#well even if that were true (and it sure as fuck isn’t) is the violence happening not horrifying? does it not make you sick to see millions

[cvctuslesbian]

my mom tried to call me an idiot today because i said that i think the united states being built on the blood and subjugation of other people is bad

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s gf pt. II

3 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader

“Sweetheart, this is…not good.”

You turn your head over to him, where he’s frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.

You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”

He sighs, “Well for one, the lock is broken. But even if it weren’t, this thing would be so easy to break.”

“It’s the lock the place came with.” You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham that’s kind of asking a lot.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. “I’m getting you better locks.” He looks to you, “I can install them tomorrow?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, “You don’t need to get me new locks, Jay…”

“Okay.” He kisses your head, “I’m getting them.”

You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. “Tomorrow’s fine. I assume you’re staying the night, then?”

He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.”

“I’ve lived here for two years.” You say flatly.

“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. “Actually, your door chain’s broken too, isn’t it?” It is, but that’s his own fault.

You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and he’d broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.

You hum, “It wasn’t doing much anyways.” Clearly.

He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.

You laugh lightly, “What?”

He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, “I don’t like that.”

You’d never thought much of it. You hadn’t had any—well, many—problems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.

“It’s okay. I’m safe here.”

He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. “Will you please let me set up some security measures around here?”

“Did Jason Todd just say please?” You say in faux-shock.

He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m serious.”

You sigh, contemplatively. “I don’t want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.”

He laughs at that, “It’s not going to. You won’t even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?”

“I’ll agree, but only because I know you’re going to do it anyways and I’d like to pretend I have control over this.” That’s not true, you’d agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but that’s your business.

“Fair enough.” He smiles, kissing your cheek.

No, it’s not fair at all.

It’s late. You’re not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.

You’re coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, you’re out of ibuprofen. Yeah, it’s late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldn’t like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait until—

The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.

You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.

“Hey, baby.” You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. “Why don’t you go get in bed?”

He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.

He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.

He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.

“I gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.

You’ve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay here, I’m just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, it’s cold.”

You do as you’re told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.

He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.

Frankly, you’re not even sure what kind of fight he’d be able to put up in this state. Though, he’s surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time there’s any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.

He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.

As you’re standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though you’re sure it’s not doing anything to help his exhaustion.

You’re walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. There’s another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.

Jason’s too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.

He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until you’re back inside your apartment.

He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second you’re done, setting them on the counter.

He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, “Can we sleep now?”

You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.

The worst he’d done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.

And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that you’re heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he won’t get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.

At least he hadn’t until a couple of hours ago. You’d been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and you’ve entered the phase of…well. That happened.

Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. He’s carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.

He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, “You’re never gonna guess what b—“ His smile drops when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, “Nothing.” But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you can’t remember what you usually do with your face when you’re not lying. It doesn’t matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and you’re still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.

He frowns, “Don’t lie to me.” He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. “Please. What’s wrong?” His eyes are worried now, more than usual.

You don’t want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and he’s got all his vigilante stuff and…you just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.

“It’s just…it’s not a big deal, okay? I can handle it—”

His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, “What happened?”

You know where this is going. “Jason. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. “Did someone put their hands on you? Who?”

“Jason—”

“Who did it?”

“The neighbor, b—” he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, “Jason. Please don’t.”

The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.

“Baby, if he touched you—” His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.

“It wasn’t—he didn’t do anything. He didn’t get to. I hit him and he backed off.” Which is…sort of true.

He stares at you. “In the hallway?”

You blink. “…Yeah?”

He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.

You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and today’s date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what he’s doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.

“Jason—” you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.

He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.

“—please just listen to me.” But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.

He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.

The angle doesn’t show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You don’t answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.

Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an “excuse” to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.

Your hands are out in front of you and you’re shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.

You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesn’t matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.

You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.

Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. “That was not nothing.”

No, it wasn’t. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and you’re not sure why. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now…it feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.

“I…I don’t want anyone to die because of me…” your words aren’t quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.

He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. “It’s—it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that I’d do the same thing.”

You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though it’s the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.

“No, I know that. I know…it’s just…” Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.

“Fuck, baby.” His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.

You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. It’s—it’s too many bad things. I can’t…”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay here. I’m staying here with you, okay?” You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.

This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jason’s going to do later.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.

“Will you forgive me if I kill him?” He whispers into your hair.

You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Don’t.”

“Is that a yes?”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.” He says nothing. “Just, please, don’t kill him.”

He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.

You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, “And don’t get in trouble.”

Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.

“Hey, bud.”

He jumps, spinning around, “Who the fuck—oh, shit.” He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.

Your neighbor stutters, “What—what are you doing here?”

He looks up at him, cocking the gun. “You put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?”

He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. “What? No, I would ne—which neighbor?”

He can’t see it, but Hood’s face drops into a deadpan. “That is really not helping your case.”

Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.

Hood sighs, “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been told it’s bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.” He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steels his jaw. “No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.”

The neighbors eyes widen, “A week? Are you insane?”

Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, “Nah, you’re right. By tomorrow night.”

“This is my apartment. I live here, I’m not going anywhere. And unless you’re secretly Saul the landlord under there, you can’t do anything about it.” He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isn’t the only option, is it?

Hood stands, making his way across the room casually. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” He clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. “The alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what they’re doing.”

Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll go!” He wails.

Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. “Shut up. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”

The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.

Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl I’ll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?”

Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.

[syoddeye]

something something possessed by a worm. you're soap's captive girlfriend who got the call that he was shot. i wrote this between the hours of 2-3 am, so let's be chill. ~1.3k words.

cw: italics, imprisonment/abduction, surveillance, medical inaccuracies we breeze right over, threats of violence, collaring, stalking, noncon blowjob.

on paper, it looks bad. it looks cruel. yet, you can’t bring yourself to care—johnny’s injury is a blessing.

it feels like you won the lottery, picking up the emergency phone. inbound calls only. you were so sure it was him, warning you of his imminent return.

playing the part of a devastated partner is easy. the englishman on the other end of the call sympathizes with your crocodile tears and helpfully tells you that someone will fetch you tomorrow morning. that you'll be brought, at no expense, to sit vigil at your boyfriend's side at the hospital. you hear the word ‘coma’, and launch out of bed. you only half listen to the rest of the conversation, hurriedly packing a bag as he drones. you can't end the call fast enough.

dismantling the flat comes first. you smash the cameras and flush the bugs. pry the tracker tag off your collar and bloody your fingers in the process. later, you’ll stick it on a bus.

you scour every nook and cranny, eventually finding the steel box you've seen john fiddling with. after trial and error, you pick the lock, and it’s a relief to see your id and passport again. it’s like a time capsule. past you offers a genuine, albeit shy smile, and you mutter an apology as you tuck her into a pocket. the last of the snacks he’d left go in with your clothes, as well as the few expensive-looking heirlooms he keeps around the flat. 

someone might call about the wide-eyed, crazed woman jumping off the balcony into the bushes. it’s a risk you take. the nearest pawnbroker, if you remember correctly, is only a ten-minute walk away. the cash you end up with isn’t much, but it's the first chunk of money that's yours in ages.

you hold your breath from glasgow to amsterdam and, by sheer luck, find your godmother’s place by memory alone. she’s surprised to find you on her doorstep, but she buys your story of an au pair job gone sour and lets you stay. truth and reality are too humiliating and too risky so long as you’re on european soil. you lay low, but nobody turns up. no one comes looking.

out of an abundance of caution, you cut and dye your hair anyway. you look up every variation of ‘john mactavish’ and scour obituaries and news articles. you don’t find a thing, but you know he’s special forces—they wouldn’t necessarily publish an announcement.

weeks pass. she doesn’t say a word, but guilt gnaws at you for living off your godmother’s kindness. after dodging their calls, you reach out to your parents and beg them to buy you a plane ticket home to chicago. although they welcome you stateside, they’re distressed and confused about your sudden departure and separation from ‘that nice scottish boy’ they’d met over facetime. they didn’t know about the knife just out of frame or the disturbing sketches he’d draw of your mother from memory. you lie through your teeth and blame his hectic work schedule because it’s easier to say that than admit your little journey of ‘self-discovery’ didn’t lead you into a ‘whirlwind romance’, but a fucking nightmare.

(it started as a dreamy evening of darts and drinks, where a cute soldier made you laugh all the way into his bed. a mirage that hid his true intentions. grand overtures designed to dazzle you until it was too late. until he got you fired and evicted. somehow arranged for your visa to be revoked. orchestrated your demoralization and subsequent breakdown. ushered you into his flat with open arms, cooing and rubbing your back as you hiccuped and sobbed. those days are a blur, a series of escalations. a slow boil you didn’t feel until it scalded, until he locked the collar around your neck. even then, you felt like a failure. that it was all your fault for believing the lies. he laid you out beneath him, whispering the things he’d do to your family if you ran. how the powers at be would let him, given his work. a slap on the wrist. that’s all i’d get, hen.)

months turn into a year. you still look up johnny's name on occasion. still stare when you see a mohawk. yet, little by little, you feel like yourself again. rejoin society. get a shit job. you refuse to touch the dating pool with a ten-foot pole, but you don't feel naked wearing short sleeves anymore. don't flinch at the sound of dog tags clinking together.

you pick up a night shift, determined to save extra money so you can find your own apartment and stop leeching off your parents. everything's fine and dandy. slightly creepy, given the hour, but nothing you can't handle. (after johnny, you handle anything.) you close, intending to take out the trash as you lock up. the alley smells like piss and beer.

tossing the bag into the dumpster, you freeze at the silhouette at the mouth of the passage. they face away, cigarette smoke wafting from their person. they probably don't see you, but just to be safe, you turn to head in the other direction to take the long way to the L—

at least, you would, if johnny wasn't looming over you, night terrors manifest. big, broad shoulders and a puffed-out chest. a grin as wide and sharp as you remember. and those bright blue eyes, the light in them flattening in real time as he drinks in your expression. he relishes the way your face drops. the instant terror. a horrific scar catches your eye, flaring in every direction on his temple like a furious sun.

did ye think i'd forgotten ye, bonnie? or hope the gunshot erased ye? did ye believe me dead?

when you start to cry, because why wouldn't you, he—

no, no. hush. this is a good thing. a happy day. we're reunited, and i'm meetin' my girl's parents. cap's gone ahead to break the ice.

and when you scream, because why wouldn't you, he clamps a hand over your mouth and pins you to the dumpster. doesn't care a whit when your head bounces off the metal. the light returns to his eyes as you squirm. his brows pitch, lips curling. he brandishes a knife and stammers through his reprimand, scolding you for all your struggling.

i see ye forgot the rules and your manners. forgot what'll happen if ye dinnae–din–fuckin' play nice.

johnny forces you into a car, muttering reminders of what happens when you run. assures you, even as he loads you bodily into the backseat, sandwiching you between him and some massive freak in a mask, that he is forgiving. when the car rejoins traffic, johnny works his fly open. it takes a minute, his hands a bit unsteady.

a near-death experience clarifies things. puts what's important into focus. john says he saw his future clear as crystal, then shoves your head down without warning. he barks at the man on your other side, and a hand comes to rest on your flank, causing you to whimper around his cock. he moans sinfully at that before violently fucking your throat.

by the time he comes, you're spent. the fight gone out of you. the mitt on your side migrates to your inner thigh, but you can't begin to care. you’re resigned to drooling on john's lap. you pray for a car crash.

johnny explains how, given his connections, it took only two months to find you. they let him do that because of his work, but he decided to wait and bide his time. he details all the therapy, rehab, and everything he did to get into shape, to get his head on straight, and to get to you himself. plus, there was the matter of tracking down his second quarry. naughty, how you pawned it for less than half its value.

his grandmother's ring fits you perfectly. fate, he calls it.

but you know another collar when you see one.

[worldlxvlys]

sorry

part eight of the CRUSH series

bsf! matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: violence, mentions of blood, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, squirting, cursing

a/n -> read the previous part for context !!!

matt let out a dry chuckle at the pet name, “baby?” he spoke slowly, as though the word was one that only he could use when addressing me.

“um, matt…this is dylan. remember the guy i told you i was talking to?” i spoke hesitantly. matt looked him up and down, his glare never faltering as he nodded lightly.

“dylan, this is-” “matt” dylan finished for me, speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. “she’s spoken a lot about you” he told matt, “i don’t really get the hype, but…” he mumbled under his breath, earning a slap to the chest from me.

dylan was usually a sweet, well-mannered guy. i don’t know why he was acting this way towards matt, only having just met him, but i wasn’t going to allow him to speak to him like that.

“that’s funny, didn’t hear a word about you until today” matt spoke, pressing his lips together with his eyebrows raised.

dylan opened his mouth to respond, but i spoke up before he could continue, “what are you doing here dylan?” i asked. i didn’t appreciate him showing up out of the blue, knowing damn well that i already had plans. he had only been to my house one time prior, to drop me off food when i wasn’t feeling well. i would’ve texted matt, but he had already been pissed off that day, and i didn’t want to be a burden to him.

“i figured i’d come see you, make sure you were doing ok, meet this best friend you’re always on about”

“well, here he is” i smiled awkwardly, praying that dylan would just leave. he seemed like a decent guy, but the way he interacted with matt told me everything i needed to know.

“you can go now” matt stated quite bluntly. he was obviously over the situation, and i couldn’t say i blamed him. “i don’t think it’s really up to you to kick me out, it’s not your house” dylan spoke smugly. who the fuck was this dude ? he acted so differently over text than he did in person.

“if matt isn’t comfortable with you here then i’m not either” i spoke up. dylan didn’t seem to like that response, his jaw clenching as he glanced at matt.

“hmmm, that’s interesting. you didn’t have that attitude a couple days ago, you practically begged me to stay” he smirked down at me. he was just pulling things out of his ass at this point.

“i was sick and i didn’t beg you for shit. i never asked for you to do anything, you took it upon yourself to stay” i clarified, knowing he was just trying to get under matt’s skin.

“so what, now you’re ungrateful ? you got your little boyfriend back and now i don’t matter to you? you just needed someone to keep your bed warm, is that it ?” he asked.

"what are you even talking about ? i never let your weird ass in my bed” his jaw tightened at that, he was growing angrier by the minute.

“i’m talking about you leading me on. who was there for you while your buddy here abandoned you ?” dylan asked, poking his finger into matt’s chest. matt immediately reacted to the touch, slapping his hand away.

matt’s silence throughout the entire conversation was a dead giveaway of how pissed off he was. his eyes held a blank look, and i had no clue what he was thinking. all i knew was this wasn’t going to end well.

“there for me? you were there for you. you didn’t even listen to a word i was saying. if you had, you would’ve realized that i never once gave any indication that i liked you. i wanted a friend and you clearly just wanted to get in my pants.”

“be honest, if matt wasn’t standing here, you’d let me. you can deny it all you want, but deep down you know it’s true. you’d take dick anywhere you can g-” one second he was talking, the next he was cut off by a sickening crack.

i didn’t even realize matt had thrown a punch until i saw dylan stagger backwards, the sheer force of matt’s fist causing him to lose his balance.

it almost seemed as though everything was moving in slow motion as i watched matt grab him by his shirt, holding dylan up to look in his eyes. matt’s eyes bounced between dylan’s before he let out a low chuckle, “you didn’t think i was just gonna let you talk to her like that, did you?”

dylan’s nose was bruised pretty badly, blood trickling out of it as he stared at matt with a blank expression. he was trying to hide it, but it was pretty clear that he was terrified.

“tell her you’re sorry” matt spoke, pulling him to stand up straight. instead of speaking, dylan just glared at matt, refusing to follow his commands.

“do i need to say it slower for you? you can either apologize or i can give you something other than that broken nose to worry about” matt’s voice was gruff and cold, something i wasn’t used to. i’d be lying if i said i didn’t find it hot.

dylan looked down at the ground, avoiding eye contact as he muttered, “i’m sorry” in an annoyed tone. matt wasn’t having that shit.

his grip on dylan’s shirt tightened, his knuckles turning white as he got in his face once more. “look her in the eyes, and say it like you mean it.” he spoke firmly.

dylan closed his eyes in annoyance, before opening them and looking at me. “i’m sorry” he said, making it seem more believable. "great” matt spoke shortly giving him a quick push away from the doorway.

“bye” he raised his eyebrows before pushing the door shut and locking it. he turned to look at me, his hands resting on my shoulders, “are you ok?” he asked softly.

“yeah. are you?” i asked, staring at his knuckles, which were starting to bruise. “as long as you are, yeah” he spoke, his thumb gently rubbing my jaw.

i lifted my head slightly, looking into his eyes. i watched as his eyes moved around my face, observing my features. his thumb traced the outline of my lips, while his eyes fixated on them.

he blinked slowly, his mouth hanging open slightly as though he was in a trance. his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, a few strands of his hair falling into his face.

we both stayed in that position, examining each other, waiting for the other to make a move. my breath hitched when matt’s free hand slid down to my waist, rubbing the skin under my shirt.

his cool hand traveled to the small of my back, the difference in our body temperatures sending a shiver up my spine. realizing he had no intentions of making a move, i wrapped my arms around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to mine.

the sudden action pulled a low moan from matt, as he kissed back immediately. it was merely a tender brush of our lips, leaving a fluttering sensation in my stomach. i felt matt smile against my lips just before i pulled away, eyes still closed.

when i felt matt’s forehead pressed against mine, my eyes opened to look into his again. “what was that for?” he asked, his thumb running along the bare skin of my back.

“it’s my way of thanking you” i told him, grabbing the hand that was on my face and bringing it to my lips. i placed a soft kiss to his knuckles before intertwining our hands. “in that case, i think i deserve some more thanking” he smiled before placing his lips onto mine again.

the kiss went from hesitant to heated fairly quickly, matt’s hands sliding down to lightly squeeze my butt. he pulled me towards the couch, detaching our lips for a minute to pull me on top of him, before his mouth found mine again.

matt’s hand wrapped around my neck as he tilted my head back, leaving kisses to my jaw. his nose brushed against my skin as he left open-mouthed kisses down my neck. i let out breathy moans as he nibbled on the skin, his fingers sliding under the thin material of my shorts to brush over my skin.

he let out an audible groan when he felt the lack of clothing under my shorts. “no panties?” he asked, continuing to caress the supple skin under his fingers.

i shook my head shyly, a moan of surprise leaving my lips at the feeling of his finger against my bare pussy. “you’re so wet, baby. you weren’t gonna say anything?” he asked. before i could answer, he left a quick slap to my ass.

“get up for a second, pretty girl” he told me, watching as i followed his instructions, standing in front of him. “take off your shorts” he ordered, pupils blown wide as he watched me kick off my shorts.

“good. now sit on my face” he spoke, his bluntness catching me off guard. “what?” i asked, eyes widened. “i have some making up to do. so be a good girl and ride my face” he spoke, his eyebrows raised.

he moved to lay down on the couch, holding his hand out. i took his hand, crawling over him and hovering over his face. i lowered myself onto him slowly, letting out a squeal as he wrapped his arms around my thighs and pulled me down onto him swiftly.

i rested my hands on the arm of the couch, clutching onto it for dear life as his tongue explored every inch of my heat. his grip on my thighs was bruising as he lapped at the wetness that dripped out of me.

my loud moans continually filled the room as i rocked my hips against his face desperately. he swept his tongue through every fold meticulously, not leaving an inch of my core untouched.

his face was red, eyes rolled into the back of his head as he lost himself in the taste of my essence. he seemed to be in his own world, the only thing occupying his mind being his face buried in my pussy.

his hands slid to my ass, alternating between striking the skin with his palm and rubbing it in soothing circles. he went from giving me slow, languid strokes in a long stripe to quick kitten licks all over my heat.

“yes, matt! right there, holy shit” i cried out rather loudly, feeling him smirk against me. he licked and licked at my puffy lips, the pleasure shooting through me becoming almost overwhelming.

he adjusted the angle of his head, titling it forward slightly, hitting my clit perfectly with each push forward of my hips. i screamed out at that feeling, my toes curling up and eyes screwing shut.

“matt! i’m close, so close” i whined as he pushed a finger into my entrance from behind, earning a loud moan from me. “yes, matt! don’t stop, oh my god”

he plunged his finger in and out me, the sloshing of liquid accompanying it, alerting matt to what was coming. “you gonna squirt for me, beautiful? you got it, let it go baby” he muttered against me, causing my body to shake on top of him.

“fuck! yes, yes, yes” i chanted as the liquid spewed out of me, drenching matt’s face in my pleasure. shortly after, white beads of my arousal dripped out of my hole. “shit” i spoke, letting out a deep breath as i lifted myself off of matt.

“bath or shower?” matt asked, his face and hair drenched in my orgasm. “shower, i can return the favor in there” i answered as he interlocked our fingers.

“oh, no need to. that was really hot” he spoke, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “i came while you were on my face” he spoke, leaving a kiss to my cheek.

he flashed a cheeky grin at my shocked expression, before pulling me by the hand towards the bathroom.

the last way i thought this night would end was with matt being pussy drunk. not that i was complaining.

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @matthewscherrypie @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nickgetsmewetter @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris @selenascorner

[solbaby7]

Calypso

pairing: azriel x reader

warning: swearing, mentions of being beaten, violence, murder, probably typos, based off a tiktok i saw (pretty sure this is based off a play or something along those lines)

summary: The sweetest member of the Inner Circle shows the Autumn Court the true extent of feminine rage.

—

“Something is wrong,” Azriel couldn’t stop pacing, heart thumping so hard in his chest he was sure there was an imprint beginning to etch its way onto his skin. A hand absently rubs at his chest, clothes feeling too tight and his brothers don’t miss the rigid raise of his wings. Shadows cloak his form, curling around his ears and tugging on his clothes in their own way of communicating the same thing he had. “Something is very, very wrong. She should be back by now.”

Rhysand try’s to remain reasonable—to regain control of the rapidly escalating situation but you were supposed to have been back nearly four hours ago.

At first, the High Lord had thought it was a good idea; that you’d be a pleasant change from Az’s domineering brood or Cassian’s incessant need to mouth off but the longer they waited the more Rhys considered that maybe he made the wrong call. “She’s gone on missions to Autumn alone many times before, Az.”

The shadowsinger nods in agreement but his stance doesn’t relax even a bit. “Sure but she’s never once been late getting back home. Never.” Saying the words seem to be confirmation enough, waiting one second—two before he’s retreating from Rhysand’s office and saying fuck it to any of the consequences that he would surely face if he got there and something had happened to you.

“Az,” Cass shouts from down the hall, bounding steps sounding against the polished floors as he falls in stride with him. “Just wait for one second.”

“If it was your mate, would you wait?”

“Of course not but we just need two minutes to assess the situation before just barging inside—this is Autumn we are talking about here.”

“I don’t care.”

Fingers rake through shoulder length hair, honey eyes clocking Azriel’s determined stride, the hard brow and strong set of his mouth. “I understand that but if it gets her killed—”

“Us waiting might get her killed,” Azriel snaps, nearly growling the words free; shadows stiffening at his shoulders in agitation. “I won’t risk it. I won’t lose her.”

There’s no room for fighting; not when Rhys and Cassian were too busy trying to keep up with Azriel’s brutal pace to cross the wards. Winnowing in a rush never did well on the stomach but the unease that churns in Azriel’s gut the moment they arrive at Autumns borders is anything but normal.

“This isn’t right,” Cassian insists, following behind with a watchful eye; every muscle in his body tense as awareness prickles to life. “Where are the guards? The hounds?” It’s too quiet, the sky too dark and yet Azriel continues on a path of his own making; following the pure string within to draw him back to his other half.

The spymaster rips through the trees, shoving aside offending branches with little regard for the noise being made. It works in his favor, stumbling at the right place at the wrong time judging by the frazzled guards and a High Lord soaked from the waist down. Complete silence fills the space; not even a bird chirps, no rustling of woodland creatures, no crackling cadence of crawling cicadas. “Where is she?” Azriel demands, voice dangerously low as he searched deeper within the bond; scrambling for further direction, desperate for the confirmation of your safety.

Beron Vanserra looks too smug, a devilish smirk crafting in the corner of his mouth. Auburn hair falls from its neat styling, clothes ruffled and Azriel knows he can’t be the only one who notices the petrified expressions plastered on the guards faces—the fact that none of them make a move to comment on Night Court breaching another’s borders without permission. “Where’s who?”

“You know who,” Rhysand says your name carefully, casually pressing forward until he stood before Azriel, serving as a barrier between a male withholding answers and another male willing to carve the world to pieces in order to obtain them. “Your meeting with her should’ve ended hours ago.”

“It never started,” Beron waves a hand dismissively, his clothes drying with the motion. Guards surround him, leaving a gap for visibility but their security is subdued; trembling with fear and eyes glistening with guilt. “She never arrived.”

Azriel’s grip tightens around the hilt of Truthteller, golden irises narrow to slits and his voice is but a hiss. “You’re lying.”

A brow raises, the overwhelming scent of whiskey and cinnamon muddled by sea salt and ocean spray; a confusing combination laced with a distress that did not belong to the High Lord of Autumn. “Do you have proof?”

Shadows creep up Azriel’s form, silently reminding its master of their presence and willingness to eliminate the threat no matter the outcome but before his lips can form words—an unnatural noise cuts through the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stands at attention, golden eyes surveilling every inch of dense foliage. “What was that?”

Its eerie and drawn out, almost like song but the melody held no comfort, no warmth.

“What did you do?” Azriel swallows thickly, shoulders uncomfortably tense as the humming continues, layered feminine voices piercing their ears like the sirens Cass always talked about around a crackling fire after too much to drink.

“I did nothing.” Beron shrugs, voice even and sure but the fear that settles behind his eyes isn’t equally well hidden. His body language betrays him, subconsciously shuffling closer to the readied guards that flank every side of their High Lord.

“Vanserra.” Your silhouette is barely noticeable when cloaked in the night and Azriel’s brow raises at the tears in your gown, the healing split of your lip—and where were your shoes?

Rhys calls your name, taking only a single step before Cassian’s iron grip curls around his arms, swiftly tugging him back and behind him. A general protecting the leader of his court as the scene before them became horribly apparent. “Impossible,” Beron whispers, not bothering to hide the disbelief—the horror. “You died.”

Azriel’s stance faulters, the stony expression unable to hide the unbridled pain that etches its way onto his features at the words.

But, you don’t seem phased.

In fact, you don’t seem much like yourself at all.

The soft glow of your light is replaced with a murky darkness; soiled by anger and the bubbling desire for vengeance and all of it is directed towards the copper haired male with a heart like coal and a soul filled to the brim with ash. “Get in the water.” You command.

“I am immune to your witchcraft, demon.” Beron scoffs your way, attempting to deflect the shake of his voice with the accusatory finger pointed to the High Lord of Night tucked safely behind his brothers. “Control your bitch or I will.”

Azriel pushes back the need to retaliate, golden eyes sliding from the male to the woman he loved; a woman who exuded unbridled feminine rage the longer you allowed such power to flow through you—power you always kept so bottled up, so contained. Soothed into submission by your kindness and grace, the love you shared with friend and stranger alike; all unleashed from the conclaves of their confinement. Az’s grip on Truthteller tightens and it’s a true test of will to tear his gaze away long enough to address Beron once more. “What did you do?”

The Autumn Courts High Lord goes still. The air seems to thin, the water bristling against the rocky shore; howling, shouting, demanding to rise—to bend at your will and follow out the revenge you seeked. “Tell them,” Your voice ebbs through the space between you, unnaturally controlled, unusually low and unbearably empty. “Tell them what you did to me and maybe I’ll show mercy.”

“I did nothing.”

A guard sucks in a shaky breath, sweat lacing his brow and it takes no more than a second before he’s released hold of his weapon and drops to the ground on his knees. “Forgive me.” He begs, hands pressed together as if he were praying. “I-I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.” Cassian regards Azriel with a sharp look, crimson Syphons brewing with power as every cell in his body screamed that something terrible was going to happen—that something terrible had happened and they were too late. Forced to stand by, frozen as you were molded into a woman they could hardly recognize. The pretty blue dress you’d left in is torn, ruined fabric sagging in ribbons, showing off collarbones covered in bruises shaped like fingerprints, in cuts that healed before their very eyes. Soaked hair hangs past your shoulders, dripping down your back as the wind whipped through what remained of your clothes. “I beg of you, please, have mercy.”

The apology does no good and before Cassian can work up a plan to get Rhysand as far away as possible, you’re already wrapping them in a dome of water so crystal clear it’s like glass; shielding them from your rage while providing a front row seat to the events long since forged in stone. “Rhys, can you get in her head?”

“I don’t have to,” Rhysand responds barely above a whisper, violet eyes so pale, pupils so pinpricked as the events were shoved at him at an upresendented speed. You, arriving as planned, joining the High Lord privately for dinner when the two sips of wine began to have your body feeling like a whole night of binging at Rita’s with the girls. The images project onto the other, Cass and Az watching with bated breath as they looked through your eyes, felt your disorientation, the fear, the disgust when hands roamed over your body. It took everything for Azriel not to break, to unleash horrors upon Beron Vanserra and every male involved as he watched you beg for them to let you go. Your shoes left in a hallway in your struggle, soft skin and prettily painted toes marred by the rough tugging, the crude remarks and sick promises to kill you quick.

Cassian’s stomach churns, food curdling from within when he feels you strain against the water, as they held you down and left you there long after your hands went limp.

They could feel the power within you, pumping back life into the tiny sliver of hope left, expelling the water from your lungs and replacing that beacon of light with something the High Lord of Autumn better understood. “Get in the water,” You say once more, stepping closer and the crashing waves seem to move with you, lapping at your bare feet, salving over aches and bruises.

“Or what?” He spits, struggling to grapple into whatever control he had left but his vile tone holds no weight in comparison to you and cold expression settling into your eyes.

“Or I’ll raise the tides so high, all of Autumn Court will die.” There’s no bite in your words, only pure promise; steps strong and filled with an uncapped power so strong it seemed to throb. The bustling waves behind you climb higher and higher, so high the skyline is blocked; so high that nothing else existed behind you but such torrential oceans filled with its creatures that thrashed and snapped their jaws to do as you pleased. “Say the words, Beron. Tell them what you did to me.” Azriel’s feels it before he sees it; the bubbling emotions, the swelling power inside of you coming to a head and begging to explode. “Say it!” You demand so furiously the same guard on his knees visibly flinches, thick streams of tears trailing down his aged face as his back bows in submission before their very eyes.

He sings like a canary, confessing to following their High Lords orders of sending the Night Court a message for foolishly in believing in peace. The male professes how one of the cooks were told to lace the wine to subdue her. He musters up the decency to spare the shadowsinger a pleading glance, spilling out useless apologies and promises to never do it again—how disgusted he felt harming a female; one who was so sweet and gentle but orders were orders.

No one speaks, the other guards eyes are as wide as saucers, mouths parted in utter shock as they await the repercussions of the confession; trembling like branches in the wind under the suffocating pressure of your power.

Beron doesn’t pay the sobbing male swathed in armor any mind. Instead, he’s trained on the fellow High Lord—borderline desperate in his command. “Control her. Please.”

“It’s all about control with you, isn’t it, Beron?” Each step closer has your nose curling in disgust, lip quirking in a snarl. “I should fix that.” Wind whistles around furiously, snatching through auburn hair and ripping the overly expensive cloak right from his shoulders. True terror sets root in cruel eyes and the hairs on the back of Beron’s neck raises; primal instincts warning him of impending danger—of inevitable doom. “I’ll make tidal waves so profound that both your wife and your sons will drown.”

“Seize her,” Beron spits, snapping out the words so fiercely that spittle shoots free but even his own protection detail realizes who’s really in control here and not one of them moves to appease the order. “Threatening a High Lord and his family is punishable by death.”

Birds screech their caws of great displeasure, wings fluttering furiously against the trees in such a frenzy that leaves fall free; taunting the end of one reign and the beginnings of another. You don’t feed into his poor attempts of deflecting, his words entering one ear and flying out the other. “You mistake my threats for bluff,” Swords clatter to the ground, Autumn soldiers sharply turning on the balls of their feet with full intent to run—to rush back to their wives and children for the false feeling of safety. You allow them a few strides as a kindness before unleashing the torrential downpour upon them; sweeping each one clean off their feet in their fancy armor. “You have lived more than enough.” Shades of deep red and burnt orange fight uselessly against the angry seas, rough tides swallowing up the soldiers garbled screams and washing them away.

Beron chokes on the salty water, legs pumping furiously against the current, his eyes burning and lungs filling with the catastrophic affects of your anger. “Stop!” His cheeks turn red, the veins in his neck straining against tanned skin and you find yourself fixating on the way his hands claw at his throat—fighting for the slightest gasp of oxygen.

“Did you stop when I begged?” The oceans cover land with ease, seeping past the borders with full intent to make good on your promises on destroying every inch of Autumn territory. “When I screamed for you to just please let me go?” Deep red shifts to an unusual shade of purple, water seeps from his nose and his eyes all but bulge out of the socket.

Choked noises sputter from Beron’s lips, an arm desperately clutching around the base of a tree to keep from being washed up. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” The water parts for you, allowing you a perfect path to the High Lord and you take your sweet time watching his struggle—his disarray. He looks so utterly boyish this way, his hair soaked over his forehead, lashes dark and clustered together under the force of ocean spray smacking at his cheeks like a million microscopic needles. “But, you will be.”

Eerie voices sing their song, layering over the other in a plethora of different pitches until Beron’s head snaps from side to side, eyes searching frantically for the source but he realizes too late.

Water wraiths and their siren sisters cut through the cool waters like a sword through the wind, their webbed fingers eager to grab at the deviant of a man responsible for savagely murdering countless of their brothers and sisters in cold blood just for sport. One of them pause, the features of her face rippling with the tide but there’s no mistaking the respectful nod of her head—one that you return.

You don’t linger to watch the rest, your anger fizzling out and all that’s left is the desire to go home and spend a whole week hidden in the sheets with your mate. If he’d still have you after all this. Bare feet trudge against the ground until you stand before your family, the barrier lowered. You can’t meet their eyes, the wounds too raw and their pity too palpable but the familiar comfort of cool shadows drape over you, evaluating and assessing before relaying their findings back to their master. “I—“

Azriel’s body collides with yours before the whole sentence can even form, strong arms wrapping you up and tugging you as close as he could. His hands go over every inch of you, muttering under his breath about how he’d never let you out of his sight again. “You’re okay,” His shoulders visibly relax, when he can’t find a hint of damage on you—not even a bruise. “Thank gods you’re okay.”

Your eyes slide past him, lips pursing as you prepared yourself for whatever came next. You’d killed a High Lord—there’s no chance anyone would just let that go. “Rhysand, I—“

“You didn’t do anything,” He swiftly cuts in, regarding you fondly even if his stomach swells with guilt at the thought of being the one who put you in harms way in the first place. “You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

For now.

[targaryenluvs]

- NOT YOURS

pairing: prowler!miles morales x reader, miles morales x reader

summary - miles seemingly can’t let you go, but you know your miles needs to get home. maybe if you play along you’ll be able to get back home. PART TWO!!! part 1 here

word count: 1,305 words

warnings - not much really, profanity, lil bit of violence and non-con touchy touch

notes - well i didnt expect to do a part two lmao but holy shit you lot r crazy thank u for the love - sorry if this isn’t at anyone’s standards but yeaaahh here you go 🤍

TAGLIST: @pifuyue @afternoon-evening @myspacewhore1comz @ashleebooksblog @sophiaj650 @colossaltitannnn @the-rogue-robin @zaddyskye69 @loonalockley

he’s not moving.

you’d been trying to shake your miles awake ever since the other miles left the room but to no avail.

“miles please, i don’t know how long we have. you have to work with me here.” you whispered as you shook his shoulders again. he was icy to the touch, the hard floor did not help.

you didn’t know where he was but you prayed he wouldn’t come back any time soon, as unlikely it was for him not to return.

he was crazy, indefinitely.

how the hell can someone be so delusional to think that their girlfriend who passed away, infront of them, whom they buried in the ground over a year ago, is back and with them in the flesh? you had no clue, but all you cared about right now was getting miles up and awake.

you’d managed to get rid of the chains after what felt like an eternal tug of war and you were sure he’d wake with countless bruises.

“fuck it.” you sighed as you raised your fist as it is collided with his chest. you couldn’t hit his face, he was to pretty for that.

miles was struggling.

he was dreaming. he knew that.

but for some reason he felt much more comfortable with staying in his dream then facing whatever was happening around his body at the time. maybe he was already dead. this other miles killed him, took his girlfriend, his y/n.

the one who he had loved since they were kids and he was too stubborn to get off the swings since he thought he should have extra time after being away visiting relatives.

the one who was also as stubborn as he was and decided that getting a plastic shovel from the sandpit and digging it into his sides was a more effective way of getting him off rather than asking politely or asking a teacher for aid.

the one who helped him up afterwards and apologised before running to the swings and hopping on.

the one who he saw everyday afterwards, the one who sat in his spot and made friends with his. the one who he knew he should’ve been mad at but he couldn’t help but admire.

her cute pigtails, her cute dresses and smile.

the one he grew up with, his first true friend, his first crush, his first kiss, his first girlfriend.

the one who helped him through his uncles passing and to come to terms with his new abilities. the one who always gave him the strength to get back up and fight.

he couldn’t stay here.

his father was waiting for his help whether he knew it or not and his other half was waiting for him to get back up.

get up.

Get Up.

GET UP

“get up! oh my god is one punch not enough idiot?” y/n whisper-yelled in his face as his eyes shot open.

you’d never felt more relieved at seeing miles’s wide eyes. “shit are you okay? i didn’t punch you too hard right?” you interrogated him as you looked over his face with concern.

“no, no i’m okay. are you? shit i should’ve gotten up earlier i’m so sorry. he didn’t hurt you did he? i’m so sorry, so sorry i-“ you cut off his rambling with a kiss.

as you pulled back you couldn’t help but smile, he was quite literally knocked out cold and the first thing he asked was if you were okay. “i’m fine miles. i’m okay, just breathe okay? you need to have your head on straight if we’re to get the fuck outta here okay?” you murmured as you nestled your face in his neck.

“come on up, we need to get out of here before that psycho comes b-“ you were cut off as you felt something buzz in your jacket.

you saw miles’s bewildered expression as you slowly reached for it, “i swear to god if this is a bomb.” miles whispered as you groaned, “seriously?”

as your hand grazed the object your eyes lit up as you recognised it. you pulled out one of the watches you’d managed to acquire through violent methods at HQ.

“yes! oh my god you are incredible you know that?” miles grinned as he asked for it. “i totally forgot i had it, god thank you!” you joked as you clasped your hands together whilst looking upwards.

“earth 1610, i know that much.” you smiled as he worked through it.

the two of you were so engrossed within the find of the watch you forgot to focus on the door behind you two as it slowly opened. miles’s head shot up as his senses went off. he shoved the watch into your jacket as the two of you turned around.

“see you got out of the chains.” miles spoke as he walked in slowly. miles stood infront of you swiftly, fighting stance slowly crawling through as his fists balled.

“and what about it? you needa move aside. no one has to get hurt.” miles threatened as he slowly walked backwards.

other miles looked at you before smirking. “i ain’t goin nowhere. neither is she.” he pointed your way as you couldn’t help but frown.

why couldn’t he let you go?

why wouldn’t he let you go?

“i’m not staying here miles. i’m going home, you need to let her go. i’m not her.” you spoke up as you lowered miles’s extended arm in-front of you to talk to him clearly.

“i can’t let you leave ma, ion want to, and ion have to. he ain’t gonna stop me.” miles grinned as his mask came forwards to cover his face, his claws on too as he rushed forwards at miles.

“run!”

and you were off.

you couldn’t think about anything else. you couldn’t look backwards it would slow you down. you decided to run upwards, hoping that your miles would fight the prowler off long enough to make it up to you on the roof.

you pulled out the watch and jammed numbers in as you continued upwards.

how many fucking levels were there?

you saw the door come into view just as you pressed enter. you slammed through the door to see the portal open.

your chance was here.

you looked back to the door, willing him to come.

you saw a flash of black and red and the door slammed in-front of you just as you moved forwards to try and find him. and it scared the shit out of you and resulted in something slipping from your pocket.

miles hugged you straight away. “you okay mi vida?” you hugged him tightly and kissed him. “yes, yes i’m okay, you? he didn’t hurt you did he?” miles shook his head as he looked towards the portal home.

“come on let’s go before he decides he wants a round two.” you said as you grabbed his hand and jogged towards the portal just as he barrelled through.

the two of you flew through as the portal closed on miles.

“shit! fuck!” he yelled as he stood in-front of where you’d left just seconds ago. he was too slow. too fucking slow again. he let you slip through his hands once and vowed it would never happen again the second he saw you and you were taken from him again.

after spending so long working, training to be the best version of himself to keep the person and people he loved safe.

as he sat down his eye was caught by something glimmering in the moonlight. as he picked it up he couldn’t believe it.

a watch. the one he saw you shove into your jacket. the one which most likely controlled the portal. the one which had the multiverse contained within.

the luminescent letters spelling out,

EARTH 1610

[kenobster]

The thing about Anakin (in prequel trilogy movies) is that he actually is a really good person by default. He is a war hero for a reason; he cares so deeply and unconditionally. Sure, he's a little careless sometimes and a little impulsive. He makes mistakes and bad calls and sometimes he needs to get his hormones under fucking control. But overall, he's very much trying to do a good job. He listens to feedback, he asks for advice, and he apologizes and tries to improve when he realizes he's wrong. 

Really, he only ever crosses unforgivable lines when two very specific criteria are met: (1) when the most sensitive points of his trauma are being put under an immense amount of pressure; (2) when his support system, for whatever reason, is absent. 

And even when those two criteria are met, he still struggles not to cross those lines as hard as he can for as long he can--until he eventually just snaps under the pressure.

Example #1, the Sand People massacre. Long before going to Tatooine, Anakin’s trauma points were already under an extreme amount of pressure. He was having nightmares about his mom--reminding him of his childhood as a slave and of the slavery in which he’d left her behind. When Anakin does go to Tatooine, his support system consists solely of a girl whom he does like and does trust but whom he doesn’t know very well. Old wounds continue to reopen as he takes his first steps into Mos Epsa and speaks with Watto, a being who owned and abused him. Anakin has no reason whatsoever to think Watto isn’t the orchestrator of his mother’s torment. But does he kill, dismember, or otherwise attack Watto? No. He remains polite. So polite, in fact, that it’s unsettling.

When he hears about his mother's capture and torture from the Lars family, Anakin is, suffice to say, upset. To rescue her, he goes alone (no support system). Even with his mother actively being brutalized (trauma), Anakin does not arrive with the intention of violence. He does not massacre the entire village in an attempt to rescue her. His plan is clearly to sneak in unnoticed, grab her, and sneak out. Even after seeing her strung up, at no point does his plan seem to change… Until she dies. In that moment, his mom, the epitome of his failure to free all the slaves, has just taken her last breath. He is completely alone. His mom has practically been slaughtered. His mom. Thus, his trauma hits a breaking point, and his usual support system is out of sight. 

He snaps. 

It is his choice, yes, but it is the result of a decade of abuse and generational trauma. It is also very much a mistake/accident… In other words, it is not an example of his true values and beliefs; it is an example of their temporary absence.*

*Evidence supporting this is in the scene with the line “to be angry is to be human,” but that’s a subject that needs its own whole ass post. I’ll link it later if I ever write it.

Example #2, the Jedi massacre. There are so many posts on the subject already that I'm not going to spend time detailing every single instance in which Palpatine isolates Anakin or manipulates Anakin into isolating himself. But a brief overview: sowing distrust in the Jedi Council, creating a narrative of deceit around the Jedi Order, orchestrating events to get Obi-Wan dead/offworld, and associating the dark side of the Force with Padme’s presence (via suggestions that only a Sith Lord can save her). With that, Anakin's entire support system is crippled. Unlike in AOTC, he is surrounded by loved ones, yes, but they can’t help him. By Palpatine's design, Anakin eventually bars each of them from entry.

Meanwhile, Palpatine is putting his trauma under extreme pressure and manipulating the shit out of him. Starting on the Invisible Hand itself, when Palpatine encourages Anakin to kill Dooku.* The movie explicitly connects this scene to the sand people massacre, which immediately establishes an awakening of old trauma. Wounds reopen, and Palpatine presses on them and he presses on them and he presses on them. Padme’s looming death becomes the symbol of his past trauma (of what he failed to protect and what he did as a result). And through Palpatine’s misinformation campaign, the Jedi become the perpetrators of this trauma, rather than the support system.

*For reasons beyond the scope of this post, I do not consider Count Dooku's murder to be an example of Anakin crossing an unforgivable line. I consider it to be an example of Anakin making a bad call. Even so, one could easily argue that his support system was absent and that his pressure points were being targeted in this scene, too. But I find that argument uninteresting because it doesn't apply imo.

Still, Anakin resists. Still, he tries again and again to retain his ideals. He seeks advice from Yoda. He listens to Obi-Wan's feedback and apologizes. He opens up to Padme. He initially rejects Sith Lord Palpatine. He tries to do the right thing by telling Mace Windu and letting the Council handle things. Because that's who he is--that's his true nature. Anakin is alone in the Council chambers (no support system) when Palpatine taunts him with Padme's inevitable death (trauma). And still, he resists. He races to Palpatine's office, but does he immediately kill, dismember, or otherwise attack Mace Windu? No. Even as Palpatine continues to press on his trauma (“I have the power to save the one you love!”), Anakin tries to reason with Mace. However much he is rationalizing the truth to his benefit, he is still trying to get out of this trap. He even admits the core of it in the end: “I need him!” Even then, even when Mace rightly goes for the killing blow, Anakin is still resisting! He attacks, he dismembers, but he doesn't kill. He makes an impulsive, ill-thought-out, almost reflexive decision (supported by the horror in the line “What have I done?!”). It’s as if Palpatine has shoved him right up against that unforgivable line, and Anakin is using his last inch of space to not teeter over it. 

Then Palpatine kills Mace Windu. In his mind, Anakin has nothing left after that. In his mind, he is responsible for getting Mace killed (trauma), and he doesn’t see how the Jedi can possibly forgive him (no support system). In his mind, his wife is dying (trauma), and he is alone in the presence of his abuser (no support system).

He snaps.

Unlike in AOTC, this does not happen by accident. These events were deliberately and continuously manufactured by a Sith Lord with an agenda. Palpatine directs Anakin’s explosion onto the Jedi Order, where Anakin compounds upon his trauma with more murder and more death. He becomes isolated to Palpatine's manipulations by killing (or enraging) his entire support system.

Afterward, Palpatine has all of the fuel he needs to make Anakin snap and snap and snap, over and over, for a very long time.

Who is to blame is such a boring, irrelevant question when we have such a fascinating character. The prequel trilogy gives us a complicated villain who is simultaneously the executor of such horrific violence and also the boy who wanted to free all the slaves. A villain who kills a part of himself every time he kills another. A villain who is so horrifically victimized even whilst he commits his terrible crimes. And because it's fiction (aka the victims of his actions are narrative elements, not people), I'm allowed to feel unashamedly devastated for him. I’m allowed to see the truth: that Darth Vader is only the suit he wears. The mask concealing the good person underneath. The Jedi Order was Anakin’s family, too, and you should feel sorry that he lost them. You should feel sorry for the way he is abused in ROTS. Darth Vader doesn’t represent who Anakin is or what he believes, and blame is irrelevant to this truth.

Because support systems matter. They matter to people who have gone through trauma. Yes, sometimes they are even the ONLY difference between the choice to do good and the choice to do bad. Sometimes, all that is necessary to prevent a heinous crime is to help them before they snap. I think people are uncomfortable with Anakin because that kind of helplessness is a really hard thing to admit. It's not fun to realize that you could have made similar choices if you had been in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong person. Research has shown people greatly prefer to attribute their accomplishments to their own actions and choices in life. It makes sense. The realization that external factors may have played a role in everything we take pride in is scary--but this fear leads us to the bias that we could never become Darth Vader. Even if we were raised as a slave, even if our loved ones were taken from us, even if our sense of reality was being manipulated and distorted--somehow we would not be broken. We would remain Anakin Skywalker.

It's a comforting fantasy for people who have done nothing wrong.

As someone who is human, someone who has made mistakes and bad calls and who regrets the times I might have crossed lines, I find a lot more comfort in the message George Lucas provides. The prequel trilogy is a story about the harm someone (anyone) can do if they're not careful. Anakin becomes Darth Vader not because he’s innately evil but rather because he’s under extreme pressure and no one is able to help him. In contrast, the original trilogy offers compassion and an opportunity for self-forgiveness. Darth Vader chooses to become Anakin simply because one person looked at what he'd done and said, "Stop. This isn't you." In the face of how helpless and dangerous every one of us can be, I find Anakin’s story to be really meaningful, and I wish more of us appreciated it.

[blushweddinggowns]

Part 2 to this!

Now that Max and Dustin were vaguely aware of what was going on, they weren’t going to stop until they knew everything. It took about ten seconds from leaving Steve’s driveway for them to start asking questions. 

“Robin…” Max started, “What is he not telling us?”

“That Eddie’s a dick,” she grumbled, “But we’re not allowed to talk about it.”

Dustin crossed his arms against his chest, huffing, “No he’s not! Steve’s right, it’s not his fault he isn’t interested.” 

“If that was the case than ya, sure Steve would be right but it’s not. He’s totally leading him on."

Dustin frowned. That didn’t sound like the Eddie he knew, “How so?”

“Well let’s see,” she lifted a hand, counting it out on her fingers, “There’s the fact he calls Steve shit like ‘pretty’ and ‘sweetheart’ when he thinks no one can hear him. He actively stops Steve from dating anyone else and has scared like five girls away from the store entirely. Not to mention they sleep together almost every night. He just loves torturing him in general! He gets off on the power he has over him, I swear.”

That…did not sound good.

“Well…maybe he likes him back?” Dustin said weakly, praying that there was some kind of misunderstanding and that one of his best friends wasn't being a massive asshole to his surrogate dad.

She shook her head, “I used to think that too until like a week ago. Do you wanna know what he told Nancy when she asked about it? I quote, ‘ Me and Steve? Seriously Nance? I’d rather die. ’” Robin said flatly, resentment heavy in her voice, “And Steve fucking heard him say that and hasn’t done shit about it!”

Max had been staring out the window, trying to rationalize why anyone would do things like that if they weren’t interested, when she froze, “He said that? About Steve? Our Steve?”

“He sure did. And that's why I'm saying it all needs to stop. He needs to fuck off now."

Dustin opened his mouth, so used to jumping to Eddie’s defense before snapping it back shut. He didn’t know what to say. If it was all true then he was going to kill Eddie for fucking with Steve’s feelings, for no good reason. But on the other hand, this was Robin they were dealing with, and her threshold for Steve-related violence was a lot lower than a normal person’s would be. 

She pulled into the trailer park with a sigh, “I’m sorry I put all that out there, it’s just…I needed to get that out. And you guys have almost gotten me killed on more than one occasion so…now we’re even I guess. But don’t tell him I told you! Eddie can do no wrong in his eyes, for some reason.”

They both nodded, Dustin hopping out with Max. He’d bike home later because they needed to talk about this, without Robin there. They thanked her for the ride, standing there in awkward silence as they watched her go. 

“Do you think he’d really do something like that?” Dustin asked as she led him inside, “It’s not that I don’t trust her, but she’s definitely biased.”

Max shrugged, looking just as conflicted as Dustin felt, “I don’t think so? But we should still be on the lookout. If it is true, we’re gonna have to do something.”

Dustin nodded, automatically on board for any hypothetical helping of Steve. They talked for a while longer, another hair-brained scheme forming. They would watch, see if Eddie really was leading Steve on, and if it was true, they’d intervene. The how was yet to be determined, but they would. 

No one was going to hurt their babysitter and get away with it. Not on their watch. 

They spent the next week spying on the two of them, which was kinda easy considering how often they were always together. And things were not looking good.

Now that they knew how Steve felt, they couldn’t help but be mad. Ya, ya, Steve said not to be, but it was bullshit! Because now that Max was paying attention, there was no way Eddie didn’t know how he felt about him. Not with how much time they spent together. And poor Steve was so obvious. 

Robin had been right, he did things just to get a rise out of Steve, like whispering in his ear to see him blush, or calling him one of those dumb pet names, his voice all low and unsubtle. He would even hold his freaking hand! And he always looked so smug about it. Eddie would do one of his stupid antics and leave a stumbling, blushing Steve in his wake, a self-satisfied smirk on his dumb face, like getting Steve all excited and dopey was just so entertaining. 

They were so annoyed that they bonded over it, sharing twin looks of aggravation every time they saw Eddie hang all over him, which was always, with Steve blushing and giggling all the while. 

And they didn’t know what to do about it. Steve had made it very clear that he didn’t want anyone being mean to Eddie over something “stupid”, and he would actually get mad at them if he noticed them acting out against the bullshit. They would have just avoided him entirely if they could, but avoiding Eddie meant avoiding Steve, and that was something neither was willing to compromise on.

So they settled for being cordial whenever Steve was around, and then passive-aggressive when he wasn’t, if just for their own sanity, as they debated what to do about it. 

And Eddie was not a fan of the new behavior. He didn’t know what the issue was with his two favorite little twerps, but they were pissed, and solely at him for the past week. Which, he did not need right now. He was still trying to figure out why Robin suddenly hated him, let alone Steve’s adopted children. 

He racked his brain for anything he could have done, but he always came up empty. If it had been Mike, then sure, he’d have something to go on, making obvious moves to steal his sister’s maybe-boyfriend were fair grounds to be mad about, but he was totally fine. Mike, Lucas, and Will weren’t in on whatever the other two were up to, thank god. He was barely handling dealing with two angry teenagers, let alone five.

Luckily for him, they at least tried to pretend like nothing was wrong when Steve was around. Eddie may not be a genius, but he was pretty sure that having the three closest people to his potential boyfriend hate him, was not a good look. 

Steve was the only one acting the same, thank god. If the three stooges had an issue with him, then that was fine, as long as it didn’t interrupt the long and arduous courting process he had started and planned on finishing. Sooner rather than later. 

He sighed, lazily watching Steve get ready for work from his bed. Though it really was on the edge of just becoming their bed from how often Eddie stayed over. He was already in a hurry, mumbling about how he promised to pick up the two twerps from school today, almost guaranteeing his own lateness.

“You don’t have to always pick them up, you know,” Eddie whined, more than a little annoyed that his afternoon cuddle time was being interrupted.

“But I promised. And you know how they are with that kind of thing.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, Steve was too nice for his own good. He stood up, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist from behind, still pouting, “But wouldn’t you rather spend those last twenty minutes in bed?”

“ Obviously. But Keith’s going to kill me if I’m late again.”

Eddie rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder, completely in love with the way the small touch made him blush. How he’d managed not to kiss him yet was a masterclass in self-restraint, “Baby, you’re going to be late anyway if you go. How about I get them?”

“Really?”

“Sure. Then you’ll only have to worry your pretty little head over getting to work.” 

Steve smiled as he thanked him, in that soft way that felt like it was just for Eddie, and it never failed to make his heart do a flip in his chest. 

Plus, Eddie could use the time to interrogate the two little shits and figure out what the hell the problem was. He pulled into the school parking lot, honking at the duo as they waited near the front steps. He rolled his eyes when they tried to ignore him, pretending like they were in some kind of deep conversation.

He leaned out the window, yelling over, “Get in, I’m taking you two home today. Steve called in a favor.” 

They looked at each other, all conspiratorial before they made their way to the van, both sitting down with a huff, avoiding the passenger side. He didn’t know when the two of them got so close, but he wasn’t a fan if this was the result of it. 

They were silent, they didn’t even talk to each other, just stared out the window with their arms crossed. 

“So…,” Eddie tried, “Excited for the campaign this weekend?”

Silence. Eddie glanced in his rearview, both of them still staring out the window, acting like he wasn’t even there. 

“Dustin?”

Silence.

“I know you can hear me man, come on!”

Dustin finally turned away from the window, shrugging, "I can’t make it. Have Erica fill in for me or something…" 

Eddie could feel his eye start twitching. 

Pretending that he didn’t exist? Whatever. 

Purposefully slamming the door for any room that they were in together? Okay sure. 

But missing DnD? Not uh, Eddie was going to get to the bottom of this now. He pulled off to the side of the road, turning to frown at them from the driver’s seat, “Okay, that’s enough! What the hell is wrong with you two?”

Max whipped her head around, glaring at him, and Jesus that kid had a hell of a glare, “What’s wrong with us? What’s wrong with you?”

Eddie raised a brow, drumming his fingers against his thigh as he stared at them, “What does that even mean?”

“We know okay?” Dustin hissed out, looking anywhere but Eddie’s face, “We know what you’re doing and we don’t like it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Max scoffed, “We’re talking about how you’re a dick! And Steve deserves better than that!” 

Dustin nodded along, trying to glare at Eddie the way Max was, but he was starting to tear up instead. Like a complete overprotective loser. He wondered if this was how Steve felt when he worried about them. If it was, he was going to start complaining about his coddling a lot less. 

It just wasn’t fair. Nancy, Robin, and now Eddie? When will the torment of watching Steve Harrington's failed love life stop? Why did someone who was nothing but good have to keep dealing with this crap?

Dustin wiped at his face, angry tears still falling, “You know that he likes you and you just mess with him! I don’t know if this is revenge for what he was like in high school but it’s fucked up!” 

Eddie stared at them, slack-jawed as they both started to dress him down. 

Max was digging around her backpack, handing Dustin a pack of tissues while she was giving Eddie the evil eye, "You couldn't have had a bit more tack for the guy that saved your life? I don’t know, maybe ‘He’s not my type,’ instead of “I’d rather die?’ " 

She grabbed a few of them for herself, dangerously close to joining Dustin in the rage crying. She just…wanted Steve to be happy. Was that really so much to ask?

Eddie’s brain was still going a mile a minute, desperately trying to just catch up to what the hell they were talking about, but that brought everything to a halt. He remembered that, a throwaway comment to get Nancy off his back, considering he was in the middle of actively trying to date her ex (?) boyfriend. 

Eddie wasn’t stupid, he knew that Steve felt something for him, there was no other reason why he would let him do the things he did if he didn’t, but he never forgot just how infatuated he had been with Nancy. He remembered him trailing after her in the Upside Down, like some kind of love-sick puppy. Like recognizes like, Steve had looked at Nancy the way Eddie looked at Steve. He was going to let Steve go after that, acknowledge that it was just a simple crush that would never be reciprocated, and wait for the inevitable of them getting back together.

But then, he went and almost died, with Steve deciding to save his life. His little crush morphed into full-blown love, embarrassingly quickly during his recovery. Steve was just always there for him, and in a matter of days they became instant best friends, both obsessed with spending as much time as possible with each other. 

They talked about anything and everything under the sun, all but one thing. 

Nancy. 

He never asked Steve about her, because he honestly never wanted to know. He had been too chicken shit to just ask, terrified that Steve would start confessing his undying love for her the moment he opened the door. And technically if he didn't know for sure, he could feel a whole lot less like shit for being all over someone else's hypothetical boyfriend. 

He avoided her most of the time, out of pure jealousy for how she got along with Steve, and guilt from the fact he was knowingly trying to, maybe, steal him away from her. But once she moved to Boston, Eddie had been so sure it was his chance. The way Steve would look at him sometimes, the way he would touch him, Eddie knew he wasn’t alone in his feelings, even if Steve needed some extra time to get to where he was, he was more than willing to be patient. 

So when Nancy had cornered him during one of her visits, asking him way too specific questions about Steve, he strategically lied, thinking that it would stop any upcoming jealousy or suspicions on her end, and most importantly, stop her from impeding on his ever-increasing Steve Alone Time. 

But now, his genius plan of gently coaxing Steve into a bisexual awakening and subtly stealing him from his maybe girlfriend was the most moronic thing he'd ever thought of.

He finally found his voice, cutting right through the noise of two kids yelling at him, "Steve heard that?!"

“Yeah, he heard it!” Max hissed, “Playtime is over, you need to leave him alone.”

Oh no. Oh no, no no.

"I'm going to puke, I am actually going to puke,” Eddie turned in his seat, putting his head in his hands, suddenly feeling very, very, ill. The love of his goddamn life heard him say he would rather die than be with him? 

Max and Dustin glanced at each other, confused at his reaction. They weren’t sure what they were expecting him to say, maybe a denial, or a warning to stay out of his business, but not this. Max leaned forward in her seat, frowning as she watched Eddie rub at his temples, looking like he had just heard the worst news imaginable. 

“So now you suddenly care?” She asked, lips pursed as Eddie whipped around to stare at her.

“Of course I fucking care! I love Steve! I-he was never supposed to hear that!” Eddie was dangerously close to hyperventilating at the full realization that Steve was probably still under the impression that Eddie didn’t want him. 

Dustin latched on to that, already hopeful that he had been right after all, and one of his best friends wasn’t a complete ass, "Then why the hell would you say that?" 

He told them everything in a jumbled mess of word vomit, embarrassed and intensely mad at himself for being such an idiot. 

And Dustin and Max seemed to agree. 

Max still had her arms crossed, but she wasn’t giving him the death stare anymore. She glanced at Dustin,  “He’s either lying or he’s the dumbest man on the planet.”

Dustin shrugged, “Well he was a super, super senior, so…”

They stared at each other, having some kind of telepathic conversation before Max turned back to him, “If you are telling the truth then you have to tell Steve.”

“Like now, ” Dustin added.

Max nodded, “In front of us.”

“Or else we will never forgive you for making him cry.”

That was another punch to the gut for Eddie, “He cried ?”

They told him the whole, horrible story, and Eddie was struck with the sudden urge to punch himself in the face. He was already starting the van back up when Max insisted they go to him immediately, u-turning to go straight to the Family Video. He was desperate to fix this stupid shit, and fix it now.  

He parked haphazardly, speed-walking into the empty store with two growingly excited teenagers in tow. 

Robin was reading a magazine at the front counter, eyes narrowing at the sight of Eddie waltzing in, “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to Steve.”

Robin rolled her eyes, “Steve’s busy, you can be a dick to him on his off hours.” 

Eddie almost flinched at her tone, still not used to how cold the usually goofy Robin could be. Which, okay, fair, considering just how bad he looked in her eyes, but he was not leaving until he talked to Steve.

Robin raised a brow when she saw Dustin and Max come in behind him. Max was flipping the closed side over as they entered, ignoring Robin’s protests, and Dustin locked it behind him, just as Steve wandered onto the floor, a stack of tapes in hand. 

“What are you guys doing here?” he asked as he set the stack down on the counter, “And why did you lock the door?”

“Eddie needs to talk to you!” Dustin nearly shouted , hopping from foot to foot with obvious impatience. 

Now that Steve was in front of him, all of Eddie’s nervous energy was reaching a peak. He fiddled with his rings, heart pounding, “D-do you have a minute?”

Steve cocked his head, obviously confused, “I always have time for you,” Steve glanced around the room of wide-eyed spectators, “We can step outside if you want-”

“Nope,” Max shook her head, “In front of us.”

While Eddie was technically grateful the kids told him what was going on, he really wished he wasn’t about to risk getting rejected in front of spectators. He took a deep breath, deciding just to rip the band-aid off in one go, “I’m in love with you.”

Steve just stared at him, jaw slack as Eddie nervously prattled on, “I’m in love with you, and I’ve been in love with you for months. But I’m an idiot, an idiot who loves you, and would certainly not rather die than be with the man of my dreams.” 

Steve was still just staring at him, which, honestly, was probably the appropriate response for an impromptu love confession from his best friend. He didn’t know what to make of that face. He should have asked the kids if they were sure Steve felt the same way, how hard would it have been to ask if they were fucking sure?

At least Robin looked seemingly impressed.

The silence just made him keep going, even if his mind was desperately trying to tell him to shut the hell up, “A-and I thought you thought you were straight, or straightish, and I thought Nancy was after you, and -"

And then Steve was kissing him. He just…waltzed right up and grabbed Eddie’s shirt, pulling him down to crash their lips together. 

Eddie stalled for half a second, in complete disbelief that it was happening, Steve Harrington was kissing him. Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him in closer to make the kiss deeper, already fully aware that this was a feeling he would be addicted to for the rest of his life. 

He could vaguely hear Robin squealing in the background, and Max and Dustin gagging, but he was too focused on the sweet taste of Steve’s lips to care. 

He tried to chase his mouth when Steve pulled away, giving him the pretty kind of laugh that made Eddie’s legs feel weak, “We’re both idiots,” Steve smiled, pressing chaste kisses to Eddie’s face between words, “Two idiots in love,”

Eddie blinked, heart still going a mile a minute, “You love me?”

Steve didn’t even tease him for it, kissing his nose like the adorable bastard he was, “Head over heels-”

Eddie was already kissing him again before he could finish, swallowing down his laughs with a happy sigh. 

Dustin and Max watched as their favorite adults made out in the middle of the video store, both kinda grossed out and insanely pleased that they were the reason it was happening in the first place. They looked at each other, grinning from ear to ear, both firmly deciding that meddling in Steve’s life had definitely been worth it. 

[bidisastersanji]

I'm impatient as fuck so here is part 2/3 of the "Zoro gets lost because he uses the red string of fate like a compass" :))) Part 1 here, Part 3 here, read it on AO3 here.

Sanji’s lungs burn, like a sharp blade incessantly scraping his chest from the inside. The unbearable, searing pain in his head, his legs, his ribs- his everything, really- are this close to making him pass out on the spot, but he’s used to dissociating from his battered body. He knows he’s bleeding out in various places, a familiar warm wetness seeping through his clothes, he knows his bones are bruised and broken. He keeps going. 

He’s not a hundred percent sure that him running isn’t a hallucination. 

But he has to find him. That absolute fucker of a swordsman. 

His vision of the red thread he’s desperately running towards blurs a little bit- there must still be smoke in the air- but Sanji doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter. Not for a second. Single-minded, relentless, he throws his legs forward, one after the other, ignoring each sharp, fresh stab of pain as he does so. He won’t stop until he finds him. 

The red string is there again. Is still there.  

He’s still alive, he repeats to himself. But for how much longer... 

- 

His mom was the first to explain it to him. He could still remember her bright, cheerful smile when he told her about his soul mark, the way her elegant hands excitedly danced around when she explained what soulmates were, and what a wonderful thing it was that he had one. She’d seemed so happy for him, elated that someone out there was meant to be for her beloved son. 

Starry-eyed and brimming with curiosity, he’d impatiently asked her every single question that popped into his mind- what were they like? Were they close by? How were they chosen? Why was it a red thread? Did he have to marry them? Were they pretty? Or kind? What if they were mean like his brothers? Would he get to meet them someday? Were mother and father soulmates too? 

In her trademark fashion, Sora had patiently, lovingly answered all of them-all but one- but he didn’t notice, nor the way her smile faltered, just a little bit. Her hands were warm, cradling his own like he held all the treasure in the world between them. He, in turn, kept her words, her answers, her stories from that day, like a treasure as well. Sanji clung to this dream, of someone loving, caring for him unconditionally, despite his deficiency, his weakness. Just like the All Blue, it seemed almost too good to be true, but little Sanji didn’t let go, his belief an oasis to comfort himself with. 

With every new tragedy fate brought him, his bright-eyed idealisation gradually made way for bitter disillusionment.  

The unimaginable violence his blood relatives regularly inflicted on him served to remind him of his dreams’ unfeasibility. After all, how could anyone love a failure like him? How could he find such a legendary place when locked down in this cell? And yet, he clung to both dreams, the comfort of the paling red thread keeping him tethered, weakly fanning the dwindling flame of hope in his chest that he would one day be free from his torment, free to chase his dreams. 

He tried not to worry about the thread fading. Guilt ate at him- maybe it reflected the strength of his belief, and that somehow felt like betraying his mother. She wouldn’t have lied to him, would she? She wouldn’t. 

Sometimes, his brothers taunted him about it. Told him that having a soul mark was yet another proof of his weakness, and that they pitied whoever was stuck with their failure of a brother. Sanji cried and pleaded as the blows, physical and mental, bore down on him. The red string kept getting lighter and lighter, nearly translucent as they eroded his faith in it, until one day he no longer saw it at all. 

Soul marks didn’t mean anything, really. 

Because why would have fate wanted his sweet, kind mother to end up with a monster like Judge? How else could she have married this cruel tyrant who did not even mourn her death, or let their children mourn it? 

No. 

Soul marks’ meaning must be something ascribed by people, Sanji reasoned. 

He escaped. Found people that were good to him, just like Reiju told him he would. With Zeff’s gruff but nurturing presence, Sanji slowly built himself back up. As he grew older, he let himself fall back into his romantic tendencies, daydreamed and idealised the concept of love, of intimacy. His body twirled and buzzed with the comfort that throwing himself at and serving beautiful women always brought him. For what better way was there to protect his brittle heart than to reach for something he already knew was unattainable? There was incredible safety in professing his love to a lady just passing by the restaurant for a night. No stakes at all to worry about. 

On some sentimental days, he saw a flicker of red on his pinky.  

Deep in his thoughts, prepping for the dinner rush, the rhythmic chops of his knife hitting the cutting board, he sometimes thought of the soulmate he used to fantasize about as a child. Wondered what he would do if that person found him, or if he stumbled into them. Would he even know? Feel anything? He wondered if his mother’s words had truth to them, offhandedly entertained the idea that love like the one in story books really existed out there. Zeff seemed to think so- had confided in him about his own soul mark on that godforsaken rock. Made it sound like, from what he’d seen on this wide, wide sea, soul marks were nothing to laugh at- just as much as how dreaming of the All Blue was nothing to laugh at. 

It was in those moments that his heart imperceptibly opened, albeit temporarily, to the possibility of love, and he saw red flash in the corner of his eye. He didn’t linger on it. He didn’t even linger on it when it appeared with increasing frequency after leaving the Baratie. 

Joining the straw hats breathed a second wind into Sanji. His smiles, his laughs became fuller, almost childlike at times, reminiscent of simpler times, as the unconditional love- given so freely by the captain and his crew- soothed his deep scars like a balm. Sanji learned that people could love him, rely on him, care for him. Perhaps his mother’s ideas on love hadn’t been so far off, even if he’d found it in another form. 

There was something off about the shitty swordsman, though. Granted, they hadn’t been purely adversarial from day one. Zoro hadn’t seemed in search of a fight -with him at least- when they first crossed paths on the Baratie. Sanji could only remember weird looks, narrowed eyes searching his face, almost accusingly, even though they’d only just met. It quickly got on his nerves.  

The guy naturally aggravated him, made him feel a tad uneasy, nervous. Which is probably why their fights always felt so satisfying, a blissful outlet to the inevitable tension that rose between them every day. Sanji’s skin sang with each clash and blow, and he tightened his jaw to keep himself from grinning with every petty insult thrown between them. (Zeff may have imparted his love language- words of disapprobation- to him.) 

Nobody saw fit to comment on the odd rivalry between them, nor did they question his uncanny knack for finding the directionally challenged mosshead when he got lost. Sanji least of all of them- it just...happened. He must just have a talent for foraging algae and moss. 

-- 

His stomach drops like a stone when he spots him. 

Arms crossed, still as a statue, an ungodly amount of blood paints the rubble around him and drips from his body. 

Sanji can’t think. Doesn’t even consciously register that, just as he suspected, the red thread on his hand is tied to Zoro’s own as he sprints to close the distance between them. He’s pure instinct, heart hammering in his chest as he furiously questions the injured swordsman. What happened here? Where did the warlord go? Sanji feels like his heart is trying to crawl out of his throat, thick, choking him, each lungful a strenuous effort he has to consciously make. 

“Nothing...happened.” 

Zoro seems a breath away from death and passes out in his arms. Sanji has no choice but to carry him the best he can to camp, hoisting him on his back, limping and near delirious with pain himself. He can’t let this shitty idiot die. He wants to kill him himself.  

Thankfully, he gets to Chopper in time, only passing out when he sees the doctor in his heavy point carrying him away to treat him. His last thoughts as the darkness claims him are of the red string now stretching before him in the direction Chopper went. 

Fuck. 

[twistedbloodstain]

vincent de gramont x assistant!reader: if my wishes came true it would've been you | a glimpse of the marquis.

plot: the one where the marquis isn’t so sure about you.

warnings: stalking, slight mention of violence, more stalking, staring, soft ooc marquis, invasion of privacy

masterlist

vincent de gramont. the marquis. unforgiving. determined. capable.

he is a man that exudes power by simply waving his hand or by the snap of his fingers. he does not need anyone. not when he has all the power and influence of an entire country. all he needs is himself, no one else. people are a liability, because of what we can feel for them. the moment you let them in. you start to do things that you shouldn’t, but you do it anyway for the mercurial high of their company. but in fact they don’t bring you up, they bring you down. of course, the marquis doesn’t do such practices, he can’t risk such vulnerability, if he is vulnerable then he is weak and the world be fucking damned before he let’s what he feel for someone tear him down.

a pessimist mindset. yes but why does it matter? he can’t even name someone who cares for him, at least someone who isn’t paid to do it. they don’t want his company, they want his money and power that he exercises over this world. the men want his coin and the women want the same or a night of pleasure, he might welcome that invitation if he isn’t busy enough.

there are three kinds of people in the world. those who have something to live for, those who have something to die for, and those who have something to kill for.

“oh, oh…poor vincent de gramont. who would search for him if he went missing? who would mourn his rotting corpse as it’s buried six feet underground?”

a mockery and threat of a rising drug lord when he had refused the terms of a deal. it annoyed him, as much as he didn’t expect it to get into his head. because why would he need to have that? soon he had the fool’s tongue pulled out by one of his men, he doesn’t let such insignificant things occupy his mind. but to answer his question there is one who would.

his assistant. that’s who, mildly amused with that thought. if i paid her more than enough my procession would be like the queen of fucking england. ironically, because his assistant falls into the three kinds of people and wants his money. at least she actually works for it. for once, the wages he’d given were actually worth her value, they weigh the same in a scale and he doesn’t feel forced to pay her that much because she gets the job done with exquisiteness.

when he’d first hired her, he thought she might be too good to be true. either she was a bragging and incompetent woman or a vying fusspot whose words are truthful. he doesn’t mind a perfectionist as long as she gets the job done. however good she might portray her character to him, he was still cautious around her.

this could be a calculated spy sent out take everything from me. if so, she might as well bloody think again. no one can rob me of what’s mine.

possible threats imagined or real must be carefully and quickly dealt with. so the first two months she works for him, he keeps his eyes on her. he has her followed to her home, which isn’t so bad but not really to his taste. but since she rarely gets home to manage personal matters with the endless pile of work he’s tasked her with there’s not much to be reported to him. just the mundane life of his assistant and her cat. he also has her background checked and it’s nothing malicious, truly just someone whose motives are sincere and harmless.

but it’s not enough. there has to be something. when she isn’t in her home, she’s in his mansion. the lavish and spacious place that always seems to awe her.

2:00 AM

a pair of guards open the large decorated chunky door for him, he struts through. quite exhausted from his previous affair that took several hours, something about an assassin getting out of the fold. he checks his watch and a slight scowl appears on his face, annoyed that meeting has taken too long for a good night’s sleep. he had a big day tomorrow, hordes of meetings and an opera in the afternoon. he’ll have to get up early if he wants to witness the entire spectacle.

“bring the car tomorrow around 6 AM and move the meeting with Allaire around-” vincent orders but pauses when he realizes the click of your heels were no longer heard in his ears.

he turns around and sees you motionless. you were occupied with gazing at the new painting that had arrived earlier that morning. he could sense the gears in your head turning, taking in the artistic beauty of the masterpiece. he wonders if just like him you appreciate historic works of art that preside in The Louvre or perhaps you like a more architect approach-

christ. what is he thinking, he’s not even sure of who they are and he’s interested in a pastime she might have? he swallows that thought down and buries it behind his mind.

by the sudden snap of his fingers, he snaps you out of your gaze. you face him rattled and a slight worry occupies your face when you realize you’ve been caught slacking.

“i’m so sorry sir. that won’t happen again, what time did you want the car brought?” you immediately apologize, saving your excuses from him. still bashful from the ogling you’ve done, you don’t meet his stare.

he knows you’re just as tired as him, you’ve been stuck with him for the entire day, organizing his schedule and arranging appointments. he decides to not chastise her for the momentary indolence and let it pass. although he is partly pleased you still try to keep your wits sharp and alert. christ, what in the world is he saying? it must be the lack of sleep, yes that’s it.

“bring the car tomorrow around 6 AM and move the meeting with Allaire around 7:30 AM. lastly, get up early. i have an important matter for you to attend to.” vincent says again, much more firmly this time with a harsh tone, a slightly futile attempt since his voice partly falls flat from fatigue.

“yes sir.” you answer straight away, jotting down what he just said into that little purple notebook.

he turns away from you and walks away to his room.

he has her spied in the mansion. every movement she makes in his home is reported by the guards and staff. rather unfortunate with the latter, since you’ve grown close with some of the staff and half of them inform you of your activities. what they’d reported was not what he was looking for. just filled with casual personal stuff and ventures he’d ordered you to do.

with all that extensive efforts settled, he feels somewhat assured that she won’t turn against him. now he just needs to keep her on his side, and to sense any form of betrayal that might cook while she’s in his employ. he instructs his men to halt from following her home but still let’s the staff inform him of her bustle from time to time. how does he keep her on his side? pressure and observation.

he gives her labors that are sometimes beyond her pay grade and leaves her alone to do it. it confounds her, very much. they both know this is not what they’d agreed to but surprise, surprise. she delivers as ordered, little to no flaws. he observes her reactions, to see if a recipe of hatred was cooking in the cauldron.

he keeps his eyes on you. the both of you just got out from a meeting with a drug lord that had rather difficult terms and conditions he wouldn’t agree to but he entertained them nonetheless for the sake of testing you. since the job fell on you to deliver those terms and conditions.

you keep writing down notes on that journal, he reads some of what you’ve written which are familiar to him.

“huh. still not faltering are you? i wonder when you might raise this matter.” he thought.

your posture is not as perfect as it had been when you greeted him earlier in the morning. the late night seems enough explanation for that. the inside of the car is quiet except for the engine of the car and the rustling of your pencil on paper.

ever since he started giving them to you he hadn’t heard a word of complaint. he’s not really sure what he expected. a bitch fit about how you can’t do it? a conversation about raising your salary? a rant about how he’s being unfair? he’s dubious about the result he was searching for but he should know. he is the marquis. everything must have a reason, had he expected all three so he might have a reason to fire you? maybe. but why would he fire you? you’ve proven yourself capable and competitive. there is almost no one to your like, only a fool would do that. why does he want to get rid of you for no reason?

perhaps it’s because of what you do for him. he knows you’re in it for the money but…but that unwavering loyalty you’ve offered up to him. does it mean more? or is it just something he’s paying for? an even exchange for the both of you. god, prostitutes seemed easier to handle than this, at least with them he knew their motives but with you…he can’t. you’re background is as pristine as water and everything you’ve done is to further his power. what had he done to deserve it? maybe it is true, maybe. there is no amount of money that can give that level of loyalty, even his highest paid employees and previous assistants weren’t even that good. oh, why? why,why,why,why-

why do you look at him as if he’s the rarest thing on earth? why do you follow him blindly with no hesitation? why do you listen to his words clinging to them as if it’s good as gospel?

he snaps out of his inner turmoil and notices that you’ve looked up at him. you’ve caught him staring, he’s slightly abashed because he’d been vulnerable with himself for a moment, and it’s because of you. for a minute he thought you might’ve been genuine to him, that everything you do is because you want to, not for any materialistic gain. he doesn’t show his disappointment. he keeps his face plain and cold and turns away from you, facing the window. he can see the glass pyramid from The Louvre, his mind begins to drift.

you gullible fool, there is no one in this world that can give you that. you know this-you know this. why do you still yearn for that? there are three kinds of people in the world. those who have something to live for, those who have something to die for, and those who have something to kill for and you are not one of them. no matter how much you want it you cannot be one of them. you are the marquis. you are the marquis. you must be untouchable. what you feel cannot be weaponized against you. do you understand? she does not feel anything for you. there is nothing but you and yourself. in the long run, she won’t matter. when you’ve grown more powerful than today what she’s given to you will be nothing but specks of dust.

that’s how he viewed you. after those two months, he treats you the same with no efforts that may seem arbitrary an attempt to veil what he’s felt for you. keeping it professional you might say, he screws it through his head, that he doesn’t matter to you, that it doesn’t mean more.

one day it changes.

almost two years after that car ride to The Louvre.

you take a bullet for him.

but you take much more than that.

author’s note: welp, that’s part three! i found it difficult to choose which pov for part two, idk if I should keep the marquis’ thoughts ambiguous or just throw this in. I had this dilemma in class and decided to go for reader’s pov, it turned out nice anyways feel free to share your thoughts!

taglist: @dcgoddess @1mawh0re @davvydobrik

part one part two part four part five

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

jealousy, jealousy || Felix x f!Reader

Summary: Felix knows that he's no good for you and would do better to stay away, anyone could see that. When he's spent the night seeing you with an asshole, is it really all that surprising that he ends up snapping though?

Word count: 3.7k

Genres: college AU (implied), friends to lovers

Warnings & Tags: maxident trailer!felix, kinda bad boy!felix (but also not), jealousy (duh), kissing, bad language, kinda toxic situation?, reader feels pressured due to someone having feelings for her

series masterlist

Felix knows it’s not healthy to stand there and stare from across the room. He knows that he has no right to, knows that even if his fists itch with the urge to fight when he sees the way Noah totally-not-casually stretches his arm over the back of the couch to put it around your shoulders, there’s nothing he can or should do. He tells himself that the only reason why it pisses him off so much is because he knows you’re not interested in the guy — fuck, he wishes that were true. It would make him the good guy in this situation, instead of just some jealous asshole watching from the sideline.

He takes a swig from his beer, but he’d need much stronger alcohol than that to take his mind off you. He’d be better off leaving the party and wandering into some bar in search for another body to numb himself with for the night, problem is that he doesn’t even want to do that. He might have, if you’d been alone, but right now, seeing Noah being fucking oblivious to everything, from your body language to your fake smile, there’s some protective instinct growling in his chest.

He doesn’t do anything though. All of your friends — yours, Felix’s and Noah’s, that is, ‘cause things would be much simpler if you weren’t all in the same friend group and you can’t have that, can you — think you and Noah would be ‘so cute’ together. They say that it’s ‘just a matter of time’, they assume that you’re just oblivious and that Noah’s just shy, they believe, no, they know for sure that you’re meant to be.

They’re vaguely aware of the fact that there’s something between you and Felix, but that’s easy to shrug off. Felix isn’t a bad guy, they say, but he’s not the type you date. He’s always there for his friends, and he’s good to have around if shit goes south when you’re out clubbing, but the girls he fucks are there for a good time, not a long time. And you, well, you’re a good girl, the type of girls that think they can fix him, the type he doesn’t even hook up with anymore because he ends up breaking their heart a little too much.

Finally, he pushes himself away from the wall and walks to the drinks table to get a refill. He inspects the drinks available to him. Shots would do, but it’s still a bit early and the last thing he needs is to have to answer some stupid fucking questions. Then he might actually let some violence out.

It should be concerning that the idea that he could go out and just look for a fight is more tempting to him than getting laid.

Then he feels an arm brushing against him, and he doesn’t need to look to be able to tell that it’s you, pouring a stupidly small amount of punch in your still half-filled cup.

“You were staring,” you say.

It doesn’t surprise him that you noticed. You both know that you’re a little too aware of Felix for your own good.

He leans over, reaching for a bottle of vodka that he doesn’t really want, and as he does, he comes close enough to you that he could kiss you, if he chose to. His long black hair comes to brush your cheek. He sees your eyes widen, sees you swallow, sees you press your lips together. He can’t hear your heartbeat, but he still knows it just went up. Shit, he wishes you weren’t so easy to read, he wishes he didn’t like seeing all the ways he affects you so much.

“Wanted to know if you’d said yes to that date yet,” he says, pulling away.

You roll your eyes, heaving a long, painful sigh and he feels tension leaving his body. It’s hard to feel jealous when he knows he doesn’t even have to touch you to send you in ebullition when Noah leaves you so profoundly indifferent.

Still, Noah does get to touch you. He gets to be around you without people coming up to him to tell him that that’s ‘not a good idea’. Fuck, he knows for a fact that your friends have been trying to arrange an ‘accidental’ date with him.

“I don’t know why he hasn’t gotten the hint,” you mumble. “I’ve said no so many times.”

“You’re being too nice,” Felix shrugs. “Gotta get meaner.”

“Well, I’m not programmed that way.”

“Can still be rewired.”

Your eyes meet, and he knows what you’re thinking about. You’re remembering what Felix used to be like, back in high school, warm and smiley and soft. If he could change from that into what he is today, everyone can.

Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to though.

“They really need to stop encouraging him,” you say. “I’ve told him I didn’t want to go on a date with him, you know? But everyone thinks I’ll just realize some day that he’s been there for me all along.”

Speaking of, Felix risks a glance in Noah’s direction. He’s chatting with some people, but every now and then he looks at the two of you. He is more subtle than Felix was, he’s got to give him that.

“Have you thought about going on one date with him?” Felix asks, even if the thought of it makes him want to tear his own heart out.

There’s a moment of silence, before you look up at him. There’s an eerie calm to your eyes, and it’s an expression he knows all too well. Every single time he’s seen it, he’s felt like you could see straight into his soul.

“Would you like it if I went on a date with him?”

Fuck.

He looks away, clears his throat, but he knows you’ve caught his expression.

The fact that he has some type of feeling towards you is an open secret between the two of you anyway, but he’s not supposed to— Fuck.

You shake your head.

“I don’t want to go on even one date with him,” you say, clearly annoyed. “If I did, I’d probably be dating him be now. I think not going out with him should make that clear enough.”

Then you’re walking away, and Felix notices Noah jumping to his feet, following in the same direction as you. He also gives him a nasty glance, and in any other situation, that would be a good enough reason for him to beat the shit out of him. Right now, though, he holds back.

Fuck it. It’s late enough for shots.

It’s 4 am when he sees you again. Your conversation happened over 6 hours ago, basically a lifetime. Felix’s gotten wasted and he’s well on his way back to feeling sober again, significantly helped by the two pizzas he’s scarfed down. He might also have slept an hour on the couch at some point, he can’t say for sure. His head hurts, but he’s definitely had worse.

He’s out on the balcony, smoking, when you step out. You shiver in the cold air of the night, but you endure it and take your spot next to him, leaning against the railing. It’s kinda your thing, at this point, you joining him when he’s out smoking, but there wasn’t so much tension hanging in the air before.

Or maybe there was, he can’t tell all that well anymore. He could see in your eyes, even back then, that you were interested, but you were a friend, kinda, a distant one, and he didn’t hook up with his friends. It probably means it’s his fault for changing the status quo. It usually is, even if he’s not too sure what he’s done wrong this time.

Ultimately, the dead end you’re both stuck in is no one’s fault. He doesn’t do relationships; you don’t do one-night stands or friends with benefits. Anyway, you probably know him well enough now — as he is now, that is, not the kid he was when you first met— to know that it’s a bullshit idea.

“Got rid of the dog?” Felix asks, blowing out a puff of smoke.

“Don't call him that,” you say, though your tone isn’t particularly upset. “He went out with some of the guys to get drugs for the hangovers.”

How considerate.

“You had a good time?”

A silence.

“I really need to stop agreeing to come to these.”

“Or you could just ditch him once and for all.”

He sees your fingers tighten around the railing.

“If I do that, I’ll make it awkward and I’ll be an idiot who doesn’t know what's good for her. If I don’t, I’m leading him on and I’m a bitch. No matter what, the issue comes from me, and not from the fact that he refuses to hear what I'm saying.”

You’re shaking. It might just be the cold, might not be. Either way, Felix knows he shouldn’t be doing anything about it. Give you his coat, maybe, or go get yours. Instead, he steps behind you, wrapping his arms around you, pressing his chest against your back. Goosebumps form on the back of your neck, but you don’t move away. He feels a trembling breath going through you, before slowly, ever so slowly, you lean back against him.

It’s late anyway, no one’s there to see it, no one’s going to lecture you. You both know it’s not for the best, but in the last hours of the night, it doesn’t seem like such a terrible idea.

It seems like a why not.

You’re cold, he knows that for sure now, but he doesn’t reach for your hands so he can warm them in his. That would be crossing the line. He’s toeing it now, for sure, but he can’t go that far.

You move your head, and your cheek ends up pressed against his. He’s the one to freeze this time. He hopes you won't cross the line — not because he’ll have to stop you, but because he knows he won’t. He’s too selfish for that.

“All I’ve done is not want to date him,” you say. “I don’t have to want to date him.”

“Why d’you not want to?”

In the moment, he’s not sure why he asks, or maybe he is. He is sure that he doesn’t like that it leads you to tear yourself away from him, though.

“You know why. Don’t be a dick, Felix,” your quiet voice loud against the night sky, and you’re looking right into his eyes, with intent. The breath is almost knocked out of him then as things unsaid fill the air, but one thing remains: it’s because of him.

Lots of things go through his mind then, things he doesn’t dwell on. The one he’s the quickest to dismiss it the happiness. He’s hurting you right now. It’s so fucking selfish that there’s even a tiny part of him that’s happy about this — and if he was honest with himself, he’d admit that it certainly isn’t that tiny. He buries his hands in his pockets, clears his throat.

“That doesn’t have to be an issue.” It isn't for him.

“It is for me.” You let out a brief laugh, only half-amused, and your eyes soften. “We’ve established that, haven’t we?”

Yeah. He supposes you have.

“Want me to walk you home?” he asks, because he doesn’t know what to say anymore. His voice sounds thick. He knows it’s a bad idea to offer, you know it’s a bad idea to accept. Yet you nod.

“That might be smart,” you say. “It’s way past my bedtime anyways.”

You smile, and the whole world becomes softer.

“C’mon. Get your coat.”

He can’t give you what you want, but he can make sure that you get home safely.

It’s still cold when you walk outside, but this time you’re engulfed in a big coat and you don't need him to warm you up anymore. Still, you grimace and bury your face behind your scarf. He wants to boop your nose, holds back, but he does turn away from you because the big smile the sight brings to his face is embarrassing.

“Are you making fun of me?” you ask, not sounding very threatening from under all those layers of clothing.

“I would never,” he lies. “You ready?”

You shrug, but follow after him. You never seem to hesitate when you’re walking through the city late at night with him. He knows you wouldn’t do it alone, would probably not do it with a bunch of other people, but you’d said, once, that he made it look easy, and he supposes that’s true. He’s used to the late nights, and though he’s made his fair share of bad encounters around that time, it doesn’t really scare him anymore, hasn’t for a long time actually. Before he met you — or, well, met you again anyway.

Maybe it worries him a little bit, but he makes up for it in confidence. You can see it in his walk, the long strides, the way his shoulders fall back, the hands in his pockets. The black leather jacket also helps, gives the vibe that he’s not someone you want to fuck with, and he isn’t. He’s gotten in — and won — enough fights to ensure that. That’s the kind of thing people can tell, if they know what to look for.

You don’t know what to look for. You don’t seem to have ever regarded him as a threat, which he’s maybe a little peeved about. He thinks it’s mostly because you know him from before. That probably makes him lose a shit ton of credibility.

He doesn’t completely hate it, though. Sometimes, surprisingly, the softness is even… welcome. Sometimes, you put your hand on his arm or his shoulder, and he’s reminded of how much he craves that touch, and he knows you know that, because you used to know him.

Shit, he needs to stop that. He always gets sappy before sunrise.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you say.

Yeah, well, he likes that better than letting your friends push you into the arms of fucking Noah once again, so…

“I drank too much to drive you,” he shrugs.

“And he’s responsible,” you sigh dramatically. He can’t help but grin. Damn, he’s really ruining his reputation every time he’s with you.

“Shut up.”

There’s no animosity in his voice. You fall in step next to him, both of you silent. Your shoulders brush sometimes, but your hands, like his, are resolutely buried in your pockets. Seems like you’re both trying to be on your best behavior tonight.

It’s for the best, obviously, but he’s still kinda disappointed.

Then someone shouts your name, and the night suddenly goes from not great to pretty fucking terrible.

Of course you’d run into Noah and the rest of the group, coming back from the nearby store. Why the fuck wouldn’t you.

“Hey,” you say as Noah rushes across the street to you. You’re smiling genuinely, but that smile tightens when Noah looks at Felix suspiciously. He acts like he believes Felix put a fucking gun to your head to make you come out with him.

“Hey,” he says, “are you going home? If you give me a second, I’ll—”

“It’s okay, Felix is taking me,” you interrupt him.

If that isn’t music to his ears, he doesn’t know what is.

“But I can take you,” Noah says.

See, that’s what Felix doesn’t fucking get. Sure, you didn’t say “Felix is taking me because I want him to and also I would never ever fuck you”, but he has to have realized that by now, right? You’ve declined every time he’s tried to go on a date with you, you’ve never initiated anything… And, yeah, he’s heard that technically Noah’s never called them ‘dates’, so from his perspective, maybe you didn’t know but— Come on.

He also suspects that Noah knows very well that you’re much more interested in Felix than in him. He wonders if — believes, lowkey — that feeds into some weird, deluded savior fantasy in which he makes you realize that he was the good guy that was there for you all along.

Okay, he might be a bit cynical on that one.

“It’s all good,” you shake your head. You’re clearly not sure about how to get yourself out of this situation without outright telling him that you don’t want him to take you home. It would be much simpler if you did that, but to you, hurting someone’s feelings, even for good reason, is basically a cardinal sin.

Unfortunately, Felix understands that feeling a little too well.

He throws an arm around your shoulders, shoots a grin at Noah. Ha, it’s payback, dickhead.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get her home safe, man. Just enjoy your night.”

Noah clearly hesitates to add something, but you don’t move away from Felix, and he eventually lowers his gaze, visibly dejected.

“Alright. You guys stay safe. Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Sure,” you chirp, and Felix can tell, from that one word, that you already feel bad for the guy.

Ugh.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks you point blank once Noah’s gone.

“It would be shitty if I was when you’re helping me out,” you sigh. “I just— sometimes I wish I liked him, you know? It would be so much simpler.”

It feels like a bucket of ice has been dropped down his back, but he doesn’t let it show. Yeah. He’s a pretty terrible choice of person to like, he’s well aware of that.

“Then why don’t you just go on that date?” he asks, maybe a little more aggressively than he’d like. “Maybe you would like him.” Eventually, anyway.

He knows he’s thought about you doing that. The idea keeps him awake at night sometimes, terrifies him. Isn’t it so fucked up of him, to refuse to start anything with you but to still want you to like him better than the other options?

“I wouldn’t,” you just say. “I’d be miserable.”

And you’re probably right.

“Hey,” Felix says as the silence grows and you look more and more upset every second that passes, “wanna see the sun rise on the Han river?”

“See, that wasn't so hard,” he says when you drop on a bench. You glare at him, but you look somewhat amused. Distracted, at least. That’s what happens when you hop in the first subway of the day, where you’re surrounded by workers going to their honest job and then rush through the park all the way to the river to find a good spot. Takes your mind off things.

“I like it here,” you comment quietly.

You’ve seen a few people running in the park, probably trying to get their morning jog in before going to work. There are also one or two old people, walking with their hands clasped together behind their backs, here for the same reason as you perhaps. It’s quiet, unusually so for Seoul. The sky is starting to lighten, pink on the horizon, and the birds are starting to chirp shyly.

There are worse ways to start the day.

Your eyes keep fluttering shut though. Your head nods forward, before you jerk it up, blink yourself awake, and then rinse and repeat. It’s cute, but Felix can’t have you fall asleep here.

“Hey.”

He's mainly trying to get your attention when he leans over you, setting one hand on the back of the bench on either side of you. But then you blink, and he meets your eyes, and he still leans closer, even as your eyes widen and your lips part. He grins.

“Breathe,” he says, and he doesn’t move away.

You take in a slow breath, eyes not leaving his once. You’ve mentioned before, in passing, that you liked his freckles. He wonders if that's what you’re thinking about right now. Even as the seconds stretch, you’re still not making any movement to get away from him. He knows he should, fuck, you both know you should, but you make bad choices when it comes to him and he’s a piece of shit with no self-control.

When he kisses you, you let out a soft noise, almost like a sigh of relief, like you’ve been waiting for that all night long. He forbids himself from touching you, knuckles turning white with how tightly he holds on to the bench, knows that’s a slippery slope he won't come back from without hurting you, and he doesn’t want to hurt you, for fuck's sake.

You don't have that issue though, and both of your hands come up to his face. You touch him like he’s precious, fingertips oh so softly tracing his jaw, one hand cupping his cheek as your thumb brushes over his cheekbone. The other one runs trough his hair, settling against his neck. Your cold nose brushes against his and he can feel your lips curving into a smile.

He feels your tongue against his lips, and really, it’s without thinking that he parts them. If he did, he’d realize that it’s just a bad idea. Instead, it doesn’t hit him until he leans a little more into you, hungrily kissing you back. You gasp softly into him, hand coming to his shoulder, but in no way pushing him back. It’s when he hears you whimper that he pulls away. It seems that knowing how you sound is about the worst thing that could happen to him. His imagination already supplies him with enough suggestions when he’s alone to torture him plenty.

He lets himself fall on the bench next to you, probably closer than he should be. You collect yourself, breathing a little too quick, and clear your throat awkwardly, putting your hands back in your lap like a good girl. You look around, seem somewhat relieved to see there was no spectator. Both of you are clearly attempting to act like nothing’s happened, like you always do after a slip-up.

“Oh,” you laugh after a few seconds. “We’ve missed the sunrise.”

He doesn’t mind.

okayyyy, sooo, there is kinda lore™ for this story because I've had an iteration of that in my mind for so long because i'm obsessed with maxident trailer!felix and i wish we'd gotten more of him, so if you want me to talk about it (or if you would have liked for felix to have punched noah in the face), feel very free to tell me i'd be happy to talk about this. ideally i'll see you tomorrow for han's part, but more likely it'll be out in 2-3 days. as always, if you liked the story it would mean the world if you reblogged or commented ❤️ thank yo for reading!

[mistypsych]

ANATOMY OF A CRIMINAL - CHAPTER 7

/ yoongi / suga / agust d

summary: as a doctor you never expected to be dragged into “the criminal life”, nothing and no one seems to be true anymore, your whole world turns upside down after you save him.

pairings: yoongi mob boss x f.reader x non idol bts members.

warnings: smut, guns, knives, stabbings, blood, gore, murders, drugs, criminals, gang life, medical emergency, illness, abuse, swearing, angst, dubcon, gang violence, corruption, manipulation, lies, cheating - 18+ minors dni.

Note: Hi! This is an attempt of writing a fanfic long after not writing anything at all. Please keep in mind English is no longer my first language and it might be a bit rusty at times. Comments and thoughts are well appreciated. Don’t hesitate to ask questions, state your thoughts for me to post up and have me add you to the tag list!

You blinked very fast. Your thoughts were all over the place. Keeping your gaze on the KCIA badge you took a deep breath and mumbled “Yea… it does look like we need to talk…” trying to gather yourself, you turned to face the kind eyed man.

This was the moment he should start explaining, because you sure as hell had no idea what the actual fuck was going on.

He let out a long, quiet sigh, keeping his eyes on the road. “So… I am well aware you normally would not have anything to do with a gang, if it wasn’t for your reckless friend…” he started. “But… our target isn’t really the whole group. I mean yea, they are dangerous, cause some havoc but… they are also a well know danger… they keep the product they sell clean and such… yes it is bad, but how to say it? A evil you know is better than anything unknown and out of control right?”.

You tried to follow his logic, one questing popping into your head - then why was he even there? As if reading your mind he explained “We are fishing for the police… we have known the department has gotten very dirty in the recent years… and we are collecting enough evidence to be sure to take that scum down…” he turned his eyes to the road again waiting for you to slowly take in the information he has dropped on you.

You shake your head a bit and then look up as if asking the universe why the fuck this is all happening. “So… let me guess… my fiancé happens to be on the list…”. Jimin sighed and slowly nodded his head, clicking his tongue he looked at you for a second. “Listen… I know this is all a lot to take in… especially that your fiancé is an absolute dick… but… I assume you’d have nothing against putting his ass behind bars right?”.

You look at the man sitting next to you and try to think of an answer. In all honesty you would gladly have Hobi suffer since you found out not only is he dirty but also a cheater. The fact you slept with Agust-D did not seem like proper justice for the fact that asshole ruined all those years of your life. But having him locked up seemed like some kind of karma.

“Yea… I would not mind that at all…” you paused for a while and then asked “So… let me take a guess. You would love to have a spy in me huh?”. Jimin cleared his throat quietly, clearly not expecting you to be this blunt. “I won’t lie… it would probably make things easier… I believe you could fish out some important intel for us…”

Without much hesitation you say “Ok. Count me in then, as long as me and my friend Jungkook are not dragged into whatever consequences this shitshow brings…” the hazy eyed man slightly looks at you and nods “Of course… you will be my informant so I will make sure your demands are met…” you roll your eyes a bit not enjoying the fact once again you have been put in a peculiar spot.

You asked to be dropped off a couple of blocks before your building. Your neighborhood was safe enough for you to walk back and you sure as hell would not wan’t Hoseok seeing you get dropped off by Jimin.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

You will have to lie, pretend and play games with Hobi. It was not something you ever would see yourself doing but given the circumstances, you did not have many options in order to receive some sort of justice for yourself. The worst part being that you had to pretend you have no idea about what he did and that you are still oh so blindly in love with him, when in reality all you wanted is to beat him into a pulp for wasting all those important years of your life.

Walking in slowly into your apartment you gently closed the doors hoping that if your fiancé was there you would not wake him up. Looking around you saw his jacket and sighed. Luck was not on your side. It seemed that you were gonna have to deal with his company sooner then later.

You made your way passed the opened bedroom doors, making sure to be quiet and to get you the chance to sleep on the couch, but no, you had to be shit outta luck. “Y/N? Hun? That you?” you swore in your head and barely controlled your impulse to punch the wall. Silently clearing your throat you said “Yea… it’s me… I went out with Kookie and some other coworkers… since you said you would be home late again…” you lied threw your teeth.

A sound of the bed covers rustling hit your ears. You knew he was getting up, so you put your best pretend happy tipsy face on. Right then you saw him stand in the door and lean on the frame with a slightly sleepy face. He smiled at you and came up taking your hand in his. “Mmm… I’m sorry I am having to work so much lately babe…” you nodded your head afraid that if you spoke that moment he would pick up your pure rage.

After a second you gathered yourself “It’s fine, we both have jobs that can occupy us at times…” wrapping his arms around you he kissed your shoulder “What did I do to deserve such a woman?” you forced a giggle. “Can I make it up to you Y/N? Hmmm?” he hummed in a low voice pulling at your waistband. You laughed lightly and gave him a peck in the nose saying “we can discuss that after I take a shower and you make breakfast.”

He mumbled slightly disappointed but made his way to the kitchen, you on the other hand got into the bathroom. You stood there looking at your reflection in the big mirror questioning all your life decisions and if you should have ever moved to Korea. You turned on the water for it to warm up. You needed a hot shower to was off all the strain from your muscles.

Suddenly your phone rang causing you to jump up. Looking at the screen you could see a no caller ID show up. Normally you would ignore such a call but something in you gave you a hunch. Picking up the phone you quietly answered. “Hello?” you heard a deep sigh on the other side of the line and then the well know gravely voice “Didn’t take you would be the type to sneak out at dawn?” your heart clenched and then started beating like crazy. You could feel your body getting tense.

“And I wouldn’t think you’d be the type to be bothered by such a thing… I would think you’d appreciate it…” he chuckled, you could almost see him shaking his head in amusement “Nah… I was thinking of round two for breakfast…” you sigh grabbing the tip of your nose. This was all one big mess. “I have a fiancé…” you muttered hoping this would salve it and make him cancel the call, but instead he laughed loudly “Oh… I know you do and I ain’t bothered babe, because I know now when he fucks you, you’ll be thinking of me and all I can do to you”. His words rendered you speechless “Mmm just what I thought. You’ll be coming back for more Y/N and oh I will give it to you…” and at that he ended the call.

Standing there and looking at your cellphone you were trying collect yourself. This fucking cocky bastard was so sure you’d be coming back to him. “You wish… we will see who’s left begging…”

tags: @wobblewobble822 @nansasa @nochook @kootieful @kooslilhoe @yoongisducky @xjiminsthighsx @danielle143 @llallaaa @idkjustlovingbts @darcyw16 @missusally-blog @honsoolgloss @nochuel @kaitieskidmore1 @starrlo0ver @geek-lara-nerd @jwnghyuns @xyahrinx @acquiescence804

[sadhours]

ABSENTEE - 1

next chapter • masterlist • my requests are open!!

my new series!!! i promise the finale to wicked sensations is coming soon but in the mean time, enjoy this :) it’ll be mostly Billy centric, not terribly romantic and it takes place before he moves to hawkins

content warnings: minors dni 18+, violence, child abuse (physical and verbal), homophobic slur, cannabis use, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, blow job

word count: 6k+

///.

The rooftop is his favorite place to be. It’s calm, though you can hear the sounds of the city below you. Billy likes the whooshing of the cars on the highway and the drunken chatter of college kids bar hopping. Soothing. Happy sounds. Not like the ones he hears at home. The second he’s through the door, Neil’s berating him for whatever he’s stewed on while Billy was gone. So suffice to say, Billy stays out of the house most days and nights. The grace period from having Max and Susan is over and Neil isn’t hiding who he truly is anymore. As Billy rolls his spliff, he remembers Susan’s reaction the first time his dad had smacked him upside the head in front of her. It was unmoving, her face stoic and a look in her eye like Billy deserved it. He can’t even remember what prompted it, but that was the glorious thing about Neil’s fists, they didn’t need a reason. Billy could have moved the dish soap in the kitchen a centimeter and that would be enough to set his dad off. So why the hell would he be home when he could be anywhere else?

Absent. That’s what Max called him this morning. Just like his mother, he thought. It was true. Billy was numb to it all. He could be there but not really. Auto pilot, doing what’s expected but without reason behind it. He’s floating through life without real meaning to it. Billy hopes he’ll find something worth living for. Shit, most sixteen year olds have no true passion for life but no other kids have Neil as a father. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when his buddy, Reggie changes the cassette in the boombox. He’s supposed to be having a good time, he reminds himself, not thinking about how bad he doesn’t want to be at home. Billy licks up the side of the paper to seal the spliff, reaching for his zippo and lighting it up. He inhales deeply, letting his eyelids close with the motion as the sharp smoke fills his lungs and immediately relaxes him. Fuck, weeds awesome. Reggie’s been on this New Wave kick and Billy can’t stand it, unless he’s stoned. When he’s stoned, all music is pretty rad. So the Joy Division cassette isn’t the worst he’s heard. It fits Billy’s mood pretty well. He won’t admit it, the goddamn hopelessness of the lyrics hit him square in the chest and make him feel a little less alone.

“The girls are taking forever,” Reggie complains and Billy agrees. He could really use a beer, cotton mouth kicking in far too quick for his liking.

With a shrug, Billy peers over the edge to see if he can get a glimpse of you guys. You’ve been dating a couple months at this point, but you’ve been friends for years. Right after Billy’s mom left and Neil uprooted him from the house they shared to an apartment in the heart of the city. Billy misses that house and that apartment. You lived in the complex and he’d met you while he was graffitiing the apartments playground slide with a sharpie. He thinks he was drawing a crude pair of tits but he can’t remember, knows for sure he’d scribbled his favorite swear words at the time all over it. You guys were eleven years old. You came up to him and asked if you could draw something. You drew a cartoonish dick and right then, Billy decided you were gonna be friends.

Then Neil met Susan a few years later when he was fourteen. They moved quick and got married a month after meeting. He hates moving, so he wasn’t thrilled when Neil and Susan insisted on finding a three bedroom house closer to Max’s school. Luckily, Billy didn’t have to change schools but the house was in a cookie cutter suburb instead of the city. Plus, you weren’t a two minute walk away anymore and Neil got to keep him on a shorter leash.

“Beeeer!!!” you and Cindy, Reggie’s girlfriend cheer in unison as you climb up onto the roof through the fire escape.

“Finally,” Reggie grunts, snatching the spliff from Billy’s fingers and extends his opposite hand for a beer.

“Why are you listening to this depressing shit?” Cindy complains as she hands him an Old Milwaukee, “We’re supposed to be partying.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” Billy shrugs as you nestle yourself next to him on the edge of the roof, he wraps his arm around you and accepts the beer you offer.

Cindy gapes, “You’re the last person I’d expect that from.”

Billy doesn’t respond. Instead, he cracks his beer open and looks over the edge of the roof again. He sees a handful of girls stumbling beneath and he wonders if he hawked a loogie down could he hit them and what would they do. Saliva fills his mouth in anticipation but he decides against it. They’re pretty and their reactions probably won’t be all that exciting. He’s confident about his aim, though, figures he could land it on one particular girls’ cleavage. He smirks to himself as he brings the can to his lips and averts his eyes to his friends, looking for the spliff. It’s in Reggie’s hands again so Billy leans over and snatches it.

“Stop bogarting, asshat,” he snaps.

“Relax,” Reggie mumbles, “we tried passing it but you’re too busy checking out the chicks on the street.”

“I wasn’t checking them out,” Billy defends himself.

“Sure,” you sigh next to him before standing up and making your way to sit on the torn up couch Reggie and Cindy are lounging on.

Billy rolls his eyes, taking a hit off the spliff before looking down at his watch. The football game is probably almost over and Neil’s most likely dozing to sleep, drunk off a twelve pack. But Billy doesn’t intend to go home for a while, well after midnight. It’s summer after all. He could probably crash at Reggie’s tonight. It’s a good excuse to spend time with him because usually, Billy has to steer clear of him during the school year. Neil would kill him if he’d seen Billy hanging around a black kid. He’d probably kill Reggie too. In the summer it’s safe, but during the school year, his curfew is strict and Neil would rather Billy hang out at home. He brings friends around sometimes, but never Reggie.

You keep giving Billy an angry look. Max’s words this morning ring in his ears. Absent. Billy knows that’s why you’re mad at him too. You’d had the conversation a hundred times this summer alone. He doesn’t put enough effort into the relationship, you told him. Asked him if he wanted to go back to being just friends. But Billy assured you that he didn’t, promised to do better. He’s always being told he isn’t good enough. By everyone in his life. So much so that he’s gone numb to that too. Figures the least he can do is accept that he’s never going to be what people want him to be. It’s easier that way, anyways. Hard to let it get to him if he just doesn’t give a shit anymore.

The thing is, Billy just turned 16 and Neil’s expecting him to work this summer so you’ll just have to deal. He’s excited to get a job, excited to save up his money so he can get a car. He got his license the day after his birthday, figures by the end of August he should have enough to buy a beater car. Something he can fix up real nice. Something that’s his, proof he can accomplish a goal, proof he’s not such a goddamn waste.

He was supposed to be job hunting today but he didn’t. He got up early enough to surf, got home and showered, put on his fanciest button up that was a hand-me-down from his dad and told him he was off to fill out applications. He got stoned at Reggie’s house and the two of them watched TV for hours until Cindy called. Billy can do it tomorrow. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a job. Maybe he can work at the surf shop. The owner likes him a lot. He’s even talked about Billy becoming a team rider. Billy tries not to get his hopes up about that. Neil doesn’t care for surfing, tells Billy it’s a waste of time. Not a skill for the real world. That’s what Billy likes about surfing though. It drags him far away from reality, his mind can finally relax when he’s catching waves.

He smokes the spliff until it’s a burnt roach, tossing it over the roof and stands up. Pacing around, he ignores the conversation the three of you are having as he focuses in on the buzz from the weed. He can feel the air better, feels like he can breathe better than ever before. He stares up at the moon, admiring how the clouds skate passed it. He lays on the floor, hands behind his head and focuses on the craters he can see in the moon. It’s full and he can kind of see a face in the craters, if he tilts his head it also looks like a little girl with a triangle dress.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his stomach and he turns to see you, sitting beside him with a curious smile. He returns it with lopsided one of his own.

“Get bored of ‘em?” he asks, softly.

You turn to look at Reggie and Cindy, his eyes follow to see the couple making out.

“Ah,” he purses his lips, “It’s that portion of the party, is it?”

You nod and Billy pats his hips, signaling you to climb into his lap. Once you do, he’s wrapping a hand around your neck and luring you down, lips hovering. You feel his teeth as he smiles before placing a tentative kiss to your lips. It starts slow, lazy from his dazed, stoned state. Billy prefers kissing when he’s high, doesn’t much care for it when he’s sober. But for some reason, in this altered state, it doesn’t feel as gross to him. Billy never tells you he doesn’t like kissing or that he thinks it’s kind of disgusting. When he’s horny enough, it’s not gross and he’ll lick into your mouth all sloppy as long as his dicks inside you. It’s not his foreplay though.

He can hear Reggie grunting and groaning. He doesn’t have to look over to know Cindy’s going down on him. She’s loud about it and Billy doesn’t admit that it turns him on. Billy thinks it must turn you on too because you start grinding your hips against his. Plus, he figures Reggie and Cindy won’t care much if they started it in the first place. Billy always feels a bit strange about the lack of boundaries, the fact that the four of you mess around in front of each other. Figures that you all get it when you can and it’s not often you guys are secluded enough to pull it off.

Billy grabs your hair to pull you away, moving his hands to undo his belt and you get the hint, lifting yourself up just enough to get your underwear off and Billy’s jeans and briefs down to his knees. You hold your skirt up, looking down at his pulsing erection settled against his stomach. He wraps his fingers around the base and spits onto his other hand, smearing it all over the head before lining it up with your entrance. You gasp when you feel him prodding, eyebrows knit together in desperation and Billy loves that. Feels like he’s done something good to make you want him so badly. You slowly lower yourself until he bottoms out and Billy grunts softly, pressing his palms to yours and lacing your fingers. It’s sweet, makes your whole body fill with adoration for him. His eyes are barely open, eyelids looking heavy while his mouth hangs open just enough for you to see his tongue pressing to his bottom lip. A roll of your hips and his tongue rolls against his bottom lip, a lewd moan tumbling out of him that has your toes curling in your shoes. Through all the bullshit he seems to drag you through, you wouldn’t ever give this up. He gets you fired up like no one else could. Billy’s a literal wet dream come to life and you have the fucking privilege of being with him. The slight curve of his cock is practically designed to fit you perfectly, hooking just right to nail that wonderful, spongy part inside of you. But you think you could cum just from looking at him, sometimes. Or hearing his voice.

You bend down to whisper in his ear, “You feel so good.”

He lets go of your hands to wrap his arms around your middle, pulling your bodies flush as he groans breathy against your ear. You press gentle kisses along his jaw, bouncing in his lap over and over. He snakes his hands up your shirt and scratches down your back, arching his own which only buries him deeper inside of you. Deep enough he hits your cervix and you yelp. Billy chuckles softly before easing up, his hands steadying at your hips.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear.

“It’s okay,” you reply softly, pulling back to look down at his face. He looks fucked out, totally blissful and all the stress and worry usually living there is gone. It makes your insides turn. You’d give absolutely anything to do that for him all the time. He starts thrusting his hips up at you, his hands holding your hips still so he can take control. He does it whenever he’s close and you’re almost there too so you keep staring down at his face, trying to commit it to memory like you haven’t seen it a hundred times, like you don’t see his face whenever you close your eyes.

Billy’s eyes open slowly and he maintains eye contact with you, his mouth open while pants and soft moans flood out of it. Just the look and sound of him is enough and your orgasm comes crashing through you.

“Billy,” you gasp, thighs shaking against his hips while you involuntarily hump against him.

He smiles then, all lips and no teeth but looking satisfied. You don’t get the opportunity to completely ride through it, he pulls out of you and you’re quick to move down and take his cock in your mouth, eyes wide as you look up at him. He gives a pathetic thrust and clenches his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed as he shoots his load into your mouth. You swallow and pull back, licking up the last of it that dribbles out of his slit. He whimpers and it sends another wave of arousal to your center.

With a sigh, he pulls his pants back on and hands you your discarded panties. You awkwardly pull them back on and reach your hand out to help your boyfriend back up. Billy kisses you softly before wandering over to the sixer and pulling another beer from it. He stands taller now, relaxed and you’re relieved you can help him in some way. Even if it seems like only sex.

Billy and Reggie share a look before the two of them burst out into giggles, Cindy rolls her eyes but immediately shoots you a pleased look. She enjoys it and so do you. Billy makes his way back to the edge of the rooftop, sitting down and lighting up a cigarette. He keeps peering over and it’s making you nervous. You don’t know what he’s thinking but sometimes you worry Billy imagines jumping off. What you don’t expect is to hear the sound of him hawking up a loogie.

“Billy,” you warn, standing up.

Reggie’s standing up with you but with excitement as he stumbles over and peers down with Billy.

Billy spits down and you hear a man from below shouting.

“Billy! Fucking hell,” you scold but your boyfriend is in a laughing fit, holding his gut as the careless sound rips through him.

Absent.

“I’m gonna beat your fucking face in!” the guy from the street shouts up at him.

“I’d like to see you try!” Billy replies.

“Then get your ass down here!”

Billy’s up to his feet, the excitement of violence bubbling through him as he makes his way to the fire escape. He ignores the protests from you and his friends, though the three of you follow him down. Billy chugs the rest of his beer once he’s on the ground, tossing the empty can and puffing his chest up as he stalks over to the guy.

Billy’s in shape, he spends a lot of time lifting weights but that’s not what makes him dangerous. It’s the fact that he doesn’t really give a shit and all the pent up anger from the abuse he faces. The guy he nailed with his phlegm is bigger but Billy doesn’t seem scared. He yells out, fists clenched tight at his sides as they meet face to face. Billy’s grinning wide, he always looks so happy when he’s about to get in a fight. It fucking worries you.

The guy swings first but Billy dodges it and then his fist is connecting with the dudes jaw with a horrific pop. The guy reels, like he wasn’t expecting so much power behind a teenagers fist. He stumbles but is back quick, socking Billy in the face and you wince, knowing that he’ll have one helluva shiner.

Billy laughs, “Is that all you got, fucker?”

Another punch and the guys on the ground but Billy’s on him in an instant, delivering blow after blow to the guys face before Reggie’s pulling him off.

“Fuck!” he screams out, eyes lit up with something that terrifies you. He enjoys this too much. You reach for his wrist and pull, dragging him along as the four of you run down the block. The dudes knocked out but his friends chase after you guys. They’re not fast enough and you lose them after cutting through an alley and ending up in a deserted plot of land. It’s mostly dirt but the occasional construction debris. There used to be a motel here but it’s got plans to become yet another parking lot. Billy screams out again, cheeks split with a devious smile.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” you yell at him, pushing against his chest. He turns to you with that eerie smile and you notice his nose is bleeding.

“That was fucking rad, darling,” he gushes, “I totally knocked his fucking lights out!”

“It wasn’t rad!” you argue, “God damn you’re such a fucking child sometimes!”

Billy laughs, but it’s laced with venom, “And you’re fucking boring.”

The word hits you hard, breaking your heart in an instant. You sniffle, pissed off with yourself that you’re crying so easily. Billy could be mean, to everyone around him. You knew that when you started dating. But it still hurts. You wanted to be an exception to that, but you realize how foolish that was.

“You’re fucking crying?” he scoffs, “Jesus Christ.”

You turn on your heel and start walking, Cindy me Reggie are quick to follow you but when you’re a block away and you turn back, Billy’s not following you. He’s wandered in the other direction.

///.

Billy finds the spare key under the mat and tries his absolute best to keep quiet as he unlocks the door. Susan should’ve got his dad to bed by this hour but he doesn’t want to risk it. He slowly opens the door, stepping inside and unzipping his boots before taking them off and leaving them by the door. He peers into the living room. Shit. Neil isn’t in bed. It’s nearly two a.m., he and Susan must’ve had an argument. Billy closes the door as quietly as he can before turning the deadbolt. He tiptoes to his room, turning the knob cautiously. Once he’s inside, he flicks the light on and starts to undress. He opens his closet and grabs out a pair of grey sweats to change into. As he’s changing, he looks into the mirror, seeing the dried blood under his nose and the beginnings of a gnarly bruise under both eyes. He presses his thumb to the bridge of his nose and hisses. It’s not broken but fuck, it hurts. He sighs. He needs to clean it up. Billy desperately needs a shower but it’s too late. He’d definitely wake his dad.

Carefully, he sneaks out of his room and into the hallway bathroom. He flicks the light on and gets a better look at his face. Billy barely recognizes himself. It’s a problem he’s been having for years. He knows that’s his face staring back at him but he can’t help but feeling like he doesn’t know his reflection. Like the icy blue eyes staring back at him belong to a stranger. He quietly cleans the blood from under his nose but when he opens the medicine cabinet to grab his toothbrush, a slew of pill bottles and soaps fall out of it and land into the sink with a loud clatter. Max had probably haphazardly shoved her things inside. Billy closes his eyes and shuts off the light, steadying his breathing and tries to hear for a sign that he’s woken his father up.

Footsteps, loud ones clamber up the hallway and Billy braces himself. He hates this house, there’s no lock on the bathroom. There’s no locks on any doors besides the master bedroom. The door swings open and the light is switched on. Billy’s met with the angry face of his father.

“What in gods name are you doing at this hour?” Neil asks, tone cloaked in outrage. “Did you just get home?”

“No sir,” Billy replies, voice cracking.

Neil surveys his face, “You reek of pot, boy.”

Billy doesn’t respond to that, just stares blankly at his domineering father. There’s no point. He definitely smells like weed and no matter what he’d say, the next row of actions is a guarantee. Neil shoves him into the towel rack, the edge of it nicks Billy’s bare back and he can feel the blood drip down. He keeps still, looking stoically up at his dad. Neil backhands him, Billy’s face turns with the force of it and Neil grabs his throat, shoving him harder into the rack which just scraps Billy’s back up more.

“You have no regard for anyone but yourself. We’ve talked about this, huh? Respect and responsibility. Simple shit, but you’re too fucking stupid or selfish to learn,” Neil hisses.

His fathers grip tightens just enough where Billy struggles to breath but he knows his dad’s too pussy to actually kill him. He chokes out a sob, can’t help himself even if he knows it’ll only piss Neil off more. Another smack to the face, another shove into the rack and Neil knees him in the stomach.

“You’re crying? You goddamn pussy. Man up!”

From the ground, Billy seethes. He knows this will seal his fate and he’ll be forced into makeshift solitary confinement but he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s overflowing with hatred for the man towering over him.

“Fuck you,” he says behind clenched teeth.

Neil kicks him once more before grabbing a fistful of Billy’s curls and pulling him back to his feet. His dad looks him square in the face before head butting him. The sharp jolt of pain rings through him, his eyebrow feels hot and then Billy feels blood before he sees it when it drips into his eye. Neil drags him by his hair, through the hall and kicks Billy’s door open, the wood slamming into the plaster of the wall and no doubt leaving a hole from the doorknob. He shoves his son into the room.

“You’re goddamn worthless. I give and give but you refuse to fucking be respectful. You’re grounded, I’ll let you out when I can look at you again. Goddamn faggot,” he spits and slams the door back closed, Billy can hear as he fastens the chain lock he’s drilled into the outside of Billy’s door.

Billy holds his sobs, reaching for whatever material is closest to him on the floor and holds the dirty t-shirt to the split in his eyebrow. He falls asleep on the floor like that.

When he wakes up, the t-shirt has fused to his face with the dried blood and he’s reminded of the beating as he peels it off. Except it opens the wound back up and he groans, pressing a clean part of the shirt back to it. His heads pounding, his whole body aches. As he stands up to look in the mirror, he sees the bruising taking place on his stomach and ribs. His face is bruised but not from his dad. He’s too scared to look at his eyebrow, the pulsing pain and blood tells him he definitely needs stitches and he’ll be ending up with a gnarly scar instead. He peers out of his window to see Neil’s truck and Susan’s station wagon aren’t in the driveway but he can hear someone’s out in the living room. His throat burns and his mouth feels like it’s got cotton in it. Glancing around the room, he sees he’s got no water stashed away. Max.

Billy sighs, trudging over to the door and opening it as much as the chain lock will allow.

“Max,” he calls out, voice hoarse and fucking pathetic but his step sister is quick to run down the hall. Billy can see her red hair flying before he can see her blue eyes looking up at him. “Water, can you get me some water?”

She nods and disappears. Billy lays on his bed, closing his eyes while he waits. He hears the stool slam against the floor and he sits up, waiting for Max to climb up it so she can reach the lock. Once she does, she scoots the stool again and opens the door. She hands him the tall glass of water and he gulps it down in record time. He extends it out to her, “More?”

Max nods but she takes longer to return this time. Billy sees why when she’s holding the first aid kid they store under the bathroom sink. Billy gives her a half-hearted smile, she can be a little shit but she does care. It makes Billy feel weird, his initial instinct is to push her away and say he’s fine but he doesn’t. He lets her set the first aid kit on his bed and open it, she pulls out the peroxide and grabs the shirt from his face. She bunches it up against his eye and pours the peroxide on the wound on his eyebrow. It tingles but the sting is dull. She pats it dry before digging through the box for butterfly bandages. They stay silent as she dresses the wound. She’s a smart little fucker, Billy hadn’t even thought about asking for the first aid kit. She stands back and puts her finger against her chin, checking over her work before nodding to herself.

“Quick,” she says, “Use the bathroom before they get home.”

Billy nods, he hadn’t thought of that either. He stands and puts his hand on the top of her head, rustling her hair up. “Thanks, kiddo,” he mumbles before trudging into the bathroom.

As he steps inside, the events from last night flash around in his head but he pushes them away. He lifts the lid on the toilet and relieves himself. When he’s washing his hands he gets a good look at his reflection in the fluorescent lighting. He looks like shit. He aches for a shower but that’s too risky plus he’s not looking forward to the cuts on his back stinging from the water. He dries his hands and makes his way back to his room, where Max is waiting outside the door. Once he’s inside, he can hear her fastening the lock back up and jumping off the stool. Billy decides to tidy his room while he’s stuck in here, pressing play on his stereo so he can drown his thoughts in heavy guitar riffs and Vince Niel’s voice. After his rooms all clean, he shuts off the stereo and looks for a book to read to pass the time. He has no idea how long he’ll be trapped in here. Sometimes it’s a day, sometimes it’s a week.

///.

You haven’t heard from Billy in two days. It’s been two days since your little fight in the field and you’re getting worried. Billy was pretty adamant about you not coming over unannounced but the landline has been giving you nothing but a busy tone every time you try to call. You’re out of options and that’s why you take the bus out into the suburb and walk to his place. Neil’s truck is outside, along with his stepmoms car but you’re determined to check on him.

The wood of the door is warm on your knuckles as you scrap against it. Thankfully, Susan answers the door but her face falls and he looks back into the house before meeting your eyes.

“Billy’s not here,” she says.

“Where is he? I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days,” you reply, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“He’s out looking for a job,” it’s a lie. You can see it on her face. Susan’s a horrible liar, just like Max is.

You chew on your bottom lip before trying your luck, “Bummer. He must be mad at me still. Could I use your bathroom? Long bus ride out here.”

Susan heaves a sigh before stepping back and letting you inside, “Be quick.”

“Course,” you say and start making the descent down the hall.

“He’s not here!” Neil yells after you which causes you to stop, the sound of his voice always makes your skin crawl.

“I know, just using the bathroom,” you reply, eyes turning to Billy’s bedroom door in the hallway. The chain lock is fastened and your heart sinks into your stomach. You know Billy’s been trapped in there for days. He’s never told you this happens to him but when you’d noticed the lock, you connected the dots.

You lock yourself in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror as you try to somehow telepathically communicate with your boyfriend. You so desperately want to call CPS on Neil but the first time Billy admitted his dad hit him, he made you promise and swear that you wouldn’t. Billy assured you he could handle it, that he didn’t want to be stuck in the foster system. I only have 5 more years, you remember him telling you. With a sigh, you finally sit down on the toilet and relieve yourself. It was a long bus ride. After washing your hands, you make your escape.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Hargrove,” you call out to Neil, hoping Billy can hear you and know you’re here.

“Whatever,” Neil mumbles with a wave of his hand.

///.

Once it’s midnight, you figure it’s safe and you stalk over to the window with the black grocery bag tucked tight against your side. The windows have bars on them, you’ve overheard Susan calling them decorative but they’re definitely a safety precaution, to ward off potential burglars. You can’t help but think about the way they make Billy’s room just that much more of a prison. God, if you could save him from this shit you would. This is the least you could do.

The bars are far enough apart that you can reach your arm through it. You quietly knock against it and step back to wait for your boyfriend to appear behind the sheet he uses as a curtain.

Billy snakes himself between the sheet and the window, his eyebrow is slit open and there’s some gnarly bruising under his eyes. You give him a sympathetic smile, lifting the plastic bag. Billy opens the window slowly, careful not to make too much noise.

“Hey, little lady,” he purrs, laying the charm on thick even though he’s a goddamn prisoner in his own fucking house. “What’re you doing here?”

You smile at him, you’ve found it’s best if you act like everything’s normal, “Wanted to give you some goodies and see your face. I miss you.”

“I miss you,” he reaches out and pokes your nose. “Whatcha get me?”

Peeking into the bag, you pull out the Mickey’s 40 you’d purchased and hand it over. Billy moans at the can, grinning from ear to ear. Next you hand him a pack of Marlboro Reds and he gives you another moan.

“Fuck, I could marry you,” he takes the pack and rips it open, lighting a smoke immediately.

You bite your lip, “Do it.”

He chuckles, leaning his forehead against the metal bars, “Maybe one day I will. Then you’ll really be sorry.”

You giggle softly and pull out a pack of sour candies for him. He places them down on his floor and smiles at you, “Think we could manage a kiss through these?” his fingers tapping against the bars.

“We could try,” you suggest, stepping closer and smiling up at him.

You manage to touch your lips to his but it’s wildly uncomfortable and you both strain your lips to do it. Billy sits on the sill and reaches his hand out to hold yours.

“Sorry about the other night… I was being a dickhead but hey,” he motions to his face, “got my punishment for it.”

“Billy,” you squeeze his hand, “You didn’t deserve that. You never do… I don’t even care about the dumb fight we had.”

He shrugs but moves his hand to your chin, stroking his thumb against it, “It’s nothing new. I shouldn’t have come home that night but ya know, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ran off like that…”

“It’s cool, I’ll probably get a sick ass scar from this one,” he points to his eyebrow.

You shake your head but smile at him.

“You really gave it to my old man today,” he grins.

You cackle, “Did I?”

“Oh, yeah! I think the kindness kills him more than if you were to ignore him. How’d you get into the house, though?” he takes a long drag from his smoke before handing it over.

You take it and smile, “I told Susan I had to pee.”

“Oh!” his eyes widen and he disappears behind the sheet again, only to reappear with a Gatorade bottle full of what you can only assume is piss. “I know it’s gross but could you uh, dump this for me?”

You take it from him carefully and hand him back the cigarette, “Why don’t you just piss out the window, Billy?”

“In broad daylight? I can’t,” he says, sounding ashamed as you unscrew the cap and dump the bottle out into the bushes next to you. You screw the lid back on and hand it back through the bars.

“I fucking hate your dad,” you mumble.

“You and me both, babe,” he goes back behind the curtain to put the bottle back. When he returns, he’s got a folded up piece of paper and he passes it to you. “I drew ya something, don’t look at it until you’re far away from me.”

You giggle and slide it into your back pocket, “Can we try another one of those kisses?”

Billy chuckles, nods and you guys attempt it again. When he pulls back, he wiggles his eyebrows, “You could probably suck my dick through here.”

“You wanna attempt that but you won’t pee out the window,” you raise an eyebrow but smile back at him. “I’m not gonna blow you through your window. Nice try though.”

Billy laughs and pokes your nose, “I better get to bed. I’m sure I’ll be released soon enough and I can maybe take you out or something.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile warmly at him.

“A thank you for the necessities,” he holds up the beer and pack of smokes.

I’d do anything for you, you want to say but it dies in your throat. Billy doesn’t really get mushy with you so you’ve been scared to tell him just how infatuated with him you are. Sometimes he’s like a skittish dog and you feel you haven’t completely earned his trust yet.

“Stay safe, Billy.”

“Eh, that’s no fun. See ya later, little lady,” he smirks with the pet name before closing his window.

As you begin your journey down the street, you remember the paper folded up in your pocket and you quickly pull it out. Unfolding it, you see lines but you’re confused. Once it’s completely unfolded you see a crude drawing of a penis. Actually, it looks like Billy’s laid his dick on the paper and traced around it. It’s the most ridiculous and hilarious thing you’ve ever seen and you can’t help the roar of giggles erupting from your chest. The image of him so utterly bored while he’s locked away and getting the idea to trace his hard dick against the paper is the funniest thing in the world to you. God, you adore him.

[batrogers]

Febuwhump Day 20: Truth Serum

Fandom: Linked Universe

Approx 1300 words

Rated T for alcohol consumption and mature themes (politics and violence, not sex)

(References a lot of my own backstory ideas for the boys from other headcanon posts I've made, and other writing.)

In which the Chain tries to relax, and a few lips get too loose.

“Frankly some of you should be grateful you don’t have a Queen,” Twilight said, and Link leaned back in his chair and reconsidered if he really wanted to keep up with the amount of liquor the others were having.

They were already a pitcher of arkhi and two bottles of wine down, most of which had gone into the older men’s glasses. Link was drinking, but he’d been drinking kumis and beer most of his life because the water wasn’t safe. It was getting better, slowly – as far as he could tell, monarchy and Hyrule seemed to make the world repair itself when they were aligned – but that wasn’t Twilight’s experience.

Wasn’t the rest, either.

“Why not?” Wind retorted.

“A queen’s at least better than a King,” Time said. He spoke over the smaller boy, his chair tilted back and a small smile on his face as he looked into his nearly empty cup.

“There’s no reason a Queen’s better than a king. Rusl doesn’t trust her, and he did know the old King.”

Link frowned. “Is it usually a King causing problems for all of us?” he asked. It was true a King had been why the younger Zelda was put into a centuries long sleep, but...

“King Daphnes did what he could to save Hyrule,” Wind insisted.

“I know King Rhoam was trying...” Wild added.

Warriors – sitting between Twilight and Time, and Link was beginning to suspect this was for the best – chuckled. “We haven’t had a King in a long time, but everyone does say it was a Queen that set us up for where we are now.”

Time raised his eyebrow. “That sounds like a bad thing.”

“Oh, it is.”

Link looked desperately at the bar. Legend and Sky were getting more food for their table, but they’d gotten caught up talking and didn’t seem likely to return soon, but by all the Gods Link hoped they would before this got any further.

“I told you,” Twilight continued. “A Queen isn’t better!”

“Does your Zelda know you think that?” Four asked.

“Yes!”

Time burst into laughter. “I imagine she takes that well.”

Twilight slapped one hand on the table. “She doesn’t have to take it well. It’s not like she can argue, they haven’t found the path into the castle grounds.”

“Is your Rusl one of the Sheikah?” Warriors asked, and Link rapidly tried to remember who the Sheikah even were. Judging by the look on Wild’s face, this was bad.

“No. Why?” Twilight made a face. “The Sheikah nearly died out, their village was destroyed.”

“Did the Royal Family kill them off?” Time asked.

Wild put his face in his hands. “Hylia’s fucking tits,” he muttered and pushed his chair back from the table. He got up, and the other three didn’t even notice. Wind followed. Four, seated next to him, continued to watch with a look of near fascination. Link was pretty sure he was drunk as well, given his size.

“Why would you guess that?” Twilight retorted.

Time shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. As if there was nothing unusual at all about his guess. As if he wasn’t about the say the worst thing Link could imagine: “I’ve seen what they did for the Royal Family.”

Warriors reached for the pitcher of wine again, and Link debated if he should take it away before they dug the hole deeper. “For them or to them?”

“For them.” Time blinked and offered his cup. “Why would you ask about what they did to them?”

“Zelda spent nearly four months not revealing herself again in case Impa was working with the Witches to try and kill her. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the Sheikah killed a King.”

Link’s throat caught, but that, of course, was the moment Legend and Sky returned. He waved for them to sit down and Legend shut his mouth on the obvious question and laid down the basket of bread before sitting to whisper in his ear.

“What the fuck are they talking about?”

Link swallowed. “Their royal families and the Sheikah, now.”

Time, unhelpfully, laughed again. “Did someone start telling that story then?”

“What story?” Sky asked.

“That it was a Sheikah who killed the King.” Time took a long drink and wiped his mouth. “I mean, I know Twilight comes after me so I suppose the distrust of the Royal Family would stick after what Zelda’s father did.”

“What did he do?” Legend asked. He looked like he wanted to regret it immediately, but stuck it out and kept his face even.

Time stared blindly into his cup and shrugged. “He tried to change Hyrule to suit himself. He killed Zelda’s mother and sisters and left her alive thinking she couldn’t inherit the goddess’ blood because he considered her a son. He was wrong, obviously.”

“Didn’t you say he was still alive?” Twilight asked.

“Oh, he is, but he can’t do anything.” Time gestured broadly with his glass, drunk enough he nearly spilled. “Zelda would hardly let him try even if he could. He narrowly survived an attempt on his life and stays in his rooms now.”

“By the Sheikah?” Warriors guessed.

Time, unnervingly, laughed again. “Well. Sort of. What about yours, Twilight? Did Rusl kill the King?”

Twilight sighed. “Yeah, him and a group of his friends. They were helpful when Zant took over, because that meant they could get me into the castle and help out but Zelda knows they exist now so it makes it harder.”

“So better for them you’re with them and she can’t retaliate,” Time pointed out.

“Can’t she just tell you to stop?” Warriors asked. “Like – wait you’re not in the army are you?”

“No, of course not.” Twilight rolled his eyes and shot Warriors an annoyed look. “Why are you?”

“What?” Warriors blinked from him to the rest of them. “It’s not like I had a choice, I’m the eldest son. All of us belong to the army.”

Four sat up straight. “Wait, belong to, like you’re stuck there?”

“Yeah, like that.” Warriors toasted the smaller man. “You’re too young still, aren’t you?”

“For another year or so, but I’m not sticking around for it.”

“Who would?” Legend muttered. “Hylia’s cunt, Wars, just leave.”

Warriors’ cup hit the table heavily and he spread his hands with a dark smile. “I can’t, Legend. It’s not allowed. If I go anywhere, my mother and sister goes to jail, and me too if I’m anywhere they can find me.”

Time put his hand on Warriors’ shoulder then. He closed his eyes with an almost pained look, and Link swallowed the lump in his throat.

He knew of people trapped like that. Usually young women in the cities, caught by charity that turned into demands they work off the debt before they could leave – but what debt had Warriors had? Was it something about the war?

He couldn’t ask. Wouldn’t. He could already tell the question had left him cross and angry, and Time pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We all have duties we can wind up trapped by,” Time said. “Fuck this...”

“Sure you’re trapped by loyalty. Not all of us get hung up on that,” Twilight snapped. “Did Zelda buy you off?”

“She gave me Lon Lon Ranch, if that’s what you mean,” Time said. He turned a deceptively mild smile Twilight’s way. “Mostly because I needed some protection after she blamed her attempt on her father’s life on me.”

“On you?” Warriors’ chair hit the ground with a snap. “Why?”

“It was convenient. Everyone already knew I’d lost my mind in the last battle.” He touched his face, over his scarred eye, then shook himself off. “Excuse me, I should go to bed. You, too.”

Warriors didn’t need more convincing. Twilight muttered something rude under his breath, and left not for the bedrooms upstairs but the stables. Link let go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and swore.

“How much of that do you think they’ll remember in the morning?” Legend muttered. “Fuck. Hyrule, what the fuck else did they even say?”

[royalvelvette]

and love will bring us freedom

Read on Ao3 (or reread part 1 on tumblr)

Rating: M

Characters: Charlie Morningstar, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Alastor, Mammon, Fizzarolli, Niffty, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Husk, Cherri Bomb Mentioned: Glitz, Glam, Loona, Vortex, Lucifer Morningstar, Sir Pentious

Warnings: Canon Typical Language, Minor Violence (not on purpose), Mammon's Canon Treatment of Fizzarolli, Not Beta Read or Edited

Word Count: 2222

The robo-fizz advertisements passed in something of a blur. Charlie distracted herself by explaining more about the pageant itself – anything to not pay attention to the way Mammon was currently talking about how you could fuck the Fizzbots. Vaggie’s hand was a familiar weight on her knee, keeping her from growling at the tv or accidentally hitting Cherri with a too-emphatic gesture.

“-so they show off some clown skills first – stuff like juggling and balloon animals, y’know? And then there’ll be an intermission for us when the in person meet and greet is happening, then there’s some more... general performing. Singing, dancing, acting – really anything-”

Vaggie squeezed her thigh, and Charlie took a breath. “It’s cool,” she finishes lamely. “Fizz always does a big musical number, you’ll love it.”

Angel tilted his head up to look at her. “You sure you ain’t just sayin’ that ‘cause you like singin’ and dancin’?”

“Watch it,” Vaggie snapped.

“It’s okay,” Charlie said. “I mean, Fizz has won the last ten years running, so it isn’t just me, but you’re probably... not wrong that I’m biased.”

Alastor half-tuned out the conversation happening beside him. He was watching the picture show intently – more specifically, he was watching the Mammon and Fizzarolli now on screen. The distasteful advertisements were almost at an end, for certain, as these two iterations seemed more recent.

“There’s a Fizzy for every occasion!” Mammon shouted, gesturing widely. “All thanks to my old brand, Fizzy!”

Fizzarolli was dragged against Mammon’s side. He covered his discomfort remarkably well, but the subtle wince – something Alastor was intimately familiar with, whenever somebody touched him – belied his true feelings. His antlers were beginning to hurt.

“That’s me, folks!” Fizzarolli said, better at keeping the discomfort from his voice than his body. “And the Fizzies’ll keep coming, unless you think you can beat me-

“At Mammon’s Annual Clown Pageant!” Mammon cut in at the same time as Fizzarolli.

Alastor lifted his lip. Perhaps now, it wasn’t quite so shocking for Charlie to be unable to hide her dislike of Mammon. Alastor had no idea who Fizzarolli was, until this day, and yet... something about Mammon’s treatment of the jester set every nerve on edge. The manhandling, especially.

Niffty began to wiggle on her perch beside his head when the prices finally faded from the screen, overtaken what was presumably a live broadcast directly from the Greed ring. Mammon, of course, was front and centre. How... distasteful.

Niffty knew she was going to be in trouble later, swinging her legs and rocking so close to Alastor – it was just so hard to sit still when there was such a delectable bad boy right in front of her! An actual bad boy, too, one even Miss Charlie didn’t like! One who wasn’t secretly lame, like the snake guy or Lucifer, either!

(Lucifer being so... like that had been the only unpleasant discovery ever since he moved in. He was the king of hell! He should have been the ultimate bad boy! Instead, he was even lamer than Pentious had been. Almost as pathetic as that stupid TV head guy who used to follow Alastor around like a puppy, urgh, saved only by the fact he was leagues more powerful.)

Though... Mammon did violate one of the rules Alastor had given her, when he first brought her to the hotel. Upsetting Charlie was a no-no, no matter how many funny colours she turned or how spiky Vaggie got. It was really the only new rule she had gotten, so it had to be extra important. Did that mean Mammon was off limits?

Niffty pouted, legs stilling. Of course, the only real bad boy in the entire place, and he was somewhere Niffty couldn’t even go and not someone Alastor would approve of. Ugh.

One thing Mammon had always been good at, for as long as Charlie had known him, was showmanship. He’d used it to great effect when she was young, enchanting her with simple magic tricks and silly songs and dances, announcing everything with so much aplomb that Charlie had been practically begging to eat all the vegetables on her plate at family dinners.

That very same showmanship was on full display as Mammon introduced the contestants for this years pageant. The first four, even with Mammon hyping them up (he always did this, always, like any of them actually had a shot against Fizz – none of them did and he knew it, because he was the one who trained Fizz) passed her by quickly – though she did hear Cherri snort when Pierrot was introduced.

It was the duo, introduced just before Fizzarolli, that made Charlie nervous. There was a sort of... easy confidence to them, and they definitely had the whole ‘please step on me’ vibe down – that would definitely get them past the first few rounds with pretty high scores, and that’s if they didn’t perform well. If they were any good at clowning – or even just performing in general – there was a pretty high chance they’d make it to the finale with Fizz.

(Part of Charlie hoped that they did – the further they got in the competition, the longer Charlie could oogle – possessors were just always so pretty – but part of Charlie hoped they didn’t, with the way Fizz was constantly looking at them out of the corner of his eye.)

Angel winced when Charlie’s cousin fumbled the juggling act. As a performer himself, there was nothing worse than fucking up on the very first take. Even though he was the only one to mess up the first trick, he still shot up to second place – just behind the pair of sisters up on the wire, while the imp in full clown getup was given the boot. Brand recognition did a lot, something else Angel was intimately familiar with.

(He couldn’t help but wonder if Fizzarolli dealt with the same sorts of creepy-ass fans, despite being in a different sort of gig. He did work at some sort of sex club for the sin of lust, so... probably.

Was it weird, to relate to someone he didn’t even know existed until today? It was probably weird.)

Fizzarolli recovered nicely in the second act, at least. And his balloon figure – Mammon, presumably – was impressive. Angel could twist himself into all sorts of fun shapes, but balloons? Fuck no. That shit would pop on him so fast. Sucks that it didn’t give Fizzarolli the lead, especially because the sisters just added to his instead of making their own fucking thing, though at least it was tied up.

Charlie frowned as the curtains opened for the final performances. It hadn’t been Fizz first, like she was expecting, like it had been for the last ten years – instead Glitz and Glam took the stage. It made Charlie... nervous. Mammon always did Fizz’s act first, always showed off his biggest asset when he did anything – something was wrong.

She let go off Vaggie’s hand to get her phone out of her pocket, shooting off a quick text to Uncle Oz. She would text Fizz himself, but if he was prepping for his show – she wouldn’t distract him. Not when something was already wrong. She tried to settle herself, taking Vaggie’s hand back and watching the sisters perform.

They were good. Like, good enough to be actual competition. The song was catchy, and they definitely knew how to work their attractiveness to their advantage. She gripped Vaggie’s hand tighter. Fizz wouldn’t lost – couldn’t lose, this was his thing – but actually fighting for the win... shit, he was probably having a panic attack. All Charlie could do, though, separated by several rings as they were, was hope that Oz was with him, somehow.

Then something exploded into blue smoke behind Mammon – who had been stammering as Fizz failed to appear – and Charlie settled. Ozzie was there. Fizz would be okay.

Charlie’s nails – not quite her claws, not yet – were painfully sharp where they dug into Vaggie’s thigh. She was leaning forward, eyes fixed on the television – the same position she had been in ever since Fizz had come onto the stage. Admittedly, Vaggie was more concerned with keeping Charlie from leaning forward enough to faceplant off the couch than paying attention to what, exactly, Fizz was singing about as he bounced and swung around, but even she noticed the finale.

“-Mammon you sad sack of shit, fuck youuu-ouuu-ouuu, you bitch! Yeah!”

Vaggie jumped as Angel started clapping with all three sets of arms. Cherri whooped loudly, and even Husk was smiling – wider than she had ever seen. It almost distracted her from the pain as Charlie’s claws sliced her skin when Charlie leapt to her feet.

It did not, however, distract from the way Charlie’s tail was whipping nervously behind her as she watched the screen.

“Babe,” Vaggie started.

“Mammon’s not going to take that well,” Charlie said.

“What’s he gonna do?” Cherri asked, cackling. “The crowd loved it!”

Charlie’s stomach twisted the longer Fizz talked. She knew what was coming even before Fizz finished his farewell speech – and she knew, more than anything, that Mammon would flip. At least he would have replacement talent ready to go, with Glitz and Glam – and the sisters were good! But Fizz had been his brand for ten, nearly eleven years. There was no universe Mammon would take him quitting well.

(Pride burned hot in her chest despite her unease. Fizz was finally quitting. Mammon’s prime moneymaker was leaving. Good, something in her purred. Let his cruelty burn his empire to ash.)

And then, the grand finale – not the one Mammon had been hoping for – came. Fizzarolli looked up, directly at Mammon (yes, that same voice hissed, yes) and said,

“I quit!”

“Yes!” she whisper-shouted, punching the air, even as she kept her eyes fixed on the screen, even as every nerve-ending in her body practically sang with be careful Fizz.

It only got louder as Mammon jabbed his staff at Fizz. Her horns were out and she was growling at the TV – someone was saying something behind her, but she was too furious-anxious-furious to pay attention to the words. Fizz’s words were tinny and faint through Mammon’s microphone, but there was no mistaking the second ‘I quit’ or what came after.

Then the mic exploded and green smoke filled the arena.

Vaggie was moving even before Charlie screamed. Her wings were flared, protecting Cherri, Husk, and Angel from the blast of heat that shot out from her girlfriend – Alastor had managed to bring up one of his shadows to cover him and Niffty.

“Jesus Christ!” Husk shouted. “Why is she hulking out?!”

Vaggie didn’t answer, couldn’t answer – the air itself was pressing down on her, forcing her down-down-down to her knees as Charlie grew, snarling and growling at the television.

“Babe-” she gasped. “Charlie-”

Charlie whipped around to face her, nearly taking her head off with her tail. Her eyes were bright and gleaming red, redder than Vaggie had ever seen, but clear. She looked at Vaggie silently for one beat-two-

Then Charlie started to shrink back down. Her horns remained, as did her tail, but she returned to a more normal size and the pressure she had been emanating receded, allowing Vaggie’s lungs to expand fully. She coughed once, weakly.

Charlie rushed to her side immediately. “Ohmysatan, I’m so fucking sorry-” she babbled, holding Vaggie’s face in her hands. “Are you okay?! I didn’t hurt you, did I? Is everyone okay?”

Vaggie’s answer was cut off by Asmodeus appearing on screen.

The shame was going to eat her alive, Charlie knew, but her self-recrimination was derailed when she heard her uncle shout,

“What? That I love him? Well, I do!”

The rest of the confrontation passed in a blur after those words. Her horns and tail receded slowly – Ozzie would protect Fizz. Ozzie could handle Mammon. Fizz was safe, he was loved, he was free. She let go of Vaggie’s face to wrap her arms around her shoulders instead, burying her face in her girlfriend’s neck as all of her nervous energy and anger drained away. It was over.

Fizz was free.

She stayed like that, holding Vaggie, trying not to cry, until her phone rang. She was pretty sure someone had been trying to get her attention before then – or at least, the others had been moving around them, dispersing (thank fuck, she hadn’t hurt them, she hadn’t wrecked everything) but it was only the ringtone she had set for Bee that snapped her out of it.

Charlie let go of Vaggie, answering on autopilot. “Hello?”

Bee squealed. “Charlie!!! Babe, did you see- did you see?” she shouted, flying around her chandelier.

“I saw!” Charlie said, strained.

“We need to celebrate!” Bee said. “You should come down-”

Charlie laughed. “I can’t, I can’t, remember? I got the hotel now-”

“Then I’ll come up! Ooh, ooh! I’ll bring Tex and Loona – you’ll love her, she’s great! - and you should ring Oz- I can meet your friends! Oooh, this is going to be great!”

Charlie laughed again, the earlier strain gone from her voice as she responded, “Give me like, an hour tops to get things ready, okay?”

“Okay!! See you then!!”

Bee hung up, immediately dialing Loona. “Hey, hey, you remember me talking about Charlie...”

[mrsaltieri-real]

Thrill of the Kill (Mickey Altieri X Fem!AFAB!GF!Reader)

You are Mickey’s accomplice to the Windsor college Ghostface murders and realise that you get off on the thrill of murder just as he does.

Warning/s: smut, blowjob, masturbation, gagging, choking, murder, sadism, readers a twisted fuck whose obsessed with Mickey (mood), discussion of murder, blood, gore, etc

A/N: I changed how Cici Cooper dies for plot reasons, Mrs Loomis isn’t Mickey’s accomplice at all the reader is.

It’s low-key kinda fucked up so don’t read if you don’t like violence or anything previously mentioned. This didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted but I can’t only rewrite so many times before I want to throw my fucking computer out of the window. If you do read on, enjoy!

——————————————————————————

2 days ago

“A practice run.” Mickey had explained, stood leaning against his desk with your Ghostface mask in his hands as you sat on his couch, listening intently as he spoke. “That bitch always has far too much to say. I want nothing more than to rip her vocal cords out so she she can’t ever speak again. But Cici Cooper is all yours, baby.”

“Jeez, Mick.” You’d laughed. “Is this because of her bashing sequels in film class?”

“Partially.” He said thoughtfully, tossing the mask and walking away from his desk to stand in front of you, his hand tilting your chin up and his thumb lightly running over the soft skin of your lower lip. “But mostly, I just want to see you rip her apart.” You smiled up at him, eyes fixed on his beautiful face as he continued to speak. “I’m so fucking glad I met you.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?” You asked, shivering a little as his hand slid from your lip to caress your cheek.

“You want this just as much as I do. And you don’t even have a motive. You just want to kill people for me. Do you understand how fucking sexy that is?” He murmured in a soft voice, his hand moving from your face into your hair, gazing down at you in awe.

The plan was made. Mickey had his defense planned out to it’s very core, go to trail, blame the movies, which you were more than willing to assist him with, and you, well you were so unbelievably infatuated with him that when you stumbled across his plans a couple of months ago instead of being terrified like any normal rational person, you’d asked him if you could assist him.

You’d met Mickey during first year film class, and the attraction was instantaneous. He could see a hidden darkness in you that you yourself hadn’t truly realized yet and he made it his life’s mission to bring that part of you out of it’s shell. He’d introduced you to his true self slowly but hadn’t needed to worry at all, because as soon as he told you what he was planning you, much to his surprise, hadn’t even really been phased. More intrigued and fascinated with him. He loved how she admired and practically worshipped the ground he walked on. It stroked his ego in just the perfect way.

From an outsiders perspective, you were just a sweet dorky couple, fairly publicly affectionate. Mickey’s hands were never really off of you, always finding some way to make sure he had any kind of contact. Weather it was holding your hand, arm around your shoulders or his hand in the back pocket of your jeans it didn’t matter. He liked people knowing you belonged to him.

He was not insecure about your relationship by any means, he knew the last thing you’d ever do was cheat or even flirt with somebody else, but if he saw a guy so much as glance at you in a way he didn’t deem appropriate, he’d have a burning hot rage spread through his entire body which would only be cooled when you noticed and gently stretched up on your toes and kiss his scowling lips and whispering to him that if he wanted you to, you’d fucking kill them for him.

He loved how twisted you were, how passionate and how much excitement and anticipation you’d had for the upcoming murders. In a strange way, it made him feel less alone.

Now, with his fingers still tangled in your hair, he gazed down at you, thriving off of how you stared up at him like a blind person seeing the sun for the first time. It was that admiration that really did get him off.

“You excited about it? Killing her?” He asked you, gently beginning to pull your hair back until you made a little whimpering sound and nodded.

“Wanna show me how excited you are, sweetheart?” He cooed at you and now your response was much more eager.

“Yes.” You said, a wide smile spreading across your face as you fell straight to your knees in front of him, reaching for the waistband of his sweats, only for his hand to grab yours before you could even touch the soft material.

“What do you say?” Mickey murmured, his voice a little lower as he stared down at you with dark eyes.

“Please let me suck your cock, Mickey.” You begged, gazing up at him desperately. “I need to feel you in my mouth so bad, please please let me.”

He smirked down at you a little, loving the sight of your wide eyes pleading with him, the small pout on your lips as you begged him to let you blow him. He could feel himself swelling harder and harder as you relentlessly continued to plead with him, before brushing his finger lightly over your cheekbone and giving you a small nod.

Without missing a beat, you pulled down his loose grey sweatpants, looking lovingly at his already hard cock. Just talking about murder turned Mickey on to the highest extent. And the rush of the kill? No pussy could ever compare. Except one.

Your hand gently slid up his thighs, finger nails lightly grazing his skin, making him shiver a little. “Don’t tease me, Y/N.” His voice had a slight warning tone and as much as you wanted to ignore it, past experiences made you think better of that. The last thing you wanted was for him to deny you, and you knew that’s exactly what he’d do if you played with him. That was for him to do to you, never the other way around.

He let out a small groan when he felt your warm, wet mouth taking in as much as him as you could, moving his free hand to join his other one in your hair, pulling you closer until your nose touched the stubbly skin above his cock and you let out a soft gag.

You made sure to swirl your tongue around his tip just the way you knew he liked it as you bobbed your head, consistently making eye contact with him as you did so. His hands still gripped your hair as he forced you to speed it up, grinding his hips on your face till you could feel his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly. The sounds Mickey made as he fucked your face made your clit swell and you crossed your legs, trying to cause some subtle kind of friction as you hummed with your mouth around his cock, saliva beginning to dribble out of your mouth and down your chin.

“Jesus fuck, baby.” He groaned, one of his hands moving right on the back of your head as he pushed your head as close to him as possible. You began relishing in the feeling of his thick cock filling your throat. “Fuckin- fuckin’ touch yourself.” he managed to stutter out between small pants as he continued to thrust himself in and out of your mouth.

He didn’t need to tell you twice. Your hand quickly moved down to your panties, shoving them aside as you starting gently teasing your clit, letting out a small satisfied moan as you did so. The feeling of him fucking your face mixed with your fingers circling your clit was driving you crazy, making you eager to take more and more of him as his thrusts sped up, along with the movement of your own fingers. The feeling of his dick gagging you repeatedly mixed with you rubbing your own clit was driving you absolutely insane. You could feel the tears start rolling down your face he did one more brutal thrust into your mouth, suddenly holding his position with his cock choking you, making it harder for you to breathe as you felt his seed spreading straight down your throat, causing you to splutter a little as he let out a long and satisfied groan, his head falling back a little.

“So fucking pathetic.” He laughed breathlessly, squeezing his hand into a fist around your hair and pulling you off him so he could look down at your face, his eyes mocking as you gasped for air. “Look at you, a fucking mess after you begged for it.” He laughed again as you coughed a little as you looked up at him with those same pleading eyes, his thumb wiping your tear stained face.

He tilted his head a little at you, seeing something else behind your eyes other than the deep satisfaction that you’d made him cum down your throat and his cocky smile turned into a small frown. “Are you okay?” He asked anxiously, still a little breathless as his hand still rested on your flushed cheek. “Did I go too hard? I’m sorry baby, I know I can get a little-“

“No! No it’s not that!” You said quickly. It was absolutely not that. You loved the feeling of Mickey abusing your mouth for his own pleasure, you always had.

“Then what is it?”

You took a deep breath, wincing at the sore feeling in your throat before talking.

“What if I can’t do it? Kill Cici.” You suddenly blurted out, eyes dropping to the floor, taking Mickey a little by surprise. “I mean.. what if I pussy out last minute?”

“Y/N.” Mickey’s voice turned stern as he moved his hand to grip your chin, so you were forced to look at him and he bent down a little. “You’re not going to pussy out. You were made for this, just like I was. You’ll see. You’ll feel the power of holding someone’s life in your hands and you’ll fucking thrive off that shit. You’re my girl, right?”

You nodded as much as you could.

“Exactly. And I’ll be there the whole time if something goes wrong, but it won’t. You are just like me.” His soft brown eyes and his words seemed to soothe you and his hand gently released your chin, satisfied that his little speech seemed to work. He meant every word of it. He knew you could do this because whenever he looked at you, he could see the exact same burning desire in his eyes that he himself had.

Although you appeared a little calmer, he still noticed something slightly uncomfortable in your face and body language as you shifted a little. Mickey looked you up and down curiously before his eyes widened in sudden acknowledgment of what the issue was.

“Didn’t manage to get off, baby?”

“You didn’t tell me I could cum.” You said, shrugging a little like it was obvious, the feeling of denial settling into your lower stomach.

“Ah.” He helped you stand up before gently pushing you down on his couch, his strong hands sliding up your inner thigh and a satisfied smile spread across his face when he felt your drenched panties and your still swollen clit through the thin material, the slight sensation of his fingers making a shiver pass through your body and a small whine fall from between your swollen and abused lips.

“Let’s fix that.”

——————————————————————————

You stood above the body of Cici Cooper and pulled the Ghostface mask off with one fluid motion, a sadistic smile plastered across your face, chest heaving with pure adrenaline and excitement. You couldn’t get over how amazing it had felt, sinking that knife into her chest and torso over and over again, relishing in the feeling of the knife slicing into her warm flesh and the sounds of her screams and cries begging you to stop, with your even more psychotic boyfriend watching you carefully and proudly as you did so. You’d never felt that kind of power, that kind of uncontrollable bloodlust in your life. It made you feel things you’d never felt before. It made you wonder why you’d never killed before.

“You did amazing, sweetheart.” He crooned, coming up behind you and kissing the back of your head gently. You turned around to face him, looking almost smug.

“You were right.” You said gleefully. “Killing really does make you feel-“

You were cut off by Mickey’s hands yanking you toward him by your waist, his lips melting against yours in a way that made you almost fall to the floor.

“Powerful.” You mumbled against his mouth and the laugh he let out was muffled by your lips.

You noticed how sensual the whole thing had been for you, how turned on you felt. It was a whole other experience to anything you’d ever felt before. Then you realised as Mickey pressed you against his body, you could feel his hard cock pushing up against your stomach from behind his own Ghostface robe. You relished in the newfound knowledge that Mickey watching you brutally murder that girl had turned him on too.

Because of course it did. The woman he loved was just as sadistic as he was. Loved the thrill of the kill exactly as he did. What’s hotter than that?

You wanted to deepen the kiss, beg him to fuck you right next to Cici Coopers corpse more than anything but he let out a small, groaning sigh.

“We’ve got to go.” He sighed as he pulled back, his hand reaching to cup your cheek. “We don’t wanna be here when the cops get called. We need to get to that party so we’ll have an alibi.”

You felt your lips turn into a pout and it made Mickey smirk a little, gently tracing the outside of your lips with his gloved hand.

“Fine,” you stretched up on your toes, you arms slinking around his neck and pulling his face back down to yours. “Can we at least fuck when we get there?”

Mickey let out a small laugh before nodding his head, hand still cradling your face.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

A/N: Ugh I hate this. But we move.