s actually a pretty popular theory.”

“that women are smarter than men?” soonyoung finds the claim far less outrageous now than he would have six months ago. it’s impossible to be as staunch and sure as men are supposed to be in their own superiority, when he is so overexposed to your brilliance.

“no,” you reply with a laugh. “that i’m smarter than you. specifically.”

a joke, soonyoung registers. like the ones his father used to tell at dinners and during house parties. though, kwon sr. used to prefer the jokes about sex traitors, about women in high positions. soonyoung’s mother’s lip used to be very tight during these loud retellings. soonyoung finds that he prefers your joke; one that’s private and that puts you on a pedestal rather than pushes you down, that makes you refer to him as a friend rather than someone you’re stuck with.

he also finds that he wants to kiss you. that feeling he buries.

____________________

“soonyoung,” you murmur one night, quietly and carefully from your side of the bed. the divide has gotten smaller, for sure, but there’s still something invisible and terrible that seems to keep you sleeping with your back against him, that keeps him from daring to reach out and touch your hair while you sleep. he opens one eye, peers at you while you twist around in the bed to face him. he can barely make out your silhouette in the darkness, but he still knows exactly what you must look like.

“what is it?” he prompts when you seem to be hesitating. you exhale, and he feels the air on his face, resists the urge to shiver.

“you said–” you pause, shift slightly on the bed. he thinks you’re embarrassed, somehow. “you said you’d do anything,” you don’t finish the sentence, don’t need to. maybe the word ‘happy’ is too foreign on your tongue. soonyoung’s skin tingles. “did you mean it?”

“yes,” he replies, doesn’t even stop for a second to reconsider. truths never used to fall out of him so easily before. nothing is quite like before, he feels, with a sort of terrifying warmth at the pit of his stomach. you must be gathering up the courage to ask for something, he realizes. “is there?” he asks. “something i can do?”

silence. for one, two, three– “take me out,” you whisper, almost reluctantly; as if you have to force the request out of your mouth. “on your bike.”

soonyoung sits up, and you follow; the bed jiggling under the sudden movements. his first thought is to refuse, to protest. too daring, too dangerous, too many risks. but as his eyes adjust to the darkness and he’s able to see your face more clearly he sees the uncertain, bare expression that lingers there, and he finds that refusal is an impossibility. so instead, he whispers back, “okay. now?” watches with delight as the tension leaves your body and is replaced by relief.

“please.”

(he holds your hand as he drags you after him to the garage where soonyoung and his friend keeps their bikes, can’t help looking back every so often to remind himself how your fingers intertwined looks. something scary, something amazing sizzles underneath his skin. he knows what it is, but somehow he can’t quite remember the name.)

he doesn’t take you to the underground where the nightly fights are held, nor does he show you the streets everyone use for races. somehow, he doesn’t think that’s what you’re really interested in, even with how much you’ve probed him about it. instead, he takes you to a secluded hill, his private, secret little spot. it’s not much; nothing really is anymore, but it’s more than the house, more than the dull, brown walls you’re used to staring at.

your neck cranes backwards as you take in the sight; bends so far back that soonyoung has to instinctively put a hand at your back to make sure you don’t fall over. the stars are bright, here; twinkling and clear and alive in a way that soonyoung haven’t been able to spot anywhere else. sometimes you’ll gasp, or inhale as if you haven’t been able to breathe for months, and when you turn to thank him, the shimmer of your eyes seem to outshine every star in the night sky.

(love, he realizes, as you’re holding onto him, arms wrapped securely around his torso as you head back to the garage. the feeling is called love.)

“soonyoung,” you call after him when you’re back in the house, stopping in the middle of the hallway. soonyoung swears he’ll never get used to how his name sounds in your voice. he turns around, takes note of the uncertain look in your eyes. “i’m–” you frown, take a step towards him. for a moment, you seem to weigh your options, to ponder how to go about whatever it is you’re trying to express. an inhale, an exhale. “ah, fuck it.” and then–

then your lips are on his, his face pulled forcefully to meet yours. your fingertips claw at his face, body pressing itself against him, and for a second soonyoung thinks his brain might have exploded. you tug at his face again, urge him to either respond or pull away.

soonyoung chooses the first option. he grabs your hips, digs his fingers into the fabric of your clothes and pull at your body as if he’d die without the contact. your mouth opens, tongue slipping out to lick at his mouth, and soonyoung groans, feels the vibrations of it through his whole body. he takes a few steps, presses you against the wall, and you bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. soonyoung can’t decide if the sensation is painful or pleasurable, he can’t remember his own last name. all he knows is that you rotate your hips, grinds against him in a way that makes him dizzy.

“upstairs,” you pant, and soonyoung takes the opportunity to explore your neck; bites and nibs at your skin and relishes in the reactions it gives him. your exhales are loud, shaky, and your fingers burrow into his shoulder in what seems more like a steadying action than anything else. “bed,” you add, as if you’ve forgotten how to construct proper sentences.

here, soonyoung falters. “you don’t have to–” he says, voice hoarse with something he can’t describe as anything but ‘lust’. another sin to add to the tally, he supposes. he pulls his head back, searching your face for anything to imply that you’re acting out of a sense of obligation. he finds your cheeks; reddened beyond anything he’s ever seen before. he finds your mouth; already swollen and hot pink against your skin. he finds your eyes; wild and alive and more than ever reminding him of the night full of stars.

he does not, however, see any doubt. still, he feels the need to reiterate; “i don’t expect anything.”

you laugh, at that, a breezy, easy thing that sounds almost like a symphony. you take his face between your hands, squish his cheeks and press a chaste, quick kiss to his lips.

“i know. i want to.”

and there’s something in the almost prideful way you say that, that you emphasize the word ‘want’, that makes soonyoung think he couldn’t ever deny you anything.

____________________

soonyoung stares. he leans on his arm, fingers splayed against soft linens and body cushioned by thick duvets. on the other side of the bed, you’re sleeping.

before – that is to say, before you realized that soonyoung was not your enemy, that he could even be your ally – you used to sleep with a body language so tight and rigid that soonyoung sometimes wondered if you ever actually slept at all. fully clothed in your heavy dresses and knotted corsets, arms stiff and legs curled at the very edge of the bed. it almost felt like sharing sleeping quarters with a heavy, big stone.

the sight that now greets him every morning before he has to leave to perform the mundane tasks that are expected of him, is something almost bizarrely opposite; something that makes his head spin even when he’s seen it time after time after time. your arms are stretched across the bed, reaching for the warmth of the space that soonyoung occupied mere minutes ago. sunlight puts an impossible sort of glow over your exposed skin and makes the back of soonyoung’s neck tingle. he reaches out, curls a lock of your hair around his finger.

a calculated mistake, so to speak. your eyes open. a slow, lazy action; even waking up has become a completely new, changed thing, unrecognizable in contrast to the eyes-wide-open, fully alerted way soonyoung has become accustomed to.

for a moment you just watch him, impassively; eyes barely open and fingers clutching at the white linens right by soonyoung’s thigh. you do not lean after his touch, nor away from it. this new, tentative closeness between you feels fragile at all times, and soonyoung worries, not for the first time, if he’s crossed a line.

“are you staring at me?” you ask, sleepiness tugging at your vocal chords. the sound makes soonyoung’s chest tighten with something he doesn’t quite recognize. it’s a warm, fuzzy feeling. the tip of soonyoung’s tongue tastes of the same illegal, dangerous thing that seems to surround everything involving you. soonyoung feels a surge of courage sizzling through his veins, lets his hand disappear fully into the mess of your hair. your eyes flutter close, a low rumble of a hum slipping past your lips.

“yes,” he admits, his thumb flitting along your cheekbone. your eyes open again, observe him carefully. soonyoung has known, probably ever since he started teaching you how to read, ever since you started letting your guard down and your mouth speak freely, that he is in love with you. he’d told you as much; that he’d do anything to ensure your happiness. he feels it now, though, harder and clearer than ever before in the pale sunlight and the soft glow that surrounds you both. it almost feels like peace, like freedom. “i love you.”

you inhale, raise your hand to glide along his thigh and reach for his burgunder tie. the silence feels overwhelming. and then you tug, almost forcefully enough to make soonyoung fall over you. he has to catch himself with his arms, cages you in between them, and your fingers reach, clutch at his face. he feels your breath over his mouth, and the anticipation is almost as deliriously wonderful as when your lips finally connect with his own.

the first kiss you shared, technically, was at your wedding. it was a standard procedure sort of thing; a nod back to other times where marriages were a free, voluntary thing. just the barest touch of lips against lips. you’d grimaced afterwards, and soonyoung had pretended not to noticed.

the second time– soonyoung can’t quite stop thinking about the second time. he finds that he struggles to put a name to it, to the rush of emotion and stress and confusion and relief, to the mess of it all. it had been a beginning, he now knows, though at the time he’d felt so overwhelmed that he’d thought it was an ending.

this; this lazy, casual press of lips, makes every nerve underneath soonyoung’s skin do somersaults. your arms wind around his neck, he lets himself fall against your body and against the softness of the bed, noses squished together and fingertips itching to touch. your own fingers move to ruffle his hair, to undo every attempt he’d made at making himself look presentable before leaving the house. he finds that he struggles to care.

“soonyoung,” you murmur, just a hair’s breadth away from him. he feels the vibrations of your voice through his entire body, shivers with the way his name sounds coming from your mouth. “i’m not–” here, you falter, and soonyoung’s throat feels constricted. you watch him, for a moment, fingers gliding along the skin of his face as if you’re trying to commit every line to memory. “i’m not bringing a child into this world.”

soonyoung’s breath stutters. even with the vagueness of the statement, the meaning is clear. he might have been the one to teach you how to read, but you’ve taught him how to read between the lines. hesitation twinkles in your eyes when soonyoung fails to immediately respond. he leans back in, presses his lips against yours; quickly, with an intake of breath. “i guess,” he murmurs, peppers your face with kisses. his hand clutches at the fabric of your shirt, right above your stomach.

“we have to make some changes to it, then.”

[pastelwitchling]

Alex had been quiet all day. Michael had stalled on his front porch for what must’ve been hours before Max and Kyle showed up in their dark suits.

Kyle looked solemn, his brows pinched like he didn’t quite know how to handle today either, and Max looked like he was there out of duty. He was needed, so he’d come. Michael found enough thought to be grateful for that at least. Every other piece of his mind was consumed with Alex inside.

Kyle had taken one look at the cowboy, clearly realized that he was not going to knock himself, and raised his own fist. The second Alex opened the door, his eyes fell on Michael, and something like relief settled in the slump of his shoulders.

He visibly swallowed and stepped aside to let them in. Kyle put a hand on his shoulder as he passed, but Michael only glanced up, holding his gaze for a second before looking away. He was afraid his eyes would reveal themselves to Alex like they always did; he was afraid Alex would know how happy he was that the bastard was gone.

They stepped into the living room, and Michael found Flint on the couch, in his own black suit. He was staring out the window, unfocused, his fingers interlocked on his lap.

Without a word, Alex nudged Kyle’s elbow and led them to the kitchen where Gregory and Clay, in their own suits, were preparing the trays of whiskey glasses and champagne bottles. Michael resisted the urge to down half a vodka and replace the other half with the acetone he had ready in his jacket pocket.

Alex squeezed Gregory’s arm as he walked past him. Nobody asked Alex why he was still in his jeans and flannel, why he hadn’t put on his suit yet. Michael imagined Alex saying he would do it just before the guests arrived. He wished he wouldn’t put it on at all. Jesse Manes, he knew, didn’t even deserve that much.

Was that why Michael’s fingers had been twitching since he’d gotten into his truck, why he couldn’t sleep at all last night, why seeing Alex now pressed a heavy weight on his chest? Was it because he knew they shouldn’t be preparing for a funeral now, that they should be celebrating?

Alex didn’t seem to think so as he wearily ran a hand through his hair, and pointed in the direction of the fridge when Kyle asked where they’d kept the bottles of water. He’d been there, after all, to help. Kyle Valenti and Alex Manes, eager to contribute to the funeral. All it took was Michael handing out ice for the drinks, and it really would’ve been Jesse’s worst nightmare come to life. Which, he supposed, seemed fitting.

Alex didn’t find it so funny. Michael caught him slapping his own cheek a few times in the corner, as if trying to keep awake. He used his crutches despite keeping his prosthetic on, as though he’d made it halfway to pretending he was fine, then given up.

That, Michael realized, was what had been driving him crazy. The very innate, very accurate, very inexplicable knowledge that Alex very much wasn’t fine. And it was killing Michael not to know why. The scariest monster under his bed was finally dead, shouldn’t he have been happy?

Max had joined in to help the brothers prepare, including himself in their murmured conversations, as if careful not to scare the shadows and ghosts. Or maybe it was just habit for them to whisper when they were together. Maybe they knew better than to be heard and risk the wrath of the cruel man that had once ruled them.

It was Clay that interested Michael the most after Alex. Interest, for someone like Michael, who’d known his share of bad guys that were meant to be good, came from wariness. He knew he liked Gregory, he knew he disliked Flint, but Clay was a mystery. He had graduated when Michael first found out about the Manes men at all, and the stories about him were few and far in between. He had no idea what to expect. All he knew was that Clay looked like Gregory, so he looked like their father. He had the same hard forehead that Gregory had, the same blue eyes that Jesse did, the same mouth that could easily turn to a sneer.

But Clay didn’t have the kindness to his eyes that Gregory did. Gregory looked like he was assessing you, Clay looked like he’d already decided what you were. Michael only knew what to make of him when he put a hand on Alex’s shoulder and told him to go get some rest before the guests arrived.

“No,” Alex started weakly, but Clay was looking at him as a captain would at his unit. A look Alex had when he talked to almost everyone else.

“Alex,” he said more firmly, “get some shuteye, I’ll come wake you up in an hour.”

He didn’t say it like he was terribly worried for Alex’s wellbeing, but like it was the logical course of action. It was the language the Manes family understood best. Michael didn’t care. Alex looked like he was going to fall on his feet, and he backed up whatever side encouraged him to sleep.

Alex looked hesitant, and his eyes flitted to Michael, as if worried to leave him alone amongst his brothers. There was nothing else for it. Michael nudged his chin towards the narrow corridor, the silent message clear; Where you go, I go, Private.

Alex swallowed, like he was nervous, and went down the hallway for Michael to follow. Michael came into Alex’s bedroom to find him setting his crutches against the wall. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his palms rubbing busily up and down his thighs. He pressed his lips together in an awkward smile.

Michael hated that. He hated that they didn’t know what to say to each other. Even when their relationship had consisted mostly of staying in bed, they liked talking. He sat next to Alex so that their thighs touched, and reached a hand up, brushing back Alex’s bangs.

Alex leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering. Michael’s heart hammered. Before he could cup his cheek, Alex turned away and rubbed his face.

Michael leaned in until his nose was almost brushing Alex’s hair. “Talk to me,” he whispered.

Alex shook his head, and buried his face in the crook of Michael’s neck, inhaling deeply. Michael had the feeling it was his first breath in a while. He cupped Alex’s neck this time, keeping him in place.

His thumb reached up, caressing Alex’s jaw. “Please talk to me.”

Alex hugged Michael’s waist tightly, and turned his face into Michael’s collarbone. When he spoke, his lips brushed Michael’s skin and sent a pleasant shock throughout his body.

He breathed, “Can you sleep with me?”

Michael could only nod. He kicked off his boots and did the same to Alex’s. They lay on their sides on top of the blanket, Alex’s back to Michael’s chest. Michael took his jacket off and gently placed it over Alex’s shoulders, keeping him warm as he wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him in tightly against him.

He listened to Alex breathe while he inhaled the airman’s scent, his eyes fluttering to the soft strands of his hair, tickling his nose and cheeks.

“I’m not sorry he’s dead, Alex,” he confessed in a whisper that Alex shouldn’t have been able to hear if he was asleep. He wasn’t though, so he had.

Alex didn’t push him away or look disgusted. Instead he burrowed deeper against Michael, scrunching his shoulders under the warmth of his jacket.

“I know,” he murmured.

A long moment of silence passed, then Alex said, “I am.”

Michael swallowed and pulled Alex in closer. “I know.”

Why suddenly didn’t matter, because when Alex said his next words, his voice trembled, like he feared the answer. “Do you hate me?”

It broke Michael’s heart. He held Alex unbearably tight. “Not even if you’d saved him.”

Alex sniffled, but Michael didn’t need to see his face to know that there were tears. “Don’t leave,” he pleaded.

Michael pressed his face to the back of Alex’s head, kissing the nape of his neck. He felt Alex take his wrist in a tight hold, keeping them together. He didn’t know, and Michael blamed himself for that.

“I’m yours, Private,” he promised. “Where you go, I go.”

***

Let me take you into the garden, into the gard-eee-eeen, I’ll be the-eere 💐🎶

[robininthelabyrinth]

- [x] Post canon Jiang Cheng accidentally died and went back in time to his Gusu Days, de-aged. Plot twist, the him in this dimension died, like 3 months ago, in Caiyi Town. Everyone thinks he is a fierce corpse because everyone attended his funeral and all the ceremonies that followed. The Nie sabers dont want to hurt him though?! The talismans in calming vengeful and restless spirits dont work?! Chaos, utter chaos happens.Give Jiang Cheng some love AncientChina-20forever. I’m one of the 8 sibs

Nie Mingjue trusted Baxia more than he trusted himself, which was probably a stupid decision – according to sect lore, it was definitely a stupid decision – but when he raised his saber to strike down the fierce corpse that had risen up from the Jiang sect heir’s untimely grave, Baxia said Hey cool we get to kill people now? 

So he stopped.

(He said he trusted her, not that he listened to her. He wasn’t that stupid.)

Jiang Cheng was panting for breath, shaking in terror but too exhausted to continue running. Now that Nie Mingjue had a moment of calm to study him, he observed that his pupils were blown wide from the effort of escaping, but they were still there; his eyes were neither full white nor full black, and thus unlike those of most resentful spirits. His fingers were red and raw and the nails all broken, as if he’d had to dig himself out of his tomb or something, but they were a human length, not elongated.

“Are you alive?” Nie Mingjue asked him.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said. “Like I’ve been trying to tell everyone, but no one believes me –”

“Your death was witnessed by many people,” Nie Mingjue told him. “No less than the two Jades of Lan testified regarding your heroism in preventing the Wen sect from using the Waterborne Abyss they unleashed as a pretext for conquering the Cloud Recesses.”

“The Wen sect?” Jiang Cheng said. “The Waterborne Abyss – what?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I do remember, that’s just not how it happened. The Wen sect didn’t come to burn the Cloud Recesses for another two years after the incident with the Waterborne Abyss –”

Nie Mingjue could feel his eyebrows going up – we’re back to not killing humans again aren’t we, Baxia grumbled, figuring out that she wasn’t getting blood today, stupid rules, do you know how many evil humans there are – and he frowned, considering the possibilities provoked by that sentence. “Did you get a glimpse of the future when you died?” he asked. “Or – something else?”

“I have no idea,” Jiang Cheng confessed, looking over his shoulder at where there were still shouts of anger from the ones who had been hunting him. “I can tell you, only – the others –”

They were still trying to kill him, he meant, and were being most unreasonable about it.

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, and drew Baxia again. “Hold her.”

“What?”

“Stop complaining, they’re almost here.”

Jiang Cheng took Baxia by the hilt – she growled at him lest he think too much of himself, and he twitched like a startled rabbit – and stood still as a statute. Nie Mingjue draped a spare set of robes over his shoulders to hide the glaring purple that screamed Jiang sect and turned towards the door, hands behind his back.

“Sect Leader Nie, Sect Leader Nie –” the pursuers chanted as they ran towards him, clutching calming talismans and other spiritual weapons in their hands, seeking his aid in pursuing the abomination that perverted the honorable Jiang Cheng’s body.

Not one of them looked in the direction of Baxia for more than a split second.

She had that effect on people, Nie Mingjue had found. 

After a while, Nie Mingjue chased them off, giving them incorrect directions in the hope they’d wear themselves out on their wild goose hunt, and maybe in the process find something useful to hunt on the mountain.

“I’ll take you to the Lotus Pier,” he told a still-frozen Jiang Cheng, and removed Baxia from his hands. “Do you require rest first?”

“Your sword is the scariest thing I have ever met,” Jiang Cheng said, voice dazed.

“Saber,” Nie Mingjue corrected. “My saber is the scariest thing you’ve ever met.”

“…right.”

“Your family will be happy to see you,” Nie Mingjue said. “They have not taken your death well.”

Jiang Cheng scrubbed his face. “I hadn’t even thought about that. Mother must be furious, and jiejie’s probably crying…who even knows how Wei Wuxian is taking it. Probably figuring out a way to blow things up to vent his feelings or something, what a disaster.”

Wei Wuxian had in fact lapsed into something not unlike a comatose state, capable of little more than eating and sleeping and responding to direct commands; he stirred only when Jiang Cheng’s name was mentioned, and even then the only change was that tears dripped down his face – he had been there when Jiang Cheng had sacrificed his life for him, for the Lan sect, for the world, and Nie Mingjue had been unsure if he would recover from the blow.

Madame Yu had been little better, though Jiang Cheng had correctly identified her primary emotional response as rage – Nie Mingjue thought that she didn’t know of any other ways to communicate, a situation he sympathized with – and Jiang Yanli was, in fact, inconsolable.

“Your father is upset as well,” Nie Mingjue said, because Jiang Cheng hadn’t mentioned him, and the surprise on Jiang Cheng’s face was – unexpected, hitting him like a jab to the gut that knocked out all his breath. “Did you not think he would be? You’re his son.”

“If I’m gone, Wei Wuxian can inherit the sect,” Jiang Cheng said as if a sentence like that made any sense at all. “He understands the motto better, Father likes him better –”

“Your father is a fool,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s the one who has mangled your sect motto beyond all recognition, not you – he allows his heart to guide him anywhere he wishes to go, without any burden, and that is not how righteous men live. If he thought you did not understand, it was his duty as a father to teach you; if he did not naturally love you, it was his duty as your kin to value you regardless. That he has failed in those duties is his failing, not yours.”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth opened and closed, shocked by Nie Mingjue’s rudeness.

“He is a fool,” Nie Mingjue said again. “But even fools can be taught, even if only in the harshest of circumstances. Your father has declared war against the Wen sect, regardless of the recklessness of his actions, and says he will not rest until your memorial tablet is drenched with the blood of your killers; they say he aged twenty years in a day, that he visits your room and your grave every day, that he can barely look at the water around the Lotus Pier without flinching in memory of you –”

“None of that happened,” Jiang Cheng said desperately. “None of that –”

“My brother will be happy to see you as well,” Nie Mingjue continued. “He was rather distraught, to say the least. You should speak with him on the way to the Lotus Pier; he can help you come up with a coherent cover story.”

That this wasn’t the Jiang Cheng that had died, he already knew, but Nie Mingjue trusted Baxia when she said that this was a human, and anyway it seemed fairly clear that it was a Jiang Cheng, who loved his family, and that was good enough for him.

The Jiang sect’s declaration of war was messy, liable to lead to their destruction rather than anything else; the Wen sect would focus in on them and everyone else would stay out of it, thinking it some private affair. He was of course willing to help, but two Great Sects weren’t enough - they needed more than that. If they were to survive what happened next, if the entire cultivation world were to survive, they would need all their wits about them.

They were going to need Jiang Cheng.

[candychronicles]

boo // d. kaminari

A/N: this is my take on the horror, haunts and halloween bnharem server collab! 

CHARACTER PAIRING: Denki Kaminari x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,315

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, car fucking, some extremely mild spooks

SYNOPSIS: who knew a little bet between friends could turn into so much more?

Want to see what other spooky, scary stories await? Click here to find out !

“boo!” 

“damnit Kaminari, you scared the hell out of me!” you screeched, whipping around to smack your friend on the shoulder. “besides, you should save all of the screams for the house tonight!”

he shrugged his body, clearly not bothered by your comment before proceeding to the men’s dressing area, makeup already adorned on his body. he was performing tonight as a sort of scary chainsaw man with bloodshot eyes and a dark streaked face. despite the outwardly appearance of his costume, he was, at least to you, a funny and extremely attractive guy. you two had spent your whole fall flirting and teasing in between hallways and sets, having fun and making people scared at the same time. 

you never meant to work at a haunted house, but you needed the money, and it seemed much more exciting to get paid scaring people and dressing up in cool costumes over working a seasonal retail job. due to your ability to at least fake a scary and eccentric personality, they hired you immediately, along with a few other people your age. you figured it would be a good way to meet new people and have fun but you were certainly not expecting to fall in love with the dorky yet extremely talented kid with the cool hair and outlandish jokes. 

your time in the dressing and makeup room didn’t take too long, adorning a creepy maid outfit with sunken black eyes and a wicked bloody smile. twirling the braids adorning your head, you skipped out of the room, ready to get into character and have another night of spooks.

“hey, let’s make a bet tonight, hm? make it a little more interesting?” Kaminari offered, sliding in beside you like he had been there all along.

“sure, what do you propose?” 

“let’s see who can get the loudest scream of the night. we’ll both be generally near each other, so no cheating or lying because i’ll be able to tell!”

“how are we going to measure that? what if it’s really close, what are you going to do about that?”

“rock, paper, scissors?” he countered, flashing his hands and gesturing the game with a devious smile.

“sure, why not. what do i get if i win?”

“anything you want, sugar.”

you attempted to ignore the comment, though your cheeks heated up and your eyes grew just a bit wider.

“how about you owe me dinner tonight?” you joked, flashing your own toothy grin.

“that all, dollface? i’d do that any day.”

“oh boo, that’s boring. make him wear your maid costume or something!” Kirishima shouted from across the hall, seemingly butting into your increasingly heated conversation. 

“now that’s an idea,” you teased, laughing along with Kirishima as Kaminari’s face turned bright red. 

“that’s nothing! i’d do that any day,” he claimed, quickly moving on, “but i say if i win then you owe me dinner. easy enough?”

you nodded your head in agreement, shaking on it and pressing your pinkies together for extra emphasis before heading towards your separate destinations, ready for the challenge.

the night started off easy, you both earning screams of varying levels, but every time you got one, he shot right back with yet another. your jaw clenched and eyes grew dark, not backing down from the fight.

the whole evening and late through midnight did you two fight back and forth, tooth and nail, bringing out your nastiest and scariest tricks, doing everything you could to jumpscare and creep out the people of the attraction, but it seemed that neither of you were a clear winner. you, however, were not going to let him get the satisfaction of saying he won.

the final group of the night came through and you managed a loud, shrieking scream from the guy in the front, a wicked smile on your face as you waved at Kaminari down the hall. he retaliated with his own scare but, at least you thought, it didn’t quite live up to your own haunt.

“i totally won, i don’t even know what you’re talking about!” he shrieked, shoving fries in his face with a huff, waving his arms around in a display of anger.

“my scream was louder and you know it. just admit it, i was better than you tonight!” you argued back, leaning forward to look him directly in the eye, challenging him to keep up the fight.

he looked away, cheeks tinged pink at your sudden closeness, before crossing his arms and looking back at you. 

“fine, i’ll pay for the food, but i still don’t think you won. i can make anyone scream louder than you.”

“oh yeah? why don’t you prove it?” you challenged, eyes unwavering and boring straight into the side of his face. 

he took a moment to ponder, unsure of what you meant, before he looked back, pupils blown wide in shock.

“waiter, i need the check please.”

it took all of thirty seconds after leaving the dingy late night restaurant before his mouth was on yours, hot and unwavering, hands tangled deep into the back of your hair, digits pressing roughly into your scalp.

“where to?” he asked in between kisses, walking backwards as you trailed after him, hands grasping his shirt like it was your only lifeline. 

“whatever’s closest,” you whispered back, feeling him hit the car with the back of his body.

he quickly whipped around, fishing frantically for the keys in his pocket before shoving the shiny object into the lock and twisting, whipping the door open and gesturing you sweetly into the car. 

before you had barely sat down, he slammed the door, rushing to the other side and opening his own door, sinking in and turning the vehicle on, haphazardly buckling his seatbelt as he peeled out of the parking lot towards his apartment.

the bad part about working at a haunted house was that it was in the almost middle of nowhere. there was a small town with a couple restaurants and stores, but most workers came from the college town over, meaning you two had a small drive before you made it back to either of your apartments. 

Kaminari gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning white from the pressure of trying to drive safely while getting there as fast as he could. his teeth ground into each other, face set in a harsh frown, stress permanent on his face.

“relax, we’ll get there eventually. you’ll kill the mood with your sour face,” you teased, reaching sideways to place your hand on his thigh. his body jumped at your touch, briefly turning to face you before veering off onto the side of the road, seemingly finding some close down parking lot with a few trees surrounding the area.

“i’m sorry, you’re just driving me crazy. you don’t know how badly i’ve wanted you, since the day i first met you. you were so cocky and confident in your interview, ready to have fun and be crazy in your acting, but the moment you stepped away, you became so sweet and kid, always greeting everyone with a smile and a wave. i couldn’t get enough of your duality, enamored in the way you could switch that smirk on like it was nothing. seeing you in that dainty little maid outfit you’re wearing doesn’t help all that much,” he confessed, wringing his hands together as he attempted to calm himself down. “truth be told, i don’t want to be that shitty guy who you think is only using you for sex, but after that little stunt you pulled in the restaurant, i don’t think i can wait any longer to fuck you.”

you blinked once, twice, three times, trying to process what he was saying before unbuckling your seatbelt and veering towards his body, chests pressed together as you managed to climb into his lap, attacking his lips with your own, relishing in the way he practically melted under your touch, eager to feel you on him once again.

“backseat. now.”

you climbed back without hesitation, flashing him a bit of your ass as you wiggled your way onto the seat, patiently waiting for him to come back. he followed without waiting, immediately pulling your legs onto the seat and hovering over you, hands on either side of your head.

“are you sure you want to do this?” he confirmed, brushing away a couple pieces of hair that was scattered across your face.

“yes, i’m sure. please fuck me.”

he wasted no time before attaching himself to you once again, lips finding purchase on your own, against your neck, your collarbone, unbuttoning the front of your costume to nip at your breasts, leaving marks that would surely last for days. despite the cramped position you two were in, you still felt slick pool in your panties, thighs rubbing against the side of his body as you attempted to create some friction to relieve the tension building up.

you whined, begging for more, but before you could speak up to ask him for something, anything, he had already obliged, reaching down to rub the pad of his thumb against your clothed nub. you moaned in response, the need for him only growing by the minute.

“please, Kaminari-”

“Denki, call me Denki,” he corrected, nipping at your throat as his fingers moved under the skirt and around your panties, “and don’t worry baby, i’ll take care of you tonight.”

with that final statement, he pulled your panties aside completely and pushed one finger slowly into your waiting body, shivering at the feeling of your wet insides sucking him in, greedily begging for more. your breaths became uneven and labored, but you remained patient, enjoying every feeling he pulled from your wanting cunt.

he continued his assault on your neck and chest as his fingers pumped in and out of you, adding one, two more fingers, stretching you out until you were sopping and begging for his cock. he paused for one moment, hastily pulling his pants down as best as he could. before he could get to his boxers, however, you reached past his hand, pulling them down and stroking his dick, admiring the way it twitched in your hands, swollen and leaky, wanting to be inside of you just as much as you need him. 

you pulled him back down by his shirt collar, kissing him fiercely as he adjusted his body once more, you aligning him to your entrance, legs hiked up around his body as he caged you in. he sunk in slowly, not holding back his moans as he appreciated the way your body sucked him in, like he was meant to be there all along.

you moaned with him, a string of curses and praises flowing out of your mouth like a siren’s song, luring him into your lair one word at a time. 

“Denki, fuck, you feel so good. please don’t stop.”

he bottomed out in your, laughing when you shifted your hips, whining as you tried to get him to move. he pressed a chaste kiss to your head before rolling his own hips back, shivering at the feeling of you wrapped around him. he continued his pace slowly, rocking in and out of you, watching the car steam up from your breathy moans and sweat covered skin, feeling the car move in tandem with your bodies.

you arched your back and wrapped yourself around him as best as you could, dazzled by the feeling of his cock pistoning in and out of you. he was so close, his breath against your ear, and you relished in the way he moaned and sighed, feeling just as good as you were in that moment. 

he felt himself getting close much quicker than he wanted, but in that moment, he didn’t care, too enveloped in the way you squeezed around him, nails biting into his back and eyes screwed shut. he moved one hand back down in between your bodies and found your sensitive bundle of nerves, pressing down and swirling around, moaning as he felt you compressed around his cock, the new sensation overwhelming for you.

“fuck, baby, i’m so close,” he moaned, settling his head into your neck, biting down softly into your shoulder.

you only nodded back in response, too worried about chasing your own high that was emerging quickly with the combined pleasure of his cock and his fingers.

you arched your back and squeezed your thighs together as white hot lava shot through your lower stomach, cumming intensely on his cock. the feeling of your velvety walls pulsating around his own quickly brought him to his own high as he slowed his pace down, shooting his load into you.

you both laid there, breathless and sweaty, before you looked at him and erupted in giggles, wiping some of the sticky hair off his face. 

“i really liked that,” you confessed, biting your lip and smiling shyly despite the position you two were still currently in. 

“me too,” he agreed, kissing your forehead before slowly pulling out, sitting up and reaching forward into his console to grab a stack of napkins, cleaning you and himself up as best as he could.

you sat up after him, dizzy from pure elation, before a smirk came across your face.

“so you’re saying i won the bet, right?” 

“i feel like i won the lottery tonight so yes, i’ll say you won the bet.”

“good,” you affirmed, reaching forward to grab his face in your hands, squeezing slightly before bringing him closer to you, “remember what Kiri said? i think i’m going to take his words to heart.”

he looked at you confused, shrugging, but as you stared at him, his eyes grew wide once more as he realized what you meant.

“you get to wear the maid costume next.”

Taglist: @redbeanteax​ @softforshigi​ @katsuki-bakugous-lady @secondhand-trash​ @freiyalight​ @crystal-lilac​ @khemz1312​ @runrabbitrun3​

Want to be a part of my taglist? Message me!

[rawstfish]

Mall of Verdanks Chapter 2

Warning: none, unless you count long as one

Gaz glared at Soap.

“Any actual questions, FNG?” He said through gritted teeth.

“That was an actual question.” It was like Soap was challenging him, but it would be the lamest challenge anyone could witness.

“Sure. Anyways-”

“Gaz, I need to see you in my office.” A deep british voice interpreted them. Both men whipped their heads around. Soap could feel his face heating up at the mere sight of his boss. As quickly as he turned his head, he lowered it.

Fucking hell I forgot he was here. Dumbass why would he not be here? He’s the fucking owner of the store, and now look at how your acting. He hired a fucking employee not some blushing teenage girl. He still hung his head low, his thoughts broken by Gaz’s voice.

“I’m training the FNG right now sir.” Soap widens his eyes at his response. How big are these dudes balls to talk to the boss like that? There’s no way his boss isn’t about to take his fucking head off.

“Office now.” The bearded man left after that. Soap could have Gaz mumble under his breath, he could barely make out the words “horny bastard”.

“Excuse me, just stay next to Roach.” Gaz unclipped his walkie talkie from his slightly baggy pants.

“Golem, tell Alex to come over to the cash register in the flower department.” With that Gaz left without any more words. Soap finally lifted his head, looking over towards Roach. Actually looking at his face, you could see his bloodshot and watery eyes. His face the most relax thing Soap has ever seen.

Is this dude fucking high right now? How did he even check that person out? Soap waved his hand in front of his face. Roach had no reaction, he wasn’t even blinking.

“Hey.” Why did Soap think that would work?

“Hey!” He persisted.

“Don’t fucking yell at him!” A force deep voice snapped. Soap Jumped, immediately turning around to face the voice. He was met with a short man, wearing a skull mask. He also had dark sunglasses covering his eyes.

“He just high off his balls right now, now leave him alone.” The new short man continued to snap.

“Why the fuck is he high while working in the first place? And where did you come from?” If Soap was to be honest, he was scared of this little man.

“Because he can, and I just so happened to walk into you yelling at my friend.” His sunglasses- covered eyes found Soap’s tag.

“Oh you're the FNG. A little tip for you then, don’t fucking yell at Roach or me.” Soap could feel his intense glare burning a hole right through him. Even walking away into the back, the man held his glare. Soap felt like he would never escape his glare.

What the fuck is wrong with that dude? Why is he wearing a skull mask? And why am I feeling so intimidated by him? Come on Soap, he’s basically a fucking twink. You could take him easily any day. Once again his first day is going down the shit drain. His ears were filled with heavy footsteps and dragged boots. He broke away from his thoughts being met with a much taller man this time.

“Are you gonna yell at me too?” He questioned the stranger.

“You met Ghost didn’t you?” An American voice questioned back.

“That’s his fucking name?” Soap knew he must look so dumbfounded

“Well his real name is Simon, but he persists that everyone calls him Ghost. Anyway, don't mind him, he’s just short-tempered.” Both of the men snickered at that. Ghost was short-tempered indeed.

“Ahem, You're the FNG right?” There goes Soap’s one second good mood.

“Yeah.” Just when soap thought he would like this guy.

“What’s with the sour look? If it’s the nickname, don’t get caught up about it. We were all the FNG once.” This man tried to reassure, but Soap still wore the sour look.

“Um, do you know why Gaz asked for me, I don’t see him over here.” Great now Soap made this man radiate awkwardness.

“Price called him to the back while he was training me.” The American giggled and shook his head.

“You’ll be stuck with me for a bit then. What do you know so far?” Soap was thankful that the overwhelming awkwardness was starting to leave the man. He would have beaten himself up if he made this dude hate him.

Soap gave him a recap of what Roach had visually teached him.

“Perfect, the next customer that comes over is yours then.” Somehow every person in the mall has perfect timing, because an old lady with packets of flower seeds slowly came up.

----

What a fucking first day. I would have never guessed a plant store, would be so fucking exhausting. No scratch that, I never have guessed assholes run plant stores. Soap clocked out, ready to finally go home. However, he was stopped by none other than Price.

“Before you leave, I need you to get a cake for me.” His gruff voice broke the silence, his blue eyes piercing Soap's own blue eyes.

Why did I need to get a cake right before I leave? Can’t he just get it? He desperately needed to lay on his bed, filled with the stray cats he brought in.

“Okay.” Soap reluctantly agreed.

“It’s from the bakery across from us, and it's under the name Price. I already paid for it.” With that, Price took his leave. Soap stood questioning that if Price hadn’t paid already, would he have made Soap pay for it?

----

Soap was face to face with bright, blue, neon lights. The word “Spetsnaz” being written out. He pushed the glass door open, a bell following his movements. He thought the fluorescent lights in the shop were bright, but this place is proving him wrong. The color white over took his eyes with the help of some blue. Little white, metal chairs were paired with the same styled tables.

There was a skinny man at the front counter, playing on his phone. A broad man wearing a completely black mask stood behind him, chatting with a man who was small in every way and a net hanging over his face.

“Ahem, I’m here for a cake. It’s under the name Price.” Soap nervously said, the two masked men immediately stopped talking and looked up. Their cold eyes staring Soap down. He wasn’t going to move an inch from his spot at the door.

“Oh, you must be the FNG!” The man working the front excitedly stated.

Does everyone in the fucking mall know that term? Soap’s nervousness was instantly placed back with the irritation he’s worn all day.

“Let me go get that for you.” The skinny man left, his big head the last thing Soap saw of him. Great, now he was left with the scariest man he has ever seen. He held his head down, too afraid to even accidentally make eye contact.

“How was your first day? They tear you up already? You look like the type to plead and beg for mercy at the littlest amount of pain.” A thick austria accent said, but he couldn’t tell which man it came from. Whoever it was, made a sharp shiver run down Soap’s spine.

“You're not going to answer him? Trying to play the rule of the strong, silent type?” This time a heavy, raspy russian accent was directed at him. Soap has never wanted to leave a place so fucking fast. He felt like he had to reply now, who knows what would happen if he didn’t.

Before he could get any words out of his mouth, the skinny man had returned.

“Don’t mind these two, they’re all bark and no bite. Well, except for Krueger.” He could probably sense Soap’s fear. Hell anyone could have honestly.

“Excuse me? When have I ever been “all bark and no bite”, Rodion?” The broad, russian man spoke. At least Soap knows whose voice is whose now.

“To me.” The Rodion guy did a little pose and blinked his eyelashes in response.

“I hit you at least once a day.” The bigger man deadpanned.

“But I know it's out of love and not hate.”

“Yet you still cry about it.” You could feel the smirk on his face.

“Nikto!” Rodion cried, going to kick him but missing completely. The two masked men laughed at him.

How can that tiny guy be so fearless around these two. Now I’m fucking scared of him too. This mall has some seriously fucked up people. Soap quickly walked up to the counter.

“Can I have the cake now?” Soap finally dared to utter words.

“Oh yes, I’m so sorry.” Rodion put the cake down and turned back the mask men. Soap has never grabbed a cake so fast in his life. The sounds of the three dudes followed him until the door.

----

“Price, I have the cake. I’m sorry if I took too long.” Soap was beyond glad to be back in the back rooms. The color gray was never so soothing.

“I’m in here.” Price's voice came from the breakroom.

Upon entering, Soap was attacked by playful colors of tiny confetti. If he didn’t have a tight grip on the cake, he would have for sure dropped it.

“Happy first day, Fucking New Guy.” Soap’s eye twitched at that. The break room was filled with, what Soap could assume, every employee in the store.

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

Criticize is very much welcome :)

[hoodoo12]

Roses and Rot

This is based of a loose prompt: “Jealous and possessive Keatlejuice where the boy goes feral”. My pals @vicunaburger (Last Train Home)and @clairjohnson (Night Out) also wrote for this prompt; go check them and their fine stories out!

NSFW. Possessiveness, extreme violence and gore, smut, minor bondage, dub-con. This is a darkfic.

~

There hadn’t been any sound. No warning, and that was the scariest thing of all. There was some asshole douchebag who’d been catcalling you and who jogged after you down the sidewalk, even though you’d made it plainly clear you wanted nothing to do with him. The guy had the balls to grab your shoulder, and that was the end.

He’d been torn away from you so abruptly you’d been jerked back too, stumbling and losing your balance. You shouted, because you’d first thought the guy had done it himself, but when you gathered your wits your shout died in your throat at the sight that met your eyes. The douchebag was on his back and screaming, although his voice also went the way of yours. For a different reason, however: it was hard to scream when there was no breath capable of being drawn after the hand shoved in his gut ruptured his diaphragm and was now elbow deep into his chest. “Heart’s still beatin’. Pity,” Beetlejuice laughed. “Not for long though, buddy.” Straddling the man’s legs like they were wrestling or they were lovers, he extracted his hand slowly, like that would be a kindness to make it hurt less. When just his hand was still inside, he cocked his head. “I think that’s your liver. Spleen feels a little less smooth, an’ if I’d gone through it--whoa! You’d have bleed out way too soon! Oops, looks like my damn ring is caught on something--”

With a more violent jerk than maybe needed to happen, he yanked his hand out of the guy with the thickest wet sound you’d ever heard. You retched involuntarily as Beetlejuice examined what looked like a rope of intestine in his hand. Your gag caught his attention. Quick as a snake, he looked up and caught your eyes. Typically pale blue, his eyes were blown dark with what you would have classified as arousal, except he was drenched in blood and was pawing through a person’s innards like picking up candy from a destroyed pinata. Beetlejuice grinned ferally at you, licking his teeth. He seemed to realize he’d gotten some blood sprayed onto his chin, because he licked further down to remove it. You weren’t sure what to think. Or say. Or do. You felt frozen, a rabbit, pinned by a predator’s gaze. Your choices were to not move and maybe he’d ignore you, or run and hope he was having too much fun with the soon-to-be corpse under him. “What’s the matter baby?” he said with much too much amusement in his voice. “I did this for you.” You could barely wrap your head around that, and you shook your head slightly because of it. The amusement on his face melted to a scowl, and you flinched. Luckily, Beetlejuice seemed to believe it was due to the man twitching and still trying to draw breath underneath him. He turned ferociously back to him. “You fuckin’ cocksucker--you apologize to the lady!” he spit, literally, in the dying man’s face. 

It was unfathomable to you the amount of pain and shock the guy must be in, with his guts systematically being pulled from the hole Beetlejuice put in him. When he didn’t respond to the order that had been given to him, the specter snarled and used his unoccupied hand to grab the guy’s chin to twist his head up and over awkwardly to look at you. “Fucking apologize,” he demanded again. He held on with so much force his nails cut into the man’s cheeks. The guy who may or may not have assaulted you given the chance, whose only ‘crime’ was being a prick in public and daring to lay a hand on you, managed to raise his eyes enough to meet yours. He was crying, but still no real noise came from him; collapsed lungs didn’t provide enough air to pass through vocal cords. He wheezed, a little. 

Beetlejuice cranked his head back to a more proper position. “That’s much better,” he said brightly, like a teacher praising a pupil that finally understood something complex. “I’m sure you’ll never do anything like that again, will you?” The guy wheezed again, and you could see that his tears made clean tracks through the blood on his face. “WILL YOU?!” Beetlejuice screamed suddenly, dropping his face within inches of the man. 

The guy still had enough strength to flinch. That made Beetlejuice laugh again, and he planted an opened-mouth kiss to the man’s mouth. It prevented you from seeing what his hands were doing, but you didn’t miss the specter sucking in like he was stealing the last of his victim’s breath. When he sat back up, a string of bloody saliva bridged between the two men’s lips. With one hand on the man’s chest and the other still running intestines through his fingers like fine silk, Beetlejuice cocked his head. “Heart’s giving out, buddy. Maybe, if I’m quick--” And again, with no warning, he torn into the man’s torso with a frenzy. You’d never known how strong he was; you’d never considered how strong he was, but skin and muscle split and ribs were cracked, and before you even had the chance to look away, Beetlejuice had his prize: exposure of the guy’s heart, still in his ruin of his chest, beating erratically from blood loss and rapidly dropping blood pressure. Beetlejuice looked up at you, gave you a wink, and gave the heart a vicious flick. Luckily the guy didn’t feel it; he was obviously dead. Hawking something up from the back of his throat, the specter spit a gob of mucus directly into the dead man’s open chest. You’d never seen someone die before. You’d never seen such frenzied carnage. If you could have torn your eyes away from the show of wanton destruction, you would have. You felt numb and shocky yourself, like you wanted to vomit and curl into a fetal position all at the same time. All your limbs were cold. The fact that it was done so casually, that Beetlejuice looked just as he’d always looked--grimy, moldy, the corners of his mouth always just about to turn up like he was always one step ahead of anyone else around--he didn’t look monstrous at all except that his favorite suit was now that start of a joke--what’s black and white and red all over--

--your thoughts felt fractured, a skipping record, and a giggle slipped out of you, less for amusement or approval and more because you had no reference on how to respond to any of this.

Beetlejuice took your giggle the wrong way, of course. In a flash, between one blink and the next, he was at your side, arms around your waist to hold you upright and against him. The blood soaked into his suit felt clammy and left smears on you. There was still a feral light in his eyes, and pressed this close, it wasn’t any secret he was aroused. “Nobody gets to touch you but me, baby,” he informed you. Just as he leaned down for a kiss that you dared not refuse him, he continued, “You’re mine.”

His mouth covered yours and you held your breath. The taste of him, damp soil with base notes of roses and rot, was familiar; the new flavor of iron from the residual blood on his face was not and you did not care for it much. Naturally, he didn’t care. While you squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to act too put off in case that made him angry, an odd pressure surrounded you and when he released you and you opened your eyes, you were back in your bedroom. You didn’t dare point out that if he could just remove you from the situation on the street he didn’t have to tear that guy apart. 

Wiping his thumb along his lower lip as he stared over you with hungry eyes, he repeated in a low voice, “You’re fucking mine,” as if you’d argued. 

He still seemed to think there was some disagreement, however, maybe because you were still shocky from the events and you weren’t as responsive as typical to his advances. He lifted his lips in what you thought was supposed to be a smile but came off more as a snarl. “Men. Always sniffin’ around, always thinkin’ they can touch whatever they want without consequences. Never thinkin’ that what they’re touchin’ might belong to someone else!” he ranted. This was not the time to try and educate him on the fact that the word “belong” was offensive and demeaned you into being property. 

He took a breath that you know was for show because he didn’t actually breathe any longer, and focused on you again. “I know you didn’t flirt with that guy, baby. I know you didn’t ask for him to follow you and touch you. He was just a prick who got his just reward. But I gotta say . . . seeing him try and get your attention . . . it got me a little possessive.” Once again you held your tongue, although that was damn obvious. You weren’t against possessiveness, per se, and had occasionally breathed into his ear that you only wanted him, you were his, those sentiments and the like slipping from your lips as he fucked himself into you, but this was a little more than typical. The standard thrill of his aggressive behavior was there, even if your pulse also pounded out of fear. Beetlejuice gave you a much softer smile, and it almost made you relax. When he stepped up to you again, however, the smile slipped and a rock settled in your gut because your subconscious better recognized the not so sweet intent behind him coming close again. He grabbed the back of your head, his ragged nails catching in your hair. That was not uncommon; his hand being tacky from mostly dried blood was. You gasped and automatically pulled your head back in response. That only made him laugh. “Gotta be a way to show assholes like that you’re mine--” he growled half to himself, but loud enough for your ears too. “Gonna show them you’re mine--”

With that, he spun you around. Off balance because you weren’t expecting it, you fell front first onto the mattress. Before you could twist or protest or anything, you found yourself without a stitch of clothing on; one of his ‘parlor tricks’ that sometimes you liked very much. A new element had been added, however: your arms stretched forward and wrists restrained with exactly what, you didn’t know. You didn’t keep any ties or shackles in your bedroom; there’d never been any talk of tying up or restraint--

“--gonna prove it, I know you know you’re mine, baby, but other people, other people need to know--”

His obsessive rambling didn’t calm you. He drew his tacky hands down your back to the swell of your ass, and he kicked open your legs, putting you in a more precarious position without your feet under you. You heard the soft noise of a zipper, even with both his hands still on you, spreading you open so your pussy was exposed. 

“--I’ll show ‘em, it’ll be a giant neon sign announcing to the world--”

You had no idea what he meant, but could only imagine it was some sort of other phasmagorical trick he could conjure. Maybe he’d brand you with his name? Maybe he’d claw you till you were bleeding, leaving scars which would give other people pause to even talk to you? His cold fingers dragged themselves through the folds of your pussy and automatically your back dipped to allow him better access. He chuckled through his word vomit and now the head of his cock, wider than his fingers, followed their same trail. You relaxed as best you could against the restraints stretching your arms, knowing what was coming next. With one hand still gripping your hip, when Beetlejuice found where he wanted to be he thrust forward and filled your cunt with one motion. With zero preparation and a slaughtering as foreplay, the friction was immense and you cried out. You’d fucked him often enough that he opened you up easily, and the tight drag and pull lit up your nerve endings anyway. Your cry of surprise that devolved into a moan made him chuckle again. The hand he’d used to hold the base of his cock while he seated himself inside you came up and slapped your ass more sharply than you expected and you jumped and yelped, which only spurred him on more. He did it again, this time spanking you lower on your ass. You felt the extra sting of his ring making heavy contact with the thin skin of your upper thigh. 

Through it, he fucked you at a blistering pace. 

You cried out with each thrust; you groaned each time he pulled back. You’d have reached behind yourself to grab at him, to hook your fingers into his waist, or slipped a hand under you to finger your own clit, but neither of those were options since he decided he wanted all the control himself. You had no choice but to enjoy the rough ride. Beetlejuice hadn’t stopped talking, although it was now interspersed with his own guttural groans. “--fuck-fuck-fuck, your fuckin’ cunt is the best, baby--it’s mine an’ I’m gonna make sure people fucking know it--”

Going to your tiptoes, even with your legs spread to accommodate him, helped tilt your pelvis so he managed to thrust against the perfect spot inside you, even if he didn’t do that on purpose. Drool made a wet spot under your cheek on the mattress, because he drove such pleasure into you it was difficult to remember to do something like close your mouth or swallow. “--gonna fucking fill you up, fuck! Gonna, gonna--” Beetlejuice leaned over you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. He hadn’t shed his clothing, you learned with a start, as the still damp-with-blood fabric of his jacket and shirt chaffed over your back. You wiggled more out of disgust than pleasure at the feeling of it, but he didn’t seem to recognize that subtle difference, or he didn’t care. He moved one hand to entangle itself into your hair again, to steady himself and stretch you back towards him. With his face now against your neck he grunted, “--gonna fill your cunt with come, baby--”

You gasped at those words, and he laughed again. “--oh, you like that? You like the idea of this dead guy’s come up in your pussy, smelling like me, huh? No one’d mess with you then, so full of rot--gonna flood your cunt--”

Was that even possible? Typically he liked to pull out and come on you, and yes it didn’t smell great but it was easily washed away. If he came in you, would the stench linger? The thought terrified you. The thought also excited you. You should be ashamed and alarmed, but just couldn’t be; him positioned on top of you, his cock still hammering into you, throwing sparks of bliss keep into your belly, promising that no one else would want you, you couldn’t do anything but take what he gave you and it was so, so good--

With a howl, you came around his cock, your pussy spasming even as he continued to thrust into you. He was still talking but your ears were ringing, and in another few moments, while you worked to catch your breath, Beetlejuice yanked your hair hard enough to make you cry out, and shoved his hips so hard into you it actually hurt, and groaned during his own release, deep inside you, just as he’d promised. 

He didn’t immediately pull out and roll off of you either, as typical. He stayed right where he was, rocking his hips through his orgasm as if actively working his come to where it needed to be to leave your pregnant. After several moments and slowly feeling like you were going to have to struggle to get him off you so you could draw a full breath, he pushed himself up and back. You heard him fiddling with his fly again, and wondered if he even dropped his trousers during at all. 

As his cock left you a gush of wet soaked you and the edge of the mattress. Beetlejuice grunted and shoved his fingers up against your pussy as if to push his come back in. You stretched and wiggled against the restraints on your wrists, and suddenly they were gone too.

You rolled over, not caring that whatever bloody mess he’d transferred to you would be on your bedding now. You weren’t sure how you were supposed to feel.

The specter still looked like he worked in a particularly unsanitary butcher shop. Instead of stripping or anything else remotely politely human, he dropped onto the bed bedside you and spooned into you, like all this had been normal.

“I fucked up, baby,” he whispered, to your amazement. 

Oh! Maybe he did see that he went overboard and unnecessary!

He sighed and kissed your shoulder. You felt the imprint of his teeth, but he didn’t bite you. In an even lower voice, he continued, “I should’ve kept that guy alive so he could’ve seen all that we just did there. Then I shoulda fuckin’ offed him.” You kept your mouth shut once again, and just lay with him like he wanted. 

fin

[tired-college-student-writing]

The Merchant of Death isn't just for Show: Chapter 4

Summary: Tony Stark was one of the most well-connected people on the Globe, and yet there are places you wouldn’t expect him to have connections, the Assassin Underworld being a prime example. Tony lives to surprise, however.

Part 1

Part 3  

Part 4 (HERE)

Part 5

_______________________________________________________________________

2010

_______________________________________________________________________

There was a difference in the way John held himself, Tony could see it from a mile away even if no one else could. His mask was a little less stiff, his shoulders a tiny bit more relaxed, his lips quicker to twitch, his tongue a little more open to forming words.

The billionaire knew exactly the reason too.

“So how’s Helen doing?” Tony asked, checking his cards briefly before looking at the river. His king and four of spades made a nice flush with the seven, eight and jack, “Raise,”

“Matched and raised,” John tossed in his coins without a second glance, “She’s doing well, the library is running smoothly, though the school board did try and enforce the banned books list. She about had the students lead a coup before they backed down.”

The other two men at the table folded, while the women eyed Tony hungrily as she tossed her own coins in.

“Is that a smile I see on Mr. Boogyman’s face?” The genius teased poking his cheek, “Geeze Johnny Boy, if she gets you this happy you should put a ring on it.

John didn’t even bother batting his hand away, but his shoulders stiffened minutely. Tony wanted to groan. They had this argument before, about John leaving the Underworld to have the life he wanted to with her. He insisted he couldn’t but Tony wanted the assassin to be happy.

Instead of commenting on the uncomfortable air that had formed, he simply flipped over his cards.

“Four of a kind, Eights”

“Goddamit,” Tony groaned as the dealer slide the tokens over to John, deciding to let the conversation drop for now, “I think cards might be out for me tonight, want to try the craps tables?”

“My contract is more of a fan of Blackjack,” John reminded, and Tony rolled his eyes. It had been pure chance he’d run into John but that didn’t mean he was letting him off the hook so easily.

“If we go to the table on the second level you can still see all of the Blackjack tables,” He pointed out, “Only one table is partially obscured, but you still have an overview of the entire floor, plus Happy’s up there and I want to rib him a little.”

The assassin let out a long sigh but gathered his chips as he climbed to his feet. Tony shot him a smirk before leading the way to the Craps table he had pointed out.

“How’s business going?” John inquired as they climbed the stairs.

“Meh, Obie has me flying to Afghanistan tomorrow to do a product showing for the Army,” He paused to roll his eyes at John’s scowl, “Yeah, Yeah you don’t like Obie, but he was my dad’s friend and an overall good business partner so let him be.”

The raised brow made him groan, “Alright! I promise to be vigilant around him, happy?”

Happy turned from the table as they approached, “Yeah boss?”

“Not you Happy, I-” Tony just groaned when he heard John snort, “Nevermind!”

The hitman turned bodyguard laughed, “Whatever you say, boss, come to take over my table?”

“Yes, Yes I am,” Tony huffed, “You’ve already lost like two months of paychecks I wager,”

“I am not that bad!” Happy retorted only to be met with an unimpressed look, “I’m not! Wick back me up.”

“I wagered three months,” John said, the corner of his lips quirking ever so slightly as Happy groaned and threw the dice at his boss.

The crowd didn’t take long to form as Tony proceeded to win back all the money Happy lost double over before handing all the chips back to his bodyguard. Tony was in the process of doubling his own ridiculously size pile, the women from earlier trying to meld into his side when John noticed a familiar face making his way up the stairs.

“ Lt. Col incoming,” He muttered into Tony’s ear.

Just as Tony went to say something an annoyed, "You are unbelievable," cut through the noise.

The genius spun to face Rhodey, "Oh, no! Did they rope you into this?"

"Nobody roped me into anything!" Rhodey replies, shaking his head.

“He was roped in,” John concluded, causing Rhodey’s eyes to snap to him, the anger falling away when he realized was standing there.

"I'm so sorry," Tony apologized, not that he needed to Rhodey understood that John was ranked much higher than the dull awards ceremony.

Rhodey just ignores him and continues, "But they told me that if I presented you with an award, you'd be deeply honored."

"Of course I'd be deeply honored!” Tony agreed, shaking the dice in his hand lightly, “And it's you, that's great. So when do we do it?"

"It's right here; here you go." He holds up the award and Tony takes it, obviously disinterested.

"There it is, that was easy,” He hummed before he frowned slightly, "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, it's okay," Rhodey sighed, “If I had known John was here I would’ve guessed you two would be making a mess instead of doing what you’re supposed to.”

“Not until tomorrow,” John scoffed, making Rhodey’s smile thin the tiniest bit. The Underworld and John’s job wasn’t a subject he was entirely comfortable with, especially after the disaster that led to him finding out about the dark world Tony was apart of.

"Wow, would you look at that," The genius says, pointedly ignoring the pair as he turns away from his friend and hands the award off to the woman, "That's something else. I don't have any of those floating around.”

“The trophy case is getting a little barren,” John counters making Tony stick his tongue out.

"We're gonna let it ride!" He holds the dice up to the woman, "Give me a hand, will you? Give me a little something-something." She blows on the dice before Tony brings it toward Rhodey next, "Okay, you too."

"I don't blow on a man's dice."

"Come on, Honey Bear!"

The Lieutenant Colonel looked to John for help only to be rewarded with a shrug that said “I already blew on his dice tonight, your turn.” to anyone familiar with the assassin

"I don't blow on a man's dice," Rhodey repeats, shaking his head with a fond smile as he swatted Tony's hand away, causing the dice to fly out and roll on the table.

"There it is! Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes rolls! And…"

“Snake eyes,” John said, the slightest tinge of disappointment edging into his tone as their winning streak came to an end.

"That's what happens," Rhodey laughed at the kicked puppy eyes he was getting from the pair in front of him. Honestly, the two scariest men Rhodes knew did not have the right to look that pathetic. Finally, Tony sighed and rolled his eyes

"Worse things have happened; I think we're going to be fine. Color me up, William."

"This is where I exit. Tomorrow, don't be late!" Rhodey says, pointing to his friend as the trio walked towards the exit, Happy had already gone to get the car. John decided to at least walk them out since his target had already left for the night.

"Yeah, you can count on it." The genius gave a thumbs up.

"I'm serious!"

"I know I know!" Tony whined, tired of being chastised.  

John just looked at Rhodey, voice never leaving the calm monotone he was known for, “Fifty says he’ll be two hours late,”

Tony gaped as his friend snorted, “That’s a fool's bet, Wick. A hundred says five hours late.”

“Deal,”

“Traitors,” Tony muttered as his two best friends shook on it, “I’m surrounded by traitors!”

“Yeah no,” the Lt. Colonel snorted as he started walking away, “We just know you Tones.”  

The genius just let out a sigh before perking up slightly as they walked passed the costumed greeter, "Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's!"

John gave a near-silent snort as he handed the award away with a "There you go."

“You should come visit when I get back from Afghanistan,” Tony commented lightly, “Bring Helen with you, but only if you propose to her before then,”

“Stark.”

“Aut viam inveniam aut faciam,” Tony recited back to him, “Don’t tell me the Baba Yaga can’t make his own path out of the darkness with something so bright waiting for you.”

John gave him a look as they reached the door.

“Fine,” Tony sighed shoving his hands into his pockets, “When I get back from Afghanistan, you can explain to me exactly why you won’t propose to Helen over Thai, and I’ll tell you why you’re full of shit and we’ll see how many bottles of bourbon we can go through before Pepper tries to kill me.”

“Goodnight Tony,” John sighed as he walked to his car, which Happy had asked the valets to pull around.

“That wasn’t a no!” Tony cheered behind him, “I’ll let JARVIS know to expect you when you’re done with your job.”

The assassin just gave a slight wave over his shoulder as he heard a woman call after the billionaire. He felt bad for Happy having to drive them back to the mansion.

_______________________________________________________________________

Three days later John turned up to the Malibu mansion, bag full of Tony’s favorite Thai food. His job had taken longer when he found the bodyguard of his target had tapped his phone, allowing his initial plan to be foiled. After realizing the problem and destroying his phone he had been able to finally finish the job up and rest up for a few hours at the Continental before he set off to Tony’s.

The door slid open before he got to it, as it always did when Tony asked JARVIS to be ready for John.

“Hello JARVIS,” He greeted walking towards the kitchen, “Tony in the lab or passed out, or both?”

“Hello Mr. Wick,” JARVIS greeted, “You have not answered your cellphone in the past sixty-five hours.”

“Got bugged, had to ditch it,” He replied, brows scrunching slightly as he realized the AI butler hadn’t answered his question, “Did Tony need something?”

“ Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes has been trying to contact you and requested that I put you in contact with him as soon as you were located.”

John stopped setting the food out and looked towards the ceiling as the dial tone sounded, it didn’t even make it to the second ring.

“John,” Rhody’s voice set a shot of ice through the assassins veins. It was too calm, unnervingly so for the usually expressive man. Something was wrong, very very wrong.

“Where’s Tony?” He had to ask, what else would the Lt. Colonel like this for?

“He’s missing John,” The quiet reply came through the speakers, “His envoy was attacked. Tony’s been missing for sixty-eight hours now and based on blood found on the scene, he was injured and presumed dead.”  

John sunk into the bar stool as his knees gave out. His heart thundered as his mind raced before he managed to take several deep breaths.

He couldn’t panic now, anger crashing over his body in waves. Rhodey needed the Baba Yaga right now, not John.

Tony needed the Baba Yaga.

“Anyone claiming the attack yet,” He asked, voice growing deeper as he sunk into the darkness.

“No,” the reply was painful to listen to as Rhodey tried to keep his voice from cracking, “All we have to go off of is the terror grounds that frequent the area but-”

“But there are eighty-four groups that have territory in the area Tony told me you were traveling,” John finished, “And that’s just the ones that are officially part of the Underworld.”

“Right,” Rhodes agreed, his voice going grim, though John doubted that it was because of the mention of his job this time, “The Army is determined to do everything to get Tony back, but with all the red tape involved, I thought it might be best to look for other avenues.”

“I’m grabbing a new phone, text me a revenue point,” John announced, as he stalks down the stairs towards Tony's lab, food on the table forgotten. “We’re going to get him back.”

[pcygoldenchild]

𝑅𝐸𝒟 𝒮𝐼𝑅𝐸𝒩 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉 7

🚨summary: You’re a dangerous woman in the mafia who gets a rather interesting relationship with 9 equally dangerous men who fall to your feet willing to please you.

🚨warnings: NSFW, violence, anal, cunnilingus/ fellatio, dirty talk, BDSM, sexual intercouse, gang bang, masturbation...(does not pertain to all parts)

𝒲𝑒𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃 1𝓅𝓂

“Wake up sleeping beauty.” you heard a voice say. You shifted in bed but didn’t get up. You knew it was later than usual but you were still asleep. Maybe it was from the constant rounds you had to go through all day yesterday. You don’t know what got into them but they were super horny and all needed you. It went from the minute you woke up until you just crashed. It’s been a week since their business dinner and ever since then they were really star struck with you. You figured once they saw you in action, thier want for you skyrocketed. And from the way they’ve been fucking you, you’d say it’s a safe assumption to make.

“She’s so pretty and peaceful when she’s asleep. You can count her eyelashes and watch her lips move as she breathes. You almost forget she’s the scariest woman alive.” you hear Baekhyun say.

“You sound like you’re in love.” Yixing teases and they all quietly laugh.

“You say that like we’re not all in love with her. I don’t know why you all are laughing. Just last night after she passed out, all of you were talking about not letting her go.” Baekhyun retorts shutting the laughing men up.

“Well you’re right but we can’t let her know that. Not now or it’ll get to her head and she’ll tease us to death today.” Jongin said.

“Too late. Maybe if you weren’t all crowded around my bed talking about me I wouldn’t know, but here you all are. And I love you too darlings.” you say as you turn over rubbing your face and opening your eyes. You see them all clad in sweatpants. Usually they only wore their boxers around.

“Well we had to wake you up princess. It’s getting late and it’s your big day.” Junmyeon said smiling at you.

“Do I have to go? I mean, everyone knows what I’ve done this year. It’s all they talk about. Do I really have to have an event for it.” you whine. Tonight was your business dinner and you were excited before but now you were tired and slightly sore and just wanted to spend the day not around a bunch of people who secretly hated you.

“Baby it’s already planned and way too late to cancel. And you are way too important to not attend your own dinner.” Minseok said as if stating the obvious. You sit up letting the sheet fall exposing your beautiful breast and pointed nipples. You hear them all choke and clear their throats. You look at them confused. It’s not like they’ve never seen you naked before. In fact, they’ve seen every part of you.

“What?” you ask almost offended at their staring.

“I’ve never wanted to lick those breast so much.” Minseok says in a sort of whisper as if talking to himself.

“I’m not stopping you Minnie. What’s wrong with you guys? I’m not made of glass.” you say as you push the rest of the sheet off you and sit on your knees, bare in front of them. Some turn away to look at each other or the ceiling; just anywhere but you.

“Ok what is going on?” you ask a little scared. You just heard them talk about how much they loved you and now they weren’t even looking at you.

“We uh...we can’t touch you today.” Kyungsoo said rubbing the back of his neck looking down. They can’t touch you today? Who’s stupid idea was that. You figured it had to do with their monthly checkup. You all get checked every month to make sure you’re all clean even though you’re only fucking eachother. It’s still really important and you made that a rule once this started. But that usually never stopped them, in fact it made them even more hungry for you.

“Excuse me? Did something go wrong at your checkup?” you ask almost rudely and concerned.

“No no, nothing like that. We just agreed not to touch you today. At least not until after your dinner.” Chanyeol said facing your nightstand.

“And who’s idea was this?” you ask folding your arms across your chest. You hated this.

“We all decided. It’s best we try to compose ourselves and let this day be your day. That’s why we’ve been so....needy these past couple days.” Jongdae said sitting down on the bed with his back facing you.

“You’re joking right? If it’s my day, shouldn’t I get what I want? Do you seriously think you can go a whole day without touching me? There is literally no reason for this decision except to torture yourselves. And I found it quite rude that none of you are looking at me when I’m talking.” you laugh. There was no way they could pull this off. They couldn’t even look at you without getting a boner, which all of them had.

“We have to try baby. Which means you cannot tease us. You’ll only make things harder than they need to be. And we can’t exactly look at you when your naked like that. We can see your pussy just...taunting us.” Junmyeon says as he groans the last sentence.

“Hyung you really didn’t need to say that. I’m already trying not to cum in my pants.” Sehun said in a whine.

“Absolutely fucking not. I didn’t agree to this. I’ll act as I want, I don’t care how hard you get. It’s your fault for making this dumb rule.” you snap back. You watch as all thier bodies tense and they sigh.

“Please don’t make us have to punish you tonight. We’ll be downstairs when you’re ready. You have to eat and get ready for tonight. Don’t take long.” Minseok says as they all head towards the door. Once they leave you plop down on the bed and throw a silent tantrum. They couldn’t even look at you, fuck that. You were going to tease the little shit heads until you couldn’t anymore.

You walked downstairs after getting ready for operation one. You were clad in a red see though lingerie set and nothing else. They were all sitting in the living room looking so sad, but it was their faults. Once they saw you they all sighed; they should have known you wouldn’t comply.

“Y/N why? I specifically said not to-,” Junmyeon started but you cut him off as you slowly walked to the center of the room and sat on the table.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you said Jun. This isn’t my agreement so I’ll do what I want like I said I would.” You smile at him before laying back on the table and stretching out, all eyes on you. You take the fruit bowl next to you and start eating making sure to over use your lips and tongue.

“She’s going to destroy us all.” you heard Sehun mumble while staring hard at your pussy. You laughed and sat up to see him standing infront of you.

“You can taste if you want Sehunnie. I taste better than this fruit. But you can decide for yourself.” you smirk as you pull your panties to the side fully exposing your wet cunt. He groans and kneels down infront of you almost ready to taste you. Before he can, Minseok pulls him away and glares at you.

“Y/N we’re warning you. This won’t end well for you.” he stated giving you a death stare. They were never unbearable when the punished you so you weren’t scared. You brought your hand down to your cunt and plunged two fingers in you while staring directly into his eyes. You let out a loud moan at the stretch and whined ‘Minnie’ once you started fucking yourself. They were all watching you intently as you moaned and fingered yourself looking at thier cocks twitching in their pants.

“Let’s go. Now.” Junmyeon commanded the boys as he got up and walked down the hall. They all followed except Minnie who glared at you and clenched his jaw so tight you thought he’d break it.

“We’re going to our study. Don’t come in there. Don’t call for us. Don’t bother us. Since you want to be such a fucking brat, we have to lock ourselves away from you. We’ll see you in a couple hours. Get ready for your dinner.” and with that he leaves down the hall. You fall back on to the table and let out an insanely loud groan. What the absolute fuck? You pushed them so far they are now avoiding you so they won’t fall to your temptation. What a sad “special day” this is.

»»————-　————-««

𝒲𝑒𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 11𝓅𝓂

Your dinner sucked so bad. You were absolutely bored and didn’t care to be there. EXO weren’t even paying you any attention and it was your night. You even had to arrive and leave separately from them. They avoided you the remainder of the day until it was time for your dinner and then ignored you during that dinner. They left before you did to go home. You were so annoyed and sad to not have them loving you. You’d grown so used to it that them giving you the cold shoulder was killing you.

You got home and everything was dark. You figured they all went to sleep which made you even more upset. You walked up to your room and stepped in not looking up. You kicked your shoes off and tore your stupid dress off like a toddler throwing a tantrum. When you finally looked up, you saw them all standing there staring at you. Then you looked at the bed and saw it filled with stuff. There were paddles, gags, butt plugs, whips, bondages, vibrators. Oh my. You swallowed thickly and stared at them. You were in for a really bad punishment.

“Come on Y/N. Don’t waste our time.” Baekhyun said deeply making you jump. You hurry over to the front of the bed and look down at your feet. You were terrified. They were never this scary with you, never this angry. Yixing came up to you and tore your panties off your body making you jump. He pushed you on to the bed where you got to really see the materials. You could feel yourself getting more and more scared, so you do what anyone would.

“Daddies I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have pushed you!” you start to tear up as they all just stare at you, emotionless.

“Gag her.” is all Minseok says before Jongin gags your mouth with a fairly small gag. You could say words if you needed to but not sentences and you’d still be muffled. He then tied your hands in front of you using silk ties.

“So, a spanking first seems appropriate.” Minseok continues handing Kyungsoo a black leather paddle. You whimper against the gag in your mouth. Anytime he gave you a spanking, it was his hand and for mediocre reasons. This was another story; he looked more than angry. He yanked your body over to a chair and pulled you over his lap. Everyone else came to turn to you and watch.

“Count. If I don’t hear those numbers clearly, I’m starting over. I don’t want to hear anything else. Do not move or I will start over. Do you understand?” he said pulling your hair to make you look at him. You nod and say ‘yes daddy’ as best you can with the gag in your mouth. He pushed your head down and plucked your ass making you jump a little. Then a hard smack landed on your ass making you shudder. You took a second to make sure you didn’t scream before saying ‘one’. Another smack landed on the same cheek harder making you scream ‘two’. This went on and on for 30 smacks. Your face was full of tears. Your ass stung so bad you could have swore you were bleeding. Your abs hurt from being bent over his legs, tightening everytime he hit you.

He pulls you up by the waist and makes you kneel infront of him. Your weak body slumps forward out of being tired and not wanting him to see your face. He turns you around to face the rest of them and pulls your hair to make you look up at them. Chanyeol comes up to you and squats down and gently wipes your tears. You lean into his hand and close your eyes. He smacks your face and laughs.

“I may be your favorite, but you weren’t very nice to me earlier. Stand up.” he says as he walks away to the bed. You stand up on weak legs and slowly follow him not looking at any of the glaring men. The bed was now set up differently. There was a chain and clasp hanging from the ceiling and bondage straps on the bed. He pointed you to get on the bed and you did so. Sehun came over and put your hands above your head connecting them to the clasp then tied your kneeling legs to the straps on the bed. You looked at him with pleading eyes and he just laughed.

“Look at you. Don’t you remember toying with me?Reap what you sow slut.” he spits out pinching your nipple. You let out a whimper and he slaps your face.

“Shut it.” he says before smiling wickedly and walking away. You were crying again. They knew you were just upset with yourself. Upset for making them this angry with you. Nothing could make you more upset than making your doms angry. If you were ever uncomfortable you’d use your safe word no questions asked, so they weren’t worried.

“Do you know what these are?” Chanyeol said as he placed an array of tools on the bed.

“These are nipple clasps. The metal kind since those are the best.” he said putting them on your nipples making you back away but not moving much since you were tied up.

“These are tassel whips. You like these don’t you?” he says as he drags the whip up over your stomach and nipples. You close your eyes and try not to show how good it felt. Then a hard slap hits your pussy making you choke. You open your eyes as he pulls the whip back again and slaps your lips again harder. You let out a scream as you try to close your legs but the restraints won’t budge.

“You like playing with yourself right? You like to tease us?” he said handing the whip to Jongdae who moves to sit behind you.

“Answer me slut!” Chanyeol barks making you shake your head frantically.

“Lying to us? Even now you’re lying to us.” you hear Jongdae whisper in your ear before slapping your back and ass with the whip. You twitch and cry out making him laugh. Chanyeol picks up what looks like a vibrator and comes to move in front of you.

“This is my favorite. It’s a dildo and a vibrator so you get both the satisfaction. We just stick it in here and use these straps to keep it in place and it fucks you itself. Now for the fun part, watching you be denied the one thing you want the most.” he says as he shoves the dildo inside your wet cunt making you gasp. He gets up and presses the button turning it on and you immediately can’t take it. He has the intensity so high you could cum any minute. You squirm in your restraints and scream out as the dildo fucks you. Baekhyun places a camera right infront of your core and records you being fucked. You keep squirming and jumping making Jongdae give you another smack while whispering ‘stay fucking put slut’.

“Look at this boys. Her cunt is dripping all over the sheets. She’s about to cum, aren’t you? You’re so wet to be tied up slut.” Baekhyun says pushing the camera forward. The sound of your wetness is loud mixed with your moans. You feel it coming and can’t help but release fast panting moans. Just as your stomach tightens, it stops. You cry letting your head fall; you knew it was too good to be true. Yixing pulls your hair to make you look at him. He’s smiling exposing his dimple at your red eyes and tear stained face.

“I got you a gift.” he said as he brings a silver butt plug from behind his back. Your eyes widen and you let out a whimpering ‘please’. They all just laugh as he trails the plug down your back. He lays down to get a better angle and spreads your ass cheeks. You whimper again when you feel the cold lube slide between your cheeks. He uses his fingers to spread you out in prep for the metal object. You shiver as you feel the metal sitting at your entrance slowly being pushed in. More tears fall as it fills you to the max. Then the vibrator suddenly goes off again making you push back on Yixing’s hand forcing the plug all the way in.

“Oops. It was an accident sweetheart.” is all Jongin says as he smirks at your shaking form.

“You look pathetic crying like that’s going to stop us. You didn’t listen, you have to learn your lesson.” he adds making you cry more. You feel your orgasm coming and then going when the vibratory stops again. You let out an annoyed groan and glare at them.

“Uh oh, I think we made her mad. She’s giving us her deadly eyes.” Baekhyun says walking up to you holding your chin. Your hips involuntarily thrust up when the low vibration starts again.

“You want to cum don’t you whore?” Minseok asked with a sinful smirk. You nod and moan out when he pulls on your nipple clamps. You were shaking from the combination of the low vibration of the dildo and your sensitive nipples.

“Her nipples are so pink. Look at how red her neck and cheeks are. God, she gets so colorful like this.” Kyungsoo teases as his hands trace all over your body making you twitch. You look up at him with innocent eyes just begging him to fuck you. He bends down to kiss a tear that falls before he rubs his thumbs lightly over your sensitive nipples. You whine out and try to pull away but he hovers over you, lips next to your ear. “Imagine having to deal with a boner that feels like this everytime it rubs against something. Not being able to fuck the tight pussy of my little brat. And not being able to cum from my hand because nothing compares to fucking your pussy that’s all mine. And it was all your fault slut. Next time listen to your fucking daddies and this won’t happen.” he grits through his teeth in your ear before twisting the clamps.

You were actually so upset and sensitive that you became numb. They toyed with you denying your orgasm 5 more times by now. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Then the dildo started again only this time it was too much. You came in under a minute and squirted all over the bed. Your body shuddered and your eyes rolled back as the vibrator kept going. You couldn’t breath as your second orgasm crashed over you making you squirt again only much more this time. You open your eyes to look at them and beg ‘please’ over and over again. They looked at you as if they were deaf, not even blinking at your crying pleads.

You came 5 more times, squirting every single time before your body gave out. You were so overstimulated it hurt. Your cunt dripped your cum and juices as you hung drained almost lifeless. You guess the state of your body is what made them stop. You were semi unconscious when you felt strong arms hold you once your arms and legs were unbound. You were carried bridal style to a large bathroom and put in a freshly run bath with Minseok and Junmyeon. Everyone else stayed in the bathroom watching you. The hot water instantly relaxing your exhausted frame. They washed you gently and slowly. Junmyeon sat behind you and Minseok in front. Minseok massaged your legs and feet while Junmyeon your back and tired arms.

“Baby?” he whispers in your ear. You flinch once you feel his lips on your neck. You’re laying with your eyes closed, tired and drained from crying so much.

“I think we went too hard on her. She’s flinching even unconscious.” Minseok whispers.

“I hated watching that. Seeing her crying for us. God, I feel like a monster.” Chanyeol sighed. You didn’t know he felt that way given how scary he was.

“Look at our baby. She’s just lying there. Did you see the look in her eyes right before she passed out? She looked so lifeless.” Baekhyun said almost crying himself. You moved in Junmyeon’s arms putting your face in his neck letting out a small whimper as a tear slipped down your face.

“Princess it’s ok. Shh don’t cry, we’ve got you. You’re ok. It’s all over now.” he said stroking your cheek softly. You turned more and curled up into his arms as more tears fell.

“I’m sorry daddy. I’m so sorry I made you hate me.” you whisper into his chest. You were in shock and saying things you knew weren’t true, but in your state you felt it. You felt like you messed up teasing them like that. You disobeyed them with the one thing they asked you not to do. You were a brat who didn’t get her way and acted out. So your little state made you think they hated you, that they didn’t want a disobedient brat. He quickly shushed you before holding you tight.

“God princess we could never hate you. I’m sorry we were so hard on you. We just had to punish you for being bad. We love you so much. Relax sweetheart, we’ve got you.” he said hushing you. You heard everyone let out repetitive ‘no’s’ and sighs.

“She thinks we hate her. How are we going to fix this? I can’t think straight knowing we broke her or made her uncomfortable.” Sehun said panicked.

“Sehun calm down. We’ll figure that out later. Right now we have to take care of her.” Minseok reassured.

You don’t remember much after that since you fell asleep in his arms as he rocked you while playing in your hair. You do remember feeling the lips of all of them kiss your eyes, nose, and lips. You also remember hearing them all confess ‘I love you’ a million times before falling asleep.

(This was an experimental part to say the least! I wasn’t to sure how I felt about this one but it’s a development part. Sorry again for it being so long. I really got into it and didn’t want to take out any details. Would love feedback on how you guys felt about this chapter. Thank you as always!

xoxo golden🕊)

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Break

—Someone’s broken in. Connor is the first person you think to call. But what will he choose?—

A/N: IM BACK!! So this has been on my mind forever now, and I’m so excited it’s finally done!! Please let me know what you think of it!

Warnings: kinda fluffy Connor, swearing, blood, fighting, angsty

“Goddamnit, Kyle!” You rake a hand through your hair, sighing through gritted teeth. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no damn way-”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says tiredly, “there’s nothing I can do.”

Clenching your jaw, you hang up, nearly throwing your phone across the room. You shake your head, wanting very badly to hit something. A headache quickly forms as you mutter curses.

“Thought you were an officer, not a sailor,” Gavin taunts, laughing as he props his feet up on his desk.

“Fuck off, Reed,” you snarl, “or so help me I will shut you up myself.”

He rocks back, laughing even harder at your sour mood. Without warning, you grab the nearest object which happens to be a pencil. He jumps as you bring it down towards his shin, barely missing your mark as he crashes to the floor.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his head. He slowly stands up, backing away from you. He’s a good ten yards away before he turns towards the door.

“Don’t get me wrong,” someone says. Turning, you recognize Hank and Connor walking towards you, the older man smiling. “Seeing Gavin nearly get shanked brings me great joy,” he sits on your desk, taking the pencil from your clenched fist, “but you could’ve at least used a pen.”

You sigh, picking at your desk. “Don’t judge,” you mutter, “could’ve gotten lead in his blood. Made ‘im real sick.”

“She does have a point,” Connor agrees. Your lips twitch at his pun. Looking up at him, a timid smile pulls at his lips. “I thought it would help your mood.”

“But you’re just gonna ignore she tried to stab Reed?” Hank shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Oh. Okay.”

Connor blinks, head tilting to the side. “I assumed her actions were a side effect of her fever.”

“Fever?” You and Hank say simultaneously. You don’t break eye contact with Connor as you lean towards the older man. “Jinx. You owe me a coffee.”

Hank’s head turns fast, scowling at the side of your face accusingly. You smile innocently at Connor despite the two holes being bore into your head. His brows furrow at your actions.

“You never get sick,” Hank says, the frown tipping into concern, “and now you’ve got a fever?”

“It’s not severe, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupts, “her body temperature is only at ninety nine point-”

“But you don’t get sick,” he repeats.

“Long story short,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair, “I’ll be staying at a motel for a month or so cause the pipes in my apartment building froze.”

Both Hank and Connor’s brows raise. “Holy shit, kid.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, resting your head in your hand. “Kyle — the shitty landlord? — says he can’t get anybody to come look at it for a couple weeks.”

“Why not ditch the motel?” Hank places a hand on your shoulder. “Stay with us till the shit gets fixed.”

“Hank-“

He rolls his eyes, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Oh c’mon, Y/L/N. I’ll even make pancakes.”

You chew your lip, considering his offer. Bunk with an old cop, his dog, and a cute android? It wasn’t the worst idea. It definitely beat getting some disease from mysterious stains in a broke down motel.

“Alright,” you say finally.

Hank smiles, a dimple pressing into his cheek. He ruffles your hair. “Alright.”

The squeal of brakes from a train echoes distantly accompanied by three solid knocks on the door. Sumo pick his head up off your lap, giving a soft woof. Setting your book down on the nightstand, you scratch his ears, earning a couple whumps of his tail against the bed.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you coo sweetly. You manage to free your legs of the blankets as the saint bernard settles again. Using your foot to swing the door open, you tie up your hair, quietly padding down the hallway.

You’ve just rounded the corner when the handle jostles. You hesitate, holding your breath as muffled curses make their way through the door. Goosebumps rise on your skin. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, the scariest one being, That’s not Hank.

The lock clicks. “Fuck,” you snap, your voice a whisper.

The door swings open, it’s handle denting the drywall as two men push through. You lock eyes with the first man, the two of you standing shell shocked for half a breath. The second, the younger looking with a heavy bruise on his cheekbone, slaps the first.

“Fuckin grab her!” He shouts, slamming the door shut. And just like that, the standoff comes to a jagged end, the first guy lunging at you, his cigarette stained teeth bared.

Grabbing his wrist, you twist his arm to the side, driving the heel of your palm into his nose. Losing his balance, he topples backwards. The second man reaches out, but with a rush of fur blurring by, Sumo latches his teeth into his arm.

“Sumo!” Cigarette Teeth seizes your moment of distraction and get you in a headlock, his forearm held tightly against your throat. Bruise punches the dog in his ribs before throwing him off. “No!”

He adrenaline coursing through you hinders rather than help, turning your motions frantic as you scratch and scream; your fingernails leave angry, red welts across his skin. Bruise moves forward. You bring your knees to your chest, a savage growl pushing through gritted teeth as you kick him in his stomach. The loss of his footing sends him to the floor, his face meeting the wood with a loud thump!

“Jesus, fuck,” the man holding you grunts, an undertone of fear taking over his words.

The slamming of your heel on the arch of his foot paired with the whip of your head against his already bleeding nose earns a well deserved howl of pain.

Finally able to slip from his grasp, you kick Cigarette Teeth in his knee, watching him drop to the floor with a loud cry. You grab the nearest object — a book off one of the many shelves — and bring its spine down across his temple. With a groan, he crumples to the ground.

“Sumo,” you murmur hoarsely, chest heaving. You quickly fall to your knees, gingerly running your hands across his fur, turning his head towards you. “Are you okay? Fuck.”

His tail wags lightly, letting out a small whine. You whip your head to see Bruise pushing himself up with a groan. Quickly looking at your options, you stand up.

“C’mon, boy,” you urge, helping the large dog limp towards the bedroom. “Good boy! Just a little more! C’mon!”

Slamming the door, you rip the chair from the desk, lodging it beneath the door’s handle. You grab your phone from the nightstand, your book long forgotten. Sumo growls.

“I know, buddy,” you say weakly, scrolling hurriedly through your contacts. 1-800-CYBERLIFE comes into view and you hit dial. “C’mon, Connor. Pick up! Pick up!”

A rumble from the other side of the door. Sumo, crouching low, bares his teeth. You back away.

Click.

“Connor?!”

“Why is it,” Hank says dully, “that every time we gotta go chase some fuckin dead end, it’s always at some creepy, abandoned, probably haunted building?”

“If it’s any consolation, the likelihood that this building is haunted is very low.” Hank turns slow at Connor’s remark, glaring at the android with a dangerous look in his eye. Connor tilts his head. “Would you prefer rat infested?”

Hank narrows his eyes, grimacing nonetheless. “I fuckin hate you.”

Connor can’t help the faintest shadow of a smile that tugs at his lips. With a shake of his head, Hank’s attention returns to the warehouse, the rusted sign worn beyond recognition. At least to the human eye; there was still enough residue from the paint for the RK800 to confirm the location, despite the many years.

“I know you do, lieutenant.”

A middle finger is thrown over the older mans shoulder. His free hand taking hold of the door handle, he draws his weapon. Dust kicks up at their feet, the squeal of the hinges echoing off the graffitied walls.

Quiet steps are placed carefully amongst broken glass. Hank pulls one hand from the grip of his gun, his pointer finger aimed at the ceiling, drawing a circle into the air. Connor follows the order, scanning the small room with a flick of his eyes. The disturbance of dirt trailing through the door on the opposite wall is highlighted.

“There,” he says quietly, jutting his chin. Anderson takes the lead.

With the ceiling half collapsed on itself, rusted cross beams hang dangerously low, the sunken roof giving way to a darkened sky. The moonlight — one drag from an old cigar away from hazy — makes the room glow. Hank’s hand lays flat, making a sweeping motion towards the right side of the warehouse. Silently, Connor tips his head.

Parting from one another, each officer carefully makes their way through the building, scanning and searching for leads. Connor ducks beneath a shelving unit, one hand resting on the wall as he maneuvers quietly. He’s sure to miss the rebar haphazardly sticking out from the floor. He stands, but not before the remnants of a bloodstain is highlighted by his sensors.

Walsh, Chris

3 days old

Suspect is injured.

His record is littered with aggravated assault, theft, multiple drug charges, and battery. Violence is nothing new to Walsh, and from previous statements, he finds a certain appeal to the chaos. Got caught more than once, but was often let out on good behavior. There’s a soft curse from the other side of the building, Hank’s flashlight piercing the veiled darkness.

Scanners highlighting an otherwise dark corner, Connor finds himself standing in something akin to a home; a rat’s nest composed of unwanted trash, the bed nothing more than stained cardboard with a tattered and worn sweatshirt acting as a blanket. The android — clean and tidy in every sense of the word, with only a few strands of hair out of place — is so very juxtaposed to his surroundings. Crouching, Connor tilts his head left, eyes darting about for a trace of the suspect. There, on a soda can tipped on its side, it’s contents half spilt onto the floor, are smudges of fingerprints.

Walsh, Chris

7 hours old

“He’s been here, lieutenant,” he calls out. But the answer doesn’t come.

Looking over his shoulder, he stands slowly, carefully awaiting a smart comment or a grumble of disapproval, but there’s only the wind, a distant siren from somewhere in the city, and the tremble of a loaded gun.

“Lieutenant?”

Connor listens, sensors heightened to a degree, he isolates Hank’s heartbeat. It’s slow, steady, and it’s not the only one. The second pulse is wild, barely tamed by ragged breathing. Straightening, the android begins to move.

“Chris Walsh.” His voice is loud in the hollow building, smooth and demanding; dangerous on a calculated level. “Detroit Police, show yourself.”

Keeping the wall to his right, Connor silently makes his way towards Anderson, finding him on his side. The android drops, assessing the remnants of ketamine in an abandoned syringe, a needle mark in the man’s arm. A bruise begins to blossom on his neck, the ugly shade of purple dark against the silvery beard.

Connor grits his teeth, a half contained, “Shit,” escaping him. He radios in to the precinct.

Code 243, 11-41. Officer down.

A frustrated howl rips through the air, the ring of a gunshot piercing. “Where the fuck are you?!”

11-99. 1083 Wilson Avenue. Repeat: 11-99.

Ducking away from the unconscious officer, Connor finds the suspect standing in the spotlight of the broken roof, his eyes darting frantically. Given the levels of chemicals in the man’s system, Connor estimates Hank will wake up in two minutes and forty seven seconds. The android is several paces away before speaking.

“Chris-“ the suspect’s eyes find a spot in the darkness, gun pointed at the yellow — now red — ring of light “-put the gun down.”

“I could- I could kill you! Right now!”

The light touches Connor’s skin, and Walsh jumps. The shadows peel back with every slow step. “No,” the android says flatly, “you can’t.”

“I’m the one with a gun!” Connor nods, not furthering his agreement.  The suspect’s hand shakes, a tremor wracking his entire being. “There’s laws! Androids they-“ a shake of his head “-they can’t have weapons!”

“You’re right.” Hesitation. A smooth step closer. “There are laws. Plenty of which you’ve broken.”

Walsh bares his teeth. Knuckles pale against the black steel, he adjusts his grip, uncomfortable with its weight. Connor begins to circle him. Walsh turns in his place, frantic eyes never leaving the android.

Connor, as calm as he is efficient, watches the suspect, easily filing away every flaw. He’s dissecting him from five yards away. The bandage haphazardly wrapped around his bicep, the bloodstain dark, is most noticeable. Chris is ramabling by now — a desperate attempt at  justifying his actions.

“I’m- I’m sorry, okay? I never wanted- he owed me!” His pleas go unheard. “I didn’t have- have a choice!”

Estimated time of awakening for Lt. Anderson: fifty three seconds.

Reinforcements estimated time of arrival: three minutes and fourteen seconds.

Attack: 86% chance of success

Without further thought, Connor lunges forward. The gun goes off, missing it’s mark by inches and with a dramatic clatter, it skids across the floor. Programming takes over his movements; a dog, trained to be unforgivingly vicious. And Chris – poor, poor Chris – was the cat.

A whir of mechanisms within the android urge his movements, ducking beneath a wid swing. In turn, a knee is brought to the fugitive’s stomach, folding him over with a grunt of pain. Locking his jaw, a determined look settles on his face. He wraps his arms around Connor, lifting him off the ground and tackling him into a nearby shelving unit.

The pressure on his biocomponents is unwelcome and earns a groan. Walsh takes hold of the android’s shoulders, spinning him, and driving his head into the corner of the shelf. Blue blood easily spills. Before another blow can befall him, Connor braces himself, pushing back against Walsh’s hold. But he still has his momentum and slams his own nose into the android’s elbow.

He cradles his now broken nose, blood quickly flowing between his fingers. Connor turns. LED still a blaring red, thirium drips from his left brow, the liquid following the shape of his eye socket before rolling over his cheekbone and dripping off his jaw. If he needed to breathe, his chest would be heaving. He makes no effort to fix his crumpled (and now stained) shirt nor straighten his tie. Disheveled but nowhere near distraught, he suddenly fits his surroundings.

Incoming call: Detective Y/L/N.

He answers, hesitating when he hears a hushed yet frantic, “Connor?!”

“Detective?” His mouth doesn’t move, but his voice rings through all the same. You let out a choked breath. “I thought you-“

“I need your help,” you cut him off.

He can’t see you flinch at the pounding of the door, but he can hear the fear in your voice. Hank, from the other side of the room, groans.

“Now may not be the best time, Detective.”

His answer is cold, but Walsh is eyes the door behind him, feet shifting.

“Please! Please!” A fleeting thought occurs to him that’s he’s never seen, let alone heard, you cry. “Two guys broke in, Con. They’re twice-“ your voice cracks “-twice my size and I don’t think I can hold them off.”

Sirens close in around the building. Had the call not been directly wired into his head, he would’ve missed the way your voice died at the end. Walsh’s finger wrap deftly around an iron rod. Raising it above his head, he takes a swing which Connor narrowly misses.

“What is it they want?”

“I don’t know!” Venom taints your tone. “Lemme ask em real quick!”

Chris recovers, bringing the rod over Connor’s throat, forcing him to bend backwards if only slightly.

“Think, Y/N.” The android brings his elbow to the man’s rib cage, but his grip is firm. “How do you get out of this?”

There’s true terror in your voice now. “I don’t know! Connor, please! I need-“

You’re cut off by your own yelp, the door finally giving way, splinters flying. Sumo barks wildly. There’s a thud, the scuffle of feet, and the sounds of a fight.

“Detective?”

Now he’s worried. Hell, he’s scared. Flashlights flood the room and Walsh’s head snaps to the source. Panicking, he drops the rod all together, taking off towards the back corner.

“Y/N?!”

He says it out loud this time, but there’s no response. There’s a loud crack within his own head, followed by a sickening thump of something heavy hitting the carpet.

Time slows – no, it feels like it slows. Damn near coming to a halt as the sight of Walsh’s back, his feet carrying him towards freedom. But there’s also the silence that he so desperately wishes would leave him; an ache to hear your laugh, saying it was all a joke. It doesn’t come, and with one of Sumo’s cries cut short, he knows something is terribly wrong.

And yet, he hesitates.

[X] SAVE HER

[O] CHASE SUSPECT

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[raging-violets]

Legacies

Ship: Peter Parker x Brady Nash (brotp: Shadow Spider)

Rating: E for Everyone

Words: 1855

Warning: Posted under a read more and marked because spoilers for Far From Home. There ARE spoilers in all of this ficlet as it’s heavily influenced by a scene int he movie. You’ve been warned.

Tag: @captdnvrs

-

“It’s clear to me that you were not ready for this.”

Peter went up to the roof. That’s where he always went when he needed some time to vent. Not even to vent, venting wasn’t his thing until he was at the end of his rope of emotions. Unable to keep himself from letting everything he kept pent up from exploding. He went to the highest point of the city, the roof of where he just was so that he could put things into perspective.

But what was the perspective telling him now? That Fury was right? That he really wasn’t ready? Wasn’t ready to take on…take on what? Take on the name he could never live up to? Wasn’t ready to be Tony Stark? Wasn’t ready to be the next Iron Man?

Wasn’t ready for anything, really.

“I thought I’d find you up here.” Peter’s eyes shifted to the side, looking at Brady once he finished phasing through the roof and planted himself next to him. Brady stretched out, resting his back against the chimney just behind him, watching the side of Peter’s face. Brady crossed his arms and added, “My mom does the same thing.”

“She likes to brood by herself after being told by one of the scariest men in history everything she already thinks about herself?”

Brady gave a wry smile. “No. When she wants some time to think, she likes to go to the highest point of the city and watch everyone down below.” He motioned with his hand, gesturing to the city of Prague. “It’s a bit different than New York, even different than Central City, but I guess it still works.” He lowered his hand to his lap, “All that other stuff, it never gets easy to hear the things about yourself you already think. Try being a teen mom.”

Peter shook his head. He faced front once more, eyes shifting over Prague. Brady was right, it wasn’t New York, but it was something. Anything that’d give him the chance to stop thinking about what he didn’t want to think about. About what Fury just had to bring up.

Brady took in a quick breath and added, “Anyway, Fury asked me to come up here to see how you were doing. He wanted to apologize for how he snapped at you.”

For a moment, Peter perked up. Hope swelled into his chest. He looked to his friend and, tentatively, asked, “Really?”

Brady lifted an eyebrow. “Dude, we’ve been friends for how long? Do you not get my sarcasm at this point?” He paused when Peter’s shoulders slumped, the force of his weight shifting forward practically knocked him off the roof he hardly had to use any of his strength to hold onto. “How are you feeling?”

Peter shrugged. Silence stretched between them for a long time. It wasn’t something weird between them. They could sit in silence as easily as they could talk a mile a minute about the newest video game that came out, or whatever city event they were going to. It came with the territory of going out into the field together, sometimes something as little as a look would convey an entire plan of attack against whomever they were trying to stop.

This time, however, Peter couldn’t handle the silence any more than he could handle the emotions slowly building up within him. A small volcanic eruption just waiting to go off. He sighed heavily, muscles twitching, waiting for him to bust out any and all ballet moves that would leave him dripping sweat, working to catch his breath, and too exhausted to even think of what was bothering him anymore.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. “I didn’t think I was going to have to save the world this summer,” he finally blurted. “I know it was a possibility, and I know this makes me sound like a jerk, but I had a plan with MJ and…” he spread his hands. “Now it’s all ruined.”

“And?” Brady asked. Peter glanced at him, was startled to find how seriously Brady was looking at him. “You’re not a jerk for wanting that, Pete. What we do is hard, we see things we do things, we make choices. People look up to us and then…” his eyes darkened and shifted aside. As if there was something too painful to talk about. “Even if you win a battle, sometimes they die. You’re my friend, dude, you really do have to think about what you signed up for…” he shrugged. “But at least you got a choice.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked. He watched his friend closely, feeling something between them shift. “You had a choice.”

“No. I had a legacy.”

A legacy? What did that mean? A legacy was something to look forward to. Living up to a name that was bestowed upon someone. To something so great that was almost like you couldn’t deny it or else…you failed everyone. Let everyone down. Peter rubbed his hands together, palms sweating. So he does get it, Peter thought. The burden it took to carry it all on his shoulders, a name he’d never expected to be placed on him.

To The Next Tony Stark.

But it was Brady’s nervous fidgeting that caught his attention. He’d never seen his friend that nervous, then again. They didn’t always talk about things like this. Being that vulnerable with each other. Almost as if, with their partnership, they kept having to be strong for each other. Now they had no choice, not when there was so much at stake.

“Look, dude. My mom got her powers when she was eight. And she worked hard to make sure she was able to balance her life as being normal and to help people with her powers. It was hard, keeping it a secret from everyone. But she never kept it a secret from me.” Peter’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Since I was born, she didn’t hide her powers from me. I don’t know, maybe it made us closer.”

Peter swallowed hard, nodded once. He understood the thought. He remembered how badly he’d wanted to keep his identity away from Aunt May because of…because of everything. Because of what happened with Uncle Ben, because of what happened with his parents, because he didn’t know how she’d react if anything happened to him. And yet, the relief he felt over her finally knowing his identity was so strong he nearly fell to his knees after all the screaming back and forth from Aunt May’s initial discovery. He had no idea how she’d react if he’d told her the truth in the first place.

Especially knowing Tony was involved.

And Peter had seen how close Brady and his mother, Cadence were. They were more like best friends than mother and son. Just as he felt with Aunt May…though there were still some things he kept her an arm’s length away from.

“But she worked hard to make sure everyone who didn’t have the means to protect themselves had someone to advocate for. Then she met my step-dad, Barry. Barry had a rough life, his mother was murdered, his father was framed for her murder and spent years in prison, and yet Barry still worked throughout his life to clear his name before doing the same. Then he became a meta like her, became the fastest man alive who practically lives off of justice and helping those that don’t have a voice. I got my powers the same age my mom did, when I was eight.”

Peter blinked in surprise. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if he had his powers when he was that young. When…when his parents were still alive. Peter closed his eyes, swallowing hard at the hazy memory of his parents. When was the last time I thought of them? Peter asked. He could hardly remember the last time he was to even think of his Uncle without immediately squashing it.

“It was cool at first. ” Brady shifted, crossing his legs the other way, scratched at his neck. “I just wanted to have cool powers, I didn’t think of anything else. But then I had the weight of…the weight of everything on my shoulders. The responsibility. I couldn’t go a day without some sort of anti-meta measures coming up in my school, kids were consistently being pulled out when it was found they were potentially metas, curfews were established, and it became scarier to go to school. But I still wanted to help my friends the way my mom helped other people. So, I tried to make sure they knew safe places to go, being kids that were metas it wasn’t something easily kept a secret. Because all the adults were making decisions for us.

“And I kept that up, along with going out into the field more. Seeing more and more of the fights against other metas my mom and Barry went through.” Brady gestured toward Peter. “Of course, it was nothing like “The Snap” or becoming a war criminal like Captain America. But facing the end of the world just about every year for the past eight years doesn’t help much.” He took in a breath so deep his chest swelled. “I can’t live up to the things they’ve done…but if I don’t try, it’d all be for nothing. All the training, all the expectations and work that’s been put on me since my powers were revealed themselves. I didn’t have a future in anything but being a superhero.” He sat up and poked Peter on the shoulder. “I’ve had that on me since I was a kid, probably since I was born, but you’ve had a choice, Pete. You’ve had a choice since you first got your powers and Tony Stark came to you to start his ‘internship’. You have the choice to be the ‘next tony stark’. I didn’t. I was always destined for this.”

Peter briefly closed his eyes, leaning and rubbing his hands over his face. “But we’re always putting everyone in danger.”

“Us being alive is what puts them in danger,” Brady pointed out, voice turning as dry as the air around them. Peter chuckled to himself. If Brady was making a joke about it, he was already starting to feel more like himself already. “By this point I’m surprised I haven’t keeled over from the stress of it all. It make make things easier for them.”

Peter let out a snort-laugh. “How can you always be sarcastic like this?”

“To mask the trauma I’ve gone through.” Brady said it so quickly, with such a lighthearted air that Peter wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not. “All that therapy does wonders.”

“It’s nice to have someone to talk to about this, you know?” Peter finally said. He looked to Brady. “You never really mentioned any of this before.”

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Brady admitted. “I mean, thinking that I saw my mom die in front of me, twice, kind of ruins the mood, y’know? It makes me a hit at parties.” Then he turned serious once more. “They think they don’t put pressure on me but…it really sucks, dude.” Brady rubbed the back of his neck. “Having powers is cool, the responsibility of what I have to live up to definitely isn’t. Fury might think you’re not ready but…honestly, I think you’re more ready than anyone else I’ve met.”

Peter smiled. He didn’t quite believe it but…at least the volcanic eruption had quelled down to a simmer. “Thanks, man.”

“Any time,” Brady said. He let out a quick sigh, relieved to change the subject once more. Silence stretched between them once more. So long that Peter almost jumped—almost—when Brady finally spoke up to add, “And besides, if we survive this you’ve got all summer to kill Brad.”

Peter laughed.

[jenli88]

How did Snape spend his Christmas?

Snape was busy in the kitchen when someone knocked on the front door. He could sense a familiar magic but could not remember who they were.

“Lad! Get the door!” He yelled from the kitchen, hoping that his former student would move her ass away from his library  to open the door. Sadly, he heard she screamed something back almost like, “Fuck you, Snape. I’m busy!” So much of hoping, Snape sighed and put the bowl of mixing baking flour on the kitchen table. He wiped his hands to his dark green apron as he walked to the front door. When he finally turned the doorknob and pulled it back, he smiled fondly at the sight of a group of Slytherin… and a Gryffindor? Now that made one of his eyebrows moved up in questioning. “Morning Severus!” Racc greeted sweetly to the man while urging the group to move in. “Morning Racc,” he acknowledged her greeting and closed the door as the last one get in. “So why is she here?” He asked, pointing his elegant finger at the odd Gryffindor. “Aw! Come on, Severus! We know you want a big and fun Christmas party. So here we are, including her and a few Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff,” Racc patted his shoulder like an old friend then dragged the man to the kitchen with her.

In his small, rather tiny kitchen, Snape was grumpily as seven pairs of eyes were following every single of his movements. He then felt regretted of sending out his invitations to some of his former students. Apparently, they invited a few more that were not in his house. It was not like he disliked other houses, but he knew clearly that they did not fond of him. He could not understand why some of them agreed to come in the first place.

“I did not force them to go,” Racc finally spoke up when she noticed the discomfort in the man’s face. “They come willingly and happily. You will be surprised of how they think of you.”

“I would rather not know,” he murmured. “Addi! Don’t touch that!”

Addi looked up to see a very concerned Snape reaching out and grabbed her wrist as she was trying to poke her finger into the oven. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, surprised majority of the people in the room of how warm his voice could be.

She nodded and smiled fondly to the man. “I’m alright,” she said, rubbing her thumb on his forearm.

Nel, a Hufflepuff, suppressed a rising laugh as she saw Snape’s face turned slightly pink. Unfortunately, she broke out in the end and erupted the whole room.

“OMG! What are you doing to my Snape?” Lad entered the kitchen at that moment and saw Snape tried to release his hold on Addi’s wrist, who then refused to let him go.

“Go for it, Addi!” Racc laughed and supported Addi, knowing the girl had a little crush at their former head of house.

And it did not end well as Lab joined the two and tried to separate Addi from Snape. The man finally snapped and forced all of his students out of the kitchen and put up an Imperturbable Charm on the door. “Stay in the living room and don’t touch anything!” He screamed and angrily walked back to finish the gingerbread men that supported to be in the oven by now.

“Uhm, sir?” A voice should not be there suddenly spoke up.

Snape’s head turned around immediately and found the odd Gryffindor. “Why are you still here?” He definitely was not please to see her.

“Uhm, I’m stuck?” her answer sounded more like a question.

“What do you mean by… stuck?” his voice trailed off as he found the edge of her shirt stuck between the joint of his table and one of its legs. “How did it get in there?” He arched one of his eyebrows and waited for her reply.

She looked down at her shirt and looked back up to him. “I… don’t know, sir!”

Snape found his left face was twitching as if all the nerves were trying to break out. His flick his wand and her shirt freed from the table. He did not speak another word and turned around.

The only sound remained in the kitchen was from the whisk hit slightly to the bowl, her breathing, and his soft murmur.

Unknown to Snape, the group he forced away had a very different plan.

“Now, we can decorate the house for him!” Racc beamed at her friends, grinning a bit too much like a Cheshire Cat. She knew the man would not want to celebrate Christmas fully. He just wanted a little gathering with his former students. However, she had none of that. She wanted him to have a best Christmas ever, and she willingly sacrificed whoever or whatever to achieve her goal. Currently, the first victim was JJ, the odd Gryffindor, whose life status was unknown to them.

“I want to be in there with him,” Addi pursed her lips, totally ignored Racc’s announcement.

“I planned for you to be there,” Racc sighed. “I just did not expect to see our wonderful Lad to join the situation, unannounced.”

“Shut up, woman!” Lad snapped. “How the hell should I know if you refuse to inform me the plan?”

“I owled you, flooed you, and even came to your fucking house, but you’re nowhere to be seen,” Racc cursed. “Don’t blame me of what happened!”

“Hey guys! Cool off! Okay?” Nel stepped in between the two. “We come here to make a special Christmas for Snape, not to see you two fight off like a married couple.”

“JJ is in there and she knows what to do,” Ophiuchus said. “Let divide up and change his place a bit for the party. Those cookies will be ready very soon and we don’t have much time to surprise him.”

Racc and Lad looked at each other for a few minutes before nodding in a silent agreement that they would continue the lame argument later on, in private. Racc quickly gave out the instruction of what they would do. Then they went out by their own or with another person or two with their wands in hand, prepared to make give Snape a surprise.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, JJ was sitting on a stool and watching Snape moving around the kitchen. She felt uneasy but she needed to keep an eye at the man before the group finished what they planned. So she took all of her Gryffindor courage, which currently hid off somewhere in her body and refused to appear, and made a request.

“Sir, do you want me to help with the cookies?” she nervously spoke.

Snape remained quiet for almost fifteen minutes, then he said, “Now, tell me, before I kick everyone out of my house, what you guys are planning.”

JJ’s eyes opened as wide as possible. She had no idea where on earth he picked up that idea but she kept her face straight and calmly replied, “What are you talking about, sir?”

“You know my role in the war well enough to understand that I can tell whether you lie or not,” Snape warned. “And stop the stupid sir, I’m not your professor anymore.”

“You never give me the permission to address you differently, so calling you sir is the most reasonable option,” she kept her voice steady but her palms sweated like hell. “And I have no idea of what you’re trying to get from me.”

“Get out,” he ordered.

JJ took a deep breath and shook her head, “No, I need to be in here.”

“Why? To keep an eye at me while those dunderheads destroy my house?” Snape hissed dangerously. His mood definitely did not go down as JJ expected.

JJ took a deep breath and made the most stupidest decision in her life. She jumped off the stool, walked around the kitchen table and stood right next to Snape.

“We choose to come here because we want you to have a best Christmas ever,” her voice was low and soft, but it did not lose its power. “Whatever you are trying to build in that thick head of yours are not even true. Do you know why only a Gryffindor in this weird group? Because I admire your talents and I love your lectures, even though, you’re the most scariest professor I ever had. And I believe everyone comes to your today share the same idea. You can think negatively as much as you like, but if you want to throw me and everyone out? You need to step over my fucking dead body!”

She was furious of his annoying ability of doubting everything around him, so she spoke without even thinking. Words just came out unprepared. However, her words did make the man to freeze on the spot and stared back at her. A flick of surprise showed in his deep dark-color eyes and she almost wanted to smile at the sight but she chose not to.

They stood really close as she could feel his breath touched her face. Then, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her along. She saw the kitchen’s door opened wide and he pushed her to the other side. She was waiting for him yell or scream at her, but his voice never came. She looked at him and saw a blank face. He stood there unmoved. Her eyebrows knitted in, curiously following his eyes’ direction and then, she knew of the reason.

His living room had became someone else’s house. Lights and Christmas decorations made the place more cozy and welcomed. A Happy Christmas sign hung brightly above his fireplace. A few socks stuck below the sign. She noticed they brought in a small Christmas tree as well. Nel and two Ravenclaws were still working on it. Next to the tree placed numerous gifts from everyone that came to his house. The atmosphere in his house definitely changed for that evening.

The moment the kitchen’s door opened, everyone’s attention landed on the man of the house, whose face froze of all emotion. Racc quickly yelled, “Happy Christmas, Severus!!” and flicked her wand as the traditional Christmas music began to play softly in the background and the place brightened up with beautiful lights.

Before Snape could explode his temper, his oven announced his gingerbread men were ready. Racc smiled up, smugly, and signaled everyone to stand up. In a blink of an eye, everyone threw themselves at the man and squeezed him in a super big hug, which painted a darker shade on his face.

The music continued playing in the background while the delicious smell from the oven spread around the house.

The man rooted at the spot, unmoving from the assault of his former students.

And… that was how Snape spent his Christmas.

(I wrote this piece and originally posted it in Discord: A Civil Snape Server. There will be a little sequel after the holidays. Enjoy and Happy Holidays, everyone!)