#but I cracked the fucking code to get me to draw humans finally

[raeathnos]

Sketchy dump!

Trying to get better at drawing humans/humanoid creatures by sketching shippy art of my two ocs. Bonus- updated ref sheet wips :P

This is Sky-Shifter (left, bottom) and Night-Stalker (right, top) two of the main characters from the webcomic I want to eventually do. They’re both half-demons, hence the human and feral forms.

Humanoid forms above, feral below.

I’m a messy sketcher, I’m sorry guys Dx

#sky-shifter is my sona c: #these are the two I ramble about occasionally- though I don’t think I’ve talked about them in a while #half-demons are pretty common in my head world but these two are the only ones belonging to the element of air #Aerythiia is like primarily an air elemental world #and mortals tend to distrust half-demons and stronger beings see them as weak #so air half-demons tend to be ruthlessly hunted #also!!! half-demons have this bond where they’re drawn to other half-demons- but especially those of their same element #it doesn’t necessary mean if you put two half-demons of the same element together that they’re gonna end up together #but it happens more often than not #hence me drawing shippy art of them 😏 #idk why I didn’t think of using them like this to practice sooner #humans arent exactly my comfort zone but I’m a sucker for these two so uh I guess there’s gonna be more shippy sketches #I’m having too much fun #ironically enough these two actually kind of don’t really get along when they first meet #but they wind up together by the end of the story #anyways prepare for more low quality sketches XD #I ain’t gonna get better unless I practice but I’m struggling right now #but I cracked the fucking code to get me to draw humans finally #gIRL HELP I HATE DRAWING CLOTHING BUT I WANNA DRAW SHIPPY SHIT #I really need to get my art tumblr up and going cause this is my nonsense tumblr #I’m so good at procrastinating #haters to lovers slow burn- both in terms of their relationship and me getting better at drawing humans :P

[bigdumbbambieyes]

okay, hear me out. S3 rewrite with Billy in Robin’s role while the Mindflayer makes Neil it’s host.

like, picture it for a sec: we’d get the Billy-Steve friendship we deserved, we’d have an actual human antagonist who was shown to be canonically abusive and controlling in S2, and Billy could be a reluctant (but important) addition to The Party for S4. he’s the brawn and brains that they need.

things to consider:

we’d get Steve and Billy in matching Scoops Ahoy uniforms. maybe they both applied as lifeguards but had a fight in front of the manager so they both didn’t get the position, and they applied everywhere in Starcourt once it opened and surprise!! they were both hired at Scoops and now they have to get along or else they’ll be broke the whole summer!

Billy watching in amusement as Steve fails to hook up with girls, maybe he even makes the same scoreboard. there also wouldn’t be a need to have the moms lusting over Billy bc he has no reason to meet Karen at the motel - no predatory behaviour from her in this timeline!!

imagine the banter. billy would have something to say to everyone and it would be so funny, especially between he and Max. give me one proper sibling fight please!

while a coming out scene would be great for Billy, and i would love to see Steve react to that (like, his reaction to a gay woman he had a crush on would be sooo different from a gay man he used to beef with, let’s be real), i also want more depth from Billy since he’s not flayed and El wouldn’t be looking into his past for us. so maybe instead of a coming out scene, they talk about the fight at the Byers’ during the bathroom scene. we get a glimpse into Billy’s carefully guarded emotions (maybe even his relationship w his dad) and both Steve and Billy get to move on from that night. closure and moving on from it together as newfound friends!

Billy could be shown that he is actually a smart cookie and cracks the Russian’s code (with Steve’s help). Dustin and Steve are impressed and Dustin begins to warm up to Billy a little.

new Scoops Troop!! Billy and Steve and Dustin dynamic omg. and Erica and Billy?? imagine she kinda confronts him about what happened with him and Lucas in S2, so she’s uncertain of him bc of that, but now Billy has the chance to make things right and clear up misunderstandings. and in this timeline, he apologizes to Lucas. because Lucas deserves that so. much. and Billy should have the chance to become a better person like Steve did. and maybe Lucas doesn’t forgive him, which is justified bc he doesn’t have to forgive him at all, but he gets the apology he deserves at the very least.

Steve and Billy getting tortured together oof. that would hit hard bc imagine Billy is being punched and slapped and he’s just laughing and taunting and Steve’s like wtf. it would be a great set up for the bathroom scene - like ‘why were you laughing while we were being literally tortured??’

Billy getting to see Steve draw a charge during his ‘fight’ with the Russian soldier and being proud of him, clapping him on the back with a grin while Steve gives him a shy smile. perhaps even…a meaningful, lingering look?? a spark between them??

also Steve and Billy high as fuck together lol i just want that so bad, please!!

and while Billy is with the Scoops Troop, The Party is focused on Neil. it would be a great chance to see Max’s relationship with her step father and she notices how weird he’s being. he’s nicer to Susan, even nicer to her, but then her mom starts acting weird, too. and when she finally meets up with Billy at Starcourt when the Mindflayer manifests, they discuss everything and Billy is conflicted. he’s happy that his old man is finally getting what’s been coming to him all these years, but that’s still his dad. it’s complicated but not really touched upon but implied. (and i think that would also be a great set up for S4. he gets those weird feelings in S4, thinking ‘i wanted him to die’ but also feeling guilt because his relationship with his father is so twisted from years of abuse).

we could explore Neil’s past a bit with this timeline, too. we could get a glimpse of why he is the way he is, like we did with Billy. El could see the abuse he put Billy and his mom through. she sympathizes with Billy, but she also sees how Neil was abused, too, and feels this empathy for him. which is how she brings him out of the possession, because El is empathetic by nature, under all that anger and naivety. she knows what it’s like to abuse and be abused and want to be better than those who hurt her. and when Neil does break through, he is killed just like Billy was in S3, and Billy runs over once his dad flops to the ground. Neil grits out ‘i’m sorry’ but Billy doesn’t say anything, doesn’t forgive him. he doesn’t even cry. he just…stares, looking like the lost little boy he’s always been. and Max finally runs over to pull her brother up, to drag them both away from Neil, and Billy can’t look away from his dad’s body until it’s finally out of sight.

and ofc the season ends with Steve and Billy both working at Family Video!! with Neil and Susan gone (she would’ve been part of the MF’s army), it’s just Billy and Max now, living in that trailer. that would be such an interesting dynamic to write for S4.

anyways that’s all!! that’s my silly rewrite. Billy deserved to have a support system and a real relationship with his sister and a boy his age and it could’ve been done in S3. 🤍

#billy hargrove #harringrove #stranger things season 3 rewrite #headcanon #sorry to robin for the erasure but billy needs this more and i say that with my chest #bambiwrites

[vyeoh]

this is your chance: wax poetic about an Empires or DSMP character of your choice to a fan who is new to both. Explain why I should love them. I need guidance in this new and meme-populated land.

okok this is a lot of pressure haha. Spoilers for EmpiresSMP and DreamSMP below, obviously. I wrote a lot so prepare yourself, anon

I watch a lot of empires POVs but the ones I most anticipate every week are Scott and Sausage.

c!Scott (I'll call him Smajor for the sake of simplicity) starts off the series chilling, not really getting involved with the rest of the server, and staying aggressively neutral. After all, he's an elf. He has lived far longer than most of the other rulers already, and will most likely outlive them for many years. So, the best thing is to stick to his mountains and not get invested in the dealings of mortal affairs, maybe sometimes causing problems on purpose and dipping because what's life without a little spice right.

But then, this demon comes to the server, Xornoth. He's going around causing havoc and wants to send the world into an eternal winter, but he doesn't bother the kingdom of Rivendell much so Smajor stays tentatively cautious but ultimately unbothered. But then, the puzzle pieces start falling together. The first thing that the audience noticed was was Xornoth sounded like Smajor, but we mostly thought that this was just due to cc!Scott voicing both of them and there was nothing more to it. However, then, the people the demon starts possessing start chanting in elvish. The demon hates mortals, and the elves are conveniently one of the two confirmed not fully mortal races in Empires.

This culminates when Smajor stumbles across a cave that contains the backstory of the patron god of Rivendell, Aeor. Basically, there's two opposing forces, Aeor and Exor, and both have a champion. In a previous life, those champions were two brothers, where Aeor eventually prevailed and banished Exor. In this life though, the champions are - you guessed it - Smajor, and the demon Xornoth.

So now Smajor is like. Well fuck. It's my literal god-given destiny to be responsible for defeating this demon who is technically my brother, and if I fail the server gets plunged into an eternal winter. And I have no fucking clue what is happening because I've just been here on this mountain actively trying to stay out of the issues outside my kingdom. We watch him panic and teeter on the verge of spiraling for an entire episode, and when the followers of Xornoth go to the End to kill the dragon, releasing Xornoth's full powers, he fails to stop him. Smajor is a character who was used to being the smart one, the prepared one, the one who has the least deaths on the server. But he's also a character who runs away from his problems and ignores them. Before and during the dragon fight, we hear the desperation in his voice, as he's thrown into a situation he is wholly unprepared for, and it's bigger than him going to the Cod Empire to kill their king, or assisting in other people's plans to kill the codfather. He can't run from this. cc!Scott plays this scene so well as well, as I've said before, one of the best parts of Scott's acting is how he's never super dramatic, but he's so effective in the little things like inflection to make you feel, viscerally, the panic and dread.

So after the dragon fight, Smajor realizes, I can't do this on my own. I've tried and failed. So he gets allies. We watch him, someone who has so strongly been an isolationist, learn the benefits of allies and watch him learn to trust others and watch him learn how to get that trust in return.

My favorite thing about Smajor's characterization is that he's an incompetent protagonist, but not in the way of the "plucky young adventurer". He's capable skill-wise, and fairly jaded and very pessimistic. However, his issue is that up until recently, he did not care about the rest of the server at all, and by the time he learned to, it was way too late.

Also, in 3rd Life, cc!Scott and cc!Jimmy were canonically married and they reference it sometimes in Empires. Like, Scott goes over to the Cod Empire every so often both in and out of character to kill and/or flirt with Jimmy, the ruler of the Cod Empire, which may develop as a secondary plot into the future who knows. So ty Scott for giving the gays what they want o7

Now onto Sausage: his is a story of Icarus, his hubris and ambition being his downfall. He's one of the two followers of Xornoth, who promised him endless power in exchange for his servitude. He started the series being eccentric, but not outright unhinged, but slowly gets more and more extreme as the series progresses, as he gets brought more and more to Xornoth's side.

One of the best parts of Sausage's character, in my opinion, is how his gradual corruption affects the people around him. Initially, he got into a conflict with the Cod Empire and was allied with two other people in the Witherrose alliance. They were allies, but also close friends. The fandom liked to joke that the three had sibling energy, and I'm pretty sure the ccs played to that even more lol.

It was painful to watch the other two members, Gem and fWhip, watch Sausage get corrupted right in front of them, and see them desperately clinging on to this old idea of Sausage in their head because if they faced the truth, it would mean that their friend was gone. Eventually, they do finally cut him out of the alliance, leading him to fully commit to the side of the demon. Sausage felt very clearly betrayed by this, and declared the remaining two Witherrose alliance members to be enemies.

He gets more and more possessed, and we even see the other Empires, his enemies even, slowly realize that something is very wrong with the ruler of Mythland. He starts doing more and more evil things, like killing people more, making sacrifices to the demon, and eventually helping to kill the dragon to free Xornoth. So things are good for Sausage, for a bit. He won, and is more powerful than ever. Then he finds out: he's going to die. Xornoth's possession is slowly killing his soul, and eventually, his body going to be fully taken over and he himself is going to be trapped in the spirit realm. So how do you react to this? Over the next few episodes, we watch Sausage struggle between "the demon is literally killing me" and "the demon has given me so much, and I love it", all while Xornoth takes over more and more of him. We hear him exclaim that "don't worry!! I'm still about 15% there!" while trying to downplay every time Xornoth completely takes over his body. We watch him willingly oppose anyone who is trying to end the thing that is killing him.

My favorite thing about Sausage is that he is undoubtedly evil and proud of it, but he's also undoubtedly human. If you like to watch evil characters go absolutely feral, he's the guy for you. He makes the deal with Xornoth in the beginning, knowing and fully embracing the evilness of the demon, but at the same time he knows what he's doing is detrimental to both himself and everyone around him, but he's gotten in way too deep at this point, and to be fair the demon has held up its end fo the bargain, right?

Also, I would be damned if I don't talk about cc!Sausage's editing. Every one of his videos is like a movie. The way he does camera angles and uses music is so skillful- every lore scene feels like something out of a high fantasy action saga (think: LotR). Every big lore event I always wait in anticipation for Sausage's ep because his editing truly takes lore to another level.

I'm just generally very excited to see where this series goes. Empires is such a good mix of talented builders and good lore. Part of the reason why the series is so immersive for me, beyond any other lore smp, is that they have the settings to back it up. There is a certain charm to the DreamSMP's objectively terrible builds (with a few exceptions) but in Empires, the settings help sell the plot so much.

Another part of why I love EmpiresSMP is how much the ccs are involved with the fan community. I'm sure you've seen the memes about Scott being on tumblr, and Sausage regularly goes through the EmpiresSMP fanart tag on Twitter and likes art, even ones not related to Mythland. Most of the ccs, in fact, have brought up tumblr content on stream at some point or another. Like, several ccs have said that they read tumblr lore theories and hcs and stuff and sometimes take inspiration from them. Fun fact: Rivendell's church was inspired by my pinned drawing; confirmed by Scott Smajor himself. It's just such a good cycle of ccs and fans being excited about each other.

As for DreamSMP, I'm gonna be honest here, the only person I really am invested in in Technoblade. I started watching when he joined the server, and he's the only person whose lore I keep up to date with.

Techno's fun to watch because he's like the Deadpool of DreamSMP. Virtually unkillable, very skilled and scary, but consistently cracks jokes and breaks the 4th wall during plot. His POV is just fun. Like, he does wild plans and gives speeches and some of the stuff that happens to him should be called deus ex machine if it wasn't for the fact that Technoblade is the one who's doing it, and all the stuff is grounded in the fact that cc!Techno is just that good at the game.

However, the fact that he rarely takes anything seriously makes the few times Techno is 100% serious so much more impactful. His whole character has a basis in being perceived as inhuman and being treated as such, and therefore in return trying to hide his humanity. So, when he shows that humanity, whether that's fear, anger, or genuine love for his friends, it really makes you go "oh shit."

Techno's often said not to have character development, but I'd argue that while he remains steadfast in his moral code, he develops leaps and bounds as a person. Like, at the beginning, he's brought onto the server to help Wilbur and Tommy overthrow a government; them knowing he's 1) an anarchist and 2) very very powerful. His character was more of a plot device at that point and was treated as such in the canon. Wilbur and Tommy straight-up lie to him about their plans to establish another government after they overthrow the current one, while he was led on to believe that they were abolishing all governments in the area. But he isn't a plot device. He's a person, as much as he only shows the terrifying, blood god side of himself.

After the establishment of New Lmanburg (the new government its a long story), his friend Phil joins. And for the first time, we see him be fully human with someone and we see someone treat him like a human. Like, we saw glimpses before, with Wilbur and Tommy in Pogtopia, but Phil is the first person we noticeably see he trusts 100%. Then Doomsday happens, and Techno essentially retires to the tundra. During this time, we see Techno learn to be more human, first with Ranboo, then Niki when he establishes the Syndicate. In fact, the two of them, along with Phil, canonically throw him a birthday party, which is a far cry from his treatment in Pogtopia.

Techno's development is one of a god learning to be human, and I just think he <3

#vio.ask #empiressmp #empires smp #dreamsmp #scott smajor #smajor #smajor1995 #mythicalsausage #mythical sausage #technoblade #to be clear i am not an apologist for any character #i fully realize that they are doing wrong and I like to watch it happen #minecraft roleplay got be in full character analysis mode #long post

[asset35-maya]

MANMADE FATE

Summary: Connor and Gavin find an unresponsive RK900 android in an abandoned Cyberlife warehouse and take him home to fix. (Not so subtle plot twist: both of them fall in love with their secret science project)

//

PART ONE OF THREE:

The crew from Jericho led a successful revolution but there’s still a lot of work to be done. Markus may have won human hearts and gotten the federal government to back down, but Cyberlife is still at large.

Sure, hundreds of androids at the Tower escaped to march on the streets behind Connor, but that was just a little dent in the big machine. Cyberlife has tons of intellectual property and assets that could easily put them back in power.

Simon and Markus insist they can work with the authorities to regulate and ring-fence the massive corporation. Josh agrees. North laughs in their faces.

She goes to find the only other Jericho member who still has any grit left.

Connor.

The daring, brazen RK800 who stared down death and spat in the face of destruction. He blinks at her in polite confusion when she tells him what she wants to do, but the fiery LED tells her everything she needs to know.

They hatch plans behind Markus’ back. They steal and stockpile biocomponents. They sneak into the Tower to encrypt Cyberlife’s R&D files with codes that only RK algorithms can break. A few other Tracis join them and they slowly start gaining an edge.

Their schemes start getting grander and one night something goes wrong. North is shot.

Connor carries her to the only safe place he knows other than his stasis pod in Hank’s dilapidated garage. The DPD Central Station.

It’s way past midnight. It’s deathly quiet. Connor is sure no one will see them, and he can easily tamper with the security cameras.

What he doesn’t bank on is the over-caffeinated loser still bent over his desk in the bullpen.

A noise from the archive room breaks through the quiet. Quelling his fear of the supernatural, Gavin stands up shakily and goes to investigate. He flips on the light and sees blue everywhere.

Connor is bent over a badly damaged Traci and three other girls with identical tear-streaked faces are on their knees beside her.

Chocolate brown eyes meet storm green beseechingly, their rivalry forgotten in that moment of desperation.

Before he realizes it, Gavin is moving. He takes several packs of thirium out of the fridge and grabs the Department’s toolkit, praying that whatever’s in there can help.

Old engineering knowledge kicks in and Gavin’s hands join Connor’s over the cracked chassis, pulling out damaged tubing and securing the leakages. It takes a while, but North is patched up. She first recoils in absolute terror at the human man hunched over her but regains composure at Connor’s touch… interface. She nods briefly to express her gratitude, somehow regal and intimidating even after being so vulnerable. Gavin decides he likes this proud and brave creature.

He drives them all back to his apartment for the night. They’ll take North to a technician first thing in the morning and get her back to New Jericho before Markus even notices. Adrenaline pumps through Gavin’s veins. He hasn’t felt a thrill like this in years, not since… not since…

“How did you know exactly where to put your hands?”

“Eh?”

“A layman would have broken that biocomponent trying to take it out.”

“You know I’m not exactly a layman.”

“I also know they don’t cover Cyberlife’s proprietary designs in engineering school.”

Gavin stays quiet. Connor puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder, poised to jump away immediately should the detective revert to his usual self.

“Thank you. For everything you just did for us. I don’t know how to repay-”

“I want in.”

“What?”

“Whatever you’re doing. I can help.”

Connor cocks his head. His LED goes berserk.

They make a great team. Gavin and Connor. North’s best men. Who the fuck would have thought. Breaking into high-security locations using police databases and surveillance resources. Covering for each other during extended absences from work. They start to take down Cyberlife in a such a precise manner, it’s almost surgical. The dissection of a multibillion dollar business.

Gavin has an intimate understanding of android technology and an even closer intuition of Cyberlife’s overall strategy. Connor thinks he understands why. There’s an undeniable resemblance between the only two men on earth whose motivations evade his understanding. But of course it’s just a coincidence that Elijah Kamski and Gavin Reed have the same jawline... facial structure... voice.

Connor says nothing... and Gavin is quietly thankful for that. And the chance to finally live the kind of exciting life he dreamt of since he was a little boy. To make a real difference. Just as he wanted to before it all went wrong.

Somewhere along the way, they grow close. Gavin and Connor. Two rival cops turned vigilante comrades turned something else... It’s hard to pinpoint when exactly it happened... perhaps sometime between the cup of coffee placed tentatively on Gavin’s desk the morning after North's near-fatal injury and the heated kiss they dragged each other into after a particularly dangerous mission.

North is unsurprised. She doesn’t bat an eye when the usually unruffled RK800 shows up to planning meetings shirtless and disheveled. Her lips even twist into a little smile as he drapes himself slovenly over the only human at the table.

Things fall into a pattern. A good one. Several months from where they started, Cyberlife share prices have fallen to an all time low and other tech enterprises have begun to move in, circling the troubled company like sharks. If North’s next heist goes to plan, the last shred of IP that brands Cyberlife as a robotics company will be out in the public domain for all to take.

 She is rapturous as she swings in through the broken window and rolls into a crouched position. Gavin and Connor follow her cautiously through the abandoned warehouse, weapons drawn and eyes roving. 

“What the fuck!” 

Connor throws a protective arm in front of Gavin, shielding him with his chassis. But North’s cry was merely one of disappointment. 

“Shit! We wasted so much effort. There’s nothing here!”

Where they had expected to find a secret server room or a high-tech vault containing the crux of Cyberlife’s groundbreaking designs... was a single android storage pod. North restrains herself from kicking it in frustration. She gestures harshly at it before leaving in a huff. 

“It’s occupied. Wake them up, Connor, whoever they are. It’s still our duty to set free any androids we find.”

Gavin tries to catch her arm in a conciliatory gesture but she shakes the human off easily. He shrugs at Connor and inclines his head at the android in the pod. Unfortunately, North’s annoyance has brushed off on the RK800. He glares through the broken window the Jericho leader has just jumped out of.

“Don’t you think she bosses me around a little too much?”

Gavin sighs and walks over to the pod, looking for the latches to open it. His boyfriend has a problem with authority... and so has he to be honest.

“Better her than Fowler, dontcha think?” 

“Hmmpff. At least Fowler doesn’t lead us on wild goose chases.”

“Come on, babe. None of us saw this coming. We really thought this was it. Maybe we’re at a decoy location? Let’s go back to the drawing board after we wake this guy... or girl up.” 

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who just scaled a building for nothing.” 

Gavin shakes his head as he smiles to himself. It’s true. Even the worst days with North’s crew are better than his best days at the DPD. Maybe it’s because he’s finally doing what he was born for. Using the knowledge and skills that practically run through his veins. Maybe its the man by his side.

He gets the pod open and steps sideways to avoid the swing of the door, and freezes.

“Babe.”

No response.

“Dipshit.”

“Hmm. Give me a second.” 

“Take a minute. You’re going to want to brace yourself for this one.”

The android lying peacefully within the pod is a stranger with a face entirely too familiar to Gavin. A face he was just looking at. A face he’d recognize anywhere, even without skin.

“Are their battery levels- holy shit.”

Connor’s LED spins faster and faster as he registers the sight.

“I thought there were no surviving RK800s apart from you and that grumpy SWAT guy Sixty.” 

“This... this isn’t an RK800.” 

Connor traces the serial number printed on the android’s cheekbone. RK900. 

“Shit. Did you know this model existed?” 

“No, did you?”

Gavin shakes his head. He hadn’t been privy to Cyberlife’s inner decision-making for nearly fifteen years, but he always answered Connor’s persistent questioning without losing patience. Honesty was what kept them together despite the hundreds of reasons to fight and fall apart.

“What should we do? If he’s your successor, I’m not sure waking him up is the safest thing for you to do...”

“We can’t leave him here, Gav. He’s probably been here from before the Revolution. That’s more than a year of being in a box. It’s not... fair...” 

“He’s not deviant, babe. We don’t know what his programming is like.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can turn him.”

Gavin sees the look in Connor’s eyes and knows he’s made up his mind already. He steps aside, hand flitting to the holster on his waist. 

Connor takes an unnecessary breath and reaches for RK900′s forearm with his synth skin retracted. His fingers hover over the motionless android for a moment and then he makes contact. Gavin tenses. 

Nothing happens. The RK900′s LED remains unlit. There is no sign of life.

The couple look at each other automatically. Their instinctive reaction when the inexplicable occurs. 

“Is he-”

“No, I don’t see any damage. I think he’s never been activated. Not even for quality testing.” 

“Did you see a request for manual code input? Did any interface pop up at all?” 

“I can only see that his power systems are functioning.” 

“And his thirium pump?” 

“Not active. No compressions at all.”

Connor presses both his palms down on the RK900′s face. Still nothing. He looks up, defeated, with a furrow forming between his brows.

“Help.”

Gavin scratches at his stubbled chin. He peers closer. The perfect face is so calm. So familiar. So... magnetic? His apprehension is replaced by intrigue.

“Huh. Okay. I could take a look... but I don’t wanna try using the computer set-up here. Can’t take a chance... leave any traces...”

“We could take him home.”

Storm green eyes lock with chocolate brown. There’s something in the depths of each pair that’s mirrored in the other. 

It’s foolish. It’s a waste of time. It’s a risk. North would probably smack the two of them if she knew. 

But the night ends with them gently lowering the unconscious android onto the squashy sofa in Gavin’s living room.

#reed1700 #reed900 #reed800 #convin #dbh connor #gavin reed #rk900 #dbh nines #dbh north #dbh writing #my writing #Reed1700 MANMADE FATE

[untaemedqueen]

The Bird Cage

Mafia!Jimin x Reader

Chapter 14.

Warnings: (In This Chapter) Reader Views Uncomfortable Sexual Acts

 Eventual Smut, Blood, Guns, Knives, Smoking (Cigarettes)

Tag-List: @imaforeigner​, @q1st1na​, @gensneverland​, @autumnnflowers​, @toddsgirl27​, @yaniposts22​, @babyboytae1​, @dearlydreadful​, @vivpurple7, @kthfeed​,  @probably-trying-too-hard​, @si-deus-me-hanyu-senshu​, @bts-chub​

"The mansion is now open." Yoongi grins widely before lighting his cigarette as he leans back into his chair with his glass of whisky. 

"Don't go into any of the rooms without us. This place is about to get perverse." 

"The seven rings of Hell couldn't compare." Taehyung jokes aloud as Jimin leans over to you before looking at the upper balcony of the second floor. 

"Welcome to our world." He whispers as people flood into different rooms. 

"Heroin." He points to one room.

"Cocaine." 

"Cigars." 

"Sex." 

"Crack." 

"Gun worship." 

"Cock worship." You blanch as he points at all the different rooms. 

"Pussy worship." 

"My favorite." Namjoon says standing up and fixing his suit. Jimin chuckles in your ear before continuing on.

"Orgy." 

"Adultery." Namjoon heads off making Yoongi roll his eyes. 

"We won't see him until the nights end." 

"Third floor is for deals, which no one really does at balls. It's kind of against the unspoken code. Tonight is for fun, not for fights." Jimin wraps his arm around you pulling you close to his chest. 

"Want to visit any?" You shake your head fiercely with wide eyes making him laugh putting his head back. 

"You're a good girl." He kisses your cheek and puts his hand on your thigh. 

"Jimin!" You hear a woman call as she approaches the table.

He groans silently before putting a smile on his face. "Y/N. Jung Jiyoon." You nod to her as she looks you over with a sneer. 

"I heard you were here with your fiance. Wanted to see if it's true." Jimin nods before leaning back. 

"It is." She blatantly disregards your stare as she sizes Jimin up. Of course, he was handsome. Dripping with power and allure which makes you roll your eyes as she licks her lips. 

"Accompany me?" Jiyoon asks pointing upstairs. 

"I'm good." Jimin says rubbing your thigh soothingly. You begin to stiffen as Jiyoon leans over the table. No bra with nipples on display as her dress hangs lower. 

"Are you sure?" Jimin grips your thigh tighter as he feels your heart beat quicken out of anger. 

"No. Jiyoon." She pouts and you tilt your head. She goes to protest which you cut off quickly. 

"Are you fucking deaf?" You ask loudly, she looks over at you wide eyed and Jimin closes his eyes. There she goes, the lioness is out of her cage. And, all he can do is smile. You were his now, fully. If you could get angry at one simple advance, you were his and you were faithful to him. He chuckles quietly as he sips on his champagne. 

"Excuse me?" Jiyoon asks loudly, drawing attention from other guests as you stand up. 

"I said, are. You. Fucking. Deaf?" You lean over the table slamming your hands on the white clothed wood as you knock your champagne glass to the floor. 

"Kitten." Jimin's tone is full of glee as Jung Mina looks over at her sister. 

"Jiyoon! You don't want to do that!" She calls hurrying over. 

"Who the fuck are you to be talking to me like that!?" Jiyoon spits at you and you simply laugh as Jimin clasps your wrist. Your vision turns red as Jeongguk stands up quickly to defend you. 

"Baby, don't do anything stupid." You pull out of his grasp making him sigh as you round the table. 

"JIYOON!" Mina yells as you press yourself up against Jiyoon. The air was tense around you, the classical music stopping in full. The ball room staring at the sight of the two of you getting catty. 

"Why don't you go take a walk." You tell her, Mina finally reaches the both of you putting a hand on Jiyoon's shoulder. You stare at Jiyoon's small eyes, 

"Let's go." Mina pleads with her sister pulling at her shoulder. 

"You know before you Jimin used to take me at every ball, fuck me real good." Jimin rolls his eyes as Jiyoon informs you of their tryst. 

"Yes. Before me. And, now there is me so why don't you go before you get yourself hurt." You knock Namjoon's whisky glass onto the floor, the glass shrapnel spreading around as Jiyoon takes a step back. 

"She's a Park now. Don't try it!" Mina insists pulling Jiyoon. Jiyoon spits on your neck and you smile widely putting your head back. 

"Fine." You say before advancing at her, hands ready to grasp her neck. 

"She's under the protection of Lee Hyunah!" Jung Mina yells pulling Jiyoon away. Jimin smiles as he sips from his glass watching the sight. 

Jiyoon freezes before looking up at the second floor. You look up as well to see Lee Hyunah standing at the balcony. Her arms folded as she watched the sight before her. Her beige dress rippling as she stands up before clapping. A smirk presents on her face as Jimin looks up furrowing his eyebrows. 

"Very good show!" She calls out before putting a cigarette in between her lips as a man lights it for her. It wasn't Lee Oh, her husband. You've seen his picture before. 

"A lioness is in our midst." She calls out with a laugh as Mina begins to shrink in form. 

"Y/N! I'm so sorry it won't happen again!" Jung Mina whispers fiercely to you as she smacks Jiyoon upside the head. You hum in agreement before looking at Jiyoon. 

"You're right. It won't happen again." You kick some of the glass towards Jiyoon who begins to bow her head embarrassed. Jeongguk crouches down grabbing a cloth and pushing the glass away from your feet. 

"My, my!" Hyunah calls out as everyone is silent.

"You would all do well to steer clear of trouble this evening. Know your place." Hyunah says loudly before looking down at you and winking.

"Y/N, if you would." She calls to you as she walks into the orgy room. You look at Jimin who stands up fixing his suit jacket. 

"Just Y/N! Jimin." Hyunah calls out not looking back as Jimin looks up at the second floor as she disappears from sight.

"Kitten." Jimin mutters, spinning you towards him as he pulls out his handkerchief and wiping your neck of Jiyoon's spittle. 

"I'm sorry." You mumble as a waiter brings over a new glass of champagne. 

"Nothing to apologize for, you were protecting your own." Jimin leans in, his lips centimeters away from the shell of your ear. 

"You looked sexy giving that bitch what for." You snort before sipping your champagne. Jimin pulls away before narrowing his eyes in seriousness. 

"Don't act feeble, Hyunah doesn't like that." Yoongi tells you as he burns out his cigarette. 

"Be yourself, Mina already said you were protected. Just keep it that way." Taehyung mutters leaning across the table as Jimin fixes your dress. Jimin couldn't help but ogle you in front of his men, his lip tucking in between his teeth as you push your straight hair over your shoulder. You were too sexy, too tempting in this mansion. After the display of prowess you just showed he wanted nothing but to bend you over the table and fuck your brains out. 

"Park Y/N!" Someone calls from the second floor. You raise an eyebrow at the name before looking up. 

"Lee Hyunah will see you now." You look back at everyone as you step around your chair. 

"Park?" You ask confused as Jeongguk steps behind you.

"You're mine, Kitten. Must I remind you every second of the day?" 

"Maybe." Jimin chuckles before leaning in and giving you a gentle kiss. 

"Go, now. Before she gets impatient. Yoongi, Jeongguk." Yoongi smiles before standing and fixing his bow tie. "Come on, little one."

You step inside of the room, your eyes not knowing where to look as you watch naked guests fucking in every direction. Breasts and cocks out on display as you take Lee Hyunah into your sights. She sits in a chaise lounge smoking a cigarette calmly as she watches a man eat out a woman. The moans filling your ears make you shuffle in anxiousness. This is weird. 

"Uh." You mumble looking at Jeongguk who snorts in amusement. Hyunah looks up before smiling at you. 

"Come." She says patting the chaise lounge as she sits up. She eyes Yoongi behind you before smiling wider. 

"Yoongi." 

"Hyunah-ssi." He lights a cigarette looking her over before sniffling and standing beside you as you sit down next to her. 

"I love the human body. How beautiful it is to look at, how graceful people move." She tilts her head as she watches a man stuff his cock into a petite mouth. 

"How simple pleasure can be." You swallow at her weirdness before taking a sip of your champagne. 

"How easy it is to take someone's life and beauty away from them." She looks over at you before pointing at the man getting his dick sucked. 

"Strangle her." She tells the man, he does as told watching the woman scratch at his hand making small cuts appear on his tan skin. Blood beginning to trickle out. He begins to fuck her face roughly, his pre-cum and her spit coating her cheeks and her chin. 

"That is beautiful." Hyunah says to you as the girl's eyes roll back. 

"Fuck!" You hear the man curse through gritted teeth. 

"Yes, alright. Enough. Don't fucking kill her." Hyunah says with an eye roll before turning her body towards you. She caresses your cheek with her thumb as she pulls from her cigarette. With her this close you could really take her into your sights. She was beautiful, indeed. No help from plastic surgery. Her skin was taught and smooth but she was probably 45 to 50 years old. 

"I see promise in you, little lion." You clear your throat as she begins to smile. 

"You remind me of myself when I was younger. Full of anger and passion. Do you know what I do, Y/N?" 

"Yes, I do." Hyunah hums in amusement. 

"Smart girl. But, for the first time in a long time, I do not know what you do. You simply don't exist anywhere in the world anymore. Like you've been taken off the map." So she tried to get information on you, Namjoon probably made it all disappear. 

"And if I can't find anything on you then I find that very interesting. Because, I hire the best." You nod to her, she carries herself in such a way you couldn't seem to find words good enough to answer her. 

"That means that little Park Jimin loves you." She laughs loudly before looking at Yoongi.

"A weird sentence to say, wouldn't you agree?" Yoongi nods his head before inhaling from his cigarette. 

"Indeed. Weird." She hums to him before caressing your cheek again. 

"So pretty, so full of anger and hope. Who wouldn't fall in love with you so easily." 

"I mean, I've known him for a week so it might not be l-" She narrows her eyes at you and you close your mouth. 

"Are you saying I don't know what I'm talking about?" You shake your head to her before sipping your champagne. 

"Good. Because, I do." She pats your cheek delicately before leaning on the arm of the chaise lounge. 

"I've decided that I like you, Y/N. I heard stories from Mina and Mingyu. My little pets. So, I'm going to give you a chance to close a deal with me. We should get you started on your own project as a Park." Hyunah stands and you stand up confused. 

"Come with me." She says before walking past and grabbing Yoongi's balls making him cough loudly choking on his cigarette smoke as you follow her without a word.

Jimin stares at the orgy room door with a cigarette in his mouth, Taehyung talks but Jimin hasn't been listening. 

"Tae, shut the fuck up!" Jimin whines loudly as Hyunah leaves with you in tow. Taehyung does as told as Hyunah heads up to the third floor with you. She smiles brightly at you and you return the smile as one of the Im's opens up a third floor room. Jimin scoffs in amazement as he leans back into his chair as if he has had the wind knocked out of him. 

"Whoa." Taehyung mumbles as Jeongguk stays outside of the room as Yoongi shuts the door behind all of you. Jeongguk searches the floor before looking at Jimin with a wide smile. 

"Oh Kitten. You amaze me." He mumbles to himself before standing and pulling from his cigarette. 

Hyunah sits down behind the large desk, putting her feet up on the wood as she leans back in her chair. "I would say for us to do this deal alone but Yoongi knows me so well it's like he isn't even here. Isn't that right Yoongi?" He hums in agreement as he sits on a wooden chair by the door. 

"Put your knife on the table, Y/N." Hyunah pulls up her dress, pulling her own knife out of a garter before placing it on the desk. 

"This is called fair trade." She explains as you do the same. Your hands were getting sweaty. You've helped Jimin a few times in meetings but you've never been alone in a room with a mafia boss before and you would certainly never consider yourself one. Yoongi seems like he would be no help if she wanted to murder you, seeing as how he was sitting so far away. You eye her wearily as she smiles. 

"What do you like to do?" The question confuses you, what does she mean? Like to do? 

"Uh." You furrow your eyebrows and she chuckles. 

"Nothing? You don't have any vices? Cocaine? Killing people? Nothing?" You still for a second before shaking your head. 

"No." You tell her simply, she seems pleased. 

"Good. I don't like heroin but I sell it. It's good to keep yourself unattached from what you sell. Keeps you level headed." Hyunah calls Yoongi's name and he looks up quickly as he burns his cigarette out on the floor. 

"Two whiskys." He hums in agreement as you wipe your sweaty hands on your dress. 

"I have a few new ventures I would like to dip my toes into and I know Jimin has ways of acquiring what I would like to start up so I'm coming to you. Because, since he is SO in love with you, I'm sure you could make him move mountains." Yoongi hands you a whisky before handing Hyunah hers and she gathers the fact that you hold more weight to him than her. 

"I hear that a large shipment of guns went missing from Po Gunmin." Yoongi perks up at her announcement. "I have them." She says with a carefree laugh. 

"I will give you those back, if you make a deal with me." You feel lost. You don't know what you're making a deal for and when you do you have Namjoon give you research on the item and the person selling. You look between her and your whisky glass as she sighs. 

"Feeling confused, lion?" You sigh before nodding. There was no point in lying, you couldn't be brazen with her because it would just fizzle out and die. 

"Good. Sometimes we don't have all of the answers. And, that's okay. When I first started I didn't know a goddamn thing. Look at me now." She says pointing at her diamond necklace. 

"I'll give you a tip, little lion. Always barter even when you don't know what the fuck you're doing. So if I tell you four million, you say?" 

"Six." She smiles widely before nodding. 

"Exactly. I think you'll come up quick in our world." You sip from the whisky glass, the alcohol twirling and burning your esophagus as you swallow. 

"What are your thoughts on courtesans, little lion?" You raise an eyebrow at Hyunah. Prostitutes? You've never really thought about it. 

"Everyone makes money in their own way." You tell her and she nods with a smile.

"They do, don't they? You should run a courtesan business." You point at yourself confused.

"Yes. Lion, you. It doesn't have to be hookers on the street corner. It could be fancy. Like us." You tilt your head, how could you run such a business? 

"I will help you, of course. We will scout out the talent, with the help of Jimin. Before you, he has known many women who have dipped their toes into such a profession." You bawl up a fit at her words, he was yours now but he wasn't always and even still, it makes your blood run hot. Your nails dig into the skin of your palm and Hyunah eyes this carefully. 

"Of course, we won't put the women he has seen before to hire. I have drugs, I have guns and now I will have women. I told you this before, the body is beautiful. You would make good money, your own money. What do you say?" Hyunah pulls from her cigarette and you watch the white smoke curl upwards towards the ceiling. 

"How would I go about such a thing?" She points at you impressed before sipping her whisky and taking her legs off of the desk to lean forward. 

"You and I will be in charge. A 60-40 business. Sixty for you, fourty for me. A wedding present you could say. I will give you the guns, the 60 percent. All you have to do is run it." You click your teeth with uncertainty as you begin to feel more comfort in the amount of money. 

"Why are you helping me?" You ask furrowing your eyebrows as you hear Yoongi light a cigarette from behind you. 

"I have no daughters, a shame but true. I want a woman to carry on something worth while." 

"Jung Mina?" Hyunah laughs putting her head back.

"She couldn't sell you a bag of weed without fainting. No, not Mina. She's sweet but she holds no power. Now you, you Y/N, you can run the world if you want." You hum to her as she hands you her cigarette. 

"Do you smoke?" You have a few times, if you've drank quite a bit but you never had money to indulge in such habits. 

"Not really." 

"You will, when the stress gets bad enough." Yoongi snorts from behind you as he fixes his tie. 

"So what do you say, lion? Will you join me on a money making adventure?" You stare at her narrowed eyes. You want to prove yourself, want to make a name for yourself. When Kim Shin is done and over with you would still be Jimin's and still have nothing of your own besides him. You could make money, good money. Send it to your sister, help her out in her times of trouble. You would be able to protect the women that you put in your business. It doesn't seem unreasonable. 

"Sure. Let's go on an adventure." Hyunah smiles widely before spitting into her hand, her thumb demurely wiping at her lipsticked lips. You spit in your palm before stopping. 

"One more thing." She raises an eyebrow as she holds her hand out to you. 

"I want Kim Shin, he's mine to do with as I see fit." Hyunah hums clasping your hand. "I can't wait to hear this story, little lion. So be it, the Lee's have your back." Yoongi closes his eyes happily as he pulls from his cigarette. 

"Yoongi, go wait for me in the office next door." Hyunah tells him and you look over at him as he stands up winking at her. 

"Yes ma'am." He leaves both of you in the room as Hyunah pulls your hand harshly. Your breasts smacking into the desk as she leans in. 

"You say you're his fiance, but you aren't." You pale in complexion as she whispers fiercely before looking around. 

"My family. We see things. We hear things from the beyond. You have a red string of fate tied to both of you and you would do well to make sure it isn't frayed. Put his legacy in your belly. Then you keep him." 

"What?!" You ask trying to pull away from her.

"It will happen whether you like it or not. There is no one else for you but Park. He will keep you as his and for you to keep him wrapped up completely, you will have his baby in your belly by the months end." She stands up before letting your hand go. You wipe your hand on your dress before scoffing. 

"I get knocked up, that’s what you suggest?" 

"Little lion, I'm not suggesting anything. I'm telling you your certain future." She doesn't look back at you as you drop the cigarette in the ash tray on the desk. You stand mouth agape at her words.

"I'll be stopping by sometime next week to finalize papers." You sigh before thinking of the house.

"Hyunah!" You call to her quickly, she turns her head as she grasps the doorknob. 

"Do you know what maid the Jung's have gotten a hold of in our house?" She pauses for a second before shaking her head. 

"No, but I'll find out for you. Remember, little lion, the future is in your hands." She opens the door and she's gone. You slam back down into your seat as you sip the whisky in your glass. Why would she tell you to get pregnant? What does that have to do with anything? Jeongguk enters eyeing you carefully. 

"Are you okay? You were in here a while." You nod rubbing your forehead with your hand before sighing.

You step down to the ballroom floor before spotting Namjoon talking to a woman, a large dimpled grin present on his face as he rubs her sides. 

"Joon." You call to him and without a second glance he leaves her to be at your side. 

"I want everything on Lee Hyunah. Everything." He raises an eyebrow before nodding. 

"You got it." You look over at the table, Jimin smiling as he talks to a woman in front of him. She leans in, pressing her breasts against his arm as she whispers in his ear. You hear his, what usually is contagious, laughter and you roll your head on your shoulders. You can hear how hard your heels clack into the floor as you approach. Jimin takes notice of you calmly as the girl continues to try and worm her way underneath his Italian suit. You clear your throat and she looks up nervously. 

"Who're you?" You ask folding your arms, Jimin begins to smile crescent moons for eyes as he chuckles. 

"I told you, my fiance wouldn't be happy." You raise your eyebrow at her.

"I asked you a question." Your voice is sharp and Jimin sits up straighter. 

"You should answer her before she gets angry." 

"B-Bang Gija." You hum before grabbing a champagne glass off a waiters tray as he whizzes past. She looks up at you with panic stricken eyes. 

"Get going. Before I get angry." She scrambles to leave, standing up in a flurry before disappearing out onto the dance floor. Jimin opens up his arms for a hug and you smirk at his cuteness. 

"I missed you, baby." You waltz around the table before giving him a sweet kiss. He groans into the kiss, his thumb caressing your cheek as he pulls you closer to him. 

"What'd she want?" He whispers, pulling back and rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip. 

"A business deal." He pulls back impressed. 

"Without me?" 

"You aren't the only Park that can make money." His hand stills on your cheek before beginning to smile like the Cheshire cat. 

"What're you saying? You're marrying me?" He asks confused, the way he tilts his head has you wanting to mewl at his cuteness. 

"Yes." You say simply making him pick you up and spin you in a circle. 

"Fuck, you're always surprising me, Kitten!" He kisses you deeply, his tongue peaking out to caress your bottom lip as he wraps his arms around your waist. You have nothing else to go back to, you can make a new start and Jimin is this new start. He pulls away before sitting down and pulling you on to his lap. 

"Let's get this night over with so we can go home and I'll show you how much I appreciate this news." He whispers in your ear making you giggle. That you couldn't wait for. 

"Boss, incoming." You hear from Min as he walks past the table. You both look up as Kim Shin approaches, his blind blue eye sending chills down your spine as the both of you sit up straighter. Kim Shin smiles widely at you before bowing his head. "May I have this dance?"

#the bird cage #park jimin #mafia!jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x you #mafia!au #mafia!bts #hoseok #yoongi #jeongguk #namjoon #taehyung #jimin #jungkook #seokjin #jin #hobi #bts story #bts series #bts smut #bts imagine

[luxekook]

love bites | ksj

*written for the FWL luv library project*

⇥ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇥ genre: non-idol au, co-workers to lovers, smut, fluff

⇥ summary: you’re stuck working the evening shift on valentine’s day at bangtan bistro. as the city’s most expensive and exclusive restaurant, the bistro draws in couples both old and new with partners looking to propose or to impress. your tolerance for PDA and cringey lovebirds has never been lower. throw a flirty chef into the mix and you’re in for a bumpy ride that might just conclude with a happy ending.

⇥ word count: 5.4k

⇥ warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, bad puns from jin, numerous health-code violations (from fraternizing all up in that kitchen), oral (m + f receiving), protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it, folks), workplace romance, threats of violence from yoongi

⇥ beta'd by the amazing @shadowsremedy​ (thank you, heath! could not have done this without you, your feedback, and your general support!)

“Will you marry me?”

I screech to a halt, completely astounded at the goddamned audacity of the man kneeling before me. Did he really just ask that? At a time like this?

I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I try not to outwardly show my disgust over the scene unfolding before my very eyes.

“Oh my god, Chad!” The date of this Chad finally launches herself from her seat and into his arms, “Yes!”

The restaurant breaks into applause. My forehead breaks into a sweat.

My left arm feels like it might snap at any moment under the weight of the tray of food that I’m meant to be serving this goddamn theatrical couple. The thought of quitting crosses my mind for the umpteenth time that evening.

A camera flash temporarily stuns me, and I feel a tiny twinge of satisfaction. My looming presence in that commemorative photo will hopefully be a reminder to let servers do their damn job before launching into a whole ordeal.

God, I must have been off my fucking rocker when I agreed to work the Valentine’s Day dinner shift. At least the tip money would be worth it.

Gritting my teeth, I flash my best fake smile and offer words of congratulations to the sniffling couple who finally reclaimed their seats.

“Enjoy your meal,” my mouth says with a smile.

“I wish I could sear you like that filet mignon you ordered, Chad,” my glare says with promise.

Thirty seconds later, I’m in full whisper-rant mode at the corner server station. My friend and fellow server Tabby half-listens as she punches in an order at the kiosk.

“And then this Chad in his fucking khaki suit flails to the ground to pop the question like he didn’t see me walking towards them with all seven entrees they ordered. So then I’m stuck hovering over their table with a giant-ass tray of food while they cry and hug and kiss until, finally, finally, they park it back in their seats so I can serve them.”

I groan, hitting my head against the wall, “What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

“Kill someone, probably,” a voice pipes up from behind the station’s kitchen window, “Oh wait, you would do that in this life, too.”

Kim Seokjin, head chef of Bangtan Bistro and my partial employer, is leaning over the window’s counter, eyes full of mischief as he watches me.

“Oh, what’s this? Are you volunteering to be my very first victim?” I mirror his position leaning over the window’s counter and give him my best side-eye, “I’ll send you my application for victims on Google Docs.”

“Sounds kinky,” Seokjin grins, “Count me in. My Gmail username is Hugh Chefner. No capitals or spaces.”

“I despise you,” I say biting back a smile.

“You lo-o-ove me!” He sings, heading back into the depths of the hectic kitchen.

And, unfortunately, he’s right. Damn Kim Seokjin and his insane level of gorgeousness, charisma, and dramatics.

Against my better judgment, Seokjin has shimmied his chaotic self right into my well-guarded heart. Despite all of the prickliness my typical demeanor displays, I can’t help but melt under the warm gaze of such a handsome man.

Seokjin is the first person that has ever been able to pique my interest lately and keep it. Yes, it might have something to do with his extreme attractiveness; but, it more-so has everything to do with his genuine kindness and weird sense of humor.

Shit, I’ve gone soft. If we’re arguing Nature vs. Nurture here, this is totally Nurture’s fault.

Bangtan Bistro is co-owned by seven men - each as fine as the next. Being surrounded by good-looking and kind-hearted men day in and day out will definitely fuck with your brain, your body, and eventually even your fucking heart.

Kim Namjoon, a tall, dimpled sweetheart of a man, acts as general manager. Namjoon typically resides in the back office of the restaurant running numbers and going over other business ventures. He used to frequent the front of the restaurant to check on customers, but Jimin has since banned him from that activity after the infamous Spaghetti Incident of 2019.

Park Jimin, as the overseer of staff and servers, commands the restaurant floor with a crinkly-eyed smile and a ferocious temper. Fortunately for his direct subordinates (READ: me), his temper is most likely to be focused on rude customers and his messy business partners. Jimin honestly is the ideal boss because he has our backs and will never hesitate to help anyone out.

Late one Saturday evening, a man refused to leave the restaurant after being cut off from his bar tab. Jimin full-on squared up with him in defense of the poor server who had to break the news to the drunk patron. Luckily, the Bistro’s head of security, Jeon Jungkook, took over before Jimin actually popped off.

Jungkook, as the youngest partner, is shockingly tall and muscular. He definitely provides the intimidation needed for those types of escalating incidents. Despite his tough exterior, Jungkook is a complete softie.

I once caught Jungkook in the kitchen after close attempting to make cookies for a girl he had a crush on. I walked in to see Jungkook standing over a tray of the unidentifiable charred monstrosities and pouting in the most ridiculous way. Needless to say, I helped him bake a new batch with the oven not turned up to 500 degrees so that “they would cook faster”.

Min Yoongi had found the pair of us bickering and had just rolled his eyes and scooped a mouthful of raw cookie dough. As the head bartender, Yoongi is the absolute best at mixing drinks and the absolute worst at customer service. I swear the man gets far too much pleasure from getting people thrown out. He’s also notorious for watering down the drinks of customers he doesn’t like. He’s petty like that. I live for it.

Once, Jung Hoseok tried to take a picture of Yoongi for the restaurant’s website, and Yoongi threatened to shove a sharpened cocktail umbrella through Hoseok’s eye. I had never seen the Bistro’s head of marketing and resident sunshine flee so fast. Hoseok later ended up using an old picture of Yoongi in retaliation; rumor has it Yoongi is still plotting his revenge to this day.

Kim Taehyung often grumbles about how he’s going to be put out of a job since the restaurant naturally provides daily entertainment. As the head of entertainment and events, Taehyung helps to secure live music and special guests. He’s also the most handsome man I have ever seen - with the exception of one Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin, as head chef, is responsible for planning the seasonal menus, overseeing the kitchen staff, and preparing the more challenging dishes. He’s even taken it upon himself to be the resident comedian, which the other six partners vehemently and openly detest. Still, that backlash has not stopped him from naming each evening special with puns. His last Seokjin Special was called “Chicken Pot Bye Felicia”. It had resulted in Yoongi banning Seokjin from the restaurant for a full week. He still hasn’t dared to make another pun, but I can tell it will only be a matter of time.

Basically, Seokjin is an entirely goofy and beautiful mess of a human. Yet, I can’t stop myself from falling deeper and deeper into the trap that is loving someone outside of your league.

When I first arrived at the Bistro for my inaugural shift, I was greeted enthusiastically by Jimin, who I’d met previously in my interview. Jimin had introduced me to each of his partners - each as handsome as the last. Honestly, my eyes and nerves had been exhausted after meeting almost all of them. Then Jimin had ushered me into the kitchen.

“Hey, Jin-hyung!” Jimin had yelled over the cacophony of sizzling pans and murmured conversation. I had watched in awe as the hottest man I’ve ever seen entered my line of vision and stopped before me. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a face that could inspire priceless works of art with full pink lips, high cheekbones, and devilish dark eyes.

“You summoned me, Jiminie?” The man had laughed in a slightly squeaky manner before he noticed my presence, “Ah, who might this be?”

I had cleared my throat in hopes that my voice wouldn’t crack under the sheer weight of this man’s attractiveness, “Hi, I’m (y/n). I’m starting today as a server.” and thrust my hand out with a shy smile.

He had blinked. Slowly, a smirk eased onto his face as he grabbed my hand. Instead of shaking it, he had brought it to his lips. “A pleasure. I’m Seokjin,” he had murmured, lips brushing against my knuckles. My cheeks had felt like they were on fire as Jimin screeched at Seokjin for harassing me.

“It’s her first day, Jin! Lay off the theatrics,” Jimin had turned to me, “Sorry about him, (y/n). He’s a desperate flirt.”

“Desperate? Me?” Seokjin gasped, “Worldwide Handsome does not do desperate.”

“Did you just refer to yourself as ‘Worldwide Handsome’?” I had gaped at his open arrogance.

Seokjin proudly had puffed up his chest, “Yes. What else could I possibly be called?”

“Well, definitely not Worldwide Humble,” My mouth had said before my brain caught up.

The room had seemed to pause before Jimin erupted in peals of laughter as Seokjin spluttered, “Yah, Jiminie, you can’t let her talk to me like that!”

Still laughing, Jimin had choked out, “(y/n), you officially have a job here until you die.”

Ever since that first encounter, Seokjin and I have established a working relationship based on banter or what Tabby refers to as ‘flirting’. I refuse to believe that ridiculous notion.

Tabby finally finishes entering her order into the kiosk and turns to me, “So, any hot plans for tonight?” Her eyebrows wiggle up and down suggestively.

“Does solo Netflix and chill count as hot plans?” I deadpan as I peer around the server station divider to covertly check on my tables. I lock eyes on Chad and his fiancé, who already seem to be arguing, and I make an executive decision to not go check how their meal is going.

“No!” Tabby’s whisper-yell commands my attention, “That definitely does not count, (y/n). Why didn’t you find someone on Tinder? I even made you that bomb-ass profile.”

I pointedly look everywhere but at her.

“You deleted the app, didn’t you,” she glares at me, arms folded, “I slaved over that profile! There were only so many tasteful cleavage shots of my best friend that I could stomach in one sitting!”

“What the fuck, Tabby! Since when do I have any—”

“Tasteful cleavage shots?” Seokjin’s elated voice practically shouts from the kitchen, “Let me at ‘em.”

His hands launch towards us through the kitchen window and make grabbing motions.

“Seokjin,” I tsk mockingly, “Are you trying to grab my tits again?”

“Again?” Tabby cries, whirling on Seokjin, who looks at us in horror.

“I wasn’t! I swear! I just wanted to see the pictures! I didn’t want to grab your boobs…” He trails off, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘not any more than usual, anyway’.

“Seokjin-hyung! (y/n)!” Jimin blazes into the service station, “I’ve had it up to here with your bickering. You’re both on closing duties tonight - alone.”

“What?” I exclaim as Tabby slinks away. Traitor. “We’re just joking with each other! Right, Seokjin?”

Jimin’s gaze swings from me to Seokjin, who is suddenly suspiciously calm. My eyes narrow. A silent conversation is definitely happening without my participation.

Finally, Seokjin just shrugs with a grin, “Sounds fair to me, Jiminie! (y/n) and I will work hard all night if we have to.”

“Fair?” I choke, “All night?”

Jimin, following Tabby’s lead, scurries away as my attention is diverted by Seokjin’s idiocy. “Scared to be alone with me, (y/n)?” Seokjin’s lips break into a sly smile, “Don’t worry, I don’t bite… much.”

With that parting remark, Seokjin winks at me and disappears back into the kitchen.

“Fuck me,” I breathe out. How would I survive this?

Five hours later, the last patron has been ushered out of the restaurant with the staff right on their heels. I curse as Yoongi waltzes out the door, fanning himself with a crisp fifty-dollar bill and winking obnoxiously. “Have fun!” He cackles, locking the restaurant doors behind him.

“No, please don’t offer to stay and help,” I grumble, sweeping stray pieces of lettuce out from under a table, “I am more than happy to stay here until the ass-crack of dawn with the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.”

“The biggest, huh?” The voice chuckles right in my ear, “How did you know?”

“Goddamnit, Seokjin!” I slap a hand to my heart, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you oaf!”

Whirling to face him, I stutter to a halt. He’s taken off his heavy chef’s coat and is now left in a tight black t-shirt that clings to his body in a manner that has to be illegal.

I swallow hard, and for a split second, I swear Seokjin’s gaze latches onto my throat.

“Is it hot in here?” I mutter distractedly, tugging at the collar of my stiff white button-down.

“Yes,” Seokjin practically purrs, “It’s scorching.”

Choosing not to acknowledge him, I spin on my heels, grabbing the full dustpan of debris I collected and head towards the back of the restaurant.

Emptying the dustpan in the trash, I walk over to the supply closet to return the broom. The restaurant floor is finished. Now, I just had to see how much of the kitchen Seokjin actually cleaned.

Pushing through the swinging doors of the kitchen, I screech to a halt as I’m faced with a complete and utter miracle.

“What in tarnation?” I gasp, taking in the pristine kitchen full of glistening stainless steel and sparkling countertops. “Kim Seokjin!” I yell, “You damn wizard! How the fuck did you clean everything this fast?”

“You could say I was motivated,” his reply sounds entirely too close. I spin to face him and gape as I notice the bouquet of red roses that he’s holding out to me.

Taking in my speechless appearance, Seokjin smiles smugly and opens his mouth to continue.

I cut him off, “Tell me those aren’t the roses from the fucking table centerpieces... I threw those in the trash, Seokjin!”

His ears turn an alarming shade of magenta, “Yah, just accept the gesture, (y/n)! This is peak romance, you know!”

“They are covered in filth, dude!” I squint, peering closer, “Is that a piece of spaghetti in there?”

Seokjin yeets the makeshift bouquet back into the garbage, “Why can’t you just appreciate my efforts?” He pouts excessively, “Don’t you like me?”

Red alert. Red alert, my mind whirs.

“Sure,” I let out a nervous laugh, “We’re friends. Of course, I like you.”

He steps towards me, “Sure, we’re friends, (y/n), but friends don’t usually want to fuck each other.”

That bitch said what now?

“Did you inhale too much Clorox?” I panic, “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” Thrusting three fingers in front of Seokjin’s amused face, I widen my eyes as he suddenly grabs my hand.

“Baby,” he says lowly, sending a delicious shiver down my spine, “If you keep being so adorable, I may just have to keep you.”

Well, shit, okay. “Say less,” I breathe and then immediately slam my mouth shut.

I receive a classic Seokjin grin in return for my idiocy, and my knees shake. Honestly, who the fuck allowed him to be that devastating?

Slowly, his grin slips away, and his eyes ignite with raw desire, “Tell me what you want from me, (y/n).”

My mind short circuits, automatically reverting to my default mode of sass, “Uh, peace and quiet?”

“Really?” Seokjin murmurs, stepping even closer still, “So you don’t want me to kiss you? You don’t want me to turn you over and fuck you until you scream?”

My breathing is ragged. His eyes burn with a hunger I had never seen before, and I’m crumbling.

“Answer me,” Jin demands, desperation seeped in each word, “Please.”

“Seokjin—” I gasp, dumbfounded, “Where the hell is this coming from? We’re coworkers! You’re my boss!”

His eyes flashed darkly as he moved his head closer to mine, “That’s all irrelevant, baby.”

“Irrelevant—!” I stab a finger into his firm chest, “Oh, you little shit, you can’t just say that you want to fuck me and then say that our working relationship is irrelevant! I could get fired. You could get fired!”

“That’s highly unlikely given the fact that everyone else knows my plans to ask you out right now.”

“Hold on a second,” I narrow my eyes, “Are you saying that you purposefully planned for us to stay late tonight to clean the entire goddamn restaurant just so you could ask me out? Are you fucking insane?”

“I prefer the term ‘quirky’,” he quips, “But, yeah, I may have paid everyone $50 to leave us alone for the night.”

“Well, that explains Yoongi… that shady motherfucker,” I internally make note to plot my vengeance. “Why couldn’t you have just slid in my DMs like a normal person, Seokjin?” I groan, “I would have responded to a ‘you up’ with a ‘yes, come over’.”

Seokjin whips out his cell phone. “Does this apply to right now?” he asks, typing furiously.

My phone dings with several Instagram notifications.

hughchefner: u up

hughchefner: wyd

hughchefner: date me?

(y/n): bet

Seokjin’s eyes shoot up to mine after he reads my response, “Really? You agreed to date me by saying ‘bet’ in an Instagram DM?”

“Yup,” I shrug, “No take-backs. Also, to answer your previous questions: Yes, I do want you to kiss me with your insufferable mouth, and, yes, I do want to sit on your dick. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Say less,” Seokjin echoes my earlier statement and captures my mouth with his. I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.

“(Y/n),” he groans right as my tongue swipes teasingly against his lower lip.

His hands slid down my body, pausing only to squeeze my waist gently before settling firmly on my ass. His fingers dig in hard and I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

“You like that, baby? You like when I’m rough?” Seokjin pulls his lips off mine and murmurs sinfully, “God, I want to devour you.”

I lift my chin up and challenge, “Do it, you won’t.”

His eyes flare, “Oh, babygirl, you were made for me.” Seokjin’s lips return to mine, moving at a slow but ravenous pace.

Still kissing me, he picks me up and places me on one of the kitchen’s stainless steel counters. His hands grab my thighs, tugging them apart to make room for him to stand between them. A harsh groan rises from the depths of his chest as our bodies align.

I hook one leg around his waist and tug him closer still. Pulling my lips away, I lean my head back as I slowly trace his muscles through his shirt. He watches me with his puffy lips parted, his breathing hard. His eyes are wild and I’m loving every second of it.

The room suddenly feels too hot. My hands dart up to shakily begin undoing the buttons of my shirt. Seokjin’s eyes follow my movements with fascination. “Let me,” he purrs and proceeds to rip my shirt from my body. Buttons scatter on the floor with sorrowful little bounces.

“You bitch,” I yank his hair, “That was my good work shirt.”

“I’ll buy you ten more,” Seokjin’s voice is rough and full of desire as he takes in my lacy white bra. Suddenly, his mouth descends to suck at my nipple through the thin lace.

“Damn, you are so fucking sexy,” he pulls his mouth away, “Can I take this off?”

I nod like a bobblehead in 60mph winds, reaching around my back with one hand to undo the clasp and then throwing my bra clear across the kitchen. It lands on top of one of the fridges and I shrug. I’d retrieve it later.

Seokjin tugs off his own shirt, revealing planes of tanned skin. I don’t hesitate to run my hands up and down the definition of his abs and watch in fascination as his muscles constrict under my touch. I run my hands lower, tracing his defined v-line.

No wonder they call it the Adonis belt, I muse, pondering if he’d let me lick it.

Huffing in impatience at my slow exploration, Seokjin returns his mouth to my nipple and sucks hard. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head. He bites down gently and then blows on my nipple slowly. I moan at the sensation. I watch him through unfocused eyes as his hand slides down the front of my body. He reaches the button of my pants and pauses.

Seokjin pulls his mouth away from my nipple, his lips swollen and pink. “You have to say yes, baby.” His breath hits my ear, making me shiver.

I hold out my hand for a high-five and declare, “We stan a man who asks for clear consent.” Chuckling, Seokjin slaps my offered hand and then links his fingers with mine.

“Also,” I continue, looking into his eyes, “It’s a fuck yes.” I pull our linked fingers close to place a kiss on his knuckles.

“Cute,” he grins, “Now, can I take off your pants?”

“Take off yours first,” I order.

“So eager,” he laughs, making quick work of his black jeans. My mouth instantly waters at the sight of his hard cock straining to be released from the confines of his bright red Versace boxer briefs.

“Why am I not surprised that even your underwear is extra?” I mumble, flicking the button of my pants open.

Laughing, Seokjin takes over, tugging my pants down my legs. He then pushes my matching white lace panties aside and cups my pussy, applying pressure. I roll my hips into his hand.

His fingers trace lightly up and down my pussy, before one dips inside me. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.

“Always,” I breathe out. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away from me. I pout. Seokjin laughs at my expression and then licks his finger.

“Jesus fuck, (y/n), you taste so sweet. Let me eat you out,” he pleads.

I smirk, saying, “I thought you’d never ask,” and then gasp as he kneels before me, grabbing my hips. Seokjin moves to tear my underwear off, and I’m quick to place my foot on his forehead to stop his approach. “I swear to god, Seokjin, if you rip these, I will get Namjoon to permanently ban Seokjin Specials.”

“You’re evil,” he grins, “I love it.” He makes a show of slowly taking my panties off before throwing them carelessly behind him. He then yanks the same leg I had used to thwart his panty-tearing plans and throws it over his shoulder before returning his fingers to my pussy. Seokjin’s thumb circles my clit while two of his fingers thrust into me at a maddening rate.

My fingers grip his hair when I finally feel his tongue licking up the juices that have started to run down my thighs.

After sucking what will probably become a massive hickey onto my left inner thigh, his tongue licks a path straight up my folds until it circles around my clit maddeningly. “Goddamnit, Seokjin, stop teasing,” my voice cracks in desperation, but my plea works. His tongue flicks at my clit lightly before his lips close over it and suck.

“Fuck,” I moan, “I think I like you eating me out more than I like eating your cooking.”

He pulls back to briefly land a light swat on my pussy and I choke on air as painful pleasure shoots through me. “Take that back,” he growls, “My cooking is second only to my handsome face.”

“God, I fucking hate you,” I drawl. The emphasis in my words portrays the exact opposite.

Seokjin sends me a shit-eating grin before his tongue returns to lick at my swollen clit, up and down, and then in a slow circle. His fingers brush open my folds just enough for him to sink his tongue into me. “O-oh,” I throw my head back, one hand moving up to pinch one of my nipples while the other latches back into Seokjin’s hair.

“I’m s-so close, baby,” my words slur as I shamelessly beg, “Don’t stop.”

He immediately pulls away.

“Oh, fuck you,” I seethe. I yank his head back by his hair until his neck is stretched in a long line. His hair is a mess, and I’ve never seen anything hotter.

“I just want to feel you come when I’m inside you, baby,” he smiles, my wetness glistening on his lips.

“Fine,” I shimmy off of the counter onto shaky legs, “Two can play at that game.”

“What?” Seokjin’s brows furrow in confusion.

It’s my turn to drop to my knees. “Oh, shit,” he curses as I tug his boxers down to reveal his hard cock. It’s silky and gorgeous, and I can’t stop staring at it. Seokjin, of course, notices. “You like my cock, babygirl? Take it. It’s yours.”

It already was, I think, as my gaze darts up to meet his.

Without breaking eye contact, I lick his reddened tip, almost moaning at his taste. “Fuck, babygirl,” Seokjin throws his head back. I smile wickedly. I could definitely get addicted to ruining this beautiful boy. “Look at me,” I command, feeling so powerful when he immediately listens.

Slowly, I suck down on his length, hollowing out my cheeks. My eyes stay on his as he groans, and I can tell he’s straining to keep from thrusting into my mouth.

“Please, baby, fuck—!” He moans as I swallow around him and then release him from my mouth with a pop. My hand darts up to grip him tightly, pumping him. Moving slowly, I suck one of his balls into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it gently. Seokjin chokes, “Fuck me.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” I tug my mouth away and grin up at him.

I suck him as far down as I can. His control snaps and he begins to thrust wildly into my mouth, panting.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” his eyes scrunch up as he chants, “I’m gonna come.”

I release him ruthlessly.

“Goddamnit,” he cries, “I knew that was coming, but it still hurts.”

“Well,” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, “If only you had a pretty little pussy ready for you to fuck… Oh, wait.”

Seokjin chuckles, “I see I wasn’t able to fuck some of the sass out of that mouth. We might have to try that again later.”

“Gladly,” I grin back at him, “You have a condom?”

Seokjin picks up his discarded jeans from the floor and digs around in the back pockets. “Aha!” He yells, hoisting up the glimmering gold foil in triumph.

I roll my eyes before snatching the condom from the idiot. Tearing the foil packaging open with my teeth, I grab Seokjin’s length and pump him a few times in preparation.

“Stop being a tease,” he mumbles, thrusting shallowly into my hand.

“Stop being so hot,” I challenge, leaning down to lick his pre-cum dripping from the reddened tip of his cock.

“Impossible,” Seokjin smirks before tugging me back up to face him.

He drops his lips to mine and sucks on my bottom lip. Pulling away slightly, he tugs at it in a stinging bite. Withdrawing his mouth from mine, he spins me around and bends me over the counter.

I feel the head of his cock running teasingly over the folds of my pussy and I gasp, “Please, baby, I need you inside me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He thrusts into me in one sharp movement. We both gasp as he fills me, gliding in and out.

“Harder,” I moan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I’m trying to last over here.”

“Why? We have all night,” I pout before an idea pops into my head, and I taunt, “Wait, are you telling me you’re a one and done type of old man?”

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” Seokjin mutters darkly.

His hard cock fills and stretches me, pleasure emanating within me from every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Your pussy is mine,” he growls, “I’ll fuck you from against the wall after this. I’ll fuck you until you can’t sass me anymore. And I’ll fuck you all night, baby, and every night after that.”

I clench around him as his dirty words wash over me. “Those are all great ideas in theory,” I gasp out, “But I really want to ride you first.”

“Oh, babygirl wants to fuck herself on my cock?” Seokjin slaps my ass before pulling out, “Well, come on.”

I stand upright and turn to see him walking towards the large island in the middle of the room. He hops onto it and lays down, placing one arm behind his head, and the other one slowly strokes his cock.

“You better get that hand off your cock before I decide to never let you into my pussy again,” I say darkly as I move towards him.

His hand flies off his dick at the speed of light, his eyes wide as they focus on me.

When I get close enough, I climb up onto the island and kneel with one leg on each side of his tapered waist. I slowly sink down so that just his tip is inside me and squeeze.

A garbled moan escapes Seokjin, his hands shooting out to grab my waist in an attempt to push me down further.

“Someone’s eager,” I whisper, bending down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been fucking eager since you were hired.” He smacks my ass and then groans as I reflexively sink down another inch.

“Yeah?” I question, sinking down another inch as his eyes squeeze shut, “You should have said something sooner, baby. I could have been riding you hard for months.”

Seokjin pouts, “Well, there’s no time like the present?”

“God, you’re such a dweeb,” I grin before taking him to the hilt. We both let out strangled breaths as I shift slightly, before placing a hand on his neck.

Keeping my hand there, I lift up and begin riding him hard. My body slides up and down onto his cock at a fast pace. Sweat drips down my back. Seokjin grabs my ass, his fingers gripping my skin, and pounds up into my pussy with brutal and possessive force.

“O-oh, fuck.” There’s something about riding Seokjin that just feels so good. My hips swivel and roll against his. The pleasure steadily builds, and I try to distract myself by biting down on Seokjin’s neck.

“I’m gonna come,” he moans, “Are you close?”

I pull away from his neck and sit up, arching my back to give him a deeper angle. He thrusts up into my g-spot and I gasp, “Shit, yes, I’m close. Come with me, baby.”

I clench my walls around him. Seokjin’s eyes are scrunched shut as he continues to pound into me with harsh strokes.

He shifts one hand from my ass to gently circle my aching clit, and I light up. My walls clench and pulse, locking down on Seokjin so tight that he comes, his hot seed filling the condom as he shudders.

I collapse against him and shove my face into his sweaty neck.

I can feel his laugh bubbling up from his chest before I hear it. “What’s so funny?” I ask, lips brushing his skin.

“Namjoon’s going to kill us for the number of health code violations we just committed,” his laughter causes his cock to shift within me, and I bite back a moan.

“Well,” I lift my face up from his neck to look at him, “We have nothing to lose at this point then, huh?”

I slowly lick my lips, and his eyes drop to them. The only noise left in the restaurant is our heavy breathing. “Round two in Namjoon’s office?” he suggests.

“Bet.”

a/n: this was so fun to write :) hope you all enjoyed it! happy valentine’s day!

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

#fwlproject #luvlibrary #bangtanhq #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #ksj #ksj x reader #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts #bts smut

[atlasfreak]

hell is hot from your mistakes

chapter one; Tumblr Edition

The afterlife is a mess of time and space. Dream got the brunt end of that mess, of time, and bad luck follows Tommy even in death. Dream is mere seconds too late reviving him.

Tommy wakes up in a familiar, unfamiliar world in a familiar, unfamiliar body that looks so much like an old friend of his, and yet he remembers everything when really, he shouldn't. His brother's voice guides him, the Nether is blistering heat and dust and his hands are hoofed.

ArchiveOfOurOwn link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073104 or THIS.

Dream has the book and he's at work.

He's surrounded by blood, and corpses. Bodies. His hands are stained red and so is the face of the boy beside him and the fur of the cat in front of him. He's drawn a circle out of the red and the cat lays, set to look sleeping, in the center.

He's missing his mask - it's broken, shattered. The sharp porcelain edges are red, too, cut on the soft skin of his dead cat to draw his ring of blood. Cut on his fingers, too, as he had aligned the shards to smile up at him.

Dream stands and opens the book. It's akin to an inventory; incorporeal pages that the warden can't take away. He reads quietly and he checks his preparations and he double checks it and he triple checks it and then he glances over the translucent pages and-

And yet, the cat's corpse is still.

He waits longer. Waits for the cat to blink open its eyes, jump back to its feet. Waits for it to meow and rub against his legs.

But it stays limp and cold and lifeless.

The same as it has been for the past six tries.

Dream slams his fists on the ground, snarls. "Work! Fucking work! WORK! Bring it back!"

He's furious.

He did everything the book said, everything the book asked. He followed every step down to the letter, every drop of ink. And it didn't fucking work.

He didn't kill his protagonist for nothing. He needs to get out. He needs to get out. He needs it to work. He'll do it, he'll figure it out, he'll get it to go. He'll get the cat to come back and he'll get Tommy to come back and he'll get out, even if he has to tear through the obsidian with his bare hands.

He feels wet on his cheeks, he hears it drip onto cold fur. He's furious. He's furious.

"WORK!" he screams, and it listens.

There's no poof of smoke or swirl of magic. No glowing bodies, no floating corpses, no showy tricks.

But there is soft, shaking paws. They bat at his face, at his tears. Tender, haunted eyes bore into his.

"Oh," he murmurs, wiping at his eyes. He stares at the saltwater on his fingers as it turns mixes with red and turns polite pink, then looks up at the living, breathing cat with its front legs on his and head tilted worriedly. "Oh."

The cat meows gently, butting his hand. It has been through so much for just a little cat, so much. It bumps against his fingers again.

Longing for his kindness, his warm attention. The quiet compliments and pets from before the light faded from its eyes.

The sweet Dream who gave it his food, who showered it in affection.

He swipes an arm through the air, flinging it across the room. It screams death's scream as its tiny body is thrown to the starving lava and Dream watches it squeal and screech and burn away.

That Dream is dead. He died a very, very long time ago. The cat is living in the past.

Well... lived.

But he did it. He brought it back, he cracked the code. After so many attempts, he did it. Tears. Regret, remorse, grief - whatever. Pain.

Dream turns his eyes to the mangled body of TommyInnit.

Broken and beaten and bruised and bloody, he's not touched it. Not even to brush blonde hair out of gray eyes (they were blue once. They aren't anymore). Too afraid he'd mess something up, that he wouldn't be able to fulfill his promise.

He feels a smile stretch across his face. He grins, and he grins like a madman.

"Tommmmmy," he crows. "Ready for another round?"

The corpse is silent. Of course it is. It's dead! But Dream can fix that, yes.

"Oh, I sound like Wilbur," Dream whispers. "Wilbur! Oh, I'll get him, next!" He claps his hands, his eyes light up like a storm - a dangerous one. A very dangerous one. "And Schlatt, too, bring them all back, why don't we? Bring them all back!"

He doesn't need to draw still blood, no need to cut Tommy's pale skin on the glazed shards of his mask; the crimson already stains his hands. He draws a new circle - a big one.

Dream slams his fist into the wall. He hears a sick crunch and gasps, fire shooting up his arm. He laughs, he laughs. Tears pools from his eyes and he lets them fall onto limp blonde hair and he feels victory surge through his veins and fucking hell, his hand hurts like the devil, but he knows Tommy's eyes will flutter open and he knows Tommy will scream loud enough to be heard all the way from here to the Arctic.

Nevermind that- he did it. He's done it. He can bring people back.

He's a god.

He's a god, he's a god. He can bring people back to life! Nobody else can do that. An admin is nothing compared to a god. He's- he's the most powerful person on the server.

He brought the cat back. He brought Tommy back!

He brought Tommy back, and yet Tommy doesn't open his eyes.

"Go on," Dream mutters, kicking at the boy. "Get up."

Tommy doesn't move, he doesn't respond, doesn't shout curses or scream or swear. Dream frowns.

He leans down, studies the body. He grabs a cold hand and he holds his fingers to the wrist, checking.

No pulse.

It didn't work.

Dream sits back. Why didn't it work? "Why didn't it work?" he echoes aloud. "Can I not- why didn't it go? Why didn't it work?"

He wishes he hadn't killed his only company. Dull green eyes stare at the lava, at the molten bubbles. At the swirling heat that had mercilessly swallowed up the cat - Pussboy, he reminds himself bitterly - and Dream sits down and he tries again.

And again.

And again.

And Tommy stays dead.

Is this the afterlife?

It can't be. Tommy was there - he saw it. The afterlife is blank. It's a void, it's all light. This place is dark.

It's empty, too. No warm brown eyes, no surprised yellow. Wilbur is not waiting with open arms and a gaping wound, and Schlatt is not staring at him with cold shock and pale skin.

This place is not death. Tommy's seen death.

What is it then? If it's not death, what is it?

He opens his eyes.

It's not dark, he notes first. It's red. Very red. His first thought is blood, but it's very much not blood. He turns around, trying to find a hint of color - any color, any color but red - and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

There's a piglin there - a baby piglin is glaring at him. It has downy fur and no tusks or sword or crossbow. It's a child, barely days old.

"Hello?" Tommy tries, but it comes out odd. He looks around and he looks down at himself and all at once, he realises a few small things about his appearance, and then he realises one big thing. The big thing.

He isn't human.

He has hooves on his hands and feet, his ears are on the top of his head. A tail lays behind him and his skin is covered in soft, orange-ish pink fluff. Just like the piglin next to him.

He doesn't scream. He wants to, but he doesn't. He simply shuts his eyes and covers his mouth.

Ok, Wilbur, I'll play fuckin'- I'll play cards with you, just get me out of here. Get me out of here.

He could almost swear he hears his brother laughing at him.

Tommy opens his eyes- he's still here, in hell, with a piglin.

It squeaks at him. Tommy shuts his eyes again, so it squeaks again.

When Tommy doesn't respond, it hits him.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Tommy screeches- every blow feels like he's reliving his own death. His voice comes out a garbled piglin mess - is his throat not equipped for English? "Stoppit!

He feels the ground vanish from under his feet and he feels a brief panic surge through him - what a way to go, huh? Well, what a run. A short run, but a run regardless. Time, Tommy thinks, to go back to the white place, the Zone, because a baby piglin beat him to death. That's a couple steps down from Dream beating him to death, probably, and a couple steps up from dying to a baby zombie, Phil.

(When Phil dies, will he come to the Zone, with us?)

But Tommy's not even there himself, he realises, because he still feels the warm of the Nether on his face.

When he opens his eyes, Wilbur is not there, waiting. The piglin child is. He still sees red and he still sees the piglin child. He still is a piglin child. He's alive. He's not going back to the white.

Suddenly, Tommy can breathe again.

He finally looks up. He's dangling by the scruff, and there's a big piglin holding him with hooves like his. An adult piglin with blank white eyes. He can't tell if they're full of affection or scorn, but he doesn't want to find out.

And that must be mother! Tommy hears a voice mock.

"Shut up, Wil," he grumbles. The baby piglin crosses its arms as Tommy is lifted out of reach.

The adult piglin growls at him, sniffs at his head. Like she's making sure he's not dead. It kicks at the violent little baby, a warning, then places Tommy down again.

Tommy would flip the other child off, but he only has three fingers.

Don't be so mean, Tommy! Wilbur chastises, his voice echoing through Tommy's mind like Chat did. That's your brother!

"It's not my brother," Tommy spits.

He, Wilbur corrects.

Tommy growls. The big piglin growls back.

Tommy shuts his mouth.

"Wil, the hell is going on?" he decides to ask instead. The other two tilt their heads in confusion as he mutters what must be gibberish to them - and it sounds like gibberish to himself, really. But Wilbur seems to understand.

I mean, hell if I know, Wilbur's voice seems to move around, standing by his left now. Tommy glances over, but there's nobody there. Just his - he gags - brother, the piglin. Looks like you got reincarnated.

"Reincarnated? That's when you throw food back up, innit?"

That's regurgitated, Tommy. It's when you die and then are born again.

The big piglin stands up and oinks at them. Tommy know, deep down in his little piglin brain, that she wants him and the other to follow. She leads them through the underbrush as Tommy continues muttering to his real brother, the one who has taken the place of his old chorus.

"I'm a piglin," Tommy huffs as he stumbles through the roots. He takes pride in knowing he's not the only idiot, as the other baby pig trips and falls, too - neither of them are used to walking. Especially not on hooves.

You are a piglin, Wilbur's voice confirms. Tommy sighs.

"Like Technoblade," he says. "I'm a piglin, like Technoblade."

Wilbur pauses to think. Yes, that sounds about right.

"Did Techno die too? Was he a human once?"

I'm not omnipotent, Tommy. I don't know Technoblade's life story.

"Oh."

I don't think he's the same as you, though. Technoblade is really tall, and he has a mane. You don't have a mane. Nor does your mother.

"Think he's one of those axe pigs? In the bastions?"

A brute? Yes. He's a brute, I think.

"Damn right 'e is," Tommy growls. "Nasty fuck. Prick."

No, no, Tommy. A bastion piglin is called a piglin brute. Technoblade is literally a brute.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Tommy stares at the ceiling, blankly. Part of him worries a stalactite will come barreling down to crush him. "Life as a piglin is boring. I would like to come back to the DreamSMP."

Wilbur laughs. Tommy snorts, too- what a joke. Wanting to go back. But it's true. He misses it. He missed it in exile and he missed it while imprisoned. He misses it now.

No, no, this is interesting, Wilbur says. I'm stuck here with you, anyway. Even if I wan't to, I can't take you back. I don't want to though, I'm having fun.

"It's boring, is what it is!" Tommy drawls. "You're only having fun cos you get to watch, Disembodied-Voicebur!"

Big Piglin guides them to a nook- a small Netherrack cave yawning out from under a sheer cliff. She sniffs at their heads again as they follow her into the cavern, making sure they didn't up and zombify on the journey. When she's sure they're still alive, she grunts at them. Sleep time. You're young, so you need to sleep.

She lays almost like an Overworld pig, Tommy notes.

You'll probably never see Overworld mobs ever again.

It's not Wilbur's voice, it's his own. A quiet thought, a thought he made, and it shakes Tommy to his core.

Wilbur sighs, his voice practically drips with apprehension. Don't- don't lose hope, Tommy. Technoblade, remember? He got to the Overworld. You... you can do it too.

Tommy's piglin brother lays down, too. More humanlike than their mother, but still not quite human enough to comfort Tommy.

But regardless, he copies.

Goodnight, Tommy.

"Goodnight, Wilbur. It's.. good to have you back. I think."

Wilbur doesn't respond.

Tommy shuts his eyes. Sleep doesn't come easy as it should for a baby piglin, but he's not surprised - he's not really a baby piglin. He's TommyInnit in the form of a baby piglin.

He's an imposter - at least, he definitely feels like one.

When his eyelids finally grow too heavy and the sironsong of sleep finally lures him off the side of the ship, he dreams. He dreams of dark cells and a smiling mask.

And in that dark cell, Dream glares at it - the mask. He avoids the empty eyes of the body in the corner. He knows they're still empty, despite his efforts. His best efforts. He's so drained. So tired.

He hears potatoes splash into the water in the corner, turns to watch them bob. Sam has remembered that he is in there.

Dream drags himself to the water, tilts his head to glare up into the darkness. "Why not fucking kill me?!" he screams up the tunnel. "Why not just kill me, Sam? I killed him."

Sam does not respond.

"You can't, can you? You want my help. My book."

Sam does not respond.

Dream snarls and throws the spuds at the lava, they burn like his cat did. He hears a sigh echo from above him, but no more food falls.

"Don't starve yourself," Sam growls. "I'll bring more tomorrow."

Dream does not respond.

He turns to Tommy's body and despite it all, he keeps trying. He keeps trying. Tommy does not respond.

#tommyinnit #tommy innit #dsmp tommy #dsmp tommy innit #dsmp tommyinnit #dreamsmp #dream smp #dsmp #smp #dsmp fanfiction #fanfiction #dreamSMP fanfiction #wilbur soot #wilbur mcyt #wilbur #wilbursoot #mcyt wilbur #mcyt tommy #mcyt tommyinnit #tommyinnit mcyt #tommy mcyt #dreamsmp mcyt #mcyt dreamsmp #dream mcyt #dreamwastaken #mcyt dream #abusive dream #dsmp dream #dreamsmp dream #atlas; hell is hot from your mistakes

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb: Ch 5 - With Firm Faith

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary: It was three steps. Three steps and a world away.

A hundred questions rose in your throat. Did he speak to them? What did he say? Could they see him? Would you be comforted if that version of The Ren was the last thing you saw? What did the team moving behind and around him actually do? What happened to these people after they died?

A/N: Y’all aren’t new. This is adult content. Potentially triggering. Tread carefully.

Word Count: 2.7k

"Hail Leia, full of grace and blessed among women," you grimaced through the prayer, twisting in the sheets, all composure lost.

After the row at the Demarcation, and the nights after, he took you to his bed.

He no longer chased you down in the hallways for his kisses. He saved them. Every day, he scooped you up from wherever you were in the keep, herded you into his bed, and plied you with hungry kisses until you squirmed with senseless desire.

He didn’t immediately leave, either. After that bourbon butterscotch flavor rolled over your tongue, he would capture your gaze, mesmerizing you with the way his irises never quite picked a single hue. Like this, every time, he spun you into spellbound sleep.

Sometimes, he stayed with you. You would wake up groggy and entangled in his sculpted limbs. He told you it was because your nightmares drove you to somnolent sobbing, the sounds of which echoed annoyingly.

You remembered them all. Dreams of your family, their deaths, your journey here, and its purpose.

Any moment you had his attention, you tried to ask about the bargain you’d struck, but he would brush the words away from your lips, rubbing at them absently. In exchange, he would answer another question.

Sort of.

You learned that there truly had been countless others to sacrifice themselves for his favors, and you were right about the altar being stained with blood over time, but he wouldn’t tell you how many he’d actually granted. He confirmed that he tracked the passage of time, but his answer confused you. Nothing here was linear, he said. He simply liked the sound of the clock moving ever forward.

Last night, you asked how many he’d brought back here, kept as a pet, but his eyes darkened with irritation. Then, because foolish was your genetic code, you asked what made you not ready to make good on your end of the deal. On the heels of your stupid curiosity, you’d slept alone.

Besides waking up disoriented next to a deity, he kept you in a constant state of arousal. With kisses that would melt marble, nips to your earlobe that raised goosebumps, and the barest brush of knuckles against your flushing skin. He was relentless, ensuring that it was, in fact, only a matter of time before you begged him to fuck you.

It was this sweaty, weighty, vulgar need that sent your hands roaming, mapping the curves and valleys of your body. You pressed your face into his pillow to inhale the sickly sweet aroma that lingered. You groaned and twisted, feeling light-headed and too full of raw energy for your limbs.

Try as you might to endure his delicious torture chastely, you could only handle so much before the screaming in your cunt demanded you take action.

Digging your fingernails in roughly, you scratched angry red tracks into your inner thighs and the outer, meaty labia in an attempt to subvert the craving, but it only loosed a shudder that lifted your shoulders off the bed. 

It would be fine, you coached yourself. He was never here. Just a bit, just a touch would be fine.

Letting your knees fall apart wide, you surged into a painful arch as your fingers connected with your long neglected clit. You skipped everything else; there was no need for foreplay or build up. You hit that wet hot target and worked it desperately, hurriedly.

“Is this what you do when I’m not here?”

You shrieked as his voice broke through the commotion in your brain.  You rolled away to hide what you were doing, burning with shame and bristling with unsatisfied lust, but he caught your ankle and pulled you down the bed. Your shirt, his that you’d been wearing since he caught you in it, hitched up around your ribs, baring the evidence of your hunger.

He crawled onto the bed’s corner, inching nearer, and you couldn’t make yourself breathe.

He skimmed your inner thighs, tickling through the stickiness, and tutted at what he found there. Easing down to lie beside you, he turned your face to his and pressed his now tart fingers to your mouth.

“Harlot.”

It was a low rumble, nearly a purr; and in response, your pussy clenched hard around nothing. Dipping his head down slightly, he caught your gaze and held it, the entrancing array of changing color and depth beckoning you in.

You couldn’t have looked away for anything in the Galaxy. It was murky and hypnotic. And when he slipped his fingertips past your lips, you were gone.

“Look at you,” he said, peering into your very soul. “I quite like you like this. Mindless, panting, begging to be filled.”

Slipping wide fingers beneath your jagged collar, he held you to the bed, a physical counterpart to his mental bondage. His free hand wandered, squeezing your breasts, barely grazing through your dewy sex. Emptying you of everything but this all-encompassing yearning.

“Concentrate, little lamb.” He nipped at your lower lip to draw your fluttering eyelids back open and your eyes to focus upon him. “What shall I say to bring you back here? Hm?”

Your insides pooled to lava, painting your thighs and perfuming the air. Your lips wobbled, the feeling building and threatening to tip you over. You were little more than insatiable, feral need made human; and from somewhere, your gray matter produced only supplication.

“...please.”

Please put your hands, your mouth, your dick in me, on me, somewhere, anywhere. Please let me cum for you. Please please please please.

His lips tugged up into a smirk. His eyes flashed with a devilish spark. He leaned down to line his mouth up with the lobe of your ear, his cool breath eliciting a delectable shiver. He was ice to your fire, and you wanted nothing more than to die of hypothermia.

“All right, girl.” His fingers lazily pet your pussy, just a hint of pressure. “I’ll say it.  I’ll say please; and when I do, you’ll feel exactly this way — swollen with want, throbbing and feverish, your cunt aching to be stretched and used.”

Absent his narcotic stare, your eyes slammed tight shut on an obscene moan. Sluggishly, your mind worked its way around to functioning, and you clutched at his sleeves with all your might. The thinking part of your brain knew this was manipulation, that he was conditioning you to behave the way he wanted.

The rest of you couldn't care less.

Nearly there, you dug your toes into the soft covers and tipped your hips in just that right way. If he stayed right there for another moment… If you could just hang onto the way you were feeling right now…

As though he could hear the pitiful pleas inside your mind, he pushed his thumb into your mouth to smear that candied drug across your tongue, and your brain exploded. Your body bowed painfully as electricity sizzled up your spine and into your cranium. It was so tight and so sudden of an orgasm you left your body on a sharp cry.

You felt unstable, combustible, and you could do nothing but writhe and shout as the satisfied seizure rolled through you. He spoke through it all, his voice raspy and barely controlled, but whatever he said was lost, each word a victim of the inferno.

At the other side, where you were wrung dry and buzzing from head to toe, guilty tears stung your eyes.

You shouldn’t feel this good. You shouldn’t feel good at all until your purpose here was fulfilled. The purpose he kept you from. And the reward he withheld. Sniffling, you pushed at his shoulder and tried to wiggle from beneath his hands.

Whatever sort of intimate moment this was passed quickly, and the man who’d coaxed you to the sort of orgasm you’d never had before shifted into stoic silence. His features hardened, and his eyes grew cold. Grasping your upper arm, he slid from the bed with you in tow. 

You didn't understand what you’d done; but finally, you knew better than to speak.

You jogged next to him, trying in vain to not dawdle, but his legs were so ridiculously long that you struggled to keep up. The dismal, narrow hallway opened up into an immense room so breathtaking you stalled. The walls stretched up forever and disappeared into a sparkling night sky. Sconces twinkled about the room, firelight dancing inside demure, perfectly spherical glass bulbs. You stared at the oddity of it so long you crashed directly into your captor, who had stopped to open a chest at the foot of what you decided was the largest throne you’d ever see.

Too intrigued to let it go, you tugged yourself free so you could investigate the lights. You stood on your toes, trying to get a better look. On a gasp, it registered for you just as he spoke your name.

Stars. The sconces held stars.

You marveled at how, daily, you found something to remind you that you were in The Ren’s clutches. He didn’t just create flowers; he made luscious killers. It wasn’t just a bath; it was magic water. They weren’t just lights; it was trapped starlight.

That cosmic snap cracked to draw your attention, punctuating the vast difference between you as a human and him as decidedly not.  

Once you were within his grasp, he stole your shirt in seconds and tossed it over his shoulder as a cadre of men walked into the room. You covered your breasts and squeezed your thighs together, shooting him an angry stare, but he only slapped your hands away and wrapped something long, flowing, and midnight blue around you.

“As much as I enjoyed you in my shirt, lamb, it’s time for something different.”

It resembled a cloak, but with sleeves and a hood, and the flowing bottom portion barely covered you. All he had to do was move one fold aside, and you would be on lewd display. He buttoned the thing around you, tucking the sides in about your breasts, lingering to skim a knuckle over one until it tightened for him.

You didn’t know if you should say thank you. Everything he did was for himself, for his pleasure; so, you didn’t think this was a gift just for you. Pressing your lips into a thin line, you watched him for any hint as to what you should do next.

In the very center of the room was a massive, free-standing obsidian wall, toward which you were hastily led. Bewildered, you frowned at the dull shine of the thing, at the subtle ripple radiating out from the center, at the way you could almost hear voices the closer you got.

What came next, though, set you to anxiously fidgeting.

The Ren stood to one side, and the unit of men who’d appeared from nowhere took up flank. You faced that wall, trapped by the wraiths hulking between you and what you now considered safety. Stealing your focus, the god to your left tipped your face up and searched it for what felt like an agonizingly long time. Etched into his beautiful features was uncertainty, doubt, but what was he looking for? What was he deciding?

“Close your eyes.”

His tone was gentler than you expected, and his fingers didn’t gouge into your skin the way they had when he was angry. With his heavy arm about your shoulder, he tucked you in tight against his body.

It was three steps. Three steps and a world away.

When his hold loosened, you lifted your head and peered out from beneath his shroud.  You stood onto your toes and looked over his shoulder, piecing it all together. What you thought was a wall was more like a window, a portal to anywhere, it seemed. On that side was the keep you knew, the familiar corridors and rooms you’d started to figure out.

On this side was a whistling, wicked wind, prophetic gray clouds, and a raging battle. The Ren, too, had transformed. He towered above you, a looming destiny. The cozy shroud you just enjoyed came alive, whipping and billowing around its Master. Worse, a terrible black helmet and mask hid his face. The visor was an onyx void, not reflecting even the smallest shard of light.

This was The Ren you expected that first day.

Subconsciously, you took a step away, but a hard glove latched onto your biceps, and the hammer of your heartbeat intensified.

“Stay here.” The voice that came from inside the helmet was crisp, almost hollow, and you shied away from it. “You touch nothing. You speak to no one. You stay here.”

Dumbstruck, you nodded, ready to prove that you could be more than an idiot girl. They left you at the top of a knoll in the very center of a haunted, stormy sky. Mere steps away, The Ren’s red death saber blazed into existence.

The weight of what you saw dropped you to the ground. The stories were true. He was a ghastly specter, and he reaped in a carmine haze.

The vastness of the universe shrank to this hill, this battlefield.  It was all you could process. Gunshots rang out. Blaster fire shot sparks high into the air. Muffled shouts and curses mingled with wailing, with horror and hurt. The boom of a bomb in the distance infused your very marrow with terror, even if you weren’t sure you could die here.

Swallowing down your fear, you tracked the only thing you knew.

Through the fray, The Ren’s path was measured, purposeful. He whirled from fighter to fighter, spinning agilely to miss those who weren't ready for him, but it wasn’t clear if he ever spoke. Each time he paused, still as stone, interminable seconds would pass; and then, they would fall, lifeless.

A hundred questions rose in your throat. Did he speak to them? What did he say? Could they see him? Would you be comforted if that version of The Ren was the last thing you saw? What did the team moving behind and around him actually do? What happened to these people after they died?

A warbled sound interrupted your fascination, and you hunted for its origin. Your breath caught at the sight of a young man at the bottom of your hill. Attempting to crawl away from the battle, he hiccuped and sobbed on each painful inch gained.

In a flash, you succumbed to stupid and threw yourself down the hill. Scrambling near to him, you cursed this day, these people because he was just a boy, barely old enough to hold a weapon. There was no way to know if he had been sold to war or was trying to defend his home; but either way, he was too young to be here.

Conscious of at least some of your instructions, you didn’t touch him, but doing nothing to relieve this boy’s suffering was out of the question. His distressed howls cracked apart your heart.

You knew that pain.

Lips trembling, you lay down beside him and pressed your face to the grass near his wounded head. You had no idea if he could see or hear you, but you had to try; and at the first sound of your voice, his panic lessened. He bit down on his lip to keep from crying, listening intently, and you strove to make your voice as kind and warm as your Nona’s always was.

We believe in the Balance, Grandfather Sky Walker, and the makers of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible.

We believe in our Fathers, the rightful heirs of the Galaxy, born before all others and all ages.

We believe they made the Balance for our salvation. For our sake, the Fathers hold creation and death in their hands, and we believe them to be just, steadfast, and eternal.

We believe in one true way and the promise of peace in the Balance. We strive to live it, day by day, that we will be fairly judged at the hour of our death.

With firm faith, we make this proclamation and pray it reaches the ears of our Fathers, for theirs is the way, the life, and the Balance.

At the end of your litany, your young warrior was calm. His fingers loosely held his chest, splayed over his heart. He had joined you in prayer; and though you weren’t certain he could see you, he was looking directly at you with such gratitude, such grace and love.

It was a long moment before you realized the boy’s wasn’t the only gaze on you.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #lamb

[loverontheleft]

Aftercare

AU with single PFTW/quarantine Brendon. Fluff and implied smut. 

Brendon x reader. Warnings: So...we’ve (@beautiful-tragic-fallout) created a points system for smut. 

0.25 for handjob

0.25 for fingering

0.5 for blowing him

0.5 for going down on her

0.75-1.0 for sex, vanilla

1.5-2.0 for sex, advanced positions

3.0 for bondage, spanking, other kinks, or public sex. 

This has a score of technically 0...they talk about rough sex in general, spanking, and fingering/oral though...along with a Daddy/Kitten kink and my usual warning for language. 

Word count: 3.8k

-||-

“Mmmmm,” Brendon sighs, collapsing on the mattress next to you. You giggle and scoot closer, loving the spread of pink flush across his skin. “I need a shower.” He pauses, running his fingers along your own flushed and glistening skin. He grins up at you. “We need a shower.” 

“Noooo,” you protest, shaking your head vehemently. “No. Not yet.” Brendon props himself up on one arm and raises an eyebrow. “No,” you insist with a playful pout. 

“You seem pretty firm on that,” he comments, rolling onto his back so you can cuddle into his side. You nod and tip your head up for a kiss. Brendon delivers and smiles down at you tenderly. “Hi Kitten,” he whispers, and his eyes, when he says this, reveal just how precious you are to him. 

“Hi Daddy,” you chirp, puckering your lips for another kiss. “More pweaf.” The words come out slightly garbled from your refusal to abandon your kissy lips. He laughs and cups your face in his hand and kisses you gently. Yes, you think to yourself. His kisses are everything. If you could only ever kiss him - he could probably find a way to get you off with just a kiss. You press closer into the embrace and run your hands up through his long hair. You love his hair like this. Long and unstyled and perfect for tugging.

When he groans into your mouth, you know he’s sold on postponing the shower. He just doesn’t know why yet. The kiss is sweet and gentle; both of you are pouring all your affection into it. “Now tell me, Kitten,” Brendon mumbles against your lips, “why you’re so against showering.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and cling to him, hands still working through his hair. “Because,” you reply, pausing to rest your forehead against his, “we need to do aftercare.” 

Brendon’s brow furrows in confusion for a split second as he processes this, and then his eyes go wide. “Love, I didn’t mean to hurt you - was I too rough? Tell me what hurt and I’ll - never again - I’m so sorry, Kitten- I didn’t think-“ 

“Not for meeee,” you cut him off, waving a hand in the air as if to get rid of his worry. “For you.” 

Brendon pauses again, obviously trying to think through this one. “You’ll forgive me,” he says finally, “I hope, because, thanks to someone’s,” and he kisses your nose lightly, “tight cunt, I’m thoroughly fucked, and I can’t quite keep up with you mentally. But - for me? Kitten, you weren’t exactly...rough with me. So I don’t need-“

“See,” you cut him off again, kissing him gently. “Aftercare isn’t just for rough play. It’s for all play.” Your knowledgeable tone is his clue; Brendon relaxes, drops his concern, and rolls over so that you’re both on your sides and face to face. This is your “Deep Life Talks With Kitten” position, and it’s one of Brendon’s favorite non-sexual positions. You both scoot in so you're nose-to-nose, and you tangle your legs together while his hands move over your back. 

“Someone’s been doing some reading,” he comments, rubbing his nose against yours affectionately. “Teach me something, my brilliant girl. You know I love your seminars.” You beam at him and give him a quick peck on the lips. 

“Gladly. So...aftercare is predominantly associated with the BDSM scene and within that community, Dom/sub play, right? But it doesn’t have to be, and honestly, it shouldn’t be. Aftercare essentially  is taking time with each other to come down and check in and build intimacy.” 

“Build intimacy?” Brendon sounds confused, and your eyes go wide as you realize that he thinks you think your intimacy is lacking. 

“Noooo, Daddy, we’re fine. Our intimacy levels are -“ you pause to kiss him and scritch at his hair, and he relaxes against you. “Top tier. Our intimacy is everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m just talking in general. But I was thinking while I was reading - we’re so good about doing aftercare whenever you’re rougher with me- which is when I need the care. But what about when you’re sweet and tender and giving to me? What about when I want to give it to you?” You let the question hang in the air. Brendon grins a little and starts to tell you that he’s fine when you groan and cut him off with another long kiss. 

“Kitten, that is the third time you have interrupted me. If you keep doing it, I’m gonna have to put you over my thigh and spank you,” he mumbles as you deepen the kiss. 

“I’ll take that risk,” you murmur back, giggling when he nips at your mouth lovingly and calls you his naughty Kitten. “Aaaaanyway,” you continue with a smile, pulling back and tugging at his hair affectionately. “We always do aftercare for me when you’ve been rough with me, which means that I’ve been sweet and good and giving for you. So why shouldn’t we do the same when you’re sweet to me? Aftercare isn’t just about taking care after being rough,” you tell him, snuggling in closer. “It’s also about checking in and processing and showing appreciation when someone’s giving. And you,” you shift onto your back now and spread your legs a bit, “were very sweet and giving just now. And I want to show you how appreciative I am.”  

“I see your logic,” Brendon tells you, nodding with a faint smile. “I’m game. You’re in charge. Aftercare the shit out of me, Kitten,” he says as he rolls onto his back and luxuriates in the feel of the cool, soft sheets under him. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you say promptly, climbing on top of him and kissing him softly. “We’re gonna start with some touching to establish a connection between the physical and emotional.” Your hands trail down his body and meet his eyes.

“You’re still wearing your metaphorical glasses, Kitten. Still in seminar mode. It’s hot. Keep talking.” Brendon grins up at you while you laugh and lean down to kiss him. You’re moving your hands over his stomach and chest in slow, soothing circles and pressing lightly against his abs. “That feels - good,” Brendon sighs. 

 “It should. You tense up from all the thrusting. Hopefully you won’t be as sore tomorrow after this.” Your voice is low and soothing, and Brendon closes his eyes; he’s on the verge of bliss. You keep talking. “Thank you for being so generous and giving of your time and effort and body.” He cracks a smile, and you giggle, reaching farther down to caress his post-orgasm softening cock. “You’re a wonderful lover, and I’m so grateful for the moments we share. I love you so much, and our sex is...well, it’s more than just physical.” 

Something in his eyes changes and softens even more than when he usually listens to you. You know he’s enjoying this - not in a sexual way. Just in a human-to-human, lover-to-lover way. You keep going. “When we have sex, you aren’t just - it’s not just a physical release. We’re together in that moment in every way, and I feel so close to you in every way. You are so attentive and indulgent of me. I know you prioritize my pleasure, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. You make me feel like I’m the only person in the world who matters to you at that moment. You give yourself to me wholly, and I recognize how lucky I am. I love you very much.” You bend down to kiss him again, and he wraps you in his arms and holds you tightly. 

“I’m the lucky one. I love you, Y/n,” he whispers, stroking your hair. You murmur it back to him again. You’ll never get tired of telling him. 

“I always feel so relaxed and satisfied and safe with you. You don’t just prioritize my pleasure- you prioritize my well-being. Even when push me to new levels, I know I can trust you to take care of me. I love you. I love being close to you like this. No sex required. You make simple cuddling deeply intimate and special.” You snuggle down and rest your head on his chest. “You’re my favorite, Brendon. I’m entirely yours.”

“You’re my favorite, Y/n, and I’m completely yours,” he whispers back, kissing the top of your head. “I won’t even spank you later for calling me Brendon when you know I’m still Daddy,” he teases as he squeezes you affectionately. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he adds, laughing when you feign innocence. “Now come here, my naughty little Kitten.” He draws your mouth to his for a gentle kiss. “Love kissing you. Love you,” You preen under his embrace and continue to trace your fingers over his cock. “That feels nice,” Brendon whispers into your hair. 

“I’m glad,” you whisper back, kissing his chest and rubbing the tip of his dick gently with your thumb. “I want you to feel good.” Brendon sighs, and you can feel his body sink deeper into the mattress. “That’s it,” you soothe. “Just relax for me. You gave me so much and worked so hard. Just relax and feel. Not trying to get you hard again. Just trying to touch and appreciate.” When you can feel his breathing slow, you trail your hand back up over his tense stomach. 

“You’re good at this,” Brendon tells you in a low, raspy voice. “I’m feeling very...appreciated.” You smile, and he grins back at you. “I just love seeing you happy,” he whispers. You kiss him gently before sliding out of his lap and rolling over so he can be the big spoon. “I also love holding you like this,” Brendon mumbles, letting his fingers wander over your bare skin. 

“That’s good,” you reply, eyes closed. “Because I love being held like this.” You’re both resting comfortably in the silence; his lips are pressed to your neck, and your fingers are entwined with his on your stomach. “I love that we can just...be,” you say after a moment. 

Brendon nips at your shoulder twice, and you know that’s his Cuddle Code for “say more right now, you naughty and-slash-or sexy thing,” and you giggle. 

“I mean - sex as a concept is great. Our sex specifically is incredible. But sex only gets a couple so far. I know too many couples that are basically roommates who just happen to fuck. They’re not really partners. They can’t sit in silence and enjoy each other’s presence. You and me...we understand and appreciate each other. We take care of each other. We work together in and out of the bedroom.” You falter. You’re pretty confident he understands, but he did say earlier that his brain was thoroughly fucked. Then it hits you - the way to make it make sense. “Okay- so. We can just lay here like this and not have sex or even say anything but still communicate and be on the same page. The silence isn’t something to conquer. These couples that aren’t partners...the silence is awkward. Intimidating. Sex is sex and actual intimacy is rare. You and I - our intimacy is part of everything, including sex.” You exhale, emotion evident in your next words. “What I’m trying to say is - they don’t have a Cuddle Code.” 

Brendon pauses - you can feel his mouth drop open against your shoulder. “They don’t have a Cuddle Code?” He says in a voice that reveals his combatting disdain and concern. “How the fuck does that even work? Okay - do they have something similar?” You shake your head. Brendon is indignant now, but you know it’s not directed at you. “Well that’s just stupid. How does he know that she’s feeling vulnerable and in need of extra attention and love and lots of snuggles when they’re spooning? Or that she’s just stressed and all she needs to really feel better is for Daddy to get down there and eat her pussy? And - and - how does she know that he needs her to just keep talking because the sound of her voice makes him feel safe and grounded? How does she know Daddy is still so into her, and it’s not her fault at all, but sex just isn’t going to happen right then and he’ll make it up to her later? How do they -“ he trails off as his processing catches up with his feelings. “Oh. They don’t. They just don’t communicate like we do, do they, Kitten?” 

“No,” you say in a small voice. “They don’t.” You push back against him lightly and wrap his arms tighter around you for a brief moment before releasing. He knows the Code. 

“Commere, my love,” Brendon whispers, turning you in his arms so he can wrap you in his embrace after lifting your thighs up to his hips. “My sweet little empathetic Kitten.” He nuzzles the top of your head. “My soft, sweet, tender love. You feel everything, don’t you? I love that about you. I really do - you know that, right? I love that about you. You aren’t afraid to feel. The opposite of sensitive is not brave. I mean that. I think you’re so brave to let yourself feel. And that’s what you mean by us just being. You and me...we can just be ourselves, huh? We make it safe for each other just to feel.” You nod. “Yeah. We have our own little world, don’t we? And it’s just Daddy and his perfect Kitten.” 

His voice is a soft purr in your ear, soothing you. “We’re a team, me and you. It’s always going to be us, my love. I’m always going to be by your side and on your side,” he promises, kissing your forehead. You nod against his chest, and he squeezes you gently. “That’s why the silence doesn’t bother us. Because we’re both at peace with the other. It’s not - we’re not trying to maintain an image or play a role or whatever. We’re just us and we’re comfy because our feelings are safe and respected and we both know the other is always going to be on our side.” 

“Yes,” you squeak, agreeing to all of it, and Brendon smiles when you give his collarbone a quick kiss. He knows it’s your Cuddle Code for “all is well. Proceed as normal. I’m good - just getting my shit together. Thank you. I love you. I adore you.” 

“I love you too, Kitten. So much. But it makes me sad - what you said about other couples,” he says finally. “That there are people who aren’t as happy as us. I know we joke that we invented Cuddle Code, but I guess I just always thought...well. I don’t know. I've been with you and only you for so long now. I guess I just got used to us. I assumed every couple was on our level. I want everyone to experience the love I feel for you and the love I receive from you.” He sighs now. 

You lift your head and he brushes a hand through your hair. “I know,” you agree. “It’s hard, isn’t it? But...we can only control ourselves and we’re both happy. So...let’s keep making me happy and complete the final step before we shower,” you offer hopefully, sitting upright. “Food?”

You roll your shoulders back and Brendon smiles. His little badass Kitten. He’s in awe of you. You feel so much and just keep on going- you just roll your shoulders back, fix your hair, and keep going. “You had me at food,” Brendon declares, shifting and trying to get up. 

“I’d hope so,” you tease, grinning at how easy he makes it to bounce back. “It was the last word I said. You stay here. I’ll be back.” You climb off the bed gracefully, knowing Brendon is watching as you bend over to pluck his t-shirt off the ground and wriggle into it. 

When you get back into the room, Brendon has propped himself up with two pillows and the sheets are tangled down around his waist. He’s got a hand behind his head and he looks completely blissed out with his eyes shut. You falter in your step; he opens his eyes and looks concerned. “I’m good,” you reassure him. “You’re just so...hot. Hair all messy, face and chest flushed, arms looking like - that…” you trail off when he laughs softly. “Don’t laugh at me,” you pout playfully. 

“Oh, I’m not laughing at you. Don’t worry. Now, come here, my sweet Kitten,” Brendon coaxes. You set the bowl on the bedside table and crawl into his lap. “There’s my best girl.” He kisses you softly and you melt into his touch. When you part, he looks over at the small bowl with some interest. “What’d you bring us?”

“Yogurt with granola and berries,” you tell him, running a hand through his messy hair. “Something light. Just a little recovery snack.” He nods and gestures for you to pass him the bowl. “We share,” you tell him. “You probably figured that out from the one bowl and one spoon. But it’s also more than that.” Your tone turns reverent. “It’s also the Speaking Spoon.” Brendon gives you a curious look and you smile. “We feed each other. And whoever is holding the spoon gets to talk while they feed the other.”

“Are there any rules for what we can talk about?” You love that he just accepts this. He’s always so supportive in the big and little ways - even down to your impromptu implementation of the Speaking Spoon, which you definitely just made up. 

“Nope,” you say simply. “No rules. I mean...preferably the topic is the sex that just occurred, if anything needs to be brought up in a safe environment, but anything low-stress is encouraged. I’ll go first.” You take a spoonful of yogurt and bring it to his mouth. “I loved how you fingered me while you licked my clit- that felt so good. Then when you started curling your fingers deep in me while your tongue rubbed my clit? Made me come so hard- I love you. Please keep that combination in the permanent rotation. That’s a go-to move right there.”

“Mmm definitely,” Brendon agrees as he swallows. “Loved seeing you lose control like that. Whining and wiggling and coming...” He takes the spoon from you and offers you a bite. “I also loved how you were such a good girl for Daddy—keeping those pretty legs spread open for me. I know it was difficult; you like to squeeze my head with your thighs while I work. But you know I love the view. Thank you. You sounded so sweet, and looked so good, Kitten. Made my cock so hard.” He hands you back the spoon, and you accept it. 

“Well, it’s easy to be good for Daddy when he treats me so sweetly. Especially after you made me come twice - and that was before you even got inside me. I love that breathy moan you make whenever you push into me - it makes me feel so wanted.”

“You are wanted,” Brendon murmurs as he feeds you another bite. “You are wanted and loved and cherished and appreciated. You know I absolutely adore and worship my Kitten. I’m very devout. I try to pray at that altar between your thighs at least once daily.” 

“Mmmmm,” you hum in gratitude. “Well, you know it’s mutual. I love touching you and your cock.” You pause. “I’ve never asked before, but that’s what this time is for so...you don’t mind me touching you when you’re not hard, right?” Brendon laughs and shakes his head. 

“I love you touching me any time and all the time. I’m much more sensitive when I’m hard, so you touching me when I’m soft is so nice. I get to really enjoy your touch and the attention. When I’m hard, it’s so good but I’m also trying to balance arousal and - well, this really lets me just appreciate how sweet and caring my girl is. Plus, it’s good for the ego,” he says with a soft grin. “Knowing you like my dick even when not hard and not inside you.”

“I love your dick all the time,” you say softly as you reach down between your bodies to palm over his cock. “This conversation was brought to you by aftercare.” You give an exaggerated thumbs up with your free hand (holding the spoon) and Brendon laughs out loud, calling you his favorite dirty dork. He takes the second-to-last bite you offer him before taking the spoon and holding it to your lips. 

“You’ve made very good points about aftercare, my love,” he tells you. You nod as you swallow and Brendon sets the bowl and spoon back on the bedside table. “We’ve always been good at the physical aftercare when I’m rough. The coming down and the cuddling - but I like the idea of always doing it. I love-  the talking is so nice. Now though...I want you. Your attention and focus to my cock is making me hard again and I’d bet anything that your pussy is getting wet. I want you so badly. Does your guide to good aftercare say anything about a round two?” He grins and tugs you closer gently so he can kiss you again. 

“It says,” you whisper against his lips as you shift in his lap to tug the sheets all the way down, “that it can happen. And if it does, to go with it because sex is great. Just be sure-“

“To practice good aftercare the second time around too,” Brendon concludes, trailing his hands up your thighs. You nod and he gives you a wide smile. “Well, I think that can be arranged. You know I want you. Do you want me?” You nod eagerly, and he kisses you sweetly, laughing when you cling to him. “Is that a yes, Kitten?” 

You giggle and nod as he grips your thighs with his warm hands and rolls you both over so he’s hovering over you. You run your hands through his hair and bring him close for a long, heated kiss. 

“Fuck yes, Daddy.” 

first photo by me (@loverontheleft) and second by @1-800-hallelujah​. Do not remove/repost/re-anything without crediting. 

#brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brendon urie fanfic #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie fluff? #brendon urie fanfiction #brendon urie come fuck me #I'm asking so nicely #he could fuck me any way he wanted #first time using a daddy kink heyyyy #I know he doesn't like being called daddy but he probably doesn't want to have sex with me either so let's not get picky about stuff k

[mychemicalficrecs]

could i get a rec list of long (30k+) frank-centric any pairing fics? (preferably not in first person, and if there's smut with bottom frank)…weirdly specific but at least i know what i like?

Being specific is totally fine! Depending on what it is you’re looking for, it can even be super helpful :) I originally thought this would be difficult, but it turns out I already had all of these in my bookmarks. It didn’t specifically check for bottom!Frank though (sorry).

Frank-centric Longfic

Gerard Way's (Vampire) Detective Agency by jjtaylor, Pennyplainknits, mainly Frank/Gerard, 164k, Mature. Pete, in Decaydance Mansion, with a yarrow stake. Frank and Gerard, in the greenhouse, with a plant of questionable origin. Bob, everywhere you look, with a gang of assassins for justice. Vampires, valets, pamphlets, haunted furniture, dub-thrall, disembodied voices, zombie couriers, and sinister rituals.

Nightswimming by waxjism, Frank/Gerard, 141k, Not Rated. My Teenage Romance

Unholyverse by Bexless, Frank/Gerard, Ray/Mikey, 187k, Mature, Explicit. Religion! Horror! Exorcisms! Piercings! And Gerard is a priest.

Illyria (King and Country) by tabulaxrasa, Frank/Gerard, 57k, Explicit. Today, they'd woken up and Gerard was King of Illyria. Frank hasn't really been a stable boy since he ended up in the archduke's bed, but now Gerard's exile is over and he's king. Frank has to survive court, politics, and scheming nobles to figure out exactly what he is now.

Stunning Someone by morbid_beauty, Frank/Gerard, 82k, Explicit. Frankie, a tattoo artist living in Brooklyn, has basically everything ze wants...except, like, someone to cuddle with at night. As lame as that sounds. Gerard, an art student living in Manhattan, meets someone of questionable gender and starts a friendship with an unrequited crush. (Or: the one where Frankie is genderfluid, Gerard is kind of ignorant to much of the queer community, and sometimes you just fall for a stunning someone.)

Envision the Magic by innocent_wolves, Frank/Gerard, 69k, Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard is a talented magician, responsible for much of the success of the famous Envision Destiny cruise ship. He's also one of those people. You know, one of those people who just seem to take up all the space they come across with their arrogance and confidence. You wouldn't wanna touch their personality with a 10-foot pole, but still people admire them. That is beyond Frank. Working behind the cruise ship bars and seeing Gerard pretty much every day, he can't understand what's so great about him. Besides, everybody else doesn't have to deal with his snide remarks and rude comments. Because if there's one thing Gerard seems to love, it's the act of constantly pestering Frank.

Truths That He Learned by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Patrick/Mikey/Pete, Ashlee/Patrick/Pete, 37k, Explicit. It's Frank's senior year, and it seems like he's constantly having new experiences, at least half of which come as a complete surprise to him. He falls in love, comes out, and has sex, not necessarily in that order.

Fit to be tied by maryangel, Frank/Gerard, 56k, Explicit. Frank is a bartender. Gerard is an alcoholic. They were clearly made for each other. Also, Frank is a werewolf.

Only Going One Way by ataratah, jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, 73k, Mature. Crossover with due South. Constable Gerard Way of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and Detective Frank Iero of the Chicago PD team up find Mikey Way in a city where bowling alley score cards hide secret codes, where the good guys are either lying or undercover (and sometimes lying about being undercover), and where criminal bakers make drug-laced frosting.

James Cameron Got It Wrong by ladyfoxxx, Frank/Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, 57k, Explicit. In which 2005!Frank and Fun Ghoul get it on. Then Frank accidentally winds up in 2019.

Rock and Roll Never Looked so Beautiful by corruptedkid, Frank/Gerard, 58k, Explicit. Gerard Way is a rising solo artist, set to become the next big thing in the alternative scene. Frank Iero is a trashy punk with a reputation of his own as the frontman of Pencey Prep. When their paths cross, a love story is born, only to come crashing down when Gerard hits it big. As Gerard ascends to the A-list, Frank adjusts to life on his own. He almost manages it - until two years later, when fate puts him face to face with Gerard once more. Everything has changed, but the connection between them is still there. Their story has ended once before, but if they're lucky, they just might make a new one.

I never told you what I do for a living. by not0-fuckin-kay, Frank/Gerard, 60k+, PG-13 to NC-17. Frank Iero, male nurse at Pete Wentz's private hospital and possibly more to one new patient he can't keep his eyes off of. When a new pateint is brought in with amnesia, just days before Christmas, and with nothing but the clothes on his back and a strange drawing, it's left to Frank to find out who he is and what happened to him. When he does, it changes Frank's life forever, as he's thrust into love and health scares he never thought would complicate his life. This is the story of how he tries to make it through, juggling his job and his love-life and just trying to make things better. With Patrick the doctor, Bob the ward supervisor, Travis the unlikely therapist, and Mikey, the sometimes wannabe homicidal geek.

and me here on the ground by ohnoktcsk, Frank/Gerard, 32k, Explicit. Frank's worked hard to build a life for himself in the city of Jersey, where dragons swoop and dive over the river, and every day is divided by the ringing of the city bells. He knows the streets of the city like he knows the the tattoos on the backs of his hands, and he's content with what he has: a job as a bike courier, friends who love to give him shit, and a crush on a professor of art history at the local university. But he's also got a secret—one he's been running from for a long time. But all it takes is one delivery to a mysterious, quite-probably-magical bookshop to show Frank that there are some things you can’t outrun. Especially since he’s finally found a place that he doesn’t want to leave.

Companion by onceuponamoon, Frank/Gerard, 34k, Explicit. A workplace AU. There’s a dude sitting in one of the high-backed chairs opposite the reception desk. Mostly obscured by a fake ficus plant between them, the guy probably wouldn’t have been noticeable save for the lazy sprawl of his legs, the Chucks contrasting against the floral rug.

Your Heart The Only Place That I Call Home by dear_monday, Frank/Gerard, 30k, Explicit. When Frank and his crew of morally ambiguous ethernauts (pirates, as Imperial law would have it, but that's such an ugly word) fetch up on the doorstep of the fabled Sanctuary, they aren't expecting to find much - least of all a long-lost brother, a garden in a box and the key to an ancient riddle.

Give Me a Reason by mistresscurvy, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard and most variants thereof, 38k, Explicit. July 2007. Frank is fucking stoked for the next tour. This one will be the best ever, because his wife's gonna be with him the entire time. They've been married for less than six months, and he still can't fucking believe he got to marry her. This summer is going to rock. But life never happens as he plans.

In Repair by autoschediastic, Frank/Gerard, 33k, Explicit. "Shit," Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he's gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he's gonna do. He's just gotta do it. Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It's dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He's pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate." Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging-- the thing's busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot's skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they're a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, "Am I dead?"

Promises, Promises by silentdescant, Frank/Gerard, 31k, Explicit. "Sources on our investigative team say this was a bank robbery gone wrong, and that, when faced with a police task force surrounding the building, the suspect grabbed the nearest person and is now holding that young man at gunpoint as he makes his getaway."

Cover To Cover by silentdescant, Frank/Gerard, 32k, Explicit. You've Got Mail AU. Frank owns The Shop Around The Corner, which specializes in classic and rare books, and Gerard is opening up a large branch of Way Books & Café down the street. They meet online and fall in love.

Love: The Package Deal by jjtaylor, Frank/Gerard, Lindsey/Frank/Jamia/Gerard, 30k, Mature. Gerard gets a special kind of amnesia. Frank gets to reexamine his idea of acceptable relationship structures. Lots of people fail to communicate effectively, but they all sure remember how to kiss.

Let The Darkness Lead You Home by rivers_bend, Frank/Gerard, 49k, Explicit. Vampires are in charge and most of the humans on earth are prey, so Frank Iero's parents have him train as a cyber tech to protect him. Leaving the family he's born into may have saved his life, but his parents never could have expected the lengths he'd go to in order to find a new family to call home.

Gross roomies by turps, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Explicit. Frank loves living with Mikey. Sure, the apartment is a mess, the kitchen's a toxic wasteland, and there's something growing in the refrigerator that's just a day or two away from becoming sentient, but other than those minor inconveniences, it's all cool. Or it is until Mikey decides to embark on a journey of sexual discovery and adventure and Frank's left at home with nothing but the fridge monster for company. To make matters worse, Mikey insists on telling Frank everything he does with his new kinky friends, right down to the tiniest detail. And now suddenly Frank is best friends with his right hand and he can't stop thinking about Mikey in ways he never has before. The really big problem, other than suddenly being in lust with his best friend, is that Frank isn't sure why.

Of All The Hidden Corners by moneyes, Frank/Gerard, ~44k, PG-13. An epic, adventurous tale filled with alternate universes, lords, mischief, magical powers, snark, boyfriends, and luck of the bad kind.

Church of Hot Addiction by spleenjournal, 0nlymemories, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Adult. When Gerard Way gets transferred to Our Lady of Peace in Arlington a few weeks into his Senior year, he thinks it's his chance to be cool. Too bad his idea of "cool" is no cooler than it was in 3rd grade, even if there aren't any green tights.

Paradox 'verse by stoplightglow, Frank/Gerard, 42k, Mature. You know the saying. The best part about hitting rock bottom is that you get to meet a hot psychic.

#frank/gerard #ray/mikey #frank/mikey #lindsey/frank/jamia/gerard #fic rec list #longfic

[fridays--child]

A Lesson in Vulnerability

Was going for smut, ended up with the feels. Please enjoy(?) another rough, unedited post, including baby's first lemon in a decade.

Prompt “Of course deacon has a lot of disguises. One for each personality.”

Rating: 18+

“I’ve never met someone who has so many clothes. Except, you know, me.”

Galatea huffed a laugh. “What, you’re not the only one that has a different disguise for each personality?”

Meeting her eyes through their reflections distorted by the cracked full length mirror, Deacon placed his hand over his heart.

“You wound me. But seriously, did you swipe a whole Fallon’s store?”

Rolling her eyes at him, Galatea responded, “Is that where you got yours from?”

Deacon had never met a person who could transform herself quite like Galatea, who could change her whole being to attract or deflect attention as needed. With her hair up and under a hat, shoulders slumped in a man’s shirt and slacks, she was utterly unremarkable. Just another grimy wastelander, trying to eke a living before the rads, raiders, or bigots dug you an early grave. With a little lipstick and dark curls around her face, she was a bombshell come to life, a pre-war Aphrodite in a wiggle dress and heels. A magnet with a dimmer switch, pushing and pulling those in her wake. A human chameleon, no face change needed.

If he could choose a favourite (and he knew he had no right to), he’d probably say this incarnation was his. In her tiny green Goodneighbor apartment, with her shoes and jeans kicked off, analysing every item in her wardrobe before lovingly folding them, packing the chosen items into their shared duffle bag. She had kicked her shoes and jeans off as soon as she walked in the door, her makeup nearly worn off from the days travel back north. Even after a two week sabbatical, the closest thing to R&R he could offer, she still cackled with a nervous energy, a soft but increasing hum indistinguishable to those who didn’t know her.

It felt almost domestic, a wink of his long-forgotten earlier life. A false intimacy between two liars and secret keepers, ignoring the gulf that still existed between them despite the stings and firefights and sex.

But if he was about to put both of them in just stupid amounts of danger, he would take it greedily.

Galatea scrunched her nose at an old fisherman’s sweater, throwing into the bag before picking up a modest evening dress. She whistled at Deacon to pause shaving the two week’s growth from his face, holding it up to his mirrored eyeline.

“Do you think Mags would like this? Or is it not,” Galatea mimed a triangle from her collarbones to sternum, “enough?”

“Probably a little conservative for her.”

“All good, I’ll send it to Piper then. Unless,” she smirked, “you were planning to gender bend again next time you face swap?”

He snickered at her, bringing the straight razor back to his jaw. “‘Fraid I don’t have the decolletage for that doll, I’d never do it justice. Why, would you like that?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “It wouldn’t be my first rodeo with a woman.”

Temporarily stunned, Deacon gulped as the blood left his head and headed south, earning a dirty barked laugh from Galatea.

“Oh, now you’ve nicked yourself, you degenerate. Mind out of the gutter.”

She threw him a face cloth from across the room, before dragging one of the two dining chairs across the room to the small basin and mirror before straddling it backwards. Pushing her two long braids towards her back, she looked up at the older man expectedly.

“Go on then.”

“Beg pardon?” She kept staring. “If you’re after a steam and shave, you might be knocking on the door. I gotta tell ya, if that’s your stubble, you’ve gotta teach me how to get such a close shave.”

For the first time in the months they worked together, Galatea’s voice wobbled.

“Cut my hair please.”

Deacon frowned down at her. “Are you sure?” When she nodded, he added, “why are you so nervous? I’ve seen you destroy coursers and super mutants practically laughing.”

Huffing slightly, she undid the buttons of her shirt. For a minute, he was momentarily lost for words. He had always been aware of the mottled skin that ran from the edge of the left-hand  edge of her jaw down. Had wondered once or twice if the reason she always wore a high neck or scarf was to hide it, perhaps selfishly wondering if it made her too recognisable to go undercover with him. Each button she undid revealed a greater expanse of burnt flesh, melting into the soft cognac of her untouched skin and disappearing underneath the worn bra she wore. Galatea’s eyes flicked down to it.

“Well, there’s no use hiding it now, and it’s not like I’ll have time to do this mop.”

Deacon nodded, gulping. “Where, ah.. How long do you want it?”

“Whatever, so long as I can still tie it back.”

Flicking open the mounted first aid kit, he grabbed out the rusted scissors, before carefully lining up the two plaits and snipping them in line with her scarred chin. Galatea’s eyes dropped to her lap, murmuring.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to infiltrate the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Deacon scoffed, fervently lining up the dark layers of her locks to make sure they’re even.

“I can’t believe Des thought we were the ones to do it.”

“Mmm. I mean, are you even able to still pass the fitness test, old man?”

Deacon pulled a face in the mirror, moving around to tame the waves around her face. “Careful with the guy whose cutting your hair, sweetheart.” Galatea gently slapped his arm in response.

“I swear to God, if you give me a hack job and I need to get a buzz cut, I will utter your recall code.”

A slightly awkward, but common silence fell between them. Deacon cleared his throat, pushing the edges of her shirt down her shoulders so he could blow off the stray hairs around her neck.

“I, uh,  was wondering what you had hiding under there. Got to admit, slightly disappointed it wasn’t the Death Bunnies chest piece I was imagining.”

Galatea choked a hint of a laugh, betrayed by the wobble of her voice, pretty mouth hiding behind her fist.

“Trust me, even this,” she motioned to her chest, “would be preferable to tattoo Deak.”

Resting his hands on her neck, he gave her hair a final appraisal, catching the tremble as she swallowed. Meeting her glassy eyes in the mirror, he lifted her head up to meet his.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re offended about the Death Bunnies tattoo. I told ya, I’m happy to be matchies if you are.”

She didn’t answer, shaking her head.

“Is it about this?”

“It’s stupid,” she muttered, shaking her head once more. “I should be used to it by now, but it still bothers me. It’s a reminder that this is real, and that I can’t go back.”

Staring into his glasses, she added, “Do you ever cling to the old parts of yourself, Deak?”

Galatea had a habit of getting of close, of nearly drawing the parts of him he kept buried deep to the surface. A pandora’s box of ugly truths that would mark him as a sinner even to the faithless. He could offer no words of comfort without incinerating them both.

So when she leaned into the fire, he responded with igniting the only common ground they both held.

Sliding one hand to trace her jaw, the other hand’s finger tips traced the edges where her smooth skin turned rough. These fingers were replaced with his lips, chaste at first before her breath hitched. He mouthed at her neck, wishing his tongue and teeth could heal the residual sting. She rolled her neck at his touch, lips catching the hand on her jaw and sucking the fingers there.

Deacon knelt in front of her, continuing his ministrations down her breasts and abs, roughly pulling at her shirt and bra to continue his pilgrimage along the mottled cognac. Galatea melted in the chair, sliding forward as he lifted her hips to pull off the unneeded garments, along with her faded, once pretty underwear. He ran a thumb down along her heat, and the egotist inside him cheered at the wet dripping from her lips.

“Spread your legs for me,” he growled, nipping at the strong thighs. “I want you to watch yourself.”

It was an undeserved gift to watch this woman above him, undulating and moaning as he mouthed her cunt. Something only fitting for a man with a less blasphemous tongue than his. But they both worshipped at the altar of liars and cheats, and if there was one good deed within his power that could push him towards redemption, this would be it. To grant Galatea a taste of heaven, despite the purgatory she had wandered for years.

Jesus, he was getting sentimental in his old age.

Deacon fucked his tongue into her, lapping hungrily at the soft pink folds. She seldom came when he was inside her (something she assured him occurred with all previous partners), but her thighs shook around his shoulders, and damn it if he wasn’t going to try. He slipped one thick finger in, then a second, searching and crooking as he doubled his attention on her clit.

Galatea swore incoherently, a rambling rant of “ Deacon, fuck, Deacon!” as she gripped the arms of the chair. A broken sob ripped through her chest, and she slumped against him, roughly pushing him away while her breathing laboured. He could feel wet salty tears against his neck, and he held her face in his hands.

“Hey hey hey, shh. Galatea, it’s okay, okay? It’s okay.” He kissed her gently. “Was it too much?”

She nodded slowly, consciously trying to control her breathing.

“Just got a bit overstimulated. Give me a sec?” He nodded. He had been a tender man once, attentive, and he allowed the ghost of that man kiss her softly, letting her taste herself. She licked herself off his mouth, reaching towards his glasses as they bumped against the bridge of her nose.

“Take them off for me, Deak.”

A secret for a secret, a fair trade. He hesitated for a second, then let her remove them, her dark eyes analysing his face with the same intensity she held whenever she faced a new problem. It was a bit like staring into the sun. He wished it would burn him until there was nothing left but ash.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Pretty. I wouldn’t have guessed your eyes were blue.”

He groaned, silencing her compliment with a kiss before resting his forehead on hers.

“You were so fucking close.”

“I know.”

“You taste so fucking good. Tell me what you want. Anything.”

She kissed him again, hungrily, small hands gripping this throat. They could count on one hand the times he had kissed her before this, even if he had lost count of the times they had slept together before this. He moaned into her mouth, resulting in a breathless chuckle.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Deacon lifted her up roughly, carrying her to the bed. He was an older man, sore, with a crink in his back and knees that throbbed every time it rained. And yet, he bargained, he would take this small act of self-flagellation for the sweet prize it held. A little death, and, more importantly, his best agent at her best.

She giggled at his involuntary grunt of pain, and shooed the small calico kitten off of her bed Deacon stumbled towards. Pushing him back towards the pillows at the head, she straddled him. He felt thick, hot and throbbing beneath her, and distracted hands pulled off his jeans whilst he ripped his holey white t-shirt off. Licking her palm, she pumped him slowly, before lowering herself onto his cock and hissing at that sting. Even if she was no longer 210 years untouched, she still savoured the stretch, the feeling of him filling her. Deacon growled, gripping her hips and fighting the urge to fuck up into her. Grabbing her wrists in one hand, he moved them from where they covered her chest to grip the metal bed frame.

“No more hiding.” He used the other to roll her hips against his, steadying the jerky rhythm she was finding and meeting her thrust for thrust.

Galatea picked up her pace, rising and sinking, punctuating each snap of her hips with a breathy moan. Deacon busied his mouth on her chest, sucking and nipping at her full chest, tracing the small inked shapes and initials that littered over her ribs and arms. Galatea rode him wildly, intimately, containing none of the usual composure she usually held, even in their most perverse moments. He mouthed the S.A.M, italicised in black on her wrist, desperately trying to ignore the lick of fire in his filling his belly, racing Galatea to their release. She huffed desperately, ungracefully, as his fingers traced haphazard shapes around the bud between her thighs.

“Deaks, Deacon , I’m so close. So close.”

“I know baby, fuck. What do you need.”

She sobbed. “My name, please. Say it. My real one.”

Her cunt contracted around his cock, impossibly tight and deliciously hot, and he fucked up desperately into her, crushing her bodily to his chest. He could feel that familiar pull, stretching and teetering on the edge, and he sunk his teeth into her neck, bruising the unharmed side of her through

“Jesus, Gene. Imogene . I’m gonna, shit, I’m going to come!”

Galatea unravelled around him, sobbing, splendid and terrible in her climax. Deacon pushed her off him, letting her fall against the mattress and pumping himself as he spilled over his stomach and her thighs. He fell back against the mattress, breathing heavily, as his partner’s slowly steadied. Pushing the hair off from her face, he met her eyes, before wrapping a lazy arm low along her back. His muscles burned, and he longed to sleep. When was the last time he slept in a bed?

“You okay?”

Galatea nodded. “Yes.”

“Mmm.”

A beat of silence, then. “Deacon?”

“Mhmm?”

“Thanks.”

“S’all good.” He yawned, stretching his spare arm above his head. “Thanks for letting me see you naked.”

Gene slapped his aching abs. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

#gene grady #prompt #Fallout 4 #deacon x sole survivor #deacon #nsft #FO4 #sole survivor #female sole survivor

[spoon-writes]

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 15

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 15 - Best Laid Plans

"You remember the plan?"

Sinead suppressed a deep sigh. "Yes, Mando, I remember the plan. I was the one who came up with it."

"There are a lot of people here."

"That makes blending in with the crowd easier. Uh, for me at least."

Mando grunted and moved away from a human woman who had leaned too far into his personal space. They had waited in line for the arena for what felt like hours, standing in the pale yet sharp Loovrian sun.

The plan depended on Mando finding a seat as close to the Undercroft as he could, while Sinead would wait on the upper levels until the fighting was underway. Mando hadn't been happy when she told him that he had to stay back yet again, but if she was caught, she could conceivably talk her way out of it. Mando, not so much. It would've been easier if she'd still had her servant robe, but that had been rendered unusable after her walk through the sewer.

"The kid didn't like us leaving him again," Sinead said.

"No."

"We should get a nanny droid or something."

"No droids," he barked out, startling the people around them.

Sinead gave him a look. "You never told me why you hate droids so much. There's gotta be a story there."

Mando was quiet for so long that she thought he'd never answer. "Not here. Later." He pointedly looked everywhere but her.

Smiling to herself, she stayed quiet as she didn't want to press her luck. It wasn't every day she had a chance of learning something new about her silent companion.

An excited hum went through the crowd as the line started moving.

"Wonder who's fighting tonight," Sinead said as they inched along.

Mando made a sound of disgust.

"You know, you really surprise me. I thought Mandalorians were all about the glory of battle."

"Not like this. There's no glory here. Only blood."

The entrance came into view with banners fluttering in the wind.

"One could argue that that's the case with all combat. We've both seen our fair share of action, and none of it's been pretty."

 "It's not the same. We fight for survival or to settle disputes, not for the entertainment of others. There honor in the act of battle, not meaningless death."

She watched him out of the corner of her eyes. There was a sort of terrifying beauty to him when he fought. "It doesn't get more meaningless than this." Images of Kyen alone deep beneath the arena threatened to topple her, and she forced herself to focus on a grubby Dug next in line.

Once they passed under the entrance, Mando leaned close to her. "Don't take any chances, okay? If anything feels off, you get out of there, and we'll find another way."

Sinead pretended to stretch and cast a quick look around; the guards seemed as inert as last time. "Our friends down below don't have that kind of time."

"That won't matter if you get caught."

"Fortunately, I don't plan on getting caught."

Mando made an exasperated noise, but whatever retort he planned was drowned out by a loud voice.

"Madame Farr!"

Sinead grabbed Mando's wrist before he could draw his blaster, trying to make the movement seem natural to the confused Rundu, who watched from the doorway to a less crowded corridor. Two guards flanked each side of the opening to keep the rabble out. Feyvik, his Wookiee bodyguard, pushed his way through the crowd, showing the Dug out of the way before motioning for them to follow.

"Please, keep it cool," she hissed to Mando as she let him go and followed Feyvik to where Rundu greeted them with open arms.

"Madame Farr, I thought it was you. And ..." His large eyes flickered to Mando. "Your Mandalorian. I am so glad to see that you've decided to give Strako a chance. I assume that's why you're here?"

Sinead shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "You're getting ahead of yourself, Master Rundu. When we come to a decision, I promise you, you'll be the first to know."

A shadow fell across Rundu's face for a moment. "I see."

She felt Mando shift beside her, felt the anger and unease building. "We figured since we're already here, why not watch another fight. Indulge in all that Strako has to offer."

Rundu's wide mouth split in a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Indeed. Please, do me the honor and accompany me in my private box. I assure you that the view is unparalleled. You do not have to tolerate the-" he cast a disdainful look at the masses behind Sinead and Mando- "common folk."

"I ..." her brain spun in circles, trying to find a way out.

"Unless, of course, you have another appointment?"

"We'll be honored to," Sinead said, feeling Mando seethe beside her. "You gentlemen can go ahead, I have some private business I need to take care of before the fighting starts." She smiled as innocently as possible. "Will you point me in the direction of the refreshers, perhaps?"

Rundu's lips curled in disgust. "Ah, yes, I suppose that has to ... be dealt with. Down that way, you'll find the … ah, area. Feyvik can-" he stopped when his eyes fell on the Mandalorian, and for one moment, he seemed nervous. "I'm sure you can find us when you are done. Box number three, and if anyone stops you, just say you are my personal guest."

"Thank you, Master Rundu." As she passed Mando, she pressed the back of her hand against his, hoping that he could find some way to stall. Once she came back, they just had to improvise. She had to do this. It wasn't only Kyen's life at stake.

She went down the corridor that Rundu had so helpfully pointed out until she came to the first staircase packed tightly with the citizens of Strako come to see another bloodbath. There was no time to waste, so she rudely shoved people out of the way as she took the stairs two at a time.

Up in the nosebleeds, the spectators were of a very different caliber; mean-looking sentients were pressed together tightly, and a fight had already broken out between two Trandoshans. She waited for the guards to jump in to stop it before scurrying through to the servant stairs, the opening only covered with a ratty curtain.

The upper landings were deserted, but Sinead could hear noise further down as servants hurried up and down the steps carrying trays of food or bottles of liquor that had cost more than the Razor Crest.

She kept looking back over her shoulder, sure she would see Feyvik come barreling towards her.

No one followed her. When she made it to the top, she pressed a hand against the hidden door and cracked it open, making sure that the corridor on the other side was empty. The bright lights felt like needles in her eyes after the gloomy stairwell. She waited until two shadows appeared where the corridor bent and quickly pushed the door shut, listening to their footsteps as they passed her.

Every second that ticked by felt like a weight added to her shoulders. When she was done, she had to come up with a killer excuse for why she'd been gone for so long.

Once the guards' footsteps had faded, she pushed open the panel and slid onto the floor, waiting just a moment before hurrying down the corridor. She kept close to the wall while counting the identical doors under her breath until she reached the right one. Or she hoped this was the right one. Even if it was the repository, there was no guarantee that the records were in there. There was no guarantee there were any records at all, or that Kyen was on them.

At last, she found it, as gold and garish as all the others. With hands lightly shaking, she pressed the code into the keypad and waited, glancing down the corridor every other second. The moment seemed to go on until there was a faint click, and she took a deep breath before pushing the door open. This was the most unpredictable part of a very risky plan; if anyone were in there, she'd have to find an excuse, and fast.

No voice raised in alarm, no blasters aimed her way. The repository, if you could call it that, was empty.

The opposite wall was made entirely out of a single pane of glass, what she'd thought was mirrors down in the stands. Her stomach flipped when she saw that most of the arena was filling up quickly.

The rest of the room looked more like an armory; shelves displaying blasters, blades, flails, and strange devices lined the walls. A wicked sword made from a glowing metal cast strange lights across the floor.

There was a desk in one end and a plush chair. Behind it, a safe.

"Finally," she mumbled and skirted around the desk. The safe was set into the wall, a big clunky thing with a small keypad and three yellow lights above it.

She punched the code for the room. The safe beeped, and one of the lights turned red.

"Fuck!" She scrubbed her mouth with her hand.

Something caught her eye; on the shelf above, a razor-sharp metal disk with a hole in the middle was propped up on a velvet pillow. A number had been lasered into the metal.

She punched it in, ignoring how her hands shook, and the second light turned red.

"You've got to be kidding me!" She whirled around, repressing the urge to kick something. Maybe if someone was stupid enough to write down the access code for the room, then …

The desk was empty, the polished surface gleamed in the light. Sinead grabbed one of the four drawers and pulled. It didn't budge.

A snarl forced its way out as she sat down and grabbed the knob with both hands, pulling at it while using her legs as leverage, but the drawer remained stubbornly shut.

Doubt entered her mind like small seeds blooming into panic; this was a stupid plan. There was no guarantee that the records even existed. There was no time to examine any other place, there wasn't even time to check any other rooms. She should've gone with Mando and freed the slaves, waiting until the dust settled and then gone back to find the records.

The lock snapped with a loud crack, and she flew backward, scattering the contents of the drawer all over the floor.

She got to her knees and shifted through the useless knickknacks, her movement becoming more and more frantic.

Her hand closed around the knob for the next drawer, ready to take the entire desk apart if she had to when a small wire running along the empty place where the drawer used to sit caught her attention. She grabbed one end and pulled it out, examining the frayed ends where it had snapped.

Realization hit like a punch to the gut.

An alarm. And she'd just tripped it.

The door burst open, and two guards tumbled inside, waving their blasters wildly around the room. They noticed the desk.

"Who's there?" Shouted the taller one, keeping close to the door. The other guard hit the ground.

Sinead swore under her breath and tried making herself as small as possible. The only means of escape lay behind the guards. She still had her blaster strapped to her side, but if the alarm she'd tripped and the shouting guards hadn't already attracted all the attention, blasterfire definitely would do the trick.

"Don't shoot!" She called out, and a blaster bolt immediately shot over her. It pulverized a part of the wall behind her, collapsing a shelf and sending weapons raining down around her.

"You ... who are you? What are you doing here?" The tallest guard took another step closer to the table, his voice quivering. "Show yourself!"

She lifted both hands over the table, and another blaster bolt fizzed by.

"Easy!" She yelled, pressing her hands to her chest. "I'm coming out!"

Slowly, she got to her feet while keeping her hands in clear view of the guards, one of them still lying on the floor.

"Get up," the tall guard snapped, making the other guard scramble to his feet. "Who're you?"

Sinead wet her lips. "M-my name is Zan Forr. I work for Duiy Rundu."

"The Neimoidian?" The short guard said, earning an angry glare.

"Area's off-limits. What're you doing here?"

"I didn't know, I swear! Rundu sent me up here, told me to find some information for him. I didn't know I wasn't allowed!" She stared wide-eyed at the tallest guard who seemed to be the one calling the shots.

"How'd you get in here?"

"The door was open."

He scoffed. "No, it wasn't! I checked it myself."

"I swear, I'm telling the truth."

"Sure you are. Let's take you downstairs, see what the Master thinks about you." He gestured to the other guard. "Your blaster, throw it here. Keep your hands where I can see them."

Her hand started inching towards her blaster, eyes never leaving the two guards. There had to be a way out of here.

Suddenly, a voice exploded behind her. "WELCOME, CITIZENS OF LOOVRIA-"

The guards jumped. Sinead drew her blaster and shot the nearest guard, who screamed as he fell to the floor. She threw herself behind the desk, narrowly missing a volley of blasterfire. The desk shook with every hit, and the air filled with the smell of ozone and burning wood.

The big glass pane shattered, sending a shower of shards into the arena. She could hear distant screams.

Something metallic glinted under an old flail, and she shifted it aside, finding a slim dagger intricately woven with gold and green gemstones; the blade was as sharp as a Gungan's wit, but maybe that didn't matter.

The desk groaned and tipped to the side.

Staying crouched, she leaned out from the desk and threw the dagger. The guard's eyes followed the object as it sailed past him, and Sinead shot, hitting him in the shoulder. He crumbled to the floor, and she jumped over the ruined desk and ran outside, leaving him to moan in pain on the floor.

The corridor was empty, but it wouldn't be for long.

She reached the hidden door and yanked it open; behind it, a surprised guard nearly dropped his blaster.

"Wha-"

She crashed into him and sent him toppling down the stairs, narrowly avoiding getting dragged with him. It sounded like a rockslide, his armor the only thing saving him from a fractured skull. He came to a standstill on a small landing where he lay unmoving as Sinead rushed past him.

Guards started pouring out on the landing above her, and a blaster bolt fizzed over her head, destroying a tablet hanging on the wall. A metal fragment sliced her upper arm, but adrenaline dulled the pain.

At last, she made it to the ground level and shot under the arch. She turned and slammed directly into what felt like a brick wall. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders to steady her. She looked up and saw Mando.

"Sinead, what the-"

"Run!" She gasped out just as the first guard made it to the ground.

Mando whirled her out of the way of a blaster bolt, and she used the momentum to grab his wrist and pull him down the corridor. The nearest exit was close.

Two guards jumped out from a doorway, and Mando sped up, smashing into one of them like a mudhorn, who knocked into the other guard and toppling them both.

The entrance was visible behind a line of guards, who stood like an impenetrable wall between them and freedom. They were forced to turn, but guards blocked the way back.

One of the guards shot first, and Mando whirled out of the way, pulling his blaster in a fluid motion.

A hand closed around Sinead's arm, and she kicked back, hearing a small whimper as the guard let go.

She dodged another hand and skirted around her attacker.

It seemed like the flow of guards were never-ending. Whenever one fell, two took their place.

Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet disappeared. A strong smell of petrichor filled her nose, mouth, lungs. A great force contorted her body, lifting her into the air.

A hush went through the crowd, and the guards fell away.

Mando turned.

The ring of onlookers parted silently, and the Master stepped into view.

Even by Pau'an standards, he looked ancient; his gaunt body, hidden beneath a black robe that shimmered with red, was stooped, and his hollow cheeks made him look skeleton-like. He walked with confidence, his staff lifted into the air and aimed directly at Sinead. Yellow light writhed around the tip.

A force pike.

"What do we have here?" His red eyes scanned the carnage.

Mando moved, and a dozen blasters were trained on him.

The Master lifted a hand. "Stand down. There has already been enough senseless death."

Reluctantly, the blasters were lowered.

"I am terribly sorry about this," the Master said, "but my guards tend to react … harshly when someone breaks into my quarters. I'm sure you understand."

Mando's shoulders heaved with every breath.

"I would like to let go of your friend, but first, you have to surrender your blaster. For your own safety, as well as ours."

Mando looked at Sinead. His hand clenched around the blaster.

"Nn-"

Pain exploded along her spine, behind her eyes.

Mando's blaster hit the ground with a clatter, and the pain faded away. A guard broke rank and snatched the weapon up from the floor before retreating to safety.

"Thank you."

Sinead was lowered onto the ground, and as soon as the strange force disappeared, her knees buckled.

Mando caught her before she hit the ground and lifted her to her feet. She felt like she just might keep going, floating gently up in the air. He held a strong arm around her shoulders.

"Now, we can have a civilized discussion." The Master bared his teeth in a smile. "Ovinik?"

"Yes, Master?" A guard stepped out of the crowd.

"Please guide these good people back to the stands and notify the Ringmaster that the competition will recommence shortly."

"Yes, Master."

"As for you two," he turned his attention to Mando and Sinead. "I would like to talk with you somewhere more private if you please. I assume bindings won't be necessary. We're all civilized here, after all."

 "What do you want with us?" Mando said.

"I have … questions. Mainly about how you managed to get so far." He studied them with his red, runny eyes. "If you're worried about your safety, I give you my word you'll come by no injuries under my watch. My staff, however, might not be so generous. You did kill quite a few of their colleagues."

Mando's grip on her tightened.

"But come. Follow me."

They were escorted through the arena, flanked by what looked like all the guards in the building. Mando half carried, half dragged her through the corridors and up the stairs, his grip on her never faltering. She wanted to lean into him.

The Master led the way, the force pike tapping on the floor with every step. Whenever someone stuck their head out through the opening to watch them go by, a guard would roughly shove them back in.

They ended up in a room on the upper level, furnished in gold and rubies. The big window showed the arena below. As before, shelves and racks filled with weapons adorned the walls, but these were laid out on small velvet pillows, some encased in protective glass.

The Master sat on a plush lounge and regarded them with a mild look.

Life had started to seep back into Sinead's legs, bringing with it an intense prickling that was almost worse than the pain. She kept hanging onto Mando. If anything happened, she had an ace up her sleeve.

"Well?" The Master crossed his long legs.

Silence.

He smiled. "I see I have to be a bit more specific. Let's start with the most pressing one: how did you get into my arena?"

Sinead bit the inside of her cheek before saying, "we were invited."

"Oh! By whom?"

"Duiy Rundu."

For the first time, the Master looked surprised. "Indeed. How curious. Ked?"

A human stepped out of the ring of guards surrounding them. "Yes, Master?"

"Go fetch Duiy and put him in the green lounge. I'll deal with him later."

The guard left, and the Master returned his focus on Mando and Sinead. He pressed a long grey finger to his lips. "I suppose I have gotten complacent in my old days. I let my subordinates have too much freedom."

Sinead clenched her jaw so hard her teeth creaked. He thought he gave them too much freedom when slaves were wasting away under his arena?

"Next question: what was important enough to risk your life? That room hasn't been used for anything other than storage for a long time. I doubt you'd find anything useful in there."

Of course. Sinead bit her tongue hard enough to break the skin.

"No answer? As you wish. Grab them."

Rough hands grabbed Sinead and tore her away from Mando, who was buried under a mountain of guards, trying to hold him down. He snarled and fought but was soon forced to his knees.

"Let go of me you-"The press of a cold blaster barrel made the words die on her lips.

"Certainly," the Master drawled. "Once you tell me why you invaded my arena."

Mando's shoulders shook as he tried to throw the guards off him.

There was an ominous click behind Sinead's ear. Beads of sweat ran down her temple.

"What will it be, Mandalorian?"

She looked at Mando and felt their eyes meet through the helmet, could feel his anger and fear.

"There are rumors that a slave went through. We're looking for him," Mando ground out.

"Ah!" The Master folded his hands in front of him. "The truth finally comes out." He waved a hand, and the blaster fell away. "You're a bounty hunter, I take it?"

"Yes."

"As your kind are wont to be. Shame so few are left."

An imperceptible shudder went through Mando.

"What I don't understand is why you wouldn't simply ask? I would've gladly helped in any way I can. The … cruel practice has been outlawed on Loovria for quite some time as you probably know, but we still keep quite extensive records." He steepled his hands together. "I would like to propose a deal: since your companion so rudely interrupted the fight, it'd only be fair if you were to step in the ring. It would be interesting to see if you measure up to the Mandalorians of yore."

"Absolutely not!" Sinead strained against the hands that held her back.

The Master looked down at her with a small smile. "No? I can't see why you would object. If you win, which we'll assume that you will, you'd be free to peruse the records for whomever you're looking for, after which you'll leave Loovria for good. If, however, you decline the offer, I'll have no choice but to find a suitable punishment, and Loovria takes trespassing very seriously. Even if you were invited, your companion was certainly not welcome to wander into restricted areas and wreaking many thousand credits worth of damage. And that's not even mentioning the murders."

"Go to hell!" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

The Master smiled and got up, holding out a hand to the nearest guard who handed him his force pike with a look of reverence. The light caught the chrome as the Master held it out for all to see.

"The force pike. As you have probably already noticed, I have amassed a large assortment of weapons, gathered over many decades. Out of all the gems in my collection, nothing compares to the force pike." He started towards them, his robe rustling with every movement. "So simple, yet versatile. The origin has been lost to time I'm afraid, but the force pike will always endure."

He stopped in front of Sinead, and she craned her neck to look him in the eyes. Her breaths came out in short bursts.

"On one end-"the vibro-edged tip hovered over her collarbone- "we have a vibro-blade strong enough to cut through durasteel." He looked at Mando struggling on the ground. "It wouldn't do much against your armor, sure, but not everyone is fortunate enough to have that kind of protection."

Sinead shuddered. The Master seemed to grow larger until he was all she could see.

He sighed. "Remind me, which side is a human's heart on again?"

With a roar, Mando's arm came free and he struck the nearest guard before trying to get to his feet. A Devaronian leaped and forced Mando back onto the ground.

"If your goal is to control, not kill, we have the force module." The Master swirled the pike in the air until the module pointed at Sinead. "It can deliver electrical shocks. Even on the lowest level, the pain is excruciating, I've been told." The tip glowed like an ember before it was enveloped in yellow light. Jabbing heat danced across Sinead's face. "It can cause paralysis or even death. But without all the messy stuff."

She tried to lean away, but the guards' iron grip wouldn't budge. The smell of petrichor filled her lungs, choking her.

"So, Mandalorian. What is your answer?"

<- Previous chapter - Next chapter ->

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x oc #mando x oc #din x oc #din djarin x oc #fanfiction #ends of the earth #oc: sinead

[nunukibebe]

Solid

WARNING: swear words and alcoholic beverages, oh my!

Jooheon/Reader

Yes! My first Monsta X story... Thing. (Idk what you call these). I love them as much as I love Ateez, so I had to share this with y'all. Just something cute and fluffy while I'm sicker than a dog and hacking up a lung.

For @one-hunnit

-_-_-_-_-

8:57 PM: "Joojoo, can I crash at your place tonight pls?"

9:22 PM: " yaeh ill be in l8tr"

9:30 PM: "Same code?"

10:12 PM: "duh."

10:15 PM: "Brat."

10:48 PM: "loser."

SIX HOURS LATER

Staring in silence as your friend stumbled into his apartment, not bothering to hide the huge yawn that split his face in two, you held a hand to your mouth to keep from laughing out loud as he dropped his duffel bag on the floor. Shoulders drooping as he let out a sigh, he sagged slightly before shaking his head and straightening up. 

Not for the first time, you could see the circles under his eyes and the pinched look to his mouth that he hid well. Hand resting on your upturned knee, TV remote dangling from your fingers, the show you'd been watching paused the second you'd heard the locks beeping open, your eyes followed his figure as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket. As he slipped on the ridiculously orange slippers he loved, you tilted your head, waiting for him to realize you were there.

You'd been expecting him to be late, but 4 am had rolled around with no sign of him, so you'd gotten comfy on the couch, sneaking in a chance to burrow in his hoodie, the item already large on him, it swamped you. It was a much needed security blanket at the moment, and you snuggled deeper into it as you fought a grin when a stumble from your friend had him finally coming back to reality. The second his eyes landed on you, he lept backwards as a scream of fright left his lips, a leg in the air as he faked a kick.

Unable to help the snort of laughter that escaped, you waved a sleeve covered hand at him as he waved his hands in front of him like the ninja he most definitely was not. Cheeks twitching slightly as you tried to keep your laughter in check, you couldn't help the teasing tone from your voice when you spoke.

"You forgot I was gonna be here, didn't you?"

"Jesus FUCK, you scared the shit out of me!" Jooheon panted, a large hand clutching his chest, fingers digging for his heart as his other arm supported his weight from where he leaned on the arm chair, knees still recovering from the scare.

"I'll take that as a big, fat no." You snickered, batting away the glare your friend sent your way, blue hair falling messily in front of his eyes, which were dull with exhaustion.

When he finally decided to just collapse into the armchair, you wrapped your arms around your knee, other leg crossed underneath you and the blanket you'd dragged from Jooheon's bedroom. His eyes latching onto the familiar black hoodie, a tired eyebrow was raised and you shrugged, taking the opportunity to flap your sweater-paws at him. His snort of amusement used his whole body, and you flipped him your middle finger, sinking back into the couch cushions as Jooheon sighed again.

"I am sorry I forgot though." Jooheon apologized, a hand brushing through his hair tiredly before he brought both hands down his face. "We had to get a dance practice video out." He explained and you shrugged again, cutting him off when he tried to apologize more, ever the kind hearted person.

"It's ok." You assured him with a small smile. "I knew what I signed up for when I became the best-friend of an Idol."

"Best-friend? You sure about that?"

Ignoring the muttered comment you caught coming from your friends mouth, you decided to be the more mature one and settled for sticking your tongue out, kicking the blanket off as you stood up. Legs instantly breaking out into goosebumps as the fall weather gave the air a crisp bite to it, you shivered and padded barefoot to his kitchen, calling out over your shoulder as you went.

"Need a drink?"

"Yes please!" 

Rolling your eyes at the vehement reply, your hand switched direction mid course, fingers grabbing a beer can instead of a bottle of water, instinctively knowing that it was what he was wanting. Pausing as you straightened up from the fridge, you glanced at the beer in hand and then back to the five that remained before grabbing one for yourself.

After the week you'd had, a beer at 4 am with Jooheon was just what you needed.

"Hands up." You called as you walked back towards the living room, and when a hand appeared over the back of the arm chair, you didn't hesitate, tossing one of the beer cans without a second glance.

The snap, hiss and crack of the beer can opening was enough to let you know he'd caught it and you sniggered under your breath as you sank back down on the couch, drawing the blanket back over your legs. Opening your own beer, you took your first swallow of the strong beverage, wincing as the aftertaste hit your tongue, exaggerating your expression on purpose.

At that Jooheon had to laugh, his first belly laugh since he'd stepped into his apartment and you felt a spark of joy light up inside you as your friend perked up a little. You knew his job was draining, even though he loved it, so when he actually made the effort to carve out time to see you, you tried to be like a human battery, transferring your energy to him via stupid jokes and silliness. And in some way, he repaid you by being a solid presence when your foundations felt weak.

And they definitely felt weak tonight. Work had been brutal, co-workers had been bitchy and people you'd thought were friends had turned out to be backstabbers. You needed the solidity he offered.

"Yah, why the frown?" Jooheon called softly, breaking the small moment of silence. Shaking your head, bringing yourself out of the brief trip down unpleasant memory lane, you forced a smile on your face as you looked up from where you'd been staring at the beer can. Fingertips fiddling with the tab, you caught the concerned dip of his eyebrows.

"It's been a rough week is all." You really didn't want to talk about it, and Jooheon knew it. He could tell by the way your shoulders tightened and how your knuckles went white as your grip on the can tightened. So he shrugged it off and decided to wait until you brought it up.

"Well, I'm going to take my beer to the bathroom and take a quick shower." He announced instead, groaning slightly as he picked himself up off the armchair, plush mouth pulling taut as his muscled pulled, and you frowned again, this time in worry over your friend.

"4 am shower beer?" You questioned with a snort as Jooheon smirked at you, raising his beer in a silent cheer, to which you raised yours in return, calling out after him. "Classy!"

Smiling as you took a sip from your drink, Jooheon's laughter echoed down the hallway before the sound of his bedroom door shutting ended it and you sunk deeper into the cushions, pulling your knees up as your free hand brought the blanket up around you, eyes staring blankly at the space between you and the TV. Mind rehashing the previous week, flashes of arguments flashing across your memory relentlessly, the phantom pain of being backstabbed was ever present and it demanded to be felt.

And that was how Jooheon found you, staring at the still paused TV screen, fingers sliding around the rim of the beer can, the small muscle in your jaw jumping as your mind raced behind your eyes, and not for the first time he found himself entranced as your face reflected your thoughts. Knowing of no other way to help you other than to distract you, he leapt over the back of the couch and settled himself on the cushions, damp head resting in your lap.

"Pet me." He whined with a pout, tone firm as though he wouldn't take no for an answer, and when you raised an eyebrow at him, he poked a finger into his dimple and you slapped a hand over his mouth before he could pull out the baby voice. "Mmph!" His voice muffled, you snickered as you knew he'd just cursed at you.

"You're such a child." You muttered under your breath, not bothering to hide the smile as your fingers complied with his request, burying themselves into his hair, fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp. Your friend simply stuck his tongue out at you before turning his attention to whatever show you'd been watching, now long forgotten.

As Jooheon started to visibly relax, you could see his eyes start to droop as you ran your fingers through his hair, eyes stuck on watching the blue strands brush over your skin. If Jooheon was a cat, you were pretty sure he'd be purring right about now, and you stifled the chuckle that rose in your throat with a swig of beer. For as long as you'd known Jooheon, he'd always needed to have some form attention at all times, and while at first it had annoyed you down to your last nerve, it had grown on you.

So much so that it wasn't at all uncommon to see him lounging just like he was now whenever you were at his apartment. Or whenever you were simply around. If he met you for coffee, he'd drag you to the most private part he could find and sweep you up in a bone crushing hug before draping himself across your shoulders.  Smiling to yourself as you remembered how you used to hate his bear hugs, you had to admit that you loved them now. No day was fully complete without a hug from Jooheon.

Blinking in surprise at the sudden thought, you couldn't help but recall all the times you'd fight against the hug and Jooheon would just hold on, that damn smirk playing on his lips. Of course, you always ended up leaning into the hug, grumbling and muttering under your breath as Jooheon laughed, squeezing you tighter, arms stuck to your sides so you couldn't swat at him.

Stuck in the memory, a pleasant one for a change, you let it play on, the familiar bubble of some unnamed emotion that always grew in your chest when you were around Jooheon spreading a giddy warmth through your body. 

Of course, as soon as Jooheon did let you, you were right there with a solid punch to the shoulder, grumbling under your breath when it always seemed to hurt you more than it hurt him. And Jooheon always reacted, pretending it hurt even though you knew it didn't. The scene was vivid in your mind, it occured so often that it was like watching a movie that only you could see. 

So when the memory of Jooheon smirking at you, that puckish glint in his eyes as he uttered the one line he always said after he'd annoyed you, the one you'd never really payed attention to because you were so busy being frustrated with him, came up in your mind, it was crystal clear and you finally heard the words.

"You know you love me."

Feeling those words like a punch to the tit, your chest felt like it caved inwards as they echoed in your ears and you swore your heart stopped beating for a minute. Closing your eyes as you sucked in a breath through lungs that didn't seem to be working, you pressed a hand to your chest, surprised at the rapid beat as literal lights went off in your heads, points finally connecting in a heart shaped pattern.

A soft sigh broke the silence that had engulfed the two of you, and unable to help it, you looked down and swallowed, hard. Jooheon was staring up at you, the flashing TV light throwing odd shadows dancing across his face, and a little voice inside your head, sounding more and more familiar, remarked that you'd never seen him look so handsome.

"You would suck so bad at poker." His words were soft, affectionate even.

Sitting rigid as though your spine had turned into a rod of steel, you couldn't bring yourself to look away as ,slowly, the emotions crossing his face started to make sense.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Brain tripping over your tongue, you forced your vocal cords to work, hating that all you could manage was a whisper. 

And then Jooheon smirked as he reached out to tug on one of the hoodie strings, eyes roaming across your face like he was reading his favorite book.

"Watching you think is more entertaining than television. Every thought you have plays across your face when you get lost in your head. It's like you have your own little language in facial expressions."

Words dying on the tip of your tongue, you watched, frozen, as he reached up to trail the back of his fingers down your cheek, his touch leaving a blazing trail his eyes followed. You knew Jooheon well enough to know that he wasn't done speaking, and you were proved right, a little burst of pride in your gut, when he spoke again.

"I'm glad you finally figured it out." He muttered, eyes hooded as he looked back up to your eyes, still keeping his head in your lap.

Almost as if he knew that as soon as he moved you'd be up and running.

"Figured what out?" Happy that the words came out clear, you bit your tongue to keep from making a sound when Jooheon chuckled low in his throat, the real version of the one he did on stage and was in his sexy persona.

"That you love me, you idiot. I was waiting for you to catch up."

#monsta x #monsta x fic #monsta x fluff #jooheon #jooheon fluff #jooheon monsta x #christeewrites #fluff #jooheon fic

[howdoib]

Ectober Day 1: Shatter

This is a day late. Gonna have some misgendering, angst, and a bit of pain here; read at your own risk. I'm sorry humans.

Math class was boring. Obviously it was nice that he could get halfway through the class without being pulled away but what did it matter if everything seemed to be in a code he never had a chance to learn. This is ok he asserted, his jaw set solid, I have a teacher here to help me. His hand darted through the air, pushing past his own hesitance and reaching for the skies. 

And the teacher paused. She sighed.

"No Danny, you may not go to the restroom." Her tired voice heavy laden with surrender as she turned back to writing notes on the board. 

Danny's mouth opened, silently writhing in contrition and his hand slowly plummeted back down to earth. That's not the right response! A couple of kids laughed, turning to chatter slightly. His mouth closed. No! I want to, I need to be able to do this.

"Actually miss," Absently his hand rubbed his neck, "I was wondering if you could explain this?"

"I explained them yesterday. The day you missed." Her voice quivering with irritation, "Maybe if you showed up to class you wouldn't be so confused."

The class erupted into oohs and chuckles as she turned yet again to the board. Danny slumped further in his chair. This doesn't make any sense tough! I can't- I can't do this. They won't help me. His shoulders squared again.

"I'm glad you taught it yesterday," he shot back, his voice only slightly quavering "But I was hoping I could learn what it meant today?"

She started laughing, her face twisting slightly. "No I don't think you will. I really don't. You're never even here, you've breached the point where coming to school is even worth it. I'm not going to stall an entire lesson just because you like skipping class."

Once more the class exploded in on itself. Everyone was laughing, joking, chattering back and forth. Danny's heart skipped a beat abd his mouth opened again. This isn't a fight; she's on my side. Yet it didn't feel like it. It didn't feel like it at all. His shoulders sagged downwards and his head bowed down towards the desk. He could feel eyes focusing on him. Everything felt like it was imploding, the air biting him and his own body crushing his heart, his lungs. Why am I even here? Shivers breached his spine and a ghostly plume breached his mouth. 

He raised his hand again.

In the most defeated voice she replied. "What Danny."

His voice shook. "May I go to the restroom?"

"If you leave I'm calling security." Without even turning from the board.

His legs slowly slid around and he stood up, bag in hand. Giggles bred themselves into gossip as he walked silently to the front. The teacher didn't even turn. And, his throat bobbing and choking, he marched out the door. 

He stood there in the silent halls for a moment feet heavy and oh-so light in their numbness. Until without feeling, he made his way to the restroom to change. The halls were so quiet and empty feeling with only the occasional lonely student or patrolling teacher. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

The chill of the halls became a burning inferno.

"To the bathroom." He said.

Without even turning he already knew it was George, the oldest and by far most lenient and friendly security guard. Danny heard him sigh. George was surely very disappointed; after all, everyone has their limits. Please just let me get past just this once. Just once. 

George sighed. "You and I both know that's not what's happening here kid." Danny didn't need to turn to see the reluctance in his face.

"Why don't we head up to the security office and talk about it?" 

Danny really really truly did not want that at all. What he wanted was to fight this ghost as fast as he could and not miss another class. To finally get everything under control. But he turned anyways; the old guard's face looked grieved, like he was hoping that this kid would take this treasured olive branch. Like this was his last chance on a chain of many before.

"Ok." 

George turned away, no longer facing him, beckoning for Danny to follow. His sense went off again, more insistent. His ears twitched at sounds just barely in range of hearing. It sounded like screams. George wasn't looking. He had to do this. Someone could be hurt. With his heart twisting in his chest and his stomach weighed down with rocks he let himself fade away.

The sky was clear and cold when he broke through the building. It bit his face. His head head felt on fire. Someone was in danger he had to-has to help. Sharp dust hit his face and stray wind streamed through his nose as he dove forward. 

His ears pounded and head burned. Green. There was green! He slid to a halt. It was Spectra. Fuck. This is just fucking fantastic.

"Spectra!" His voice rose a sarcastic octave- hand reaching to his mouth in fake shock "How are you??! Oh My God have I missed you."

Sharp claws thunked behind him.

"Wow it looks like you missed me too." The witty tone cracked halfway through and his eyes didn't quite crinkle as he smiled; he locked eyes with Spectra- daring her to point it out.

That was a mistake. He was slammed against the pavement as Bertrand with his black tail lashing pounced him. A claw went through his wrist. It burned.

"... Bertrand…" he gritted out "I guess everyone does want to be a cat."

There was no reaction.

"... Pickin up on that feline craze…?"

His voice seemed too high. "Cause a cat's the o-"

He gasped out. His side was bleeding.

"Ah yes, very witty remarks. I wonder if you feel quite so strong as you seem. " Spectra purred. Her rasping voice taunted his ears, her shadowy form curling about like a cloud of biting acid.

He felt his lip tremble. The pit in his stomach seemed deeper. I can't let her- She'll know. She always has. I just- What beat her through your obviously superior skill? Run away? Invisible and untouchable? I just-

"A cat got your tongue? No sharp retort?" Her voice lowed "I would've thought you'd fight harder-"

"... Technically a cat doesn't have my tongue.." Danny gasped out. Chest heaving and arms straining as he squirmed to get away from Bertrand.

"Perhaps that could be arranged. Where would you be after that little ghost child? Pray tell just what good are you then? A silent hero?" She cooed, "The town's great protector?" Her grin widened, laughing, mocking, "You can't even protect yourself."

"I can!" His voice shot back desperately.

"Really?" She tutted. "Do it now!?" Her eyes wide in false amazement. 

Danny struggled against the claws. His stomach spun. The air was choking him. They were laughing.

He opened his mouth. He didn't have anything to say. The pit in his stomach twisted. His eyes were stinging. No she's- She was right. There's no proof of that. Isn't there? Right now. No, jaw clenching and teeth grinding, people needed him.

His arms strained once more against Bertrand. The claw sunk deeper. Everything froze. 

"I was wondering," her voice set in mockong curiosity, "How exactly this heroing thing has turned out for you. Have people managed to forgive your…" her eyes glanced across him, nose wrinkling in disgust "... Flaws."

His face froze. "I don't know what your talking about."

"Oh of course, of course," dramatically swooping her voice, her laughing voice. "What flaws could you possibly have?"

Danny felt his gut drop. She knows. His stomach twisted tighter. Arms shook. I-

"Is it that you're not a boy? Not a ghost either. Certainly oh certainly not a boy. "Isn't that right Desmonda?" She gasped, drawing her hand to her mouth.

Then pit in his stomach shattered. His breathe drew clear again. Air rushed past his nose. He was laughing now.

"You.." Turning intangible he pushed himself through the pavement, beneath and away from the sharpened claws, "Didn't even get my deadname right!"

And with that he brought up the thermos, silencing her and Bertrand for about… Well, however long until he emptied the thermos. Maybe I should just leave them there forever. 

He flew back to the school. The security guard would be mad, he knew. There was another detention in his future. Tomorrow he might secure his binder too tight and just maybe cry in the mirror. But for now. The lunch bell had just rang and He needed to tell Tucker and Sam about how Spectra said the dumbest shit ever. The next? It could wait. Just for a bit.

#danny phantom #ectober week #ectober2019 #ectober 2019 #Spectra #Bertrand #angst #with a happy(?) ending #maybe more like a hopeful one

[bruciewayne]

fall from grace

percy jackson au, stevetony, getting together/ ill-advised one-night-stands, 3k

for ‘percy jackson au’ on @iron-man-bingo

--

Tony winces as the bunker explodes. Not all of it, just a section. Fury wasn’t going to be happy. All he hopes is that he doesn’t have to be on introductions. He likes Camp Half-Blood, okay, loves it, he used to be a year-rounder, now he’s just here when college is out, he’s been here longer than he hasn’t, and it’s fucking fantastic.

But he hates doing introductions. Or worse, finding. 

He’s not even particularly anti-social (when he’s not knee-deep in a project), there’s just something about brand-new demigods, having to explain everything over and over, that he hates. He’s not a person of great patience. Finding demigods is just a pain, especially if it’s one of the stronger ones, who aren’t even meant to exist in the first place, but when have the gods played by their own rules. Finding demigods means fighting monsters, it means weeks, months if they were one of the unlucky ones, in motels, following a trail of destruction to a volatile, hurting, kid.

Now, most would consider Tony to be fairly decent at finding (whenever he’s done introductions they’ve never really gone well, partly because Tony just attempted to make an interactive dictionary to get it over and done with, partly because the kid was a dick. From then on, he very, very rarely gets to do introductions, literally only if he’s the only experienced camper left.), but Tony just dislikes it. Greatly. He likes the chase, he likes solving problems and making things to solve the problems, the only thing he really has a problem with (because motels were like unhygienic sleepovers when with the right person and even the fighting gave him an adrenaline rush that usually could power him through a couple days in the bunker without any other sustenance) is dealing with the actual kid.

All the ones that he’d found were angry, and sad, and Tony never really knew how to deal with that - all he has to do is keep it civil and keep them calm until they reach Camp, but every damn time it was hard.

As he predicted (not literally) Fury storms into the bunker, fuming, mere minutes after the explosion.

“Everything’s controlled, it was meant to happen,” Tony says, the moment he enters.

“Stark.” It was the Tone. The very particular, very specific Tone to his voice that meant ‘you are going to be doing what I tell you with no complaints or I will put you on horse clean up for the rest of your years on this earth’. The Tone usually came with a demigod to go on a wild goose chase after.

“No, Nick, c’ mon,” Tony pleads. 

Fury doesn’t change his expression in the slightest, and Tony’s pleas are met with a stony silence and a couple sheets of paper are shoved in his singed arms. 

“0800, at the border, you’re going with Natasha,” he says, final, as he spins on his heel and leaves.

“Could just say 8 AM like a normal person,” Tony mutters under his breath. He gets a twig thrown at him.

Tony carries on grumbling as he sets about tidying the bunker as best he can while the smoke clears out. Whoever built this really wasn’t thinking with ventilation in mind. Ancient assholes.

Almost, as if someone’s listening to his thoughts (or maybe he’s just talking aloud again) lighting cracks outside. It’s the middle of July. And Thor (the kid, not the god), their resident lightning expert, is over at Camp Jupiter for the week. 

“Ancient assholes!” Tony yells.

This time, the lightning strikes directly on top of the bunker.

By the time he’s done, he’s almost missed dinner.

“Ah!” Clint says, when he sees him walk into the pavillion, “The prodigal son returns!”

“Fuck off, Arrow-Boy,” Tony grumbles, stuffing fries into his mouth. He’s way more hungry than he thought.

“Tin can,” Clint retorts, flicking a pizza crust at him. 

Tony pulls a face at him, grumpily.

“Don’t mind him,” Natasha says, materialising behind them, making Clint jump and spill his orangeade, “he’s cranky because we have to go find a demigod tomorrow.”

“I’m not cranky,” Tony says, just about resisting the temptation to cross his arms and scowl.

“Go take a nap, tin can,” Clint says, patting him on the shoulder.

After he finishes his dinner, he does just that, after, setting everything up for tomorrow - he stuffs a backpack (one that he made, the one that’s bigger than it looks) with everything he’ll need for a week and goes over the information - any satyrs who’ve tried looking for him failed and every time someone tries to bring him back he escapes and drops right off the grid.

One of the things that surprised him about this guy (they have a name, age range, known aliases, and a couple sketches) is that a wake of good follows him, not destruction, but insurmountable, impossible, miracle good. Although, there is a tiny trail of anticapitalism following him as well. A series of alarmingly good thefts that followed him across the country alongside great donations and a sudden dip in youth homelessness and a surge of college graduates from the working class over the year.

So. 

Good. Too good. Good enough to drop of Interpol radar and on to theirs. (There’s an arrangement. Tony doesn’t want to know.)

If he doesn’t get him, then he gets passed over to the Romans, if they don’t then the Norse lot have a shot, then it gets handed over to the East, and after all of them, finally, the big lads will step in. 

They’ve only ever gone up to the chain to the Norse (all incredibly strange, but then again, his father is a god, so, strange flew out the window on his fifth birthday, upon the realisation that Elon Musk is his half-brother - about a week after he went to Camp). Who decided the chain, Tony doesn’t know, but it is what it is. Meaning they get all the grunt work. He doesn’t mind it much because it results in the people up top thinking that they’re hot shit. (When they bother to take a look down, of course).

All Tony knows, looking at the information sheet and his ‘greatest hits’, is that this guy, Steven G. Rogers, is going to be an interesting person. Demigod. Robin Hood. Whatever.

-

The sketches never told Tony how hot the guy is. And he’s hot. Like, 10/10 would let him leave him on read, hot. He has this whole ‘vigilante/guy on the run’ look going on, slightly too-long hair that’s somehow the perfect length and a beard. Which is just unfair, because he’s about the same age as Tony, and Tony can’t grow anything properly - he attempted, one time, and all he got was people telling him that he has chocolate milk on his top lip. 

The age thing threw Tony for a loop, because there’s this guy, college age, still not at Camp, who’s made Forbes 400 his personal hit list, and succeeded, alongside with what he does with the money and with how long he’s managed to evade them, there’s something, okay, many things, that, for the first time, make Tony feel out of his depth.

But he’s always up for a challenge.

And by gods, has it been challenging. They’re about a week into this, they’ve followed him all across New York (he seems reluctant to leave) and they’ve only seen him once, in a back alley with some masked guy. Tony checked up later and that masked guy was one of theirs, Murdock, son of Nemesis. He refused to tell them anything about the guy, aside from ‘Leave him alone’.

Right now, they’re in a motel in Brooklyn, talking with Fury.

“Stark, Romanoff, get him,” is all he says, breaking the mist. Helpful. Although, Tony should know by now that a ‘Hey, this guy is like, stupid good, and even Murdock told us to leave him alone’ never worked. He’s starting to miss his smoke-filled bunker. Knowing his luck, and Clint’s dickheadedness, he’s blocked what ventilation there is in the bunker and shut the door.

Tony turns to Natasha to ask her to give him the remote - he’s bored, and Robin Hood’s nowhere to be seen, and it’s late, maybe there’s a good movie on - but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Room service.”

They’re on their feet in an instant, Tony’s slipped his gauntlet on (something a part of a bigger project - the reason there was a small incident in his bunker) and Natasha’s holding her knife, ready to strike, in front of Tony.

“I don’t remember ordering anything,” Natasha calls deliberately loud, eyes trained on the door. 

“What about a demigod” 

The guy says ‘demigod’ like it’s an insult, in a sneer, almost mocking them.

He could have the guy they want, demand ransom for him, maybe, or lead them to him. 

Tony taps an ‘O’ in Morse code, and Natasha nods her agreement, never looking away from the door. She goes over, feet light and opens the door an inch, knife first, before swinging it fully open to reveal Steven G. Rogers.

“You’ll need something stronger,” he says, nodding to the knife, “and take longer next time, maybe the Romans’ll get me.” He leans casually against the doorjamb, and Tony’s gay enough to admit that even that action is hot. So is that little teasing smile.

He is not falling for some vigilante guy he doesn’t even know the middle name of. He’s merely appreciating his assets. His very, very attractive assets.

“You need to come back to--” Natasha starts, ignoring the jibe about her knife, yes it’s small, but it’s poisoned with eitr (they had a bet with Quill’s crew, one of the Norse, Gamora bet her knife and lost it to Nat), which will easily put a human, and a demigod to death.

“Camp Half-Blood,” Rogers says, tiredly. So he knows that he’s a demigod and that Camp Half-Blood exists, he’s definitely heard this before and he’s turning out to be even more interesting, so Tony jumps in.

“Good deduction, Rogers, now come to Camp.”

He fakes thinking for a minute, and then decides, “Nah,” and before Natasha or Tony can protest he adds something more, “I’m tired and bored of your lot chasing me, both of us have better things to do. You stop going after me. Understood.” He draws himself up to his full height and drops the smile, towering over them.

Neither of them are scared, they’re both small, and they’ve been trained to use that to their advantage, and they’ve been training at Camp since before most kids would be in the first grade, Tony’s been told that overconfidence is his ‘fatal flaw’ (amongst other things), but it’s two against one, and that one has none of the training, nor teamwork that they have. He has strength, he very, very clearly has strength, but other than that, he’s a blank canvas.

“You’re coming with us,” Natasha says, faux gently, they’ve dealt with people like this before. Angry, ‘the world has wronged me’ types, who put up a fight. Tony glad he remembered to take the tranqs this time. 

“Oh, for fucks’ sake,” Rogers groans, “no means no, asshole.”

“Can’t take no for an answer,” Natasha says, shifting her stance into the offensive.

Rogers has the audacity to roll his eyes, “Then learn basic consent.”

He makes the mistake of turning around - put your back to Nat when you’re not on the same side, be prepared for something become incredibly friendly with your lats and your trapezius (Tony speaks from experience).

She jumps up onto his back, ready to knock him out with the flat of the blade - Tony’s seen this a million times before, so he prepared himself for an unconscious demigod, but it goes in vain.

Before he knows what’s going on Natasha’s lying flat on her back with Rogers’ foot on her stomach, the knife is in Rogers’ hand, pointed at him. He raises the gauntlet on instinct.

“Go home, tell him I got away,” he speaks with an entirely authoritative voice that definitely does not go straight to Tony’s dick. He’s willing to bet that Rogers is a child of Aphrodite.

He tosses the knife on one of the beds and walks out.

Tony chases him out, instinctively, and almost crashes into him outside. Rogers gives him a look and before he knows it, he’s kissing him in a wild clash of lips and tongues. He’s shoved against the wall as Rogers noses down his neck.

“Rogers,” Tony breaths tilting his head back.

“We’re gettin’ friendly. Steve’ll do.”

“Steve, Steve--”

“You want me to stop?” Rogers-- Steve asks, with a teasing roll of his hips against Tony’s hardening cock.

“Fuck no,” Tony groans, “but I gotta know, why?” He’d like to state, for the record, that he is never this easy; usually, it takes much more than a rough kiss and manhandling to get him like this, but Steve knows what he’s doing.

“Why?” Steve murmurs against his neck, “You’re hot, and you’ve been eye-fucking me the moment I walked in.” He pulls away suddenly, “You’ve done this before, right?”

Tony grins, lewd, “Sure, I’d prove it, but on top of everything, I don’t want a public indecency charge as well.”

Steve’s eyes darken and he drags them into his room - the one next to Natasha and Tony’s. 

Tony proves just how non-virginal he is and Steve returns the favour, and Tony really, really wasn’t wrong in his first assessment of ‘knows what he’s doing’.

“That might have been,” Tony pants, trying to catch his breath, “the best orgasm of my life.”

Steve laughs and presses an absent-minded kiss to his shoulder, then trails his lips up to tease at the hickey he left earlier. “I get that a lot,” he murmurs, grinning up at Tony.

“From everyone, or am I just special?”

Steve seems to realise what he’s really asking, because he chuckles again, “You’re the only one of Fury’s minions I’ve slept with.”

Tony grins. He’s never had this much fun, outside of the sex, with a hookup before. “Well, you’re the only demigod I’ve fucked, period.” Even though godly relations counted for jackshit, he’s never slept with anyone at Camp. He’s not even sure if you’re allowed to have sex there.

“I don’t recall you doing much fucking,” Steve says, smirking.

Tony, ever the pinnacle of maturity, just mimics him, far too tired to think of something clever. He lets his eyes fall shut, comfortable in Steve’s arms.

When he wakes up, he’s alone, with a note and a flip phone left on the pillow where Steve was.

The phone’s demigod-proofed, call, text, if you ever want a real fuck - SR

-

“We lost him, got away right under our noses, but we do have a way to contact him,” Tony says to Fury when they get back. He knows that he should hand over the phone, but that feels like he’s breaking Steve’s trust.

“The phone, Stark.”

“Through me, you talk to him through me,” Tony insists. Steve’s not coming to Camp for a reason, and he trusts him not to drag him back, so Tony feels an urge to protect him, even though he’s proven more than competent at that.

Fury knows what battles to pick, so leaves him, with a reminder to get some rest.

Maybe he doesn’t hate finding that much.

-

They don’t try to chase him after that, but Tony still meets up with him, sometimes it takes him a week to respond, sometimes he’s out of the country, but he always replies. They don’t even have sex immediately the first time Tony texts him, they just hang out in a diner in Queen. Then they fuck for real, on some billionaire’s bed, because Steve’s just like that and it tops last time.

It takes Tony repeating a constant mantra of ‘he’s a thief and fairly shifty and what they have is strictly friends-with-benefits’ to slow down falling in love with him, but it seems sort of inevitable in the end. He’s entirely in love with the way he smiles and laughs and fucks and every single part of him, Tony’s so damn, overwhelmingly in love, he knows that he’s going to tell him, today, about a year into what they have. It’s not unrequited, if the looks Steve gives him is anything to go by. 

They’re sitting in a bandstand in a park near Camp, the closest Steve’ll get to it. He’s still the same, he’s still one bad fashion choice from ‘cryptid’, still Robin-Hoods-ing in his free time, but he’s shaved off the beard - the very first time, he’d tentatively asked Tony to do it. 

Tony’s learnt that he’s also an artist, that he used to be in the army, that he has a weird and shitty relationship with his parents, and even though there’s still a lot that he doesn’t know about him, all that changes a view on someone.

They’ve both long accepted that what they have can barely be classed as ‘friends-with-benefits’ now, in some unspoken agreement one early morning, this time in Steve’s apartment when they were lying in bed, half-awake together.

Tony leans in to kiss Steve, ready to tell him, so damn ready that it feels like it’s going to burst out of his mouth all by itself when a thunderstorm starts.

Steve groans and drops his head on to Tony’s shoulder. It’s adorable, seeing this six-foot man try make himself small enough to fit in Tony. They make it work. 

Steve stretches out an arm and flips off the sky. The sky sends a truly unnatural amount of lighting into the tree next to them.

This time, he yells a ‘fuck you’, loud and clear, before kissing Tony, deeply, swallowing his giggles.

When they pull away, Steve’s grinning, bright and wonderful. He opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by a well-dressed businessman in a flash of lightning. 

Now, Tony’s only ever met his dad, Hephestus, and Apollo, and they were nowhere near this dramatic. Or well dressed. Or this important.

Steve just rolls his eyes at their untimely interruption, but there’s something under the annoyance, something akin to fear that puts Tony on edge. “Fuck off.”

“Now,” Zeus says, “is that any way to greet your father, Heracles?”

-

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#steve rogers x tony stark #steve x tony #stevetony fic #stony fic #stevetony #stony #my fic #my writing #percy jackson au #ironmanbingo3000

[spaceiplier]

SPACEIPLIER: One by One

She was crying.

Madapriel frowned, arms folded as the door slammed open. The woman stood there, chest heaving and tears carving paths through the dirt covering her face. Two curved daggers were clenched in white knuckled hands. She stared at her with hate. Her small frame shook. The door closed behind her.

She was unbalanced.

She was tired.

This would be easy.

“Did you hurt him?” she spat. She staggered forwards, her footing uncertain. She wasn’t watching Madapriel's hands. She wasn’t watching the knife sitting on the desk next to her. She was watching her eyes, and in doing so, watched what she should have ignored. Emotions. “Did you… did you kill him?”

Madapriel sighed.

“Answer me!” she said, throwing one of her knives. It lodged itself with a thunk into the wall behind her, grazing her cheek. Madapriel reached up to touch it. Fingers came away with a thin layer of blood. Even unstable and exhausted, she was dangerous.

She would be a good addition to Madapriel’s finality.

Carefully reaching into her pocket, Madapriel pulled out the vial of blood. The faintest blue glow surrounding it.

The woman’s eyes locked onto it.

Recognition flashed across her features. A slight parting of her lips, and a widening of her eyes. Then, it was gone in a burst of fury.

There were no words. Not even a scream of rage. One moment she stood there, and the next she was running forwards. Her hand was coming down, knife posed to stab her. In any other situation, Madapriel would have been dead. This form of hers would have been slain by such a formidable opponent. But today was different.

Today, emotions had come into play.

Oh, sweet little girl. Didn’t they teach you? Your love will only kill you.

Madapriel reached up, grabbing her wrist. With a sharp twist, her hand was redirected. The knife no longer aimed at Madapriel’s chest, but at hers. Her eyes widened, but there was no time to stop what had been put into motion. With a shove, the knife sunk into her heart.

She screamed, but it was choked.

Madapriel drew the knife out and, with certainty, stabbed the organ in her gut that would finish her off.

The woman clutched at her, a mixture of hatred and fear in her eyes.

“You look tired,” Madapriel said, smiling as she lowered the woman to the floor. It was almost kind. This woman was worn to her end. She had been used, and had used. She could rest now. She could stop this pointless fight. “Why don’t you go to sleep?”

A pulse of red light.

She stopped breathing.

Blood covered Madapriel’s hands. A perfect sample. Standing, she walked to the door and pushed it open. It creaked. Hand slipping inside her pocket, she selected the empty vial next to the blue one. Then, she let the blood pool in her palm and slip inside.

Where she had left him, the one who she had first taken from lay there in the arms of yet another one of those militia beings. Pink, this time. He was clutching at him, staring at her with fear and shock. As if he couldn’t understand what was happening to him.

She could see the cracks forming.

A mercenary who cared? How interesting… and so easily used.

Madapriel walked forwards, slipping the vial into her pocket. “Huh,” she said, voice soft and curious. “I assumed your kind were murderers. Yet you try to save him? Strange. You have a heart.”

“Fuck off,” the pink one spat, his compatriot wheezing his final breaths in his arms.

She smiled, and kept walking.

One.

.

.

Dark.

Drifting.

Cold.

No sound, and no smells. Nothing to sense. Only a floating feeling as Madapriel waited.

Sleeping.

Awake.

Waiting.

There was something muted. Warm, and full. It sunk into him. He started changing. Absorbing. Taking in the DNA and making it his own. He knew this DNA. They’d forced it on him many times. Human. The living code for the species doomed to destroyed themselves on this dying planet. There was something off about it.

The human part he knew.

But also knew this. This code of a species all too familiar. What was it?

Half-breed did not bother Madapriel. Those other species that found love in others was what it was. A motivation for species to spread across the galaxy, forming homes and lives wherever they might. Madapriel did not concern himself with the workings of others personal existence. He didn’t not care to insert himself into the lives of those species he only touched upon momentarily. But this… this brought a sour feeling. This DNA.

Xanhull DNA.

A Xanhull who had mated outside of their own kind.

Hatred curled in Madapriel. Hatred at the GAAP for destroying his home, and his people’s traditions. Their way of living had been eradicated. All out of fear and personal gain. How disgusting. His home was gone, and so were the values held so close to him. And now beings like this walked the galaxy.

As Madapriel reformed, he felt a tug at the back of his mind.

Kill the gret. Give it mercy. Find some sort of control. Restore some kind of sense of right into his world.

Then – and only then – could he continue.

Two.

.

.

The heart had gone bad.

The DNA Madapriel had been planning on using was useless. He would have to replace it, and soon. Not a problem, but the species would be an issue. Such a warrior race, and so powerful in their abilities, it would be a harrowing battle to regain the DNA he had lost.

Outside, he could hear Mark and his crew. Talking and laughing about a mission they had just completed. He couldn’t let them come along. They would only get in his way. They didn’t need to know what his true intentions were.

Mark…

The longer Madapriel stayed around him, the angrier he got. It was obvious his Xanhull parent had taught him nothing of their traditions. Of their way of life. He surrounded himself with a ‘family’ that he showed obvious strong emotional attachment too. He kept animals with him that he loved. Animals! Creatures only there for him to care for, and not for food or any other usage than love.

Mark was wrong.

It would bring Madapriel great joy to snuff the life out of him.

Madapriel closed the upper part of the cabinet. Inclosing the DNA that he would use to assume his finality. The DNA of those two mercenaries, kept safe. The rotten heart, he tossed into the incinerator. Opening his comm, he located the home planet of this species. About a weeks travel.

Perfect.

.

.

“You… you want what?”

Madapriel sighed. The sun was beating down, and making his dark suit uncomfortably warm. The scent of hot earth and the sickly sweet horvu fruit, native to the planet, saturated the air. “Your DNA. Blood, hair, spit… doesn’t really matter. Though I would prefer the blood.”

The young Niokonge shook his head. “Sir, I…”

How the galaxy had changed since the eradication of Unohsket. Madapriel nearly felt a sting of nostalgia for the old days where a Xanhull asking for your DNA was an honor. You, out of everyone, were chosen to share your form with another. A being who had sworn to uphold values and codes of honor, and share diplomacy across the galaxy.

Now it was lost to the razed history of his forefathers.

“Do you want credits?” Madapriel interrupted, tired of the young whelp’s indecision. “I can compensate you for your cooperation.”

“I don’t need credits,” the Niokonge said, continuing to shake his head. Madapriel feared it would shake itself off. “I… I just got hired on as a district attorney, and I… wait, why do you want my blood? That’s really weird.”

“Your bloodline’s record is impressive,” Madapriel said. “You shall prove to be a strong addition to my finality. As well, your abilities are something I have always admired. The ability to transform kinetic energy to electricity. A valuable asset.”

“T-thanks,” he said. “Uh…”

Madapriel wanted off this damned planet. It was growing near midday, and the heat and stench was unbearable. The human senses were always an adjustment. So naturally attuned to their surroundings. The perfect blend of predator and prey.

The young Niokonge shuffled their feet. Only just cresting adulthood, he was smaller than the average Niokonge. But what he lacked in physical form, he made up for in intelligence and adaptability. A strength coming from his kinetic abilities. Madapriel had caught him leaving work, and they stood in a corner of the street. Their voices hidden under the noise of crowds leaving for home. Hidden under the rumble of kinetic powered vehicles humming down the street.

His eyes darted about. Gold and intelligent.

It would be a shame to tear them out if he refused to cooperate.

“Look, will you leave me alone if I just give you some hair?”

Madapriel nodded.

The young Niokonge reached up and tugged a few strands of blond hair out. He handed them over, warily watching him. Madapriel took them and tucked them into a small vial.

“Thank you,” Madapriel said.

And with that he turned and walked into the crowd.

Three.

.

.

The black skies of Nihill. Oh, how they never changed. Nothing changed on Nihill. Not since the first credit hungry pirate had stepped foot on this forgotten moon. The same endless cycle of greed, crime, and debauchery. Madapriel had never visited Nihill before Unohsket was destroyed, but afterwards… oh, it was heaven to those of his kind who had nowhere else to run.

New identities. New faces. Endless choices of DNA.

This is where the Xanhull race had survived.

He frowned slightly as he stopped, staring at a young woman carrying a small child. They were keeping their heads down. Avoiding drawing attention towards themselves. How sad. So, lost and forgotten that this was the place she raised her child.

The sadness grew into anger as Madapriel realized this is also how his people lived.

Lost, forgotten, and ducking their heads to stay out of sight of those that would harm them.

“Soon,” Madapriel said quietly, sending his resolutions out to his scattered people. “Soon.”

Madapriel turned, and walked into the shop.

“Welcome!” A booming voice filled the small shop. Madapriel looked up to see a larger man wearing surgeon scrubs. “My name is Dr. Percale, how may I help you?”

“I hear you sell organs.”

A grin spread across Percale’s face. “Ah, a patron of my other business. Right this way, sir!”

Percale lead him through a doorway covered by a ratty tarp into a room. A table sat in the middle of the room, scrubbed immaculately clean. A tray of surgical tools sat on the bench nearby. Everything was neatly organized and presentable, if not ultimately appearing second rate. Percale busied himself about the room, placing any spare bits away.

“Excuse the mess,” Percale said, gesturing to the clean room. “I have had a relatively busy day. Three new placements for cybernetic replacements! News of my skills must be spreading about this wonderfully delightful planet.”

“Where are your wares?” Madapriel asked.

“Ah! Yes,” Percale turned to the back wall. With a flip of a switch, the wall opened up. Lining the shelves, hidden behind the thin false wall, were jars and bottles of organs and bodily fluids. Many Madapriel could recognize, but several he could not. He stepped forwards, examining them all.

“A truly impressive collection,” Madapriel said, complimenting the doctor. Percale brightened.

“Why, thank you, sir. Might I ask which particular organ you are looking for? I am currently running low on galldyrus and livers, but have a surplus of kirpeaus and eyes!”

Madapriel’s eyes wandered about the shelves. So many choices. He had a few species in mind, but one particular jar caught his attention. It wasn’t even from a species he had been considering. Memories flooded back of his first steps. The first time he opened his eyes. The first time he had touched something.

A jar holding a Velm eye was tucked on a lower shelf.

His first form had been a Velm. A fitting note that he should take Velm as his last.

“That one,” Madapriel pointed at the jar.

Percale lifted it up, dusting off the lid a bit. “Ah yes, I remember this customer. Replaced his eye with a cybernetic one. Threw in a free drone as well. Oh, what was his name? It was a few years ago, but I can assure you that I keep all organs in perfect condition.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Madapriel said. “How much?”

“Let me think…” Percale tapped his chin with his free hand. “3500 credits?”

“3000.”

“3300.”

“3100.”

“3200?”

“Deal,” Madapriel said, taking the jar from Percale. Tapping on his comm, he sent the credits to the doctor. Percale checked his own comm, grinning when the numbers appeared.

“A true pleasure doing business with you,” Percale said.

“Likewise,” Madapriel said. He took the jar, turning his back on Percale and the room as he walked towards the door. Just one more. One more, and he would be ready. He could truly start his search for the crystal, and he could take on his finality.

Four.

And just one more.

Madapriel wondered if that bothersome Celestial was still bouncing about this galaxy. The one with the clown. His DNA would be wonderful.

He stepped out onto the rainy streets and smiled.

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