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sp1cy-t0ss · 1 year

Text

Antares

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45534721

The first thing Nightwing hears upon regaining consciousness is ominous chanting. A man’s voice rings out over the rest, ranting about an Eternal King, infinite power, and -- oh boy -- sacrifices. He tunes it out to assess the situation.

He’s in an old warehouse. Robin’s here too, looking even more annoyed than Nightwing feels, and both of them have their hands and ankles bound in rope. His comm is on silent, just as he left it, like an idiot. The ranting man and his followers in matching robes are gathered around a ritual circle in the middle of the floor. Yeah, that tells him all he needs to know. They need to get out, now.

Unfortunately, that’s exactly when the leader finishes his speech and turns to them.

“So,” the man asks with a cruel smile. “Which of you ‘heroes’ will have the honor of bringing our Lord to this plane?”

“I will.” Robin’s voice is sharp, unyielding.

The man is obviously surprised to receive an actual answer to his taunt, but obliges. He pulls Robin away without another word.

“What?! No! Robin, you can’t--” Nightwing’s protest is cut off with a punch to the stomach from one of the robed lackeys.

“I have my reasons, Nightwing; it must be me.” Robin’s face reveals nothing, but he gives a subtle hand signal: I have a plan.

Nightwing forces himself to calm down. They’ll get out of this. He just has to trust his Robin. While everyone’s eyes are off him, he quietly works at the amateur knots.

The leader drags Robin into the circle without a fight. He raises a jeweled dagger, intentions clear...

But Robin is faster. He bites his own wrist, hard, and spits his blood into the circle. The runes light up in terrible Lazarus green, and Robin pushes himself upright with a malicious grin.

The lead cultist scrambles back from the circle and into a deep bow. The chanting stops as his minions follow suit. Robin continues to look far too smug for his situation. Nightwing feels a headache coming on somewhere under his renewed panic.

This is his plan?!

There’s a blinding flash of light. When the spots clear from Nightwing’s vision, the Eternal King is floating in the circle, mere feet from the bound Robin.

The Eternal King isn’t quite the grotesque horror he expected. Their body is a glittering black void, a sleek humanoid shadow with misty white hair and bright, bright eyes of toxic green. A cold fog rolls off of their body in waves.

“Antares,” the shadow rumbles, and Nightwing feels static thrum in his bones with the sound. The room is painfully cold, but the King doesn’t seem aggressive yet. Maybe they really can bargain their way out of this mess.

Robin doesn’t flinch. He looks the Eternal King right in the eyes, utterly fearless, and smirks. “Hello, Beloved.”

What?

The King stares silently, floating closer. For a long moment, no one moves. No one speaks.

“My lord, does the sacrifice please you?” The ringleader cuts in, standing up with a greedy gleam in his eyes.

Something in the air changes as the King turns toward the man. Something cold, electric, heavy under the skin. Nightwing suppresses a shiver as he works through the last of the rope.

“You d̵̢̛a̵̼̽ṙ̴͎e̵͙̐.”

The leader pales and falls to his knees. “My Lord, if this offering is insufficient, we have another--”

The King s̴̱̖̺̺̓͊̕̕ć̵͇͇͔̈r̴̥͐e̸̥̬͌̂̌̊a̴̭̔̓̀̔͘m̵̯͑̋͌͠s̵̗̤̻̭̍̿, a furious howl that blurs Nightwing’s vision and claws his ears. The sound is everywhere, driving him to his knees. Growing shadows seem to absorb his little brother just as Nightwing realizes he’s blacking out.

They’re falling, they’re falling someone help they’re screaming he’s screaming make it stop dead on impact blood and bones make it stop make it STOP--

When he comes back to himself, it’s quiet. Nightwing blinks tears from his eyes, gasping for frigid air that pierces his lungs like knives. The floor outside the circle is covered in blood splatter. The cultists have all been struck down, and many aren’t moving.

But he’s not looking at them.

Because the monster is coiled around Robin like a snake, eyes burning as it surveys the room. Robin seems unharmed for now, but he has to get his baby brother away from that thing.

He steps forward, and those endless green eyes lock onto him. It snarls at his approach, revealing multiple rows of teeth. Claws subtly tighten on Robin’s shoulders. Nightwing sinks into a combat stance, and the creature braces itself to leap.

Pure, animal instinct screams that Nightwing won’t survive this fight.. It doesn’t matter. He’ll give his all like he always has, and Robin can escape. The others will find a way to take it down. He just has to buy time.

“Dove, it’s alright.”

To Nightwing’s amazement, the creature freezes. It turns to look at Robin, warbling in apparent confusion before turning back to Nightwing with a hiss.

Robin grabs its face in both hands and forces it to look at him. “No. That’s Nightwing, remember? He will not harm us. I am safe. We are safe.” His voice is steady, soothing as he gently presses their foreheads together. A spark of awareness slowly returns to ‘Dove’s’ eyes.

“Come back to me.”

The monster sags in Robin’s grip, slowly folding in on itself until a nearly-human teen with snowy white hair is left floating gently in its place.

Robin smiles, gentle and shockingly warm. “There you are.”

‘Dove’ is shaking. Their eyes are locked on Robin, as though he’s the only thing in their universe. “Antares,” they breathe, before wrapping Robin in a tight hug.

Robin briefly looks to Dick, gesturing toward the cultists. He then returns his attention to the distraught being, resting his chin on their head and both hands on their back. The obvious dismissal makes Nightwing uneasy, but the kid has a point. They'll just have to check him for hypnosis or mind control back at the Cave.

Now that Nightwing is actually looking at the cultists, their injuries are horrific. Deep lacerations, stab wounds, frostbite, severed limbs...none of them seem likely to die with medical treatment, but every last one is maimed.

The ringleader is worst of all. His eyes are gouged out, and his hands ripped off and cauterized by the same unearthly frost that burns scattered marks into his skin. An unfamiliar symbol has been clawed into his chest.

Nightwing looks back to the circle, where Dove is quietly sobbing. Their face is tucked securely into Robin’s neck, and Nightwing hears whispers of I was scared and can’t lose you too.

This is the same person?

By the time the cultists are all secured and the police have been called, Dove seems to have calmed down. Time to play the diplomat. Again.

Damn, maybe Steph has a point about Eldest Daughter Syndrome.

“I, uh, hate to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here, yeah? GCPD will be here in a couple minutes,” he proposes with a friendly smile.

Dove wipes their eyes. “Right.” Then they look around the room and wince. “Uhm, sorry you? Had to see that? I...panicked. You’re okay though, right? Not hurt or anything?” The question is disarmingly earnest, and there’s nothing but concern in their eyes. Hm.

“Nah, not a scratch,” Nightwing dismisses. Then he remembers he’s apparently talking to a king. “Thank you for saving Robin, Your Highness,” he adds with a bow of his head.

“Nuh-uh, no titles. Gross.” The King makes a face, then smiles with renewed cheer. “Call me Phantom. He/him, ghost, and general pain in the ass, at your service!” He floats higher and punctuates his announcement with a midair flip. “You might as well know, since we’re gonna be seeing each other a lot now.”

Crap. “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Nightwing ventures.

‘Phantom’ exchanges a meaningful look with Robin. Nightwing barely has time to register the mischief on both their faces before Robin pulls the being down into a kiss.

A deep kiss now. Really deep. Yeah, they’ve definitely forgotten he’s here.

When they finally separate, Robin looks quite satisfied. Phantom, however, sticks out a forked tongue and scrunches his face. “Blech, blood. What did you...” His eyes land on Robin’s still-bloody wrist, then the droplets still in the circle.

“You didn’t.” A grin creeps across his face. “You have me on soul speed dial and you still hijacked a whole-ass summoning!”

“Tt. I was making a point.” Robin crosses his arms.

Phantom cackles. “You are literally the most dramatic person I’ve ever met!” he crows.

Robin raises an eyebrow and gestures to the warehouse full of mangled cultists. Phantom opens his mouth to retort, but it’s at this point that Nightwing finally manages to pull his jaw off the floor and speak.

“Robin,” he says with deliberate calm. “What the fuck.”

And then they hear police sirens. Fantastic.

“Crap. Don’t worry, I got it!” Phantom declares as he rips a green hole in existence. Robin is unfazed, which is rapidly getting less and less surprising.

A woman in the corner stirs. Phantom makes a ‘one moment’ gesture before he stalks over and yanks her forward with a growl. “You’ve kept your tongue for a reason. Spread the word: Robin is mine.” (Robin stands taller, obviously pleased by that extremely concerning statement.) The woman nods frantically, and Phantom drops her to the ground.

Without further preamble, Phantom zips back over and shoves both vigilantes through the rip.

Just like that, they’re all in Damian’s bedroom. The two boys immediately sit together on the edge of the bed, while Dick remains standing. Dick doesn’t even know where to begin, so he can only give a helpless ‘why’ sort of gesture. Thankfully, Damian seems to take pity on him.

“Richard, this insufferable fool is my Beloved. His name is Danny, and he is seventeen.” Then he smirks. “You may refer to him as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms; The Tyrant’s Bane, True Balance, Son Of Stars, Pride of Time, Death’s Chosen--”

The ghost groans dramatically, flopping across Damian’s lap like a wet noodle. “Oh my gawd, Dames, why would you tell him that?”

"It is very important that Richard recognizes your position and authority.” Damian says, not even trying to sound convincing.

Danny reaches up and pushes at Damian’s face. It brings to mind a pair of cats, especially with Damian doing his best to look annoyed instead of fond. “Betrayal! I want a divorce!”

That’s the last straw. Dick chokes on his own spit and has to thump his chest a few times to breathe right again. With monumental effort, he manages to wheeze out a strangled “Are you MaRriEd?!”

Danny tries to sputter out a reply, but Dick is distracted by Damian laughing. It’s a low, light sound, with no attempt made to disguise it.

“Of course not,” Damian says. He cards a hand through Danny’s hair, the other boy sighing contently and looking up at him with adoring neon eyes. “We've only courted for seven months now. It will be another three years before we wed.”

Dick is just. Gonna ignore that last bit. For his own sanity. “Wait, how did you keep a whole boyfriend secret for seven months? In this family?”

“Bribery.” “Threats.”

Yeah, that sounds about right. Babs and Duke probably know then.

“Cool, good to know. One more question.” Well, more like a billion, but he may as well start with an icebreaker before the inevitable interrogation. Besides, it’s a big brother's duty to embarrass his siblings. “Why Dove?”

Damian says nothing, but his deep blush is almost audible.

“Because I’m cute and fluffy!” Danny chirps.

“Hardly,” Damian scoffs. “It’s because you are raucously annoying and constantly crash into windows.”

Literally everything about this situation is baffling, but Danny looks so offended that Dick can’t help but laugh.

“You lying asshole!” Danny screeches.

Damian turns to Dick. “He attempted to use a grapple three times and broke eleven windows; four of them with his face. I have videos.” Danny gasps, the two start bickering, and Dick is left to his thoughts once more.

Even as the pair separate to point fingers and trade increasingly creative insults, their body language is completely relaxed. As much as Dick is panicking about a powerful undead monarch around their family, Damian is happy. He has been for months, now that Dick thinks about it. He’s been loosening up a little, leaving the manor more, and even mentioning a few new friends (though he refuses to use the word.)

Whoever or whatever Danny is, he’s been good for him.

“Well,” Dick cuts in, interrupting an inventive declaration about overripe cheese. “We’ll obviously need to talk about this. But for what it’s worth,” he smiles. “I’m happy for you, Baby Bat.”

With that said, Dick walks out of the bedroom. Danny gives him a grateful smile, and a quiet thank you, Richard can be heard as he closes the door behind him.

Dick walks away at a leisurely pace until he reaches the end of the hallway, where he promptly breaks into a sprint toward the Cave. Checking the Batcomputer to make sure Damian hasn’t noticed the planted bug yet, he turns on his comms. Unsurprisingly, the entire family is yelling and demanding answers.

Well, at least he won’t be the only one having a heart attack tonight.

#dp x dc #dead serious #they're 16 and 17 #danny says he wants a divorce at every mild inconvenience #danny has dozens of titles and damian has memorized every last one entirely to annoy him #they alternate between adorable cats and those heckling muppets #spice writes #dc x dp #danny x damian

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unfinishedslurs · 1 year

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jock on jock violence (past steve/tommy)

“Just leave people alone, Tommy,” Harrington says lowly. Dangerously. Harrington’s always been dangerous, in the way that straight, entitled jocks have always been dangerous to Eddie, but sometimes Eddie thinks he dropped the crown to pick up a sword. There’s something sharper about him now, something that wasn’t there before Halloween. Different from the fake smiles and shifty eyes after the Byers kid went missing. Not that Eddie’s been looking.

“Leave them alone?” Hagan demands. “Like how you left me alone?” And wow, is he delusional? Did he just completely forget about his girlfriend, Hargrove, and the entire fucking basketball team?

“Not everything is about you! Seriously, man? You’re just gonna twist what I’m saying like that?” Harrington snaps, and oh, Eddie doesn’t want to be here for this. If the former king and his old lackey duke it out, he does not want to get caught in the crossfire. “Jesus, grow up. Sorry I got sick of being a total dick.”

“Oh, yeah, now you’re just sucking Byers’s—“

“You want to go there? Do you really wanna go there, Tommy?”

Shit, Eddie should not be here for this.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Hagan says, suddenly panicked.

“I thought you liked my mouth.”

Eddie has to practically stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from sputtering.

“What the fuck, man,” Hagan hisses. Eddie knows he’s looking around, even though no one’s in the bathroom except them and Eddie. And Eddie’s never going to breathe a fucking word of this to anyone, on account of not wanting his face rearranged ten times over. “What, are you some kind of fag now? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Harrington almost sounds bored when he replies. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

“I told you to watch your mouth.”

“You gonna shut me up?”

“What has gotten into you?” Hagan finally asks the million dollar question. Harrington’s acting like he’s got a fucking death wish. “One minute we’re calling out Byers for being a creep, and the next you’re dumping me like it’s nothing. And now you’re suddenly best buds? Even after he stole your girlfriend twice? You know how pathetic that is, right? What, do you share her or something? The slut putting out—“

There’s a rustle of clothes, and then a thud, like something—someone getting slammed into a wall.

“Don’t talk about Nancy like that,” Harrington growls. “This isn’t about her.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, man, it’s about you being a total asshole, and I’m telling you to leave people the fuck alone.”

“Or what?” Hagan almost sounds amused, over obvious nerves. He’s not even trying to escape the hold he’s in. “I’m stronger than you, and we both know it. You’ve still got a concussion, don’t you? Hargrove told me he beat your face in.”

“Hargrove this, Hargrove that. You sound like you’ve got a crush or something. You suck him like you sucked me?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“You can’t win this fight, Steve.”

“I don’t need to. Mutually assured destruction, asshole. You stop hurting people, and I won’t tell the entire town about us.”

Oh shit. Oh shit. Harrington sounds serious. It almost makes him sick to his stomach, even as a hysterical laugh tries to bubble out. Who woulda guessed that the former king of Hawkins High had enough guts to paint himself as a queer to their conservative, stick in the mud town?

That is, if Hagan doesn’t fucking kill him first.

“You wouldn’t.” Hagan sounds panicked now, and for good fucking reason. He’s been on the “right” end of what happens to their kind of freaks for years. How quickly would the vultures turn on him? They descended on Harrington pretty damn quick.

“Wanna bet?”

“You do that, you lose everything. Peace, daddy’s money, your precious sports scholarships…”

“I’m not going to college,” Harrington says. “Look in my eyes, Hagan. Do I look like I’m bluffing? I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Eddie has to keep in a scoff at that. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that there’s always something to lose with shit like this. Namely your life.

This is fucked. This is so fucked. Eddie wants out of this stall, Jesus H. Christ. He’d take Mrs. Smith’s class anyday over knowing one wrong move will end with two jocks beating his fucking face in for hearing something he wasn’t supposed to hear. Or potentially having to jump in to try and save Harrington’s stupid fucking mug.

There’s a long pause that does absolutely nothing for Eddie’s nerves, before Hagan finally spits out, “Fine.”

“What was that?”

“Fine.”

“Good man,” Harrington says, as if they’re discussing some kind of business deal and not outing themselves in front of God and Mrs. Jenkins and everyone. “Now get the fuck outta here, Tommy.”

Rustling, quick footsteps, and then the door opens and shuts without a word.

Silence.

Eddie sighs in relief.

“Hello?” Harrington asks, voice on edge.

Shit.

His stall door swings open, and there he is, in all his fallen kingly glory. Bruise over one eye, scowl on his face, and dangerous set to his shoulders that Eddie knows all too well.

“Uhh, hi?” Eddie squeaks. He’s still sitting like fucking Gollum, feet on the toilet, unlit cigarette in hand. He drops it, and neither of them look away from each other as it rolls behind the toilet bowl.

Excellent first impression, really.

“What the fuck, man?” Harrington asks. “Were you just listening to that?”

“Look,” Eddie says quickly. “In my defense, I was here first. Also, if he saw me, Hagan was definitely going to beat me up. Except, uh, you’re definitely going to kick my ass anyway for hearing that, so I probably should just cut my losses and accept death at this point.”

Harrington doesn’t seem to know what to say to this, mouth opening and closing slowly.

“Also, for the record?” Eddie says. “I won’t say anything. I know you have, like, zero reason to trust me, but I’m really good at secrets, dude, like you wouldn’t believe. I haven’t even told Jeff that Gareth—anyways, secrets? What secrets? I didn’t hear anything. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

He gets a scathing look in return. “If you tell anyone—“

“Wait, wait, wait! You said something about mutually assured destruction, right? I get it. I get it, Harrington, fuck, you know I do. Who would believe me if I blabbed, anyway? Who are they gonna believe, the King or the Freak?”

Harrington sighs, but he must see the truth in what Eddie said because he moves away from the stall. Takes a wad of paper towels and starts running them under the sink.

It emboldens Eddie enough to follow him. “I mean, really, they’d probably just call it wishful thinking or something. Plus, I’m pretty sure most of the school would rather die than talk to me, so, like, you’re safe, man. I’ve already blacked it out in my memory, it’s gone.”

It seems like Harrington has tuned him out, pressing the wet paper towels to his forehead and eye. That’s good, because Eddie doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore.

“Also, for the record? That was badass. I don’t think I’d have the guts to do that, even if the entire town kind of knows about me anyway. Which, wow, you were really good at hiding it. Hagan I kind of suspected, given the giant fucking boner he had for you, but you—“

“Do you ever shut up?”

Eddie’s mouth shuts with a click. Harrington sighs again and pinches his nose, looking almost like a mother trying to herd her seven rambunctious children into the minivan. His hands are shaking.

“You okay, man?” Eddie finally asks quietly.

Harrington doesn’t say anything, just presses the paper towels over both eyes, like he’s trying to stave something off. Oh, shit, is he…

“Are you…crying?”

“What? No,” Harrington says, obviously lying. “It’s the light, I get headaches. Concussion.”

“Right.”

“Look, can we just forget this ever happened?”

“Already forgotten,” he promises. “But, uh, for the record? That was really brave of you, man.”

“I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

“That actually kind of surprises me, because I could not tell from your voice. You sounded like you were ready to march up to The Post then and there and spill all Hagan’s dirty little secrets. All ‘I’ve got nothing to lose,’ and shit.” He pitches his voice lower, in a mimic of some action movie hero or something.

Harrington finally laughs, and something in Eddie thrills at it. “I pulled that outta my ass,” he admits. “I knew he would believe it, ‘cause to him I already did lose everything. My friends, my girlfriend, my…” he waves his hand around, “my status, or whatever. And a few screws, probably.”

“Well I can attest to the screws, because I think you might be actually insane. You cornered him in an empty bathroom without checking to see if it was actually empty and threatened to out him to the entire town? I thought I was going to have to save your life, Jesus shit. Don’t fucking do that, do you have a death wish or something?”

“I did check,” Harrington snaps. “I looked under the stalls, and none of the doors were locked. Who the hell sits on a toilet like that anyway? You looked like one of those ugly stone fuckers, the ones they put on buildings and shit.”

Eddie bursts out laughing, too incredulous to be offended. “You mean gargoyles?”

“Whatever. Besides, Hagan won’t kill me. He’s too much of a coward.”

“I hate to break it to you, Harrington, but cowards are dangerous too.”

“Not Tommy’s kind of coward” Harrington says. “Not to me.” He wonders about the surety in his voice. Does he think Hagan still has feelings for him? Ex-boyfriends can be the worst kind of assholes. Hell hath no fury like a man scorned. Harrington gives him a look, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. “He’s a bully and an asshole, but he doesn’t have the guts,” he insists. “He’s no Hargrove.”

Eddie sneers. “Hargrove. The guy’s a fucking psycho.”

“Tell me about it,” Harrington says dryly. He finally looks at Eddie, eyes him up and down. Eddie could take him, honestly, he’s scrappy and Hagan wasn’t lying when he said everyone knows Harrington can’t win a fight. Pair that with the concussion he’s sporting, and it’d probably take a love tap to take him down. But he doesn’t want to.

“You’re probably better off without Hagan anyway,” he offers helpfully. It doesn’t work, just makes Harrington look like a kicked puppy, damaged and sad and cold. It makes Eddie want to take him in as one of his little lost sheep, honestly, which is an impulse he pushes far, far down. Abdicated or not, a king is no fit for a freak’s friend. Even if he and Byers have been pretty friendly.

“I know,” he says. “But he was still my friend, you know? Like, the first one I ever had. Maybe that’s why it took me so long to realize.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s an awkward silence, where Harrington turns his focus back to the mirror. Eddie clears his throat and tries to lighten the mood. “So, you and Byers…”

The look he receives could make the Demogorgon shake in his boots. “Don’t you have a class to fail or something? You should probably go to that before—”

The bell interrupts Harrington perfectly, and he snaps his mouth shut. Eddie snorts.

“Think it’s a little late for that, but I know a dismissal when I see one. See you around, Harrington.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hey, remember—“

“I know,” he calls behind him, striding for the door. “Mutually assured destruction!”

Leaving the bathroom feels like being reborn a whole new man. He swears the air is cleaner than it ever was before he went in. His last glance behind himself shows Harrington looking in the mirror, no sign of moving as the door shuts.

As he’s walking to his next class, he spies Wheeler and Byers huddled together, whispering. They look worried.

They both startle when he speaks. “If you’re looking for Harrington,” he says quietly, stopping next to them, “check the smoke bathroom, by the band hall. I think he’s still in there.”

Wheeler’s brows furrow, but Byers gives him a nod, already moving. Eddie moves along as Wheeler shoots him a quick look of gratitude before following, books hugged to her chest.

Eddie doesn’t know what’s going on between the three of them, but he kind of wants to now, especially considering Harrington’s non-answer when he asked. He doubts Wheeler is a cover-up, not after her and Harrington’s breakup and the quiet, lovey-dovey honeymoon phase she and Byers seem to be having. The one that kind of seems to tear Harrington to pieces sometimes, even as he sits with them and walks to class with them and even hangs out with them outside of school, if Jeff really saw the three of them at the diner together last week. Maybe Steve Harrington’s a secret masochist.

Then he remembers the bruise yellowing around his eye, the weird tension he has with the guy who beat him up last year. The way he damn near begged Hagan to beat his ass in the bathroom. Not so secret, then.

Whatever. It’s none of Eddie’s business. He’s gonna soil his reputation if he keeps focusing on Hawkins royalty like this. Never mind the way Harrington’s soiled his own reputation enough. So what if King Steve isn’t king anymore? He’s still just another pretty face.

A pretty face, with nice arms and big eyes and thighs. And he’s queer, and doesn’t seem like the kind of closeted that would have the usual jock shove him away after getting a blowie. Shit.

His lungs itch for the cigarette he never got to smoke. Too bad the bathroom is occupied.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #tommy hagan #post s2 #jock on jock violence au #stommy #onesided steddie #implied stoncy #this is the closest i ever came to finishing something if i ever write a beginning it's going on ao3 #we stay billy bashing 💪#are tommy and billy fucking? up to interpretation #i fully believe eddie would crouch on the toilet to smoke like a fucking gremlin #stranger things fanfic

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korpuskat · 9 months

Text

Spectrum

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: Mature (sexual content referenced, but not explicit) WC: 2,918 Warnings: None Sequel to In A Different Light -----

The lackey behind the counter hardly looks up, barely says anything as they pass you the repair request forms. It's fine, you get it. Menial labor, repetitive office bullshit, dealing with the guys who walk their mechs into walls when training while trying to avoid the higher-ups gaze. Normal Talon stuff. This is perfectly true until he asks you what floor of the barracks you're on, what wing.

And suddenly the lady behind him perks up. She doesn't even try to hide how she looks you over, making some unspoken assessment, then grins and returns to her tablet.

The barely suppressed smile infects his voice with excitement. "Don't suppose you're in 1813, are you?"

Oh. Fuck. "Yeah, I am."

"Kinda wondering when you'd make it down here." He says, typing in your information. "If you would."

You shouldn't say anything. You really, really shouldn't.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, you know." He grins at you, fucking winks like you're in on the joke. "There was a pool if you'd be here or the infirmary first."

The infirmary? Why would you- actually, he did break your bed and leave a hole in your wall and you have had this peculiar ache behind your belly button and you definitely have huge purple splotches over your hips where he'd grabbed you, so, okay, that's fair.

"I guess you won then." Is the light-lipped answer you come up with, unsure how to explain that you really don't want to be part of this conversation anymore. Please, just fix your bed and wall. Gossip when you're not around.

The guy opens his mouth- and you feel it before his expression changes. A cool wind brushes against the back of your neck, down your spine, over the backs of your arms. Sickly, somehow, like the air itself clings to you, crawls on you. Everyone behind the counter looks away. His joy is gone, but the fear is carefully masked. "Reason for repairs?"

Behind you, boots stomp by. He doesn't leave, from the sound, from the way nobody exhales. You don't look, keep your eyes trained on the counter, on a little fleck where the linoleum is peeling away. He's somewhere in a corner, waiting for something. "Accident."

The lackey visibly cringes. Suddenly he, too, doesn't want to be in this conversation. "Gotta be more specific."

Fucker. Your voice is barely restrained as you bite out, "Sparring accident."

Behind you, the Reaper snorts.

When Ramattra returns to your base, perhaps only two weeks later, you really expect him to just proceed as business as usual. Like nothing had happened; he'd sated his curiosity, you're off his radar. Figuratively. You do not, under any circumstances, expect to be pulled off regular duties to be part of his temporary squadron.

It's a formality. He doesn't need one. He's here to inspect an airship, to discuss modifications to be made before it goes into mass production.

With an irritated sigh and wave of his hand, he summarily dismisses the entire squadron as soon as he sees them waiting in the hangar. The rest leave. You should join them. It's so... presumptuous, to think he thinks about you, that he even remembers you. He's leading a revolution for his people and you're a grunt he fucked once. But your boots may as well have been glued to the floor, no matter how much you want to scream at yourself to move, to turn away, you can't.

And his gaze settles on you.

And he nods towards the airship's ramp.

You follow behind him.

It's the first time you watch him leave. Every time before- three, now, not that you're counting- he's quietly departed your quarters. After making sure you're well cared for. That part had always confused you- left your chest aching in a way completely different than your hips.

But this time, you're not left alone in your mattress working up the courage to go file a repair request again. No, as part of his squadron you get to see him off this time. It's all a show, Ramattra had complained about it before- serves nothing but to boost their little human egos. He wasn't wrong, there's no need for you to be here. In fact, you really don't want to be here.

You've never seen Doomfist in person, but he personally escorts Ramattra to his shuttle. He speaks confidently, but quietly enough you can't make out what he's saying, even as he gestures broadly with his cybernetic arm. Even seeing him content makes your stomach flip uneasily, not wanting to be around if something does go wrong.

Ramattra... looks different. It's hard to believe how quickly you've become used to seeing him relaxed. Not just when he's moving in you- no, even when he sits with you, walks about the base, he never looks like this anymore. All seriousness and focused, the weight of the world back on his shoulders.

They speak a moment more, then Ramattra bows his head and turns towards his ship. He stops-

and across the launch bay, Ramattra's faceplate turns towards you. He pauses. Says nothing, hardly moves- but you know. He's looking directly at you. You stare back, unsure why you have his attention now- and ever so slightly his head dips. A tiny nod goodbye, just for you.

Your chest aches.

You smile slightly and nod back- and he's gone, entering his ship and flying away.

You don’t know who finally made the call to assign Ramattra temporary quarters at your base, but you would love to have seen that conversation. Because Ramattra’s voice is perfectly neutral as he comments that his quarters had not only a heavy duty, solid steel bed frame to support his weight- nevermind that he doesn’t sleep- but also reinforced walls.

They knew, of course. But the fact that someone high up enough knew to make the recommendation is what really gets you. Because nobody has said anything to you. Maybe they’re smart enough to- you doubt Ramattra would be particularly pleased with you being public knowledge.

And, well, not saying anything has ended up being your approach with Ramattra so far, too. Despite the frequency that he’d return to your doorway (and now you to his), or the repeated repair requests and occasional trips to medical and skeptical looks in return, you’d never explicitly asked what was going on. What exactly you were to him.

And normally that would be fine! Soldier’s bond or whatever, some bullshit to say “logistically and emotionally easiest lay.” It’s common enough. But you’ve never laid in a squadmate’s bed hours after, never dozed lightly in someone else’s blankets as they work at the desk a foot away- and never felt that perhaps that was still too far from you.

It’s the latter right now that sits heavy on your chest.

You shift beneath his sheets- a silky, deep purple that ripples with every moment. You watch, silent, as he turns some kind of device in his hands, taps it occasionally with an electric soldering iron. You sit up slowly, lean into his pillows. Even the pillowcases match. Probably actual silk knowing Talon’s propensity to keep their board members happy. Fuckers. He doesn’t even meditate on the bed.

“Ramattra,” The question bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “Can I… kiss you?”

He stills. But here, you must acknowledge how close you’ve gotten- because you can tell. Where someone else may feel that pang of fear, that his quiet is a wind-up to rage or impatience or condescension, no, you can read his shoulders perfectly. He’s genuinely contemplating the request.

He looks to you, and he doesn’t need a face for you to feel the incredulity in his voice. “You do understand I do not possess a mouth, correct?”

“I know.” You stand and sweep one thin blanket with you as you move to him. And here- he turns away from his project, sets his iron down, opens his arms for you. When you settle into his lap, he supports you- and when you reach for his face, his jaw, he lowers his head into your touch. You sweep a thumb across the lowest part of the white composite, feel the little crease between it and the purple of his jaw plate. “But I could still kiss you..”

His whole face rumbles into your palm as he hums, considering this. “Alright, though I do not understand what you would gain from this.”

And that is a lie, though you’re not sure who it’s for. It’s fine though, you don’t call him on it. Instead, you guide his head down as you stretch up- until your breath ghosts against him, leaving little puffs of foggy condensation. And you kiss him. Right across the seam between his plates, your lips squishing into the gap, flattening against his metal.

And it would be like kissing a training bot, all cold, motionless metal against your lips- and that must be what he expects you to feel, his disbelief you’d get anything from this. It would be, except for everything else about him. His hands come up to the curve of your spine, to the back of your head, cradling you so gently- and even with such a small display, his fans kick up, a quiet hum purring a hair louder from his chest. Without a mouth, he’s hardly unaffected- and against his faceplate you smile and pull away. His optics cannot, by design, be half-lidded and glazed, but you think they would be if they could.

“Did that… satisfy you?” He rumbles lowly.

“For now.” You grin and tuck yourself deeper into his lap. When he realizes you have no intention of returning to his bed, he makes a show of sighing and adjusting the stolen blanket so you’re well-wrapped and all the ends are tucked safely away before he returns to his work.

"Can I ask you a question?" You murmur, eyes still closed. He's foregone the blanket this time, holding you right up against his chest; you had curled up with him so quickly he hasn't even had time to put his paneling back on. The spars of his ribs are a little uncomfortable, but he's still so warm that you can't complain.

"Of course." His systems have already refreshed, perfectly capable of going on with his day. Unlike you, you're still wavering and floaty and in need of a shower. He's used to it. Being able to hold you afterwards is... enjoyable. He allows himself to trace shapes over your skin. He had noticed, once, how you smile softly when he does it.

"It's personal."

Ramattra's head shifts, looks down at you slightly. He's told you about himself. About the times before he was himself, about the Shambali, about the slave shops he's destroyed, about London. About Lanet. What could you possibly ask that you felt the need to warn him about first? "Go on."

"Who did you make your dick for?" Oh. He shifts awkwardly, ceases the motions of his hands. When he doesn't answer you continue, "You told me you didn't make it for humans, so, I dunno. Was just curious."

It takes several moments before he can manage to put together a stilted "Does it matter?"

You hum softly and lean back against him. "No." You swap the places of your hand with his, sweeping your thumb across the purple plating. You really didn't want to upset him- the likelihood his previous relationships have ended particularly badly is ridiculously high. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me about your exes. Like I said, just curious."

Ramattra has never quite understood the desire to grimace until now. It's not important, and yet... that annoying little whisper has returned to his circuits, prodding at his runtimes until he's forcing the words through his synth. "I don't... have any... 'exes'."

This makes the gears turn in your head. There's no way. "Like... you just didn't stay with any of them?" Even as hectic as his life has been, you cannot reconcile how tenderly he's holding you with him previously being a smash and dasher. It would make sense logistically- no danger of loss or being tied down and losing focus on his work, but… there’s just no way.

"No." He all but squirms. "I never used it before you."

"What?"

"I designed it for..." His voice cuts out as his vocoder fights him again. "...a particular omnic. To their model's... specifications. But I never used it."

You twist around in his arms, as much as he'd prefer you didn't. It's uncomfortable enough without having to see your face, without his still-not-put-away dick pressed between your bodies. "But... you told me you'd fucked before."

Around you, Ramattra bristles, his fans ramping up, his hands firming where they touch you. Too far, you did upset him. "Omnics do not need things as crude as genitals to be intimate."

The pieces come together. Not an ex, they'd been intimate, enough that he'd designed a dick just to hope, but never used it. He wanted more. You slide a hand around Ramattra's neck, over the dark plating his cowl usually hides. Normally, when you slide your fingers around the chunky cables of his mane, he'll purr or at least relax- no such luck. "Sorry," You murmur, and trace a finger along the long line of his jaw piece. "Thank you for telling me."

It takes a few moments, but eventually a soft stream of hot air slips from Ramattra's vents and he sighs. You take the cue and curl up close to him, wrapping your arms around him as best you can with his wide chest. When you think he's calmed enough, you do tack on one last comment. "I am glad you made it, though."

Thankfully, Ramattra laughs softly at that.

Ramattra holds white papers in his hand, carefully held between the rubber pads there, delicate as to not crease them before you can read them. His other hand twitches as his side, then balls into a fist. He does not meet your gaze when he enters his room. He stands there, just past the doorway, clenching and unclenching his fist, his fans slowly amping up.

"Rama?" You prompt him when he still doesn’t say anything, already scooting to the edge of his bed.

"I have to attend to the construction of a titan in person." It's flat, a statement, no particular inflection in his voice where you're clearly expecting something else. "I won't be able to return here for several weeks. At minimum."

Now it's you who looks away. It's a disappointment. You knew it was coming, three days together was already an incredible luxury. "Ah, I see." He's busy, you know this. Lots of hard work running an entire revolution almost by yourself. And you can't fault him for it- can't ask him to postpone. It's important work. "When will you have to leave?"

"Five hours. I'm also chartering transport of supplies. My omnium is short on copper wire, of all things." He says- and his focus shifts from the floor to the paper in his hands. He rubs it, watches as the paper flexes and bends, then returns to normal. You, too, observe his fidgeting and wait for the shoe to drop. You've always kind of waited for it.

"Are you- " He starts- and his synth immediately fizzles. The hand at his side tightens in frustration as he reboots it. "Are you pleased with... this?" The paper flops in his hand as he gestures vaguely between you.

This.

Never did have that conversation.

You bite your tongue, chance looking at him. None of the strain in his vocoder has made it to his faceplate, forever stuck in that passive, almost angry expression. "Yeah." If he wants to kick you out, that's fine, but you aren't going to lie about it. His visits to your base have easily become the best part of your job, the occasional message of where he is, of when he can make it back to you- it's completely different than anything you've had before. "Yeah, actually."

Ramattra's shoulders drop. "You are sure? Genuinely?"

You nod. And he holds out the paper. You don't even unfold it before he's explaining. "It's a reassignment order. Production of Null Troopers is increasing geometrically; ideally I would oversee all production lines directly from here on. It would be... advantageous to have someone else coordinate with Talon on my behalf while I am engaged with this.

"I will be very occupied. This is a critical period of staging. And I would be relying on you." Ramattra says, and there's a sternness laid over top. He wants it to sound like a job offer, to sound serious. It is, to some degree. But more than that-

"You..." The top of the paper is printed with Talon's logo, a big block of text follows, beneath is a signature line. Your eyes skim the page again- and read the most important line. Relocate to meet the needs of Null Sector. "You want me to come with you?"

A breath of silence takes the room, until he steps closer and takes one of your hands in his. So gently, he drags the rubber pad of his thumb over your knuckles. His faceplate focuses there, on the delicate bones of your hand, your wrist. "It would... please me greatly to keep you near."

The ache in your chest blooms out, spills over your cheeks.

#overwatch #ramattra #ramattra x you #Ramattra x Reader #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader #reader insert

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supernaturalgirl20 · 1 year

Note

I’ve got Joel living rent-free in my head, too.

Can I get something where Joel takes up for reader, and puts an idiot in his place for disrespecting his girl?

I’ve loved Joel from the game but the way Pedro plays him has me 🫠😍. Thank you for the request my love, gotta love a protective Joel. Hope you enjoy 😉

Someday

Pairings: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, cursing, mentions of prostitution, possessive Joel, feelings but no feelings.

A/N: requests still open for Joel Miller 🥰

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

You can’t remember how it started exactly. Or when for that matter. All you do know is that it was a mutual agreement to keep it business-like.

An outlet for you both to get some relief when the strain of this new life took its toll. Or when either one of you had an itch to scratch. Joel didn’t do feelings, and that was ok because neither did you or at least you didn’t. Now though, those lines are beginning to blur and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to hide it from him.

You knew if he ever found out, he’d run. He’d shut himself off from you and your heart would break. So, you don’t kiss when you fuck, don’t hold each other after and you don’t stay the night.

At least you didn’t. Now though, everything has changed.

***

You can feel his gaze on you from where he stands, leaning against the brick wall near the alleyway. He’d insisted that you weren’t going alone, especially not after what happened with Tess.

No amount of protesting on your part could change his mind. Joel Miller was a stubborn man and while most of the time you admired him for it, right now, you wanted to punch him.

Mack, one of Roberts's lackeys, was sitting across from you with a sick sinister smirk on his face as his gaze drifted from you to Joel. “Couldn’t haven’t left your guard dog at home?” His head tilts in Joel’s direction and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose trying to remain calm.

Trying hard not to punch this idiot in the fucking face. “Listen, are you interested or not? There are other smugglers in this area that I could go to.”

He sneers, leaning back in his chair with his arm slung across the thigh. “Oh, I’m interested all right, but not in your ration cards. Was thinking maybe you’d give me a go of that pussy? I mean if it’s good enough for Joel fucking Miller, it’s good enough for me.”

Your stomach churns at the thought of this man with his hands all over you, you’d rather get killed by a clicker but then you let your gaze flicker to the man you’ve come to love. His face hardened into an almost permanent scowl and how you’d give anything for him to have a small bit of happiness.

“Say I agree,” you say, voice low, hoping that Joel can’t make out what you're talking about. “I want the battery first. In perfect working condition or the deal is off.”

Mack sits up, his face a mixture of shock and delight at the prospect of getting his hands on you. “Damn, I gotta say I didn’t think you’d go for it. Then again, you ain’t nothin’ but a cheap whore…”

“The fuck you just say?”

You can see the fear creeping quickly into Mack’s face as he stares behind you to the source of the deep husky voice. Your gaze drifts upwards to find Joel standing directly behind you, his face stern and filled with rage.

“Now I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Joel, I was just playing is all.” Mack gulps nervously as he quickly stands, his chair falling onto the ground as he holds his hands up in surrender.

Joel steps forward but before he can get anywhere near Mack, you grab a hold of his arm pulling him back. His eyes drift to yours, his eyebrows furrowed in question before they drop to where your hand is touching him.

“Leave it, please,” you plead, and his gaze meets yours once again.

“Yeah, you heard her, leave it. Besides, she offered first.” Mack is slowly backing up but a growl rises from deep within Joel’s chest and he falters.

“What the fuck is he talk in’ about?” His eyes are boring into you, and you silently curse Mack and his big fucking mouth. “It’s nothing ok, just leave it. Let’s go.”

“No.” His voice is harsh and angry as he pulls out of your grasp turning his attention back to Mack. “What do you mean she offered first?”

“Told her I’d get her the car battery if she let me fuck her. She was gonna do it too. I mean I gotta hand it to ya, having two women on the go, you must be doin’ somethin’ right. The least you could do is pimp them out, make a living.”

Mack continues on his tangent, and you can see Joel getting angrier and angrier, his fists clenching at his sides but it isn’t until Mack calls you a dirty whore that he loses it.

Joel lunges at him, his fist connecting with Mack’s jaw knocking him on his ass. The squeal of pain that he emits as blood gushes from his nose draws the attention of some people and you pray you can stop Joel before a FEDRA agent arrives.

He continues to punch him over and over until Mack apologises to you. “Joel, please. Please we gotta go, he isn’t worth it.”

You plead over and over but it doesn’t get through, not until you place your hand on his shoulder and then his eyes turn to you. “Let’s go home.”

He looks back down at Mack and whispers something in his ear before he stands letting the man go. Turning to you he huffs out a breath in frustration, his face stern and nostrils flaring. Then he turns, grabs your wrist in his hand and pulls you along behind him back to his apartment.

The door closes with a bang, and he marches over to the kitchen, grabs a glass and his god-awful whiskey and pours himself a drink before downing it. The glass bangs on the table as he finishes.

You just stand there staring, hands wringing nervously as you take in the tension of his shoulders. “Joel.”

“Don’t!” He barks, his gaze turning towards you. “What the fuck were you thinkin’? Were you really gonna whore yourself out for the battery?” His voice is laced with anger as he steps towards you.

“I-I was just…. look it’s only sex. It wouldn’t have meant anything. Besides, it would have gotten you the battery and you could finally get out of here and find Tommy.” You turn away ashamed you had even considered it.

“And you thought I’d be ok with that, did ya? Thought I’d want to share what’s mine?” His voice breaks at the end, the hint of softness creeping in.

You turn to face him and startle at how close he’s gotten. Your eyes meet and for a brief moment, the world stops. You can’t hear your own breathing your heart is thundering against your chest so damn hard.

There’s a tension in the air and you feel something shift between you. His eyes drift briefly down to your lips before your gaze meets again. He steps closer. Invading your space and filling all your senses with him.

He smells like the bar of soap that you spent weeks trying to save for, that hint of citrus invading your senses and reminding you of the time before the world went to shit. He smells of sweat and dirt and that nasty whiskey he drinks every night.

He smells like home. Or as close as you’ll ever get to one now. His arm slides along the curve of your hip coming to rest on the small of your back, palm outstretched as he pulls you into him.

Your hand rests on his chest and you can feel his heart beating fast beneath it. You want to ask what he’s thinking. Or why he reacted the way he did but you don’t get the chance when his lips crash suddenly into your own.

It’s hot and frantic and his hand is gripping your hip tightly while the other grips you around the neck pulling you impossibly close as his mouth devours you.

You almost buckle when his tongue licks along the seam of your bottom lip, begging for entry and he groans lewdly when you open up to him.

He lifts you off your feet ever so slightly as he moves around the apartment towards his bed, pushing you back onto it as he stands staring down at you.

“Take it off,” he commands, his voice raspy and it sends a spark of arousal straight to your core. You quickly remove your underwear and trousers and slide back along the bed.

“All of it.”

You raise your eyebrows in question. He wants you naked! You’ve never been fully nude before, not with Joel. He always wants to be prepared to run. He can sense your hesitation. “I won’t ask again, darlin’.”

Lifting your top over your head you fling it onto the ground and your heart flutters nervously as you sit completely bare to him. His eyes rake over your naked curves and he groans, the outline of his cock prominent beneath his jeans.

His hands work off his belt and trousers and you assume he’ll leave it at that but then he grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head tossing it with yours on the floor.

“Hands and knees, darlin’.” He breathes as he takes his cock in his hand and pumps himself. You don’t waste any time, obeying him immediately. The rough pad of his fingers runs along the smooth skin of your back, and you shudder under his ministrations.

“I’ll show you, darlin’ whose pussy this is.” His voice is low, and you wonder silently if he meant for you to hear.

The head of his cock runs along your slick gathering your arousal and your breath hitches when he notches at your entrance and sinks in.

“God damn. So tight…so wet…always so wet, darlin’. All this for me?”

You moan into the tattered sheets beneath you as he fucks into you, his pace is brutal as he grips your hips tight.

“Yes.” You cry as you come for the first time, clenching tight around him.

“Damn straight this is my pussy. MINE! Ya hear. Fuck.” Suddenly he’s pulling out and flipped you into your back as he nestled between your thighs and sank back into your heat.

His hand grabs your thigh and lifts your leg over his ass as he rolls his hips into you. He’s a little softer this time. His lips caress the skin of your neck and breasts before pulling the bud of your nipple into his mouth.

His tongue licks in circles around its peak and you arch in response, your body tingling as you come hard again. “Joel.” You whimper and it somehow spurs him on as he begins to pound into you. The makeshift bed squeaked slightly with each thrust.

“Mine,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. “My lady. My darlin’. And I ain’t…. sharin’. You got that, ever.” His voice becomes raspy and his breathing ragged as he thrusts twice more before quickly pulling out and spilling onto your stomach.

He leans down and kisses you softly. Once. Twice. Before he pulls away and cleans you up, ordering you to dress again.

Your heart breaks a little and your stomach feels like you’ve been punched in the gut. He’s kicking you out, again. Why did you think that tonight was any different? That you might actually mean something to him?

You dress quickly and go to grab your stuff when his hand on your wrist stops you. “Where you goin’?”

“Back to mine, like always.” He shakes his head and takes the bag from you, placing it on the ground. “I think it’s about time you start livin’ here. Need to start letting those fuckers know you're my lady.”

“What about Tess?” You ask, voice betraying your jealousy. You think you see the hint of a smirk on his face, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appears.

“She’s a big girl. Besides, she ain’t my girl and she has her own spot. Now come on, darlin’. Let's get some rest.”

***

You brush your fingers gently along the scruff of his cheek and he stirs, a groan slipping from his lips as he seeks you out. The arm that was resting on his chest now slung across your hips, pulling you back into him.

Joel Miller has a hold on you. One that you cannot explain. One you're not sure even he knows he has on you, and it scares you a little, but if this is all you’ll ever have with him, then you’ll take it.

You’ll take him for all that he is. A shell of the man he once was with no penchant for feelings or emotions other than anger. A man who has suffered too many losses that he has cut himself off from ever being happy.

A man who kills first, asks questions later and protects those he holds dear, fiercely. This is why you want to help him get to his brother Tommy no matter what so that he can have a chance at being happy again. And if nothing else, simply because you love him.

And maybe he’ll bring you with him?

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#pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou joel

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torscrawls · 5 months

Text

Pressurized

Happy Holiday Truce @ectospacecadet! This is my gift for you, based on the prompt “Sometimes all it takes is one bad day to break someone: Danny snaps.” Hope it tastes good!

You can also read it on AO3.

“Fenton! Get up that rope!”

Danny clutched his aching left arm tight to his side, cursing Skulker and his attack early this morning as he moved to do as Ms. Tetslaff had ordered. The wound throbbed and radiated pain up his whole arm as he grabbed the rope and started to haul himself up.

“Ha! Fenturd is too much of a wimp to get up that rope!” Dash laughed and was soon joined by the rest of the A-listers.

Danny grit his teeth and reminded himself that what Dash and the rest thought about him really didn’t matter in the big picture. He had more important things to worry about. Like how to keep his wound from opening back up while making it to the top of the rope. Maybe he could use a touch of flight to—

Suddenly the whole rope heaved beneath him, writhing like a snake come alive, and Danny lost his grip. Thankfully the fall wasn’t long, but it still hurt when he landed—of course—on his wounded left arm.

Danny groaned from where he lay on the mat and as soon as he opened his eyes he got a face full of a grinning Dash, leaning over him and looking proud of himself. He still held the rope Danny had been climbing in one hand. Of course he had been the one to mess with him. Danny couldn’t even find it in himself to be surprised.

Danny turned his head to his side and saw Tetslaff on the other side of the room, not looking. Of course.

Dash laughed. “Wow, I didn’t know Fentoe was so weak he couldn’t even hold on to a rope!”

Danny reminded himself that Dash didn’t matter and that he didn’t care about what they thought, that he didn’t care about any of this. He didn’t.

Danny got to his feet, keeping his left arm close to his side. He felt a slow trickling of warmth run down the inside of his arm and really hoped his wound hadn’t opened back up. It would be just his luck.

Tucker jogged up next to him and sent him a concerned look. “Hey, you okay man?”

Danny took a deep breath, relaxed his clenched hands and let it out slowly before looking at Tucker and giving him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Considering Tucker’s grimace, he guessed he didn’t manage it, but his friend thankfully didn’t push the issue. And he was fine, this didn’t matter. It was just a slight annoyance. He would fix the wound after gym was over and then it would all be fine.

They were interrupted by Tetslaff suddenly deigning to look over towards them now that Dash had started climbing his own rope to the cheers of his friends. She frowned and immediately screamed, “Fenton! Foley! If you have time to just stand around talking, then you have time to run twenty laps! Get going!”

So Danny pushed down his pain and started running, Tucker by his side.

—-

After gym was over he waited until everyone else had finished changing out of their gym clothes before doing it himself, ignoring Dash and his lackeys continuous jabs and insults.

He didn’t feel like explaining his wound—which he was now certain he had reopened as the warm wetness on the inside of his arm hadn’t stopped and only gotten worse as time went on—and his extensive bruising. It would just raise a lot of questions. And probably even more insults, and even if Dash and the rest didn’t matter, Danny was too tired to deal with it right now.

He had to convince Tucker to go on ahead without him, “There’s no reason why we both have to be late. Besides, I don’t want them to start bullying you too.”

Apparently that hadn’t been as convincing as Danny had thought, but in the end he had managed to convince Tucker anyway and that was all that mattered.

As soon as the door closed and Danny was alone he let out a long sigh as his shoulders slumped. He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm with a grimace and then let out another sigh at the sight. Oh, he would definitely be late for the next class. He dug out his beat up first aid kit from the bottom of his bag and got to work.

Ten minutes later Danny carefully eased the door to the classroom open and quickly slunk inside. His hopes of sneaking inside unnoticed were dashed as Mr. Lancer fixed him with a glare and didn’t waste any time before chewing him out in front of the whole class. He could see Dash grinning and elbowing Kwan, Paulina leaning in to whisper to Star as they both pointed at him, Mikey and Nathan looking annoyed at the interruption and aiming their glares at Danny. Danny felt his shoulders climb up towards his ears. Great.

The whole spiel ended with Lancer declaring that he had detention after school and Danny barely found it in himself to give the teacher an affirmative before making his way to his school desk.

Well, no matter. Danny had only planned to get his homework done as soon as he got home, do his chores, and maybe actually go to bed early tonight. Maybe sleep off some of the exhaustion and pain dragging him down. Guess that wouldn’t happen. He didn’t know why he even tried anymore.

He sank down in his chair and Tucker immediately leaned in towards him and hissed out, “Man, your eyes are glowing.”

Danny closed his eyes in defeat. He tried to calm himself down, taking slow breaths and consciously relaxing his shoulders. The last thing he needed right now was any more attention.

After a few tense seconds he turned back to Tucker, one eyebrow raised in question.

Tucker gave him a slightly uncertain thumbs-up.

Danny felt himself relax slightly. Crisis averted, for now.

He just had to get through today.

Just like always.

—-

When he, Sam, and Tucker stepped into the cafeteria it was already full of students and Danny’s head throbbed at the noise. He really wished he had been able to grab more than a few minutes of sleep in between ghost fights, trying to avoid his parents, and all the traps they had set in the house.

Sam and Tucker walked towards the line for food and Danny stumbled after them. Tucker put a careful hand on Danny’s arm and Danny did his best not to jerk away from the pressure it put on his wound. Tucker still dropped his hand, a worried expression on his face, “Hey, man, you sure you’re alright?”

Danny nodded groggily, trying to muster up a smile. “I just didn’t get any sleep last night.”

Which wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth. He hadn’t gotten any sleep, but he had also been in two fights and one hunt spearheaded by his parents. Then his home had decided he was a threat and attacked him as well. And, oh right; he got woken up by an alarm in the middle of the night because the portal almost blew up because of some new tests his parents were doing. He didn’t even have time to eat breakfast. He looked down at the slop the lunch lady splattered across his plate and it was a testament to just how hungry he was that it actually looked appetizing.

He was doing great.

Thankfully, Sam and Tucker didn’t push it as they walked towards a free table. Danny did his best to follow along in their conversation, but he was too tired to make sense of their discussion about the math homework they had just gotten. Was it futile to hope that he would have enough energy and time to do it later tonight? Probably. Danny wished he had the capacity to feel bad about it.

He looked down at the food in his hands and allowed his thoughts to drift as he followed Sam and Tucker and their familiar voices. At least he would be able to sit down for a while with his friends and just breathe. And eat. Ancients, he was starving.

So of course that was when a foot suddenly appeared in front of his feet and despite his usually quick reflexes his tired brain reacted too late and he tripped, losing his hold on his tray and watching as it spilled absolutely everywhere. He had to use both his hands to catch himself against the floor to avoid smacking his head into it and groaned at the pain radiating up his left arm. Maybe the face would have been preferable to this.

He didn’t have time to get back up before Dash’s laughter rang in his ears.

Of course it was him.

“What’s this?! You can’t even walk correctly, Fentrip?!”

Danny pushed himself up on shaking arms and kept his eyes locked on the floor, ignoring the giggling he could hear from all around him. It was fine. Dash didn’t matter. This didn’t matter.

He blinked when a hand with back nails came into view before carefully grabbing his shoulders and helping him back up. Danny looked up to find Sam frowning at him. “Why do you let him push you around like this?”

Danny blinked at her. Yeah, why did he? His arm ached and he was so tired. If he just fought back once then Dash would know that he couldn’t just do whatever he wanted to him, they would all see just how—

Danny shrugged as he pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He couldn't risk turning into him. Danny feigned nonchalance as he said, “He doesn’t matter.”

Sam frowned at him.

Danny shrugged her hand off.

“Ha! You need your little freak girlfriend to protect you, Whimpton?!”

Danny felt himself tense up. They could pick on him all they wanted, but he hated it when they picked on his friends. They didn’t deserve that. He felt the tension rush back, ensnare itself through his shoulders and his arms until he couldn’t help but ball up his fists.

Sam raised a hand again as if to touch him, but let it drop again without making contact. “…Danny?”

“Dude,” Tucker joined in, voice strained and eyes glancing around them, “calm down.”

“I am calm!” Danny gritted out.

Sam raised an unimpressed eyebrow and Danny forced his hands to relax. He bent down to pick up his spilled food.

“Come on,” said Sam, “let’s go eat.”

They walked away from the laughing table full of A-listers.

Danny looked down at his ruined lunch and couldn’t help but let out a petulant, “I’m not hungry.” If he said it, then maybe it would make it true. Where was Desiree when you needed her?

Both Tucker and Sam sent him pointed looks and Tucker said, “I know that’s a lie. I could hear your stomach rumbling the whole class.”

Danny felt embarrassed that he had been found out; he didn’t like to make his friends worry about him.

Tucker just smiled. “Come on, you can have some of mine. I have a couple of snacks in my bag. Besides, I ate a really big breakfast so I’m not that hungry.”

Sam didn’t say anything, just silently handed Danny an apple from her tray.

How had Danny been blessed with such nice friends?

Danny sank down on the bench to finally eat with his friends, but the moment his arms touched the table he felt a familiar feeling of cold claw itself up his throat. The taste of ozone and ectoplasm burst forth from his mouth and he looked at the small cloud in dismay. Danny groaned. “I have to go. There’s a ghost. Again.”

Sam and Tucker exchanged a look and Danny tensed up. He didn’t have the energy to argue with them right now.

Tucker began hesitantly, “Maybe you should leave it to someone else?”

“I can’t. You know that.”

Sam crossed her arms. “Then we’ll come with you.”

Danny looked at his two friends and their full trays of food, which they hadn’t had time to touch. He didn’t want to drag them down with him, he owed them that. So Danny made an effort to sound snappish as he said, “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Tucker held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Hey man, we didn’t say that. We’re just worried about you.”

And now he had made his friends worry about him. Great. He couldn’t do anything right, could he?

He got to his feet. “I have to go.”

“Danny, wait!” Sam called out, but before they could start arguing with him again, he left.

——

Thankfully the fight didn’t take long, and Danny closed the thermos on the tiger-ghost just as the bell rang. It did leave him with scratch marks down his back though, and Danny cringed as he changed back into human form; praying that his quick healing would make sure it didn’t bleed through his clothes and thankful for the thick hoodie he had put on that day. He ran to his locker and got out his things, but was still late for the next class.

Lancer merely shook his head at him and Danny stumbled over to his desk and sank down in it while ignoring the worried looks from Sam and Tucker.

He was fine. It was all fine.

And even if it weren’t; it didn’t matter. He just needed to keep it together and do his job, keep everyone safe.

—-

The bell finally rang and Danny let out a stuttering breath. He was free.

He didn’t waste any time before stuffing all of his things into his bag and getting up, ignoring the pain in his arm and his back as he shouldered his backpack. It was worth it if he could get out of there quicker. Sam and Tucker joined him as he made for the door.

Tucker lowered his voice as he looked Danny over and carefully asked, “Danny? You okay?”

Danny kept his eyes on the door, feeling his steps lighten as he passed through it. “I’m fine.”

Sam pursed her lips and asked, “…Who was it?”

“A tiger ghost.”

He knew that they wanted more information than that, but he just wanted to go home and crash. He was so very tired and he hurt.

Tucker huffed. “Maybe you should leave the hunting to your parents for tod—”

“Mr. Fenton! Get back here, now!” Lancer’s call interrupted Tucker and made dread pool in Danny’s stomach. Right. Detention.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. He’s fine.

Danny sucked in a shaking breath and stopped walking. He didn’t look at his friends as he said, “Well, see you guys tomorrow.”

Tucker let out a long sigh and sounded defeated as he said, “Please be care—”

Danny nodded and took a step towards the classroom and then he felt something collide with his back. Hard.

Immediately he was back fighting the tiger, its swiping claws on his back right in the same spot. The pain was immediate and intense, and Danny saw stars as he stumbled forward, falling to his knees.

His mind reeled. Was he still fighting? He wasn’t even transformed! He had to defend everyone!

He reached for the cold feeling in his chest, ready to tug on it and go ghost to—

Cheers erupted around him.

“Touchdown!” Dash crowed from above and Danny froze in place.

Right. He was in school. There was no ghost to fight. It was the A-listers. They didn’t matter.

For the third time that day he picked himself up off the floor.

His arm and back burned. The pain pulsed in time with his thrumming core.

Ghosts fought during stressful situations and right now his instincts were screaming at him to fight. To get them before they got him. Danny balled his hands into shaking fists.

He tried to force his heart and his core to slow down. It didn't work.

A part of him slipped, too tired to fight it anymore. They wanted a fight, right? Then he would give them one.

But then he registered movement beside him and he blinked. Right. Sam and Tucker were here, which meant that he couldn't fight right now. Not with them so close. He couldn't risk it. Risk them.

Danny pressed everything down down down.

Or, he tried to.

His breath clouded in front of his face, but it wasn't because of a ghost, but because of the sudden cold blanketing the hallway.

“…Danny?” Tucker said hesitantly from beside him. “Dude, calm down.”

“I am fucking calm!” Danny growled.

Sam looked at him with clear worry in her eyes. She leaned in and whispered, “Your eyes are glowing again.”

Danny covered his eyes with his hands. He tried to force them to return to normal, to force himself to calm down. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, he repeated in his mind.

Danny heaved in deep breaths.

“Ha!” Laughed Dash, “Are you going to cry?!”

Danny sucked in breath after breath. It didn’t matter.

He tried to force the tension down. Tried to stuff it all down. Down where it couldn’t hurt anyone.

It doesn’t matter.

He gritted his teeth.

It shouldn’t matter.

He was fine. They didn’t matter. He was fine.

…He didn’t feel fine. He ached and was so very tired. He hurt.

His arms fell down to his lap and before he could do more than open his eyes, Tucker was standing in front of him, shielding him from view and hissing out, “Your eyes, man!”

And Danny tried. He really did, tried to make them go back to normal, to look normal. So he wouldn’t upset anyone. So no one would notice. So he wouldn’t matter. Danny grabbed his hair in his shaking hands, winced at the pain radiating up his arm.

“What’s wrong with the freak?” Dash asked and before Danny could react there was a hand reaching for him. His mind screamed at him to get away, to make it all just stop.

“Man, don’t!” Tucker shouted out in warning and then Danny watched with wide eyes as his friend was showed aside by Kwan, making him stumble to the side.

Sam stepped in front of Danny and then got pushed into the wall by Dash as they all laughed.

Danny’s eyes jumped from the wince on Tucker’s face to the angry scowl on Sam’s. To the way she pushed away from the wall and grabbed her left shoulder that had collided with it, on how Tucker wasn’t able to hide the fear in his eyes as he looked at the people who had attacked him.

They had attacked his friends. Because of him. Danny had put them in danger.

After everything that had happened, after all the pain and exhaustion, he couldn’t even keep them safe. His core screamed.

Danny felt himself fracture, crack like a thin layer of ice beneath a boot.

Dash’s hand moved as if in slow-motion as it approached him and Danny viciously slapped it away. “Don’t touch me. And don’t. Touch. Them.”

Dash cradled his hand in stunned silence for a split second before he broke out into laughter again, elbowing Kwan in the side as he said, “Wow, would you look at that? The wimp is fighting back!”

Laughter.

Danny’s ears roared and his chest stuttered as he tried to get enough air into his lungs; to calm down. His eyesight narrowed into a thin point as he raised his shaking hands to grip the front of his shirt. There was a pressure on his chest. On his core. Building and building and building.

“Stop,” he managed to croak out. He didn’t know if it was a warning or a plea. His instincts were screaming, clamoring, demanding, that he fight.

“What are you going to do about it?! Cry on us?”

A rough hand crabbed Danny’s shoulder and his own hand snapped up to grab it as he hissed out, “You don’t matter! You’re fucking nothing!” None of them did. So what did it matter what he did to them?

“Danny!” Sam yelled out in warning. But she was still gripping her arm where she had collided with the wall and that as all he could see.

Danny managed to let go of the hand in his grip, but he couldn’t calm down.

Maybe he didn’t want to.

“Hey…” Dash trailed off. “What’s wrong with his eyes?”

Tucker took a step closer to Danny. “Danny, you have to calm down!”

“Why?!” Why did he always have to calm down?!

He hurt.

“Danny!” He couldn’t even tell who was speaking anymore. It didn’t matter.

The air was cold enough to sting his throat and he breathed it in in in in.

He couldn't breathe out. He couldn't—

“What the fuck?!”

“Shit!”

“Get back!”

He smelled ectoplasm. The cold snow.

He smelled sour mouthwatering fear.

Danny recoiled with nausea climbing up his throat. He shouldn’t like that. He shouldn’t be that ghostly. He had to control himself. Just get himself back under control and calm down and—

And he couldn't. He couldn't.

His heaving breaths stopped when he realized that he didn’t need them.

In the end, he was just like any other ghost wasn't he?

The cold spread through him, out of him, and Danny didn’t even try to stop it.

They didn’t matter.

And he h̵̪̗͊u̴̯͒r̴͍͈̈̇t̸̮̺͈́.

#danny phantom #dp fic #danny phantom fic #all of your prompts were so good!!#phandom truce 2023 #i started writing something for all of them but then i had to contain myself #happy holidays!#my writing

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slxsherr · 1 year

Text

Everybody Talks!!

part I of Too Much!!

pairing: cinephile!charlie walker x melophile!fem!reader

summary: it's both you and charlie's last year as president of your respective clubs, but can charlie put years of rivalry behind him for a simple favor?

wc: 1375

warnings: fem!reader, rivals to lovers, cursing/swearing, public sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (m! receiving), mentions of choking

Whoever put Music Club next to Cinema Club at the club fair, Charlie swears he’s gonna kill them. You and everyone in your stupid club are insufferable, pretentious little fucks who they think know things about music that nobody else knows. You would say the same thing about Charlie and all the members of his club when it comes to movies.

“Join Music Club! Get an extracurricular on your college apps just for listening to music!” You yell, attracting students to your booth, already on your third sign-up sheet.

Not that it matters, over half of them won’t show up anyways. And you know that, but you don’t care. The numbers look great for your club, and if you get enough members you’ll probably be able to get an approved budget for live shows.

Charlie and Robbie sit behind their booth, having a casual conversation as the usual people come up to sign-up for the year, interrupted occasionally by a curious freshman. It’s their senior year, last year running their club, so they’re taking it easy, wanting to enjoy it while they can. You’re the opposite, gunning for more members, more money, more events, it’s impressive really.

By the time the lunch period is over, you’ve got three and a half pages full of names, phone numbers, and emails, all interested in joining your club. Charlie’s got two and a half pages, not bad, but he knows you’re gonna rub it in his face. It doesn’t take long after the courtyard clears out and your lackeys start packing up for you to come over to his booth, a smug grin on your face.

“Hey, Walker, did your movie club get any new members this year?” You ask, leaning against his booth.

“A few, and it’s Cinema Club,” Charlie answers, correcting you.

“Hm, well, according to the school website it’s Movie Club, but whatever,” you say, knowing it’s been bothering him since sophomore year that the school gets it wrong. Every. Single. Year.

“How about you?” Charlie asks, knowing you won’t go away until he does.

“Oh, we hit triple digits this year,” you say, all too satisfied with yourself.

“You know most of them aren’t going to show up,” he says, wanting to knock you down a peg.

“Yeah, but it still looks great on paper. Anyway, see you in lit,” you say, unphased, leaving him to finish packing up your booth.

Charlie brushes off the whole encounter, knowing he’s in for another year of “obviously music is better than movies” argument he’s gonna get from you whenever he gets caught up in whatever pissing contest you’ve made up with him. He would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him how much more active and accepted your club is, but he always keeps a cool demeanor. If you knew how much it actually bothered him your ego would inflate more than it already has.

A month out from Stab-A-Thon, you show up to a Cinema Club meeting. You sit in a back corner of the classroom, physically there but he can tell you’ve mentally checked out before the meeting has even started. You didn’t think he’d let that happen, did you?

“Before we begin today’s meeting,” Charlie begins, the club members, new and old, quickly shutting up. “I’d like to welcome a very special guest, the president of our school’s very own Music Club,” Charlie says, gesturing to where you’re sitting.

You don’t say anything, just smile and wave at the club members who turn to look at you, but Charlie can feel the irritation radiating off of you when you lock eyes with him. He continues the meeting as usual after that, and unsurprisingly you don’t participate at all. But you stay seated throughout the whole meeting, and even as members file out when the meeting is over, you stay seated. As soon as it’s just you, Robbie, and Charlie, you stand up, making your way to them as they pack up whatever they brought.

“I need a favor,” you say, leaning against a desk at the front of the classroom.

“Oh? And what makes you think we’ll help?” Charlie asks, turning around to face you.

“Just hear me out,” you begin to say, but Robbie interrupts you.

“Make it quick, I’m trying to go home,” he says, grumbling.

“You can go home, it’s just Charlie I need to talk to,” you say, giving him a pointed look for interrupting.

“Alright, then. Later!” Robbie says, grabbing his things and leaving, no doubt monologuing as he does.

“Are you gonna hear me out?” You ask, stepping closer to him.

“Why should I?” Charlie asks, trying to hide his nervousness as you get closer to him.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you say, breath fanning against his ear as your lips ghost over the skin of his neck.

“H-How?” He asks, fingers gripping the edge of the teacher’s desk he leans against harder.

“Like this,” you answer, your hand going to undo his jeans.

The moan he lets out is embarrassing, but you think otherwise, heat pooling in your lower stomach at the sound. He drops his head forward, long hair covering his face, trying to suppress his whimpers as you stroke him over his boxers.

“Will you hear me out now?” You ask, pulling his head up to look at you with a harsh tug of his hair.

“Yes! Just please, keep going,” he answers, desperate when your movements stop for even a short moment.

You drop to your knees in front of him, pulling his pants and underwear down. Teasing kisses and bites are scattered across his thighs, and he whines each time you ignore where he needs you most. When you finally take him into your mouth, he nearly chokes on the sound he lets out, hips moving on their own and choking you on his cock.

“I’m sorry,” he says when you pull off of him, stroking him with your hand while the other massages your throat.

“It’s okay, just try to keep still,” you say, hand moving from your throat to his stomach, pushing his shirt up his chest to reveal more skin. “As much as I like those sounds you’re making, you need to be quiet. Don’t wanna get caught, right?” You say, voice the slightest bit hoarse from his accidental abuse.

“No,” he breathes out an answer, stomach tensing the more you work him with your hand, trying to keep still like you said.

“Good boy, then bite your shirt,” you instruct, holding the hem of his shirt up to his mouth, letting him bite the rolled up fabric. “You’re such a pretty boy, Charlie,” you say, hand moving down his chest, nails gently scratching his skin. “With such a pretty cock,” you say, kissing his tip before taking him in your mouth again.

He’s a good size, average in length, but more impressive in girth. Heavy in your mouth, you ignore the ache in your jaw as an ache spreads from between your thighs, wishing he was there instead. Maybe some other time.

Your hands hold his thighs and hips, keeping him still when he fails to do so himself. You can feel him restraining himself from fucking your face, hands gripping the wooden edge he leans against, moans and whimpers muffled by his now soggy shirt.

Entirely focused on the taste of him, you fail to comprehend his unintelligent cries. Charlie’s trying to tell you he’s close, words muted by his drool soaked shirt, but you’re not listening, not letting up, warm, wet mouth working him to his end. Without thinking, his hands force your head down, nose pressed against his pelvis as he releases down your throat, choking you on his thick head and cum.

“I’m sorry,” he says, breathing heavily as you pull away and massage your throat, coughing a bit.

“That’s okay, just warn me next time,” you say, rising to your feet.

“Next time?” He asks as he pulls his boxers and pants up.

“If that’s what it took to get you to hear me out, I imagine it’ll take much more for you to actually say yes,” you explain, reminding him of the favor that started all of this.

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fanon-canon-idfk · 9 months

Note

your BEAST Daza fanfic was truly amazing will there be a part 2 cuz like if there's a part 2 I kinda wanna see like the reader dating chuuya and beast dazai reaction to this

OMG I LOVE YOU

THERE WASNT GONNA BE A PART 2 BUT NOW THERE IS BC THIS IS TOO GOOD

BEAST Dazai Osamu x Male Reader x Nakahara Chuuya pt 2

You had just got off your late Night Shift, leaving home the same time as everyone else. That’s when Nakahara came up to you as you walked out of the building.

You assumed Dazai was asking for your presence again, “Isn’t it a bit late for him to want me right now?” You complained, yet still began turning around to walk back to the building.

But then, Nakahara grabbed your arm and held you back “He’s not askin’ for you. I just want to talk.” He mumbled the last bit.

“Oh um.. what is it?” You turn towards him fully.

He looks around for a bit then asks “You wanna grab a bite to eat? I know a good place.” You could’ve sworn you saw a slight tint of red on his face as he spoke.

You thought for a moment. While Dazai kept you out of his personal life, he was sure well versed in your own.

But it was just grabbing a bite right? You supposed the boss wouldn’t really mind you just having a friendly interaction.

Nakahara waited anxiously for your response, about to just say never mind and walk away until you finally answered.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that” you smiled, Nakahara smiled back in relief.

And that’s how the two of you began seeing each other.

He’d find you after work and take you out. Then you finally asked for his number so you could talk outside of work as well.

All the while, you were still having your “meetings” with Dazai.

And he could tell your mind was somewhere else, always drifting at some point, and this was getting annoying.

So he began having a few lackeys follow you around and see what was going on in your life.

At first what they reported to him was harmless, he really didn’t care that you were hanging out with Chuuya, to him it was just one more eye to keep on you.

However, he didn’t tell Chuuya he had been watching the both of you. Y’know, just in case.

He had no reason to worry.

Chuuya was nothing to worry about.

Until he was.

Dazai had called you up for yet another “meeting”, these days they had been getting more and more frequent.

As Chuuya left the room, he gave you a smile in passing.

Things went as usual, small talk not lasting too long before his hands were on you.

He held your face so tenderly, kissed you gently, comfortably laid himself in your arms, all like a real lover.

And you kissed him back so carefully, softly traced circles in his back as you held his waist, and looked into his dark eyes, all like your heart belonged to him alone.

And then again, it was over, and he was your boss and you, his subordinate who had given up on anything real with him.

You walk out of his office and just as you walk out the door and begin to turn to the corridor, Chuuya is there leaning against the wall.

“Oh Chuuya, you can go ahead back in now. We’re.. done.” You feel your face heat up slightly at the mention of what just happened.

“I’ll go.. in a sec.” He replies blankly, not looking at you once.

“Is something the matter?” You place a hand on his shoulder, only for him to grab your wrist tightly.

“I can’t take it anymore..” he seethed, you thought he could’ve broke your wrist if he gripped any tighter.

Before anything like that could happen, he just released your wrist completely before letting himself fall into your chest.

“Chuuya..?” You looked down at him worriedly.

“I hate him.. why does he get to kiss you..? To love you..?” His fists clenched and shook as he spoke.

“What are you saying..?” You asked worriedly.

He lifted his head slightly and looked up at you, opening his mouth to speak.

But then he caught a glimpse of Dazai’s lackey’s walking toward the both of you.

He pushed away from you and walked right back to Dazai’s office without a word.

You stood in shock, what the hell just happened? What is Chuuya saying? He hates the boss for kissing you..?

Then your phone buzzes in your pocket, a message from Chuuya.

It’s an address, a bar out of town?

“We’ll talk later.”

After work you drove straight to the location Chuuya sent you, pulling up to a small bar in between two larger buildings.

You walked in and scanned the area until you saw your coworker sitting hunched over the bar, hat removed and placed on a seat by his side.

Chuuya was a bit tipsy by now, not drunk though, he was well aware of your hesitant frame and worried eyes approaching him.

He looks over and nods at you, removing his hate from the seat so you could sit.

You sat down quietly, then you spoke.

“What’s going on Chuuya?” You questioned, turning to face him.

“I.. I like you, a lot. I might as well be fucking in love with you.” He groaned, dropping his face between his hands.

You watched as his ears turn red, even his gloves weren’t hiding the trembling of his hands.

“Chuuya?” You called for his attention but he just grumbled.

“Chuuya, look at me. Please..?” Your tone was soft.

He slowly turned his head to you, only one eye look toward you.

You scooted in closer, tilting your head to get a better view of his eye.

“I love you too.” You smiled, his eye widened and Chuuya jolted up completely and looked you in the eyes to be sure you were genuine.

He exhaled shakily, moving toward you quickly and wrapping his arms around your neck tightly.

You returned the hug just as tight, smiling widely.

After a long while, you both laughed lightly as you separated.

And that’s how you became the loving boyfriend of Nakahara Chuuya.

And that’s also how Chuuya put a large target on his own back.

#male reader #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd scenarios #top male reader #bungou stray dogs scenarios #bsd x male reader #dom male reader #dazai osamu #male reader blog #dazai x male reader #dazai osamu x male reader #chuuya x male reader #chuuya nakahara x male reader #sub bsd #chuuya nakahara

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ckret2 · 4 months

Text

Chapter 35 of human Bill Cipher is still prisoner of the Mystery Shack and still handcuffed to Stan in spite of their mutual irritation: we return to them under attack by the tooth fairy and her dentist lackey.

In light of this terrible peril, Bill and Stan put aside their differences, politely agree to cooperate, and work together maturely to deal with the threat—

Haha I'm kidding, no they're screaming the most offensive things they can think of at each other.

####

Packed in a dark cluttered closet, trying not to breathe too much of the same air as Bill, under the sound of the dentist mauling his way through the bedroom door, Stan growled, "Okay, genius—do you actually have a plan for when we get downstairs?"

Bill had hooked his borrowed umbrella over his elbow to let him rummage through the closet's contents. Trying to keep his voice low, he said, "We can take the fairy ring down to the guest room and make a run for the exit in the floor room." His eyes lit up with delight. "Hey! Vintage congressman top hat!" He sniffed it. "It still smells like Quentin and peanut brittle." He put on the hat.

Eugh. Stan found himself glad he couldn't see in the dark. "Why the floor room? It's a lot faster to just cut through the living room to the gift shop."

Bill hesitated. "Sure. Fine—"

"What's the matter, Bill, you got a problem with the living room?"

"What?" Bill scoffed. "Of course not. I said fine. It's fine!" He found a large baggie full of teeth, popped it open and licked one to confirm they were real, and stuck the bag under his new hat.

"But it took you a second," Stan said. "If we head for the living room, you won't slow us down by trying to go the other way, will you?"

"Of course not," Bill repeated. It was a little less convincing than the last time. "I was just—trying to figure out if that was the fastest way—"

"Oh, really," Stan pressed. "You sure you aren't scared to go in there with me?"

Bill whipped around to stare at Stan in the dark.

"You think I haven't noticed how you bolt out of the living room any time I come in?" Stan asked. "Or how you flinch every time I raise my hand?"

Bill swallowed hard. "I don't know what you're talking about." He chuckled derisively. "I think you're fantasizing, Stan—"

"Do you really think I don't remember how you died."

Bill's voice caught in his throat. "You said..."

"Yeah, I wanted to see what kind of story you'd make up. You just can't stop talking down to me even when you know it's all lies," Stan said. "As if I'd ever forget seeing you on your knees, begging me for mercy, while I shattered your face like a cheap mirror—"

Bill shoved Stan against one wall, small hands wrapped ineffectively around his throat. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Admit it!" Stan shoved Bill against the opposite wall; Bill tripped and landed heavily on a cardboard box. "Admit that I killed you too! I played just as much a part in it as he did!"

"You did not kill me!" Bill stood on the box, even as it threatened to collapse under his weight, so he could scream in Stan's face, "You couldn't have killed me! I'M NOT CAPABLE OF BEING KILLED BY SOMEONE LIKE YOU!"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU AFRAID OF ME?!"

"I'M NOT AFRAID—"

An enormous drill bit pierced the wood between their faces. Bill and Stan screamed.

Just on the other side of the door, Pearl cried, "Careful! Don't hit the girl's teeth!"

Stan snarled, "You moron, look what you—!"

"You started it!" Bill pounded on the door. "Hey! Frankie! Is this worth it?!" He jumped back as the drill came through again, just in front of his sternum. It grazed Stan's bicep; he roared in pain. Bill shouted, "Was paying off your dental school loans worth this? Do you wanna be a murderer, kid?!"

"I can't stop now!" Dr. Illing was audibly sobbing. "You don't understand, I'm in too deep!" The drill pierced again, widening the hole he'd already started.

"If you think she's scary, you can't imagine what I've got—"

Stan clapped a hand on Bill's shoulder hard enough to make him jump; but he growled in Bill's ear, "Count of three."

Bill hesitated, squinting at Stan's future to see what he was planning; but nodded. "Fine." He didn't understand the purpose but he could copy the motion.

Stan put his hand on the doorknob. "One, two..." Bill squeezed his eyes shut. They slammed their shoulders against the door, Stan grunting in pain. Dr. Illing's drill caught in the wood, and they kept shoving it open, jamming the dentist between the door and the wall. Bill leaned against the wood with his full weight to keep Dr. Illing trapped, using his new umbrella to swat away the fairy buzzing in his face. Stan toppled an old fortune telling machine in front of the door to pin it in place.

Pearl barked, "You're useless, Frank!" She had drawn out a wand that looked like a metallic blue toothbrush and was aiming it at Bill's face. "I'll get those teeth myself if I have to!"

Wheezing through crushed lungs, Dr. Illing said, "But the treaty—"

"What treaty?!" From five feet away, she fired a bolt of mint white magic at Bill's horrified face.

Stan seized Bill's umbrella, opened it, and deflected the spell. It ricocheted off the umbrella and punched a flaming hole through the ceiling. From behind this temporary shield, Bill took out the teeth bag and flung a handful across the room.

Pearl gasped, abandoning Dr. Illing to dart after them. "Babies! I didn't hurt you, did I?!" Huh. More effective than Bill had expected.

"Go!" Stan ran for the door, grabbing Bill by the wrist to pull him along too. Bill snatched back his umbrella as Stan paused to shut the bedroom door behind them again. Even though Dr. Illing had shredded the wood around the latch, maybe he'd still struggle to figure out how to open it. "Living room?"

"I said fine!" Bill shut his umbrella and used it to point toward the fairy ring. "As long as you don't act immature about it!"

"I'm the one being immature?! You're the one who's scared of a room!" They stopped in the fairy ring, too close to each other for comfort; and then, with a disorienting whoosh, they were standing in an identical circle of mushrooms in the guest room. "Why does it even matter so much whether Ford or me killed you?" Stan yanked the door open. "Why is it so hard to admit that I threw the punch that took you out?!"

Bill clumsily kicked several sliced mushrooms aside, breaking the fairy ring, and nearly fell as he tried to keep up with Stan's pace. "Because you didn't kill me! You can't kill me because YOU AREN'T IMPORTANT!"

Stan spluttered in outrage, turning to stare at Bill. "Not important enough to kill you?! How does that even make sense! What, you think you're—too good for a guy like me to take down?!"

Bill's eyes widened the tiniest bit, as though he'd just realized something. A sickeningly gleeful grin stretched across his face. "It's true! I've looked into countless universes! No matter where you go or what you do, you just don't matter!" He wrenched his arm free of Stan's grip with such an effort that he nearly fell down; but he raised his gaze again to Stan's face. "If anything, you just make everything worse."

Stan's hands curled into fists. "You'd better watch your mouth—"

But when Bill planted the tip of his umbrella in the carpet and raised his cuffed hand to point at Stan, he stopped. Just a second ago Bill had been whiny and defensive; but now his inhuman gaze transfixed Stan to the spot. There was power in that mad self-assurance Stan had only ever seen before in criminal lords who commanded hundreds of gangsters. Bill bore himself like an ancient god preparing to pass judgment on a mortal, and Stan had no choice but to listen in dread to his revelation.

Bill said, "You know, I first tried to work with Stanford in a universe where you don't exist? And I couldn't get into his head! He wouldn't give me a chance!" He jabbed his finger toward Stan's chest like a knife. "Because YOU hadn't ruined his life and made him desperate enough to trust an alien! And YOU hadn't spent your whole crooked childhood training him to put up with a con artist's lies—so he'd be ready when he met me. Isn't that funny, Stanley?"

The air rushed from Stan's lungs. His voice was thin and trembling with rage. "You just— You're trying to get on my nerves." He'd never heard anything before that sounded so terribly true.

"So what if I am! It's still true!" Bill's laughter was like a shriek. "You were stillborn in that universe! Your brother had to grow up without a twin watching over him—so he actually learned how to make friends. And he was a big success at West Coast Tech. Your mother was devastated she'd lost you—but you know what's really funny?" He had the awful grin of a court jester about to deliver a punchline that would start a war. "I think your family loved that dead baby you more than they ever liked the disappointment you turned out to be—"

Stan socked Bill as hard as he could.

He expected Bill to flinch, to duck, to shield his head—something. Bill always flinched. Instead he locked up, facing Stan, wide-eyed and watching the incoming blow. The punch connected with his face with a sickening crunch. Bill toppled flat on his back. His top hat and umbrella tumbled across the floor. The chain jerked Stan down to kneel over Bill.

It was like a spell had broken. Stan stared down at Bill like an idiot. He felt like an idiot. The shock even snapped him out of his anger. He uncurled his fist, saw a smear of blood on one knuckle, tried to say something, and only managed to come up with, "Aw, jeez."

Bill was weak. He wasn't a demon anymore; he was a yappy chihuahua trying to sound bigger than he was because he was scared. Stan knew that. He was only kicking a washed-up loser of a con artist while he was down.

He'd been there before.

Bill had slapped his hand over his mouth and nose, fingers digging into the skin, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

Stan swallowed hard. "Hey, I didn't mean to do that much— I mean, you had it coming, but still... uh... you okay?" He awkwardly offered Bill a hand.

Bill reached up—and placed a bloody tooth, root and all, in Stan's palm.

Stan stared. "Wh."

"Tooth fairy bait." Bill gave Stan a wild, bloody smile. "Thanks for the help. It's been loose for days."

Tooth fairy— Stan automatically glanced toward the doorway to see whether their pursuers were catching up. And only then did he realize they were in the middle of the living room, standing in front of Stan's armchair. He'd been set up.

He stared at Bill.

Bill glared up at Stan. Voice rough, he said, "Who's scared of you?" He spat a wad of bloody spit at Stan's face. The attempt was so weak it landed on Bill's own shirt. A far cry from the whiny triangle who'd tried to bribe Stan into sparing his life.

They both looked up at the sound of wood cracking. Stan said, "All right, we've got bait." He seized Bill's bloody hand and, with a grunt, tried to heave him upright. "Can we set a trap?"

Bill unsteadily climbed to his feet. "I guess?" Either he hadn't thought past getting punched in the face, or the blow had knocked his plan out of his head.

Upstairs, Pearl snapped, "Now hurry, before we lose them!" Dr. Illing's footsteps thudded across the attic floorboards.

"Move," Stan hissed, and when Bill turned to glance cluelessly behind himself at the door, Stan rolled his eyes and shoved him.

Bill tripped over the steps up to the gift shop and stumbled backwards through the swinging door, with Stan following. When Bill had steadied himself, he stared in wide-eyed bafflement at the door he'd just passed through. "How did I..."

"Focus, Cipher!" Stan snapped his fingers in Bill's face. "Gimme some nerdy magic. What traps fairies?"

Bill dragged his gaze away from the door and shook his head woozily. "Uhh... carefully-worded contracts... salt lines, iron..."

"You couldn't have mentioned salt when we could've reached the kitchen?" Stan looked around the gift shop. Iron, iron...

"Wow, that's a great idea. Remind me why we were so bent on getting to the living room?"

"Watch it. You've got a few teeth left." Stan smacked Bill's arm, making him jump, and pointed. "Got it! The old diving helmet!"

Bill squinted his eyes unevenly. "Oh yeah—the one Fordsy got ripped off on. Hey—didja know diving helmets are supposed to be copper, but he got sold a spray-painted—"

"For two minutes, please stop talking about my brother. Will it work?"

Bill slowly traced a finger through the air as if he were trying to track the path of something only he could see. "Yeah, it could work."

"'Could'?"

The gaps at the top and bottom of the "Employees Only" door glowed bright blue. "Fresh blood," Pearl said, "they went this way!"

"Give me the tooth," Bill said. "And keep Frank out, we're dead if he gets in."

"In there!" Pearl cried, and Dr. Illing's drill revved again. The door to the living room was a swinging door without a latch; curse or no, if Dr. Illing hit it, it would fly right open.

Stan yelled, "Hold it! Do not drill that door! It's... it's load bearing! Yeah, if you start hacking holes in it the whole shack could come down on us!"

The drill powered down. Dr. Illing said dubiously, "That doesn't sound right, but I don't know enough about doors to dispute it."

Pearl swooped under the door—carrying an armload of the teeth Bill had thrown earlier—but she turned around when she realized Dr. Illing wasn't following. "What are you stopping for, you idiot! He's lying! Doors don't work like that—"

"Hey, sparkles!" Bill held his bloody tooth up next to his head. "You want this?!"

She gasped in horror, clapping her hands over her mouth and dropping the teeth. "You knocked it out! You monster, what if you chipped it?!" She drew her wand again and, with a tiny shrill roar, she dove for it.

Bill pulled it out of her way with the grace of a matador dodging a bull. She wheeled around faster than Bill could react, flung a spell at his back, and made another dive for the tooth. Stan jerked him out of the way. Bill laughed, "Is that all you've got? I've seen better flying out of dandelion seeds!"

She whirled around to face him again with a growl of frustration, fluffy bob cut puffed up in rage, wings buzzing like the propeller of a fighter plane. The third time she dove for the tooth, she snatched it out of Bill's fingers.

And immediately rammed head-first into the back of the solid iron diving helmet. It rang out like a broken bell. She croaked, "ow."

Stan slammed the front window of the helmet shut. "Ha!"

"Yes!" Bill pointed at the helmet. "You're stupid!"

Dr. Illing—who had dropped down to the ground to peer through the three-inch gap at the bottom of the door—cried, "No!" He pounded on the door in frustration. It swung a few inches open. He stared at it in bafflement. It swung back and hit him in the forehead.

"Well, well, well. It looks like we've got a proper hostage situation, don't we?" Bill rapped on top of the helmet with his umbrella's hooked handle. "Better stay away from the sides, Pearly. What would you say touching iron feels more like—being burned, or electrified? I've always wondered, but never had an opportunity to possess a fairy—"

Stan elbowed him. "Ix-nay on the ossess-pay."

"Right, right." Bill turned to Dr. Illing. "It'd be pretty easy for me to bounce your patron off the walls of this thing. So how's about you drop the power tools and back away from the door?"

Dr. Illing gave Bill the despairing look of a man who'd been struggling to carry an impossibly heavy weight for decades, only for one swift jab in the ribs to make him drop it. But he got to his feet, and after a moment, his yellow tool bag dropped heavily beside the door.

Stan opened the door, slung the bag over his shoulder before Bill got a chance to rifle through it, and pulled out the drill Dr. Illing had been menacing them with. Holding Dr. Illing at drill point, he nodded toward the gift shop exit. "Get walking. Outside."

"But..." Dr. Illing tried to look past Bill and Stan to the diving helmet.

Bill slung an arm around Dr. Illing's back, aggressively encouraging him to hasten toward the door. "Don't worry about her! We plan to resolve this peacefully, don't we, Fisher?"

"Oh yeah," Stan said. "Nothing to worry about."

"But we're negotiating with the boss, not the lackey. So..."

Stan opened the door. Bill planted a foot on Dr. Illing's butt and shoved. "Out you go!"

Dr. Illing went sprawling across the porch. Stan slammed the door on him as he got to his hands and knees. He looked over his shoulder to give them a look like a puppy who'd been kicked out in the rain.

"You're going to be in so much trouble when I get out of here," Pearl yelled. She grabbed the bars across the window in the diving helmet, then gasped and withdrew her hands as the iron burned her palms. "When the fairy queen hears about this—!"

"That you were breaking into a human dwelling to try to rip my teeth out of my mouth?" Bill asked. "Oh, I'd love to know what she'll think of that."

Stan rummaged in the nook where Wendy shoved spare napkins and plasticware whenever she brought fast food to work. He used a few napkins to wipe off the bloody scrape the drill had left on his shoulder in the closet, and held a handful out to Bill. "Here."

Bill took them. "What?"

"Your face is a mess. Thought you might wanna—you know." Stan attempted to pantomime shoving napkins in his mouth. As much as Stan thought Bill had deserved the sock, he'd feel like a heel if he didn't help clean him up after the fact.

"Oh. Right." Bill attempted to wipe off his chin, then stuffed a napkin up in the gap where his tooth used to be and pulled it out to see how much blood it picked up. It was a lot. He shrugged and turned to the tooth fairy, grinning. "So. I believe we were negotiating?"

"I'm not negotiating anything with you," Pearl huffed. "Look at what you did to this poor tooth!" She was hugging it protectively to her chest, her thin blue dress stained with blood from the root. "Maybe I haven't obeyed the spirit of my treaty, but I've obeyed the letter of it, and the fairy court will back me up on that—"

"Again, you did try to rip my teeth straight out of my mouth in the middle of the night," Bill said.

"I never! A dentist did! If he happened to feel like giving me the tooth after that, that's his business, isn't it. I could have been aiming my wand at anybody, you don't know."

"Sure, sure! You did nothing wrong. You slid neatly through those loopholes. Maybe your court will even agree with you." Bill leaned closer to the helmet, grinning through the window. "But don't you think—if I drive over to Multnomah County, walk backwards into your queen's court, and tell her what you've been doing—she won't want to close those loopholes? No more hench-dentists."

Pearl had gone very still. "'Walk b—'? How do you... What do you know about our court?"

Bill laughed wryly. "Kid, I've known your court since before it moved to America. I've spoken with the ancestors of the ancestors of your queen. The fae tell fairy tales about me, so if you know what's good for you—"

"Easy." Stan put a warning hand on Bill's shoulder. "Just because she's not human doesn't mean you can just..."

"I know, I know."

Pearl had been watching Bill skeptically as he spoke, clearly trying to weigh how much of his boasting was true—but seeing Stan try to silence him apparently persuaded her of his honesty. Her eyes widened in alarm. "Who—What's your name?"

Bill cast a sideways glance toward Stan, then shrugged ruefully. "Afraid I'm not allowed to tell. You know where we are—even people like you and me can't afford to disobey the collector's house rules. You can call me Goldie Locke. And if you don't want me to negotiate your release with your queen, then you'd better be willing to negotiate with us. Are we clear?"

Pearl nodded.

"Wonderful." (Dr. Illing had circled the gift shop to the nearest window, where he was staring forlornly in at Bill, Stan, and the helmet containing Pearl. Bill waved cheerfully at him.) "I don't know about the Fisherman, here—but I, for one, would like to make sure this doesn't become a problem again. So how about this: if you promise to leave, never harass us again, never have your agents harass us, never via any means attempt to harm us or steal our worldly goods—teeth included—either directly or indirectly, and never return to this house, then we promise not to report your little dentist scheme to your queen. Does that sound fair to you?"

Pearl pouted; but she reluctantly nodded. "Yes, yes—that's fair. I agree."

"Hold on," Stan said. "Once she's outta here, how do we know she'll keep that promise? Shouldn't we get some kind of, I don't know, insurance?"

"She's a fairy," Bill said. "She can't lie even if she wants to. They're compelled to tell the truth. They can twist it, and they can try to get you with tricky wording, but they can't lie. Once they've made a promise, it's unbreakable."

Stan considered that. "Huh." He'd have to double-check that claim with Ford later, he'd know.

"Which is why I get along so well with them," Bill said cheerily, "since I never lie either."

Stan laughed loudly, smacking Bill's back. "Sure! And I'm the queen of England."

Bill mock bowed. "Oh my, your majesty. I had no idea." Stan laughed again.

"I agreed to your terms," Pearl snapped, "so set me free!"

"Hold on." Bill propped his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, leaning close to the helmet again. "I seem to recall I only promised not to tattle to your queen. I didn't promise to let you go." He glanced at Stan. "Isn't that what you heard?"

Now what was he up to? But Stan nodded in agreement. "That's what I heard, all right."

Bill winked. "Like I said: tricky wording."

Pearl let out a swear that sounded like tinkling bells and stomped her foot. "That's ridiculous! If you've already sworn not to tell the queen about my methods, you no longer have any blackmail against me! You can negotiate with her for my release now, for all I care!"

"Your tricky wording backfired," Stan said.

Bill didn't look bothered. "All right. I'm sure you're happy to wait right here until we make the long drive into town, aren't you. You do know where we are, right?"

The fairy's face immediately darkened. "You... I don't see why not! There's nothing to fear in this house."

"Isn't there? Want us to go wake up the head of the house, ask him to babysit you until we get back?" Bill asked.

Huff. "He's gone."

"He's back," Bill said. "If you're lucky, maybe he'll stick you in the freezer for an hour, so it won't hurt when he pins your wings to a cork board." (Stan blinked at Bill in amazement. Head of the house—Soos? Soos?)

Pearl shuddered. "You're a liar."

"Am I?" Bill raised his cuffed wrist. "I've worked with the queens of your queens. I have powers you've never dreamed of. Do you think I'm chained to a doppelgänger for fun?"

Stan said, "To a wh...?" but at Bill's sharp look, he fell silent. All right. A lot of phrases that didn't make sense to him had just flown by. Clearly Bill was using some kind of fairy talk mumbo-jumbo to give her a wildly inaccurate impression of what was going on in this shack. Stan had manners, he wasn't about to interrupt a fellow professional in the middle of conning a mark.

Pearl worked her jaw angrily; but there was something nervous in her gaze now, glancing between Stan's face, the handcuffs, and the rest of the shack. "Maybe you're not as important as you think you are," she said unconvincingly.

"I've got magic teeth, girl."

"Fine!" Pearl stamped her foot. "Fine, I'll negotiate with you! What else do you want?"

Bill pointed at her chest. "I want to choose my payment for that tooth there."

She hugged the tooth protectively, but said, "Fine."

Bill looked at Stan. "You want anything?"

He considered that. "Better-fitting dentures would be nice? Can she do that? Is that something I can ask for?"

"Yeah, you can ask for that."

"Is that all?" Pearl snapped.

"Dentures for him, payment for me, unenchant our door and take out the carvings you left in it, and..." Bill glanced at Stan again, who shrugged. Bill said, "Yeah, I think that's it. Deal?"

"Deal!"

Bill gestured toward the helmet, and Stan flipped its front window open. Pearl stepped out, hovered up level with Stan's face, and gave him a murderous glare; but she drew out her toothbrush wand again and flicked it at him. "There. Happy?"

Stan adjusted his jaw thoughtfully. "Yeah. Oh, those're real nice. Hardly feels like they're there."

"They're better than you deserve," Pearl said haughtily; then turned to Bill. "And you? What payment do you want?"

Bill grinned wide, pointing at the new gap in his teeth. "Solid gold replacement! 24k."

"Pure gold's too malleable for dental work."

"I don't care, this body's a temp. Gimme the good stuff."

She gave him a sour look, but again waved her wand. The blood evaporated from Bill's teeth and gums and a new tooth materialized in the gap, the exact shape of the original but shining gold. Bill licked it experimentally. "Yeah, that'll do."

"Now get outta here," Stan said, "and take your creepy tooth temple with you."

"Hmph!" She turned her nose up at both of them; then zipped across the gift shop, ducking down to snatch up a couple of dropped teeth as she went. She dipped under the door into the living room and was gone.

"Well," Bill said. "We ended up better than we started. Free dental work, a bag of tools..."

"A bunch of property damage," Stan said. "We should've asked her to fix the kids' door."

"Ah." Bill winced. "Nooo, no, probably best we didn't push our luck. Fixing the other door's enough."

Stan shook his head, without much real rancor. "Can't admit you made a mistake, can you?"

"That would be a lie, wouldn't it? And like I said, I'd never lie." Bill smiled impishly. His new tooth gleamed in the dim light. "Let's clean up some of the teeth and mushrooms, huh?"

####

Sweeping up the gift shop was awkward with the handcuffs in the way, but they worked out a system: Stan handled the broom while Bill knelt and held the dustpan. Bill had retrieved his borrowed top hat and umbrella when they went for the broom, and now he kept his cuffed hand on the umbrella, which limited Stan's movement. He almost fussed about it, until he realized Bill's hand was shaking, and each time he stood he leaned on the umbrella like a wobbly cane. Stan tried not to notice how Bill sometimes winced when he had to turn his neck.

As they awkwardly swept up the gift shop, Bill said, "Lucky you got the dentist to stop drilling the door in time, huh."

"What?"

Bill nodded toward the living room. "The load bearing door? I didn't even realize it was that important." He laughed flatly. "We'd really be in trouble if he'd managed to knock it out, huh."

Stan stared at Bill. And then he burst out laughing.

"What?"

"You idiot, doors aren't load bearing!"

Bill stared up at Stan, face slowly going red. "Well, wh— How was I supposed to know that!" Over Stan's laughter, he demanded, "Then why did you tell him it was?!"

"Eh, if he'd so much as nudged the door, he could've gotten right through. Even with that curse you put on him," Stan said. "I had to say something to keep his drill away from it."

"Huh."

Stan could practically see the gears trying to turn in Bill's head as he attempted to understand that information. Maybe he should lay off the poor guy. It was really funny that a little curse made him too stupid to work a door; but he'd turned around and used that same curse to save their hides, Stan should probably give him a temporary pass just for that. He cleared his throat and tried to think of another topic. "Using that tooth as bait wasn't a bad idea."

"Yeah, it was pretty good."

"You could've just asked me to knock it out, though."

Bill glanced up at Stan. His face said, No I couldn't.

Stan understood.

During Stan's decade of travel—thrust into the world far too young, scared, alone, and homeless, with nothing but his wits and a mask of machismo—he had seen, again and again, the truth in one of his father's most frequent lessons: if you weren't tough, then you were nothing. Didn't matter what kind of money, possessions, or friends you had. If you weren't tough enough, you could lose them all in an instant.

And so often, toughness wasn't measured by how many punches it took to knock you down, but by whether the first one made you flinch.

The best thing you could do for yourself was win a fight. But if you didn't stand a chance (and Bill—short, noodle-armed, tiny-fisted, barely able to control his body, facing a man who'd been boxing for fifty years—didn't stand a chance), then the next best thing you could do was show that you could take it like a man. It might win you respect. If it didn't, then at the least it might let you keep some dignity. Bill was desperate for dignity.

Stan had the feeling that Bill had played this game before.

Who had Bill been before Weirdmageddon? Who had he been, that he could call Stan nothing but a con artist and a complete failure who'd have been better off never born—and in between suggest that Ford only trusted Bill because he reminded him of Stan?

####

They cleaned up as best they could, then dragged themselves back to bed.

Bill gave Stan a hopeful look. "Do I get to sleep in the guest room now?"

"No." Ford would murder Stan if he found out he'd let Bill sleep on his bed, and in his final moments Stan would probably think the murder was justified. And that was assuming Bill didn't murder Stan in his sleep.

"Aww, c'mon!" Bill said. "And here I thought we'd bonded a little!"

"Are you kidding? After you said I'm the reason you fooled my brother and my family would be happier if I was dead?!"

Bill laughed lightly. "You're too sensitive!"

As they repositioned their cushions and mattress on either side of the ajar door, Stan paused. "Was that stuff true? Or did you just say it to get a rise out of me."

"What, everything about Stanford being an only child? Naaah—I just thought it would be funny to make you mad."

In his heart, Stan knew Bill had been telling the truth.

Maybe not about there being a dimension where Stanford grew up alone, maybe Bill had made that up; but if so, he'd only made up a fiction that echoed the truth. Mr. Hotshot All-Seeing Eye was right: Stan had only made things worse for the people around him. The best thing he'd ever done with his life was put it on the line to destroy Bill. And apparently, even that hadn't been good enough.

Not for the first time over the past month, Stan wondered: if he'd never recovered his memories, would Bill have died with them? Was that the lifeline that had let Bill claw his way back? Would it have been better if neither of them had ever recovered? If they'd gone down into oblivion chained together?

Probably, on some cosmic level. Bill would be gone. Stan could've used his last few years learning to be a guy that brought more to the table than lying and punching. Everyone would be having a much better summer this year. But, on the other hand, Stan liked having his memories; and to be honest, Bill had been pretty worthless so far. Maybe it was okay that Stan had only done a C+ job at demon-killing. C+ was a passing grade; and he'd never been a straight A's kind of guy.

They'd just have to grudgingly tolerate being chained together.

Stan said, "So was it 'funny' getting your teeth knocked in, too?"

Bill considered that; then let out an involuntary giggle. "Yeah, actually." He settled down on his cushion bed. "But—no, really, I never saw a universe where you two weren't inseparable as kids. I'm sure it happened somewhere, the multiverse is infinite—but I didn't dig that hard. Wasn't one of my priorities. I only needed one Stanford to get my portal running, and the one here did just fine."

Stan still didn't think Bill was telling the whole truth; but then, Stan didn't think Bill had been telling the whole truth earlier, either. Bill wasn't actually telling Stan anything about what the multiverse was like—he was just telling Stan how he wanted Stan to feel.

And Bill could have said that everything he'd said earlier was true. But he didn't.

"You really are a pretty good liar, Cipher," Stan said. "It's too bad you're a lousy dirtbag bent on world domination, or you could've made a decent partner-in-crime."

"Yeah?" Bill settled down, holding his broken umbrella to his side and laying his free arm over his collapsed top hat, as if he was worried someone would steal them in his sleep. (Stan would have to get that umbrella in the morning. It had been fine for Bill to keep it while they were fighting for their lives, but he couldn't keep a blunt weapon covered in metal poky bits indefinitely.) "Well, my schedule's clear and I'm bored. Let me know if anything comes up."

"Don't count on it." Stan slid their chain under the door and pushed it shut.

Bill had wiggled out of explaining why he wouldn't admit that Stan had killed him; but Stan didn't think he needed to ask again. He kinda had an idea. He was at that age where he was starting to worry what his obituary would say, too. "Killed by his dimension-hopping long-time nemesis with 12 PhDs" probably sounded a lot better than "Killed by a crooked grifter in his underwear." The first one might let you keep some dignity.

####

Dipper and Mabel came home shortly after dawn. The light was already on in the kitchen; Mabel curiously ducked in to see why. "Grunkle Stan! Bill! What are you doing up so early?" She paused. "Is that my top hat?"

"Mine now."

Stan and Bill were sitting at the kitchen table, with two plates of eggs and bacon (Bill's eggs had chocolate sauce), and mugs of, respectively, coffee and Mabel juice spiked with ground-up caffeine pills. Stan had a bandage on one arm. They looked exhausted. Their wrists were still handcuffed.

"Oh, you know—" Stan yawned, "—just... full of vim and vigor today."

Dipper surveyed them, tried not to laugh when he saw the cuffs, and asked, "Did you guys even get any sleep?"

Stan grunted and looked at Bill to field that one.

Bill said, "By the looks of it, more than you two did." Dipper's and Mabel's hair were tangled messes, and their clothes were stained with dirt and grass. Dipper looked like he'd fallen on his side into a mud puddle. "How'd the monster hunt go?"

"Partial success!" Mabel said. "The thing that was stealing Pacifica's alpacas came back and we froze its leg! We followed it back to its forest lair and rescued the alpacas! Including Giorgio!"

"The anomaly got away, though," Dipper said, more to himself than anyone else. "But how? It was ten feet tall, it couldn't have hidden. Unless it was... abducted, maybe? In some invisible space ship...?"

Bill rolled his open eye. "Hey—how many of the alpacas were shorn by the time you got to them?"

Mabel gave him a surprised look. "Everyone but Giorgio. How'd you know?"

"We don't need to know," Dipper said quickly. "We can figure it out on our own. C'mon, Mabel." He headed upstairs. Mabel shrugged apologetically, and followed after him.

Stan watched them go, then asked Bill, "So what did take the rich kid's exotic sheep?"

"Freak in the woods who really likes wool suits."

"Huh." Stan sipped his coffee. "It's not dangerous to the kids, is it?"

"Not as long as they don't try to film him." Bill picked up a strip of bacon, tiredly tried to stick it in his eye, sighed, and redirected it to the correct hole.

From upstairs, Mabel shouted, "What happened to our door?"

Stan winced. "Don't worry about it, sweetie! I'll fix it later."

Bill said, "We didn't clean upstairs, did we."

Stan tried to remember what all had been left behind. Bedsheet hanging out the window, teeth on the floor... "It's—it's fine. Those kids love mysteries."

"Ha. Yeah, the boy would probably just get mad if we told him what happened before he figured it out himself."

There was the faint sound of the vending machine opening. A moment later, Ford walked in with an empty mug of coffee. "You're up early," he said. "Did you sleep well?"

Bill gave Ford a sleepy smirk. "Aw, I didn't know you cared."

Ford shot Bill a glower, did a double take at the top hat, then shook his head and looked away. "I wasn't asking you. I hope you got a crick in your neck that lasts the rest of your life." (Bill laughed.)

Stan shrugged off the question. "Oh yeah, no problem. Got comfortable and didn't move all night."

"We barely even noticed the cuffs," Bill said, stifling a yawn. "Slept like babies."

Ford raised a skeptical brow. Still, he nodded and went to get coffee for himself. Stan had a broken umbrella hanging from the back of his chair; Ford assumed it was yet another confiscated weapon and picked it up to move somewhere Bill couldn't access it. "Well, I'm relieved that at least nothing weird happened last night."

"Yeah, nothing weird at all," Stan said.

"Most normal night of my life," Bill said.

There was a knock on the door. At this hour of the morning? Ford said, "I'll get that."

He answered the door.

On the porch was a haggard, slumped, very sad looking man in a white lab coat. Nearly on the verge of tears, he asked, "Can I please have my ability to open doors back? I—I had to sleep outside last night. So many bugs."

Ford stared at him. "Only the person who cast the spell can lift it. Just a moment."

He ducked into the kitchen, glared at Bill, and said, "'Slept like babies,' did you?"

Neither Bill's nor Stan's innocent smile was convincing.

Ford focused on Bill's mouth. "And where'd you get that tooth?"

"Ah." Bill looked at Stan.

Stan cleared his throat. "So the good news is, we've got a great story for your journal."

####

(And that concludes the tooth fairy arc! If you enjoyed it, I'd love hearing from y'all! I'm really proud of how this whole plot came out. Next week we start on the absolute stupidest plot arc you've ever seen.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle stan #(character tags for the fic itself; obviously they're not in the art lol)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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ask-maxie-boy · 1 year

Text

Goonion's Ghoul (Part 4)

Bruce does a little digging. This one's a little more serious, but dont worry, the shenanigains resume next chapter <3

Part 1 & 2 Part 3

The pool hall was fairly quiet tonight. It was a dim place who's customers were the only thing shadier than its corners. The smell of smoke lingered in the whole building, but the usual cloud that held over the room seemed to be gone.

The "No Smoking" sign on the door was new, and it seems like people were listening. Bruce fiddled with the stick match between his fingers - he wondered if it was going to be a problem.

"8 Ball, side pocket" Clack!

"Tch. Good game, whatever."

As the men and small crowd around them get their bet earnings, Bruce approached with a predatory grin. "Hey fellas, mind if I get in on a game?"

Most of the men seemed to be sizing him up, but one in particular (the one who won the last match) inhaled sharply. "Matches fuckin' Malone, I haven't seen you 'round here in a while! You sonofabitch, where ya been?"

'Matches Malone' pulls his titular match out from his teeth, and puts on an annoyed face. "Bah, deal went south, had to lay low for a while." Someone handed him a pool stick, prompting Bruce to nod and grab some pool chalk.

"I getcha. We can go a round, Matches. Loser buys a round at the bar for everyone."

"Jeez, I said I was just layin' low and thems are the stakes?" Matches' grin comes back, a gleam rolling along his aviator shades. "Guess I could use a free drink, so why not?"

The other guy rolls his eyes. "Well, aren't you confident. Promise that'll changes once the game starts."

The game gets set up quickly, and they let Malone break. He lines up his stick, but isn't too concerned about exactly how to hit this shot.

"Say," Bruce asks, "I heard there's a new way of gettin' some help around here. Any'a you know about it?" The cue ball slams into the triangle of other balls.

"Oh, you're askin' about the Goonion? You don't gotta beat around da bush. Even if you weren't in good company, there ain't no need to be hush about it." The 7 ball rolls into a corner pocket, a solid color sunk.

Its an easy shot to the 5, side pocket. "Wouldn't expect that from a big band 'a criminals," Bruce says, casually lining up the hit, "but I guess that's Gotham for ya. So, how do I get in contact?" *Clack!*

"There's a big place on 29th street, down by Proctor Ave." The 5 cleanly rolls into the next pocket. "They put up a big sign just yesterday, you cant miss it."

The next shot is a bit more tricky, trying to get the 3 without hitting the 10 in. "No shit? A big ol' sign that says 'Hey, a buncha lackeys here!' right out in the open?"

The other guy snorts. "I mean, the cops don't give a damn, and the criminals are already in on it. That just leaves the bats, but between you and me? I hear the robins are in on it."

Not only does Bruce miss the 3, he knocks the 10 in, closely followed by the cue itself. A scratch. "Well, now I know you're just fuckin' with me."

His opponent grabs the cue ball with a chuckle, and puts it just by the 12 for a clean corner pocket hit. "Like how you were with that last shot? Yeah, yeah, I'm messin' with you... kinda. There's a runnin' joke that the robins should be considered one of us."

Second stripe down, Bruce's eye twitches, hidden by his large sunglasses. "I don't see whats so funny about it, considering how many times we've had our ass handed to us on a black-n-blue platter by 'em."

Its a more difficult shot to hit the 9 in the side pocket, but the opponent aims anyway. "Yeah, Danny's got this big ol' thing about how Vigilantism's a crime and Batman's a crime lord. Ya kinda have to hear him say it, but damn if it isn't funny." He makes the shot, but the cue ball slides in the pocket with the 9, as Bruce bites back a grumble.

Its his chance to get back in the game, and clean it up. Bruce puts the ball on the table, and lines up a shot that should also get him in position for the next few. "Danny, eh? Whats his deal anyway? Everyone seems all buddy buddy with the guy, but I can't find out a thing about him. He some kinda "

The normal sound of a pool stick hitting the cue is clean, crisp, and short. A satisfying ricochet right to where it was aimed, sealing a calculated move into victory.

That is not the noise that echoes through the hall.

Instead, the stick bounces off of the cue strangely, shaking awkwardly as a much harsher CLACK! attacks everyone's ears, as the ball rolls slowly in the wrong direction, and hits nothing.

His opponent, and everyone with and without money on the game, look right at him. Some are giving dirty looks, some seem angry, others just discontent. A few look ready for a fight to break out, as the sudden tension ensnares him. He gets the feeling its not the bum shot they're upset about. "Uh... any chance I can try that hit again?" He asks sheepishly, analyzing exits, preparing for the brawl that might happen, and a cover story for how Matches got out of being attacked by this many people.

Bruce winces as his opponent places their hand on his shoulder, but doesn't strike back just yet. His opponent still seems tense, but not rearing back an attack. "Matches, you'se a good guy, so I'm gonna let you off easy on this one. But for 'da future, dont go askin' around about Danny. He doesn't like people poking into his business.”

The crowd seems to calm down a bit, but there's still a few bad looks being sent towards Bruce. He puts some hint of worry in his voice, dusting off his suit to sell the idea that that shook him up. “I.. I see. Caposh.”

His opponent goes back to the table, picking the cue off the table after Matches' bad hit. “...He's just a kid, Matches. Smart, kind,” he lines up his next shot on the 11, “I'd call him naive if he didn't prove he knew what he was doing.” A clean shot, into the side pocket.

“If you're goin' to the Goonion, you'll meet him and see.” Another easy shot, 13 into the corner. “He does good work. The Hood may have started the union, but Danny stoked the flames, kept us together when we wanted to fall apart.” A hard hit, the cue ball stopping dead as it strikes its target, knocked straight into the pocket. “He fought for us, went up against some of the most dangerous people in Gotham and told them to kneel.” Someone in the crowd murmurs, “Stronger together,” which has him roll his eyes. “Yeah yeah, we all did it, sure. But someone needed to face 'em down, and not only did he bite the bullet,” 14 ball, corner pocket, “he spat it right back out at 'em.”

“He got us dental!” Someone cheers, and most of the crew cheers with him, clinking beer bottles together.

“Point is, he's a good guy who does a good job, and the least we can do is stick our noses out of his business.” 15 ball, opposite corner. “We don't need him getting hurt because we couldn't do that.”

Something flickers in Bruce's eyes at that last comment, noting the slightly somber tone. “...he didn't ask you to stay away, did he?”

“He didn't need to. I told ya, you'll get it when you meet him.” He points out his last shot, “8-ball, corner,” and hangs over the table to aim his cue. “People like him don't usually stick around Gotham, and not by their own choice. If someone finds out you're the one who made him leave, whether you meant it or not...”

The 8 ball rolls cleanly into the pocket, a promise fulfilled. “You'll be lucky if you're found with a bullet to the head.”

An open secret. One that puts him in harms way if the details get out. Details people are purposefully avoiding, out of gratitude. Makes things difficult for him.

“...Well, a deal's a deal. A round on me, everyone!”

@akikkobara @thegatorsgoose @addie-lover-of-stories @apointlessbox @screamingtofillthevoid @semiprofessionaldumbass @sailor-goddess @malice-of-the-sunrise @savaton @spikedlynx @emergentpanda-blog @starlightcat04 @demented-trashcan @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff @soren1830 @vixen-uchiha @rowanaway-fromthisbs @space-dreams-world @wolfeyedwitch @the-legal-shipper @gmkelz11 @dannyphantomphan @idkmrpianoman @somuchyikes @blankliferain @thatonegirl10 @thewondersoflebanon @cass-brightwood @coruscateselene @hallowsden @avelnfear @ultimatebluff @kryzs2000 @blep-23 @jaguarthecat @all-mights-asscheeks @meira-3919 @ricekristytreaty @illya-roma @mentalcarebear @wackyattack @fisticuffsatapplebees @love-has-no-labels @dat1angell @igotafewbadideas @thordottir45 @idfk-man10 @choppedphantomsweets @dragonfirefeather @smol-book-nerd @randomkiddoscrewingaround @alinmenttreasure @queen-of-the-grapefruits @cyber-geist @bianca-hooks123 @gaelic-holiday

#the goonion #dc x dp #dp x dc #goonions ghoul #haha bruce get fucked #also please dont put danny in danger ;c #told you the goonion takes confidentiality very seriously

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inkyquince · 5 months

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So you know when you have dogpeople activated, it's a huge taboo to be caught fuckin em and such

So they have the usual dog roles don't they?

So just... Having thoughts...

characters. Whitney. Mention of Landry and Niki.

cw. Whitney times ahead. Dog-person reader. Mention of animal cruelty but nothing graphic, just a joke. Breeding, pet play to the extreme, taboo behaviors, for fucking DoL at least. Whitney watching you piss, make of that what you will. 2.6k words.

Whitney never really liked dogs. Everyone thought he should, a boy treasuring a loyal companion who wouldn’t mind sticking by him, even joining in on his shenanigans. They were wrong. Whitney was never a fan of dogs. Cats. Anything.

Worse? Hybrids. Fucking useless. Not a full dog, not a full person.

So, when his aunt surprised him with a dopey fucking dog, he was less than pleased. What the shit was he going to do with this thing? None of the pros of having a dog, all the cons of having a dog AND a fucking roommate. Even if the stupid thing didn’t even realize it.

“Can just tie them up outside. It’ll walk itself, shit in the corner of the garden, piss. Just throw some chow out there and it’ll snarf that up.” One of his friends leaned over to light his cigarette, fingers curved against the wind blowing through the park.

“Pretty sure that’s animal cruelty.” Someone piqued up, coughing after dragging on a shoddily rolled joint.

“You’d only get half the sentence, though.”

Whitney huffed to himself and took a drag on his cigarette, letting the heat fill his lungs, tickling his throat pleasantly before exhaling raggedly.

“Should just sell the thing.” He mused, flicking the ash into the wet grass. “Get some fucking use out of it.”

“Give it to Landry, he and that photographer use ‘em for those videos.” That piqued his interest.

“What videos? The usual sick shit?” Whitney glanced over, aware of some of the shit the criminal helped produce. Fuck, that was the first time he ever jerked it to fucking internet porn. Some nasty fucking shit, not entirely… Legal, but fucking normal in this town.

“Oh, better. Landry’s a sick fucking puppy, bro.” His lackey grinned up at him, so proud of catching Whitney’s interest at long last. “Yknow, those pups are horny, but you gotta just shake them off and then they just lick their own crotch for a while. But, y’know, some people? Some people… Fuck em.” “Yeah, no shit, cuntface.” Whitney wasn’t a fucking idiot. Hell, he loved sending stupid sluts to go grab something for him, only for them to get trapped with a dog person. Fucking rubbing their stupid cunts on their face, or getting mounted by a fat dick, and the stupid slut crying for someone to help them. No one wants to be seen getting rutted into or against by one of those stupid things. It’s fucking humiliating. The entire town labels you a pervert. “I know people fuck the-” “Landry films it. Films it and uploads it. Then give the dog-person over to the pound or something.” She relaxed against the grass, leaning back so glibly that she didn’t realize that she was lying in his cigarette ash. Idiot. The others pulled faces at each other, grossed out at the thought of anyone getting off on watching someone fucking or getting fucked by a dog-person. Whitney, however, squinted at her.

“Any good?” “Whitney, gross-”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off, are they any good?”

“I mean… From the views alone, I’m saying Landry is making a neat little sum on the side.” She shrugged before pulling her phone out and typing on it, her long fake nails making the most annoying clicking noises. Whitney’s annoyance grew until she finally showed him a website she pulled up. All he got was a glimpse of a page packed with thumbnails of cocks and tits and dogtails before she took her phone back again. “I say, sell the thing to him, and if they’re good enough, you’ll get a nice bit of pocket money on the side.” “Hey, that’s not a bad idea, is it, Whit?” One of the other blockheads piqued up. “Grab random dog people and sell them?” “Landry’s not going to take any random mutt, shitlips.” “It’s Lipschitz! And fuck off, it was a good idea-”

“Yeah, for a dipshit-”

Whitney rolled his eyes and leaned back on the swing again, exhaling the smoke from his nose as he ignored the bickering between his lackeys again. Yeah. Get rid of you, and get a nice payday. He could work with that.

Except as he walked, he couldn’t help but mull it over. The site. The amount of videos. Curiosity nagged at him with each step, bringing him closer to his evening plans.

His parents were never in anymore, especially in the evenings. Off, on a date night, wrapped up in each other, or at work, or at what the fuck ever. It’s always been up to him to make his own food, wash up, clean, except now he was doing it for two. Heated up something in the oven for himself and poured some food for you into your bowl, dragging on his cigarette as he watched you chew loudly, snarfing it down gratefully. Refilling your water as he washed his plate, jabbing at the chunks of food before giving up and leaving it to soak, so his mother would eventually take care of it. Pulling a face as you whined to be let out and nudging the backdoor open so you could trot out and make yourself comfy, stubbing out his cigarette as he watched you piss into the grass, feeling something warm in the curve of his belly. Eventually tugging you back inside and locking the door before heading upstairs, ignoring your excited little steps after him. Continued to ignore you as he flung himself into bed, as you nosed among his things, before tucking yourself under his cluttered desk with a little yawn. Whitney’s kicks off his pre-ripped jeans, underwear and shirt before giving his balls a rub, stretching out on his duvet. He slipped on some sweats, before dragging a blanket over his midriff, more focused on his phone, pulling up the website whats-her-fuck showed him earlier.

It was obvious that most videos came from one person, with only a few being some real amateur shit, with shaky camera and an overexcited camera person. No, Landry’s shit was obviously good. Niki as the camera guy, appreciative angles, but also…

It fucking looked good.

The dog boy sitting all cute, blinking like a stupid bitch at the camera as it zoomed in on his big eyes before zooming out. Late at night, at the beach, his tail wagging, before the camera pans over to some guy, naked from the waist down. Cock bobbing as this dude massages his own balls.

“This your dog?” A voice from behind the camera asks and the guy nods. “You fuck the pooch a lot?”

“Oh yeah.” The guy’s obviously mic'd up, with the seashore wind picking up. “I got him from the pound and he just had such a cute ass. They’re so easy to train. Watch.”

The guy whistles and the puppy boy trots over excitedly, his bubble butt raised high and proud, almost inviting a pervert in. Whitney’s cock began to rise, tenting his sweats. He huffed to himself, laying his hand over his bulge and giving it a squeeze. The dog-person leans up to sniff a bit at the guy’s cock but doesn't seem that interested, more into sweetly nuzzling at his balls. There were a few chuckles from the men standing around and the pup looked around, tongue lolling out, tail wagging so hard at being the object of such enjoyment.

“He’s cute.” The guy behind the camera said, to some murmurs of agreement.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” The guy chuckled before snapping his fingers at the dog-boy. “Present.”

The change was instantaneous. His ears perked up and his tail started going a mile miles per hour. Fuck, even his knotted cock sprang up so quickly that it earned an appreciative whistle. Within moments, he had fallen onto his back and rolled over onto his soft tummy, raising his ass, even humping the air a bit, as if trying to entice.

“Yeah, puppy. You want a nice breeding, don’t you?” The guy dropped to his knees and Whitney had to slip his hand into his sweats at long lost, massaging at his shaft eagerly.

The puppy-boy whined and raised his ass further, spreading his legs.

“Breed! Please breed!” He whined, shaking his ass like he was about to pounce.

Whitney groaned, his stomach tightening, slipping his cock free fully and jerking it with desperation. His thumb dragging against his slit, teasing out precum as he desperately played with himself. Fuck, he didn’t really get it before, but this was fucking doing it for him. Stupid sluts he enjoyed, but fuck. Trained stupid sluts, rolling over at the snap of his fingers? No wonder Landry was having success with this shit, way more appealing than anything he’s watched before-

The feeling of something wet brushing the back of his hand made him cuss and nearly throw his phone. Blinking against the dark after staring at his phone screen for so long, it took him a moment to realise what the fuck that feeling even was.

Your big stupid eyes were staring up at him, nudging your nose against the back of his hand with a look of blind adoration.

“What ya watching?” Your tail was wagging, probably having heard the sound of an excited puppy-boy from across the room.

Whitney glanced from your big, excited eyes, your tail wagging wildly, back to the his video, titled “Puppy-boy bred full at the beach”, with the camera in the perfect POV shot, showing a fat cock drilling the poor dog-person’s asshole, before looking back at you. You didn’t seem perturbed by his staring, stupid bitch you were, in fact, your smile at him just broadened, happy at the attention. Your happy little face so close to his fat cock, throbbing still in his hand.

He slowly sat up, chucking his phone to the side, slipping into a cross legged position, cock pressing against his stomach. Whitney took hold of the base of his cock, a smirk slowly growing on his face as you remained close, tail wagging. Squeezing the base of his cock, he watched as your eyes went from looking at his face, to his erection with an innocent curiosity. He grinned and lightly tapped the head against your lips, smearing precum, and your tongue flicked out to taste it, before scrunching your cute little face up.

“Salty.” You stuck out your tongue, as if airing it out would help.

Whitney took the moment to drag his cock over it again, your rough tongue brushing over the slit in a way that almost had him grab you by your floppy ears and fuck your mouth… Well…

“Open.” Whitney demanded, and you whined, tail stilling for a moment before you opened your maw.

Perfect. A sloppy, pink hole for him to fuck until you learn to love the taste of cock. Maybe that will up your value.

In the dark of the room, with the only light being from his phone, the loudest noise was the wet slap of his cock rubbing against your drooling tongue, hitting the back of your throat, saliva swishing loudly as Whitney groaned. It wasn’t like the sluts at school. You couldn’t stop salivating, spit running down your chin as your tail continued to wag wildly. He could fucking condition you. Just the whiff of cock and you’d be a drooly, wet mess.

“Fuck. Fuck. Who's my good puppy?” He groaned, letting his mouth run without meaning to.

You whined with excitement, ears perking up at the first bit of positive reinforcement you had ever gotten from Whitney.

“Yeah, you are. My cute, stupid, cockwhore puppy.” His tone was soft and your brain registered as good, as your brain clouded and you couldn’t stop drooling. “Gonna fuck you, huh? Gonna breed your stupid puppy hole, huh?”

Your tail stopped all together, your eyes growing large and dark. Ah. Liked that word huh? Whitney yanked his cock out of your throat, drool spilling all over his floor, dripping from his erection and your tongue.

“Alright. Roll over, or something. C’mon.”

You whined and spread your legs from your seated position, sitting back on your haunches, showing off how excited you were, making a mess all over his floor. Squirming a bit, you fell onto your back, tail peeking out and wagging as you stared up at your master with unblemished love. Whitney smirked and kneeled down in front of you, leaning over for a moment to spit into your mouth before papping his slicked up cock against your hole, puffy and ready to be bred.

The sound of the front door opening had him stilling for just a moment, and his cock softened a bit. If his parents found him with his stupid dog-person like this? What-

Your hole snagged against the tip of his cock, jerking his attention back to you as you whined and desperately humped at him. Alright. Fuck. Yeah. His pooch needed seeing to. As his parents moved around downstairs, his mother bemoaning the fact he left his dishes in the sink, he put a sweating palm over your mouth, letting you lick the salt from his palm as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your hole. Whitney groaned as he slowly sunk into you, your excited huffing slipping into a pleasured whine.

“Good puppy.” Whitney hissed out between his teeth, his hips moving involuntarily as he fucked into your tight, sloppy heat. The squelching sound of his curved cock hitting deep into your hole was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever fucking heard. He’s heard sluts whining for cock, he’s fucked his fair share of whores, but jesus christ, this puppy-bitch was the best of both worlds. Loyal, dumb, like a dog, with the hole of the nastiest whore in town. Thoughts of selling you onto Landry, only seeing you fucked open on videos, slipped away, more focused on simultaneously trying to fuck deeper and deeper into you, but also keeping quiet as his parents ascended the staircase.

“I should check on Whitney.” His mother whispered to his father, who just grunted.

His panic flipped, both from his balls tightening as your heat clamped down around him, but also shock. Whitney was not going to get caught fucking his stupid fucking dog-person. With a low hiss, he hooked his arms around your thighs and picked you up, you nuzzling into his neck with a happy huff, stupid bitch. He almost had to wrestle you into bed, with you excitedly still trying to back up against his cock trapped in your hole. His mother’s voice came closer and he just barely yanked his covers up over him and you, with you still snuffling at his cheek.

The door opened and a line of light cut across his room and there was a beat of silence, with you still lovingly nuzzling into him.

“Awh. He finally let the pooch sleep on his bed.” His mother cooed. There was another beat, of her watching him, and you slowly humping at his cock, balls about to fucking burst inside his puppy-person with his mother fucking watching.

After a beat, the door closed again, and Whitney let out a guttural moan into your shoulder, a few more humps from you more than enough to send him over the edge, cum flooding your hole as his mother’s footsteps retreated to the master bedroom.

“Fucking… Hell…” Whitney raggedly breathed out as you shivered against him, beginning to lick affectionately at his chin. You were more of a person than a dog, he guessed.

A few days later, he was back at the park, with you dozing against his knee as he sat at the fountain. Whitney had struggled with selling you to Landry, with his friends around him remarking their surprise the mutt was still around and still as adoring of him as ever. With only the one who recommended him the site giving him a knowing leer and petting your ears.

#dol #nsft #quincewrites #degrees of lewdity #whitney the bully

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tinietaehyun · 6 months

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Pretty Boy !¡

[Fae!Beomgyu x Researcher!Reader] [Mystic Trail Series] [One-shot]

Pairing: Fae!Beomgyu x Researcher!reader

Contains: profanity, suggestive/mature themes, thriller elements, mentions of injury, manipulation, asphyxiation.

Genres: Romance, fluff, fantasy, slight enemies to lovers-esque, dark fantasy.

Links: MYSTIC TRAIL || MASTERLIST

Summary: Stepping up the rocky terrain you grunt clearly unimpressed with how you weren’t alone. “Come on, won’t you tell me your name, pretty please?” Deadpanning, you scoff, “Surely you don’t think I’m that stupid?”

The ethereal man pouts innocently but you knew there was true mischief behind it. His eyes glimmer stepping forward, “What’s in a name? I’ll tell you mine. Consider it an honour to know my name.”

Glaring you mutter, “No thanks, I’ll pass. I’m here to study the elves anyway, not you.” His eyes narrow, “Sorry, what?” His sweet tone changes making you snort.

—————————•••••••••••••————————

“Fucking hell,” you grunt pushing through the thick foliage to a clearing. You were already exhausted and overworked. Theses, paper work, on-site work, preparation, just so much shit was piled onto you, just because you were the least experienced of the entire crew. It made you feel like a lackey. How miserable!

Stressed was an understatement and you hated how incredibly pretentious and obnoxious these scholars and researchers were. It was draining to be around. The utter condescending nature of their speech just because you were younger and less experienced. You scoff to yourself.

“Hey! Are you ignoring me? You marched right through a thorny bush, I told you not go that way. But, no! You decided to follow that little compass and map of yours.” A low toned yet playful voice slices through your whirring mind. Oh yeah. You were almost beginning to forget about his presence for a moment with how deep in thought you were- almost as if your legs were running on auto-pilot mode.

You sigh, “Why are you following me?” He releases a chuckle as his steps behind you accompanied with a mischievous bounce into the leaf litter, “Why not?”

You grunt grumpily and he teases, “Oh my flower, don’t be so pouty. That makes me want to just eat you all up with how endearing you look!”

This fae had been persistent in following you for the last five minutes. You had to be wary and keep your wits about you. After all, the fae were a tricky supernatural folk and incredibly dangerous with their verbal traps, contracts and deals. He tried offering his hand to you after you tripped over a tree root and you knew better than to accept it.

This nuisance suddenly appeared after you had tripped over a tree root stupidly which made you suspect that he had been secretly trailing you. As if your life wasn’t as hectic, miserable and dire as it was already, you now had a pest following you, looking like a puppy without a leash.

Honestly, you were tired of life, the facility you worked with was dismal but the access and resources they had connections to were too good to pass up. Thus, you gritted your teeth and put up with the terrible workplace dynamics and condescending atmosphere. All you wanted (and which you haven’t experienced in a long time), was to relax, wind down, succumb and let your head become empty for awhile. Perhaps even a massage too.

But no, life had other plans and here you were struggling to reach the assigned campsite after one of your superiors told you to stay behind because there wasn’t enough room on the damn truck. Selfish fuckers. So here you were making your way manually through the foliage. Thankfully the campsite wasn’t too far into the forest. Deep Grove forest was still a place you needed to be careful. You have heard numerous researchers going missing or ending up injured or even dead. Of course, your plan was not to set foot into the heart of the forest rather stay on the outskirts.

You notice the terrain change to a more rocky terrain. You peer over your shoulder and you see the fae smile brightly at you, “Still here, human. Why, afraid I was gonna leave you alone?” You groan exasperated; you had to keep your patience resilient. Fae would not take too kindly to being the subject of profanity or rudeness.

Stepping up the rocky terrain you grunt clearly unimpressed with how you weren’t alone. “Come on, won’t you tell me your name, pretty please?” Deadpanning, you scoff, “Surely, you don’t think I’m that stupid?”

Oh yeah, he’d been pestering you for your name. What a dumb move, you have to refrain from laughing. You were a scholar, a researcher, albeit, specialising in elves and griffins, not so much fae. But you damn well know to never give your name to a fae.

Glaring you mutter, “No thanks, I’ll pass. I’m here to study the elves anyway, not you.” His eyes narrow, “Sorry, what?” His sweet tone changes making you snort.

His eyes flicker for a moment before he paints a bright expression back on his face, “The elves? They’re rather boring, no? The Fae are far superior, way more interesting.”

You mutter, “Keep telling yourself that.” He feigns shock, “What? You don’t think so? Oh, pretty flower, I’m so hurt. Why study the elves, when you can study the fae?” He steps closer leaning in behind you so that his mouth is beside your right ear, “Why not study me?” A shiver runs down your spine at his husky voice. His voice was unfortunately very pleasant and not to mention is ever so pretty face.

Fuck how attractive he was! The way his green top slung off one shoulder revealing his collar bone and toned shoulder; was making your knees weak. His sharp nose and his ever so slightly pointy ears decorated with various piercings making him look perfect. Too perfect to be human. The epitome of supernatural beauty; how unfair. His luscious lips that seem to pout at your reluctance towards him made your heart race alongside his piercing gaze that held numerous emotions. Human men seemed to have a lot of catching up to do.

“Hm? Flower, why have you gone all quiet?” He hums and you speed up your pace putting some distance between you and peering down at your map to recollect where you were for a moment. The fae observes you intently all while having a mischievous smirk on his face. “I-“ You cut in, “Shush, I’m focusing.” He scoffs with a laugh, “Rude.”

Ignoring your request, he hums walking up to you and peering over your shoulder. He rests his chin atop your right shoulder making you quiver at his close proximity. Shit! Don’t get distracted! “Mm? My, you humans have mapped out pretty much all of this forest, huh? That’s cute.” Your brows furrow, “Cute?” He chuckles, “You’ve only mapped out the parts you can see. Don’t even get me started on the Elven Realm or the Fae Realm. Good work though.” You pale and you feel as though you’re on the verge of an existential crisis of sorts. Great, that was information you didn’t need to hear.

You continue walking now having recollected your thoughts and he continues to walk beside you. “Hm, I’ll tell you my name, since you’re so reluctant on telling me yours. He stops walking and turns to face you with an outstretched hand, “My name is Beom.” You raise a brow peering at the pretty boy with narrow eyes. You also knew Fae would never give away their names so easily without a reason. You smirk taking his hand shaking it and he takes you off guard as he takes your hand moving it upwards towards his face. He presses a delicate kiss to the back of your hand sending your heart rate into over drive. A shaky breath escapes your lips.

“Hm, why don’t you test out my name on those pretty lips of yours, little flower?” He cooes peering at you still holding your hand. You remove your hand feeling flustered as you compose yourself, “Mm, I wouldn’t say that was your name, no?” He raises a brow feigning innocence, “Oh? Whatever do you mean?” You murmur, “Fae never give away their names easily. Is it a nickname?”

His eyes sparkle and a loud cackle escapes his mouth startling you. He grins running a hand through his brown floppy locks of hair, “Oh my, flower you have quite the knowledge arsenal on you. How enticing that is…” You scoff, “I am a scholar.” He hums, “Oh yes, of course, of course. This makes things so much more fun, I do love a good challenge, you know? But to make this more fun. My name is Beomgyu. Not a lie this time.” You deadpan, “Well, really.” A giggle escapes his lips.

You sigh stepping over a log. Your legs were beginning to ache from the various terrains you were walking on. You were purely exhausted too. “Hey, Beomgyu, I guess I’ll call you that. Listen, I’m genuinely so, so tired. I don’t even know if I have the energy to put up with your verbal tests of intelligence and witty remarks. I do not plan to be Fae food today. Respectfully, I really want to just be left alone. I already have a lot to deal with. I really have to get to my site.”

Beomgyu pouts, “Oh my poor flower, so overworked, fatigued and drained. All you humans are so uptight and demanding; it’s so pitiful to see. Always working, never taking time be entertained, to relax. There’s so many ways to relax you know, all beneficial for the mind and body. We Fae love relaxation and in particular, watching entertainment. It’s important to know when to relax, hm? Perhaps I could help you.”

Well probably because they had nothing better to do (but you weren’t going to risk that by saying your opinion out loud). You grunt, “Right, well. Life would be peachy if I could just drop everything and live in a forest with no sense of knowledge, responsibility or obligations.” His eyes glimmer and twinkle, and you immediately follow it up with, “Not literally.” His shoulders slump as he frowns, “Aw, and here I thought I could make that wish come true.”

“No need, Beomgyu,” you utter. You stop walking for a moment and realise you haven’t checked your map in awhile as you were too busy chattering with Beomgyu. Shit! You mutter, “Fuck.” You had lost where you were on the map. Perhaps you had made a wrong turn or lost track of where you were walking as you were taking! This was that damn Fae’s fault! He probably wanted this to happen in fact. Anger and fury rises up within you as you spot him innocently peering at you with a smile. “What is it? You aren’t lost are you, flower?”

You snap as anger envelops you, “Well, it appears I am, all thanks to you! I told you to leave me alone and yet you kept talking on and on, rambling.” Beomgyu frowns at your outburst and he mumbles, “But I just thought you’d like the company. You don’t even have any human colleagues with you. It’s okay, I can help you get to where you need. You mentioned a camp site earlier when we first met, no?”

His eyes twinkle as if he looks guilty and you almost begin to believe he’s remorseful or that he had good intentions. You snap lowly, “No, no. I appreciate the offer but I can manage myself. You can help me out by leaving me be. As is. I’ll be fine.” His umber eyes darken slightly and he sighs, “You humans are so persistent and lack such awareness.” You grit your teeth trying to contain your wrath, “Beomgyu, I’d appreciate not getting insulted.”

You glare at him clearly enraged by this setback as a whole. He folds his arms and scoffs turning his head, “Well, since this is apparently all my fault, that the little human couldn’t keep track of directions, I’ll be on my merry way then. Have fun on your own, little flower. Don’t wilt on the way to your camp,” he spews with a hurt expression. Like a kid throwing a tantrum, he marches and stomps away through the thick bushes and shrubbery.

With that, you were left to your senses.

A pang of guilt hits your heart. He hadn’t done anything to harm you yet and he even was fine with you not giving your name to him. It genuinely seemed like he wanted to get to know you, or was curious. After all, he was a Fae and you were a human, he was bound to be curious. A frown graces your lips, perhaps were you too harsh on him? Were you too rude even? You knew Fae placed a lot of importance on etiquette and politeness. Clearly you threw that out of the window when you snapped.

Sighing, you peer at your map and try to gather your thoughts about your new off-trail location. After minutes, you begin walking in a direction you think is right. You pass by a log. You move on forward. You pass by another log, and another one. Another log again-no, it’s the same log. A whimper escapes your lips; minutes felt like hours. You now felt disoriented and completely on the brink of utter exhaustion. You could faint if you didn’t stop walking. You needed a moment to settle yourself, drink some water and realise that you were quite literally walking in a loop. How long had you been walking?

How the fuck was this happening? Then again, Deep Grove Forest’s illusory properties were intense- but they were unheard of in the outskirts of the forest. What the fuck was even going on anymore? You sit yourself on the log allowing your aching leg muscles to relax and you grab some water to drink viciously to satiate your thirst. You still had food at least. You’d eat when you felt hungry. You were at a loss. Your mind was running at an insane speed trying to figure a way out of this mess.

Before you know it, you feel a wetness on your cheeks. You were crying. Tears drip down your face pathetically and whimpers and sniffles escape you. How pitiful you looked right now. Were you stuck in some sort of illusory loop? Were you terrible at directions? Why did you let Beomgyu leave you? You feel like you were going insane. It was going to become dark soon and here you were like a sitting duck ready to be devoured yet you were too scared to proceed forward in the fear that you’d be heading deeper into the forest.

You continue to cry feeling all the stress of your work life and this situation amalgamate into an emotional breakdown. Your body trembles as your emotions overwhelm you. Realising, you can’t sit here forever, you begin gathering some wood to try and set alight. You needed a fire if you were going to stay warm and cook anything. Tearfully, you begin collecting firewood.

A sudden crunch; as though a twig snapping alerts you. You freeze in fear. More rustling comes from the various foliage around you making you feel terrified. What supernatural beast was going to devour you? You drop all the firewood beside you keeping a sharp eye out.

“HEY!” A boisterous voice bellows out from your right side and you release a petrified screech stumbling backwards. More tears fall down your face and you peer at the source who guffaws, “Oh sweet flower, did I scare you? I thought you were braver than that.” You glare and proceed to burst into more tears. His eyes widen and he rushes over, “Oh my dear flower, you’re hurt. I’m sorry? It appears you’ve been crying.”

You sniffle feeling genuinely dreadful. Your hands were all scraped up from you stumbling back. You were lost, injured and exhausted. Beomgyu frowns sitting beside you and he helps you up to which you don’t resist back to sitting on the log. He sits beside you peering at your hands and taking them into his. “I’m sorry, human. I didn’t realise you were in…such a pitiful state. I thought you’d have long made it to your camp. You seemed mighty resilient.” You sniffle, “Well, I didn’t okay.”

Beomgyu runs his thumbs over the back of your hands softly and you feel a tingling sensation. His skin shimmers ethereally under the spots of light filtering through the canopy above. “I really am sorry, human.” You frown, “It’s…whatever. It’s fine.” His expression is remorseful.

He murmurs peering around, “You didn’t get very far did you?” You whimper, “I can see that.” Beomgyu chuckles, “It’s okay. This forest is very hard for humans to traverse through at times. Even the outskirts.” You huff.

You get ahold of your emotions and begin to calm down. He continues to hold your hands gently as you settle yourself and grasp your situation. Beomgyu delicately cups your cheek and wipes away your tears and tear-stains. He murmurs soothing words and peers warmly into yours eyes. You feel safe with him, secure. He had an aura of welcoming and kindness. You sigh; you didn’t know. You didn’t know what to believe anymore. You just wanted to be home right now.

“I’m…I’m fine now, Beomgyu,” you shakily murmur as you stand up. He murmurs, “So brave, good job, sweet flower.” You mumble, “Do you have to call me that?” Beomgyu mischievously hums, “Or your nam-“ “No. Never mind, forget I said anything,” you deadpan.

Instead of the usual smug, scoff and grin, his gaze darkens for a moment and he huffs, rolling his eyes, “Of course…” His expression brightens once more and he hums standing beside you as begin to pace around in thought. “What’s your plan? You need to get to your campsite. The sun is about to set,“ he states. You frown; you actually weren’t sure.

Beomgyu speaks tentatively with a concerned expression, “Flower, I really do feel bad for you. I’m up for good tricks and mischief, but this, you need to get to safety. How about you let me help you?” Beomgyu walks in front of you with a sympathetic expression and genuineness in tone. “I want to help you, sweet flower. It does pain me to see you so helpless. I may be a fae but I’m not cruel,” he murmurs frowning and says, “Consider this as me making it up for scaring you earlier. I distracted you in the first place, so let me guide you. So just give me your map and I’ll figure out roughly where we are and take-“

Your mind whirrs. You’re so desperately tempted to lean on him for support. Allow him to guide you. For once you didn’t want to be the person who was relied on, on which all the tension piled up on. You peer at his endearing visage laced with concern. Was it too good to be true? There was one rule you learnt back during your degree.

Never accept the help of the Fae.

You were already in deep enough shit. You shakily murmur, “Beomgyu…I-“ He raises a brow, “What? I can help you, I know this forest like the back of my hand-“ You shake your head, “I really appreciate the offer Beomgyu, but I- I can manage.” He goes quiet gobsmacked by your answer before yelping, “But you need help? You can’t do something like this by yourself; you have no idea. Don’t be so irrational, flower!”

You stand your ground and murmur, “I’ll figure it out-“ He snaps, “How? How then?” You snark, “I-I don’t know, but I will!”

Beomgyu’s gaze darkens as he steps forward, “Don’t be foolish, you know nothing of these woods! You’ll be walking in circles till you die or get killed beforehand. Why are you so stubborn? Just let me help you,” he snarls lowly. You shake your head firmly, “Beomgyu, I already said no! Why do you care so damn much?”

Another step forward. You take another step back. He steps forward once more and you step back.

“Beomgyu,” you warn. Beomgyu’s expression changes completely into something that sends chills down your spine. It’s incredibly malevolent as if he’s on the brink of losing his temper with you. “You’re testing my patience, flower,” he grits out, jaw tightening. You say nothing as your body freezes up in fear.

Beomgyu clicks his tongue in anger before he steps forward, arm outstretched and he wraps his fingers around your neck, in record speed. He shoves you against the nearby tree. Beomgyu’s slender fingers wrap around your neck and begin squeezing, as his face is just a few centimetres from yours comes into your view. He’s incredibly pissed, enraged even.

“How insolent,” his tone husky and deeper than usual. He continues squeezing his fingers, “I was willing to be patient yet you were the most persistent one I’ve seen as of yet. Not falling into any of my traps. Not a single thank you, or please. How infuriating it is!” His dark eyes gleam, “Though I do love a challenge, I am beginning to get frustrated. More so, you seem to keep your wits about you. You’re rightfully cautious, unfortunately for me.” He leans closer squeezing your neck even tighter, “Not to mention, you have a face that I find ever so alluring, so endearing too. Intellect and beauty, what a deadly combination, flower,” he cooes with a manic grin.

Your lips part and you gasp. He hums, “Oh? Finding it hard to breathe. Sorry, I tend to squeeze a little hard when I’m frustrated.” Your cheeks feel warm at his proximity and he hums, “Hm? Or maybe you like it? I remember one researcher I came across, had quite the affinity for my hand on her neck.” Your eyes widen. A sadistic twinkle appears in his eye, “Are you the same?” His thumb caresses the side of your neck, “Shall I squeeze harder, flower?”

Fuck, what was wrong with you? The warmth that shoot through your senses was terrifying.

He cooes, “You were so infuriating. I thought even at your lowest, after manipulating your surroundings, you still refused my help.” His hand slides up your neck to cup your jaw, “Aw,” he chuckles, “You look so adorable, terrified like this. Like a deer that’s just gotten shot with a single arrow.” Your knees shake and Beomgyu notices, a dark smile graces his sinfully tempting lips.

He leans closer as he slots his knee coyly between your legs and slips his other arm behind you to curl around your waist whilst keeping the other securely cupping your jaw. A shiver goes through your body, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Beomgyu. A snarky smirk appears as he whispers lowly into your ear, “Are you afraid? Or are you enjoying this? Hm? Are you so touch-starved, my dear flower, that this has you trembling?”

You whimper, “No- I-“ Beomgyu hums, “Push me away, then, flower.” He cooes, “I’ll even loosen my grip on you, go ahead.” The warmth of his body; the humidity in the air, the way his body is pressed into yours; it was all so much. On the one hand you felt scared but on the other he was so alluring it had you feeling weak to his seductive gaze. The way his fingers traced patterns along your waist through your shirt had your mind melting already.

You hadn’t had this attention in a long time, you hadn’t relaxed in a long time. His ministrations and motions were making you feel like putty in his hands. Something that you were not entirely opposed to. Beomgyu hums, “Why so quiet now, hm?” You peer into his glitteringly haunting eyes. Your gazes lock and he hums, “What a pretty face you have,” he slides his thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down, “Oh and these lips, these lips that held so much fervour and anger to them,”

He leans ever so closely, “These lips that now quiver at my touch. These lips that don’t fall for my pretty lies and traps.”

Beomgyu cooes with a dark smile as he peers at your lips, “Poor flower, so distraught! Unable to know what to do, and where to go. That pretty little head of yours is working over time, isn’t it?” You attempt to glare at his condescending tone and he merely chuckles, “I can fix that. I can make it all better, flower. You know that right? You can hand over all your worries to me. I’ll take care of them. I’ll take care of you. You deserve to be cherished, my delicate flower.” His words pierce into your soul; your eyes drift to his lips as he talks and your heart races. You feel warm and breathless.

Beomgyu whispers beside your face; his breath fanning your cheek, “What will your colleagues do anyway? They’ll make you make tea, carry their stuff, see you as nothing more than an inexperienced researcher, a burden. But I can see you’re so much more than that. So much more to you. They don’t realise the intelligence behind that face.” A shiver runs down your body at his praise.

“You seem rather comfortable in my arms, you like this don’t you?” He murmurs suddenly dipping his head into the curve of your neck. He brushes the bridge of his nose along the curve of your neck and you whimper. You feel him smirk against your skin and tighten his hold on you. “Mm…I think I have a few ways I can help you to relax. De-stress for awhile…”

You breathlessly murmur, “Beomgyu, this is wrong. I-“ he murmurs leaning forward, “Shush, less talking and more relaxing. Be content, hm? I know you’re worried about your little team and all but for now focus on yourself; aren’t you tired of living for other people?” The question strikes you deeply. His lips brush against your own, “Let me take off the burden if not only for a moment.” Beomgyu peers at you with a glance and hums pleasantly as you make no move to turn your head away. Would giving into temptation be so bad? If not only for a while?

Your eyes peer into his gorgeous ones. His ethereal face awaiting your response. Your body jitters with nervousness and excitement. His intimate hold on you, his seductive gaze, the sly smile on his beautiful lips. Goodness…

You breathlessly murmur, “Kiss me.”

Beomgyu obliges with a devious smirk. You willingly close your eyes as his lips press against yours. They move softly yet passionately against yours; he was good. Very good. He nips at your lower lip sending a jolt of pleasure through you and he hums playfully into the kiss as he deepens it pressing you further against the bark of the tree. His tongue brushes against your lower lip making you groan. He slides his hand back down to your neck. All your thoughts of stress, your current situation, the future, any thoughts at all, fly out of your brain instantly.

His touch was magical; his lips were sorcery. After a minute or so, you both part for air. You shiver and he hums, “Your lips taste as sweet as the honey found in the realm of the fae.” You murmur, “That’s quite the compliment.” He chuckles brushing his nose against yours and leaning his forehead against yours, “Mm, indeed it is. The sound of you breathless, has my mind racing.”

Your cheeks feel warm and you mumble, “I…whatever.” Your head feels fuzzy and you feel genuinely content. Beomgyu suddenly pulls you in against his body, “Flower, my sweet flower, you look so dazed? Were my lips too much for you?” He place a peck on your neck. You shake your head writhing out of his grasp, “No, I- as nice as this is, I’ve got to…focus. I need to get back to the camp.”

Beomgyu sighs, a look of frustration crossing his features. You yelp as he places his hands on your shoulders firmly. “What are you-“ He twists you around so that you’re facing away from him. Before you can say anything, he covers your eyes with his hands. You feel his lips against your ear, “Since you’re still so persistent, allow me to show you the truth of the matter.”

In a few seconds, he pries his hands off your eyes and you stumble forward. Where were you? The environment changed? He pushes you forward lightly through some shrubbery. Your eyes widen seeing bright orange trail tape - the campsite! What the fuck?

You rush forward peering around. Your shoulders slouch seeing the holes of where the tent pegs should have been. You see the old burnt firewood. You spot some litter here and there alongside some tarps and broken crates. Pieces of paper lie torn and destroyed, here and there. The fuck was this?

You scream at him, “Where are they? My team?” Beomgyu simply gives you a chilling smile as he sees you breakdown. “Do you wonder, flower, for how long you were walking in circles before? Seeing the same trees, the same log. You didn’t even feel that hungry did you? Do you even know how much time has passed? How long you’ve spent with me?”

Your knees buckle as you screech, “No, no. Don’t fuck with me, Beomgyu!” You peer around manically, “No, they can’t have left. They wouldn’t leave me behind. He grins, “Oh? Perhaps they went to look for you? Sent out what do you humans call it again?”

Your eyes widen, “…a search party. Surely, why…why..” your brain scrambles to find some sort of logical explanation for this.

Beomgyu walks over and crouches beside you, “Ah, ah, there you go thinking too hard again. Flower dearest, logic and rationality don’t apply here. Don’t you understand? What I want, I’ll get. What you want, you won’t,” he hums sinisterly.

“This place, is my domain. A place I can shape to my will, make you see what I want you to see and remove what I don’t. Alas, it’s the realm of the fae that you had been walking in the entire time; just after I had initially met you of course.”

Your mind whirrs as you piece everything together. He had made you lose track of your trail, your course. That’s most likely when you slipped into the realm of the fae; after you met him! He purposely made you lose direction. Your teammates probably gave up their search, because you weren’t in the human realm. You murmur lowly in horrible realisation, “Time works differently in the fae r-realm..”

Beomgyu places a hand gently atop your head caressing down, “Very good, flower.” No wonder there’s nothing left here! They probably thought you were dead-

Beomgyu grins sliding his slender hand to cup your face, “Poor thing, I know it must be hard right to process everything. But you see, you weren’t falling for anything, like the others of your pitiful kind do. That’s why I like you! I had to pull out all my tricks today.”

Your body trembles and he hums playfully, “Anyway, it’s not often, you get to meet with a Fae. You should be honoured I even chose to waste my time on you, instead of killing you off at your reluctance. I get bored rather quickly.“ His fingers glisten and sparkle as he rubs them together. The sparkles fall with a magical chime being emitted. Fairy dust.

“Beautiful isn’t it, flower?” You say nothing feeling numb inside watching it pour down from his other hand in front of your face. “Oh? Don’t tell me you’re hurt by my little illusory trick? It’s all in good fun.” A tear slips down your cheek. Beomgyu release a sadistic giggle at the sight, “Oh no, oh dear. My poor flower is hurt?” He pulls you into a tight hug caressing the back of your head. He cooes, “I’m sorry. It was the only way.”

You murmur, “You get nothing of me being stranded here.” He hums coldly, “Well, I don’t plan to leave you out in the real world. The Fae realm is so much better.” Your heart races in your ribcage. He continues holding you tightly against him. “As I said, Fae enjoy their entertainment. By that I meant, humans.”

Beomgyu tilts your head upwards to meet his sadistic gaze, “Many of my kind, keep your kind as pets, servants and whatnot.” You icily grit out, “Your other victims?”

He grins, “Oh? Them? You need not concern yourself. They were fun whilst they lasted.” Beomgyu pouts, “As I said, I like a challenge; I don’t like when they start getting too broken, or submissive. It takes all the fun out of it.”

You’re mortified at his words. Your blood runs cold despite his warm arms wrapped around you. He hums placing a delicate kiss to your forehead, “Don’t look so scared, flower! You intrigue me more so than anyone else I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I assure you, we’ll have so much fun together,” he releases a dark chuckle.

Beomgyu hums condescendingly, “If you’re lucky, maybe one day you’ll even win my heart over? How exciting, hm?” You lowly snap, “Go to hell.”

Beomgyu’s lips twist into a grin as he tightens, “Hm? You weren’t so hostile when you asked me to kiss you? I obliged in fact. You could owe me for that, yet I didn’t ask for anything. Perhaps in your deepest, darkest dreams your wish will occur. Until then, I’ll be making sure my name is the only thing your wonderful lips can utter.”

Perhaps, it was a misconception that Fae could only hurt you if you gave out your name or accepted their help. Though it appears some Fae, overall didn’t keep that etiquette.

How unfortunate for you, that you stumbled upon such a fae, a truly sadistic trickster indeed.

Perhaps it was best to just leave the supernatural creatures to themselves. Somethings are better left unknown after all, hm? Who knows how many researchers fell under their traps?

212 notes · View notes

agustdakasuga · 9 months

Text

The Way Of A Criminal: Chapter 8

Genre: Mafia!AU, Criminal!AU, Angst, Romance

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Your father was a stranger, you never knew who he was and what he did. But one day, someone knocks on your door, informing you of his passing. Now, you learn more about him, his life and the legacy you are expected to continue with the help of his 7 executives.

Story warning(s): This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed/gore, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking and gambling. This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. Please read at your own discretion.

Jimin yawned as he sat up from the awkward angle that he fell asleep in. It had been another night of working for him. In his drunken stupor, he had gotten rid of his jacket and fell asleep in his shirt and pants.

“Hey, you.” Jimin said, sticking his head out the window to a maid that was cleaning the backyard.

“Young master Jimin.” She immediately stood up straight and bowed.

“Bring my breakfast to my room and an iced black coffee. I’ll be in the shower, leave it on my desk.” Jimin pulled his head back in and went to take a nice, hot shower. The smell of old alcohol and blood dissipated and was replaced with the smell of fresh soap.

“Exactly what I needed.” Jimin came out, a towel over his shoulder to prevent his dripping hair from wetting his shirt. He saw the tray of hot food and sat down to dig in.

“Chim? You’re up?” Taehyung poked his head into the room.

“Oh, Tae. Yeah... I just woke up. I didn’t get in until this morning.” Jimin blinked as he took a sip of the hot soup. That settled his churning stomach.

“I heard. Namjoon hyung said to expect that we will be more busy but we still have to try to lay low.” Taehyung groaned in annoyance, falling onto the back of Jimin’s bed, arms spread as he stared at the ceiling.

“Your informant is dead, by the way.”

“What happened?” Taehyung hoisted himself up onto his elbows to look at the back of his best friend’s head.

“Not sure. I went to the meeting point like you said. His body was already cold, waiting for me to find. He was probably ratted out by someone. The injuries look like a mafia’s execution style. His jaw was broken from someone stomping on the back of his head and a single gunshot wound right through the skull.” Jimin described.

“Damn, it’s getting harder to find good informants nowadays. Ones that actually stay hidden and anonymous. No biggie, I’ll just try to scout another person.” Taehyung clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“That’s what you get for having lackeys as your informants. Do they even get you anything useful?”

“They get me what I need underground, I guess. Plus, lackeys are easier to convert than long time workers.” Taehyung shrugged.

“Oh yeah. Apparently, there was a visitor to one of my clubs. They can’t describe the guy but someone handed my bartender this in the stack of bills during payment.” Jimin went to retrieve something from his jacket pocket.

“Hmmm.” Taehyung held the card.

“What does it mean?” Jimin asked as he sat back down to continue his meal. There was no reply, making him turn to his best friend. Taehyung was deep in thought, a slight frown on his face.

“Tae?”

“This card... It’s the Judgement card. The angel, sent by God, to judge who is eligible to enter heaven. Someone is going to declare a war soon and judgement will be upon us all, to decide who lives and who dies.” Taehyung spoke stoicly as he stood up.

“If Namjoon hyung asks, don’t tell him about the card yet. Until I can find out more.” He said to Jimin, who nodded his head.

“This message was meant for me. I don’t know why but to send a message in the form of a card...” Taehyung trailed off at the end of his sentence. Without another word, he left the room.

“I’m done with my food. You can clear my room now.” Jimin informed the butler when he emerged from his room.

“Yes, young master.” The butler bowed.

“Do you guys know where Namjoon hyung is?” Jimin asked Jungkook and Hoseok, who were engrossed on their video game, too busy trying to kill the other person’s character.

“He’s at the lab. Has some big meeting with the guys in the defense department of the government to work on some prototype or something.” Jungkook said.

“Oh.”

“He hasn’t been to the lab in forever things are all backed up there. They’re asking Namjoon hyung to consuilt and invest in their new chemical weapon testing.” He explained.

“He had a message for you. He said ‘give the note to Yoongi hyung’, whatever that means.” Hoseok added. Jimin hummed as an acknowledgement and went to find the second oldest. Yoongi was squinting at his piano book, trying to read the sheet music to play on his piano. He reached over to grab his crystal whiskey glass to take a sip.

“Yoongi hyung? It’s Jimin, I have something for you.” Jimin knocked on the door. Yoongi’s fingers stopped, resting on the black and white keys. He knew why Jimin was here, Namjoon had informed him prior.

“Come in.” He replied.

“Here. Namjoon hyung said to hand this to you.” Jimin took the folded paper out of his pocket and placed it on the piano.

“Thanks.” Yoongi took the paper and unfolded it, his eyes scanning the contents. Jimin tilted his head, he didn’t know what the names and numbers on the paper meant.

“What’s it for?”

“It’s a hit list. We’re not sure whose hit list it is but since the names are members of the same political faction, it’s obvious that there is some sort of political motive to get rid of them.” Yoongi explained.

“So what are we going to do?” Jimin asked.

“Protect the bigger names, kill the smaller ones before the actual hitman can get to them. Create confusion for the actual person that ordered the hit. You, Jungkook and I will be mobilised when the plan is in action.” Yoongi informed and Jimin nodded his head, understanding.

The three of them were the hitmen of the group. Of course, everyone knew how to wield a weapon but the three of them were usually responsible for the more violent missions.

“I won’t disturb you further. Bye.” Jimin waved and left. Yoongi watched the younger leave and shut the door.

‘I got the list from Jimin. It’s a big one. - Yoongi’

Namjoon looked at the text on his phone. He let out a sigh of relief, grateful for Jimin’s skills in retrieving the list. He put the device away and turned back to the defence minister.

“Of course, I trust that all this will be kept under wraps?” The minister turned to Namjoon.

“You’re the one that sought us out to invest in your little project, Mr Park. I should be the one concerned with the secrecy, not you. Don’t you think?” Namjoon chuckled. At the slight taunt in his voice, the defence minister’s guards stepped up but the old man held his hand up to stop him. He nodded in agreement with Namjoon.

“Definitely. Your investment and expertise will be a big help to the development and testing of our new prototype. The outsourced labs we’ve partnered with just isn’t cutting it.” The minister clicked his tongue.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to put them down. They do have the backing of the government and they know how to keep a good image in front of the public.”

“That’s true. But I know you will get me the results I want, Mr Kim.” The minister gave Namjoon a knowing smile.

“I look forward to working with you then.” He held his hand out.

“Not so fast.” Namjoon raised his eyebrow at the outstretched hand. The minister withdrew his hand, waiting for Namjoon to continue speaking. No way will Namjoon strike a deal that easily.

“I want the profiles of those working the team and prototype. Background checks. Can’t be too careless with potential moles working with other people.” Namjoon explained.

“Understandable. I will get my secretary to send them over to you.”

“You’ll get your contract signature after those profiles are looked over.” Namjoon said. The same guard from before stepped up.

“Someone’s a little on edge, isn’t he” Namjoon smirked with a slight tilt of the head.

“Forgive him, Mr Kim. He’s new to the job and doesn’t know how these things work. There’s no intention to disrespect.” The defence minister said. He turned to the guard, nodding over to Namjoon. That was the signal for him to bow and apologise to Namjoon.

“If that’s all, I look forward to the next time we speak. Maybe then, you’ll be a bit more accustomed to this.” Namjoon patted the guard’s shoulder, who stiffened up.

“Thank you for your time in seeing us. Hopefully, we get a good partnership out of this.” The defence minister shook hands with Namjoon.

“We’ll see.” Namjoon raised his eyebrows.

The car came to a stop and the worker jogged out, opening the car door for Taehyung. He sighed and came out, entering the shop. The receptionist stood up from her post and bowed deeply to him.

“Boss.” Two of Taehyung’s men stood up and bowed as Taehyung walked deeper into the store.

“We lost another informant yesterday. So either they’re not very good secret keepers or there is a mole amongst us, leaking out information on who the informants are.” Taehyung said, sitting down on his throne-like chair. All this was covered by the curtain separating the store front and the usual ‘consultation’ area of the shop.

“I want you all to find the mole. Go!” Taehyung barked. The two men nodded fearfully, bowing and running out of there.

“Tch.” Taehyung kicked his feet up onto the table, resting them on the purple velvet tablecloth. He took out the card that Jimin gave him earlier, spinning it between his fingers.

“Judgement day is coming.” He said quietly to himself.

RINGGGGGGG

“V’s Fortune Telling and Tarot Reading. How can I help you?... Do you have an appointment?... I understand, please hold.” Taehyung heard the receptionist answer the phone at the front of the shop. The receptionist poked her head behind to curtain, making Taehyung sit up.

“Boss. It’s for you.” She handed the phone over to Taehyung. It must have been a notable person for her to not handle the call herself like she usually does. He looked at the number and recognised it immediately.

“Mr President. I wasn’t expecting a call from you. How can I help?” Taehyung smirked as he spoke into the phone.

After passing the phone over, the receptionist immediately bowed out of the curtained area and walked to the front, turning the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and drawing the privacy curtains.

‘Hi, (y/n)! I’m apparently the only one with your number so I was asked to send you a message. Would you like to join my brothers and I for dinner tomorrow night? - Taehyung’

You drummed your fingers on your desk as you thought about what to reply, how were you supposed to craft your reply and you didn’t know if you wanted to say that you would go or not. Of course, your schedule was free, your plan was to just do university work. But did you want to go?

“Hey. You okay?” Wonwoo waved his hand in front of your face when he noticed you spacing out.

“Did you just run a marathon? You’re panting so heavily.” You chuckled, acting completely normal as you turned your phone screen to hide the message pop up from Taehyung.

“The dance teacher let us go late. I thought I wouldn’t have time to shower before coming.” He shook his head with a tired sigh.

“Because your performance evaluations are coming up?”

“Yeah. But I’m confident my team and I can do it. They’re all really talented and hardworking.” Wonwoo said.

“I’m sure you’re just as talented as they are, Woo. I haven’t seen you all perform before but I am sure you are all very good.” You smiled. You have seen Wonwoo rap, dance and play instruments before, he was really talented.

“Actually, tomorrow we’re having this small performance in the studio and students are welcomed to come watch. Sort of like rehearsal for us too. It’ll be after school at about 4pm. Are you free to come?” He asked. You thought back to the dinner plans that Taehyung just invited you for. Maybe you could go after watching Wonwoo.

“Sure. Save me a seat.” You nodded your head. Wonwoo smiled excitedly and gave you a thumbs up. The professor came in and began the class.

After class, you made sure to remember to text Taehyung back with your reply for tomorrow’s dinner plans. The plan was for you to be picked up from the university then get ready at their place before going for dinner.

‘Where will we be going for dinner? - (y/n)’

‘It’s a surprise so I can’t tell you. If you need the dress code, hmm… I would say dress smart casual. It isn’t too fancy. - Taehyung’

“That doesn’t help at all.” You sighed. Not because of the vague dress code but you wanted to do some research before the dinner. You wanted to know what to expect, in terms of behaviour and type of food.

‘Don’t worry too much. It’s just a casual dinner :) See you tomorrow! - Taehyung’

It was as if he knew exactly what you were fretting about. You were supposed to go home with Wonwoo but when you arrived at the front of the university, there were girls surrounding him, giggling and chatting about how excited they were to see him perform tomorrow.

“The bus it is.” You didn’t hold it against him. Even in high school, Wonwoo was very popular with the girls. There was no doubt that he was handsome and girls were always jealous of you being friends with him.

“Hey, (y/n). I’m at the front of the university. Where are you?”

“Oh, hey Wonwoo! I saw that you were busy so I decided to just take the bus home. I didn’t want to take you away from your friends.” You said as you tapped your card.

“I’m sorry, (y/n)... I promised to drop you home but those people just surrounded me. Where are you now?”

“No need to apologise, it’s fine. Really. I’m already on the way home.” You assured him.

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You and Wonwoo bid each other goodbye before hanging up. While on the bus, you decided to look at the promotional announcements for your nearby supermarket. With everything you’ve been doing, the house was in serious need of some restocking. So instead of going home, you got off at the stop near the supermarket.

“Good evening.” You grabbed a cart and greeted the staff that were out restocking. You followed your list in picking up what you needed, both food and household items.

“Pasta.” You looked at all the shapes available on the shelf. Going to the shelf, you tiptoed to try and get the box down.

“Let me help.” Someone appeared behind you, reaching up to get the box.

“Thank you.” You received the box with a bow of your head. After he saved you the other night, you haven’t really spoken to him. You didn’t really know how he felt about you. Plus, you were a little awkward.

“What brings you here, Hoseok sshi?” You blinked.

“I was in the area for work. Stopped by to get our youngest some snacks.” He explained, gesturing to his basket of snacks.

“And (y/n)? Just call me Hoseok.” He smiled. You nodded your head, clearing your throat while looking away. You continued walking and Hoseok walked beside you.

“Do you mind me tagging along?” He asked. You shook your head.

“Do you usually end university at this time?” He tilted his head.

"No, it differs depending on the class and meetings after.” You replied. Hoseok grabbed what he needed and waited patiently for you, helping you carry the heavy stuff to load into your shopping cart. He didn’t really make an effort to force a conversation, which you were grateful for.

“I’m done.” You informed him. He nodded and you both headed for the cash register to pay for your items. Like the gentleman he was, Hoseok let you go first, even if you had more things.

“Here-”

“No. Please, these are my household stuff. I can pay for them myself.” You stopped him from giving his credit card over.

“Here you go. Thank you.” You handed your own card over to the cashier, who bagged everything up for you. As she bagged, you put the stuff bag into your cart to wheel out. Hoseok helped you while the cashier scanned his items.

“I’ll drop you home. It’ll be too heavy to carry everything and take the bus.” Hoseok offered.

“Thank you.” You shot him a small smile.

“Done. Let’s go.” Hoseok got his bags and you pushed the cart, following him to his car. Fortunately, Hoseok decided to drive a bigger car to work rather than one of the two seater sportscars.

Once everything was loaded, Hoseok began to drive back to your home. Unlike Taehyung, he listened to soft rap music in the car. You looked out the window at the setting sun and noticed people rushing after getting off work. Luckily Hoseok had bumped into you and was able to send you back. Or else you would have to carry everything in a crowded bus.

“Let me help you off load the items.” Hoseok said as he put the car in park outside your house.

“There’s no need! You’ve helped me more than enough. Even saving me from having to ride in a crowded bus with my things. Really, I appreciate it.” You shook your hands.

“It’s alright. Jungkook can afford to wait for his snacks. He won’t starve.” Hoseok laughed, grabbing the bags and walking up to your house. You quickly ran forward to unlock the door for him.

“You can just leave them here.” You pointed to the kitchen table.

“Thank you again, Hoseok sshi.” You bowed repeatedly once everything was brought into the house.

“Don’t keep thanking me, (y/n). It’s really no big deal. Also, I said to just call me Hoseok. Drop the formalities.” He smiled. His smile was rather infectious, making you smile too.

“I’m glad you’re not feeling awkward or uncomfortable with me after what happened last time. Because I want to assure you that I won’t judge or anything. It was a moment of vulnerability for you and I would never tease you over it.” Hoseok said.

“O-Oh... right... I was just feeling embarrassed by my reaction to it.” You rubbed the back of your neck.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s normal to be scared. And I’m glad you could count on us, or at least Taehyung, to help you.” He said.

“It was the only person I could think of at that time. And I don’t even want to think of what would have happened if you guys didn’t come in time.” You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Don’t scare yourself.” He patted your shoulder and you nodded, relaxing immediately.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner?”

“Yes. I look forward to it.” You giggled. You walked Hoseok to the door, awkwardly waving and watching him drive off before heading back into the house to unpack the groceries.

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