#... anyway i did a half assed “honest” discussion and then put in my notice a few weeks later ...

[onyourstageleft]

one of my irl best friends that I met from working at the shitty retail job that I quit a year ago got fired today for bs reasons (it's fine he expected this and was prepared for it so it's more of a celebration that he doesn't have to deal with their shit anymore) he's coming over to drink with me & my partners on Friday night

and we're gonna order a cake

he has no idea. it's gonna be great

[brattyfics]

Like That

Pairing: Rio x Black!Reader

Summary: You and Rio get to know each other better. Loosely based on ‘Like That’ by Doja Cat. 

Warnings: Smut.

Word Count: 3.5K

Installments: Say So | Like That | Talk Dirty

And baby, I want it, and I'll just be honest 'Cause I just can't front when I look at you

About six weeks have passed since Rio declared himself your man, and you quickly learned he took the title very seriously.

He was busier than usual with ‘flipping his game,’ and you were busy preparing to transition your shop, but you saw each other often despite time constraints. You agreed date nights at least once a week were a must, but when you couldn’t see each other, Rio made sure to end nights with a phone call. Virtually falling asleep next to him gave you butterflies, reminding you just how exciting new relationships could be. It took prodding, but he told you made-up bedtime stories and the boring details of his day. In return, you shared things about yourself— childhood memories, the crazy things your mom did to embarrass you. He was sweet and attentive, and you found it refreshing to be with someone who was just as infatuated with you.

On your second date, he took you to his favorite restaurant, a fancy sushi place with expensive rolls. He taught you to hold chopsticks the wrong way the way he did and even fed you across the small table, a couple of unfortunate rolls falling apart due to his prodding. You tried your best to hide your amusement at the pensive look on his face. For whatever reason, Rio thought of himself as a sushi connoisseur, but it was clear to you that he was still learning.

“You’re no better than me!” He admonished when he noticed the way you held your chopsticks. Like his technique, it was incorrect, but it worked for you— sort of. “I never said I was.” You couldn’t keep the amusement off your face any longer. “You’re the one who comes here weekly. I thought you were a professional, and we’re in the same boat.” He folded his arms on top of the table as he insisted you were wrong, but secretly he found your teasing endearing. Later that night, he called and gave you a cheesy line about loving to see you smile.

The following week, you had lunch at a mom-and-pop soul food restaurant that served the best cornbread and peach cobbler in the city. The owners, an adorable older couple, Donna and Gene, and servers alike stopped by your table to meet Rio. Donna gushed over Rio, showering him with compliments and extra cornbread. “Girl, he is cute!” She told you, failing miserably at whispering. He smirked as you rolled your eyes, but he handled the attention well, being friendly and personable even when Gene kept going on and on about changes to the menu, one chef to another.

A few days later, he called you up randomly and asked you to get ready and ride with him somewhere. “What should I wear?” You asked, hoping for a hint. You could hear him smile as he said, “It doesn’t even matter, ma. You always look good.” The occasion had turned out to be ‘Foodtruck Friday.’ Barbecue, kebab, taco, ice cream, and other miscellaneous food trucks were parked in a spacious lot in Downtown Detroit. You settled at a picnic table and shared several plates of food as you discussed the possibility of your own mobile ‘Mad Batter’ shop somewhere down the line. It got you thinking about the future.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” You asked the dreaded question in between bites of a colorful Korean fusion taco. He stiffened as he considered the answer. “What is this, a job interview?” Sometimes you saw peeks of bossman Rio rather than the Christopher Castillo you were getting to know. It happened seemingly out of nowhere when you asked questions he felt were invasive.

You looked up from the panko-fried shrimp, red cabbage, shredded carrots, and tasty orange sauce wrapped up in a flour tortilla with a frown. You had two choices: respond in the way he had or make light of the situation. So, you said, “Kinda. You’re auditioning for a spot on my roster, so...”

He stopped chewing the half-eaten dumpling and swallowed hard. “That’s not funny.”

“You better start taking the interviewing part of the audition more seriously then.” You wiped your fingers on a napkin, and he gathered your hand in his own, wearing a look you couldn’t decipher. “You got it, ma.”

You played a game of mini-golf at the local arcade. Rio stood tall behind you, holding you by your hips as he corrected your stance. You purposefully arched your back, brushing against him just slightly. “Like this?” You looked over your shoulder with the most innocent look you could muster, but his eyes were glued to your ass. “Yeah, just like that.” He answered in a low tone without looking up. You giggled as you took your swing, adding a wiggle for his benefit. You pretended to care about the ball as it glided across the bright green tarp towards the hole. “How was that?” You chirped, looking down the lane.

“I can’t even lie. I don’t care about the game right now. I just wanna watch you.” Your aim was terrible, and the ball never went in the hole without several attempts, but he insisted you finish playing the course. You teased him about it for days after despite his claim that he actually enjoyed the game because it was one of Marcus’ favorites.

“Stop lying! You just wanted an excuse to openly watch my ass.”

“Why you always gotta call me out?”

You shopped a cozy health and wellness store with hundreds of cool little trinkets for sale. Neither of you had been there before, so you took your time exploring, stealing unexpected kisses from the other. Rio took full advantage of the size of the store, pulling you by the hand and holding you close to his side.

He frowned at the large collection of shiny crystals. “A rock, really? What does anybody need with a rock?”

“It’s not a rock!” You hissed, head whipping around as you hoped the owner didn’t hear him.

“What is it then? It looks like a rock to me.” He picked one up, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s a crystal!”

“What’s the difference?”

“It has healing properties...” Rio snorted but strung his arm across your shoulder and listened intently as you read the info cards to him. When it was all said and done, he bought an aventurine stone to apologize to the owner for prosperity, well-being, and good luck.

The next day, he disappeared with no warning. You had been worried sick until Mick let you know he was busy handling something. It would have only taken a minute to tell you that, so you were (understandably) pissed. He showed up at the shop several days later like nothing had ever happened. “What’s up, mama?” The greeting that usually melted you grated on your nerves. All of your feelings about the situation bubbled up to the surface. It was hard to find the right words— you were still getting to know each other, so how mad could you be? At the same time, how little did he think of you to not say anything? Finally, you settled on, “I can’t do the disappearing act.”

Rio wasn’t used to answering to anyone, not even his child’s mother, about his whereabouts, but he put his palms up in surrender when he saw the serious expression you wore.

“You’re right, mama. That’s my bad. It won’t happen again.”

And it hadn’t.

But knowing ahead of time only made it a tiny bit easier, especially when he didn’t have a set return date. You were going on day seven (the longest you had gone without seeing him since you started dating) when he called to say he made it home and wanted to see you. Your heavy heart swelled with relief. You missed him way more than you probably should have, so you insisted on a night in at your place, wanting him to feel relaxed and at home instead of on guard somewhere public.

It had been a long six weeks without sex while he romanced you with delicious food and beautiful words. It wasn’t an easy task, but you knew as soon as sex was thrown in the mix, you would be done for, either destined to be his or ruined by him. It was a scary thought, but distance had indeed made the heart grow fonder, and you cared about him enough to take a chance.

He was set to arrive within the hour, but you were still unsure of what to wear, frantically rummaging through the dresser for something cute and comfortable. You let out a frustrated groan when your phone started to ring, thinking Rio might have come early, but when you look down at your phone, you see your best friend’s name and face. You swipe quickly, accepting the FaceTime call. “Hey, girl!”

“Hey, stranger!” You pick up the phone, so you can look at her. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She replies with just as much sass. “I haven’t talked to you in what— two weeks?”

“We talk—“

“—text.”

“Okay, fine. Text. We text every day. What are you talking about?”

“That’s not the same.” She insists even as you remind her of the ridiculous amount of time you spend trading memes and food pictures with her.

“Anyway, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to decide what I’m going to wear between this, this, or this.” You move the camera around, showing her the different options. A black-and-white tank and short set with ‘Being cute is not a crime’ in a cute font. A fuzzy grey sweatsuit set with hearts, or a simple cream hoodie with matching shorts.

“Um, what’s the occasion?” You giggle at the look on her face, knowing she thinks none of the above are appropriate for wearing outside of the house.

“Movie night in.”

“You need help picking an outfit for movie night with yourself?” Her face scrunches up in confusion. “Wait, is it movie night with yourself?” You try to be casual about it, shrugging your shoulders in response. As usual, she sees through your bullshit and goes straight into an interrogation. “Oh, bitch. You been holding out on me!” She asks you five questions in a row without stopping to breathe before settling on one. “Who?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip. “...Rio.”

“Rio?” She frowns. “Like the guy we work for, Rio? With the eyebrows and the neck tattoo, Rio?”

“Yes, that Rio.”

“Wow.” You wince but decide it’s best to get it over with. “What? I know you, so I know there’s more where that came from.”

“I don’t know what to say! From what I can tell, he’s a decent dude, I guess, but you know what he does. You definitely know what we do for him! You don’t think that could be a problem?”

“It’s messy, for sure, and I can admit that, but I’ve been thinking about getting out anyway...” She nods. “Then, I guess there’s nothing else for me to say about that. You’re both grown, and you know what you’re doing.” She was your best friend, which meant she’d always give her honest opinion, but wouldn’t berate you about your choices. Just like that, you return to your regular discussion topics, everything from warehouse gossip (yes, even in the business of crime, there’s a rumor mill) to new music releases. Before you knew it, forty minutes had passed, and Rio was calling your phone. You promised to call her more often before hanging up.

You sing your ‘hello’ into the phone, hoping Rio can’t detect the shakiness in your voice as you clumsily pull on your bottoms.

“Hey, mama. You about ready? I know you’re sensitive about your space and all that.” He was referring to the fact that he had never been past the doorway of your home. Your home was your sacred place, so you were extra careful about who came in and what energy they brought. It was always nerve-wracking to let somebody into the space that you cherished so much.

“Yeah.” He picks up on the hesitancy in your voice. “Are you sure?” You nod your head as if he can see you before telling him yes with a giggle. “Alright, well, I’m outside. Can I come in?” You bite your lip, butterflies fluttering in your tummy. “Yeah, I’ll come unlock the door.” He whispers his thanks, and you take a moment to force yourself to relax. When you meet him at the door, you do so with an open mind and heart, taking in his appearance with a goofy grin on your face. As usual, he’s dressed in all black, wearing a well-fitted t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s casual but still so high quality and attractive.

“Hi.” You breathe out like a dork when you realize you’re staring. It helps that he seems just as mesmerized, stepping forward to envelop you in a tight, warm hug. He sways you from side to side before pulling back, his hands resting heavily on the top of your ass. He settles for a quick peck on the lips because he has something to say. “You’re as pretty as ever, darlin’.” He says earnestly, shaking his head as he steps back to look you over once more.

“Kiss me again.” His hands cup your ass as you devour each other in the open doorway. You forget your surroundings. “Damn, ma. Can I at least get inside before you jump my bones? I don’t mind giving your neighbors a show if that’s your thing, but…” You turn to hide your embarrassment, leaving him to close the door behind you as you gesture around the room as if you’re in an episode of MTV Cribs. “... here’s the living room. The kitchen’s through the arch. The bathroom’s over there...” He follows you with his red as you point.

“And the bedroom?”

You snort. “The tour stops here for now. Sit down.” Your tone leaves no room for argument. He settles into the soft couch while you grab the snack tray from the kitchen. Homemade popcorn, chocolate-covered pretzels, and dried fruit gummies are on the menu.

“All this for me?” His arms snake around your waist so that you can curl up into his side. “What we watching?” You grab the remote. “I saw a trailer this week that caught my attention. I’ll play it for you.” He didn’t care what you watched as long as he got to be close to you, so it didn’t take long for you to get the movie started. He stole glances at you when his knuckles brushed against your bare knees under the blanket. You’re embarrassed at how wet the small action makes you, so you stretch out across the couch and place your bare feet in his lap, silently planning your revenge. The movie may as well not be playing because you couldn’t be less interested in the plot as you lightly stroke him through his sweatpants with the balls of your feet.

“Ma...” He warns, watching you in the low lighting. He’s come to learn you like to tease, but he doesn’t think he can take it, not tonight. “Hmm?” You hum innocently, loving the strained look on your face. He doesn’t move even as you sit up on your haunches and kiss him. It’s slow and long in the best way. He pulls you to sit in his lap. His hands roam your body as you grind down onto him, relishing in the feeling of the soft skin on your tummy. He sighs into your mouth as one hand finds your bare breasts.

He pulls away to talk shit. “No bra? You just knew I was gonna put out, huh?” He pushes the cotton material up so he can see you properly. “Perfect.” He murmurs into your skin. You let him kiss and lick and suck on your nipples until the pressure you feel below is too much to handle. You’re a quivering mess when he finally helps you pull the cotton material up and over your head. It lands on top of the television behind you, but neither of you notice.

You nudge him until he removes his own shirt, and then he lifts his hips to help you when you begin tugging on his sweats. They puddle at his feet while you spread your legs wide, desperate to get your hands on him. “I could cry right now.” You admit honestly when you finally see him, biting your lip. He arches a brow. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing, darlin’?” His hips jerk when you take him into your hands, the cold temperature surprising him.

“It’s definitely a good thing.” You whisper excitedly, staring with wonder as he hardens in your hands. He barks out a laugh, stunned by your ability to make him laugh, even with his dick in your hands. “That’s really nice, ma. I feel real special.” Your eyes meet, and silent promises of all the filthy things you’re going to do to each other are exchanged. “You should. I’m about to change your life.” He throbs in your hands, loving that you find small ways to challenge him.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.” He wraps his arms around you in preparation to get up, but you stop him with a shake of your head. “I don’t wanna.”

“No? What you wanna do then?”

You answer him by slipping to your knees. You spit on his dick, stroking him up and down slowly. He watches you closely as you lower your mouth, wrapping your lips around the tip. It takes a lot of restraint, but he lets you do your thing, slowly working him deeper into your throat. He closes his eyes as he concentrates on lasting, but he can’t turn his ears off, the obscene smacks painting a vivid picture for him. When you swipe your tongue across his balls, he moves to stop you, grabbing your shoulders. Fire dances in your eyes as you realize you got him where you want him. “I don’t wanna.” You repeat.

“You are a brat.”

You release him with a pop. “The biggest.” You admit, swallowing him once more. He groans, thinking he can’t believe you’re the same sweet girl who bakes in a frilly pink apron and begs him to tell her bedtime stories.

“I want you to fuck me now.” He stops you before you can bend over the couch. “Slow down. I want you on your back, darlin.”

You throw his earlier words back at him. “That’s nice. I feel really special.”

“You should.” He mocks you, instructing you to hold your legs wide. He wastes no time licking and sucking you as enthusiastically as you had done him. “You’re so pretty. I could eat this pretty pussy forever.” He compliments as you squirm in his hold. “You’d let me, huh?” You shake your head frantically. “No! You’d drive..me crazy!” Payback is a mother, especially when Rio’s the one dishing it out. “Wait, wait—“You whimper, clawing at his shoulders.

“What?” He cajoles. He almost wants to laugh at the distressed look on your face. “I want you.” You pout, trying to sweet-talk him.

“You have me.”

“Not like this. Inside.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Mhm.” You swallow, watching as he fumbles around with his pants searching for a condom. He opens the golden foil packet with expert fingers, positioning himself in between your spread legs. “You don’t have any pointers for me now?” He drags his tip up and down your slit, slowly pushing his way further. Teasing. You shake your head. “No. Just fuck me.”

“That ain’t polite. You gotta say please, mama.” You scowled, but he didn’t budge. “Please.” You pleaded with the sweetest tone you could muster, sighing as he gave in. You cursed at the stretch, him at the way you squeezed him. “You feel…” He couldn’t find the words, so he buried his face in your neck, trying to gain some composure. You caressed the back of his neck sweetly. “You feel good too, baby.”

His hips stuttered forward, and you gasped as he worked himself deeper. You grasp his shoulders tightly, your nails embedding themselves into the soft skin.

“Yes!” You squeal.

“Like that?” He grits out, struggling to keep his rhythm.

“Yes, just like that!” You cry, moaning as he pounds up into you. His lips find yours again, and it’s bliss. Then before you can stop yourself, you’re calling him Daddy like it’s his given name. He groans into your sweaty neck like he’s in pain.

“You’re so nasty.” Overwhelmed and breathless, you whine your protest, “You’re nasty. Look at what you’re doing to me.” His eyes shift to where you’re connected. You’re creaming all over him and leaking down onto the couch, but you can’t bring yourself to care about anything other than coming. You do just that, mewling as you make an even bigger mess between your legs. He whispers filthy things into your ear as he finishes, grunting at the way you seem to be sucking him in even deeper.

“That was—“

“—unreal.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you can bring yourself to move. Your sweat-covered skin sticks together. You swipe your hand against your forehead while he pants.

“I wanted to ride you at least once tonight, but after that, I’ll be lucky to make it to bed.”

GENERAL TAGLIST

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903

RIO TAGLIST

@xsweetdellzx​

[oftenderweapons]

I don't know if you are still accepting prompts, but can we get a yoongi x kitten jealous drabble??? love your work!

This was difficult for 2 reasons.

1. Yoongi is the least jealous of the guys imo.

2. Kitten would never make him jealous.

I think they're the less drama-prone couple of the crew. However I found a loophole for you, my lovely reader. Enjoy 💜

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 1.4k

Genre: Angst, Fluff, established relationship, idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Trigger warnings: alcohol consumption, Kitten gets drunk, Kitten's ex FWB, mentions of wlw, angsty discussion on bi/pansexuality (nothing LGBTQ+phobic, you're safe here). Yoongi is very insecure, tired and vulnerable. Mentions of strap-on/pegging.

THIRST NIGHTS ARE OPEN

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

“Who's that?” Yoongi asked, leaning over your phone as you both sat on the sofa.

“It's a friend from uni, Amber. She's just back from Canada.” You leaned towards the coffee table, lowering the volume of the TV. You already knew neither of you would watch it, just use it as background noise while you cuddled before falling asleep in the rainy Sunday afternoon.

“You never mentioned friends from uni.” Yoongi laid back while you slowly crawled behind him, putting down your phone, ready to focus on the only important task in the world — spooning him. Your hand crawled to his chest, humming in appreciation at the way his pectorals were bulking up. You loved knowing that your personal grumpy cat was taking care of himself.

“She wasn't exactly a friend friend.” You kissed his nape and waited for him to catch your drift.

“Just a colleague? One of those random people who live in the same room as you a couple hours a day for some years?”

You tutted. “More like 'we've seen each other naked and it was fun time for a bunch of months' kinda friends.”

Yoongi nodded. “Friend with benefits?”

You chuckled. “Yeah that.” Yoongi waited. He could feel you weren't done talking. “She asked me out for drinks tomorrow night.”

At that, Yoongi turned around. “Did you agree to go?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, she was abroad for years, maybe she's just trying to find her old friends, build connections. Maybe she feels lonely now here in the city.”

He knew you were being logic, and assuming that woman wanted something else was actually mean, but still a part of him felt uncomfortable. “I understand. Isn't that like seeing an ex though? Maybe she wants to pick up from where you left it?” He burrowed into your chest.

“We were never a thing. Just had some fun, no strings attached.” You held him closer. “I love you. And I want you. I chose you—”

“What if she's easier, better than—”

You interrupted him mid-sentence, not letting his self-destructive thoughts take control of him. “I chose you. Only you. Don't doubt it, ever.”

Yoongi nodded obediently, cuddling up to get ready for a nap. And while you did fall asleep, he couldn't, too anxious, continuously revived by your phone screen lighting up..

He noticed you had five texts from the girl. He put down the phone and breathed you in. He had you.

Did he?

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

Yoongi stayed on the sofa, alarmed when midnight became one a.m. and then two a.m. and then...

He heard you come through the door at half past, stumbling a little. You dropped your bag. And then you dropped your ass on the bench by the door, struggling to take off your boots. “Kitten,” he called, worried. He reached you in a minute, his blanket on his shoulders. He felt on edge, a bit raw.

“Yoongi?”

He had never heard your voice like that. “Are you okay? Are you drunk?”

You nodded and he immediately turned around, ready to head to the kitchen. You grabbed his hand on instinct. “Please.”

“I'll grab you some water—”

“You were right. I'm so fucking sorry.” You leaned your head to his stomach. “I should have listened to you.”

He patted your head. He waited.

You looked heartbroken when you looked up at him. He was devastated by it. Did you...? “She kissed me. I'm so fucking sorry, Yoongi, you were right. I should have stayed at home. Please, forgive me.”

Yoongi sat beside you on the bench, exhaling slowly and loudly.

“It meant nothing. I didn't want it,” you explained, gasping, rushing your words out, desperate.

He cupped the side of your head pulling you to his shoulder and kissing your temple. “It's okay.” It wasn't. He wanted to kiss you and reassure you and watch you come undone for him, remind him you were his.

“You know I love you.” You were crying. Yoongi hated it. “Please.”

“Did you get this drunk with her?” he asked, taking off your shoes for you, helping you up and catching you in his arms.

“I was tipsy. I drank after she left.” You nuzzled into his neck.

“Did you do this to her too? Cuddling into her? Holding her like you hold me?” He needed to ask the question, no matter how much it hurt.

“Maybe back then, but not tonight. I want to hold you now. Only you. I want to kiss you. I want to be yours.” Being honest hurt, but you did it anyway. Keeping the kiss a secret didn't even cross your mind for half a millisecond: you needed to tell him and clear up this huge misunderstanding and make yourbond stronger and—

“Did you learn to use a strap with her?” His question was rough. He had to wait for you for two hours to find out he had so many doubts.

You frowned. “I never did that for anyone. I tried with you. Because I love you. Because I want to give you everything you need.”

He hummed, pondering your reply. He moved on. It was just something petty he had come up with when bitter with worry and disappointment. “Do you need to throw up?” Yoongi rubbed your back.

You waited. Nodded. Once in the bathroom you asked him to let you handle that alone. He refused.

You hated him seeing you in such miserable, hideous state, but he wouldn't take his eyes off you. He held your hair back as you got rid of the alcohol, soothing you with a hand along your spine.

Once you were done, teeth brushed, he realised he had one final answer he needed to understand whether he could sleep in the same bed as you. “Do you still... Do you...—”

“No, I don't like her, Yoongi. I love you. Only you. I'm yours.”

He let you finish. Though it was good reassurance, that was not the answer he needed. “I mean, do you regret getting together with me? Do you—” You were already shaking your head.

“Do you regret not having sex with other people? More specifically, women?” he finally asked.

“No. I don't regret falling for you. Loving you and only you. Sleeping with you every night. I have never been happier, Yoongi. You make me so happy. And I don't regret being monogamous and loyal to you.” You looked him right in the eye. “Being bisexual or queer or whatever has nothing to do with loyalty. Having sex with you doesn't mean I miss having sex with women any more than I miss having sex with other men. By the way, I don't miss any of that. I want you and no one else, man, woman, non-binary. I choose you.”

Yoongi relaxed. Somehow he understood, even thought to him felt different: you would wear a strap and he could have something close to sex with a man, but that wouldn't work the other way around. He stopped. Did he miss sleeping with a man? No.

He realised his insecurities had undermined his reasoning. When you wore a strap, the point wasn't you having male genitalia, but you being you. Calm, reassuring, sensual, soothing you. Cruel, cunning, sadistic, ruthless you.

It was you, his beloved, his everything, his lover.

“I'm sorry. I've been overthinking,” he confessed. “You're right.”

You breathed out in relief. “It's okay.” You stretched your arms out, holding him. “I'm sorry I made you worry and overthink.” You comforted him as much as you could. “I love you, baby. You're smart and kind and giving and peaceful and perfect. You're the best person I could ever dream of.”

He sniffled a little and nodded, holding you just as tight as you held him. “Are you sure you still love me?” he said, voice trembling.

You smiled and whispered “yes”, over and over again, your forehead touching his.

He pressed his lips to yours. They didn't belong to that hopeless woman. They were his. You had made them his. “I still love you too. A lot,” he whispered. “I love you. That kiss means nothing to you. It means nothing to me either.” He pressed his mouth to your jawline. “I'm still yours,” he whispered.

“Remind me.”

At that he smiled, his expression mirroring yours.

What happened after that was sacred and shall remain unspoken.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By My Side (Part 9)

Summary: The reader and Jensen have a relaxing afternoon where they discuss their future with one another...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Please enjoy the final part! I had a lot of fun with this series!

_________

One Month Later

“Hey Mikey,” you called from the hammock you were sharing with Jensen in the backyard. He popped his head up from one of the patio loungers, his head deep in a legal brief. “Don’t you have a date tonight?”

“She’s coming over later for the party,” he said, going back to work.

“Did you clear that with head of security?” asked Jensen.

“Head of security can suck my dick,” said Michael as he flipped a page.

“Suck your own. I set you up on this date you know,” you said.

“Ah, this is what I missed,” said your dad as he sat at the table playing a game of chess against Chuck.

“If you can imagine they were worse as teenagers,” said Chuck, moving a piece. “You were planning to have more, weren’t you?”

“We were discussing it. Y/N kept asking for siblings,” he said. “Glad she found some.”

“They never got on very well until recently,” said Chuck.

“Dysfunctional family is kind of our thing,” said Michael, reviewing another paper. Your mom took a sip of her drink, giving Brian a smile. You saw him go to hold her hand under the table but he hesitated, your mom taking his anyways. She rested her feet over Chuck’s lap and you shook your head. 

“They’re so loud,” you mumbled to Jensen. You curled into his chest and he gave your waist a light squeeze.

“They’re alright,” he murmured against your neck. “Wait until you meet my family.”

“God I hope they aren’t crazy like mine,” you said.

“No one’s quite at that level,” he chuckled. “They’re not crazy. Just...odd.”

“Your family or mine?”

“Probably both,” he said. “Want to go for a walk before the party?”

“Sure,” you said. You both rolled out of the hammock and said you’d be back soon, Jensen taking your hand as you walked to the front of the house. A car pulled up at the new gate and you let it in, smiling as you saw Nick and his friend climb out of the car.

“How was the flight?” you asked as he stretched out.

“Good. This is Spencer. Spence, Y/N and her boyfriend bodyguard, Jensen,” said Nick. 

“Nice meeting you guys,” he said. “Nick says you’re why Y/N’s dad is back in the picture?”

“Something like that,” said Jensen. “We’re gonna take a quick walk but feel free to show Spencer around the house or take a dip in the pool.”

“We’ll start cooking in about an hour but snack on whatever you like,” you said. You and Jensen gave them a quick wave before you were walking down the street, Doug whistling from his driveway.

“You two kids staying out of trouble?” he asked.

“Only the bad kind,” said Jensen. “See you and the girls at the party in a bit.”

You hummed as you walked, Jensen squeezing your hand when a car went past.

“Your bodyguard rules are a tad conflicting you know,” you said, smiling at him. “Put you between me and a vehicle but if we’re walking on a city street, put myself closer to the street and you closer to alleyways.”

“Not confusing at all. You stay away from the danger,” he said. “I let you slide on some stuff.”

“I have sex with you, Ackles.”

“I know and I wanna keep doing that so I let you slide,” he teased. He bopped your nose and you laughed, slowing down a bit as you hit the quiet stretch of road with lots of trees around. “I was talking to Chuck earlier. He no longer hates me.”

“See? I told you he’d come around.”

“Strong disdain was now in play,” said Jensen. “I still can’t believe I fucked up like that.”

“Well first off, Chuck doesn’t have the high and mighty card to play. His own sons thought for a split second he was capable. Even mom.”

“How’d the family therapy session go this week?” he asked.

“Okay. The boys all cried. Mom and I aren’t gonna go unless they ask us to anymore. Everyone seems okay,” you said.

“Your dad and Chuck are getting along pretty good now,” he said. 

“I don’t know what those three are going to do, honestly. She loves them both still.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” said Jensen.

“I disagree with that sentiment. Sometimes you have to choose if love is more important than other things, things that might be just as vital as love. But I don’t agree that loving someone alone isn’t enough,” you said.

“Quite a hopeless romantic you are,” he said. He threw his arm over your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. “Anyone in particular you’re loving these days?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. Your face felt hot, Jensen slowing his walk to almost a crawl. 

“I’m not afraid of you running off on me,” he said. “Not after everything.”

“Good cause you’re important to me,” you said. 

“That what we’re calling it?” he said, your arm sliding around his back, hand settling on his waist. 

“Shut up,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. You snuggled him for a brief moment before you started walking again, Jensen’s hand grazing your cheek. 

“You’re important to me too,” he said quietly. 

“Okay,” you said. You smiled and you both moved your arms so you could go back to holding hands, Jensen taking his baseball cap off his head and putting it on backwards on your own.

“Can I tell you about what happened to me sometime?” he asked. You turned your head towards him, Jensen shrugging. “You know...the not so great stuff with Hall and all that.”

“Always. I’d never tell a soul,” you said.

“It’s probably not as horrible as whatever you’ve dreamed up in your head,” he said. “But I don’t want you to worry about it anymore. I’m not so scared of you changing your mind about me if you hear it now.”

“I just want to be able to help you the way you’ve helped me,” you said. “That’s what we do.”

“True. I’m still your bodyguard though,” he chuckled.

“Yeah but that’s like an assumed role with you being my boyfriend anyways. I feel like you’ll always be my bodyguard,” you said.

“Always?” he asked. “Always doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You know what I mean,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “A man can dream though.”

“When we met, what was your gut reaction?” 

“Within half an hour of meeting you, I wanted to quit. I knew...I knew there was this something that I don’t know what it was, it just really wanted to know you and make sure you stayed safe. I didn’t think I could do both effectively.”

“So we were both a bit mean to hide things.”

“Well, you are kinda a sassy client. You don’t always listen to me like the time you nearly got a concussion,” he said, bumping your shoulder with a laugh.

“Excuse me but I escaped, not you, and I saved your perky little ass,” you said.

“Oh so you did notice it’s perky,” he said. You rolled your eyes but giggled, Jensen kissing your temple again. “Maybe you can be my bodyguard too.”

“That sounds fun,” you said. “I’m not wearing a suit though.”

“You could just wear what I do.”

“One of your shirts?”

“Yeah, just that’s good,” he said, chuckling as you lightly smacked his chest. “To be honest, I hate the suits. I prefer the laid back look.”

“I prefer anything where I get to see more skin,” you said. “But that does bring up a point I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yes?”

“If I wanted you to stay on as a bodyguard...for like work and events moreso cause at home I think boyfriend Jensen could handle that job, would you still work for me?” you asked.

“I’d do it for free,” he said. You cocked your head and he shrugged. “I’m serious.”

“Well I’m still gonna pay you. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted something more...exciting,” you said.

“I’m good with quiet. You still have your fair share of crazies out there. Like the stalker guy,” he said, your eyes wide. “I’m joking.”

“Why do I feel like you’re not?” you asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You’re safe.”

“Never thought I wasn’t,” you said. “Jensen.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to get away this weekend? Somewhere quiet before I start filming my movie next month?” you asked.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” he said. “After our epic party tonight of course.”

“It’s not gonna be epic,” you said. “It’s like fifty people max.”

“No, it’ll be epic,” he said. “Cause I got you a present you’re gonna love.”

“Tease. What is it?”

“If you must know,” he said as he pulled out his phone. He handed it to you and tapped the screen, scrolling for a minute before he got where he wanted.

“Plane tickets? For tomorrow to the Maldives?” you asked. “How...Jensen you can’t afford this. You have to let me pay for-”

“Oh, honey. I haven’t paid my own rent, utilities, food in a very long time. That plus these hot shot hollywood types and their fancy contracts? I’m better off than you think I am,” he said. “You like, legit saved my life and made me as happy as I’ve ever been and I just want to take my girl on vacation to a place she’s always wanted to go.”

“Fine but only cause I really want to go with you,” you said. 

“I knew I’d win you over,” he said.

“You did that a while ago,” you said, a guy walking past on the other side of the street. Jensen took his phone back and glanced over his shoulder once he was gone. “A pap again?”

“Yup,” he said, sending a text off to Jake. “Oh wait. I forgot to do my favorite part.”

He turned around with you and let out a loud whistle, the guy spinning around.

“You do know last guy we caught in the neighborhood we got arrested, right?” called out Jensen. The man paused but kept staring. “I see one photo or your ass around again, we’re gonna have problems.”

“He’s really a sweetheart!” you said. “Probably want to get out of here before we come back around though. He’s a tad protective.”

The man walked a bit faster, Jensen chuckling as you both watched him slip in a car and head for the entrance out of the neighborhood.

“Ah, I love doing that,” he said. “I am a sweetheart, aren’t I.”

“Yes, yes you are,” you said. He squeezed your hand and you looked around, not spotting anything out of the ordinary. “What?”

“That one’s just for me,” he said. He kissed your lips, pulling back with a big smile. You kissed his cheek, breaking off and kissing his lips, cupping his face. 

“That one’s for me,” you said.

“Better do it again, just in case,” he said.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Bodyguard.”

_______

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, semi-public sex, foodplay, a lot of sloppy making out, creampie is not the only type of dessert involved, very soft dom!jin, sub!reader, unprotected sex but who’s surprised, dom!hoseok, waxplay, painplay, very explicit discussion about consent since waxplay is technically edgeplay, restraints, cuffs, flogging, hobi in his element is a kink in and of itself, degradation, discipline, subspace, scratching, rough sex, hoseok going the extra mile honestly, still unprotected sex, cumshot

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and sponsored by the red room

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

The vote is at the end of this chapter.

DAY TWENTY

Though it’s the weekend (as if that has any real significance when you aren’t really working) you wake up tragically early, before the sun’s even risen.

Unsure of what woke you, you rub your eyes and duck your head out into the hallway. To your surprise, there’s the distinct yellowish glow from a light on downstairs. It’s hard to walk down the stairs when your head is full of cotton, your eyes still bleary and your mouth constantly stretched in a yawn, but finally you stumble down into the main space.

Frozen, with a metal spoon hanging out of his mouth and his eyes wide and red, is the oldest man of the house. He leans dejectedly against the kitchen counter, haunting a tub of ice cream that’s definitely not intended for one person. You quickly realise what may have woken you is the obnoxious whir of the microwave, something in a covered glass jar twirling round and round inside.

“What-” you swallow and clear your throat when the word comes out croaky, “what are you doing here so early? Are you okay?”

Still startled by your presence, he blinks a few times and removes the spoon from his mouth, letting it clatter to the table. “I’ve been better.”

Your face drops in sympathy, ignoring the freezing tile on your feet as you approach him. Without waiting for permission, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close to you in a tight hug. “What’s up, Jinnie? You can be honest with me. If you let me have some of your ice cream, of course.”

That manages to pull a weak laugh from him as he hands you the spoon and ruffles your hair. “I am, as it turns out,” he explains, “incredibly stupid.”

“Ah.” You dig into the tub of ice cream one handed, dislodging a chunk of what looks like brownie. “First of all, I disagree, but more importantly, why do you think that?”

“Do you have an hour?” Jin sighs at the poor attempt at lightening his own mood. “To tell you the truth, and this may come as a shock to you, but-”

“Is this about Yoongi and you fucking?”

Jin pulls back, staring you down with a bewildered expression.

You swallow a cold mouthful, furrowing your brows apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. Go on.”

“I- How did you- Who knows?”

You hum for a minute, tapping the end of the spoon against your lips. “Oh, I’d imagine everyone,” you summarise. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.” You wince as you recall a few particular evenings. “Nor is volume control.”

“Right.” Jin has the good grace to look sheepish at that, but gently tugs the spoon back. The microwave beeps noisily behind you, and he curses, rushing over to pull the jar out. “Anyways, yes, Yoongi and I have been casual for a short time now, but things are messy. And I suppose I sort of thought they were good messy, but last night I realised how very not-good messy they were. I haven’t been fair to Yoongi. Or you.”

You tilt your head, watching him uncover a lightly steaming jar full of what looks and smells like caramel. “Me? What does this have to do with me?”

Jin opens his mouth, grimaces, and closes it again. After a few moments of silence where he stirs the sauce and tastes a bit of it, he finally faces you to speak. “After the fight, you didn’t really...say anything about what you found out. My feelings for you, I mean. Not that you were at all obligated to, of course, but I wanted to give you space. And… I wanted to have space too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so when Yoongi expressed interest in me, I thought him and I could help each other out.”

He pours some of the sauce directly into the tub of icecream, but then puts it down and rests his forearms on the countertop, really leans his whole body weight onto them like it’s hard to stay standing. “Yoongi has feelings for me,” he explains. “I don’t know if you know that too, but- yeah. He said- even as recently as yesterday, he said he was fine, but I should know better. It’s irresponsible of me to take his words as gospel when I can so clearly see, as his friend and as a trained therapist, that he isn’t okay.”

You want to wait until he’s said his piece, but your chest feels hot, like your ribs are smouldering coals. You can’t stop your tongue. “I don’t need space.”

Jin blinks, caught off-guard. “Huh?”

“I don’t need space,” you repeat in a warm voice, “I don’t want you to be distant. Fuck Yoongi if you want, but don’t do it just because you’re avoiding me. You’re right; that isn’t fair to either of us.”

“I know,” he concedes, shoveling another spoonful of melted ice cream and sauce into his mouth to buy him some thinking time. “It’s getting out of hand, too. Just yesterday Jungkook asked to join and- God, this is such a mess. I should end it, shouldn’t I?”

Your tongue tingles with the urge to press about Jungkook. Feeling like that isn’t really Jin’s priority right now, you change tact. “Do you want to end it?”

Jin furrows his brows, deep in thought. Clad in blue and white striped pyjamas, his face seems far too serious for his attire, but it’s clear this is really eating away at him if he’s up so early thinking about it. Had he even gone to bed at all? “I don’t want to,” he admits, “being with Yoongi is so easy. And not like- not logistically, I’m not saying Yoongi is easy, but… God, I don’t know how to say this without it being soppy. It feels right. But at what point do I stop doing what I want and start thinking about others? I need to do what’s best for Yoongi.”

It’s hard conveying any semblance of intelligent thought when you probably have not even half of the whole story, but you do your best for him. “Is that a decision you should be making on his behalf, though? I feel like you should be having this conversation with him.”

Jin sighs, placing the spoon down so it doesn’t clatter. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been going over and over it in my head. My reasons for sleeping with him aren’t all noble or genuine or even fair. And I know he has feelings for me. I think if I let this continue I’ll be hurting him. So surely ending it is the right thing to do?”

You mull it over a moment. “It seems like you already know the answer, Jin,” you offer up softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Jin bites his lip, eyes distant. “If I text him, if I tell him that we need to talk, or that we shouldn’t do it anymore, then… You said you didn’t need space. So can we talk? About us?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, though your heart rate quickens at the thought, “that’s probably for the best, too.”

“Alright.” Jin wipes his hands on his shirt pants, whether it’s to get off the stickiness of the dessert or sweat you don’t know, but soon enough he’s slipping his phone out and hunkering down on the kitchen tile floor.

You join him, scooching up so that your shoulders bump. With your back against the cabinets and your lower half on those icy tiles, normally you’d be shivering. But Jin’s body is like a radiator, and he leans into you as he unlocks his phone and pulls up Yoongi’s contact.

For his privacy, you try not to look, but you can’t help but notice the name for Yoongi is Min City, and that their recent texts are calls for late-night rendezvous. Jin takes a deep breath, his thumbs hovering over the keypad. “What do I even say?” he muses out loud. “I’m a therapist; why can’t I even work out a good ‘we should talk’ text?”

You hook your hand under his arm, tucking it to your side. “Start off by apologising for texting him at ass o’clock in the morning,” you jibe.

Jin pauses. “I’ll probably rephrase,” he admits, “but that’s solid.”

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. |

“Okay, what next?” Jin says in a shortened breath.

You let out a light laugh. “This is your message,” you remind him, “but fine. How about this? Tell him that you’ve been thinking a lot, which you have, and that you just can’t keep sleeping with him in good conscience because you don’t feel like it’s wise. And maybe, like, tell him to come find you when he reads it so you can have a proper chat. It shouldn’t just be done over text, you know?”

“That’s true… Okay, here goes.” Jin swallows hard as he types away, and were it not for the fact that these were your friends who were involved, you’d laugh at the cheesiness of the moment. Like something off a trashy k-drama, though your life felt more and more like one every day anyway.

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. i’ve been doing a lot of thinking after our talk, and i just really don’t think us doing this is a good idea anymore. please let me know when you get this. we can talk it over a bit. |

“Is that all I need?”

You shrug. “I guess so. Unless you wanna add an ‘xoxo’ to the end of it.”

Jin bites his lip. “That may send mixed messages.”

“It was a joke, Jinnie,” you protest, shoving him playfully. “Anyway, are you gonna send i-”

A loud ding cuts you off, echoing slightly in the otherwise silent house. Above the box of text Jin had been crafting, a new strip of grey appears.

The both of you freeze, staring in disbelief at the screen. “Did he just..?” Before you can even finish that sentence, a second chime rings out again, and the screen shifts to display more grey, slightly smaller than the first.

“Looks like,” Jin murmurs, scrolling up to view the new message. “Holy shit.”

I’m sure you’re still asleep jin-hyung, so just text me when you get this but yesterday i was lying when i said i was fine, because i’m really not and jungkook has really helped to give me a little perspective so i’m sorry if you still need someone to distract you but i’m not gonna be that someone anymore

No hard feelings btw, i still feel the same way about you but i don’t think we should have sex for a while, i just need some distance. I like to think that you’d want me to put myself first and i’m doing that now. I hope you can understand

“That… I guess that’s that sorted,” Jin says slowly, tapping the screen to delete his message. “Should I reply now?” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he locks the phone. “No, I’ll wait until later. He won’t be expecting a reply now, anyway. Hopefully he can get some sleep.” His eyes turn sad. “Do you think he was up all night stressing about that?”

“Hey,” you warn lowly, “don’t guilt yourself. The two of you can straighten things out later, and sleep better tonight. Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He releases a slow breath, his body heavy with unshed tension. For a moment, the two of you stay silent, you giving him time to process. When he speaks, he shuffles his whole body around to face you. “I know why you’ve been so hesitant,” he announces suddenly.

You frown. “Wait, what? Hesitant?”

“Yes,” he insists, “you haven’t really talked at all about if you return my feelings. I used to feel really confused and hurt by it, but I get it now.”

Your stomach rolls strangely, a feeling like being caught red-handed. “What do you mean?”

“Last night,” he explains, “I came up to tell everyone that dinner wasn’t far away. You weren’t in your room, and Taehyung wasn’t in his…” He trails off meaningfully, and realisation settles in your bones, not shock, but resignation.

“Oh.” You swallow, sitting up so you’re no longer leaning towards him. “You saw us? In Jimin’s room?”

“I won’t tell,” he begins automatically, “and it’s okay. I see that you’ve been answered for already. I’ll respect that.”

“It isn’t like that,” you say reflexively, “we - god, we weren’t supposed to let anyone know, I can’t believe we didn’t lock the door - but we aren’t together together. It would be too messy, and it was putting a strain on our relationships with everyone else, you know?”

Jin frowns, like he’s trying to work it all out. “So it isn’t a romantic relationship?”

You smile thinking of Taehyung’s loving brown eyes and Jimin’s gentle embrace. “It’s a promise,” you explain softly, wrapping your arms around your torso. “We aren’t making any commitments or ties now, and we obviously can’t be exclusive, so it’s a promise that once we’re out of here, we’ll try and explore our feelings. Do it right.”

The therapist takes in a deep breath, nodding. “Then where do I fit into all of this? Does that mean I have a chance?”

“I-” You bite your lip, avoiding his imploring gaze. “It would feel wrong getting into a relationship when I’d decided that I wouldn’t do it with them. If that makes sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he assures, “but that’s not what I mean. I don’t need to be in a relationship with you to treat you right, Y/n. I just want to know if there’s a chance in hell that you return my feelings.”

You lift your eyes at this, staring at the way his soften in response. Your heart thuds in your chest and there’s a liquid relief pumping through your veins that he’s willing to stay by you. If you didn’t already know it before, those sensations certainly make it clear. “I like you, Jin. A lot.”

He smiles in relief, a small and sweet one that makes his eyes crinkle. Rather than responding verbally, he slips one large palm around the nape of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss.

Eyes slipping shut the moment he comes close, you reach out blindly for him and fist your hand in the thin fabric of his pyjamas to steady yourself. His lips are so plush, and moving so slowly, that it feels like they could slow down time itself. There’s no urgency in the sensual way he kisses you, but you can nonetheless taste his elation sweeter than the remnants of caramel on his tongue.

In that same way, you have no idea how much time passes with your mouths locked together, slowly warming the kitchen floor with your body heat until your skin feels on fire. Even the slightest details, like his fingertips on the back of your neck and your inner wrist make you dizzy.

You break apart for air, still clinging to him like you’d drown without his touch. Panting, you try to slow your racing heart. Your lips still tingle, and reach up to brush your fingers against them in wonder. “Oh, wow,” you whisper dumbly.

Jin smiles, then, a brilliant one that warms his whole face. “Wow,” he repeats. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you like that for a long time, Y/n.”

Barely able to think, you find your eyes slipping down to his lips, how swollen they are, dusky pink. “You can do it again, if you want.”

Jin goes to lean forward, but halts, looking up to the countertop. “One sec,” he hedges, “I’m determined to continue my opportunist streak.”

“Your what?” You chuckle at first, but as he reaches up and drags the jar of caramel sauce down, your eyes quickly widen in realisation.

Jin catches your look, sending you a wink. “Open up,” he instructs, and you drop your jaw without hesitation, anticipation heightening your senses.

When he tips the lip of the container forward, and you feel that warm sweetness burst on your tongue, you moan, tilting your head back so it pools in your mouth. But instead of stopping, he continues to pour, until you feel it threaten to spill out. “Too much,” you try to say, but you can’t move your tongue or lips enough to enunciate it.

Jin only pulls the jar away when it begins to drip down your chin, and like a man starved, he leans in and licks into your mouth without abandon.

You moan as you feel his tongue cut through the molten sugar, running over yours, over your teeth and lips and even ducking down to messily swipe up the stickiness on your face. No matter how much he ravishes you, the moment you begin to kiss back, your tongue lifts and a thick wave of hot caramel slips between your mouths, no doubt getting on your pyjama shirt.

Jin doesn’t seem to care; on the contrary, he moans and clasps your face in both hands, nipping at your lips and deepening the kiss more than you even thought possible. Slowly, the sweetness of caramel gives way to his own taste, and you’re left licking each other filthily, entwined together on the kitchen floor.

Once your chest is aching with a lack of oxygen, you pull away with a gasp, wincing at the weird feeling of caramel on your chest. “So messy,” you groan, “sorry, I didn’t think you’d pour so much.”

Jin’s eyes just light up with mirth. “Messy is the point, baby. We probably have, what-” he pauses to consult the time on the microwave, “two hours before the early risers are up? Why don’t we make an even bigger mess? I’ve decided I’d like to have my dessert first.”

You press your lips together to prevent a moan, nodding frantically. “Fuck, please. I want you.”

The therapist’s chest hitches, but he reaches out to squeeze your thigh. “Lie back, then, baby. Can you take your shirt off for me?”

You’re in such a hurry to obey him, shivering violently at the cold tile against your bare back, that when you suddenly feel a cold burst on your chest you jump, getting a fright.

There’s not enough time to feel that burst of ice, however, as a hot tongue quickly laps it up, collecting every last drop. Jin even sucks the skin there, just above the swell of your breast, to make sure he’s cleaned you up.

You writhe on the floor, your panties uncomfortably soaked, but Jin just throws a leg and an arm over you, straddling you and caging you against the floor. His weight against you makes you moan, that delicious sensation of being trapped exactly where you most want to be.

This time, when he digs his spoon into the slightly-melted ice cream, he pops it into his mouth instead of on your skin. You almost assume he’s just taking some for himself, but then he’s dipping his head and wrapping those sinful lips around one of your nipples, making you cry out.

The cold is immediately overwhelming, tightening and stiffening your peak, and the dizzying mix of his hot tongue with that cold dessert has you clinging to his back, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Jin,” you gasp, “so cold.”

“Is it?” Jin quips, his hand reaching to his side. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.”

Without giving you a moment’s respite, he’s drizzling trails of caramel over your breasts, and lapping it up with ravenous enthusiasm. Though the caramel has gone mostly room-temperature, the contrast against your cooled nipple just makes it feel that much more electric, and you arch your back harshly until Jin finally reaches it and soothes it with his mouth.

You moan, wishing you had something to rut against, some type of friction where you needed it most, but Jin’s more focused on licking, nipping and sucking the sugar off of your body, leaving you trembling. “More,” you plead needily.

“More sauce? More ice cream?” he asks, panting as his own arousal presses stiffly against your lower stomach.

“More you,” you beg, arching up into him, making him curse lowly.

Like desperate virgins, you both quickly discard the last of your clothing, Jin just about popping the buttons of his shirt clean off, and it feels simultaneously like a second and a century before you feel his familiar girth pressing into you, stretching your dripping walls.

You groan, the back of your head knocking against the tile as you go slack, letting yourself focus fully on the sensation of him filling you up. “Fuck, Jin,” you gasp out, legs wrapping around his torso as he goes deeper and deeper.

When he bottoms out, however, Jin doesn’t begin fucking you straight away. Instead, he reaches for the jar. “Tongue out, baby,” he instructs.

Swallowing the drool that gathers in your mouth from the pleasure, you stick out your tongue until you feel it on your chin, awaiting the stream. Clearly wanting to be as messy as possible, Jin intentionally lifts his hand higher so that instead of a mouthful, you get whippings of sugar all over your neck, chin, and cheeks. Hardly any actually makes it in your mouth, but the therapist just chuckles and puts the jar beside him, bending down to run his tongue in a broad swipe up your cheek.

You squeal, turning your head to the side, but the surprise quickly bubbles into arousal as he laps up every last drop, sucking hickies into your neck all the way. The longer he goes, the more you need him, wetter and wetter around his cock. Rocking your hips just to get some friction, you whine into the silence of the kitchen. “Jin, fuck me already,” you plead.

Jin’s first thrust punches all the air out of you. He snaps his hips hard enough to push your body forward from the tile, then grabs your waist with a low growl, pinning you against the floor.

Though the tiles are still cold, your body heat is quickly taking the edge off, and being fucked against such a hard surface is a new feeling to you entirely. There’s no give, no bounce. When Jin begins fucking you at a greedy pace, you feel every inch of him stretching you open.

Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, trying not to moan loud enough that the sound would travel upstairs, but barely able to even contain them at all. “Fucking me so go-mmf!” Your mouth is filled with a cold intruder, and you suck hard, swirling your tongue around the two fingers covered with ice cream. Jin curses lowly at the feeling, and suddenly he’s picking up the pace even more.

You cry out around his fingers, hands flailing to find something to latch onto and anchor yourself, but your knuckles whack into something solid. The ache in your fingers is quickly drowned out by the sudden rush of thick wetness on your stomach, and your eyes fly open, choking on Jin’s digits.

His thrusts slow down and he pulls his hand away and before you can say a single thing, the room is filled with the contagious sound of his laughter. Cock still buried deep inside you, and one hand dripping with caramel, holding onto the near-empty jar, Jin howls, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Hey!” you whine, pouting when the caramel disperses over you, soon dripping down onto your back and the floor. “Don’t laugh at me! You wouldn’t like it if your chest was drenched in caramel!”

Jin discards the jar beside him with a sticky clink, and composes himself, though that glint still remains alight in his eyes. “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he’s bending down until your chests are pressed together, separated only by that slippery layer of sauce.

A muffled squeak leaves your lips when he captures them again, his fingers scratching lines up your sides, making you shiver. You try to protest his attempt at tickling you while you were vulnerable, but then he’s rocking his hips, shallow strokes that grind into you so deep.

You moan, wrapping your arms around his back. Every time you feel his nails cutting through the syrup, you scratch his back. Instead of deterring him, however, he just groans into your mouth and doubles his efforts at fucking you.

Slowly, his hands move around from your sides to your back, and you cling to him tighter as he lifts you off the kitchen floor. Still delving his tongue deep into your mouth, he pulls you up until your torso is arched against him and your head tips back slightly, a perfect halfway point between horizontal and vertical, and uses the extra momentum to thrust up into you harder. The angle hits your g-spot roughly with every snap of his hips, and your clit grinds against his cock.

You cry out and lose contact with his mouth, but he just latches it onto your neck instead, dragging his teeth over your shoulder to let the cooled caramel pool in his mouth.

“Jinnie, I’m close,” you confess in a rush, your orgasm quickly building with a pressure between your legs. Something in the way your toes curl and stomach tenses warns you that this will be a powerful one, and your cries increase in pitch and volume, every breath a moan. “Jinnie! Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-”

“Make another mess for me, baby,” Jin groans, and with those words alone your vision goes white.

Jin curses when you lock up around him - legs and arms and pussy alike - but continues to rut against you as you ride the churning wave of your high. Burying your head into the crook of his neck so that you don’t wake the others with your keening scream, you feel a sudden burst inside you that leaves you trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

You feel Jin’s chin pressing into your hair as he glances down, grunting with exertion, and suddenly he’s freezing, holding you tightly to him as he cums inside of you.

The warmth of him filling you is the perfect soother as you come down from that intense climax, and you sigh as he leans forward, lying you back down on the kitchen tile. The two of you fight to catch your breath, the only sounds in the room your joint gasps.

Above you, Jin’s chest heaves, dripping with caramel just like yours must be. He doesn’t take any bother though, wiping away the sweat on his brow with a clean patch of his forearm. “Man,” he exclaims with a cheery chuckle, “you really did make a mess, huh?”

“What?” you ask blearily, weakly propping yourself up on your elbows to glance down. Thinner and clearer than the caramel, a liquid drips over yours and Jin’s stomachs, running down to the tile. You’d squirted. With a weak groan, you let yourself collapse back onto the sticky floor. “It’s too early for this,” you whine. “Oh, god. We have to clean this up.”

Jin’s smile is wiped clear off his face. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t even think about that, my notes didn’t mention it…”

“Your notes?” you ask curiously, grimacing when Jin slowly pulls himself out of you, a stream of cum following and joining the mess of liquids on the floor. “What notes?”

The therapist lets out a nervous laugh as he gets up off the floor, grabbing a clean dish cloth from the bottom drawer. “I did some research, that’s all. Like, no spicy stuff near any mucous membranes because of the sting, no sugar in the vulva otherwise you might get a yeast infection-”

“Eugh,” you cut in, “I’m glad you did the research, but that just makes me want a shower even more now.”

“Go shower, then,” Jin allows with a sympathetic smile, wetting the cloth and beginning to wipe off the stickiness on his chest. “I can clean this up for you.”

“Absolutely not,” you insist, “I’ll quickly wash this off, but I’m coming back down to help you. The sun’s about to rise, so if we work together, maybe there won’t still be cummy sauce all over the floor when the others come down for breakfast.”

“It is probably a safety hazard,” Jin admits. “Okay, then, we’ll clean it together. I’ll have a quick shower once you get back.”

You beam up at him but, before you grab your clothes and rush up the stairs, you rise onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his sugared lips. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Jin returns your warm smile, ducking down to steal another kiss, and another, and another until you’re giggling and ducking away. “I’ll do my best.”

--

“You aren’t being particularly subtle.”

Hoseok shrugs at Yoongi. “I’m not trying to be subtle.”

The doctor’s eyes narrow. “Then tell us what’s in the box.”

Hoseok hesitates. “I’m trying to be a little bit subtle.”

Taehyung groans, reaching out for the heavy cardboard box and glaring reproachfully at Hoseok when he smacks his hand away. “Could we have a clue?”

Hoseok smiles sweetly. “No.”

“Then why is it on the table?” the masseuse whines miserably. “You’re just teasing us!”

“I don’t know why you’re so bothered,” Yoongi notes, “it’s not even for you.”

Perhaps you’d be more bemused by the antics of the boys at the table were it not for your own rampant curiosity. As usual, your days were measured by communal mealtimes (courtesy of the fact that six of you were too lazy to cook for yourselves, and the remaining too were perfectly happy to make enough for you all) but this time, as you enjoyed a pan-seared fish of some sort, the flow of the table was interrupted by the package that Hoseok had so dramatically dropped down in front of him. “What is it on the table for?” you ask in what you hope is a casual, unbothered tone.

Hoseok sighs patiently like he’s been through this before. “It’s to create an atmosphere of anticipation,” he explains importantly. “This is reality TV gold, guys, this is exactly what the editors would put a close-up of right before the ad break.”

Jin furrows his brows. “I don’t think there are ad breaks, Hobi.”

“You get what I mean,” he huffs petulantly before clearing his throat, “anyway, let’s change the topic. Any gossip? Love declarations, plot twists; what have I missed?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, beside him Yoongi quickly places a hand on his thigh, and the younger boy sinks back into his chair. “Just the usual for me.” If you weren’t already looking at him, you might have missed the slip of a smile that he presses his lips together to suppress. “Except for the extra dicks I’ve been sucking.”

“Jungkook!” Yoongi shrieks, before sitting up straight. “Wait. Dicks, plural?”

“Well, yeah, Taehyung can’t fuck Y/n anymore, so…” Jungkook deflects. Across the table, Taehyung wordlessly throws his hands in the air in a ‘what can you do?’ type gesture. “It’s like an emergency relief fund but sex,” the youngest explains, “I’m very generous like that.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops open, his breezy demeanour fading. “Hey! You only sucked my dick because you said my technique was off!”

Jungkook smiles glacially at the rest of you. “I’m a giver,” he continues, “much like Yoongi, I teach on the side.” He pouts at Taehyung. “And your technique was off!”

“It was better than your sloppy toppy!” Taehyung defends. “I wanted a blowjob, not a shower.”

“Listen,” Jin says sharply as Jungkook lets out an offended cry, “the only way you’ll ever know for sure is if you have an objective party to compare the two directly.”

Jungkook harrumps, crossing his arms. “What; are you offering?”

Jin pauses. “To have...my dick sucked twice by two very attractive and enthusiastic people? Yes, yes I am.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at Jungkook. “You’re so on,” he threatens, “when I win, you have to let me join your stream.”

Jungkook’s already leaving the table, dragging Jin up by a handful of his hoodie. “Such a shame you’re not going to, then,” he taunts, “when you lose, you have to give me a full-body massage and no skimping on the back.”

The rest of you watch in speechless bemusement as Taehyung huffs and throws his chair back, hurrying after them. “Maybe if you didn’t slump in your chair so much, you wouldn’t have a sore back in the first place! Wait, Jungkook, not so fast, I just ate…”

Once the three have left, Yoongi clears his throat. “The gossips have left,” he states carefully, eyes serious as they watch Hoseok, “so what’s in the box?”

Hoseok giggles and claps his hands together, clearly delighted with the attention this box has given me. “You know, the more you ask, the less likely I am to show you.”

Yoongi immediately makes his expression sour, turning up his nose. “I don’t even want to see what’s inside the box,” he insists, “I don’t care at all.”

“Sure thing, hyung.”

The academic is next to have a go. With gentle eyes and shy fingers, Namjoon props his hands on the very edge of the table and looks over to Hoseok. “What if you just showed us one?” he bargains. “It just seems like such a shame to get them delivered all the way over here and not get to show more people.”

Hoseok purses his lips, still unconvinced. At the head of the table, Jimin lets out a scoff and stands up, picking his plate and cup off the table to go discard them in the dishwasher. “It’s going to be something boring,” he drawls, bending over slowly to put away the dishes, letting the table get an eyeful of the tight black jeans he’s wearing. “He’ll wrap Y/n up in rope like tinsel on a Christmas tree and call it BDSM.”

An indignant cry comes from the table as Hoseok watches Jimin reach into the fridge, pulling out a single raspberry from the fruit drawer in there, and grin rakishly at the older man. “That’s not true at all,” Hoseok defends insistently, “I’m just easing her into it. Besides; let me show you something from the box and then we’ll see what you think.”

“How- wha-?” Yoongi’s mouth drops open as Hoseok reaches for the box and uses a knife from the lunch to cut the tape down the middle. “He doesn’t even like you! Why was he the one to convince you?”

Hoseok barely takes note, shielding the opening from your eyes as he digs around inside. It’s near impossible to restrain your curiosity, but you curl your ankles around the chair legs and force yourself to stay seated as he shoves his hand in.

You hear clinks, thuds, and scrapes, before Hoseok lets out a triumphant gasp and pulls his arm up, retrieving a braided leather handle, which he lifts out of the box to reveal a whip of sorts, complete with a neat pile of clean-cut leather strips. Your eyes widen as Hoseok sets it on the table with a weighty thunk, closing the box back up.

“Too boring for you?” Hoseok asks of Jimin with a challenging stare. One finger lazily trails along one of the tails of leather, neatly folded in a gathered loop on the table, making you swallow harshly at the thought of what one of those might feel like lashing across your skin.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jimin returns to the table, inspecting it slowly. “And what are you going to do with that, big boy? Such a big flogger; I must admit, it seems like you’re overcompensating.”

Hoseok scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips. “I’ve caught you staring enough times, Peaches,” he taunts, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

This time, Jimin seems almost expectant of the nickname, and just rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you noticed, seeing as your eyes are always locked onto my ass. Bet you wish you had a handful, huh?”

Hoseok frowns, pushing himself away from the table. “Did I eat too much or did the thought of dirtying my hands with you make me physically sick?” he questions rhetorically, making Jimin huff. “Anyways, I’ve got a scene to set up. Best for last, and all that.”

With a flourish, Hoseok picks up the whip - or, as Jimin had said, flogger - handle between two fingers and throws the tail of leather strips over his shoulder, lifting the box into his arms with a light grunt of exertion. Suddenly, he turns his gaze to you, warm but firm. “The downstairs bathroom; be there in half an hour wearing your underwear and only your underwear.”

You suck in a breath when he suddenly leans in close, hoisting the box on his hip as he uses the opposite hand to reach out and fiddle with your bra strap, snapping it against your shoulder with a teasing smile. “If you want to make Master happy,” he says in a voice like crushed velvet, “pick something pretty.”

Hoseok disappears down the hallway with all the drama of a Disney villain, sans a cape to billow behind him, and Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, getting up from his chair. “Well, I’m going to go outside and try and forget about all the debauchery in here. Anyone else?”

Namjoon straightens up immediately, hips bumping against the table. “Sounds good to me,” he rushes out, still looking a little pale from seeing that sneak peek of Hoseok’s box of toys.

Jimin, on the other hand, glances up towards the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. “You two go ahead,” he states, “I think the little ones upstairs could use another judge.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift, almost looking like he’s about to reconsider his choice to leave, but Namjoon is already suggesting they could bring out some board games or a pack of cards, and as usual Yoongi is softer than he likes to think he is.

Once everyone has left you alone in the living room, you slump back onto the table, letting out a breath. Your skin is already tingling relentlessly wondering what those strips of leather would feel like raining down on your skin. And that tool must have only been taking up a small portion of that box. It was heavy, full with other surprises that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Taking a look at the time, you curse and scamper upstairs to track down something pretty for Hoseok.

--

It’s impossible to stop your mind from conjuring up countless images of what could be waiting for you. Big posts of metal or wood to tie a sub to, chains and latex and the Hollywood taboo of kink that comes to mind. But in the end, it seems trying to picture anything at all was a useless venture, as when you make it downstairs and knock on the door exactly thirty minutes after Hoseok let you, what’s inside is not anything you would have ever expected.

The bathroom itself is decently large, with flat tile all over, a row of showerheads without the luxury of cubicles, a large bath set into one corner, and a bench with a mirror.

But in the middle of the room, closer to the bench than the showers, sits Hoseok.

There’s nothing around him bar a single empty chair that he inclines his head towards, silently instructing you to sit. You glance around in suspicion, but the cardboard box is folded up just beside him and there’s nothing else to see.

Hoseok himself quite easily takes his spot as the centre of attention, though. As you sit gingerly on the wooden chair, grimacing at the scraping sound of the legs on the floor, you look him over. As usual, he makes his statement in black. Hoseok dons boots that lace up to just below his knees, tight leather pants, and a collared shirt that shimmers slightly in the light, like expensive silk. Around his middle is a belt that tightly cinches his waist, accentuating his chest and shoulders. With his hair parted and slightly curling to one side, you don’t miss the way his eyebrow quirks up. “Are you quite done?”

Your cheeks heat, and you lean back until you can feel the chair digging in. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Sorry, Sir,” you stutter out as quickly as you can, lowering your gaze.

“Dear me, I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners already,” he croons with a faux look of disappointment, crossing a leg over his knee. “Lucky for you, our scene hasn’t started yet. I want to have a little conversation with you first.”

You swallow, eyes darting down to that cardboard box, curiosity eating you up from the inside. “What do you want to talk about, sir?”

Hoseok’s eyes soften slightly and he laces his fingers over the top of his knee. “You and I are going to have a talk together as two adults, princess. I know we have the consent forms and safewords, but this one requires a little more direct communication. Normally in a scene, you’d be kneeling or I’d be standing right now, but I want you to be fully aware that we are having this discussion as equals. Understood? You can ask questions, raise concerns, anything you need.”

Though your heart hasn’t stopped racing, you feel yourself beginning to calm, relieved for a chance to properly prepare yourself and see what’s going to happen. “Yes, understood. Sir.”

Hoseok’s eyes fleck with mirth as he tilts his head. “First of all; are you allergic to soy or paraffin? I know we have the allergy sheets, but I’d feel safer double-checking.”

You frown, brows knitting in confusion. “Soy? Like soy sauce? And no, I’m not allergic to either of them.”

When Hoseok smiles to reveal his teeth, you catch a glimpse of his dom side, even as he maintains a friendly disposition. “Soy candles, princess.”

A flicker of alarm rushes through you, and you clasp your hands together, fiddling your digits to keep calm. “Is this like, pouring hot wax? I don’t know, Hoseok…”

“It wasn’t a hard limit you listed,” Hoseok reminds gently, “has that changed?”

You swallow. “I- no, it hasn’t but it’s still a soft limit, and I don’t know if-”

“That’s why I wanted to sit down and have a talk with you about it,” he explains without missing a beat, “and if, at the end, you want to keep it as a limit, we’ll do something else. I don’t mind forfeiting the challenge and taking a week in the bunks; they’re perfectly comfortable.” You still don’t answer, feeling scarily vulnerable in a bra and lace panties, nothing but a loose satin robe over top to keep you a little warm and covered. Hoseok’s warm expression keeps you anchored. “Wax play isn’t explicitly pain play, it can be sensation play just like running an ice cube over your skin. And I’ve been doing it for years, princess, if you know what you’re doing, it’s perfectly safe. Do you want to hear me out? There are no obligations.”

You suck in a deep breath, taking a second to think. “I want to at least hear you first,” you decide, “but I really don’t know.”

“I understand entirely,” Hoseok says, and a strange change overtakes his face as he bends down to slip open the folds keeping the box closed. It’s a slight lifting of his brows, pursing of his lips while still being relaxed. The almost stern look of a teacher as he pulls out a weighty red candle, rolling it over in his palm. He glances back at you, presenting it. The two of you are seated close enough together that you only have to lean forward to take it from him.

He lets you look over it as he speaks, his voice soothing and practiced. “This is a pillar candle,” he explains, “see how it’s quite girthy? When you light a candle like that, the molten wax pools in the middle. So when you go to tip it, you can control how much wax you want to pour and when. Some people will have at least two candles burning so that they can alternate. These ones are soy, but I brought paraffin too in case you had an allergy.”

Out of curiosity, you dig your nail into the top, by the fresh wick, and watch thick red wax build up under the nail. “Doesn’t it burn you?” you question. “Like it got melted because of actual fire, surely it would burn.”

Hoseok shrugs. “Not with the right wax.” He takes it back from you, flipping it up to show off the base where a small white sticker displays some information about the candle in tiny print. “Soy and paraffin both tend to melt at roughly the same temperature, and it’s low enough that it won’t burn you. The further away you drop it from affects the temperature when it gets to your skin, too. But candles like beeswax melt at a very high temperature. Those can be dangerous, and you’d never catch me or anyone at Red using them. Now-!” Slipping the short, fat candle back into the box with a soft thud, he pulls out a second one. This one is black, and thin with a pointed end at the top. “This one is a taper candle. There’s no room for the wax to build up, so when you light it, it’ll drop the melted wax one drop at a time. The advantage is that it’s handy for constant use, and very easy to maneuver. One of my friends at Red actually uses it in suspension bondage. She’ll tie up her sub and slip a lit taper into the rope somewhere so that it drips on, say, the sub’s back or stomach. You can imagine if you where tied up and blindfolded, feeling a single drop of heat at a time would be a pretty intense experience.”

The dom breaks off with a laugh at the look on your face, and promptly slips it back in the box. “For our purposes, I’m going to use the pillar. It means that I can easily stop at any time and let the wax just sit in that little divot at the top without it getting everywhere. Still with me?”

You nod quickly, shifting on the chair. Perhaps it’s the hypnotic, soothing lilt of his voice as he walks you through it, or perhaps you’re just realising that it’s not as scary as it seems, but that soft limit is getting softer and softer. “You can go on,” you state in a small voice.

Hoseok’s beam is addicting, brightening the room as he lets out a pleased hum and stands up. Instead of approaching you, however, he walks right past to the bench, fiddling with something in the sink there before he’s filling it up. “An important safety measure,” he explains, “is to have a water source nearby. In case it’s too hot, or the candle catches on anything. I’m doing it in here so that there’s not really anything flammable like carpet or curtains, but there’s no such thing as being too safe.”

You watch him shake the water off his hand with a fond smile. He returns to sit across from you, nudging the open box with his foot. “We have some other surprises in here, but nothing too wild apart from the flogger. How are you feeling about it?”

Your heart skips a beat when you recall it, the satisfying whip of air as he threw it over his shoulder earlier. “I’m nervous, but I really want to try it.”

“Excellent,” he says warmly. “And the wax? We can take it slow, try it out a bit and then I’ll check back in, yeah? Just because we’ll be in the scene doesn’t mean this communication is cut off.”

You suck in a slow breath, biting your lip. Hoseok gives you time to think, waiting patiently and without expectation, but you know that you want to at least try chasing that thrill deep inside you. “I wanna give it a go too.”

Hoseok’s look of pride makes your decision feel all the more right. “That’s my girl,” he chimes, “so brave for me.” Without further notice, his eyes darken, and his smile turns less sweet and more sly. “You know Master will make it good for you, right?”

You shiver beneath the thin layer of satin and lace. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he coos, “I want you to make a choice now, princess. I’ll let you choose what you wish to have first? Candles or the flogger?”

You feel slightly paralysed by the sudden decision making, brain already beginning to slow down. “Flogger please, sir.”

“So polite,” he praises, “alright, then. I want you to stand up and take that robe of yours off.”

You do so with a quickening pulse, but Hoseok doesn’t even spare a second glance at you, instead shifting the box over to the bench, pulling out… something that definitely isn’t the flogger.

Hoseok turns to you with a grin, dangling a chain on a single finger. At either end, leather cuffs twirl and bump each other, familiar to ones you’d used on the show before. Unlike the other pair, which were pretty simple and basic, this pair look beautiful enough to be a regular fashion accessory. The leather is thick but not stiff, and they’re done up with silver buckles, adjustable for size. What really catches your attention, however, is the gorgeous red trim of the softest velvet, a deep colour that makes it look unbelievably expensive. As he approaches, you notice that the insides of the cuffs are embossed with the symbol you recognised from the box. Two Rs facing away from each other, with delicately curled strokes.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Hoseok asks rhetorically. “They’re from the dungeon, if you hadn’t already guessed. Show me your wrists.” You rush to obey, sighing when you feel cool velvet encase around your left wrist, Hoseok deftly fastening the cuff as he continues to talk. “We have a colour code for everyone that comes in our doors. All spectators wear a simple black wristband. If you’re there to play, doms get armbands and subs get cuffs. Green means free use, anyone inside those walls wearing a cuff or a armband can play with you-” he doesn’t miss the way you shudder at the concept of being totally at the mercy of a roomful of strangers, arms pulling closer to your sides defensively, “-blue means looking. You’re open to negotiation, but there needs to be a kink negotiation and mutual agreement before you begin to play.” Hoseok moves to your other wrist, making sure the cuff is snug, but not cutting off circulation. “Can you guess what red means, princess?”

You can’t bear to look away from the gorgeous cuffs that adorn your wrists. You can feel the weight of the chain that connects them as it swings below. “Taken,” you offer in an uncertain voice.

“That’s right.” Even though you aren’t looking directly at him, you can sense Hoseok’s grin. He gracefully hooks the chain on his finger, lifting it up and tugging it to watch your wrists jerk towards him. “And can you guess why I picked red for you?”

You think you know the answer. But you become overcome with the desire to hear him say it. You lift your gaze to his, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t know.”

Hoseok sees right through you, tilting his head. “I think you do,” he counters, “but I’ll happily tell you.” He yanks again, making you stumble forward into his chest. With an arm bracing you against him, Hoseok bends down to murmur in your ear. “Because you’re mine.” With the teasing slowness of a cat playing with its food, he brushes your hair back, fingertips light against the bare skin of your neck and shoulders. “Do you want to know something funny? The entire time you’ve been in there, you haven’t thought to look up.”

It happens quickly. Just as you lift your chin to seek out what he’s referring to, you feel a pull on your wrists. Hoseok’s grip on you loosens but the tug on your wrists continues until they’re stretching right up above you. The moment you set your eyes on the hook dangling from the ceiling - what looks like thick, industrial grade steel - you see the chain loop onto it and suddenly you can’t drop your arms anymore.

You tug them, a natural instinct to escape the hold, and the unforgiving way your body is stretched out makes your chest pound a little with alarm,heels only just resting on the floor. Hoseok’s hands are on you, palms hot as they smooth up and down your sides and back, soothing you. Your racing pulse starts to slow, even as your arms tremble.

“That’s better,” he remarks, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Would you believe that hook was there when we came?”

Your lips twitch. “Honestly? No, sir.”

He flicks you a wink, patting your ass fondly. “You would be surprised. Used to be a fixture for a chandelier. Who the fuck needs a chandelier in a bathroom?” You suppress a laugh, knowing that your nervous giggles will get the best of you if you give them a chance, but Hoseok sees that he’s managed to calm you down quite a bit, and slips back into the velvety depths of his dominant persona once again. His hand hasn’t moved from your ass, and you suck in a sharp breath through your nose as his fingers slip beneath the lace, gripping the flesh there, unable to move away from it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” he starts with a casual air, massaging your ass openly even as his eyes stay fixed on yours, monitoring your every expression, “been waiting to turn that pretty ass of yours red. Let’s take these pretty panties of yours off first.”

You relax your thighs to let the strip of fabric sneak past, and when he bares your bottom half, tucking the cream-coloured lace into his back pocket, you shiver for a different reason entirely. You feel the wetness between your thighs begin to run down now that it’s unhindered by your panties, and your nipples are stiff, begging to be touched.

Hoseok isn’t so merciful, however, and when he glances down and sees them, he flicks lightly at one with an amused chuckle. “Desperate little one, aren’t you? Now, princess, I’m going to go over to the bench and get my flogger. Are you okay here alone? I’m not leaving you; I’ll only be out of your sight for a moment.”

The tile feels so cold and unforgiving under your toes as you shift, the chain preventing you from going far. “Yes, sir,” you say, but Hoseok clearly senses your hesitance.

Eyes imploring, warm yet serious, he tips up your chin with his knuckles gently. “Do you trust me? I’ll be no more than ten seconds. How about this? In your head, chant ‘Master is a good kisser’ three times, and I’ll be back.”

Your eyes round, wetting your lips. “How would I kn-umph!” Your question is cut off prematurely as Hoseok ducks down and demonstrates; a firm, bruising kiss that’s only heightened by the bondage restricting your movements. You can’t touch him, or move closer. You just have to sit and take it, and your mind feels heady as his lips press roughly against yours, teeth tugging on your lower lip enough to sting. By the time he pulls away, you feel breathless, the tension of the cuffs the only thing keeping you on your feet.

Hoseok gently buffs you on the cheek with another wink. “Don’t forget the magic words, princess,” he chimes, “I’ll be right back.”

And, though only two weeks ago the feeling of having him out of sight and out of reach had freaked you out to the point of safewording, the tingle in your lips and that admittedly accurate mantra - Master is a good kisser - keep your mind occupied enough that before you reach the end of the third recitation, Hoseok has stepped back into your line of vision, giving you an expectant look. “Still with me?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod with it, though you can’t bring yourself to look at him, so captivated by the flogger in his hand. He holds it like a seasoned expert, which you don’t doubt he is. The handle is black braided leather, with two thicker balls on either end like a dumbbell, no doubt for ease of grip. His hand wraps around the narrower middle section, but loose enough that his fingers look relaxed around it. Though he holds the handle upright slightly, the strips of leather fall straight down in a single cascade, neatly kept together.

Observing your trained eye, Hoseok laughs and steps closer, sliding the leather over his palm to display it for you. “Shall we have a quick lesson? This here is a perfect beginner’s flogger. Perfectly balanced with a weighted handle and clean-cut leather. These strips here, they’re called falls. The less you have or the thinner they are, the more it stings like a whip would. This one has probably around 30, 35 falls. Proper garment leather. Expensive, but well-crafted.” His hand shifts, clasping around the ends, which he spreads apart with a thumb. “You see how the ends are rounded? Some falls have forked tips, pointed tips, or straight-cut ones. The pointier it is, the sharper the sensation. Rounded tips are best for a newbie like you.”

Suddenly, he drops the ends, letting them revert back to their single stream of leather spouting from the handle. The quick movement makes your eyes automatically jump up to his face, and you suck in a breath at how intense his gaze is on you. “You need to be very clear where your limits are, princess. Tell me if I’m going too hard. This is painplay, but it should still be pleasurable. Understood?”

You swallow. Now, with your body almost entirely naked, your body restrained and a very practiced dom standing in front of you with a flogger, the concept of pain is a little more concrete. But still, you trust him, and his ability to make it feel good for you. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Hoseok steps back, giving himself some distance as he eyes you up. With a smooth motion, his wrist begins to flick, and you instinctually recoil when the falls of the flogger start flying through the air in a graceful arc. They’re uniform in both width and length, probably just about as long as Hoseok’s arm, which stays perfectly still as he isolates the movement in his joint. Even if you weren’t in the metaphorical hot seat, this show of excellence and practiced skill would nevertheless add to the coil of arousal between your legs. He looks good like this, fully in his element. “Now,” he states, smirking at your telling reaction, “normally the best spots are the back of the shoulders, and the ass. But something tells me you’d rather see what I’m doing before letting me loose behind you. Would I be right in thinking that?”

You picture him going behind you and beginning to whip you with no context or warning. You nod your head quickly. “Yes please, sir.”

Hoseok smiles, slowing his wrist, before he begins flicking it the opposite way, the ends of the flogger curving downwards towards you instead of upwards. “Now, this flogger is a little thuddier than what I’d usually use on breasts, but since I’m only going to be very light, it’ll be just fine.”

You try to inch backwards, but the chain rattles and gives you away. “My breasts?”

Hoseok’s hand stills, his head cocking to one side as his brows come together. “Is there a problem, princess?”

His disapproval is clear, and you get the feeling that you’re treading on thin ice. But he said that communication wouldn’t stop here, so you forge ahead. “I’m not protesting, I’m just curious, sir. Why not somewhere easier like the stomach?”

Distaste wracks his features. “This isn’t going anywhere near your stomach,” he says firmly, “the organs there are unprotected. Anything vulnerable - joints, spine, the stomach and lower back, of course the head - they’re all off-limits. Do you understand that?” When he receives a nod, the line of tension in Hoseok’s shoulders relaxes. “Now, I need you to move your head back so that it’s between or behind your arms. Can you do that for me?”

Pushing your head through the gap in your upper arms, you shift until your whole face is between them, chin tilted slightly up. “May I ask why, sir?” you request in a small voice. Why did this whole thing feel so technical? And why were you still so wet from it?

“You may,” Hoseok replies bemusedly, “it just distances your face from the swings. Don’t worry-” he interjects quickly when your eyes widen in alarm, “the falls will be nowhere near your face. It’s just for our peace of mind. Do you still trust me?”

You manage to nod with your face bracketed by your arms, and with a rush of anticipation, watch Hoseok start up those quick circles, the leather whipping through the air in one bunch. Instead of stretching his arm forward, he steps in slowly, moving the falls getting closer and closer until the smooth stroke of impact flicks across your right breast.

You gasp, out of shock more than anything, but those strokes deliver a regular pattern, and it’s already lacing across your skin again, and again, an odd feeling that certainly isn’t unpleasant. There’s a distinct feeling of impact, without any real weight behind it, and the slightest hint of a sting that just serves to gradually warm the skin. Your chest is heaving, but Hoseok lands each blow with perfect accuracy, even stepping side-on between arcs and switching breasts.

The constant snap of contact helps you get used to it and calm down, and you can’t deny that it feels kind of...nice? There’s something satisfying and freeing about feeling those split second granules of pain and tolerating them, overcoming them. It doesn’t take long before you unconsciously arch your spine, seeking out something more than just light swats from the very tips of the falls.

Hoseok notices the moment you move and, frustratingly, he stops with a chuckle. “Did that turn you on, princess? Do you want more?”

You whine, tipping your head back further so he disappears out of your sight. Against the skin of your inner arms, your cheeks are raging hot. “Yes,” you admit in a defeated voice when he refuses to move on.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir?” you quip with a hopeful tone.

“Nice try,” Hoseok replies flatly, “I want you to say it, princess. Yes, what?”

You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s only silence. The heat has already left your breasts, and they feel strange without that lick of leather on them. “I want more, please, sir.”

“Good girl,” Hoseok coos, and in reward you feel the now-welcome flick of the falls on your breasts. This time, however, he stands directly across from you and twists his wrist over, casting figure eights, alternating left and right. You tremble at the feeling, squirming under it. Though it’s still light, every strike feels even more intense on your nipples, shooting sensation right between your legs.

“Sir,” you gasp out, “I w-want some more, sir.”

Hoseok answers without faltering, and his voice easily carries over the sound of the flogger. “Oh, do you? I can’t go any harder on these pretty little tits of yours, princess.” He pulls away, ceasing the motion. “If you want to continue, I’m going to have to go behind you. Are you okay with that?”

You push your reddened chest forward to no avail. “Fuck! Hoseok, yes, I’m okay with it,” you whine, unable to resolve any of the need in your core, needing more. Hoseok clicks his tongue in disapproval, and you curse internally at the slip. “Sir! Sorry, I’m okay with it, sir.”

“You better not forget your manners,” Hoseok warns, taking one step at a time, boots thudding on the tile as he circles you. “I’m flogging you for pleasure, because I like to treat and train you, but if you do that again, I can easily turn this into a punishment.”

The thought makes you moan, and your wrist jerks as you fruitlessly try to cover your mouth. Actually relieved he’s behind you for once, you let your head duck forward, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hoseok chuckles. “It seems like you’re more of a painslut than you realise, princess,” he teases, and you’re given no warning before you feel a strike against your ass, making you jump with a yelp. Though it’s the same light figure eights as just before, these ones whip up from the bottom, so that every hit lands on the meat of your ass, avoiding your lower back. If the ones before were easy, these feel like child’s play. Whether you’ve gotten more used to the sensation, or the skin on your ass just isn’t as sensitive, you find yourself immediately wanting more, trying to lean back into it.

The dom isn’t pleased. “Did I say you could move?”

You don’t answer, hands reaching up to grip the chains that bind them as you bite down harshly on your tongue. “I can take more, sir,” you begin, but Hoseok cuts you off with a gruff noise of disapproval.

“Did I say you could move?” he repeats sharply.

You whine low in your throat. “No, sir,” you admit, “but I can-” You yelp and flinch when a single swat hits below the swell of your ass, across your thighs. It feels different there, stingier and less hazily pleasant. “I’m sorry-”

“That’s right, I didn’t,” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind you, cold and unforgiving. “In fact, I hung you up here to keep you still for me, so that I could play with you as I wished. If you insist on defying that, I’ll quite happily fetch a spreader bar so that you can’t move an inch.”

You furrow your brows, hating the feeling of making him mad. Hating even more that the sharpness in his tone and the filthy word he says just make you even needier, tightening your thighs together. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll behave,” you mumble shamefully.

You jump slightly when you feel something on your ass again, but it’s just his hand, cupping the flesh. “I’m doing this to warm you up. For your own safety. I’ve been doing this for years, princess, don’t forget that Master knows best.”

“Master knows best,” you repeat mindlessly, feeling yourself begin to slip. It’s a comforting thought just as much as it is an arousing one; Master knows what he’s doing, and all you need to do is take it.

“Exactly.” Hoseok sounds pleased, and just as your heart lifts in relief, the hits resume.

Eyes slipping closed, you let yourself tune everything else out. When you focus, when you really actively feel it, you can recognise every shift in his posture, or change in angle by how it feels on your skin. The strips of leather lash up, gradually causing the skin to heat up as the thuddy feeling stays longer and longer after each strike.

Before he ups the intensity, he simply speeds up his strokes, and you let out a pleased whine as the constant ebb and flow of pleasure-softened pain lull you deeper. The more you take, the less it hurts at all, even as the skin on your ass feels like it’s radiating heat.

The warmth floods to the rest of your body until even your toes aren’t cold against the tile. You feel like you could stand here forever, strung up and lost in the sensations he’s giving you. In fact, those dull edges of pain are so soothing that it feels almost therapeutic, worries and aches melting away, irrelevant in this space.

Hoseok finally deems your skin is sufficiently warmed up, and you whimper when the hits shift. Instead of friendly, playful flicks of leather, every strike echoes in the room, the thud of impact delivering a bolder note of pain.

Not that it’s bad, though. On the contrary, if the earlier flogging was lulling you into a sleepy bliss, these ones wake you up like a burst of energy with every swing. Without even realising, a dopey grin stretches your cheeks, and you find yourself no longer trying to muffle the pleased sighs that stutter out with every flick of Hoseok’s wrist.

“Fuck, look at you,” the dom croons, “a painslut indeed. You’re dripping onto the tiles, naughty girl.”

You moan openly, knuckles aching with how tightly you’re gripping the chains that hook your cuffs to the steel loop above. Your pussy aches with the need to be touched, but to do that Hoseok would have to stop whipping you, and your mind hisses at the thought. All you want is more, you can take more, you want to show him, to show yourself you can take more. Every burst of pain on your flesh is another victory, and it feels euphoric.

You stay in this headspace for a while as Hoseok maintains the same, regular hits. Eventually, the scream for more overwhelms you, and you seek out something more intense the quickest way you know how - disobedience. “Hoseokie,” you whine, “hit me harder.”

You could sob when his hand freezes, the next strike coming down without any bite, just a loose draping of the leather falls. As they linger on the skin, you realise just how sensitive and raw it’s gotten, feeling every edge of leather in sharper clarity. Hoseok holds it there for a moment, then drops, the silence in the room palpable. “Are you giving me orders? And without the proper title, no less.”

Pain bursts across your skin like a line of fire, the sharpest and strongest hit yet. Like the one across your thighs, this comes at an angle instead of the upstrokes of his circles or figure eights. You can imagine him holding it back, and whipping it down with a single, swift flick. The residue heat on your ass just makes you want another.

Instead of another hit, however, you cry out when you feel nails digging into the flesh, not scraping, just groping the globes of your ass in each hand. You can even feel the stiff leather of the handle pressing into your flesh on one side, and you whine at the sensation.

“I know what you want, princess,” Hoseok growls, his voice startlingly close as his breath wafts hot on the back of your neck. “And if painplay was the purpose of the scene, perhaps I’d whip you until you cried like you deserve.”

You sob. “Master, please-”

“It’s too late for that,” he cuts off sharply. “The time for begging is over. You’ve disappointed me. I was going to lift up your legs and fuck you right here, but you’ve showed me that you don’t deserve that yet.”

Unprecedented, your eyes brim with tears. Hoseok slips back into your line of sight, face stern as he tucks the handle of the flogger in his belt at the back, and reaches up to unhook you. Your legs are weak, but he carries your weight with ease, letting the chain dangle around the back of his neck as he walks you over to the bench.

Instead of propping you up on it, or sitting you on a chair, he helps you lie down on the cool tile, an immediate balm for the deep-set heat radiating from your ass. Even as his face is stiff with disapproval, he handles you so gently, ensuring you don’t knock your head on the way down.

“Just stay here a moment,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your eyes, “calm down a little bit. I have some candles to light.”

You feel strangely floaty, your emotions all over the place, but Master had asked you to calm down, so you try your best to settle them. It’s not a bad sensation once you relax a bit. Need burns fiercely between your thighs, but the last thing you want to do is upset him by breaking the rules, so you simply let your eyes slip closed and your thighs clench together. You’ll wait until Hoseok comes back to you, and then you’ll make things right by being extra good. The thought of pleasing him makes you smile, and when Hoseok’s voice wraps around you, checking that you’re still with him, it’s only too easy to chirp a contented, “yes, sir.”

When he returns, he’s slipping one hand under your head and the other behind your back, lifting you ever-so-slowly so that your head doesn’t spin. Once you’re up, you lean forward and cling to him, wanting nothing more than to be close. Hoseok lazily cards his fingers through your hair. “You’ve misbehaved,” he states slowly, “you haven’t earned an orgasm, princess, but I’m soft on you. I’ll give you the chance to win one, how about that?”

You blink dazedly, feeling clarity begin to seep back in. “Win?”

Pulling back, Hoseok smirks down at you. “We’re going to play a little game, you and I. Come; I want you on your hands and knees.”

Hoseok guides you over, though you’ve mostly gotten your strength back. On the floor, near the box, are two lit pillar candles. The flames dance cheerily, leaving behind wells of molten wax. One is the red candle you’d inspected earlier, and the other is a pure white, the wax melting clear. You prop yourself up on your hands and knees beside it, but the dom quickly corrects you, leading you to instead assume the position over the box, which almost reaches your stomach.

Upon receiving your questioning look, Hoseok rubs one hand over your reddened ass cheeks, soothing the flesh. “I don’t want you losing your balance and creating a large angle,” he explains shortly, “the wax could drip forward into your hair or, worse, drip back where I’m sure you don’t want it.”

You shudder at the thought, your pulse steadily quickening as the reality of what he’s about to do sets in. This feels even more unfamiliar and alien than the flogging did at the beginning, but you feel safe beneath his touch.

Hoseok gets on his knees behind you, and you could cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle clink, and then a zip lower. It takes no time at all for you to feel the blunt head of Hoseok’s cock pressing against your entrance until it begins to sink in.

You moan, arching your back enough that you fee the texture of cardboard on your stomach. After only receiving external stimulation - pain, nonetheless - until now, suddenly being speared on his tongue has you speechless, tongue heavy in your mouth and drool pooling in your cheeks.

“Feel good, princess?” Hoseok questions, giving your raw ass a playful swat when you cry out the affirmative. “I bet it does.” But when he bottoms out, leaving you deliciously full, he remains perfectly still. “Sadly, that’s all you’ll get for now. Do you want to hear the rules of the game?”

You sob lowly in your throat, elbows almost buckling as your walls clench around the unmoving intrusion. “Please, sir.”

“I’m going to write a word on you, princess. A special word. But it just so happens that I don’t have a pen on me, so I’ll use this wax instead.” The glimpses of red and white blink out of your peripheral as Hoseok drags them closer to himself. “You can guess each letter, and if you manage to get the word right once I’m finished, then I’ll let you cum. Does that sound fair?” Your reply is garbled, incoherent, but Hoseok doesn’t seem bothered. “Then let’s begin. Pay close attention, now.”

Your body naturally tenses up, eyes squeezed shut as you wait for a burst of pain, of searing heat. When something touches your skin, you automatically cry out, but quickly realise that it doesn’t hurt at all, instead, it’s like viscous warm water that slowly stiffens on your skin as it cools. The tightness in your chest loosens.

“That was a test patch, princess,” Hoseok says in a calm voice, devoid from his usual dom smugness. “Too hot? Not hot enough?”

You swallow. “It wasn’t hot,” you admit, “it’s not bad.”

“Understood,” he confirms, squeezing your hip in reassurance as you clench again around him, but the safety monitor Hoseok quickly takes a backseat to the Master persona. “First letter, princess. I’ll only do each one once.”

This time, when lines of warmth bloom on your back, concentrated in the top corner by your shoulder blade, you focus your mind on picturing the shapes they create. Something straight, then a small loop. The wax isn’t painful; on the contrary, it doesn’t feel hot when it first makes contact. As it sits, the skin heats up, but before it gets too warm, the wax has already cooled to mostly solid. Your fears melt away fully, and you tune back into the game. “D?” you guess.

“Close,” he allows.

You rack your mind. “P?”

You moan when Hoseok’s cock suddenly moves inside you, pulling out slowly and giving you a single, snapped thrust. “Correct,” he confirms, “next letter.”

This one feels similar, starting with the same straight line, slightly to the right of where the first patch fell. A straight line, something wobbly again with a line to end it. Your breath catches. “R? Is the word ‘princess?’”

“Guessing so soon,” Hoseok chimes, humour lacing his voice, “but wrong on both counts. It’s a vowel.”

You go down the list, comparing them against the already-fading memory of thick warmth on your skin. “E- no, A?”

“A is correct. This one’s easy.” After fucking into you once another time, he does a single stroke that you easily identify as an I, and then you hear the thud as he puts down one candle and picks up the other. “Let’s see how you look in red, princess. Next letter.”

It gets harder and harder to correctly name the letters as you go on. With every right answer, you’re rewarded with a second of pleasure before it ceases, and that paired with the arousing feeling of warm wax drizzling over your skin just has you feeling hazy. It takes you whole minutes to guess N, but lucky it’s followed by simple strokes of S, L, and U.

By the time he’s switched wax a couple times and is readying you for the last letter, you already know the word. But Hoseok drops the wax from a little lower every time, and you relish the heat more and more with each letter, and you’ll take whatever else you can get.

At this point, the only space left on you is low on your back, just in from your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut, already knowing that he’s going to paint two strokes: one horizontal and one vertical. So instead, you allow yourself to just feel it for what it is.

He tips the pillar candle - red or white, you’ve long since lost track - and you moan openly as you feel fluidity, then heat, which crests and settles into a seal of solid wax. Hoseok wastes no time before completing the letter, one longer line going down in a thick trail that threatens to drip down your side.

“‘s T,” you slur out before he can even ask, tightening your walls around him as he snaps his hips a single time so that you can feel every inch of him. Even the sound of the one movement is obscene; you’re so wet that it runs down your thighs and soaks his cock, but Hoseok’s not complaining.

Instead, you whine as you feel his nails on your shoulder, dislodging the fully hardened wax from the beginning. It’s a strange sensation, there’s a minute suction to breaking that seal, but it lifts off so smoothly when he’s careful like that. “And can you tell me the word, princess? I picked it out just for you.”

Sighing out, you nod shakily. “Painslut,” you gasp.

“That’s right,” Hoseok replies warmly, even as his nails curl and drag down rough enough to crumble the wax in his path, leaving stinging lines over your skin. “You’re my little painslut, aren’t you? Say it, and I’ll give you your reward.”

“I’m your little painslut,” you moan out, back arching under the relentless way he dislodges slivers of dried wax, exposing the sensitive skin beneath.

Without further preface, Hoseok bends over to quickly blow out the two candles, shift them further away, and then straightens up to grip your hips with hands slightly slippery from the soy.

When he begins fucking into you properly, with the full force of his powerful hips, you’re pushed forward onto the cardboard box, a cry punched from your throat. He doesn’t wait this time, just as steady and unforgiving as the circles his flogger made earlier.

You feel the weight of his balls slapping against you, his hip bones pressing into your sensitive ass, and his nails dig in sharply to give you that delicious pain that had become just as potent as pleasure. You feel him inside you, too; mercilessly parting your walls and stretching you around him until it feels like you can’t breathe.

Your mouth spills a constant stream of garbled moans and pleas, doing your best to fuck yourself back on him to feel him deeper. “Fuck, Master, I’m so close,” you manage to make out, “can I cum, sir?”

Hoseok growls deep in his throat, and you squeal helplessly as his pace picks up until you can’t even stop yourself from drooling onto the tile, jerked about within his grip. “Cum for me, princess,” he commands, “cum on my cock now.”

In your body’s final effort to please your Master, your orgasm follows only a few thrusts later, and you go limp and shivery against the support of the cardboard box, clinging to it as Hoseok chases his own high.

Having cum from g-spot stimulation alone, the orgasm seems to reach as deep as your bones, and you ride the wave longer. By the time you’re finally beginning to come down, pleasure slowly turning to oversensitivity, Hoseok’s thrusts are stuttering, and he’s suddenly pulling out of you, grunting as a different kind of heat spurts over your back.

You’re panting, hugging the box you’re curled over as you feel Hoseok’s cum run down the divot of your spine, slowly cooling. You can still feel the dry flakes of wax that cling to you, and even as Hoseok gently helps you off the solid tile floor, you see shavings and slivers of red and white falling to the ground.

Hoseok’s dropped the Master persona entirely by now, and you hum happily as he checks you over, fingertips running across the skin of your back and ass. “No pain still persisting?”

“Well, my ass still kinda stings,” you admit, “but nothing seriously painful, no.”

He furrows his brows in concern as he straightens up in front of you. “And the wax was okay?”

You smile shyly and a little dopily, still coasting on the endorphins the pain and temperature play had released. “I’m probably going to go to Sejin and get him to change it to a definite interest, actually. It was great, Hoseok. You were great. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm as he fondly buffs you on the underside of your chin. “Well; I say we have a nice shower and clean you up, and then we can go into the kitchen for some ice cream. Get your sugar levels back up, how about that?”

You could laugh, but you feel too blissed out to even exert that much energy. “I’m not sure there’s any ice cream left, actually.”

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week Three only. Vote here. You need to sign in to prevent spamming, but I delete the survey after the 48 hours is up. All I take note of is the pie chart at the end. I’m very excited to see what the results will be !

And so we meet our fourth guest... Confused? Check bonus content four, five and six for the other three teasers ;)

[the-final-sif]

BNHA Venom!AU (set in the US for ease of writing) where Izuku is a baby symbiote who accidentally ended up on earth. He ended up lucking into a host, an 8 year old Katsuki who’d been backpacking through the woods nearby where he landed.

Katsuki was always a bit of a weird kid. He didn’t get along well with any of the kids he knew, and his parents were rather distant, being high-end fashion designers meant they were always off across the world doing other things. As a result, when this weird alien attaches itself to him, he’s annoyed for sure, but he doesn’t panic, or call the police, or really do any of the normal things that a child should do in that situation.

He just kinda,,, puts up with Izuku. Sure, he’s pissed off and he tells Izuku to go away for awhile, but soon enough he learns to accept this weird alien that’s a part of his life.

Quickly, both he and Izuku discover that Izuku can help him do some pretty cool things, and Izuku needs lots of chocolate to stay healthy. Both things are just fine by Katsuki, and he ends up deciding that Izuku is actually alright in his books.

Some government agents snoop around, at least somewhat aware of an alien being in the area, and Katsuki quickly learns to hide Izuku from anyone else. He doesn’t want them to take his new friend and hurt him like they described. Katsuki manages to escape suspicion as not even his own parents know about his backpacking/hiking hobbies, and nobody really thinks a spoiled 8 year old kid of two fashion designers would be 10 miles out in the woods.

After that, life keeps going for Izuku and Katsuki. They learn to live together, how to adapt to all the various quirks of sharing a body, how to use the powers Izuku can give Katsuki, and how to keep Izuku well hidden.

It’s all going great, right up until Katsuki makes it into an extremely prestigious boarding school; UA. It’s his dream high school, but it’s so much harder to hide the fact he’s got an alien living in his body when he’s living with other teenagers, and the security at the school is much higher than what he’s used to. For fuck’s sake, the vice president’s kid goes to this school! There’s no way they aren’t getting caught.

Still, Izuku doesn’t want Katsuki to give up on his dream and encourages him, so Katsuki reluctantly goes to UA anyways, trying his best to keep Izuku hidden.

But there are... incidents. Not ones where anyone dies, but people seem intent on harassing Katsuki, from fellow classmates to muggers outside the school, and Izuku is very protective by nature. After a few of these ‘incidents’, a certain underground branch of the government starts getting suspicious again, launching an investigation into the school.

Meanwhile, Aizawa, Katsuki’s primary teacher, has started noticing lots of weird things about Katsuki. Like how he always has two columns in his notebooks, with one side full of carefully written notes and the other side filled with random excited musings in rushed handwriting. Or how sometimes he'll seem to become a different person for a moment, or how he seems to vanish at odd moments.

Weirdest of all is his homework/essays, where Aizawa would swear half the time it's a different person writing them (he only knows for a fact it's Katsuki doing both, since he's watched the kid write most of his essays at various stages in the library). The core ideals themselves seem to change between essays, and that’s what bothers him the most since he’s never seen that in a student before.

Being the good concerned teacher he is, Aizawa considered all the evidence before he called Katsuki into his office. Katsuki and Izuku are sure they've been caught.

Then Aizawa asks Katsuki if he's ever been tested to having multiple personalities.

And listen, Katsuki does not believe in faking mental disorders. But by this point, he's really worried that the government is gonna get Izuku, so when he sees the chance to excuse all his weird behaviors he latches on with everything he’s got.

So Katsuki explained, while trying to lie as little as possible, that he's never formally been tested (and he doesn't want to be), but there is another person living in his body named Izuku. Izuku is very shy though, and would prefer to not be mentioned/brought attention to. As such he asked Aizawa to not tell anyone else about him. Aizawa agreed easily, after all he doesn’t see any real risk from Izuku, and he’s happy that Katsuki was honest with him about the situation. He tells both of them that they can come talk to him any time if they need help, Katsuki agreed to that, and for a little while Izuku & Katsuki were safe.

I dunno exactly how the class finds out about Izuku, but I do know that Iida is one of the first ones during a tense situation. As a result, Katsuki and Izuku get to watch as straight laced goody two shoes Iida looks a government agent right in the eyes and lies his ass off to him to protect Izuku.

 For this AU, the ‘Kidnapping’ happens when the government managed to catch onto Katsuki. They’re sure they’ve finally found the alien, and they move in to capture Katsuki.

Only, Katsuki gets wind of this ahead of time, so in a quick moment of desperation, he forces a weakened Izuku to transfer off of him and onto Shouto, since Enji is like the vice president in this AU and that makes Shouto much, much harder for a government agency to fuck with. Shouto is somewhat aware of what Izuku is, and he agrees to take the other to safety.

Poor Izuku can only watch as Katsuki is captured, while Shouto forces him to stay hidden for all their safety.

It's okay though, because the four people who know about Izuku and what happened (Shouto, Kirishima, Iida, and Momo) decide to break into the government base to get Katsuki back, with Izuku's help obviously.

They get most of the way through their super secret infiltration mission, but something goes wrong and they’re almost caught. 

Until while they're hiding and the people search for them are a hair away from discovering them, an absolutely furious Aizawa just fucking waltzes in with the fucking president (All-Might for this AU) to demand his student back.

Now at this point, the agency has no actual proof of alien life. They have half connected incidents and eyewitness reports, but nothing definitive. When they took Katsuki into custody, they’d tested him immediately, sure that they were going to get their proof that way, but since Katsuki no longer has Izuku, the tests all came back negative. As such they have no real justification for having basically kidnapped him.

The agent guy or whoever has been chasing them tries to justify themselves by offering proof of 'Izuku' existence, specifically recordings of Katsuki talking to himself and referring to an ‘Izuku’ as well as written notes. Aizawa's responds that he was already aware of Izuku, that Katsuki had already discussed the other with him, and that he cannot believe they've detained a 16 year old on account of him having multiple personalities. All-Might backs Aizawa up, and shuts down the entire thing as there’s no evidence they’ve done anything but harass Katsuki.

That leaves the agents shit out of luck, so they have to let Katsuki go. The other kids sneak out the way they came in, before quietly joining Aizawa and Katsuki. Aizawa waits until everyone is outside and out of range of any cameras, and then he just turns on the entire group.

"Okay, so first of all, I'm extremely disappointed that you four decided to break into a government agency with armed guards before so much as texting me."

"I'm so sorry sir."

"We could've thought that through a little better, I'll admit."

"Katsuki was in trouble, but yeah, I guess we could've asked for help."

"I stand by what I did and I'd do it again."

Aizawa, actively chooses to ignore Shouto's comment for right now, but does still glare at him for it.

"Second of all, that man may be a fool, but I am not. Where's the alien?”

Everyone's quiet for a tense moment before Izuku makes his choice and pokes his head out from Shouto, introducing himself politely.

After getting a full explanation on what happened, Aizawa gives Katsuki a Look (tm) to which Katsuki defends himself.

“Listen, I did not lie, I just purposefully omitted that the person living in my body is also an actual alien from outer space.”

And Aizawa can’t really argue with that, so he just accepts that his class has an extra student in it from now on.

They let the rest of class 1-A in on the Izuku secret, since a lot of them had been coming close to figuring it out anyways, and so the entire class slowly adjusts to having an alien as one of them. It’s surprisingly easy to come to terms with, and as Izuku slowly starts coming out of his shell (ie hiding inside Katsuki whenever someone tries to talk to him), the entire class discovers he’s a total sweetheart & adore him.

[joonie-beanie]

The Chase

Pairing: Satan x Reader

Word Count: 4,982

Preview: Despite the fact that you're supposed to have the House of Lamentation all to yourself, Satan shows up in your room with an all-too-familiar charm.

He wants a chase, and you're willing to give it to him.

(This is a follow up to my other Satan fic, “Feline Charms”, so please go read that first if you haven’t!)

** Please note that this is a cross-posting **

This chapter is also being posted on 6/25/20 as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3

Satan walks into your room one quiet day—a sparkle in his eyes.

You pause from where you’re sitting on your bed, surprised to see him. Last you’d heard, Diavolo had invited the brothers to the castle for dinner. You hadn’t been included in the invitation (something about discussing sensitive Devildom politics over the meal), but it hadn’t bothered you.

For once, you’d have the entire house to yourself, and that thought was exciting. But…

Here Satan is, standing in your doorway, and looking suspiciously happy.

“Did you…not go with your brothers?” you ask, pushing yourself into a seated position, with your legs crossed under you. You stare at him innocently, head cocked to the side.

“I told them I needed to catch up on homework first,” he says, waving his hand uncaringly. “The first hour or so is just mingling anyway. Dinner doesn’t start until late.”

“Ah,” you respond, but you’re still confused. It’s obvious to you that Satan doesn’t have any real homework to do, considering he’s standing in your doorway all mischievous-like. There’s got to be a reason why he’d stayed behind, and come to visit you in particular…

Sighing, you press to your feet and pose with a hand on your hip—eyebrow raising as you stare at him.

“What can I do for you, Satan?”

At that, he grins. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, Satan carefully tugs out what looks to be a small keychain. He only holds it only by the silken ribbon, and your eyes narrow in on the all too familiar golden charm dangling at the end.

Immediately, your body goes stiff—explicit memories flashing through your head.

Satan chuckles as he notices your obvious shift in demeanor.

This shouldn’t be a complete surprise to you. After all, you and Satan had spoken on the possibility of once again using the charm to make things a bit more…interesting.

It wasn’t like your normal sex wasn’t fun, or fulfilling, but…you and Satan both had admittedly gotten immense pleasure out of your first (albeit accidental) use of the charm, so why not try once again?

“I managed to adjust the spell so you won’t turn fully into a cat, like last time,” Satan speaks, his foot inching forward. His pace is slow as he approaches you, and you feel your breathing pick up—your tongue darting out to wet your lips.

You know that this time, you’re both looking for that bit of resistance you’d shown before—when Satan had been forced to wrestle you into the shower. Except, today, you won’t be running due to a fear of water—you’ll be running to feel the thrill of the chase.

Satan had expressed to you some while ago that he’d admittedly always loved being able to let go and indulge in his Wrath-born tenancies from time to time. And…part of those tendencies typically involved games of cat and mouse.

For as composed as Satan appears to be, he gets twisted pleasure out of stalking his prey—chasing them, letting them work themselves into a frenzy, until finally Satan puts them out of their misery.

…of course, Satan has no intention of killing you.

No, for you, a much more…pleasurable ending awaits.

“Of course, we don’t have to do this right now, if you’re not up for it.”

He lifts his free hand and cups your cheek, dragging you into a soft kiss. That mischievous glint in his eye is gone, replaced with a look of understanding and affection.

You and Satan have only grown closer over the last few weeks, and there’s no way he’ll jeopardize your relationship by forcing you into a scenario when you’re not on board.

A quiet moan builds in your throat, and you raise your hands—cradling his face between your palms. You steal another kiss from him, and your heart begins to race.

You love him so much that sometimes you think you may drown in your affections for him. How can one man make you want to melt, but manage to get you so sexually aroused in the same beat?

Lowering one of your hands from his cheek, you trail your fingers down his chest, and onto his arm. Within moments, your fingers skim against his own. You feel the soft silken fabric holding the charm, and without second thought, reach down to touch the spell-laden metal.

Immediately, your body tingles—and you can sense the magic changing your form. The sensation stops only after a few seconds, and true to his word, this time around you have not turned into a house cat. Instead, you remain human, but with feline characteristics—your ears twitching on your skull, and your tail waving behind you—showing the excitement you’ve been attempting to hide.

“Do I at least get a head start?” you whisper against his lips—smile overtaking you. The Avatar of Wrath chuckles, pressing one final kiss against your mouth.

“10 seconds,” he says.

In a flash, you’ve disappeared—your shoulders brushing together as you dart past him and exit your bedroom. He can hear your footsteps echoing down the hall as you run, and Satan grins to himself. It’s clear you don’t intend to make this easy for him.

As adrenaline begins to flood his veins, his power begins to seep. Horns appear on Satan’s head—his clothes transforming into his demonic outfit, and a green and black tail snakes around his leg.

“3,” he mumbles to himself, turning to face the open door to your room. He rolls his neck side to side—loosening his muscles.

“2.”

Satan takes a deep breath, his ears straining to hear you. You’ve traveled quite far in just a few seconds…perhaps the spell had granted you a tiny boost in speed, as well.

“1.”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, Satan rushes after you.

You’ve already made it down the staircase and into the dining room by the time Satan is done counting.

While a part of you had admittedly debated slowing your pace so that Satan could find you more easily, that idea had quickly been chucked aside. Satan wants a chase, and, well…to be quite honest, the Avatar of Wrath is a bit scary. At least when he’s like this. (Although you know he would never actually hurt you.)

A wave of power extends throughout the house, and you feel your hair stand on end. Briefly pausing, your cat ears—with heightened senses—swerve around on your head. Somewhere behind you, a stair creaks.

You suck in a sharp breath, gaze quickly darting over your shoulder. How is he already this close??

Hurrying forward, you do your best to tread lightly as you round into the kitchen. You stay low behind the counter tops, a tiny smile tugging at your lips when you suddenly feel foolish for the way your heart is hammering against your ribs. You’re excited, and anxious, and aroused, and—

“Neko-chan~”

The voice is drawn-out—playful—but it still makes your hackles rise.

Suddenly, you’re all too aware of the demon lurking behind you. You don’t even dare look—simply leap forward and out of Satan’s reach. He grins mirthfully as you turn your head to stare at him--shocked. It’s seriously unfair that he can move so silently.

“I found you,” he says, taking a step forward. In response, you take a step back. The doorway to the hall is still a few feet behind you, and Satan is blocking the entrance back into the dining room. Your best bet would be to stun him, and then run further into the house and hide.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see an apple sitting on the counter.

You swipe at it without warning, effectively sending it flying towards Satan’s head. The demon, luckily, is thrown off by the action.

He lifts an arm to save his face from being struck by the fruit, and by the time the apple has bounced off his arm and clattered to the floor, Satan’s eyes only manage to catch the sight of your tail disappearing from the doorframe.

A grin tugs at his lips, his eyes flashing dangerously.

You’re cute when you’re desperate. Too bad your efforts are in vain.

You only make it half way up the hall before a hand wraps around your tail. With a shriek, you tumble off your feet—landing ungracefully on your ass. There’s an amused snort behind you.

“And that’s why I keep my tail close to me.”

You scramble to your hands and knees—knowing that Satan is behind you—but he doesn’t allow you to get away again.

“It’s adorable when the prey doesn’t realize it’s time to give up.”

Satan’s warmth and weight are suddenly on your back. You feel his prominent hard-on against your ass, and pointedly rut back against it—hoping to loosen his hold. However, the action in turn causes him to grip you tighter—his sharp nails digging into one of your breasts through your shirt.

You whimper, but the sound quickly escalates into a pained gasp as Satan’s other hand roots in your hair.  He tugs your head back—his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck as punishment for that last, pathetic escape attempt.

“Satan,” you breathe hotly, your tone pleading. Your ass wiggles against his crotch. Despite the small amount of distress you feel towards your current situation, it is vastly outweighed by the arousal pooling your gut. The Avatar of Wrath catching you and pinning you down like this is a huge turn-on.

“Wasn’t much of a chase, in the end,” he mumbles against your ear, and you blink in shock as the world spins. He easily flips you onto your back, and suddenly you’re staring at his devilishly handsome face—his lips pulled into a wide smile, and his blond hair disheveled.

“You should have just told me if you wanted my cock that badly, Y/N.”

You flush red, hand lifting to press against his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“You prick—I ran with all I had! Maybe if you wanted more of a chase, you should have given me a bigger head s—”

Your words are cut off as his palm presses against your neck—his fingers squeezing tightly around your throat. You’re very much reminded of the first time he’d fucked you--the same ears and tail adorning your body.

“I would watch your mouth, kitty.” You start to go light-headed, and Satan feels you become more pliable beneath him. He drags his knee between your thighs--grinding up against your pelvis, and you whine. “Is that any way for a pet to talk to their master?”

“I-I’m not--,” you attempt to deny his words, but you’re aware that this is a battle you won’t win. You’d said once before that you were the “Avatar of Wrath’s personal little pet”, and he’s taking that very seriously. Especially now that you’re pinned beneath him--cute, fuzzy ears flattened against your hair. 

Satan leans in so your faces are mere centimeters apart, and his eyes flick to look at your lips.

“Want to try that again?”

Your body heats up with embarrassment. You will yourself to meet his gaze.

“I’m your pet, Satan.”

He smiles at that, and you feel his grip on your neck loosen as he leans down to kiss you. You moan quietly into the kiss—your arms lifting to wrap around him—but the soft moment is over as soon as it begins. The Avatar of Wrath nips his canines against your bottom lip, drawing a bit of blood, and his fingers tighten against your throat once more.

“And as my pet, I can do whatever I please, yes?”

His knee is still rubbing up against your pussy, and even though the friction is lessened by your clothing, you’re so riled up at the moment that you swear if he keeps going, you’ll cum soon.

You nod weakly.

“Say it.”

“You can use me however you want.”

Your voice is frantic, and breathless. Satan can see the way your face has started to color from lack of blood flow, so he removes his hand from your neck. Instead, he places a finger at the collar of your shirt—his green nail extending into a point on command. The sharp nail catches the fabric of your shirt and tears it clean up the middle.

Because you’d been expecting to have the house to yourself tonight, you aren’t wearing a bra.

As your tits spill into the open air, Satan’s dick throbs. Immediately, his hand descends upon the soft mounds, giving them a rough squeeze. You whimper--your eyes straying to look at the crotch of Satan’s pants, and the pitched tent is quite obvious.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. Satan notices, his eyes narrowing. He removes his hand from your chest, and instead replaces it with his mouth. As he sucks your tit between his lips—his teeth gently nipping at your hardened nipple—his free hand sneaks beneath the hem of your pants.

His fingers slide between your wet folds, two digits curling into your pussy with little resistance. You writhe beneath him, your hips grinding down against his hand, and he sinks his teeth into your breast as a warning. You’re quick to cease your movements.

“Good girl.”

Satan laps his tongue against your tit—soothing over the indentation of his teeth. Acknowledgement of your good behavior.

You whine, unable to help the miniscule twitching of your body as Satan begins finger fucking you. His pace is frustratingly slow—serving only to rile you up—but you know that if you beg for more, you’ll be punished. Good pets learn to wait, and so shall you.

“Mmm--!” you mewl—your chest arching into Satan’s mouth. He’s taken to biting and sucking against your breasts—leaving you with a pretty pattern of soon-to-be hickies.

“You like it when you have marks, don’t you?” he speaks, voice deep. His emerald eyes flit up to you, and a grin pulls at his lips when he fucks his fingers into you particularly hard—making you gasp.

“That way, whenever you see them, you’ll be reminded of this—,” Satan drags his mouth upward to rest against your throat. His words are hot against your skin as he continues, and you shiver.

“—me, fucking you in the middle of the hallway after a pathetic game of cat and mouse. You’re quite literally the cat out of the two of us, and yet you were caught…”

“Not exactly a fair game when you’re running from a demon,” you shoot back. Satan breathes a laugh, and a moment later, you feel his canines against the column of your throat. He bites down—a cry falling from your lips—and Satan enjoys the way your pussy tightly grips his fingers. Despite the pain laced in your voice, he can feel your walls getting wetter.

“You’re quite mouthy for a pet,” he comments, sitting back a little. There’s a clear impression of his teeth against your neck. Your chest rises and falls quickly—eyes blown wide as you stare at him. Looks like your bratty remarks have finally given way to needy submission.

“How about…,” Satan pulls his fingers from inside of you, watching the way your bottom lip quivers in disappointment. “…you meow for me?”

His two digits—slick with your own arousal—press against your clit and begin rubbing slow, gentle circles. Your skull angles back into the carpet, lips parting in a silent moan, and after a moment your wanton gaze resettles on the demon.

You hesitate, your cheeks getting redder, and Satan grins. He rubs against your clit a bit harder, leaning down to press open mouth kisses to your sternum.

“If you be a good girl and meow, I’ll quit teasing and give you what you want. How’s that sound?”

He mumbles the words against your skin, smiling when he feels your thighs tighten around his hand. It takes a few seconds for you to work up to it, but eventually Satan hears you sigh—giving into your fate.

“N-nyaaa~,” you manage quietly, pitching your voice high, and attempting to come off cute. Your heart is racing against your ribs, embarrassment and arousal clashing as your body continues to heat up.

Satan’s fingers pause against your clit—the blond-haired demon leaning back, and giving you a curious look. It seems like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Despite his inner amusement at making you meow; his dick is throbbing.

He wants to fuck you into the floor.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he remarks, resting back on his knees as his hands fumble to undo his belt. You watch him with wide eyes, surprised at the desperation that is oozing off of him. A part of you wants to tease him for getting so turned-on from making you meow of all things, but you don’t want to jeopardize your chance at finally having his cock inside of you.

And you need this.

A gasp falls from your mouth as Satan grabs you—his fingers tugging at the waistband of your pants. Since you’re fairly desperate yourself, you lift your rear off the floor, making it easier for him to shuck the clothing off of you.

Now, with your lower half revealed to him, Satan wastes no time in settling between your legs. His pants are already shoved down his thighs—cock weeping and hard.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commands a little breathily as his hands find your hips—guiding you against him. The head of his length rubs between your wet folds, flicking against your clit, before finally dragging down to your sopping hole.

You groan pleasantly as he seats himself between your walls—your legs curling around him as his cock stretches you open--filling you so deliciously. Despite the wrath in his nature telling him to be mean, a hint of fondness tugs at his heart--happy to see your satisfaction.

Leaning down, Satan cups your face. He kisses you hotly—his tongue dragging against your own as he swallows each and every pleasurable sound that threatens to escape you. 

With his cock sheathed within your heat, he kisses you until your breath is completely stolen away.Then, he leans back--his eyes roaming you from head to toe. Hickies litter your chest, your lips are wet and swollen, and the bite mark on your neck is sure to be there for days. He grins with satisfaction at his work.

“What a good pet,” he comments. His hands find your hips once more, and the soft intimacy of the moment has ended. You’re once again his prey.

“Oh--!” you choke in surprise as Satan suddenly thrusts himself into you—his pace fast and rough right from the get-go. Your fingers tear into the carpet beneath you—desperate for something to hold onto. If it weren’t for the remnants of your torn shirt protecting your back, you’re sure you’d have carpet burn in minutes.

“Ah,” Satan bites out, his heart thundering in his chest as he continues fucking into you. With your legs tightly wrapped around him, it makes it so easy for him to grind your pussy onto his dick—his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your hips as he forces you to meet him in the middle.

Uncalled upon, little whines and pleas begin to drip off your tongue. The chase combined with all of Satan’s teasing has gotten you so worked up that you can already feel arousal pooling heavily in your gut. Each drag of the demon’s cock between your walls inches you closer to your release, and at this rate, you won’t last very long.

“S-Satan, I--,” you open your mouth to warn him, but that’s all you can manage. You can barely form a coherent thought, your eyes glazed over as you stare at him. And Satan loves seeing you like this—falling apart beneath him. All it would take is one final push, and he’s sure that you’d unravel.

“Oh? Are you close already?” he teases, despite full well knowing he’s nearing his breaking point as well. Sweat has started to bead on his brow—the ends of his messy blond hair sticking against his forehead. As much as he could poke fun at you for being so close already, he doesn’t have the right. At this rate, he’ll be pumping you full of his seed within the next few minutes.

You bite your lip at his question and manage to nod your head. Your pussy is throbbing around his length—gripping him tighter with each passing second. You’re drowning in your own arousal.

Whining a little, you lift your arms towards the demon—craving to feel him. He’s already fucked any remaining disobedience out of you, and now all you want is to keep him close as he drills you into the floor.

Luckily, Satan is feeling nice enough to give in. He wraps his arms behind you, hugging you tightly against him as he continues fucking his hips into yours. Wet slapping sounds echo down the hallway, and you moan--your fingers digging into his shoulder blades as you wrap yourself around him.

Satan’s breathing is heavy against your ear, quiet pants and curses puffing against your skin as the two of you rocket towards your climaxes. However—

Brrrring Brrrring~

Satan’s rhythm stutters as he feels his DDD begin vibrating against his lower thigh. He growls.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Your head thumps back against the floor in disappointment as Satan untangles himself from around you and wrestles his phone out of his pocket. The screen reads Mammon, and Satan momentarily debates ignoring the call. However, knowing that he’s supposed to be at an important meeting with his brothers and Diavolo currently, he can’t justify doing so.

“What?” he bites in annoyance, connecting the line. Despite also being peeved at the interruption, you find yourself smiling—Mammon’s offended voice reaching your ears as he complains about the rude greeting.

As Satan seethes, you become aware of the fact that his cock is still inside of you. Even though he had picked up the call, he has made a point of keeping himself seated between your warm walls, and the realization has you feeling a little…devious.

“Lucifer is wonderin’ where the hell ya are,” Mammon states after airing his complaints at Satan’s cold greeting. The Avatar of Wrath sighs.

“I’ll be there soon, I’m nearly fin-ished--,” his voice wavers, pitching high in response to your pussy clenching around him.

“You okay, Satan?” Mammon asks curiously as Satan’s narrowed emerald eyes shift down to you. There’s a look of disbelief on his face—had you really just done something so ballsy?—but the anger in his eyes quickly melts into something much more devious.

He leans back a little more—his free hand moving between your legs. Before you can beg him not to, the Avatar of Wrath is quickly rubbing two of his fingers against your aching clit. His motions are swift and damning—a side to side motion that has your eyes rolling back, and your lips parting. A moan threatens to tear out of you, and you hurry to lift your hands and cover your mouth.

A grin tugs at Satan’s lips even as your pussy tightens around his cock once more.

“I’m fine,” he responds after a brief pause, his voice even and put together. It’s a stark contrast to you, who is quite literally writhing beneath him. You cry into your hands—your thighs pressing tightly against Satan’s hips as you attempt to close your legs, but it’s no use.

“…okay then,” Mammon relinquishes, still sounding a little suspicious. “Dinner starts in 30 minutes. Get here by then, alright?”

“I’m sure I’ll finish in time,” Satan replies, now full-out grinning as he watches you squirm. He can feel your pussy pulsating around his length. If he keeps going, there’s no doubt you’ll cum.

“Ya better, or Lucifer will have your ass. Get here soon.” 

With that, Mammon ends the call, and Satan doesn’t hesitate in chucking his phone across the floor. It skids to a stop on the carpet a few feet away just as the demon reaches up and tears your hands away from your mouth.

“You bas--,” you start breathlessly, but Satan cuts you off. His mouth crashes against yours—his arms once more wrapping tightly around your torso as he picks up where you’d left off. And all you can do is moan around his tongue—a thick layer of need blotting out your anger and embarrassment.

Once again, the two of you are thrown into the depths of your pleasure. The world disappears from around you. All you know is Satan, and the way he’s making you feel.

“Please,” you beg, fingernails pressing crescents into the skin of his shoulders. You’re so, so close. You could snap at any second.

Satan notes the way your walls grip him—squeezing tighter with every thrust of his cock, and he bites out a curse. He can feel your breasts pressing against his chest—hear each of your breathless pleas and whines. You’re quite literally falling apart in his fingers, and he has never experienced anything more beautiful.

“Cum.”

Permission.

With a strained cry, you hug yourself to him as tight as you can, and cum. Your body convulses beneath him, your pussy milking around his cock, and you feel his muscles tense. He pants harshly—a near whine caught in his throat—and his rhythm finally falters.

Seating himself inside of you, Satan paints your walls with his seed. His chest heaves as he slumps against you—holding you near as your pussy forces every last drop of cum from his length. Taking a deep breath, you reach a hand up to pet through his blond hair.

“Good?” you question tiredly, turning your head to press a kiss to his ear. Satan hums in affirmation, and you shiver as he drags his hips backwards—his length disappearing from inside of you.

“Very,” he assures you, moving to kiss you.

You smile, happy to hear him say so, and then laugh a little. He cocks an eyebrow, leaning back onto his knees so he can fully look at you.

“What?”

“I think you just have a cat fetish,” you tell him, your ears twitching atop your head. “I mean…we could have sex like this without using the charm, you know?”

Satan turns a little red at that, sheepishly tugging a few strands of damp hair from his forehead.

“I just…think you look really cute like this, okay?”

It’s clear that now that the Avatar of Wrath has gotten his fill, he’s not feeling so mean anymore.

“Then I’ll be your kitty whenever you want,” you tell him, pressing your palms to the floor as you sit yourself up. Satan immediately reaches forward and cups your cheeks—a fond look in his eyes as he guides you into another kiss.

“That’s a dangerous offer,” he tells you, smiling against your lips. You laugh again, and Satan is sure to pepper you with a few more soft kisses before he grabs your hand and helps you to your feet. The two of you put yourselves back together best you can—Satan reassuring you that he’ll buy you a new shirt when he sees you motion to the now destroyed garment on your top half.

“Have fun at dinner,” you tell him as he bends down to retrieve his discarded phone. The demon rolls his eyes, his horns and tail disappearing into thin air.

“Of course.”

Pausing to hug you and kiss you one last time, Satan then makes his way up the hall and disappears from sight. Once he’s gone, you stretch your arms above your head and turn back towards your room. You could really use a shower.

Later than night—just past 1AM—you’re pulled from your sleep by a dip in your bed. An arm wraps around your waist—a nose nuzzling against your neck—and you murmur quietly.

“Satan?”

“Were you expecting someone else?” he shoots back, clearly tired himself. You shake your head “no”, and settle back against the pillow. You feel his fingers lift to pet against the furry ears still lingering atop your scalp, but you can’t be bothered to say anything. The sensation is nice, and it quickly lulls you back to sleep.

“Night,” you mumble, drifting off, and you hear him chuckle.

“Good night.”

In the morning, you wake up safely tucked into Satan’s embrace, and the two of you end up lounging in bed talking for a fair while. You only decide to start the day once your stomach growls, in need of some breakfast.

Exiting your room together (Satan being sure to remind you to cover the bite marks on your neck) the two of you make your way towards the kitchen, but are stopped by a frowning Leviathan.

“What’s up?” you ask, and the otaku motions over his shoulder down the hall.

“Lucifer found some weird stain on the carpet this morning. He’s currently patrolling and is trying to find the culprit.”

At his words, you and Satan freeze. You turn to look at each other—realization shining in your eyes.

You’d both left the scene of your love making without bothering to check if you’d…left a mess.

Well shit.

“Thanks for letting us know, Levi!” you say, grabbing Satan’s wrist and tugging him up the hall.

You need to clean up now.

After all, the last thing you need is Lucifer to start asking about how the stain happened.

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt.8]

Pairings:  Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x  Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death.

A/N: **TW: A certain death is finally explained in this chapter. It is the second half of the chapter. It’s not in crazy detail but there is some important plot stuff mixed in.  I decided to post despite someone stealing my work. 😤 Thanks to my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky​​​​ for looking this chapter over for me. Enjoy the sad I guess. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

Stepping away from music for those ten months turned out to be the best thing you could have done for yourself and your career. Without the small reprieve, you doubted you would have found your way back to teaching, and you loved teaching. Not that it had been intended as a break at the time you walked away. You had every intention of never looking at another sheet of music again, but then Bucky came home and things became more complicated and somehow easier. You doubted that he knew what he was doing, and why should he? It wasn’t as if he had planned on coming home to pick up all your broken pieces so he could help put you back together. He did -- whether he realized it or not -- help you get some of your old life back. The bit that you could take with you into this new one. You even called a few of your former students and asked their parents if they were interested in picking up their lessons. Most said they would love to pick up where you left off, and a few said they found someone new in your absence. You couldn’t blame them. The world had continued while you chose to stand still.

Bucky must have noticed a difference because he told you he liked how pretty you looked when you were smiling. 

Lessons started with the school year, and fall was here before you could blink. You were surprised to find you weren’t dreading the holidays as much as you thought. It would be the first holiday season since you got the call and you had expected it to feel like the rest -- hollow and grim. Along with Easter and Memorial Day, you had skipped celebrating Steve’s birthday. There was a small cake you shared with Bucky, three bites in, and you couldn’t force any more falsities down. You spent the rest of the night in your room. It was one of the rare nights you hadn’t slept next to Bucky since he had been home. You needed the night to yourself, and he understood that. By morning, your wedding ring had found its way from your ring finger to a chain that Steve had given you years ago. It felt strange at first. From the moment Steve slipped it on your finger, it rarely left your skin, and when you did, it always felt like there was a piece of you missing. That feeling didn’t show up this time, but you imagined there weren’t many more pieces of you that could go missing. You didn’t want to make it a big deal, so you kept it tucked inside your shirt. Of course, Bucky noticed the absence right away. He never questioned it. 

It was a step forward (or maybe backward you weren’t sure some days). They were small, slow steps taken, but at least you were moving.  

You’re not sure when it happened, but one morning you woke up and everything didn’t hurt as bad, you guessed it started right around the time Bucky came home. While moving forward was necessary (as everyone continued to remind you), there were days when it felt like a betrayal. You are moving on, and Steve can’t come with you. A little guilt blackens your heart every time you smile on those days; so you falter and take those arduous steps back. It lessens with every laugh and smile Bucky draws out of you, but it’s there under it all, and there’s the fear too. You’re afraid if you move on and keep up with the rest of the world you will forget. You will forget everything you and Steve had, and it will be as if you were never anything at all. Bucky shook his head when you confessed that to him late one night with your forehead pressed firmly against his shoulder, fighting your sleep and the nightmares you were sure would follow. 

“You’re holding on to the past, Y/n. You gotta let it go. I’m not sayin’ you have to stop lovin’ him, but you gotta let go of the part of Steve that’s keeping you from moving on and being happy. Or it’s going to continue to tear at you until there’s nothing left.” 

“And if I forget him?” 

“You won’t, Trouble. You can’t forget a love like that. Trust me, I know.”

Bucky didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t dare ask. He’s never mentioned anything about falling in love in all the years you’ve known him. You’ve never seen him hold onto a woman for longer than a month and the idea of Bucky being in love, holding on to that love all these years without ever getting to know it turns your stomach inside out and shades your heart a bitter green. You’d rather not dwell on those feelings long enough to understand them. 

Neither of you spoke about it again, and you were thankful. You didn’t think you could handle discussing Bucky’s long lost love when you could barely pick out an outfit. You’ve been staring at your clothes for an hour now, and everything either looked awful or felt wrong. Maybe you needed to buy new clothes and start from scratch. Every piece you owned had a memory stitched into the fabric, and you didn’t need to be reminded of things you would never have again. Bucky pulled a grey flannel out of his closet, and you reached across the bed, yanking it right out of his hand to slip over your head. That would have to work for today. Bucky rolled his eyes and turned back to the closet to grab a blue Henley for himself. 

You always did like the way he looked blue. 

“I can go see Sam so you can have some time alone with Tasha and Wanda.” 

You didn’t say anything. Just gave a simple nod of the head, refusing to look up from the pile of clothes on the bed that now needed to be put away. You could leave it. The girls would be here any minute, and with Bucky gone, you could deal with it then. Bucky reached out to wrap his fingers around your wrist and gave a gentle tug, forcing your gaze to follow the motion up to meet his eyes. He ran his thumb over the soft thumping in your wrist and stared at you for a while as if he was working something out. 

“Or,” Bucky suggested gently. “I can stay right here and work on my bike.” 

Your lips curled up in a small smile despite your brain’s wish to keep them in a permanent frown. 

“Okay,” You agreed with an easy smile. You slipped your wrist out of Bucky’s loose hold and made your way towards the door, stopping before you crossed the threshold and looked back at him with a deep frown replacing the pretty smile you were wearing only a second ago. 

“You don’t have to babysit me, y’ know?” 

Bucky’s laughter was followed by an exasperated groan. Of course, that was why you were upset. 

“Yeah, I know. You’re just fine on your own.” 

There was no fighting the grin Bucky’s words caused. “Yes, I am. But… you can hang around if you want to.” 

“I’ve meant to clean up my girl anyway. I’ll hang around today, Trouble.” 

Bucky assurance made your heart rest a little easier and maybe his too because he looked relieved when you nodded. The doorbell broke your silence and forced you to leave his side; you barely made it to the top of the stairs when you heard Bucky mutter, “Pain in my ass.” There was a fondness in his voice that made your heart leap. 

Even though you were back to teaching you made sure not to overwhelm yourself; Tuesdays and Thursdays you worked late into the evening. It was nice to have something to look forward to, and Bucky always had something to eat ready when your last student left around 8:30. That was nice too. 

Natasha had called earlier in the week wanting to come over Thursday night, and you had to explain that you went back to work. There was silence on the other end of the line, and silence was never good with Natasha. She was probably mad you didn’t tell her and that you were keeping things that important hidden, but it wasn’t something you wanted to advertise. Besides, Friday was as good a day as any to have the girls over. No one had to work the next day and took some of the pressure off. Everything felt normal when Natasha and Wanda arrived; you shared a hug or two. Okay, three. Wanda liked to hug, and she showed you the muffins she baked while Natasha held up a bottle of something that looked as if it could melt the glass it came in. You didn’t know what you expected. You hadn’t thought you would feel so excited to see them. Not because you didn’t love them, but having excitement around anyone but Bucky has been rare these last few months.  

Sometimes the unexpected was good. 

You chose to sit on the window bench that happened to overlook the side yard where Bucky had his black and chrome bike parked and was sitting on an old milk crate hard at work. That didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha. Not that anything ever does. 

“So are you two living together now?” 

You slowly draw your gaze up from the wine glass in your hand to look at Natasha and Wanda, who was skillfully avoiding your eyes as she blew on her tea for far longer than necessary.  

“Yes. Is that a problem? It’s not like we talked about it or anything. It just sort of happened.” 

Natasha shrugged in answer to your question and waited for you to go on. She wanted more of an explanation, so you rolled your eyes and explained why Bucky was staying with you. 

“He didn’t have anywhere to go when he came home.” 

Natasha smirked at the suggestion that Bucky would have been homeless if he hadn’t come to live with you, and you knew right away what you said had been a mistake. “Besides his mom’s, right? She lives twenty minutes from here. What about Sam’s? Or at my place with Clint and I? And I’m a hundred percent certain Sarah Rogers would have taken him in if everyone else in his life let him down for some unknown reason.”  

You turned to look back out the window right as Bucky looked up, catching his eye, and you felt the panic in your chest lessen. Bucky gave you that pretty smile and scrunched his nose at you before going back to work. You fought to keep your smile small and lost the battle before it even got started. Wanda’s voice pulled you back into the living room; it was gentle as if she was trying to offset Natasha. 

“I think what Nat was trying to ask is if you are planning on staying here together, or is he going to get his own place eventually?” 

“We haven’t talked about it. I suppose he will at some point, though...” 

You frowned at the thought. Why did that bother you so much? 

“He doesn’t have to do anything, you know?” Wanda added at the sight of your upset. “He might want to stay here.” 

“Maybe, but he has to move on eventually,” you added, dread filling your voice from the mere thought of Bucky leaving you. “He can’t stay here just to keep me from falling apart for the rest of this life.” 

They were right. Bucky will eventually want to get back to his life. He can’t babysit you forever.  There was going to come a time when he will want to date, fall in love, and get married. Maybe even have kids. Do all the things that you were supposed to do with Steve. The thought of Bucky leaving you to have that life with someone else made you sick, and you know it’s selfish. It’s unfair to expect him to stay there with you because you don’t want to lose him to someone else. 

“How are you doing?” Natasha sounded a little softer this time, sensing your unease. “Are you sleeping?”  

“Yeah, I started sleeping in Bucky’s room with him. It seemed to help.” 

They stayed quiet but shared a look. You weren’t fond of whatever that was.

“What?”

“It’s nothing.” Wanda rushed out far too quickly, but Natasha was quick to cut in, and by her tone, you could tell she’s been feeling this way for a while. “I’m just wondering how long you are going to keep punishing yourself?” 

Natasha stared at you and Wanda swore under her breath. They talked about this before coming over. That was clear by the glare Wanda was settling Natasha with. You briefly wondered how often your friends discuss you like that. More often than you approved of, you were sure. 

“I’m not punishing myself. I’m allowed to be sad. My husband died--”

“You’re right. You are allowed to be sad. Just like you’re allowed to find new things that make you happy and start putting your life back together.” 

“I’m fine, Nat. I don’t need anything new. I have our house and my music--” 

“And, Bucky?”

While she was right, you did have Bucky, in a sense. Bucky wasn’t new. You had a feeling what she was suggesting would be very new and not a notion you wanted to entertain.

“Natasha--” 

“It’s okay to be happy again, Y/n. It’s okay to let your heart get put back together and heal. It doesn’t cheapen what you had with Steve. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love him, and it doesn’t mean you are betraying him. You aren’t doing anything wrong by letting yourself find happiness again. Even if that happiness is found with Bucky.” 

You had a feeling what Natasha was hinting at, but hearing it outright like that made you a little queasy. Did people, your friends, talk about you and Bucky like this? Is that what everyone was worried about, who would get you next?  

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t act stupid Y/n. You’re a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.” 

“He’s been my best friend since I was thirteen. It’s not-- It’s never been--” You took a deep breath and told them both, firmly. “He’s my best friend.”  

Wanda pinched Natasha’s thigh and grabbed your hands from where she sat on the floor between you and Natasha. “All Nat is trying to say is if you wanted to find happiness again... with Bucky or anyone for that matter, it’s okay. You’re not doing anything wrong by moving on.” 

“It’s been nearly a year since you lost Steve. It’s time to start picking up the pieces, Y/n. With Bucky or without. You can’t stay stuck in this in-between, and you can’t go back.”

You turned your gaze back out the window to catch Bucky staring at you. He quickly looked back at his bike and fiddled with the wrench in his hand. It reminded you of all those days he would hide you in Shop class so you could skip Geometry with Mr. Coulson. The memory makes you grin. The girls might be half right. Maybe you couldn’t go back, but that didn’t mean you wanted to let it go completely.

----

Three hours after Natasha and Wanda left, you found yourself wandering around the house with what you thought was purposeless. It started in the kitchen, and you slowly made your way through your home, somehow ending up in the doorway to Bucky’s room. Your heart must have told your feet where to go and left your brain in the dark. His hair was still wet from a fairly recent shower. The ends were darker than the rest and shiny from being wet. It wasn’t long enough to tuck behind his ears, but it was long enough that he could slick it back. His beard had become relatively thick due to his laziness these last few months. To be fair, most of his attention has been on you. When he mentioned trimming it a few weeks ago, you wrinkled your nose at the thought, and at the time, he had laughed. 

He never did trim it after that. 

Bucky glanced up at you, hovering at the threshold to his room, and he smiled, crooking his finger for you to come in. You pushed off the doorframe and made your way over to where he was resting on the end of the bed, wet towel lying on the bed next to him. You wanted to tell him it was getting your side of the bed all wet, but you thought better of it. 

It’s not your bed, after all. You have your own you should probably start to sleep in and let Bucky get back to living his own life. 

“Have a good time?” Bucky asked. There was a softness in his voice he saved for you and you alone. 

You shrugged.

“Tasha called me stupid on the way out. Got any idea what that is about? Should I be scared?” 

You grinned and brushed a fallen strand of hair back to lay with the rest. “I don’t know, but being scared is always a safe bet when Nat is involved. How’s the bike? It looked like you got a lot done.” 

“She’s good. Just cleaned her up a bit and changed the oil. You know, I like fiddling with her a bit, and she’s been sitting at my mom’s collecting dust.” 

You cupped his cheek and gently rubbed his cheekbone with your thumb. He nuzzled your palm right away, eyes falling closed, and he seemed to relax a fraction. There was tension in his shoulders you hadn’t noticed before, a darkness that has never lingered in his eyes this long, and his smile never quite reached his eyes anymore. He’s spent all this time taking care of you, and you never once noticed how badly he was struggling. 

He was lost just like you. 

“Hey.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of your voice and quickly pulled away from your touch as if he remembered he shouldn’t be doing that. You slowly drew your hand back, letting them drop to your side and choosing to sit next to him instead. 

“Wanna talk?” 

“‘Bout what?”

He looked dejected, troubled. A little scared, too. 

“What’s been weighing on your heart.” Bucky dropped his gaze, his tell for waiting to drop the subject, but you pushed a little more. “I didn’t see it before. I was too wrapped up in my shit, but I can see it now. The guilt and the hurt.”

If he honestly couldn’t talk, or didn’t want to, you would drop it. 

“Y/n, you don’t want to hear about that.” 

So it was about Steve’s death then. You had a feeling. 

“If I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t have asked. I need to hear it, Bucky, and I think you need to talk about it as well.” 

It took a long time before Bucky made any movements at all. He shifted further away from you, tossing the towel onto the desk chair and turned to face you. You mirrored his position tucking one leg under you on the bed and letting the other hang off the edge. He was still quiet, gathering his thoughts and a little courage, too. You nudged his barefoot with yours and he gave you a small smile.

“Steve was… He was walking in front of me. Like he always does-- like he did, and Sam was on our left.” Bucky licked his lips, tossing words around his head to find the right ones. This was harder than he thought it would be. 

“I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been. That’s my damn job. I was too busy staring at the damn…” Bucky stopped short, and the look of guilt he gave you said he feared you already knew his crimes and found him deserving of judgment. 

“At what, Bucky?” 

Bucky dropped his eyes and shook his head. 

“You’ll hate me.” 

“Bucky… I could never hate you. Nothing you could do would make me hate you.” 

Bucky closed his eyes, squeezed them shut really. He didn’t want to see your face when he said what he had to say next. “I was staring at your scarf. It was sticking out of his collar, poking up right out of the back of his BDU’s and all I could think about was you, and how I could never have-- I was distracted.”

He reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes with the palm of his hand. You had to stop yourself from reaching out and pulling him close. Bucky needed to get this off his chest and you needed to hear it. 

“Next thing I knew, there was a shot fired and then about ten after that. Maybe more. I don’t know. Steve was down, and at first, I thought he dropped to take cover, but my damn ears were ringing, and shots were flying everywhere. I tried to yell out, but I couldn’t hear my voice over the noise. Sam was trying to drag me away, but I couldn’t leave him lying there…” 

Bucky’s words became stuttered and choked. You could follow along, but you had to piece together the holes Bucky couldn’t fill. He explained how Steve had taken the bullet for him, how he had been distracted and didn’t see it in time. Bucky told you that he had pulled Steve undercover, and Steve had begged for Bucky to take care of you for him. Bucky left out the reason Behind Steve’s choices that day. You didn’t need to know that when Bucky asked why he did that, Steve told him with that stupid lopsided smile, “You’re my best friend, Buck and Y/n... S-she can go on without me. She can’t live without you though.” 

You wiped your tears away with shaking fingers. Bucky blamed himself for Steve’s choices and you couldn’t let him go on thinking he was at fault for something he had no control over. Scarf or not. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“Yn...” 

“No, Bucky. It wasn’t your fault. If it had been the other way around, you would have jumped in front of him. We both know you would have.” 

“But if I was--” 

“It’s not. Your fault, Bucky.”  

You crawled into his lap and pulled his head to your chest. Bucky tightened his arms around your waist, clutching at the thick fabric of his shirt still clinging to your skin. “I don’t blame you, and I know Steve wouldn’t,” You cooed softly in his ear. ”He would do it a hundred times over, and I know you would do the same for h-him.” 

Bucky tucked his nose into your neck and took a shaky inhale. The two of you sat like that as the glow of the room slowly faded from orange to dark blue. Bucky’s quiet sobs had settled into barely-there sniffs along with your own. There was a new heaviness resting on your chest, but despite the pain that came with knowing the truth, it gave you a tiny bit of closure. He never said if he believed you or accepted your forgiveness. You prayed he did. You hoped now he would be able to forgive himself, too.

“Bucky?” 

There a beat of silence. Bucky rubbed his beard against your neck making you shiver. You could feel a faint smile on your skin when he finally spoke. 

“Yeah?” 

Bucky slowly lifted his head, so the two of you were sitting nose to nose now, you were so close that when you whispered he could feel your breath against his lips, “I’m glad you came home… to me.” 

Maybe now, you could both heal and move on to something new. 

“Me too, Trouble. Me too.”

Previous // Next

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (4)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

tags&warnings: spoilers for S3 eps1+2 mainly, some for later episodes also; mention of drug use; brief description of a panic attack; sleazy David Rodríguez is sleazy; somewhat liberal use of the f-word and also other swearing; reference to past canon character deaths; this blog is CIA station chief Bill Stechner-phobic to the max; most non-graphic, vaguest possible reference to sex (to when Javi goes home with that lady in episode 1); oblivious mutual pining; idiots with zero emotional self-awareness; domesticity

word count: 15.435 (I’m sorry, here are some snacks 🍌🥨🧁🥤)

summary: Diana goes into the lions’ den. Javier is not having a good time. No one gets enough sleep.

tag list & author’s notes have been moved to the bottom. let me just say sorry this took me so long and I hope you’re all well and healthy and happy holidays and may the new year be better for all of us 

Masterlist

Prologue • Chapter 1 - The Informant • Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals  • Chapter 3 -  Swallow Pride and Anger

Chapter 4 - Prime Numbers

Franklin Jurado, Diana thinks, is a bit of an ass. It's not even that he happily, willingly, goes around laundering narcos' blood money, or that he gets rich off that himself. In this moment, it's mostly the way he dismissively rolls his eyes and can barely keep the contempt out of his voice when arguing with her about Maltese vs Caymanian tax loopholes. Like she's an idiot for actually reading the laws, spotty as they are. 

On top of everything, it's keeping her in her office well past the time she was meaning to start getting changed and dolled up for the grand party that night, and she feels a pressure headache of annoyance building behind her temples to boot. 

She's this close to bludgeoning the man with her stapler when an insistent knock sounds at the door, followed by a blonde head poking in. The blonde lady starts speaking in rapid English, too abrupt for Diana's brain to keep up with what is being said, but she instinctively recognized the tone of a husband being reamed out with righteous indignation and if nothing else, it gives her a certain kind of vindication. 

"Hi, I'm Christina Jurado. Just Christina is fine. Pleasure to meet you!" The other woman now stepped fully into her office, holding out her hand and smiling just a tad too brightly. 

"Diana...Galindo." Why she'd chosen to be known here under her married name is anyone's guess. Perhaps it was mostly a matter of having grown used to it. Perhaps it allowed her to pretend that this wasn't quite her, just an act to be put on for a greater purpose. That helping drug cartel bosses hide their blood money from the tax man and signing off on their henchmen's paychecks was something that Diana Teresa Artemisia Rivas Rincón would not be caught dead doing, no matter the circumstances. "Pleased to meet you." 

"Franklin, we'll be late!" the other woman throws over her shoulder. Rather pointedly, too. 

"We're not done discussing-" 

"I don't care, Franklin!" There's a moment of very animated eye contact, the kind of wordless back-and-forth that she'd dreamt of developing with Juan Mateo but that they never quite managed. Just another little detail that ultimately spelled the end of their marriage. "Actually, why don't your ride with us?" 

"I, um-" Diana instinctively reached to adjust the wire she'd been wearing for most of the day (to get used to the feeling and not inadvertently betray herself later), only catching herself in the last moment and fidgeting with the collar on her blouse instead. "I- Felipe was supposed to drive me. I need to get ready still, too." 

"Eh, he can tag along. What are you wearing? Do you have your dress here?" She did. There was no arguing with Christina, but no malice in her overbearing imperiousness either. Nonetheless, Diana tried to argue, if only for politeness' sake. How she wouldn't want to impose. That it wasn't a problem, since Miguel Rodríguez had very kindly arranged for her transportation in the form of the afore-mentioned Felipe. Mrs Jurado waved it all off. And perhaps the obvious annoyance in Franklin Jurado's eyes gave her a little push. Say what one might about the Rodríguez brothers, but at least neither of them had ever questioned her professional expertise. 

Before she knows what hit her, the three of them are sailing out of the building and towards the cars parked out front. Well, Christina is sailing, while Franklin and Diana are trotting along behind her and shooting each other sour looks. It's the kind of wrathful indignation that she hadn't felt since second grade, when Bruno Moreno had pulled her pigtails and stolen her pencil. Christina seemed unperturbed, ordering the drivers around in her accented but surprisingly decent Spanish. Felipe caught Diana's eye, wringing his hands and questions in his eye. 

"It seems I will be riding with Mr and Mrs Jurado. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to follow us to their hotel and then take my work clothes back to the office after I've changed? I'd hate to have to lug around my stuff or leave it lying around somewhere. You'd be a great help this way, and as far as I'm concerned, you can go straight home after that." 

"Of course, ma'am." He nodded, seeming relieved by the clear instructions. Diana smiled and handed off her garment bag to the Jurados' driver. 

The drive itself could have been more awkward, what with being caged in the back of this limousine with two strangers, one of whom all but openly despised her and spent his time pouting after his wife had told him in no uncertain terms that if a single word of work talk left his lips she'd shove him out the door and into oncoming traffic. Luckily she also had made it her personal mission to pack half an evening's worth of small talk into the barely twenty-minute-ride. 

The Jurados' suite was grand, the lounge alone bigger than the house Diana had grown up in. She was still trying not to show how out of place she felt among all the marble and gilded edges when Christina steered her towards the back, still prattling on in a way that the DEA would have a lot of fun picking through when they got the recording from her wire. 

"Ugh, this place is so... Sorry, we wanted the president's suite, but one of the North Valley people snatched it up. Their... Who is he, Franklin? That unpleasant little man - is he the leader of the pack? With the young woman we saw when we checked in. Was that his wife?" 

"Salazar." Franklin muttered, his face curdling into a deeper frown. At least Diana wasn't at the top of his most hated list, apparently. "Yeah, I think so honey." 

"She looked awfully young." 

"I'm sure we'll meet them all at the party." 

"Something to look forward to." Christina grimaced and pulled Diana into the spacious bathroom, settling her down in front of a gigantic vanity mirror. 

"Alright, what are we doing with you?" Diana looked at her own wide-eyed reflection staring back at her while Christina started pulling her hair free from the simple clip she'd used to hold it up. 

"I, uh-" Diana pushed her glasses back up her nose and frowned. "I have contact lenses." She gestured vaguely towards her reflection. She had also packed a small bag with the handful of make-up items she owned, but lack of practice didn't exactly serve to make her adept at using them. Christina grinned excitedly, her whitened teeth shining. "Well no, that won't do! Hang on." 

She sprung up and rushed towards the door, only stopping when she reached her husband who had lingered there, leaning against the frame.  

"Hey you." For a moment, they softened, stealing a small kiss amid halted momentum. Diana ached to witness it. "Hey yourself." 

"Go get changed." Christina smiled, kissing his cheek as she brushed past to dive into her suitcase. 

"You're telling me? Don't take too long, we're on a schedule here." The words were softened by his tender expression, and as she walked past on her way back he reeled her in for another, deeper kiss. Diana pretended to be very invested in not poking her eyeballs out. Well, half-pretended. Putting in contact lenses was another thing she wasn't exactly used to. When she'd finally managed to fumble the second lens onto her eyeball, Franklin had long left and closed the door. 

Without further ado, Christina set to work. Within moments, the marble counter was covered with various cosmetics and the other woman's eager hands set to work. Diana had no choice but to submit. Thankfully again, it was Christina who shouldered the bulk of the conversation. 

"So, I did notice you're not wearing a wedding band, Mrs Galindo." Diana's eyes were closed, as her eyeshadow was currently being blended, but she did stiffen and instinctively her other hand went to touch where her ring had been. "Oh damn, I hope that wasn't- He's not tragically deceased, is he?" 

"No, we're...separated. Divorcing. It's... it's dragging on, to be honest. I've learned more about Colombian marriage law in the past year than I ever wanted to know." She tried to diffuse with a joke, but it didn't quite land. 

"Sorry, you must think me so rude. We only just met and here I am acting like we're friends!" She bit out in a jarring departure from her hitherto genial tone. "Anyway, I admire you. That can't have been easy what with how...uh-"

"...Catholic this country is?" Diana supplied, clasping the other woman's hands in hers with a slight smile. Christina huffed in relief. "Yes, I suppose. It's just... it's so hard. Marriage I mean. Sometimes I don't even know how to bear it." Her gaze fell towards the bathroom door that Franklin had closed behind himself upon leaving. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued. "How did you even know you couldn't go on like this?" 

Diana gulped, hating what she was about to do. Resenting, for a moment, women like Gabriela who only had to sell a bit of their time and acess to their bodies to these people. She felt like she was selling away her soul every single day. 

"Mrs Jurado-"

"Christina. Please, you can call me Christina."

"Christina, let me be honest. I never truly loved my husband, and he didn't love me. We liked each other and it was convenient, and expected, to get married. And in the end that proved to not be enough. But from what little I have seen, that's not something you and your husband have to contend with. Even if things are hard, as long as there is love you can overcome them. You have to believe in that." 

Christina choked out a tearful little laugh, like in spite of herself. 

"Oh God, good thing I haven't put on mascara yet. You're making me all dewy-eyed." She chuckled, then threw her arms around Diana and gave her a tight squeeze. "Thank you. Really." 

"Of course," Diana awkwardly patted the other woman's back, thankful that she wasn't currently facing the mirror, "and I would be happy to become your friend." Whatever ice had remained between the two women was broken after that. Christina perked up and returned to chatting animatedly, finishing her make-up, doing up her hair in a very elegant twisted bun, and gushing over her dress.

"Do you have any jewelry to go with it?"

"Not really, no. I only ever wear this." Diana indicated the thin silver chain around her neck. Christina tutted. 

"Well, that just won't do. Wait, let me just-" An impatient knock at the door interrupted her. "Oh dear, looks like we're running late."

Diana saw a chance to get a moment alone and suggested they each get dressed quickly, and separately, lest they waste any more time and husbandly nerves with their chatter. 

"Okay, but holler if you need help with the zipper or anything." 

Diana had never squeezed into a garment faster, glad that she had chosen to put on the wire device that morning already. She tugged the actual wire tight around her body where it had loosened over the course of the day, then shimmied into the underdress she'd brought in the hopes that it would conceal any suspicious bumps or lines. She had almost wrestled the zipper into its final position when Christina knocked and entered, quickly getting the last inch or so with a comment of how husbands were useful for some things. 

"Anyway, I thought these would suit you." Christina presented an opened velvet case. Sitting inside it was a jewelry set, sapphires with diamonds set in gold. Real ones, judging by the Cartier labelling embossed into the velvet. A necklace, earrings, bracelet and ring, all fancier and more ostentacious than anything Diana had ever set eyes on. Immediately, her palms started sweating. 

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-" 

"Nonsense." Christina cut her off, placing the case down and snatching the bracelet and Diana's wrist. "You'll look so pretty and expensive. You can return them to me later, we'll be in town until Tuesday." Having clasped the bracelet around her wrist, she now moved on to the earrings. "Maybe we could get coffee on the weekend or something." 

"I'd like that." Diana lied. Christina smiled at her brightly. "Great! I just need to ...uh, freshen up a moment." Taking the hint, Diana gathered up her things and stepped outside, awkwardly holding her bag of of work clothes to give to Felipe down in the hotel lobby. Franklin was standing by a sideboard, boredly rifling through a magazine. 

"Mrs Galindo." He acknowledged. For a split second, he looked like he wanted to add something, but caught himself. Diana followed his gaze towards the closed bathroom door, behind which low noises of shuffling and splashing water could be heard. 

"How long have you two been married?" She had no idea how this information might help the investigation, but determined that wasn't for her to worry about. Franklin sighed, gaze still fixed on the door and absent. 

"Seven years now." He finally tore his eyes away from the door and let them flit over her briefly, catching on the borrowed jewels but electing not to comment on it. "They say the seventh year is the hardest, don't they?" 

"I wouldn't know. I never made it that far." Though if Juan Mateo didn't pull his head out of his ass soon she would spend the seventh year still technically married. The thought made her frown. 

Before either of them had to search for more overburdened smalltalk, the bathroom door blessedly clicked open and Christina emerged with a wide grin and a spring to her step, her eyes just a smidgeon glassy and too bright. Diana politely pretended not to see the remnants of fine white powder that Franklin surreptitiously wiped from her nose and upper lip. --- They arrived not exactly on time but not fashionably late either. There's a line of cars already plugging up the driveway to the sprawling estate, stringed lights illuminating against the darkening sky. They got out and sauntered towards the two-storey villa, the Jurados up front and Diana trailing behind like the kid that's finally allowed to come along to the fancy family outings. Her dress hadn't felt this tight in the store, or at any point afterwards, until just now. 

"Franklin! I'm so glad you're finally here! Mrs Jurado, it's a pleasure." Diana can only just contain the flinch at the sound of this voice, and before long Miguel Rodríguez turns to her with one of his bright, self-satisfied smiles. "Mrs Galindo, I'm so glad you could come. We need to introduce you to the rest of the guys! It's been too long!" 

He has his arm around her shoulders within the same breath, exuberant and steering her through the scattered throngs of people at a pace that doesn't even allow for snatching a champagne flute from one of the waiters floating around. She plastered on a fake demure smile. The 'invitation' hadn't exactly been a matter of mere suggestion. 

Miguel led them to a dainty pagoda that sat a comfortable distance from the pool and most of the din and chatter of the other guests, nestled between the luscious greenery of the large garden. Diana could hear the mumbled whispers of the Jurados behind her, Miguel's droning on of meaningless small talk that she barely paid attention to. She could see Gilberto's back, his stature dwarfed almost comically by that of a much larger and broader man sat to his side, with short silver hair that gleamed in the low light. 

"Gentlemen, I believe we are complete!" Miguel boomed, ushering her up the few steps and into the circle. 

"Mrs Galindo, what a pleasure!" Gilberto shot up and made a show of shaking her hand and pulling her close to present her to the rest of the ...associates. 

"Now I believe you've not yet met these fine gentlemen. Pacho Herrera, Diana Galindo." Pacho stood and took her hand gingerly, his face impassive and tone painstakingly polite and neutral. "My pleasure."

"Mr Herrera." Diana replied, heart thumping up into her throat. They'd not so much met as passed each other in front of offices or meeting rooms a handful of times, his tightly coiled, jaguar-like energy always seeming just a smidge out of place in those blandly corporate spaces. 

"And here's Chepe, came all the way down from New York especially!" The large man with the silver hair stood to his full impressive height, snatching her hand with a wolfish grin and dropping a just-too-moist kiss on the back of it with a wink. Diana did her utmost not to flinch. For just a moment, she regretted the moment she'd taken off her ring and put it in front of a shocked Juan Mateo on their kitchen table before leaving their shared apartment. It was moments like these that she missed the protection it had afforded her from some unwanted advances. 

Pallomari was last, balding and skittish, with huge owl-eye glasses not unlike the first pair she'd ever had. 

"Mrs Galindo, how interesting to finally put a face to the name." He greeted, sounding painfully rehearsed. Diana returned with some meaningless pleasantry, hyper-aware of the wiretap device against her skin. She wondered whether it even picked up anything apart from the thundering of her heart. 

"So, about your big announcement-" Miguel began once everyone was settled into a seat with a drink in hand. Gilberto cut him off almost immediately.

"Now, now brother, let's enjoy the party a bit beforehand." A look passed between them, a challenge issued and accepted, until Miguel turned his gaze away with a barely concealed snarl. Gilberto leaned back in his seat, glass raised with a smug and triumphant smirk. "Let's just say that I have made an important investment into our future. We will continue to thrive, but more importantly, we will be safe. Our families will be safe." 

With that cryptic remark, he threw back his drink, expression melting from jovial to grim. The ensuing silence made the hair on the back of Diana's neck stand up, a feat she wouldn't have thought possible with the amount of hairspray Christina had encased her head in. 

"He's dead, Pablo's dead." Miguel reached over where she was squished between the two men, squeezing his brother's arm in reassurance. "He's gone and we helped bring him down." 

"We did. This country should build us monuments, instead they issue arrest warrants!" Gilberto bit out, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. 

"To Pablo Escobar, may he forever rot in hell!" Chepe bellowed, glass raised high. They all joined in. Diana thought of her father. How he'd done her hair and walked her to school every morning and tucked her in with a new story every night when she was a girl. How, during her first year of university when she'd been so lonely and homesick she broke down crying, he'd taken precious time off work and taken a night bus to come visit her in Bogotá for a weekend. How her heart still split down the middle whenever she so much as thought of the crash that killed him. But the gentlemen didn't need to know that she despised them just as much as she did Escobar, not yet anyway. So, she raised her champagne alongside and joined her voice in the chorus of gleeful condemnation. - She'd just escaped Christina and the gaggle of wives for a moment, excusing herself to the restrooms. What the DEA might glean from their inane chatter, she couldn't possibly fathom. She was glad that she was free of them for a moment, and that disecting the recording wasn't her problem to deal with. On her way into the house, she must have passed by at least two dozen important and powerful people. There were a few handfuls of representatives, a number of mayors, at least two senators, an attorney general and an army general. No one she'd ever voted for, at least. And those were just the ones she'd managed to get Miguel to introduce to her, or her to them - either way, she'd made sure to repeat every name as clearly as possible for the recording. 

Rounding the last corner in from the veranda, she all but ran into Salcedo. 

"Mrs Galindo." His tone was clipped as ever. She wasn't sure whether he might be suspicious of her in particular, or whether it was a general thing and he was just like that. 

"Mr Salcedo." She nodded, tone painstakingly polite. He set her teeth on edge, always so stiff-backed with that serpent edge to him; in a ranking of people within the cartel who had this effect on her he would probably come in about third. She wondered what Javier- what Agent Peña would make of the man. "What brings you here, Mrs Galindo?" Or perhaps he just didn't like her for some reason. Which was very much a mutual sentiment. Not that she held particular sympathies for anyone here. 

"To the restroom?" *Take a wild guess, buddy*, she thought, one eyebrow arching with clear condescension. 

"To the...house." 

"The restroom." She resisted rolling her eyes. As much as she may personally dislike Miguel's chief of security, purposely antagonizing him was probably a bad idea. And yet, petty temptation beckoned in every nook and cranny. Like the sideboard they were currently standing in front of that displayed a solid bronze statue of a very rotund dancing couple. "To marvel at the Botero, naturally." 

Salcedo's eyes followed her nod towards the heavy bronze. "It's genuine, you know." He said it not in the tone of an art aficionado, but rather in the crudely suggestive one of a third-rate telenovela detective trying to be slick by not outright asking if she meant to steal it. 

"Of course, Mr Rodríguez wouldn't stand for anything less." The thing was half her size and probably twice as heavy, what was he thinking? Himself a master at subtle insinuation, probably. Or that being poor and growing up in the comunas naturally meant she had sticky fingers. Uptight, hoity-toity middle class prick. Like his employers weren't internationally wanted criminals of the highest degree. The audacity of it!  

His mouth was already halfway open to retort when his name being yelled from outside made both of them turn. David Rodríguez hung onto the veranda door, snapping at Salcedo that his father wanted him for something, and pronto. Diana could practically hear his teeth grind in irritation, but he schooled his face into a carefully blank facade before he gave David a nod. 

"Ma'am." Salcedo gave in and moved, squeezing by David. David purposefully did not budge, instead giving her a leery once-over before following after the other man. 

Diana fled into the bathroom down the hall in a manner she hoped looked urgent rather than as panicked as she felt inside. She held it together until the lock slid closed, and then she was crouched on the floor, curled up and heavy breathing into her hands. The small pressure point of the wire recorder thingy felt like a ton weight against her chest and her heart was beating so fast she could feel it everywhere. 

Hyperventilating. You're hyperventilating, her brain supplied unhelpfully, and she almost laughed at herself. She wished she wasn't here all on her own, wished she had at least one of those spy devices in her ear for some moral support, tried to recall the exact feeling of Agent Peña's hands on her shoulders, warm and grounding. One hand remained up, muffling the desperate breaths and whimpers from her mouth, while the other dropped, thumb dipping underneath the fabric at her chest to brush soothingly across her collarbone. It worked...to a degree. A very small degree. What she would give to at least have the deep, comforting rumble of his voice, or the way he'd held her close after the festival. Did he even know how calming his presence was? It always seemed to work on her, in wrath and anxiety both (something that Juan Mateo had never been able to affect unless it was to irritate her more). So much so that now even just focusing on it was enough to help her pull herself together. 

The guest restroom was bigger than her childhood room had been and, of course, looked more like it belonged in some fancy hotel. All warm-toned marble and matte gold appliances. The mirror was huge and its frame, naturally, also gold. What was it with rich people's obsession with gold? 

"Okay." Diana said to her reflection, then went to work freshening up. Carefully, she wiped away the smudged mascara under her eyes and reapplied her lipstick where it had come off on her drink earlier. She stuck her hands underneath her dress to check on the recording device, concerned that a wire had shaken loose or something, but the small rectangular container still sat right snug right against her sternum. She gave it an absent tap and adjusted the microphone bit so it sat just below the seam of her collar again. 

"I hope you'll get something worthwhile from this because I am never doing this again." A knock on the door nearly sent her into cardiac arrest. Diana swore under her breath, then called out that she'd only be a moment. 

"Sorry," an apologetic female voice came from the other side of the door, "You've been in there a while, is all. Are you alright? I have an aspirin in my purse if you need it." 

Diana stopped dabbing at her still damp eyes and tried to determine whether her near panic attack was the sole reason her vision was still a bit hazy. She could count the times she'd been out without her glasses on one hand. 

"Oh no it's just-," she crossed over and unlocked the door to find a young, very pretty and very concerned looking woman on the other side, "I just had some trouble with my contact lenses. They're awfully fiddly." She stepped back and opened the door wider. "All yours." 

"Oh I don't-" She looked down the hallway, further into the house, her eyes widening slightly when she caught sight of something or someone outside of Diana's field of vision. "Actually, I think I need to...uh, powder my nose or something." 

The door fell into its lock the same moment the younger woman had stepped into the room, not giving Diana a chance to leave. Not that she was over-eager to get back outside and mingle with the corrupt and criminal. That and the discomfort and anxiety hung around the other woman like a cloud. Diana made up her mind, sitting down on one of the plush benches in the room. 

"I'm not a big fan of parties either." She stated, voice careful and soft. The other woman stood, unsure and tugging at the short hem of her dress. 

"I wish they could just open the buffet already. My husband is three drinks in and he gets-" She trembled. No, shuddered. Diana patted the space beside her on the bench, a gentle invitation. 

"It's alright, we can stay here for a little bit. I'm Diana." 

"Maria." She stuck out her hand, which was also still trembling slightly. "Maria Salazar." --- By the time the two of them dared venture outside again, there was indeed, finally!, food to be had. Diana pulled Maria along to the relative safety of the gaggle of wives, busy amusing themselves while their husbands dealt with their important business matters. But then, the bandleader announced that the dancefloor was now officially open and started off with a spirited selection of the finest Colombian rhythms of the past twenty years. One by one the wives were collected to fill said dancefloor, leaving Diana sitting alone at the table with the sad remnants of various canapees and salads. Here was another occasion where she didn't miss Juan Mateo. Or his two left feet. Idly, she turned the near-empty cocktail glass between her fingers and wondered whether Javier danced, or could at least be persuaded to try. 

"You don't dance?" David appeared so suddenly that she almost spilled the last bit of her drink. She remembered his leering earlier, forced her face not to flinch until she had raised the glass and could hide her  expression of distaste behind a sip of the overly sweet and fruity cocktail. Hummed non-committally and hoping against hope that he'd grow bored and leave. Of course, she had no such luck. 

"Oh, whom with? Everyone's paired up already." Sip again. The glass had another three or four in it, if she stretched it smartly enough. "I'm afraid third-wheeling is the unenviable fate of divorcees." How old was this boy anyway? She must have ten years on him, at the very least. But apparently he'd got it into his head that he must prove to himself what a man he was, and how irresistible. At least he had the good sense not to try anything with the wives of any of the powerful men present. 

"Dance with me." David stated. Ah, bingo. He might have at least pretended to ask, she thought sourly. "I insist." 

Of course you do, you entitled brat. "It would be my pleasure." She lies, as most politeness is lies, here in these circles comprised of snakes. Fakes a smile the way she's been taught to by this world, so easy to act and conceal the disdain underneath. It doesn't falter even when his hand, clammy and slightly sweaty, settles way too low for comfort or propriety on her hip. She resolves to step on his feet - accidentally - at least twice. 

David Rodríguez was not what one would call a skilled dancer. At first, Diana had been thankful that the band wasn't playing any slow songs yet, but it had taken approximately half of 'Bamboleo' to dispel the hope that this would keep David's hands from wandering. Well, if she was stuck here she might as well try to get some intel out of him. 

...It takes about two and a half songs - the band now switching to their international collection - to determine that this route of inquiry is absolutely doomed and David completely useless. Doesn't know any business particulars, and doesn't care to. Too distracted with trying to put some moves on her, which she steadfastly ignores. Well, if details of her failed marriage and dragging divorce aren't enough to discourage him, she's got another one up her sleeve. Not to mention she's been curious ever since the gaggle of wives had made their introductions earlier. 

"You're not married." She leaves the 'yet' unsaid, hanging in the air between them as heavy insinuation. 

"If I were, would I be dancing with you?" A faithful husband, and in these circles at that? What a novel idea. Diana almost snorted out loud. Left it at a telling look that seemed to go over his head completely. Doesn't have the energy to dissect how a dance with a friend or acquaintance at a party isn't exactly on par with, say, the juridical definition of adultery. Which brings her mind back to the tedium of having to explain to various lawyers, notaries, judges that no, her husband wasn't a cheating pig who drank and beat her, and that there were a multitude of quieter reasons why marriages failed. 

"I have been wondering, though, where the third of the Mrs Rodríguezes belongs. Besides your mother and your aunt." She nodded over at the three women in question, one dancing with either Rodríguez brother, the third being currently twirled about by Chepe and looking a bit motion sick from it. 

"My mother is dead." Ah, shit. Diana faltered, and this time the graze of her heel on his shoe really was entirely accidental. Something in David's eyes shuttered and hardened, gaze for once lifting from her body and darkly fixing on his father. "They're all my uncle's wives." 

"Oh. Oh!" Diana's mouth falls open. Of all things she could have expected, this was certainly not one. "That's um... That sounds, uh..." Illegal, but then again, what did a bit of consensual polygamy matter in the grand scheme of things, she supposed. 

"You sound so scandalized. Didn't think he had it in him, didn't you?" David smirked, tightening his grip on her back again and leading her in a turn. 

"No, I'm just...wondering...about the, um...time management...aspect." In fairness, that was one of the things she did wonder about. David laughed, bringing her in closer. 

"Each gets two days per week and Sundays he has them come all together and sit there while he watches sports." 

How thrilling. "Whatever works for them, I suppose." 

Diana tried to subtly twist away again. She wasn't going to get anything else from this, what with David already being bored and growing increasingly impatient. And she didn't have an escape plan that didn't consist of ramming her heel into him somewhere until she struck bone. 

"Damn, can't they play something from this decade?" He whined as 'Money, money, money' faded into 'Knowing me, knowing you'. "All of this ancient stuff-" Sensing another chance to subtly nudge him away from his inexplicable sudden attraction, Diana jumped. "Oh I quite like it," she remarked lightly. Now go in for the kill "Reminds me of my youth." 

David harrumphed, then grunted as her heel dug into his toes again. "Oh dear, so sorry." Diana said breezily,  forcing his hand up from where it had been creeping towards her ass with a deft twirl. 

"It's fine." He gritted. "Did you want to-" 

"Allow me to cut in." Herrera stepped up, lightly shoving David aside to take his place. "I've not had the pleasure yet, Mrs Galindo." Diana forced a smile as his hand settled at her waist. Pro: at least this one wouldn't spend the whole time trying to feel her up. Con: not being thus distracted, he might notice...something. And become suspicious. If he wasn't already. Truth be told, Herrera scared her almost as much as Navegante did. Sometimes more so. 

"Right, well this is a very tight dress, so I can't do any adventurous moves." She warned, plastering an apologetic expression onto her face. Thankfully the band had changed to a faster track, though they kept with the international flair of the selection. Next up was some Brazil, if she wasn't mistaken. David stood between the twirling couples for a long moment, glaring but not daring to do or say anything that might affront his father's business partner. She shot him a fake apologetic smile, but suspected it was more the insistent raised eyebrow from Herrera that ultimately got him to scurry. 

Pacho Herrera could dance, that much was undeniable. Under different circumstances she might have even enjoyed this. He was also unnervingly quiet. If the purpose of this was to unsettle her, his tactic was very successful. At this rate, just keeping her feet under her proved to be challenge enough. One could think the band had launched into a Tarantella, given the speed they were going. Her head swam from the quick succession of turns and twirls, and when he dipped her upon the song's grand climax, her heart stopped for a variety of reasons. One of them being that she thought she felt some of her concealed wiring dislodge. 

"I think your dress is not too tight after all, Mrs Galindo." He pulled back up and righted her again, blessedly stilling a moment while the band segued into a mellower number. Diana gulped in a few deep, unladylike breaths. 

"No trust me, it is." She was still catching her breath; meanwhile he didn't even have a single hair out of place. Unfair. "So," Diana began her feeble attempt to bring the situation back under some semblance of control, "Are you interested in... tax exemptions?" Apparently humans could wheeze and cringe simultaneously. Very interesting. Herrera didn't answer immediately, just started leading her back into a mellow sway. 

"I think you're interested enough for all of us, Mrs Galindo. Miguel showed us the figures earlier. Very impressive. I see why DIAN recruited you right out of university." How he made what was ostensibly a compliment sound like a threat, Diana didn't know, just that it did nothing for her heart rate. 

"Thank you." He spun her out along with a flourish from the brass section, turning her already shaky voice into a squeak. She really hoped the recording had not picked that up. After the spin, his hand slid up over  her back, before settling back on her waist. To her horror, something in Pacho's expression twisted and he pulled her closer, hand splaying over her mid-back again. So much for avoiding being fondled for one dance. 

"What's this?" 

"Oh, I don't want to bore you with the details of women's undergarments. Suffice to say I'm wearing an insane amount of Spanx right now." 

There was a prolonged moment, during which Diana tried to keep her cool while deciding how much of a scene she was willing to cause should he not let it rest. Normally none at all, then again it was her life on the line. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Rodríguez requests you make your way to the equestrian ring for the big announcement." 

Never in her life had Diana welcomed an interruption like at this very moment. Herrera hesitated for a split second, expression still unreadable, before joining the throngs of people set in motion. He grasped her hand firmly, looping it through his elbow until it rested on his forearm, where he pinned it with his other hand. Just unconspicuous enough to look polite to any onlooker, just forceful enough that she knew she couldn't free herself without obvious struggle. 

"He could have done this up on the other stage." Miguel grumbled when they reached him, standing off the side to the stage that had been set up in the area. 

"You know how he is, Miguel. Always has to have his way." The two men exchanged a glance around her while more people filed past. 

"Mrs Galindo." 

Diana hummed in acknowledgement, returned the meaningless pleasantries. Yes of course she was enjoying herself. What a lovely party. The music? Exhilarating. The buffet? Exquisite. Her divorce? Ugh. She would really prefer not to think about that right now, thank you very much. 

"It's next Thursday, right? Your court appointment?" 

"Yes, thank you for letting me combine this with a work trip to Barranquilla. It's my personal business after all." 

"Of course, we want you at your best. Undistracted. Unburdened." Diana almost laughed, barely managed to suppress the snort and cover it with clearing her throat. 

"I thought that had all gone through ages ago." Herrera remarked lightly, grip finally easing up some from her wrist. Diana sighed. 

"I'm divorced, as far as I'm concerned. I moved out, signed my papers. I don't know what he thinks he's doing. I'm not going back to him. This obstinate little tantrum isn't helping his case anyway." Countless hours spent arguing with various legal professionals flashed before her eyes. "It's a very tedious process."

"It's a very catholic country." Pacho said, somewhere between wistful and embittered. She used his momentary distraction to pull her arm free. 

"That's true." 

Up on the stage, Gilberto was fiddling with a microphone and waiting for the last few stragglers to come and fill up the equestrian ring so he could begin. Again, the two men exhanged a telling glance around her. 

"You gonna go up there with him?" Pacho said lowly, hands now crossing behind his back. Miguel shook his head. 

"You go. I'll stay here. Better view." 

Diana stayed demonstratively rooted to the spot when Herrera started moving. He shot her a look, which she pretended not to notice in favor of striking up more mindless small talk with Miguel. Apparently Herrera decided that it wasn't worth making a big deal out of, choosing instead to let her be and weave through the audience until he reached the bottom of the stage, exchanging a greeting with Santacruz and glowering over the assembled crooks and accomplices. 

Gilberto's speech was... full of pathos and grandstanding, and too many high-minded terms for such a petty crook, she thought. When did the delusions or grandeur usually start appearing, she wondered. Was it with the first million? The first billion? But it's the core of the announcement that makes her gasp and sets the wheels in her mind into overdrive, the implications just mounting up. She spares a quick glance at Herrera at the foot of the stage, his face too demonstratively blank save for furrowed brows. Miguel beside her is more expressive, but quick to reign his face back in. Among the surprised gasps and whispers all around it tells her enough. Briefly, she thought of making a comment to Miguel, but his jaw is set so tight she can hear the grinding of teeth and she doesn't have anything productive or intelligent to say anyway, so she lets it be. Swallows the bile that rises up in her throat as Gilberto proclaims 'For our children! And for our children's children!', and tries not to roll her eyes. Or gouge his out, for the sheer gall of it. Because here she stands, approaching thirty-five and still deathly afraid to bring a baby into a world they have made so violent, so toxic, so dangerous. Meanwhile Salome is without her parents, both murdered by this unending war. Meanwhile a David Rodríguez flounces around as some sort of better henchman, he and his cousins all cushy and carefree thanks to daddy's blood money. It churns the stomach with rage. 

"Mrs Galindo! Just the woman I've been looking for!" 

The crowd parts for him, less so out of reverence and more because people are slowly drifting away, gossip already flying about, Diana is pleased to note. 

"Mr Rodríguez, what an...impactful speech." She said demurely, keeping all her sneering tucked safely away behind the mask of officiousness. 

"It's the coup of the century!" She catches Miguel's scoff just in the corner of her eye. "It also means transferring our assets into the...ah, ...legitimate sphere, if you will." He's got his arm around her shoulders again, leading her back towards the dancefloor, the buffet and tables, the house. By chance and his smaller stature, he's speaking almost directly into the shoulder with the hidden microphone attached, detailing all the financial acrobatics he wants her to perform to save all their assets from both law- and taxman. There she went again, trading complicity for access. --- Just over an hour on and the gender ratio has left Diana sitting squished between Herrera and the youngest of the Mrs Rodríguezes, but at least he seems to have taken his measure of her. And swallowed her undergarment excuse. Swallowed...undergarments. She snorted semi-loudly into the cocktail she'd been nursing this whole time, the ice in it all but dissolved. Dammit, here eyes were getting heavier by the minute and it wasn't even that late, barely midnight. Then again she had been up since five and alcohol, even though she hadn't had all that much, always made her sleepy. And the guests had started trickling away, leaving behind a scene of mild devastation. 

"I think Mrs Galindo needs to go home." It was Franklin Jurado speaking, Christina's head buffered on his shoulder as she slept. Diana had just enough self-control left to not tell him to fuck off. Or maybe she really is too tired to; doesn't even have it in her to get annoyed at Gilberto's patronizing tone as he agrees. 

"Yes, why don't you drive Mrs Galindo home?" 

She hums more in acknowledgement than agreement to Hererra's suggestion, tired eyes hazily following his line of sight to the man stepping forward from the shadows at being summoned. His gaudy shirt reminds her of one Juan Mateo had worn on their honeymoon and which she had hated half because it had been a gift from her horrible mother-in-law, and half because it was the most hideous thing she had ever seen. And then realization hits and her blood runs ice-cold and alertness slams back into her consciousness like a bullet. 

"Mr Velasquez." her voice is so weak and brittle, she thinks it must give her away if nothing else did so far. She took one last sip to wet her dry mouth, and because frankly she needs the alcohol now more than ever. The suggestion to call a taxi died on her lips as she realized that there was truly no way out of this. So, she steels herself and stands on sore feet, bidding the bosses of Calí and their dependents a good night. "I would be much obliged, Mr Velasquez." 

Navegante approximated a smile and stalked ahead. --- Well, there goes his progress. He'd been down to three smokes a day, four on a bad day, due in part to an iron adherence to some hard and fast self-imposed rules, such as no smoking in his office (or, in fact, no smoking inside the building at all). Tonight, however, is the night of the Calí godfathers' big announcement party, and Javier had not moved from his office for longer than a quick bathroom break or coffee run. He had also gone through half a pack of cigarettes in the last two hours, and his stomach was beginning to feel queasy the longer he spent glancing at the phone on the edge of his desk from the corner of his eye as he pretended to make his way through the mountain of paperwork that somehow never seemed to get any smaller. The fact that he'd woken that morning with the memory of Diana Turbay's lifeless body crumpled in that cupboard certainly hadn't helped. 

He last looked at a clock around half past nine, when a very insistent cleaning lady had shooed him out of his office and he'd spent around ten anxious minutes hovering by the door in case the phone rang. It hadn't, and now here he was, eyes burning and brain mushy with his heartbeat a steady pulsing behind his temples. And he wondered– 

Javier swiped up the phone before the first ring had even finished. "Miss Rivas!" 

"I'm fine." She didn't sound fine. She sounded on edge. Rattled. Like she was trying to reassure herself. He gripped the phone receiver tighter. 

"Where are you?" What was he gonna do? Drive all the way to Calí from Bogotá at half an hour past midnight? Even a flight would take hours, and raise suspisions to boot. 

"I said I'm fine," she replied, nails clacking rhythmically against the plastic phone casing in what he knew by now to be a nervous tick. "I'm safe. I'm home." 

Javier breathed a relieved sigh, rigid shoulders slumping a fraction. He supposed he could have ordered Duffy or Lopez to do something if push had come to shove, though what he honestly had no idea. 

"Good, that's good." 

"Mr Velasquez gave me a lift." 

Who the hell was that? "Who the hell is that?" Javier asked. 

"You probably know him as Navegante." Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Mentally he's already halfway out the door, physically at least halfway out of the office until the phone wire makes known its spatial limitations. 

"You alright? Is he still there? Lock your door, double lock it, I-" 

"I didn't give him the exact address, please calm down." He does, but only enough to catch his breath and not bolt out the door. There's a rustling from her end of the line, and she makes a sort of breathless little sound, somehwere between a sigh and a grunt, followed by a low but vicious curse.

"You okay?" 

"It's the damn zipper again; I'm this close to pulling something. Hang on." Judging by the thud that reverberates she set the phone down on a counter or table. Javier's hand went to rub at the back of his neck, half reflex, half sympathy. "Let's focus on the real issue here. The announcement." 

The way she said it was urgent, but he chose to believe this was due to wanting to get the message out and not to any concerns of Navegante lurking nearby. He had to, for his own sanity. 

"Apparently Gilberto cut a deal with the government." 

"The government?" Javier echoed weakly. 

"The new Samper administration. I knew why I didn't vote for those clowns. No, that's ...I had many reasons for that actually, first and foremost of them being that the Liberal Party nowadays is a damn joke. And to think that this is the same party that my parents fought for in their youth! Anyway, enough of that. They get half a year to get their house in order, then turn themselves in on the smallest possible charges, minimal jail time, back out again after a few years and back into their cushy lives with all of their blood money laundered neatly away. A clean slate." He'd never heard her sound so bitter, and he'd heard a good deal of her opinions on the Gentlemen of Calí over the past year. 

"So they're just going to get away with it." Javier grit out, equally livid. "Wait, you said Gilberto cut the deal? What about the others?" 

"Yes, so here is where it gets interesting. I didn't get the sense that they knew. Beforehand I mean. You should have outfitted me with a camera too, because Miguel's face was priceless." Another grunt and then a triumphant little 'ha' and then her voice sounded clearer again, nearer as she picked the phone back up. 

"He doesn't like it." 

"None of them like it. Don't want to give up the power, if I had to guess. What is it with men and building their entire ego on how much they can make others fear them?" 

Javier hummed non-committally, deciding that he had nothing valuable to add at this point. 

"Yeah, you're right. So how do I get the 'ooof' ...the recording to you? Usual way?" Javier didn't even get to reply no when she went on, now audibly shuffling around her apartment and out of the rest of her clothes. "I can't believe I almost forgot! I met the money launderer. His name is Franklin Jurado. He'll be in Calí until Tuesday with his wife Christina. I somewhat promised her to meet for coffee on Sunday; if you can have one of your agents trail me you can get them." 

She sounded so hopeful that he hated to have to dash it, even for her own safety, but snatching such an important cartel member so soon and with her so close would cast suspicion. She couldn't be involved. And he hadn't heard back from his agents yet, which was possibly a bad sign. Javier made up his mind, cringing while he glanced at the clock to make some mental calculations. 

"I'm coming over." 

"To Calí?" 

"Yes, what's your address? Unless you'd rather meet somewhere else?"

She gave her address, sounding stunned. He jotted it down under the note he'd made of Jurado's name; he'd need someone to look the guy up first thing tomorrow. 

"You're not leaving now, are you? It's late, you need to sleep." Javier could picture the way her brow creased in a frown just from the tone of her voice. 

"No, I'll call you again as soon as I know when I'll be there." Driving the whole way would be a nightmare and eat up most of the day. Javier whirled around and pulled an atlas from the shelf behind his desk. Flying in directly was out of the question with the way the godfathers had the whole city under surveillance. Buenaventura, under two hours by plane and then about two and a half from there to Calí. Yes, that would work. 

"Goodness, you're actually serious about this." 

"Of course." Javier stopped in his tracks for the first time in several minutes now, taking a moment to breathe and slump in his seat. He was exhausted yet wide awake, and likely would be for some time. "I mean, if that's okay with you." 

"Of course, umm...anything in particular you'd like for dinner?" Javier stopped. He would be staying for dinner, possibly the night, too. In a hotel of course, he couldn't possibly impose- 

"You don't have to cook for me." His mouth said, but his stomach said bandeja paisa. Briefly, the thought of taking her out for dinner popped up, indulgent and unbidden, and was immediately squashed by the thought of the godfathers' eyes everywhere. "I can pick something up on the way." 

Her protest turned into a yawn not two syllables in. Javier couldn't help the small smile appearing on his face, felt it only by how it twinged his tense jaw. "You're tired, you should rest." 

"We're not finished with this." She mumbled obstinately. "You rest." 

"I will." He would, eventually. "I'll call you tomor- ...today." A quick glance at the clock revealed it was now past midnight. She made a very grumpy, very adorable huffy sound, mumbling something about the inexorable passage of time. 

"Sleep well, Miss Rivas." 

"You too..." There was a rustle and the quiet squeak and groan of a bedframe and mattress. He waited a moment, unsure whether more was coming or whether she'd just been too tired to disconnect the call. A short silence burst into a quick curse, her voice remote but still clear enough to make out. "...God fucking dammit, fucking contact lenses! Son of a rabid-" 

"Miss Rivas?" By the rapid padding of feet and the continued cursing he had to suppose that she hadn't heard, and by how either sound seemed to be at about equal distance with neither decreasing, he supposed further that the phone was still in her hand. As soon as he heard the 'thunk' that most likely meant that the phone had been tossed down on some surface, he tried again. "Miss Rivas?" 

"You're still there?" She sounded marginally more awake now, but not like this state would persist for very long. 

"You didn't hang up." And perhaps Javier wasn't all too opposed to having the continued assurance that she was alright and her cover intact. "You swear very entertainingly, by the way." 

"I'm glad my lack of filter and ladylike decorum amuses rather than appalls you." Splashing water interrupted them for a moment, but was quickly replaced by more colorful cursing. 

"Please, don't hold back." Javier commented drily, not really expecting to be heard clearly since the satphone didn't have a loudspeaker. 

"Very funny. Why don't you talk to me a bit more while I try not to poke my eyes out by accident-" 

"I- ...I'm afraid I don't really have anything interesting to talk about." 

"And I don't have enough brain left today for anything more taxing than the weather anyway. I just need your voice; I'm dead on my feet. How was the weather in Bogotá today? I always found it so cold when I was at university there. Nothing like Medellín. They used to call me 'chompa' at uni because I would never go anywhere without one. Too cold. And of course Calí is so much warmer than either..." 

"It's been quite grey here, and not especially warm either. Back home it's at least twice as warm but I've been here so long now I think I'm more used to it." 

"I never asked where exactly you're from..." 

"Laredo, Texas. It's right on the border with Mexico." 

"Laredo..." She mused, puttering about still. "Oh like the song? As I walked walked out on the streets of Laredo..." She must really be tired and devoid of all usual inhibitions, Javier thought, to just start singing like this. Not that he minded. She got halfway through the first stanza until she faltered, the lyrics escaping her. Her voice was soft and with that same raspy edge she had when speaking. It was a voice suited best to lullabies he thought; or to yearnful ballads performed in smoky bars, or some similarly wistful thing. "Aren't I supposed to be the one talking?" 

"Hmm, this works too. I'm almost done, so you won't have to humor me much longer. So, tell me more about Laredo while I brush my teeth." --- He ended up talking longer than that - divulging more than he ever planned to as per usual, of the town and the ranch that sat up against the river - until she was settled back into bed and about to doze off for good. If nothing else, it settled him too somewhat, though sleep would elude him for a a good while yet even despite the physical and mental exhaustion the day, or in fact the whole week, had brought him. No sooner had he disconnected the line with a soft 'Sleep well' than the phone rang again. 

"Yes?" 

"Boss, I've been trying to reach you for half an hour!" Duffy's voice sounded strained and any modicum of relaxation Javier might have gained dissipated with immediate effect. He scrubbed a hand over his burning eyes and resigned himself to dealing with one more catastrophe. 

"Duffy, what is it?" Agents Duffy and Lopez had organized their own infiltration of the godfathers' party, courtesy of the intel provided by Miss Rivas as well as what Operation Cornerstone had shaken loose. At least he knew it was nothing that had blown the cover of his informant. 

"Okay well, no use beating around the bush here. Our guy got made, and Calí knows we're here-" Javier listened to his agent's report with his frown deepening. Why was it that with every step forward, another wrench was thrown his way? 

"Alright, close up shop. Leave as soon and as inconspicuously as you can. I'll see you back here at the embassy on Monday morning." He ordered. Hopefully the gentlemen and their security would leave it at the gesture of intimidation, especially if they thought themselves well on the way of becoming untouchable, but one could never be too careful. 

---

Javier consulted the clock for what must have been the hundredth time that evening. Normally the bar down the street from the embassy wouldn't be his first or even fourth choice, but tonight he was looking for a place to wind down with the shortest possible distance to cover afterwards. The danger of being accosted by any of his co-workers was one he'd simply have to brave. If luck was on his side for once, none of the more sociably inclined would be there any more, or too engrossed in their own merriment to notice him slink in, and if not, his curmudgeonly ways were known well enough that a civil yet decisive refusal would hopefully be deterrence enough. 

It was for Stoddard, but of course not for Bill Stechner, the non-drug-lord bane of Javier's existence. Ostensibly on the same side, though Javier would argue that the CIA was on its own side entirely. Or that their budget would be spent more productively by making the damn lot of them just feed dollar bills through a shredder, but no one asked Javier about these things. So, he sits and grinds his teeth while Stechner's smug voice grates on his nerves. Visualizes strangling the CIA station shief with the tie he'd just pulled off and balled up into his pocket moments ago, which does a little bit to alleviate the almost overbearing urge to smash Stechner's face into the bar top. "Oh come on, you don't care about American streets or dead Colombians." 

And the deal? How the hell does Stechner know about the deal when it's only just been announced? For a split-second, he wonders whether Diana- but no, he trusts her completely, and he hasn't told anyone except a handful of his agents about her, deciding this information was so sensitive it was strictly need to know, and even they only knew her by her assigned code name. Not even the ambassador knew that he had such a high-priority informant on the inside of the cartel. Stechner must have some government source, be it an informant of his own or bugs in the offices of ministers. The way he only mentions Lopez and Duffy's operation confirms it. 

"Same goal my ass." Javier muttered into his whiskey after Stechner slithered away. This had been supposed to be a one-drink-night, but now he was feeling like he might need at least three more, if only to dull the screeching of his swirling thoughts. 

It's no use. He's all keyed up still, something feels like it's burrowing inside of his chest, some sort of woodland critter both desperate and unable to settle down. He's tired, too, of course, eyes heavy and burning and sore, feels like his eyeballs are coated in smoke and pitched open by caffeine. He shouldn't have had that much coffee that late; despite his high tolerance it does still have an effect on him. Thank goodness on any given day, but right now he's regretting it. His leg jumps, knee knocking painfully against the bar front. He feels eyes on him. They've been there since he walked in, furtively glancing throughout his confrontation with Stechner, but bolder now. He feels it like a prickle on his skin. Turns his gaze finally. Sees long dark hair, open, melting into the late shadows of the bar. Too long, but it'll have to do. She's... he's definitely seen her around before. The elevator? Different department, perhaps press office, or visas. Definitely nowhere near the DEA offices or he would have known her name. She's coming over now, leaning easily against the bartop, slender fingers tapping, and an easy, eager smile. Her hair isn't dark enough, and too long and wavy all the way through instead of only curling at the ends, and nothing else about her appearance quite matches up, but she's pretty and willing and he's pent up and about to crawl out of his skin. And so he lets her take him home. And he means to leave right after, he really does. If only not to give any impression of this having even the slightest potential of becoming any more than it is. But Katie (that's her name, but he's learnt a long time ago to not groan out names during, because whether the name is correct or not it always turns out bad somehow), Katie sleepily mumbles that he can stay because it's late, and truth be told? He's completely shot, feels like he couldn't move if he wanted to. And the thought of dragging himself back to his empty apartment with only his thoughts for company is the most unbearable thing at this moment. Her mattress is too soft and despite the fact that he only laid on it until waking again at first light, it messes up his back for almost a week. --- It is indeed much warmer in this side of the country, and an especially hot day in Calí itself. On the coast where he'd landed, there had at least been a breeze blowing in from the Pacific, but the further inland Javier drives the less the air seems to move. He felt the sweat start to gather at his hairline, and down his neck, as soon as he parked the rental car in front of the cluster of new-ish high rise apartment blocks in one of the north-western boroughs of the city. 

Javier grabbed his one piece of luggage and the bag of takeout he'd picked up on the way, just as promised, and walked up to the first building to study the panel beside the door for the correct bell to ring. A sharp whistle made him look around, then up at the next building. Miss Rivas was all but hanging off the side of her balcony, waving down and giving Javier half a heart attack seeing as she was on the sixth floor. He waved back in acknowledgement, then jogged over to the already buzzing door, which he pushed open. Blessedly, there was an elevator, and not two minutes later he stood in front of her apartment, the door swinging open before he could raise his hand to knock. 

"Hi." She sounded breathless, as if she'd run up six flights of stairs, not across an apartment. 

"... Miss Rivas." In his relief, he'd almost slipped. Almost called her by her first name, but they're not there yet, strangely. Or not strangely at all, in fact. It's quite by design. It's a way of keeping himself detached; professional. Or whatever excuse he could come up with to maintain this state of perpetual denial. 

"Umm, ...lunch? I brought lunch." He thrust the bag foward, watched it swing between them while cringing inwardly. 

"Good! I've only been up for two hours or so; I don't even care what it is, I'm starving!" Carefully, she took the bag from him, one hand supporting the bottom like a newborn's head, the other brushing his as she looped her fingers through the handles. "Come in, come in." 

Javier stood a full three seconds or so after she'd already turned around and walked down the narrow hallway, rooted to the spot and struck dumb like some sort of imbecile. His skin prickled in all the places he'd let Katie touch him the night before, which, admittedly, hadn't been too many - but still enough to be burning him with that familiar mixture of guilt and shame now. So he does what he does best when it comes to emotions: deny and repress. 

He left his shoes beside the pair of strappy heels she must have discarded there the night before, probably in a hurry to get the severely uncomfortable looking things off after spending a whole evening in them. The hallway opened into an open living room and dining area, the balcony beyond that, and a galley-style kitchen off to one side not unlike his own apartment. It was a sparse place, not quite enough furniture to fill the space - a long couch and coffee table, a low sideboard with a TV on it, none of it new save for the stereo system that was of course on and softly playing the usual eclectic music mix. Javier dropped his bag beside the couch where it would be out of the way. The dining table barely deserved the name. It was a small, round, reedy looking thing, just large enough for two, or maybe two and a child, with two plastic fold-out chairs. On it stood a light blue and white ceramic fruit bowl that currently held zero fruit, just the recording device he'd given her and... some pieces of golden sapphire and diamond jewelry? Puzzled, Javier picked up what turned out to be a bracelet. He raised one eyebrow at her as she set down plates for them. 

"Got a raise?" 

"Ha! As if. I should have, though. What with the extra work I got saddled with last night. That's the problem with rich people. Miserly. The more zeroes on their bank statements the stingier they get." She scoffed, ranting away all the way to and fro carrying the cutlery. "No, this-" she stabbed a spoonhandle through the bracelet and swirled it around once, twice, before glowering at the gemstones darkly, "This is what Mrs Jurado had me borrow to complete my outfit yesterday. Obviously I have to return them, which is why I'm meeting her for coffee tomorrow afternoon. If you do your whole government agent covert spy observation thing you could at least get eyes on her, maybe even him, too. Franklin Jurado, the money launderer. You can just smell the entitlement on him. I bet he went to one of the really fancy schools over there, like Princeton. Or maybe Harvard." 

"I'm glad to see you're making friends." Javier had followed her to the kitchen, leaning against a cabinet and watching her place the food on plates, any attempts to help or make himself useful deftly rebuffed as always. 

"I think it was Harvard actually. I think he mentioned it- It's on the recording, in any case. Real smug about it too. La Javeriana is a perfectly good university, too. Older, too. Luis Carlos Galán attended it, you know? Graduated in economics and law, like I did." 

"Like the new president, too." Javier dared remark, only to be leveled with a death glare that could make a man fear for his life. 

"Professor Samper, oh yes," she said pointedly, thrusting the plates at him, "Don't remind me please. The whole family attended, have for generations." 

Javier dutifully carried over the dishes and set them down, returning a moment later for the pitcher of water. Diana followed him, wiping her glasses with her tee-shirt in a gesture he had come to know was more about calming down than it was about being able to see better. 

"Right, no politics at meal time. Tell me something interesting instead." Diana attacked her food with a frightening kind of fervor. And suddenly the only thing he could think about was what Stechner had told him the night before, how the deal would go ahead, a neat little setup by politicians whose only objective was looking good enough for re-election. Naturally, the words died in his throat. He shrugged and started digging in. 

"Nothing huh? Okay, well, how about this then: How many Mrs Rodríguezes are there?" 

"Is this a trick question?" There should be one only, seeing as Miguel was widowed and his little shit of a son wasn't exactly husband material - nor looking to be. "One?"

"Close. There's three." 

That didn't make any sense. "That doesn't make any sense. Miguel is widowed and David- ...Gilberto! Gilberto?" 

"Gilberto." She confirmed. "All three. They have a rota, apparently. On Sundays they just sit around while he watches whatever game is on which sounds thrilling. And I thought my marriage was crap." 

"Huh." If Javier thought that the farcical nature of governmental - and inter-governmental - bureaucracy had prepared him for the absurdity of chasing drug kingpins he had apparently been sorely mistaken. But mostly, he was relieved to see that Diana was in such good spirits again, what with how affected she'd sounded the night before. Lunch was over in no time at all, and Javier felt his short night starting to catch up with him. He yawned surreptitiously as he helped carry the dirty dishes back into the kitchen, or what he thought had been surreptitious anyway. 

"Okay, coffee or nap?" 

"Huh?" Dammit, his eyes were burning. Diana took the plates and deposited them in the sink, leaving him to blink sluggishly. "I can do those. The dishes." 

"You're about to keel over. Haven't slept a wink, have you?" 

"About three hours, and another half hour or so on the plane. I'm fine, really." He admitted. The fact that he had to lean against the cabinets did not exactly serve to strengthen his argument. Diana tutted. 

"I need to run some errands, grocery shopping and the like. If you are really determined to get to work on the recording I'll make you a good strong coffee before I go, but I would personally suggest you use the time to catch up on some sleep. The couch pulls out." 

It was tempting, it really was, but Javier also knew that he'd have a harder time falling asleep later if he messed up his rhythm more now. 

"Coffee it is, then." She set to work in the same breath. 

A fond smile pulled at Javier's lips. "Thank you." --- Even knowing she was fine and safe now, she hadn't expected that listening to the recording would be so excruciatingly stressful. She had very helpfully compiled a list of encounters, along with time estimates (and a very evocative caricature of the chief accountant, Guillermo Pallomari), which had allowed him to fast forward through the recording to get a general overview. Even so, he'd gotten stuck on several bits, even replaying a few. The introductory round, for one. Her panic attack in the bathroom. Or the segment with that slimy little bastard David Rodríguez. Her quick thinking and clever diversion of Pacho's suspicions. He hated hearing the strain in her voice, the barely masked anxiousness that none of them even seemed to notice but that stood out to him so very clearly. His jaw was clenched so tight he could feel his teeth grinding– The lock on the front door clicked open, jolting Javier from his focused state. A quick glance at his watch told him it had been well over three hours since she'd left for her errands, afternoon now melting into early evening. In his haste to get up he tangled the wires, cursing as he he sat back down. Diana huffed into view, heavy-looking bags on each arm. 

"Hey there," she threw him a quick smile before vanishing into the kitchen to set down her load, re-emerging a heartbeat later. She crossed the distance in a few strides, lightly squeezing his shoulder as she leaned over him to peer at the notes he'd taken. "How's it going? Anything viable?" 

Her touch, given with such casual affection, electrified him. He'd never been, never considered himself the type of person anyone would come home to. 

"Plenty." He needed to collect himself, clear his throat and mind and get a grip. "You did amazing work." And I can't use it in court because you incriminate yourself all throughout.

"Good, I'm glad. Would have been a re-" 

The shrill ringing of her landline interrupted them. Immediately, Javier mourned the loss of her touch, the spot on his shoulder where her hand had lingered now turning cold. Pull yourself together, dammit! 

The telephone was mounted on the wall that separated hallway and kitchen, and had a cord long enough to allow for a range of movement to about halfway into the latter. Unsure of whether he was supposed to be listening, he tried to go back to the recording. Only tried rather turned into pretended. As quickly as he had put the headphones on, he took them off again, watching Diana for a moment of hesitation. She was shuffling around the kitchen entrance, emptying her shopping bags with the phone receiver pinned between her cheek and shoulder. She was talking to her aunt, tense and worried, but managed a small smile when she caught Javier's eye. Wordlessly, he started helping her putting the groceries away as directed. 

"No, I know you don't approve. No one approves except Gabriela, and incidentally Gabriela is also the only one who saw that I was making a mistake right from the start and the only one who tried to dissuade me from going through with the wedding, and if I'd only listened to her and my gut back then, I wouldn't-" She turned her back at this, and Javier put away the last few pieces and left the kitchen, giving her the pretense of privacy at least. It wasn't like the apartment was so vast that her voice wouldn't carry. He walked over to the stereo system he'd turned off earlier and switched it back on, fiddling with the volume by way of looking distracted. 

"...No, and I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't care what the Pope says; the Pope was never married! ...Yes, put her on; I think that's better for everyone involved." 

Immediately her voice and stance relaxed, became softer and warmer, and the conversation a lot more one-sided as Diana talked to Salome on the phone. Javier's knees were starting to protest at his half-kneeling by the sideboard, but he was too transfixed by trying to determine whether the little girl would perhaps say a few words today. She sometimes did, though very rarely, and Javier had yet to witness it himself. 

"Okay, my little darling, you be good for granny, alright? Sleep well, sweetheart. I love you. Bye-bye." 

Diana hung up and shuffled over, taking a seat on he edge of the coffee table closest to him. Javier gave up on the volume dial and turned towards her. 

"Everything okay?" She nodded and took off her glasses to rub at her eyes. Cautiously, Javier placed his hand atop hers where it laid in her lap, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the top of it soothingly. "And are you okay?" 

"I will be; I just- ...I try that she at least hears my voice every day, even if I can't be there and- She's so little and has already lost so much, and every time I have to leave I feel like I'm just making it worse and like maybe that's why she still barely talks. And it's so unfair! She's just a little girl and she needs her mother or at least she needs a mother and we try - my aunt and I try our best but we're all that's left of this family." Her voice got quieter with each word, fading to a whisper before ceasing. Javier didn't know how to respond; all the obvious things seemed like meaningless phrases, frivolous and unhelpful. Diana deflated, her whole frame drooping like misery personified. She let out a single, quiet sob, gripping his hand in both of hers like he was her anchor. "I just wish I at least knew what I was doing." 

She wiped at her eyes angrily, blindly grasping for the glasses on the table behind her until she found them and shoved them back on. She stood abruptly, but did not let go of his hand, instead tugging him up, to which his beleaguered knees only objected more. 

"Sorry, forget that. Let's sort out dinner." She stalked back into the kitchen, and Javier could only follow of creaky knees, the blood rushing back down into his feet and making them prickle and almost falter. She finally let go of his hand in front of the refridgerator, throwing open the door of it like a shield between them.  

"So for dinner I was thinking-" 

"Miss Rivas." She didn't even hear him, just went on explaining what was possible with the ingredients she'd picked up earlier. Javier laid his hand on top of hers gently, feeling the tension in her fingers, the tremble in them as she gripped the fridge door tight. Gently still, he eased her grip and shut the door. She didn't even look at him, obstinately staring down at the tiled floor instead. 

"I'm in control of my emotions." She declared defiantly. "I'm not a liability to your investigation." 

"I know." Javier took both her hands in his now, squeezed them once, still gentle. Kept his voice soft too; soft and low and for her ears only. "I know you ...aren't. It's okay. You're doing so good. You're doing amazing. It's okay." On the last few words, he raised their entwined hands, nudging her chin up to look at him. Took in her reddened but stubbornly dry eyes, her lips pressed into a painful line, and the hard set of her jaw and brows. All she needed was one final push to let go, one word of permission, and he gave it gladly. "It's okay." 

He'd expected an outburst now, an explosive outpouring of grief or at least wrath. Instead, Diana squeezed his hands back once before letting go, leaving him standing in the kitchen while she went into her bedroom. He heard her rummage around for a moment, then she returned with a small photo album in her hands which she carefully set down on the counter before throwing it open and flipping through the pages until she found the picture she was looking for. It showed what he assumed was her family. He recognized only her and Maritza, both noticeably younger then. Side by side, the family resemblance became more apparent, especially in comparison with the respective parents. Wordlessly, she flipped through the pages. In the next one Maritza's father was missing, the one after that, her own father was no longer there. The one after that showed the addition of a young man and what must have been a newborn Salome, him holding the baby with a broad, dimpled smile that his daughter had inherited. He was gone in the following picture, Diana's mother vanished in the one after that, until the last photograph showed only Maritza's mother, Diana herself, and little Salome. 

"Some time after we cleared out Maritza's apartment, I went to Escobar's grave. If I was looking for some kind of satisfaction, I didn't find it there." She closed the album with a sharp snap. "The whole drive back, last night, I was sure I was about to end up fish fodder, and I just thought... with how my aunt's health is failing, will Salome be all alone in the world before she's even five?" 

Javier swallowed hard, choking on the words that had sprung up onto the tip of his tongue. That he wouldn't let that happen (but it could have happened not twenty-four hours prior and there would have been nothing he could have done about it). That he would make sure the little girl was taken care of (How? He wasn't kin and Diana's aunt didn't know him. And he wasn't exactly prime fatherhood material, so what exactly did he think he could do?). And in the back of his head, he still heard the desperate shallow little breaths she'd heaved during her panic attack. So different words jumped onto his tongue instead, tumbling out before he could ever think through the implications. 

"Do you want out? You don't even have to go meet Mrs Jurado tomorrow, I can organize to have you pulled out within the week. And your family too. You'd be safe." 'I am never doing this again', she'd said. Well, he wouldn't make her. And considering what he knew now, that his whole investigation was just a front? What was the damn point of it anyway? 

Diana smiled, just a slight quirk of the corner of her lip, but the first in what felt like hours now. "Now? No. I don't want anyone else having to go through what my family and I went through, here or anywhere. This kind of...lust for power - it's grasping. It never stops, it is never satisfied. And it doesn't care what stands in its way." 

"You sure?" He ought to tell her, he really ...but even though the betrayal isn't his, just his to hand on, he hesitates again. 

"I am. Starting with meeting Christina Jurado tomorrow. Besides, you'll be with me all the way through." 

"Yeah," his voice creaks like a rusty hinge, "Yeah, of course I'll be. Just a stone's throw away." --- "Goodness, does she ever shut up?" Javier shut the door behind himself, hanging up the spare key on the hook by the door. They'd just returned from Diana and Mrs Jurado's coffee and lunch date - separately for safety purposes - and Javier's head was still swimming. Diana might be reasonably called talkative, but at least she had things to say. Christina Jurado, it turned out, could talk a mile a minute without saying much of substance at all. Diana had been all but steam-rollered by the barrage of conversation and Javier, who had listened closely to all two and a half hours of it, was starting to feel the beginnings of a pressure headache building. 

"Without being condescending, Agent Peña, there is so much that men don't understand about the way women talk with each other." Diana peeked out into the hallway with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, she may well have been... uuh-" 

"May have been what?" After discarding his shoes, he walked into the apartment fully. Diana frowned, then touched a fingertip to the side of her nose with a meaningful look. When he didn't light up with sudden understanding, she gave a good-natured yet long-suffering sigh. And Javier really thinks he should probably have slept more than four hours, but his back was now paying the price for his stint on that marshmallow fluff that passed for Katie's mattress, and also his mind liked to give him trouble when it ought to quiet down. 

"She may have been what, Miss Rivas?" 

"Mrs Jurado, I have good reason to believe, likes to uhh... sample the product." The penny rolled around Javier's exhausted mind a moment longer before dropping. 

"...You mean to tell me she was high on cocaine the whole time?" 

"Yes. Why are you whispering?" Why indeed. Javier cleared his throat and wondered why this revelation left him so scandalized. "She did use on Friday night, too, which is a frequency I honestly find alarming. I hope it's more of a weekend thing- Franklin knows, but I don't think he has any idea what to do about it. I'd reckon it's something they're both keen to keep under wraps, though for different reasons. I don't imagine the gentlemen would be overly thrilled, especially the brothers. They like to keep a pretty tight hold on everything even remotely to do with the business." 

"Huh... what the hell are you do-" While he had been musing on this new development in his sluggish mind, she'd stuck one hand down her blouse from the top and the other up it from the bottom, fumbling around for a moment before pulling the wiretap she'd been wearing for the meeting out and handing it to him non-chalantly. 

"When's your flight?" 

"Uh, late. Later. Ten-ish." He'd be back in Bogotá before midnight, but there was the drive back to Buenaventura to consider. Even so, it was only mid-afternoon now. Javier rubbed his hand over his burning eyes. His brain was no longer in a state to be doing that kind of math and he sighed, the coffee he'd just had clearly not doing anything. 

"You have at least an hour to get some sleep. Come lie down." She was out from in front of him and across the room before he could blink tiredly, already pushing back the coffee table and bending to pull out the couch. Javier meant to protest, he really did. But. Sleep beckoned. And so, with heavy feet dragging across the laminate floor, he acquiesced. 

"Thanks." He mumbled, gratefully receiving a pillow. 

"I'll wake you in an hour, hour and a half tops." She already sounded further away than she should be, considering she was by the sofa-bed's - and his - head still. Javier hummed a reply, more affirmative sound than any proper words. As he drifted off, he thought he felt gentle fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead. But surely that was just wishful thinking, for what else could it be? ---

So, six more months of looking busy and doing nothing while the Calí godfathers revved up operations to squeeze as much money as they could out. He'd had to send his agents home after they'd been splashed all over the front page of the Espectador, so not only did the DEA not currently have any presence on the ground in Calí, it also left Diana without even the faintest layer of protection. And with the massive stink the Colombians, fronted by General Vargas, had kicked up about it, he couldn't send in any replacements, no matter how eager or indeed fastidious Agent Feistl was. And now the incident in Yumbo. The youngest of the dead had only been six years old. Javier glowered at the TV report where the safety inspector was giving his final report. Natural gas leak... yeah, sure. This thing reeked; he felt it in his bones that the cartel was responsible somehow. And he couldn't go after them. The desire to go find Stechner and smash his stupid smug face through the screen became near unbearable. He turned the TV off before the urge manifested into action. 

He sat down behind his desk, taking a moment to look around the largely dark and empty office space around him before opening that particular drawer on the top right and taking out the arrest warrants. Their money and power and the influence both bought meant that the Calí bosses could move comparatively freely, but they still hid away. Carefully so, with the kind of tight-knit security that most heads of state could only dream of. Even if he did find a way to get at them, his hands were now unofficially bound. Well over a year's work, two good agents sent home, his informant risking her life every single day, more innocent dead who would never get justice, and what for? He hated it. He still hadn't told her. He thought about quitting. 

The phone rang. He knew it was her. She didn't even try his home landline first now, knowing he spent his evenings at the office more often than not. Javier let it ring once more while mustering up the courage to come clean. 

"Miss Rivas, good evening." 

"Decidedly not. Did you watch the news?" 

Javier scrubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut so as to not have to look at the warrants spread out on his desk. There was only so much mockery a man could take. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." 

"It was them. David specifically, that self-absorbed buffoon. They chewed him out for over half an hour over it, which is far less than he deserves." 

"I figured." His throat felt tight; undoing another shirt button did precisely nothing. 

"Gilberto worries it will give the government leverage to go back on the deal. I hope it does."

So did Javier, but knowing the special interests being at play here he didn't hold out much hope. 

"And you have been made to recall your agents from Calí." 

Javier gulped. "Yes." 

"But they'll be replaced, right?" 

Well, here goes nothing then. "...No." 

Silence. She's not one to raise her voice even when upset and right now she must be livid. But perhaps she's shocked before anything else. Shocked into silence, into disbelief. He hates this, too. He wishes she would scream at him. Instead all he gets is a brittle quiet little '...What?' 

And it's so unfair, all of it. Stechner doesn't have to face her with this, the bastard. None of the politicians who are oh so invested in this little vanity project do either, the consequences aren't real to them. They get to collect the empty symbol of a supposedly bloodless surrender, some good publicity, and don't have to do or face any of the ugly truths on the ground. He thinks about quitting again. Pats his pocket for the reporter's business card. If he's leaving, he thinks, he'd do it with a bang. Burn all bridges with a mighty barrage of his personal J'accuse. But for now that's all idle thinking. 

"The surrender deal is going ahead as planned, because the powers that be will it so." He explained, truly understanding the sentiment of shooting the messenger at this very moment. "My hands are bound, there's nothing I can do."  

"Bullshit!" Yeah, agreed. He tries saying more, justifications that turn to dust on his tongue before the words even leave his mouth. His heart's not in it, and it only serves to stoke her wrath, fearsome even over the distance of the phone line. 

"What else will they get away with? If you're rich enough you can buy impunity? A blank cheque for murder? How many more people must die? Every day I go in and make myself complicit in it all on the promise that it will take them down!" 

The worst part of this, perhaps, is that he knows she's right. If any of those senators in their cushy Washington offices had even a bit of her bravery, her steadfastness, her moral clarity– 

"I'm sorry." His mouth is so dry. At last he opens his eyes again, glaring down at the warrants. Gilberto Rodríguez Orejuela. Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela. 

"You're sorry?" Even now her voice is still level. Full of venomous disbelief and cold with rage, yes, but it has not risen even a single decibel. 

"Miss Rivas, I-" 

The line went dead with a click. She'd hung up.

--- --- --- 

author’s notes: 

*me, an idiot* this chapter will cover episodes 1 through to 4. this is a thing that is feasible and realistic

*me, 7000 words in and still at the party* ah. oh no.

in other words: remember last chapter when I cut things off because I wanted to keep it below 10k? yeah, that won’t be happening anymore. It takes as long as it takes. *shrug emoji* stay hydrated.

DIAN (Dirección de Impuestos y Aduanas Nacionales) is the Colombian government agency that is responsible for collecting taxes

Fernando Botero is a Colombian artist and sculptor, famous for these really chunky bronze statues, though the one I reference here is a complete fabrication and does not actually exist

according to the Art and Making of Narcos book Navegante’s actual name is Jorge Velasquez

‘chompa’ according to the dictionary I used, is a term for jacket used in Colombia and some other places

yes I looked up average temperatures in all these cities. I have concluded that it gets hot af in Laredo

La Javeriana (Pontificia Universidad Javeriana) is one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in Colombia. Presidential candidate Carlos Luis Galan did indeed attend there, as did president Ernesto Samper, who is president during the season in the show. He also did indeed teach there for a while in the early 80s, which fortunately matches up with my timeline. It was indeed founded before Harvard. Thirteen years before to be exact (1623 vs 1636)

here’s the drawing Diana made of Pallomari (contador=accountant): 

tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @fromthedeskoftheraven @dindjarindiaries @shikin83 @cinewhore @maddoggrahaml @javier-djarin @huliabitch @heatherbel @shestillwrites1​

didn’t ask to be tagged but reblogged all previous parts and therefore I assume you enjoyed it regardless of that you reading my story made me very happy list: @asoftcollection​ (thank you for indulging me and brainstorming the Jurados with me it helped a lot) @holographic-carmen​  @dermandalorianer​  @oldstuffnewstuff​ (sry it won’t let me tag ur sideblog hope this is okay)

Next Chapter

[tchallasbabymama]

Fly Like a Bird- Playlist Chapter 5

Hey y’all, here’s the next chapter of Playlist, catch up on it and check out my  other stories by clicking HERE. 

CW: smut, violence, torture

Word count: 5812

Ashanti was the first to awaken, and she smiled warmly at the feeling of being in her lovers’ arms. She listened to his soft snores in her ear and her hand came up to caress his before intertwining their fingers. Just as she did, his hand closed around hers and pulled her in closer to his body. She felt his morning wood and bit her lip. She didn't want to wake him up, but the thickness resting on her backside had her seriously reconsidering. Her hips rolled against him involuntarily and he stirred awake.

“Good morning to you too,” T’Challa said with his raspy, deep morning voice before kissing her lightly behind her ear. She craned her neck so he could have better access and he started kissing down to her shoulder. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” Ashanti deadpanned, still feeling sore all over from the night before. T'Challa chuckled and she sunk back into his vibrating chest as his hand moved to grip her hip and pull her into him. He bit down on her shoulder before kissing back up to her neck.

“Kumkani’s sorry.”

“No you're not, don't even lie,” Ashanti said as a shiver went down her spine.

“Mm, you’re right, I’m not.” T’Challa bit her jugular and her pussy jumped. His hand came up to play with her nipples and she let out a moan before attempting to turn and face him.

“Don’t move, stay just like this,” he said as his other hand travelled down her naked body to the patch of short hairs between her legs. His fingers parted her outer lips before trailing up and down her pussy, seemingly begging for entrance. Her hips thrust back into his dick as he grinded with her, their bodies moving in sync. She let out a moan as his fingers grazed her clit.

“Is your pussy too sore for me to fuck you just like this?” His hand left from between her legs and made its way down her thigh before he pulled her leg up into the air. 

“I’m sore, but I still want it,” she whined. 

“I’ll be gentle, kitten.” He lined his throbbing dick up with her entrance and rolled his hips into her so that he slowly entered her little by little, pulling out and going in deeper with each stroke.

“Mmm, deeper kumkani,” her hand found its way to the back of his head and she pulled him in so that his face was buried in her neck, whispering filth into her ear.

“You want it deeper? I thought you were sore.”

“Mmm I love how you take this dick, kitten. So hungry for more.”

“Fuck you’re so tight around me, I’m going to bust deep inside you again.”

“I want you walking around with my cum dripping out of you whenever I say so…do you understand me?”

Ashanti’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, a goofy smile spread across her face as she silently thanked Bast for sending her the absolutely filthy man behind her.

“Ewe kumkani wam.”

He thrust his hips forward, fully sheathing himself inside her. The arm holding her leg up hooked around her knee and his fingers found their way to her mouth.

“Vula,” he commanded.

She obeyed, opening wide. When his fingers made contact with her tongue she closed her mouth around them, sucking just as she would his big juicy dick. 

“Mmmm, you’re such a good little slut.” He bit her earlobe and picked up his pace, going deeper while pulling her leg further back so that her knee touched her shoulder..

“Ooooh, kumkani, it feels so good.” 

“What does?”

“Your dick, i-inside me,” Ashanti stuttered out, the tension building in her lower half. 

“This dick?” He thrust especially deep inside her, causing her to cry out.

“Yes! Yes, right there.”

T’Challa continued to fuck her like that, his other hand coming up under her and trapping her next to him even more before going straight to rubbing her clit. His hips rolled his dick into her repeatedly, switching up between long slow strokes and beating her pussy into submission.

“I feel you, kitten, cum for me.”

Her pussy tightened around him and she released a deluge onto the sheets, T’Challa following shortly after, filling her to the brim. They stayed in that embrace for a few moments before he slid out of her. She reached her hand down between her legs and brought it back to her lips, tasting the salty sweetness of them. His hand found its way under her chin, and lightly turned it towards him to meet him in a sweet and passionate liplock. 

“What would you like for breakfast?” he asked against her lips.

“How about I cook you something?”

“You made dinner,” He lightly kissed her shoulder. “Let me handle breakfast. You know how much I love it.”

“Alright, alright, I’m convinced,” she giggled.

“You can keep me company,” he said as he watched her gracefully roll out of bed and reach for her robe. “Naked.”

She looked up at him and smirked, walking over to him and planting a kiss on his lips.

“As you wish, kumkani.” She led him back downstairs to the kitchen. Thankfully all he had to clean up from the night before was the cobbler bowls, which he put in the dishwasher. Ashanti leaned against the counter as he rummaged through her cabinets and refrigerator looking for inspiration. She admired his lean muscular frame as he glided around her kitchen like he owned it...and she guessed he kind of did in some ways since it was his country and all. 

While his back was turned to her, Ashanti grabbed her sketchpad and started drawing him. His back muscles rippled every time he moved and she couldn't help but to capture the moment. 

T’Challa played music from his beads and interrupted her drawing to pull her in close for a dance while he kept an eye on the plantains in the skillet. He twirled her around and swayed with her to the melody, their naked bodies in a gentle embrace. Ashanti wanted it to stay like this forever.

______

The next few weeks passed by with the lovers spending as much time together as possible. The king got to know Ashanti’s parents and roommates, and Ashanti grew close with the royal family. They were both on cloud nine, but T’Challa kept getting a feeling that something was going to go wrong. His cousin convinced him it was probably just his anxiety from past relationships resurfacing, and he let it sink to the back of his mind. For the most part.

Ashanti could tell that something was off with T’Challa, but whenever she asked him about it he would cover her in kisses and reassure her everything was fine. She didn’t believe him, but she let it go for the time being and gave him his space. After almost two weeks of his behavior she finally had enough, so she stormed into his office refusing to take “fine” for an answer.

“T’Challa Jahi Udaku!” she burst into his office, interrupting a conversation between the king and the chief of the Jabari. “Oh, excuse me Lord M’Baku.”

“None needed, I was just on my way out anyway and it seems you two have something important to discuss.” he and T’Challa shared a look. “Goodbye my King, Sister Ashanti.” He nodded to them both and saluted T’Challa on this way out the door. 

The king stood and rounded his desk, grabbing both of her hands in his and bringing them to his lips.

“My love, what is the matter?”

“You!” she pulled her hands from his and his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Why are you acting so strange and distant? Has something changed?”

“No, of course not-”

“Then why do you barely talk to me anymore? Did I do something?” her voice softened. 

“Not at all kitten, I just-” T’Challa sighed, “Here, take a seat.”

She sat down tentatively, worried that the next thing out of his mouth would be exactly what she feared. He decided to be only partially honest.

“There has been some...concerning activity near our borders that has required my attention.”

“What kind of activity?” she asked, still not convinced.

“It is probably best that you do not know, trust me,” a look of restrained horror and sadness washed over his face. He wanted to tell her that he feels something nefarious is coming, but he didn’t want to worry her. His panther senses were almost never wrong and as of late they had been on a hundred. 

 He kneeled down in front of her before grabbing her hands again and staring deep into her eyes. “I am sorry that I have been neglecting you, love. That was not my intention”

“I know you’re busy being the king and protector of Wakanda,” she said as she straightened out his collar, “but I just want you to talk to me and let me know what’s going on so I don’t expect the worst. Ok?”

“Ok,” he kissed her forehead then her nose before settling on her lips for a soft kiss. He pulled away slightly and she grabbed his collar to pull him back in for a deeper kiss before letting him go.

“Kitten,” he warned, “You know I have to get back to work.” He could barely get the words out between kisses.

“I know, I just miss you.”

“I know and I miss you too. Let’s go out tonight, it’s been a couple weeks since I took you on a proper date.”

“Mr. Udaku are you trying to woo me?” she clutched her nonexistent pearls.

“Yes I am, Ms. Mostafa. Is it working?” He moved in closer and kissed behind her ear and down to her collarbone.

“Mhm, too well.”

He laughed and stood up before reaching out a hand to her. She took it and rose from her seat, giving him a quick peck on the lips. She turned to head back home when she felt a hard slap on her ass.

“T’Challa! You’re in a mood today, too.” She teased.

“Just make sure you are ready at seven,” he commanded with a mischievous look on his face.

“Ewe kumkani wam,” she threw back at him as she twitched her hips on the way out of the room, knowing he was staring. When she left he breathed a sigh of relief and went back to the holographic screen, pulling up a picture of a woman on a throne.

“What are you up to now?” He wondered aloud.

_______

“We need stronger security at our borders, the Nigandans are planning an attack.”

“What proof do you have of this, my king?” The Border tribe elder asked T’Challa. “I have noticed nothing of the sort.”

“Princess Zenzi,” Okoye projected her image into the middle of the throne room as the king spoke. “has been a constant thorn in Wakanda’s side for the past several years. Our wardogs in Niganda have collected intelligence that proves to be suspicious. She has gone underground. That plus the murdered Border tribesmen leads me to believe an attack is imminent.”

The elders all started speaking over eachother.

“Murdered?”

“How is her disappearance proof of anything? Whoever killed our men could have gotten to her, too.”

“How do we know the murderer isn't Wakandan? We cant just go accusing other countries and starting wars, your highness.”

“Enough!” T’Challa’s voice carried through the room. “I am the king and this is merely a courtesy. We will be adding extra security to our borders. Next on the agenda?”

T’Challa had grown tired of trying to convince the council of a threat without proof beyond his panther senses. He didn’t normally like to exert his power over them, but they refused to listen to him. 

The meeting continued without incident and even adjourned a little early. T’Challa’s orders regarding security would be put into place immediately, with warriors from every tribe being deployed to the border within the hour. T’Challa stayed in the throne room after everyone left, contemplating what to do next. He didn’t realize how much time had passed until he noticed the shadows were cast in a slightly different direction than when the meeting ended. He shook himself out of his head and left the throne room heading for his quarters to get ready for the night ahead with his woman.

Across town, Ashanti had just started getting ready when there was a knock at the door. She checked the time on her beads, “Huh, this is early even for him.”

She threw on her robe and went downstairs to answer the door since her roommates were staying with their significant others. When she opened the door she was confused at the sight before her.

“What are you doing here?”

Aneka and Ayo, two of T’Challa’s Dora Milaje, stood on her doorstep.

“Sister Ashanti, we have been sent to guard you until the king arrives. There have been some security concerns and he wants to keep you safe.” Ayo said to her.

Ashanti thought back to their conversation earlier and the look on his face when he told her of what was going on. She knew he was worried for her safety so she let them in.

“Make yourself at home, I’m just going to finish getting ready upstairs,” she said as she ran back to her room to put on her outfit and take her hair down from the bantu knots she had been wearing all day. She sang along to one of her new favorite albums as she beat her face, Mariah Carey’s voice providing the perfect soundtrack for the night ahead. 

She slipped on her dress and zipped up the back before turning to check herself out in the mirror. However, when she looked up she almost had a heart attack.

“Aneka!” she gasped, “you scared me. Is something wrong?”

Within seconds Aneka was next to Ashanti stabbing a syringe into her neck. The last thing Ashanti remembered before blacking out is the sinister smile on Ayo’s face as she sauntered into the room.

_______

He felt something was wrong the moment he walked up to the door. He called on his suit and went around back, climbing up the wall to get to Ashanti’s window. He slid it open and quietly stepped through. Only the faint smell of her remained...and someone else’s he couldn't quite place. He knew it had to be an inside job because there was no sign of struggle. She let whoever in willingly.

His kimoyo beads went off and he answered quickly, needing to act fast.

“My king-”

“General, Ashanti has been taken. I need a search party to go out immediately to look for her and-”

“My king, it was Ayo and Aneka. They just stole a Dragonflyer and flew out of the shield before we could catch them. We tracked them to Niganda.”

A fire blazed in T’Challa’s stomach. The border attacks had been a misdirect, the real threat was just a few feet away from him the whole time. It was obvious they were working for Zenzi, but why and what purpose did Ashanti serve in all this?

He made his way back to the palace quicker than he ever had before. He knew Shuri was aware of the situation, but he needed in-person backup for what was ahead. He called all the people he knew he needed to ensure the rescue mission was successful, then alerted Ashanti’s parents and had them and her roommates brought to the palace.

M’Baku arrived in an hour, and it would take about 8 hours for Nakia and N’Jadaka to arrive on the Royal Fang. In that time, the four of them along with Shuri,Okoye, and Bucky hatched a plan to find and rescue Ashanti then hopefully bring an end to Zenzi’s reign of terror. The soldier and the prince took the lead on the latter end of the mission, while T’Challa spearheaded the rescue efforts. Shuri had been able to track the Dragonflyer’s exact location to a rainforest on the far side of  Niganda and the rest of them moved out. 

At the same time, Ashanti woke up with her entire body feeling like it was weighed down by lead. She tried to open her eyes, but everything was blurry. Her head was fuzzy and as the feeling came back to her limbs, she attempted to move. She blinked her eyes and tried to wiggle the pins and needles out of her legs, only to find that they had been restrained. She tried to move her hands and was met with the same resistance. Ashanti panicked and opened her eyes fully to take in her surroundings. What she saw chilled her to the bone.

A woman in green, surrounded by heavily armed men in military uniforms stared up at her from the other side of what looked to be a throne room.

“Oh good, she’s awake. Hello Ashanti, do you know who I am?” asked the woman as she stalked towards her hostage.

“N-no.”

“Luckily for you, I’m feeling nice today and I won’t take offense to that. I am Princess Zenzi of Niganda. You’ve heard of Niganda, right?” she teased.

“Y-yes, it is right next to us, but what do you want with me?”

“Nothing much, you’re just bait,” Zenzi said with a sinister smile creeping up her face.

“Bait? For what?” Ashanti just couldn’t understand what the evil princess would want from her. 

Zenzi rolled her eyes at Ashanti’s naivety.

“Your boyfriend. That lovesick idiot is going to bring the whole calvary to come rescue his poor little defenseless girlfriend,” she mocked Ashanti, “and while all his power players are out of the way, my soldiers will sneak in, steal the heart shaped herb and the throne.”

“The people of Wakanda will never accept you as queen!”

“Oh honey, like they’d accept you? Peasant!” Zenzi laughed in her face. “They don’t have to want me as queen, I will simply make them obey.”

“Obey?”

“Yes, child, obey. Is the word foreign to you?”

“N-no ma’am. I just don't under-”

Ashanti was cut off by a splitting pain in her head and a ringing in her ears. She started to hyperventilate as the walls felt like they were closing in.

“Obey me, it is simple.”

The pain grew and her eyes watered before it all subsided and she felt like a shell of herself.

“What was that?” Ashanti cried out, trying to even out her breathing while the aftershocks of the pain still pulsed through her.

“That was how I’m going to take over Wakanda.” she got up to leave before turning back to her armed soldiers. “Break off a little something for me to send the king.”

Ashanti panicked and began to scream.

“Please! No! I-I’ll cooperate I swear to Bast, just-” she was interrupted by the same horrible feeling from earlier. The last thing she remembered before she passed out was a sharp pain in her left hand and Zenzi’s dark laughter.

Ashanti woke up in a different room. This one was dark, damp, and musty. She tried to move but a lingering pain in her head made it almost impossible. She was finally able to push herself up when she felt a throbbing pain in her hand. She looked down and screamed again, her left pinky was gone and all that was left in its wake was a poorly bandaged nub. Ashanti became hysterical and two soldiers came in to get her to stop. Ashanti assumed they would sedate her just like Aneka, but their methods were more hands-on. 

When they left, she felt her face begin to swell and felt blood running from a cut on her forehead. It hurt to breathe and it hurt to cry, so Ashanti sat there in complete silence, numbing herself to her surroundings. She knew she had to survive somehow, but the only thing she could do to distract herself and pass the time was sing along in her head to the music she had just been listening to before she was kidnapped. 

Somehow I know that

There's a place up above

With no more hurt and struggling

Free of all atrocities and suffering

Because I feel the unconditional love

From one who cares enough for me

To erase all my burdens

And let me be free to

She wasn’t sure how much time she spent in that little windowless room, but it felt like a lifetime. The soldiers returned twice, each time causing more harm until she was barely conscious. After the third time they beat her, she was ready to give up. She closed her eyes and prayed to Bast that she would be taken away, singing to the goddess in her head.

Fly like a bird

Take to the sky

I need you now, Lord

Carry me high

Don't let the world break me tonight

I need the strength of you by my side

Sometimes this life can be so cold

I pray you'll come and carry me home

Can we recover?

Will the world ever be

A place of peace and harmony

With no war and with no brutality?

If we loved each other

We would find victory

But in this harsh reality

Sometimes I'm so despondent

That I feel the need to

Fly like a bird

Take to the sky

I need you now, Lord

Carry me high

Don't let the world break me tonight

I need the strength of you by my side

Sometimes this life can be so cold

I pray you'll come and carry me home

The last things Ashanti heard as she passed out were gunshots and screaming in the distance. She knew Bast had heard her prayers and that she would either be rescued or brought home to the ancestral plane.

_______

Nakia and M’Baku were the first to find her almost lifeless body. He carried her out to the Royal Talon, but was intercepted by a brokenhearted T’Challa.

“Is she-”

“No, there is still a faint pulse, but we have to get her back right now,” Nakia interrupted her friend. The three of them returned to the ship with the rest of their team. The threat had been neutralized and Zenzi had been ambushed on her way into Wakanda, not realizing they expected her to try to grab the throne. She was sedated and placed into a special prison cell that would neutralize her powers. 

 All was right again, except weeks passed and Ashanti still hadn’t woken up. Her roommates kept her room decorated with her favorite flowers while her parents tried to make her as comfortable as possible. All T’Challa could do was hold her hand and pray to Bast that she woke up. And pray, he did. Every chance he got he would call out to Bast and the Ancestors to watch over her and bring her back to him.

Little did he know, his prayers were working, just not in the way he expected. Ashanti may not have been awake on this plane, but in the ancestral plane she and her grandfather Taj heard every one of T’Challa’s prayers.

“That man loves you, nugget. You should go back to him,” Taj said to Ashanti as they sat by a beautiful lake, watching her hospital room through the magical waters.

“I want to, Umakhulu, but,” she sighed, “it hurts too much still. What if it happens again? Or something worse? I didn’t think about how being with him would put a target on my back. He should have told me!” She broke down crying for the third time that week and Taj simply held her and let her cry.

“I know I need to go back home, but I’m scared.”

“Look at me, Ashanti,” Taj said with a firm yet soft voice. She was shocked, he almost never called her by her name. “You are a Mostafa, you do not run from things, do you hear me? Now, as much as I love having you here with me you and I both know it is not your time. Look at your parents, how worried they are. Those roommates of yours are going to give you allergies with all the pollen they keep bringing into the room-”

Ashanti laughed through her tears and snot.

“-and the king? He would move heaven and earth just to see your eyes open again. You have to go home, nug.”

His words sank in and she knew he was right. She had to go, but she knew things would never be the same. She stared at T’Challa through the water and sighed before wading in.

Back in the plane of the living, T’Challa’s head rested on the side of her bed while he clung to her. His prayer was interrupted by a light squeeze of his hand, and T’Challa lifted his tear-stained face to look at his now awake lover. 

“Uthando!” He threw himself across her healed body and pulled her into a hug, tears streaming down his face while he thanked Bast for hearing him. He pulled back when he noticed she wasn’t returning the embrace.

“My love, is something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I-”

“Thank Bast, my baby!” Bisa and Chidi entered the room and ran to their child. She nearly jumped into their arms and the three of them sobbed together. Next to visit were Kwame and Binta, who received a similar greeting. T’Challa couldn’t help but compare her reactions to them with her reaction to him, and then it hit him. She blamed him for the attack, just like he already blamed himself.

Next to visit was the royal family, the princess checking her vitals and making sure all was well.

“My dear, it is so good to have you back with us,” Ramonda said warmly, giving her a hug. 

“Yeah, this one here almost drove me crazy asking a million and one questions about your progress every day,” Shuri gestured towards her brother and Ashanti’s eyes dropped. T’Challa saw it happen and it was as if someone had stabbed him in the heart. He wasn’t the only one that noticed.

“Can we have the room, please?” Chidi asked the visitors. One by one they all left, T’Challa lingering a little longer not wanting to leave.

“Go get some rest, dear,” Bisa told him as he left the room, shoulders drooping. 

“Now, what was that?” Chidi asked his daughter.

“What was what?” she tried to play coy.

“You barely acknowledged T’Challa the whole time we’ve been in here. He was at your bedside every day, torn up about-“

“Mama, I know. I saw it,” she sighed. They both looked at her, confused. 

“You...saw it? How?” 

“The ancestral plane. I was there with umakhulu watching through some special lake...it’s hard to explain, but he says hi.”

Chidi and Bisa were dumbstruck.

“But you weren’t dead, how could you go there?” 

“I have no idea, Baba.”

“H-how did he look?” Chidi asked about his father, tears in his eyes.

“He looked good. Still called me Nugget...he made me come back.”

“Made you? Baby you didn’t want to come back home?” Bisa asked with concern in her voice.

“No, mama. I’m scared of it happening again.” She hung her head and tears started to fall.

“Oh sithandwa...my intyatyambo...they caught Zenzi, you’re safe now.” Chidi pulled his daughter in close.

“Ok but who else is out there wanting to get to him through me?! I can’t, I just can’t-“ she broke down again and her parents shared an understanding glance. They knew when their daughter made up her mind there was no changing it.

“You can’t what dear?”

“Be with him anymore.”

_______

“Just like that?” N’Jadaka asked his cousin, passing him back his bottle of whiskey.

“Just like that.” T’Challa said drunkenly while he took it to the head. Nakia looked on with concern.

“How many bottles have you had, T’Challa? I didn’t think you could even get this drunk anymore with the herb in your system.” She sat down next to him and he laid his head on her shoulder.

“I stopped counting after the third one.” 

Nakia turned her glare on the prince for enabling him.

“And you let him get like this?!”

“Hell yeah. He needs to get drunk and mope around for a little bit then he’ll get back to normal in no time.”

Nakia could’ve slapped him.

“N’Jadaka,” she started while holding the bridge of her nose, “you weren’t here when we broke up or when he broke up with Ororo or when Monica dumped him...this isn’t how you deal with heartbroken T’Challa.” 

She snatched the bottle out of his hand and went to pour it down the sink. T’Challa tried to stop her but his motor skills weren’t good enough.

“No, no, no, that’s good whiskey!”

“Too late. Now get up.”

“Nakia I don’t think-“

“Nope, zip it. No more from you, prince. Let’s go Challa.”

“But-“

“Don’t make me call Queen Mother on you.”

He shot up and immediately regretted it, teetering on his heels as the room spun. 

“Woah, I don’t like this,” he slurred.

“Yeah, no shit. Come on.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To visit your sister. N’Jadaka, a little help?”

The three of them made their way to Shuri’s lab and the moment he saw her he broke out of their hold.

“Usisi!” He wrapped her in a bear hug and she could smell the alcohol on him as stared wide-eyed at Nakia and N’Jadaka.

“Is he-”

They both nodded as T’Challa booped Shuri’s nose and fell out laughing. N’Jadaka was trying really hard to keep a straight face at the whole situation.

“Shuri is there something you can do to sober him up? It's the middle of the day and he still has things on his schedule,” Nakia worried about her friend, who had wandered to a table and laid down.

“I can, but it’ll take a while. It might be better to just have N’Jadaka run things today.”

The two women shared a look of dread before turning to the prince who had a smile on his face.

“Oh come on,  I’m not gonna ruin the country again. On Bast.”

“Yes, well since I wont be assisting you this time I’ll appoint Nakia in my absence.”

N’Jadaka sucked his teeth in annoyance but agreed. He and Nakia were cordial and worked together well, but never got along outside of work. Probably because he’s still hung up on the fact that Nakia’s girlfriend Janelle used to be in his rotation back in the day. 

“Aight, fine. Damn, you kill the king once and that’s all anybody can talk about…” he continued mumbling under his breath. The women rolled their eyes and turned back to each other.

“Ok so now that we got that set- awww look at him. Ew nevermind, he’s drooling,” Shuri said while watching her brother take a nap on the operating table.

“Shuri, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“Not even when Monica dumped him?” Shuri asked her friend and one-time almost sister-in-law. 

“Nope.”

“Who is this Monica chick?”

“Long story,” they responded in unison.

“Aight well, if y’all have this handled I have a council meeting to run so...deuces.” 

N’Jadaka jogged up the ramp as the two women said goodbye and Nakia followed after him. Shuri turned to her brother and sighed. She knew why he was like this, not only had he been dumped, but he blamed himself for the whole situation. He felt he should’ve seen the misdirect coming earlier, focusing the military efforts on the borders instead of fishing out potential spies. He felt guilty that two of his own trusted Dora Milaje had been brainwashed by Zenzi’s powers and forced into servitude. He felt guilty that his love faced unspeakable violence while held hostage. Most importantly, he blamed himself for not getting to her house in time to protect her. 

Shuri let him sleep and hooked him up to an IV to sober him up. He slept for about three hours before he began to stir.

“Sis- ah!” His head felt like it was splitting down the middle and his mouth felt like he had swallowed cotton. She dimmed the lights before handing him a glass of water.

“According to your blood alcohol levels you drank six bottles of whiskey. Six. Are you trying to harm yourself? So help me Bast, I will strap you to this tab-”

“Calm down sister, I just lost count after the third one. I don’t want to harm myself, just drown my sorrows.”

“Yes, well find a healthier way. If you end up here like this again you won’t like the result,” she said with a finality in her voice that made T’Challa shiver. “Can you walk?”

T’Challa slowly slid off the table, testing his balance before standing upright.

“Good, now get out. I was busy,” she said with a playful smirk on her face. The king made his way over to his sister before kissing her cheek and slowly heading up the ramp and out of her lab.

When she was sure he was gone, she pulled up Ashanti’s contact information and called her on her kimoyo beads. Within seconds, Ashanti’s 3-D projected form was in the palm of her hand.

“Shuri! How are you?” Ashanti was surprised to hear from the princess, but excited nonetheless. The two had grown close in her time with T’Challa and she missed Shuri’s sense of humor.

“I am well, or at least I was until a few hours ago. Are you sure about your decision, Ashanti? He is not taking it well.” 

Ashanti looked down, grieving the loss of their relationship. Shuri, I love him. I do, but I can’t live looking over my shoulder. I found a therapist, but Shuri I can’t unsee and unfeel what was done to me, and being with your brother paints a giant target on my back. I just can’t-” she fought to hold back tears.

“I understand. I mean, I don't, but I do. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Got an extra pinky lying around somewhere?”

The two laughed, lightening the mood.

“I don’t, but I could make you one. I made a whole arm a couple years ago, I can handle a pinky. Do you want it to look real or robotic?”

“Real, please. I can’t be walking around here looking like a cyborg, I don't know how Bucky does it.”

“You’ve got it, I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, sister.”

‘Shuri-”

“Aht, you will always be my sister.”

Ashanti smiled and waved goodbye to the teenager before ending the call.

Next chapter

[marrys-dream-world]

if we’re bound to be something, why not together? (chapter ten)

Read on AO3

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Notes:  Content Warning: there's discussions of a canon-compliant suicide/self-harm attempt on s4ep11 Guiltrip. It's nothing graphic or even explicit that they talk about, but if this is a hard topic for you, it's better to avoid it. This will be under the cut for that reason too.

Day 10: Moonlight. @ladynoirjuly

Some miraculous powers left lasting consequences, but Chat Noir had felt none as acutely as he did Pigella's jubilation.

He knew that, on paper, her power was "Gift", the ability to show the person it was used on whatever they wanted the most. It was one of the most terrifying ones he had ever seen, along with the butterfly's akumatization and the cat's cataclysm. The power to show someone's deepest heart's desires, no way to hide them, made his skin crawl. It certainly left him feeling grateful he wasn't her enemy (and also reminded him to never get on Rose's bad side). 

However, the pig miraculous either had its own aura or amplified Rose's natural one, because Pigella by herself exuded jubilation. Just staying by her side gave him more energy than drinking five cups of coffee or even seeing his lady's smile. He left the battle against Guiltrip and a reluctant Reflekta absolutely high on joy, playfully teasing Chloé and joining in on the class's reassurance to Rose. Adrien felt invincible, laughing along with Marinette and Nino as Alya tried to guess who Shadow Moth was after school (the reporter was particularly stuck on Bob Roth and, after seeing how he riled up Mr. Ramier during the shooting of the apple juice commercial, he wondered if maybe she had a point). Adrien felt like he was flying.

That only made the fall harder.

It happened too fast, first he was giddy as he went to his fencing class, then he felt like all his energy was powered down and he was left hollow before even getting out of the car. Adrien performed horribly in class, Kagami breaking through her post-break up self-imposed distance to ask him if he was fine or needed to go home. He answered that he was okay, before getting his ass kicked so hard by her in a match that the teacher made him sit out the rest of the day. 

Chat Noir arrived at the patrol meeting spot already exhausted. He leaned against the railings of the bridge he and Ladybug agreed on, looking down on his reflection, illuminated by the moonlight.

At least I don’t look as awful as I feel. He thought, being seen by his lady as a complete wreck was the last thing he needed today. 

"My lady!" He half-forced a smile when he saw her. She didn't look as affected as he had, just a bit tired. "Wanting to meet me by the river under the moonlight? How romantic."

"Chat Noir." Ladybug said seriously and his smile fell off his face. "What was that today?"

He frowned. "The Sentimonster? I thought we did fine."

"No, when he got you and you activated cataclysm and…" Her voice got quieter and quieter until it disappeared. Her lip trembled. "What was that?"

Chat Noir swallowed hard. He had hoped Ladybug wouldn't have noticed that.

"It was nothing, bugaboo, really." He tried to stay light-hearted, but her distress didn't seem to be waning. "It was just the Sentimonster."

"No one else did anything like that." She insisted firmly. "Please, Chat Noir, talk to me. Didn't we promise to be honest with each other?"

He sighed heavily, caught. It's not like Ladybug could or even would force him, but the exhaustion he was feeling was clouding his mind and a promise was a promise, wasn't it?

"When I was young, my parents used to go on trips all over the world. They said I was too young to go with and I hated being left behind, but by the time they came back with souvenirs and stories, I didn't really care anymore." Chat Noir said. Ladybug looked admittedly confused, so he chuckled. "I promise this will make sense by the end. Let me finish?"

She bit her lip and nodded, gesturing for him to go on. He took a breath, shakily.

"Once, they came back from South America and my mother brought back a bunch of stuff, mostly stories. She knew they were my favorite." His mind drifted back to sitting in his mother's lap and he could almost feel a ghost of her hand combing through his hair. "The one that stuck with me the most at that time was about this girl that wanted to become a star. Sometimes, the moon would choose beautiful girls from her people to become stars and it was that girl's biggest dream to be chosen. But when her time came, she wasn't and she fell into despair. She went mad with a fever and jumped in the river, chasing after the moon's reflection, and drowned. The moon took pity on her and turned her into a giant water lily, so she could become the one star in the water."

Chat Noir paused, taking in his partner's blue eyes shining with concern (for him).

"I really didn't get it at the time, how someone could want something, miss something, so much that they would just give up everything. That she would just jump in the river like that." He said so to his mother at the time, even. You'll understand when you're older, baby. She had said. "I think I get it now. Sometimes, I think if it was to be with my mom, I would…"

Embarrassingly enough, his words were cut off with a sob. Before he could even blink, Ladybug enveloped him into her arms, squeezing tight like he would jump into the moon's visage in the river and disappear. 

"I-I don't really think about it a lot o-or anything." Chat Noir stuttered between sons, hot tears falling from his eyes. He couldn't bring himself to care that he was crying in front of partner, her arms felt too comforting for that. "But that Sentimonster was really powerful and I'm just so tired."

I can't even help my best bud face up to his old man…

It had been his fault that Nino was feeling that. Both as Adrien for being the source and Chat Noir for not protecting him from Guiltrip. In that moment, coupled with his father's apathy and Nathalie and mother too far for him to grasp, it was suddenly too much. 

"S-sorry for putting this on you." He apologized, but shamefully didn't let go. 

If possible, she tightened her arms around him even more. It left him with an ache in his bones that didn't bother him at all. 

"I want you to tell me these things, Chat Noir. You're my partner and I love you, of course I want to know." Ladybug said, voice wet. "You can lean on me, you know."

"I know." He said, voice sounding hollow. It wasn't that he thought his lady was a lia,r it was just… hard to do that. Being well and truly seen. 

"It's okay if you can't tell me, I know I can't be around all the time." She continued. "You can lean on your family and friends too, Chat, I promise that they'll understand."

Then you don't know them. He bit back this response. It wasn't fully true, anyways. 

"I-I can't talk to my family about this." His father was half the problem, after all. 

"Talk to your friends, then. You sound like you really care about them, Chaton, they can help you."

He wanted to make up excuses and vague promises to Ladybug. He wanted to explain that it was because his friends were great that he couldn't burden them.  He just felt so tired, though. The idea of going back to pretend everything was fine, to going back to his cold room and lonely nights made his skin crawl.

"My friends…" He whispered.

Nino and his caring personality. Marinette and her drive to help others. Kagami and her concern for him even after he broke her heart. Alya and her unstoppable sense of justice. The class's obvious love and care for a distressed Juleka and a sick friend. Rose herself, always sweet and optimistic in face of trouble. 

"I… I'll try, my lady." It wouldn't be easy, but he would. He had to. 

She deflated and it was the first time he noticed how tense she had been. 

"Thanks, Chaton." The skin of his neck felt wet. 

They stayed there under the moonlight, patrol forgotten.

[witchkings]

The One Engagement Ring

An Angbang Modern AU drabble as prompted by the lovely @darklord <3

Three seconds. Barely any time at all. Negligible in the greater scheme of Mairon’s life, nothing to the ever-advancing flow of the universe, miniscule, dismissible, stupid. Three seconds was all it had taken to ruin Mairon’s picture book life. Melkor would kill him.

These were the facts as Mairon had them:

1.       He’d slipped into the bathroom at the university library for a short piss and to get a minute of quiet in the constant chatter of his study group which was spiralling head-first into a discussion about the meaning of life. Even though they were anthropology graduate students with at least half the group minoring in either philosophy or sociology, this was never a good idea.

2.       When he’d been in the stall, his engagement ring had still gleamed golden on his ring finger, a constant, warm reminder of the grand day to come. Mairon had planned an autumn wedding, complete with matching tuxes, a seven-course feast and was already training Draugluin to carry the wedding rings down the aisle with Thuringwethil as his reluctant guardian. Melkor, of course, would have preferred for them to pop into Vegas and have some drunken fat Elvis proclaim them married, or better yet, simply hand in the necessary paper work on his way to the office, but Mairon was having none of that. If for one day in his life he wanted to feel special, be marvelled at and fawned over, it was going to be this day, his accursed father be damned.

3.       After completing his business, he’d slipped the ring off and into his pocket to wash his hands. He wouldn’t chance it being dulled by hard water or rough soap. Mairon always did it like this, only putting the piece of jewellery back on whenever his hands were dry and spotless, but when he’d made to retrieve it, his pocket had been empty.

4.       There’d been two other people on the bathroom with him and he couldn’t remember whether they’d ever come near him at all, but their childish faces, curly heads, and mischievous giggles could only mean one thing: freshmen.

5.       For three seconds between drying his hands and reaching for the ring, Mairon had leaned over the sink and inspected his own face. The stress of upcoming exams together with his thesis‘ due date drawing ever nearer gave him red spots along his jawline and he’d glared at them to will them away before Melkor picked him up.

Conclusion: As Mairon had been caught up in his own flaws, one or both of those bastards had sidled up to him and stolen the ring out of his pocket without him noticing. This implied many things, for example that the fatigue was getting to Mairon’s mental capacities or that those freshmen were unusually sneaky. Chiefest of all was this though: Melkor had paid half a fortune for that golden band. For Mairon to lose it, well. It would spell disaster.

Mairon glared at himself in the dirt-speckled mirror, bracing himself on the sink. Three seconds, oh he would show those impertinent, stupid, drunkard gnomes what he could do to a person in three seconds. Mairon took a deep breath and marched out of the bathroom, back to the round table his study group occupied. Eönwe and Tilion were at each other’s necks with arguments dissecting Descartes’ meditations while Osse and Uinen had their tongues down each other’s throats with disgusting slobbering noises. No studying to be done here, one of the sodden constants of Mairon’s life. He grabbed his notes and tablet and shoved them into his bagpack with more force than necessary which had Curumo look up from where he had hovered over his mess of tiny handwritten notes. He looked a little like a deer in head-lights, always lost was poor Curumo. Mairon rolled his eyes and tugged at his classmate’s sleeve.

“What?” Curumo whined, reluctant to forgo the last stretch of productivity he illusioned himself with, but he was already packing up.

“Come with me,” Mairon replied. “We’re going to hunt down some freshmen.”

After a quick text to Melkor to explain he needn’t be picked up today, Mairon dragged Curumo out of the library. The dismayed reply came seconds later, and Melkor wasn’t at all happy with the excuse of needing to tutor Curumo on their upcoming French test. Melkor and Curumo had never gotten along and if Mairon was honest with himself, he would have ditched Curumo after the first week of the first semester, but sometimes the guy proved useful. Especially because, in spite of his timid disposition, he somehow knew everyone on campus, ranging from the most introverted freshman all the way to the creepy maintenance guy who smelled like he lived in the sewers.

“What for?” Curumo asked. They crossed the student-littered yard, dodging peer-pong balls and caffeine-crazed grad students to the cafeteria where Mairon figured his best bet would be. Freshmen were always hungry, and he had a vague memory of four curly-haired heads positively camping in there at all times, claiming they needed seven meals a day to function.

“They stole something from me,” Mairon muttered, raking his hands through his hair. He’d neglected to trim it to its usual chest length and it was getting quite out of hand, tangling at the lightest breeze. Still better than what Curumo’s mother had done to him over the last holiday, short and ragged so that he looked like Jack Frost.

“What did they steal?”

“My engagement ring.”

“What?” Curumo spluttered, and almost ran into the door, but Mairon held it open in time. Under the pretence of having lunch – Mairon never had university lunch if he could help it, the stuff was vile and Melkor was a great cook if he wanted to be – they both got into line, eyes darting about for the thieves.

Mairon spotted the usual groups as he scanned the perimeter. The musical theatre kids led by a haughty grad student with a harp who had a gazillion brothers around. The nature-loving hippies who smoked too much weed for their own good and gave themselves funny names and pretended to be trees on weekends. The burly punk rockers who rode Harleys and had a kink for arson, Mairon had met their gang head Gothmog in a colloquium once, he wasn’t too bad. Even the naval engineering students who usually spent all their free time down by the beaches to test their self-crafted boats where in attendance, picking at salads and discussing hydraulics. Not a sign of those nasty burglars though.  

The guy behind the counter handed him a tray, and Mairon took it, paying with his student ID chip card before turning back towards the room, just in time to see a pair of dark, curly heads disappear through the swinging doors of the cafeteria, chips trailing after them like crumbs. Mairon dropped his food and took off after them, spitting curses. Curumo, the good dog that he was, mirrored this. They tore out of the cafeteria and down the hallway together.

“Hey,” Mairon screamed. “Hey, stop!” The two freshmen threw hasty glances over their shoulders, hollering as they ran and dodged around students, but Mairon and Curumo were faster, knew these halls better and soon enough, they had the two cornered against a row of blue lockers.

“Now,” Mairon crooned and made to advance on them, but before he could, someone interrupted him. “Now you will repent.”

“Hey, what do you want with them,” he barked and two people stepped into Mairon’s and Curumo’s way, obscuring the goblins from view. They were both jocks, broad-shouldered and bearded, and towered a head over Curumo and Mairon. He knew the blond one, Eomer, an agriculture major, from a finance class they’d both taken as an elective, but he’d never seen the other man before. He was the one who’d spoken and wore a sports shirt of a team Mairon had never heard of. A white tree was their logo and their motto was written in a strange swirl of letters that looked almost Arabic.

“Just a friendly chat,” Mairon said through gritted teeth. “Not to worry.”

“That didn’t sound so friendly to me,” the guy growled and Eomer put a hand on his shoulder, nodding. His scowl deepened and his eyes burned, staring daggers into Mairon’s.

“Weren’t you that condescending guy at the back of Accounting 101 who called everyone peasants?” he asked and Mairon sighed inwardly. One bad day to haunt him. Or well, a whole semester of bad days, but who was counting anyway? Melkor had been abroad for that time and Mairon had suffered terribly.

“Why do you even care?” Mairon asked, and Curumo put a warning hand to his arm. It wasn’t unlikely that he’d seen these two beat someone up at some frat party before, but Mairon wasn’t intimidated by such mundane things as physical violence.

“Because they’re our friends,” the second jock growled, crossing his arms over his chest. It was hard not to laugh, these fully grown men proclaiming themselves friends of two troublemakers who weren’t even legally adults yet.

“Look, guys,” Curumo said quietly. “Merry and Pippin stole something very valuable from my friend here and he is rather upset about it.”

Eomer bared his teeth, but the other guy whirled around to stare at the two thieves in question who were huddled against the lockers, but silently giggling amongst themselves.

“Is this true?” he asked, and the tone of his voice implied he knew already. Helpless or not, they probably had a reputation for mischief-making.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” one of them said with a thick accent.

“You said it yourself,” the other added, “he is a condescending ass.”

“Boys.”

“Boromir.”

“Enough,” Mairon hissed and pushed through the two jocks and bore down on the freshmen, holding out his empty palm. “You give me back my ring or I will make your lives here a living nightmare. You can hire as many football players and wannabe wrestlers as you want, I am very good friends with the dean, I have more than enough money to bribe every professor in the state to bully you and my boyfriend will beat every last one of your bodyguards to a pulp. Is that clear?”

Merry and Pippin stared at him, their facial muscles contorting in a series of impossible expressions, torn between laughing and crying. They settled for blankness and, at last, Pippin handed over the ring. It was smudged with grease from his fingers and Mairon pulled out a linen handkerchief to polish it with.

“I’m sorry, they’re still not used to their actions having consequences,” Boromir sighed and Eomer nodded sternly.

“Whatever,” Mairon said with half a shrug and he stalked off the scene, leaving Curumo to deal with the polite formalities or whatever the situation demanded. He had his ring back, he could call Melkor to get him after all, he would get laid tonight while all these losers were busy with their parties and teenager friends and studying until their eyes bled. It was not ten minutes later that Mairon was comfortably tucked into Melkor’s Chevrolet, the heated seat warming his ass-cheeks.

“Have a nice day?” Melkor grumbled, not taking his eyes off the parking lot around them. Mairon leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of his beloved’s mouth.

“Nothing special,” he replied and leaned into the backrest. “Nothing special at all.” The ring glinted in the low-afternoon sun and everything was as it should be.

[admiralty-xfd]

#45 Hegal Place

There’s never a dull moment when Special Agent Fox Mulder is your neighbor.

written by @admiralty-xfd​ and @scullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy​

CHAPTER ONE- EINSTEIN

November 1993

Mulder watched Ellen Reardon tear the photograph with steady hands and coolly discard eight year old Cindy’s image into the fire. The glossy coating bubbled as the paper twisted and melted amidst the searing flames. To his left, he saw Scully take a deep breath, heard her swallow hard. Neither of them said anything beyond the necessary pleasantries, making their excuses as they awkwardly vacated the Reardon household for the final time.

Scully carefully navigated the steps down from the porch and cut across the lawn with a slow, defeated gait. Mulder headed to the driver side door without discussion.

He broke the silence as they headed towards the airport.

“She seemed awfully quick to dismiss the daughter she loved and raised for eight years, don’t you think?”

Scully dragged her eyes away from the hundred yard stare that had heretofore been aimed out of the passenger window, her elbow neatly tucked onto the door ledge. She turned her face towards him, thoughtfully slow, her pouted lips peeling away from the forefinger that had been pressed against them. She sighed and shrugged.

“Grief can manifest in a lot of different ways, Mulder. She’s still processing everything. She just found out her own child murdered her husband. We don’t know what she’s feeling.”

Mulder nodded regretfully. Scully returned her gaze to the passing view, crooking her finger beneath her nose now. The pout returned. Mulder knew this meant she was mulling something over.

“You ever think about having kids, Mulder?”

This was so unexpected he laughed. Not a loud laugh but an airy, shocked chuff. He did a double take to check whether or not she was serious. She turned to consider him again, her face calm, her eyes steady. She was serious. His cheeks rounded as he attempted to form a response.

“No, I can’t say I have ever thought about it, Scully. To be honest I don’t even know if I could keep a pet alive. I think it helps to pass that test first before you consider being responsible for other humans.”

They drove the rest of the way to the airport without speaking. It didn’t even occur to him to ask if she ever thought about the subject herself.

December, 1993

Mulder surreptitiously watched Scully slide the last of her papers into her briefcase and clip it shut. She lifted her winter coat over her shoulders, letting it hang open over her skirt suit as he busied himself peering at a set of negatives through a loupe.

“You going to be at home in a couple hours Mulder? I wanted to swing by. I, ah, I have a little something for you.”

He looked up from his light box with some surprise.

“A gift? For me?”

“Yeah,” Scully answered, letting out a shallow breath, her eyes darting off to the side, her chin tilting up. She fingered a coat button at her waist.

“A couple hours? Better give me three,” Mulder hedged, thinking of the places that might possibly be open past five p.m. on a Thursday night two days before Christmas, and where he could buy a suitable festive offering for Scully.

Some time later, he’d just finished hastily wrapping the best thing he’d been able to find at such short notice when he heard a soft knock at his apartment door. He tugged it open, still holding the scissors in one hand. Scully stood in the hallway with her arms behind her back and a slightly self-conscious look on her face.

“Come on in,” he motioned to her. “This is all very mysterious.”

Scully quirked a playful eyebrow at him as she stepped inside, crab-walking into the living room with her back turned away from him to keep the contents of her hands concealed.

“I didn’t wrap it,” she said, apologetically. She stood still, hesitating.

“That’s okay, Scully, I’ll let you make it up to me somehow.”

She stared at him for a few seconds then shook her head a little, seeming to remember why she had come. She pulled her right hand out from behind her hip and presented him with an empty glass bowl. He nodded in thanks, but couldn’t conceal the confusion that played across his brow.

“And, ah, this,” she added, producing a clear plastic bag filled with water, clutched in her left fist. In the center of the turgid offering floated a bright orange goldfish; its tail twitching from side to side, its mouth lazily bobbing open and shut. He took it and lifted it up to better catch the light.

“Carnival in town?” he joked, grinning. “How many targets did you have to shoot down to win this for me, Scully? Isn’t it cheating if you have a firearms certificate?”

She smiled back.

“It’s so you can practice keeping something alive. Pass your test before you consider any…. further responsibilities.”

Was she blushing, he wondered? He couldn’t properly tell because she hid her face from his peering gaze almost immediately, looking down as she reached into her overcoat pockets. She lifted out some fish flakes, a bag of brightly colored pebbles, and a slim paperback entitled Practical Fishkeeping: A Beginner’s Guide .

She rested the last of his gifts down on the coffee table and looked up at him with an awkward, tight little smirk. He stood there balancing the fish and the bowl, just holding her gaze and smiling. She blinked and looked down at the empty glass orb, suddenly reaching out to take it back.

“Let me fill this up for you,” she offered, swiftly walking off through the dining room and into the kitchen. He followed.

At the sink, she placed the bowl down and turned on the cold water. She motioned for him to come closer.

“The guy at the pet store said you’re supposed to half fill it with new water, and the other half with the water from the bag. But you should let this get to room temperature first, then float the baggie in it for a while before making the transfer.”

Scully shut off the faucet and lifted the bowl from the sink, the water gently swishing from side to side. She slid it towards the back of the kitchen counter, next to the knife block, and reached out to take the bag from Mulder’s grip, gently placing it where the bowl had just been sitting. She reached up to tear some paper towels off the roll that was suspended under the cupboards, wiping up a few drops that had escaped, then padded the damp sheets together and turned to toss them into the trash can.

Mulder watched this whole domestic performance with quiet awe. The way Scully moved about his kitchen with ease, confidently knowing where things belonged and happy to take charge of them, pleased him greatly. It made him feel more at home than he’d ever felt while alone in his own space.

He realized he was staring at her. Scully took a deep breath and looked away, her eyes skipping past him into the next room, drawn to the lumpy package sitting on the dining table. It was gift-wrapped in cheap, gaudy paper featuring snowmen dancing pas de deux with eerily satanic elves: the only roll they’d had left at the gas station where he’d stopped in desperation.

“Is that for me?” she queried, gently.

“Oh, yeah,” he confirmed, dashing over to pick it up. He held it out for her to take, and she thanked him as she did, tucking it under her arm.

“You’re not going to open it?” he asked.

“It’s not Christmas yet, Mulder,” she said, teasingly. “I’ll take it to my parents’ house and put it under the tree to open Christmas morning.”

“But I opened mine,” he countered. His mind flashed to the image of Scully unwrapping his gift in front of her parents and siblings before Christmas Day Mass. It was a wall mounted key rack topped by a cat figurine with beady little humanoid eyes banded across its face. He'd panic-bought it at the gas station car wash gift shop. Women liked cats, right? He cringed, second-guessing his hasty decision, but it was too late now.

“It’s a fish, Mulder. I couldn’t wrap a fish.”

“Okay,” he relented, regretfully. Scully’s family were going to think he was such an ass.

“Anyway, I should get going,” she said with a sigh. “My sister just told me my little brother announced he’s not coming home for the holidays. She’s working on him but I gotta call my mom and talk her off a ledge just in case.”

He nodded. Began walking her to the door. As he pulled it open for her he reached out two fingers and a thumb, gently tugging at the sleeve of her coat. She hadn’t even taken it off. She looked back at him.

“Thanks for the gift, Scully. It’ll be nice to have some company at home as well as in the office now.”

Scully smiled shyly, stepping into the hallway.

They both looked up at the sound of the elevator doors opening at the other end of the hallway. Three men stepped out and approached the apartment directly opposite Mulder’s.

Number forty-five. It had been unoccupied for weeks.

They made for an odd trio: Mulder’s balding African American building manager in a folksy blue checked shirt, starting up what sounded like sales patter as he fiddled with the lock; a tall, white, clean shaven formal type with a vaguely unnerved expression, a fussy silk tie and nary a hair out of place, and a cherubic Asian American man whose only facial definition was provided by a thin line of beard along his jawline, dressed down in a chunky woollen sweater and cargo pants. The latter two waited patiently as the key proved sticky and awkward to turn, the super rattling the handle with some frustration. They turned their faces in languid unison to return Mulder and Scully’s curious gazes.

The taller man nodded upwards briefly in greeting, his silvered coif catching the light from the overhead bulbs. First Mulder, then Scully, returned the gesture with polite smiles and nods of their own, and the shorter man grinned, the rounded apples of his cheeks shining as he tilted his head downwards, looking directly at Mulder for a few seconds through notably long eyelashes.

The super got the door open, disappearing inside as he announced that the unit was available immediately, but fussy tie and chunky sweater lingered for a moment in the hallway, their eyes roaming over the length of Scully. Or Mulder. Or perhaps both. After a few seconds, the taller man, the one with the greying hair, softly reached for the elbow of his companion, looping his arm around the crook of it and tugging him through the open door, leading the way.

Just before he vanished from sight, the younger man lifted his hand and fluttered his fingers in their direction, mouthing but not verbalizing a quick, flirtatious “’bye.”

Mulder and Scully looked at one another in amused bewilderment. Scully raised her eyebrows and tilted her chin.

“New neighbors, huh?” Her eyes sparkled momentarily.

Mulder nodded, commenting, “Guess so,” while emitting a breathy chuckle.

They moved on.

She shoved her hands deep into her pockets, her left elbow squeezing her present against her ribs. “Okay, well, you should avoid feeding the fish for the first twenty-four hours while it settles in. And keep the lights dim.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” he grinned.

Scully looked at him a bit playfully. “So… are you gonna give it a name?”

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He felt a bit put on the spot. “Well, I don’t know Scully,” he hedged. “I’ll have to give it some consideration. Naming is a very important part of the pet keeping process.”

Scully’s eyes danced with the matching grin she was only half suppressing. After a beat, she spoke. “You can do it, Mulder, I believe in you.”

He bowed his head in gratitude, his hand gliding down the edge of the door.

Scully allowed herself to give him a satisfied smile, then turned on one heel and swept down the hall. At the elevator, she pushed the button before turning back.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she offered, with a shy smile.

“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he said in a low voice, leaning into the doorframe.

Well past midnight, Mulder reached the final page of the fishkeeping manual and closed the book. He reached over and placed it on the coffee table, turning onto his side ready for sleep. He lifted his head one last time, watching the little orange molly now happily exploring the confines of its bowl on top of the chest of drawers in the apartment entryway.

“Hey, Einstein,” he murmured into the gloom. “What do you say we get you a partner?”

Continue reading here!

[cake-writes]

Point

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Polyamory

Word Count: 3k

Requested by @thorman-barnes​​: What about Stucky having a crush on one of the newest Avengers (reader)?

I figured I should probably format it properly since it’s longer than my usual drabbles. Enjoy!

The first thing Bucky noticed about you was your smile, which lit up your face in such a way that the breath caught in his throat. Despite the stark, fluorescent lighting in the hallway, you were gorgeous, and the laugh that followed was even more so as you shoved Sam in the shoulder with a certain playful familiarity. 

You were friends, it looked like.

That was when Sam spotted him standing there like an idiot, and he introduced you with a grin – prefixed your name with ‘Captain,’ which made you snort. It wasn’t very ladylike, but Bucky didn’t care. He thought it was cute. It suited you.

“Come on, Sam, it’s ‘Major,’ now. Haven’t these good ol’ boys taught you a little respect?” you teased, nodding over to Bucky who was apparently one of the 'good ol' boys' you were talking about. Sam made a show of rolling his eyes and despite your casual demeanour with him, you addressed Bucky a bit more kindly, “Sergeant Barnes, right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stammered.

Smooth.

It caught him off guard, someone using his title from the Army. All anyone called him these days was the Winter Soldier, but not you. No, instead you directed that beautiful smile right at him and held out your hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Sergeant.”

“Bucky,” he corrected, finally regaining his bearings a little as he shook your hand. Your handshake was surprisingly firm, much firmer than he would have expected from a woman. Then again, women these days were far more empowered than he was used to, not that that was a bad thing. It was just a new dynamic for him to adjust to along with everything else.

“Well then, Bucky,” you said, eyes twinkling with mischief, “You wanna help me teach our boy here some manners?”

Oh, he liked you already.

The first thing Steve noticed about you was your ass.

He didn’t mean to, honest, he didn't – just happened to round the corner into the plane hangar at the exact same time you bent over to pick up the file you’d dropped. He certainly wasn’t the type to really look at, let alone ogle a woman until he felt some kind of romantic way about her, but Christ, did you have a fantastic ass. The dark blue catsuit on your body almost seemed tailored to fit, enhancing every single one of your curves.

Any other day he would have helped you collect the strewn papers, well-mannered as he usually was, but he couldn’t help but stare. You must have just gotten back from a mission if the torn fabric on your thigh was any indication; not to mention he could smell the gunpowder residue on your clothing, coupled with the slightest hint of your sweat and inwardly he cursed his enhanced senses for it. You smelled so good.

When you stood back up again, papers in hand, you spun around on your heel and made to leave the hangar. The little gold oak leaf on your collar glinted in the muted sunlight: a Major, then, but he didn’t know what branch. Air Force, maybe. You were wearing blue. What drew his attention away from the fact that you technically outranked him was your hair – glossy, just like your lips, he found, when they curled into a smirk.

You’d caught him staring.

His face was beet red before he even had a chance to introduce himself. Not that he really needed to, because he was in uniform and you were already holding your hand out for a handshake. He didn’t fail to hear the amusement in your voice when you offered him your name.

“Steve,” he responded, swallowing thickly when he realized exactly how small your hand was in his, how nice it felt. “Steve Rogers.”

“I’ve heard good things about you, Captain.” The way your eyes trailed down his body for the briefest of seconds before they snapped back up to his made him nervous, but not so much as when you added, “Very good things.”

At that, his throat went bone dry.

To say that the mission was awkward would have been an understatement.

It was unplanned, a hostage situation: rescue a group of rookie SHIELD agents who had royally fucked up. The only people on hand were the three of you, unless you counted Bruce, who was in the middle of a time-sensitive experiment in the lab and he really didn’t want a week’s worth of meticulous work to go down the drain.

In your opinion, the mission should have taken priority, but you told him that you’d manage somehow. If nothing else, Bruce Banner could pull off some serious puppy dog eyes. You didn't realize until after you got in the elevator that you'd screwed yourself.

You found Steve and Bucky in the gym. That was where they usually were, either there or in the kitchen because their metabolisms were ridiculous and they were in a perpetual state of eating. You’d been working with them for about half a year now, and you still didn’t understand how they managed to get anything else done.

“We’ve got a mission,” you said abruptly, throwing a couple of gym towels at them.

Steve caught his at the last minute with an easy, “Thanks, doll,” a pet name that never failed to make your cheeks flush. You were sure he did it on purpose, because there was always a distinct twinkle in his eyes that let you know he’d noticed your reaction to it.

Just like now.

Bucky’s caught him right in the face, however, because he’d been in the middle of a deadlift and his hands were occupied. He dropped the barbell with an annoyed grunt and pulled the towel off of his head, giving you a look – the look, the one that conveyed exactly how much he appreciated your bullshit. Hint: he didn’t, but the playful smile on his lips made your heart warm.

That was how you ended up on the Quinjet with them. You’d been on missions with them before, of course, but never just the three of you. There was always at least one other person there, or just one of them. Never like this.

It was awkward as hell because you’d been attracted to Steve and Bucky since you met them, and as obvious as you tried to be about it, they just wouldn’t take the hint despite how much they flirted right back.

Steve was subtle. He snuck glances at you every now and then, called you ‘doll’ and ‘sweetheart’ so casually, slipped sweet little notes into your duffel bag right before a (planned) mission. Sometimes, you found them and they lifted your spirits. Other times, you found them at the worst possible moment, like a couple weeks ago when Tony yanked it out of your hands and read it out loud to everyone on the jet, the two of them included.

You didn’t talk to Tony for a week after that. Or Steve. It was embarrassing as hell, passing notes back and forth like the two of you were in high school when you were supposed to be a professional. You still had yet to live it down.

Of course, his notes never contained anything of real substance. He liked to compliment you – your hair, a new blouse, the bracelet you’d bought yourself for your birthday. You blushed anyway. He also liked to remind you to be careful, or to try out one of the new fighting techniques he’d taught you.

Steve was sweet.

Bucky was just as stupidly obvious as you were. He was handsy with you; liked to touch you, feel you, know you were there, especially after a difficult mission or when either of you had a particularly gruelling day and you absolutely loved it.

Bucky was by no means good at giving massages, but he liked to try, and to his credit he usually managed to work the soreness out of your neck and shoulders. When you returned the favour, he always played into your hands like putty. Made you feel a little proud, actually – proud and turned on, which was a nightmare of a combination in such a relaxed atmosphere.

You were always so relaxed with him.

You often found him in the middle of the night in the living room, kept awake by what you assumed were the horrors of his past and just as often, you stayed with him until the early hours of the morning. More than once, he’d fallen asleep with his head in your lap while you threaded your fingers through his hair.

Bucky put on a tough front, but you knew deep down that he was just as sweet as Steve.

Needless to say, the whole situation was incredibly frustrating.

You were playing a dangerous game, though, and you knew it. They were best friends. Nothing would come between them, not even you as much as you desperately wanted to. That was one reason you never made a move. Another was because they’d been raised in a different time, when it was the man’s job to make the first move. As dumb as it sounded, you didn’t want to emasculate them.

So you made your intentions obvious as hell, but still no dice.

It was a quick flight. You briefed them on the way, running point on the operation because you were the one who’d received the phone call. You'd led plenty of missions in the past, of course, but not here and not with them. Awkward. Nerve-wracking. Uncomfortable. That's what it was.

Even so, it went without a hitch. The four agents you rescued were beyond grateful, but somehow, the flight back was even worse.

One in particular wanted to take you out to dinner as a thank you. You politely declined at least three times, but he just wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer until you made a clear point of taking the plane off autopilot to get away from him. Not only were you way out of his league (not to toot your own horn), but it was late, you were tired, and you already had someone else in your heart.

Two someones.

The Quinjet was tense and quiet until you finally arrived back to the compound. The agents were too busy licking their wounds, so to speak; Steve and Bucky were having a hushed discussion at the back of the plane; and you, well, you were in a mood.

It pissed you off that he hadn’t taken your ‘no’ the first time. How disrespectful. You were an officer in the United States Air Force, for fuck’s sake, and you deserved to be treated with respect. He was just some low-level agent, and it was entirely his fault that you had to sacrifice your Friday night.

Dick.

You worked yourself up so much by the time you got back that you missed the sidelong glance the two boys gave you before they helped the group of agents off the plane and to the medical ward.

You’d be the last to disembark. Because you took point on the mission, it was your responsibility to ensure that everything was just as you’d found it: full tank of fuel, first aid kit replenished, floors clean and tidy. You’d seen Steve run through the checklist plenty of times. Bucky, too. Now it was your turn.

Grumbling to yourself, you dropped some gauze and bandage wrappers into the trash bag in your hands. The agents had been in pretty bad shape, even him, so much that you were going to have to mop the floors after because they’d bled all over the place. Fantastic.

After a quick tidy, you slung the first aid kit – duffel, really – over your shoulder and went to the cabinet in the hangar where the extra supplies were kept. You had to bend over and dig for some of the things you needed, specific sizes of gauze and certain lengths of bandages but you finally found them; and, when you shut the cabinet doors, you nearly jumped out of your own skin.

“Jesus Christ,” you swore, throwing a packet of gauze at Bucky. “Don’t do that!”  

This time, he caught it easily. “What’s got your panties in a knot?”

“Nothing,” you told him, but the angry way you shoved the supplies back into the kit made it pretty obvious that you were lying.

“Sure doesn’t seem like nothing,” Bucky commented dryly.

You frowned at him before you held out your hand, palm facing up. “Give me that.”

His brows rose in amusement. “I’ll give it to you if you tell me.”

What a child.

You rolled your eyes and went to snatch it away yourself, but he held it over your head, taunting you with it. Now, you weren’t exactly tall, but Bucky sure was. He was tall and strong and when you jumped for it, he just held it up even higher.

“God damn it, Bucky,” you cursed. “Give it here.”

“Ask nicely,” he teased, lowering it so that it was within your reach once more.

You groaned. “I’m so not in the mood for this.”

But then you went for it again anyway – except this time, you didn’t realize that he’d brought it much closer to himself until you landed. You wound up having to catch yourself with one hand on his shoulder, otherwise you probably would have smacked heads or something equally as stupid.

“You’re so predictable,” he said, then, and you weren’t sure whether to huff indignantly or ask what he meant.

Inside, though, your heart was pounding, not because of the jumping but because of your close proximity. Something was different. This wasn’t like that relaxing atmosphere on the sofa, either in the middle of the night or with his thumbs massaging deep circles into your shoulders. There was tension, and a hell of a lot of it.

You could feel his body heat through his tac jacket – he always ran hot, and so did Steve – and you felt your cheeks start to burn. You were way too close.

When you went to step away, however, his free arm slid around your waist and he pulled you closer, flush against him. Your breath hitched when you looked up into his eyes: such a beautiful pale blue, normally, but darker than usual.

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly, fingers curling instinctively in the material of his jacket.

“Kissin’ you.”

You didn’t have time to respond before his lips were hot on yours, and you absolutely melted against him. Your other hand came up to grasp at his jacket in a desperate attempt to pull him even closer as his talented mouth worked yours, sending a rush of heat through you straight to your core.

When your hair was gently brushed to the side, it didn’t register at first; only when another pair of lips pressed a kiss to your neck did you suddenly break away, eyes jumping between the two of them in alarm.

“What’s happening right now?” you asked, like an idiot.

“We saw someone flirting with our girl,” Steve told you, one of his large hands slowly sliding down your spine to the small of your back, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “Didn’t like it a whole lot, did we, Buck?”

“Not one bit.” Bucky released you, then, and gave you a gentle push toward Steve. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be shy.”

You stared at Bucky for a moment, flabbergasted, before you finally turned to Steve. The problem was that you did feel shy all of a sudden. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because it was a lot to take in all at once, after you’d convinced yourself that everything had all been an exercise in futility.

Then Steve smiled at you -- sweet and genuine, just like always -- and pulled your hand into his, giving you enough confidence to bury your fingers in his hair and bring him down for a kiss. It was passionate, full of months of pent-up frustration just like the one you’d shared with Bucky. Your body was on fire, burning with need and desire and everything you’d always wanted from the two of them.

When Steve pulled away, you looked up at him in a daze.

“Guess you didn’t read my note,” he said softly.

Your voice was breathy when you spoke again, “What note?”

“I asked you to hang around so we could talk. It’s probably still in your bag.”

Bucky snorted. “Why would she check her bag before she got back to her room?”

That was the same question you were about to ask, but when Steve shot him a pointed look, it all clicked into place.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you said incredulously, taking a purposeful step away so that your back was pressed up against Bucky’s chest instead – the very same Bucky who slid his arms around you protectively, chuckling a little into your hair.

Steve’s face immediately flushed at your tone.

“I-- I didn’t mean--” he stammered. “I meant for privacy!”

You laughed at that, taking Bucky’s metal hand into one of yours and holding your free one out to Steve. It felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest; either that, or you were floating on air. Possibly both. “Well, I guess we’ll need some privacy, then, won’t we?”

The only other time you’d seen Steve’s face so beet red was when the first time you met him, and it was just as endearing then as it was now.

He was sweet. Bucky was, too. 

They were yours. 

Both of them.

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

Why So Jaded? Chapter 4

Chapter 4! In case you missed it, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3. FFN, AO3

Why So Jaded

Chapter 4

Sunday night Violet took the new medication according to the new prescriptions on the bottles and noticed if she took it as directed, it would last her about two months. Which she sadly figured she would be using up in half that time. But at least at first, she was going to follow the prescription.

Monday morning came and Violet came into work with a cheerful smile and more pep in her step than ever and looking particularly breathtaking.

"Don't you look stunning this morning." Phillip praised when he saw her come into his office that morning, her hair was down and in curls and her makeup was done exceptionally beautifully and her attire was more colorful and vibrant and flattering too.

"Well thanks to you, I had a great weekend and the new sleep aids and painkillers are working really well, like exquisitely well. I got a whole, glorious twelve hours of sleep last night, I felt like I was ancient for going to bed at seven pm but I needed it and woke up refreshed and invigorated and I feel great so bravo to the medical team, they are onto some winners as far as meds, this is my favorite batch yet." She appraised happily which got Phillip to smile gratefully and appreciatively and filled him with relief and happiness that she responded so well to the change. Maybe once she was on these meds for a little while and saw the marked improvement, she wouldn't kill him for going behind her back and using Mr. Pine to achieve the breakthrough.

"So what do we have for Mr. Pine this morning?" She asked as she got a new tablet and got it ready to receive new data since the last one was broken beyond repair.

"Uh nothing new. He is working on a new project though that he got over the weekend that he's coincidentally needing to use the medical lab for. So he's actually in the medical lab right now." Phillip carefully and vaguely informed her.

"Oh, ok." Violet shrugged, not thinking anything of it.

"Well it's almost nine, I better check in with him, see if he needs anything. I'll see you later." She offered before she uncharastically kissed his cheek sweetly.

"See you later Handsome." She offered before she left as Phillip practically lit up with excitement. Oh whatever she was on, she needed to keep on it because that felt incredibly genuinely affectionate to him and he was over the moon. Operation Wife was on!

Violet felt so amazing, she felt invigorated, refreshed and not a hint of pain in anything. She could even wear these heels and not feel uncomfortable in the least. She didn't feel like her senses were dulled at all, if anything they were sharper than they were before.

"Good morning Dr. Gjersoe, Mr. Pine." She greeted cheerfully as she came in as Dr. Gjersoe immediately buried her schematics so she wouldn't see them.

"Good morning." They mirrored as Buddy was impressed she still didn't want to kill him this morning.

"I came to check in this morning Mr. Pine, do you have a moment?" She asked thoughtfully, wanting him to have some privacy from everyone else in the medical lab.

"Uh, yeah, sure." He confirmed as he gave Dr. Gjersoe a meaningful glance before followed her out of the lab and into a private office nearby.

"So...do you still want to kill me this morning?" Buddy blurted out which made Violet look at him like he was crazy before she laughed.

"What? Oh, oh because of Friday, no, no, don't worry about it. I actually need to apologize to you because you were just...being a decent human being by showing some sympathy and I was the one who was out of line and I'm sorry." She genuinely offered and it was his turn to look at her like she was crazy.

"Uh...what?" Buddy asked, completely dumbfounded.

"Ok, let's clear the air." She suggested before she did something with the tablet that shut off the cameras and listening devices in the office so they could truly talk privately.

"Ok, so Leslie sent me the audio and video of the conversation you had with Mr. Sebastian after I left on Friday and I watched and listened to it several times. You're incredibly perceptive and I believe that you were being genuine with Mr. Sebastian when you were talking to him and I believe you. If you say that you harbor no ill will towards myself and my family and by the sounds of it, you've been to therapy yourself to come to the realization that you by all accounts were unbalanced and super obsessed with my father which in turn led to some really bad decisions on your part and you regret it and obviously I see some guilt and shame in your eyes even now. And the fact that you put up no argument making me your heir apparent. Tells me that you must have changed in the decade or so since we were last in each other's presence. And a decade can be a long time and a lot has changed since then for both of us and our circumstances are different. And when you told me that Syndrome died that day in the jet turbine, I didn't want to believe you but after that conversation you had with Mr. Sebastian, and if you will swear on Tali - that Syndrome will never, ever get resurrected and the only person I will or anyone else ever interact with from now on is just...Buddy Pine. Then that's all I n\eed. We're both adults and professionals. I believe in giving people enough rope to hang themselves on. So what do you say? Will you just be Buddy Pine, a colleague?" She offered her hand to him to shake.

"I will, And I swear on Natalia Octavia that Syndrome or any other Super persona I could ever invent will never see the light of day." Buddy swore before he shook her hand which got Violet to smile fondly at him which he soon mirrored.

"Good, also word of advice, never, ever imply that Mr. Sebastian has super powers again. The last few who have- are now six feet under. Also don't ever make any comments about my relationship with Mr. Sebastian either, don't hint or poke or question or anything to either him or myself or anyone else, because again, he's very touchy about it. I'm surprised he didn't seriously retaliate against you for it, at least yet anyway. You got lucky, don't press your luck again. Got it?" She urged him.

"Understood." Buddy nodded in agreement. "So, how are the new meds working out?" Buddy asked hopefully.

"How did you know I was given new meds?" Violet frowned as she folded her arms in front of herself.

"Uh...you...you said you saw the conversation, you didn't see Mr. Sebastian escorted me to the medical lab?" Buddy questioned.

"I...I did not. Are you telling me that you're working on my own medical issues? That my new medication...came from you?" Violet asked as she tried to resist the panic starting to whirl in her chest but despite the initial spike in anxiousness, it never grew from there. If anything- she was able to keep it stable instead of being overpowered by it.

"He didn't tell you?" Buddy asked with a wince and a grimace.

"No, not yet." Violet took a deep breath and with a calming breath and refocus, she was able to fully regain her composure and push down her anxiety which soon dissipated as she was once again, able to look at the bigger picture.

"Ok, so this is your new medical project and why you needed to be in the medical lab over the weekend and from now on, of course, of course , why didn't I put it together." She muttered as she took a step back and took a moment to come to terms with it before she took another step forward and faced him and fixed him with a questioning look.

"Can you cure me?" Violet asked.

"In theory, yes. But curing you while keeping all of your powers intact yet freeing you of the crippling pain is the biggest challenge. However it's a challenge I'm very familiar with. Thankfully progress has been made since I last tried to tackle it and there are new compounds being found and tested all the time. All I need is time." Buddy professed.

"How much time?"

"Could be weeks, could be months, maybe a year or two at the latest. But in order for it to be effective I and the other doctors need you to be completely honest with us about what's happening and what's hurting and what side effects you're feeling and experiencing and what's been working and what hasn't. We all want to help. And in order for us to help best, we have to know more than what you've given us previously." Buddy pleaded because Dr. Gjersoe had told him that Violet was a difficult patient because she was so dodgy and mistrusting and super vague in her answers.

"Look I completely understand your need for secrecy, I built an empire on it ok? And I realize that as a Super, secrecy keeps you alive and keeps you safe right?" Buddy questioned and Violet had to nod in agreement with that reasoning.

"But like you've said, if you can just trust us enough to help, give us just enough rope to hang ourselves on so we can help, that's all we want. We don't need to know your life story or anything. We just need to know things like side effects and effectiveness. And we both know you're closest to Mr. Sebastian and he's been our go between but he doesn't always know what and how to ask to get the answers we need." Buddy added.

"OK, ok, fine. I give. Just enough to hang you all on." Violet caved before she re-swipped the tablet to reverse the 'lockdown' mode before they left the room and went back to the medical suite as Violet let them question and poke and prod her all they needed to and answered their questions to the degree she felt comfortable with and what they needed and when they were done she left and returned to Phillip's office.

"Hey, you were gone a while, everything ok?" Phillip noted and the smile that Violet gave him told him that she was far from pleased. It was her 'I'm going to kick your ass' smile and it gave him dread.

"Yeah, I was in the medical wing letting Dr. Gjersoe and his team know how the new meds were working out." She answered as she came and handed him her tablet.

"By the way, I had a very enlightening discussion with Mr. Pine about what happened over the weekend and why exactly he's in the medical wing." Violet leveled as she folded her arms under her chest and popped her hip and fixed him with a look that made him feel two inches tall as Phillip pursed his lips and had a guilty expression.

"So, what you're going to do- is give me the same clearance you have, so that I can keep an eye on this situation myself because you should have asked me about bringing Mr. Pine into this and the only reason I'm not handing you your ass over this is because I know that you're just as desperate for a solution as I am. And then you are never going to circumvent me again. Because if you do- contracts be damned, I will be gone faster than you can blink and I will disappear and you will have to spend every penny you have ten times over in an effort to find me again and you still won't be able to. This situation - will never repeat or so help me God, I will go full supervillain on your ass and there will be nowhere- where you can hide from me. I hunt and kill for a living remember? And I'm the best there is. You're lucky that I am able to see the bigger picture this time and see your intentions, although good- the way you handled this was wrong. Otherwise, I would already be gone. Also, you will not be retaliating against anyone for this because this was all on you and you can't hold this against Mr. Pine because I didn't give him a choice other than to tell me the truth. Third. I have decided to give Mr. Pine just enough rope to hang himself on along with everyone in the medical wing but I need you to know and understand, that I am holding you personally responsible for what happens next with my healthcare. Are we clear?" She proposed.

"Yes." Phillip confirmed as he went ahead and did as she demanded of him with her tablet, grateful this wasn't nearly as bad as he figured it would be.

"Good, now, let's move forward. There's the expo in Vegas in a few weeks, I think we should go and bring Mr. Pine with us- I can get him a good handler and we can announce to the world that IRize and SEB Industries are collaborating, get some good press for both of you. And if in the next few weeks, Mr. Pine proves himself trustworthy. We put a deterrent bracelet and a pin on him to keep him from running and we'll get him a handler. And if he does well there, then we can take him to Hong Kong and Tokyo for those expos in a few months. It would keep him from getting too stir crazy." She suggested.

"I think that might work." Phillip agreed.

"Good." Violet smiled victoriously before she took her tablet back and went to the tech department to figure out what could be used for her ventures and made a few orders before she went back to her office to find an appropriate handler. They had to be trustworthy, competent, intelligent, strong and versatile as she narrowed down her search to a few options.

"Good evening Mr. Pine." Violet greeted when she came into his lab for her evening check in.

"Good evening Ms. Parr." Buddy mirrored as he came over and put the cookies he had made for them on the island she liked to do their check ins at. He noticed she tended to stay longer and actually chit chat when he had snacks for her. Today was a cookie day he felt as she happily took a cookie as a peace offering.

"So, do you have anything outstanding that you wish to report?" Violet began before she bit into the cookie and practically melted in her spot. She secretly thought it was awesome that Buddy not only could cook decently well, but could also bake and was surprisingly very self sufficient. He did all his own laundry and dishes and cooking and kept his space pretty clean which always impressed her because Phillip was a master in the boardroom- but completely useless in a domestic setting and she doubted he even knew where his dry-cleaners was on a map, let alone what clothes needed to be washed vs. dry cleaned.

"Other than the medical lab is making you a three to six month supply of your current medication that should be ready in a few days, no." He answered.

"Awesome." Violet smiled happily as she notated that.

"So, I have a proposition for you." She began as she got a stool and sat down on it as Buddy took her cue and got on his own stool on the other side of the island facing her as he got a cookie himself.

"Ms. Parr, I'm flattered but what would Mr. Sebastian think if he knew a young pretty thing like you was propositioning an old man like me?" Buddy teased as he pressed a hand to his chest as he pretended to be scandalized which got Violet to laugh which in turn got him to chuckle. Pleased he could make her laugh.

"I walked right into that." Violet realized as she just shook her head.

"Anyway- so, on account that you appear to be very settled in, to the point you are already completely unpacked and you've sorted your tools and rearranged your living space- twice. I suspect that you are already showing signs of becoming a little stir crazy." Violet ventured.

"Dang it, I was hoping it wasn't that noticeable." Buddy murmured as he snapped his fingers sarcastically. God she was especially gorgeous today, he was practically swooning. He could smell the products she used in her hair and perfume she sprayed that morning as it lingered on her person. It was like someone brought a bouquet of flowers into an operating room because the lab he liked to keep clean, sanitized and sterilized. And while she was a Super, she brought a human element to this environment that he appreciated.

"Well, I may have a solution for you. So as you know, there is a tech expo in Vegas in a few weeks that IRize was supposed to have been invited to go to. I suggested to Mr. Sebastian for you to come with us and we can make an announcement of the collaboration." She began.

"What's the catch? Cause there's always a catch with something like this." Buddy asked with a puzzled frown.

"The catch is you will be wearing something like this the whole time." She said as she pulled the watch out of her pocket and put it on the counter and slid it to him before he picked it up and looked it over and resisted the urge to take it apart.

"Think of it like a shock collar for a dog to stay in an invisible fence. You will technologically tethered to your handler. But it would let you out of here and give you a tiny bit more freedom and hopefully you won't feel too stir crazy. And if that goes well and you don't hang yourself on that length of rope, then you can get another length of rope when could go to Hong Kong in a few months." She revealed to him.

"Would you be my handler?" Buddy asked hopefully.

"No, I'm already Mr. Sebastian's handler, I don't pull double duty, neither you or him could ever pay me enough." Violet smiled smugly.

"Oh come on, I would behave, I promise." Buddy vowed.

"Yeah I'm sure you would. But I can't say the same for Mr. Sebastian. My hands are already full if not threatening to overflow with just him. So I will be getting a handler for you." Violet maintained.

"So, all I need from you- is your word not to run or try to escape or make any S.O.S signals or anything like that, also a script will be provided to you for all press you would have and if you would need any new attire for this trip, that can also be arranged." She offered.

"And a haircut please." Buddy proposed as he ran his fingers through is hair, noting how it could use a trim.

"That can be arranged as well." Violet nodded as she made notes about it.

"The suit shop and tailor I like to use the most is Black Orchid and they will need at least two weeks to create your suits, would you like your haircut then or would you prefer to have it right before you leave?" Violet inquired.

"It can get cut then, might as well do it all at once while we're out." Buddy decided.

"Ok. Now for this particular outing, when we get your suits measured and ordered, I will be your handler and you will have your own security detail who will be armed with live rounds and you will be wearing a deterrent as well that will be tethered to me. Meaning you leave my side any other reason other than to relieve yourself, by a distance of more than fifty feet and at the least- you'll lose a limb, at the most- it will kill you. Do you understand?" Violet warned him evenly.

"Yes Ma'am." Buddy nodded in agreement.

"Great, now, what day this week would you prefer to go?" Violet asked between bites of her cookie.

"Any day that works for you." Buddy answered.

"Let's go Wednesday, give those tailors an extra few days on those suits." Violet proposed.

"Sounds great." Buddy grinned.

Buddy was absolutely giddy for the opportunity to go on an outing, let alone with Violet, he didn't care if a hundred henchmen joined them. He had to stay within fifty feet of her. Hell he would happily stay within five. The closer the better.

Wednesday morning Violet along with only two henchmen arrived at 9:15 a.m.

"Good morning Mr. Pine, are you ready to go?" She asked as she came in with two henchmen trailing her.

"Yes." Buddy answered as he came out of the 'apartment' section of his lab. Dressed and ready to go.

"Awesome. Before we go, there are a few things we need to go over. First- this is Mr. Leland and Mr. Nelson they will be our security detail, they will protect us while we're out but they will not hesitate to rock your shit if you step out of line." Violet informed him.

"Ok." Buddy nodded, amused at her choice of words.

"Also this is one of the tethers." She said as she presented him with the watch before Buddy took the one he was already wearing off and presented his wrist to her so she could put it on before she did, locking it with her thumb print on the face of the watch as it sized itself to his wrist and locked itself into his biometrics.

"And this is the other." Violet said as she took a pin from the same box in as the watch since it was with the watch and matched it style and fastened it to his shirt.

"The pin is your own passkey in the building." Violet informed him.

"Snazzy." Buddy appraised as he looked at it appreciatively which got Violet to snort a laugh and him to grin a little wider.

"OK, the next order of business is the safety protocol. If at any point our safety is compromised or something is going down or sideways, we're being ambushed or there's an assassination attempt or anything like that or even in the occurrence of someone imposter-ing myself or you or anyone else- there's a safety word I will use to positively identify you and everyone else. So I need you to think of a word that you can say quickly and easily to make sure that you're you." Violet urged him.

"Ok, what's the safe word?" Buddy asked.

"Twatwaffle." Violet informed him which got Buddy to bust out laughing.

"What? Of all the words in all the languages, our lives could be in danger and you're going to yell 'twatwaffle'?" Buddy asked incredulously. "You're serious? You're being serious right now?" Buddy prodded.

"Yeah, it has saved our collective asses repeatedly because everyone tries to think of really "cool" names to use that no one remembers in the heat of the moment. But in a life or death situation, you need the ludicrous and the unexpected but memorable to save your bacon. So when and if I ever have to use the "Twatwaffle" protocol. What will be your response? Because again, Mr. Nelson and Mr. Leland will also need to know it to make sure you are you and not an imposter or that I'm not an imposter." Violet maintained.

"Jesus, ok. Uh, if you're going to yell 'twatwaffle' I guess I could reply with Shmoke, like 'would you like a shmoke and a pancake?." Buddy replied because his brain couldn't think of anything else.

"Shmoke it is." Violet nodded as she put that in with a grin.

"OK, now we can go." Violet said as she then put the tablet into her bag and turned and left and walked out of there with Buddy walking only a step behind her with Mr. Nelson and Mr. Leland a step behind him before they went down the elevator to the SUV where Mr. Leland and Mr. Nelson opened the car doors for Violet and Buddy to get into the backseat before Mr. Leland got in the drivers side and Mr. Nelson got in the passenger side and they went to Black Orchid which was the best suit shop and tailor's in the city while Violet had an extra specialist to come in for the suit fittings.

"Miss Parr, always a pleasure to have you here." The shop owner Mr. Sudwar greeted as he came and shook her hand and kissed her cheeks as she did the same with a sweet adoring smile.

"Mr. Sudwar, it's always a pleasure to be here, especially when it's with you." Violet replied charmingly.

"Is Mr. Sebastian needing anything?" He asked.

"Not today, this is his new dear friend and close colleague though, Mr. Pine, and it is him that we are fitting out today under Mr. Sebastian's suggestion and highest recommendation." Violet introduced.

"Any friend and colleague of Mr. Sebastian's is one of mine. What can I do for you Mr. Pine?" He asked hopefully.

"The works." Violet answered for Buddy.

"Oh, well then right this way." Mr. Sudwar ushered Buddy before another man came to stand next to Violet.

"Mademoiselle." He greeted.

"Benny, thank you so much for coming on such short notice. How are you?" Violet greeted as she gave him a hug.

"I'm doing well. Always a pleasure to hear from you." He answered.

"Oh good, so I have a favor to ask- in three and a half weeks, Mr. Pine will be accompanying Mr. Sebastian and myself to an expo in Vegas and possibly Tokyo and Hong Kong a few months after that. So I need to have the same precautions and safety features on Mr. Pine's suits that Mr. Sebastian does. Because while Mr. Sebastian is my asset, Mr. Pine is Mr. Sebastian's so therefore he is mine as well. And I need to make sure that while we're vulnerable in the public, Mr. Pine won't be that exposed." Violet specified with a meaningful look.

"I can make that happen, but for the time frame, I'll need a 15% increase in my usual fee." Benny proposed.

"Make it twenty. It's all on Mr. Sebastian's dime anyway." Violet insisted with a flip of her hand.

"You got it." Benny nodded as he brought up a card reader and Violet got Phillip's business credit card out and swiped it before he got her a receipt and handed it to her.

"Thank you Benny, we should get lunch soon, bring the family, I haven't seen Annie and Maddox in forever." She suggested.

"Name the time and place." Benny urged.

"Anabel's', say noon tomorrow?" Violet suggested.

"It's a date, we'll be there." Benny grinned before he left and got his own materials and went back into the work shop part of the shop to work with the tailors just as Buddy was put into his first suit as Mr. Sudwar made his measurements and suggestions for the look of suit that would look best on Buddy, make him appear taller than he was because Buddy was on the shorter, stockier side as Violet came into the room where Buddy was up on the podium to appraise him herself, tilting her head to the side and noting how fair he was along with the shade of orangish red his hair was and made the mental notes of what suit colors would compliment him best.

"Miss Parr? What are your thoughts?" Mr. Sudwar asked as he also took notes of what she seemed to be drawn to on the fabric swatches before she brought them over to them and held them up to Buddy and Buddy was struck by how thoughtful Violet was being as she picked the perfect colors to compliment him and how she was already up to date with all the trends as she then made sure he would have all the shirts and ties he would ever need in a lifetime as she went through the place with a fine toothed comb and found all kinds of little gems to make Buddy shine like a star and Buddy was supremely flattered as he simply let her do as she pleased and always agreed with her suggestions. Because her taste was exquisite and flawless and he found it was sentimental that she went through so much trouble to make sure he looked good. If he had the opportunity, he would have reached out to Edna to create Violet a wardrobe of gowns and whatever else she wanted, if only it would match all of this.

And by the time they were done, they went out to lunch, Buddy eternally grateful it was actual fine dining and not take out. After lunch, she took him to Vers, a male spa that Mr. Sebastian and his staff and most of the male members of his company also frequented. Where Buddy also got not just a haircut but manicure and pedicure and even a massage and a facial which he hadn't gotten in what felt like forever and when they were done with that, they all went out to dinner. At a proper high end steak house and Buddy happily gorged himself on wagyu beef and when he was good and satisfied did they return to SEB industries as Mr. Nelson and Mr. Leland helped take Buddy's new things to his floor.

"I got it from here guys, thank you so much for your services today." Violet dismissed them as they nodded and left.

"You did good today Mr. Pine," Violet praised as she took the pin off his jacket and put it away before she took the watch off and put that into its case as well.

"I never realized you had such exquisite taste." Buddy praised as Violet helped bring his things into the apartment side of the floor which was in all reality like a high rise apartment.

"I've learned from the best. And having Mr. Sebastian as an asset, I've learned a thing or two about the way high society people look, act, dress and behave. I'd be a fool not to pick up on at least some of it." Violet professed as she put his clothing bags on his perfectly made bed for him to put away.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Buddy felt compelled to ask as he put his other things next to it on the bed as well, appreciating the intimate setting. And if circumstances were different, he wished there wasn't at least six cameras on them and they could really be alone. But the way Violet paused and looked away and bit and chewed her bottom lip and fidgeted with her perfectly manicured nails, was adorable, if not incredibly endearing and Buddy just got a sense that he was finally seeing just a little glimpse of the real her.

"Because a cage is a cage- no matter how gilded. If you can find contentment and a measure of happiness in it, the less likely you'll be to try to break out of it." Violet said simply with a sad smile as Buddy suddenly was struck by the truth of the situation. Violet was obviously just as much of a prisoner that he was. That's why she was being nice. She had been living like this for a year. He was barely in a month. She was coming from experience. This is how she was surviving it as he also wondered if that's what Tali had been feeling. And why she was always keen on missions. She wanted to break free just as much Violet did.

"How gilded is your cage?" Buddy asked as he shoved his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out to her.

"A bit more so than yours, and a little bigger. But a cage nonetheless. I don't know how the next handler to Mr. Sebastian will treat you. This is my last assignment before permanent retirement. And I want it to be my best work. And I want it done right. And being kind, and showing sympathy and empathy are the best ways I've found to do it. I know three years seems like a long time. And I'll only be here for two of those three. And I have a feeling that last one will be the hardest. I can only hope my replacement will treat you with respect and dignity. You deserve it. Goodnight Mr. Pine." She bid him before she stepped around him, simply reaching out her hand to gently move him out of her way so she could get out of there because if she stayed any longer and talked any more about this, she would get in trouble in more ways than one.

"Violet?" Buddy called after her as she turned to look at him questioningly.

"You deserve better too. A gilded cage is no place for you either." Buddy professed as he had turned with her and was facing her once again.

"I know, we will just have to make the most of it won't we Mr. Pine? In our side by side cages." Violet urged as she picked her head up high with a fond and understanding smile.

"We will." Buddy nodded in agreement.

"Good night Ms. Parr, thank you, for everything today." Buddy graciously thanked her.

"You're welcome." Violet nodded before she saw herself out and dropped off what she needed off at the tech department and used the long walks from Buddy's apartment to the tech department to rein in her own emotions and reinforce her composure.

"So how was today?" Phillip asked as he came by her office to see her off.

"It was really good, it worked beautifully. He won't want to break free any time soon. He'll be happy and content for a while. Although I think if we make outings a regular thing for him, that'll be the best thing for the situation." Violet mused.

"I noticed your sympathetic "gilded cage" worked like a charm. He was practically eating out your hand." Phillip noted proudly and Violet could only huff a laugh. Of course he would think that was a manipulation. Everything was a manipulation to him. Even though Violet had been genuine in that sentiment.

"It did." Violet had to admit.

"Do you think there's a danger of you two getting too close?" Phillip questioned as he began to second guess his decision to have his 'pet' be their liaison.

"No. All Mr. Pine sees when he looks at me is Mirage 2.0. Mirage took care of everything for him, from picking out his attire, to managing his life practically, I saw it when I was suit shopping with him and picking shirts and ties out for him. He agreed with every decision I made and never argued or had a difference once, I'm surprised he didn't slip and call me by her name. And how he is with me is how he was with her before she betrayed him. Which is good, it's right where you and I want and need him to be." Violet assured Phillip. Because if she could make him believe that. The more freedoms he would perhaps grant Buddy.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Phillip praised.

"Thank you, see you tomorrow Phillip. Good night." She cooed with a sweet kiss before she left her office and went to her apartment. She got ready for bed and she thought of all the ways she could help Buddy stand his confinement better because as strange as it was. She had so much in common with him. They were practically in side by side cages at this point. She hated all the 31 cameras and listening devices in her apartment that she knew Phillip put there to keep an eye on her behind her back and she had simply learned to never let the 'act' down. She hated all the bugs and chips in all of her electronics and her vehicles. She hated how even when she went on missions. There was always SEB tech with her and even then it was like Phillip was always there and she couldn't escape him. It was why every other Super before her had quit. It was why finding a replacement anytime soon was nigh impossible. It made hiding her escape routes and hiding her back up plans from him as hard as it was but thankfully, not impossible. And while charming Phillip had brought her some freedoms and trust. It wasn't complete. And until Phillip eased up and stopped all of this surveillance on her, that she could never, ever give herself to him. And why she could never love him. Love without trust wasn't love. Love without faith, fidelity or commitment or compromise wasn't love either and while she had some power in the relationship, Phillip had the bigger share and the final word. But this was the only way she had found she could survive. And part of her reached out to Buddy. Because if she could make sure he would make it and survive this, then she could too. She wasn't alone, and that gave her hope.

Meanwhile Buddy was laying in bed and staring up at his ceiling, ignoring the tears streaking the sides of his head. How did he not see that Violet was just as much of a prisoner that he was? He remembered the lengths he kept his own employees under surveillance and his gut was screaming at him that that was nothing compared to the lengths Phillip probably went to. If he had to bet- he would bet her place was at least bugged. Phillip probably kept her watched so closely. To the point she probably felt like she couldn't breathe without Phillip knowing about it. The poor thing was just used to it by now. What could he do to help her though? This was the true challenge. How to get them both out of this alive.

Even if after her time here was up, if  she was able to disappear and he never saw her again- but she could have a life of freedom and never be watched ever again. That would be enough for him. He just needed to think outside the box.

[k-writer1998]

Rebel Hours (13/18)

Kwon Jieun always fit her parents’ image of the “perfect” daughter… at least to their knowledge. Away from prying eyes she was like any other girl living life to the fullest doing what she wants. When a little someone named Bang Chan comes into her life priorities are changed, mistakes are made, and her life finally becomes her own.

Fluff

w.c: 1.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~       After we found good seats, Chaerin excused herself to go to the restroom which allowed me time to explain to Chan. The poor thing was confused but went along with it anyways.

“This happened suddenly so I didn’t have a chance to ask if you were okay with this, are you?”

“Yeah no, it’s fine. Who is Minhyuk anyways?”

“... Minhyuk was my ex, the one you saw me with at the cafe.”

      At the mention of the cafe Chan stiffened a bit so I linked my arm through his as I laced our fingers together. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze as I looked at him, it took a moment but he squeezed back and I smiled.

“I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. When we talked at the cafe we agreed that if we happened to bump into each other again, we would introduce our significant others. I won’t ever put you in an awkward position though so if you aren’t okay with it we don’t have to meet after.”

“No, I’m okay. We can meet them after but… will he do that again?”

“Do what?”

“... kiss you on the cheek?”

      I moved my head to get a clear look at his face but he refused to look at me. The slight pout of his lip, that he tried but failed at hiding, made it hard not to tease him. My smile grew as my eyes caught the red tint to his ears. Is this really the same guy who beat Kyunghoon?

“Is someone jealous?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Answer mine first.”

“I asked first.”

“Really Christopher?” He refused to answer so I put him out of his misery, "Even if he tried I wouldn't let him."

“Good, then I won’t have to show him that you’re mine.”

      He caught my chin in his fingers, guiding my head upward as he captured my lips with his own. I couldn’t help but smile in the kiss as I pulled away with a giggle. Chaerin came back just as the competition started. There were so many amazing dancers in the competition but when Minhyuk took the stage I was reminded just how stunning his dancing was. There was grace to his movements but they were still precise and sharp, typical Minhyuk. After a few more dancers it was Minho’s turn and I was pleasantly surprised. His moves were powerful yet flowing like a river, beautifully serene but get too close and the current would pull you under. Although I was no dance know-it-all I would say Minho and Minhyuk were well matched and it showed when they were announcing the winner. After the competition, Chan and I were going to find Minho before meeting with Chaerin again but she waved the notion away and told us that the two would be together. I quirked an eyebrow at Chan and he just shrugged as we followed after her.

“You won’t be able to catch up with me at this rate Minho.”

“Shut up Minhyuk, I’m only two wins behind and I was only behind a few points this time. I’ll get you next time,” Minho bit back with a smile.

      Chan went over to Minho and Chaerin ran over to Minhyuk, who caught her and spun around as they giggled. As I approached the group Minhyuk spotted me with a smile before putting his girlfriend down and coming up to give me a hug.

“What brings you here? Didn’t think we would meet again so soon!”

“Well coincidentally my boyfriend’s friend was competing and invited me to come watch.”

“So you got the guy?” He smirked.

“Chaerin said the same thing,” I laughed, “he’s over there with Minho.”

“Does that mean you cheered for him instead of me?”

“I mean I cheered for you too… just not as loud as Minho.”

“My Chaerin is the only one who supports me.” 

      He fake cried as he threw himself over his girlfriend, causing us both to laugh. By then Chan and Minho had come over and I introduced the two before explaining to Minho how I knew Minhyuk. We chatted a bit longer until Minho’s parents showed up. His parents had surprised him by coming to the competition so they were going out as a family. As we were all discussing what to eat to celebrate Minhyuk’s win, Chan’s phone rang and he excused himself to answer it. When he didn’t come back after a few minutes I turned to check on him and it was as though he saw a ghost. I quickly excused myself for a moment to check on him.

“Chan? What’s wrong? Who was it?”

“It was my manager from the club. He was warning me to stay out of trouble. Something about rumors being bad for business and the rumors somehow being about you…”

      Concern swirled in my eyes as they searched his spacey gaze. His manager warned him about rumors… that have to do with me? There was a feeling deep in my gut telling me my parents had something to do with this and when the thought crossed my mind I pursed my lips.

“Let’s skip going out and head back.”

“No, you seem excited to hang out with them, I’ll be fine. We can go. Just give me a minute,” he tried to smile at me.

“It’s fine, there will be other chances but we should deal with the problem at hand. I have a bad feeling about this rumor and would rather get to the bottom of it so let’s go for today, okay?”

      We had a stare off for a moment, battling at who was more stubborn, and ultimately I won as he gave a slow nod. I gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze then went back to Minhyuk and Chaerin, explaining that something urgent came up and we would have to rain check on them. The car ride was tense, the air charged with an unknown emotion, as I watched his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. I waited until we were parked at his apartment before I gingerly took his hand, giving him time to process everything.

“What’s on your mind?” I coaxed as he gave me a weak half-smile.

“My manager was really spooked. He said not to get involved with you further if I wanted to keep my job… what kind of rumor would make him meddle in an employee’s personal affairs?”

“I haven’t been connected to the upper circle recently, but if I’m being honest I think my parents may have something to do with it…”

“It’s not easy to bring gossip and rumors around the club though. The boss keeps everything under wraps, we have too many high profile patrons for her not to be sensitive to rumors. If she knew about this I would’ve been suspended or even fired by now meaning the rumor isn’t big.”

“That’s good then, we can see if the boys can ask around about the rumor. The only way your manager would know but your boss doesn’t yet is if he heard the rumor himself. There was no official press release but the word is being spread, my parents most likely got someone to spread it around the influential kids."

      After finishing my thought I turned to look at Chan but he had lost himself to his thoughts. I gently pulled out intertwined hands closer to me, drawing his attention once again.

"What? Having second thoughts already?" I softly tease.

"Never," he squeezed my hand reassuringly, " just hoping to get out with the least damage."

"Don't worry. I'll protect you, no one is breaking us up on my watch."

"Shouldn’t I be the one protecting?"

"You did your job with Kyunghoon so, seeming as though my parents are the cause of this, I'll be doing the protecting this time mister," I giggle.

“I won’t win this argument will I?”

“Nope now come on,” I smiled as I hopped out of the car.

“Where are you going? The apartment is that way.”

“Let’s get some fresh air. Cooping yourself up will increase the bad energy so we’re going for a walk, maybe grab some food on the way?”

“Want to try my cooking? There’s a grocery store if we keep going down this road for a bit.”

“You can cook? Or is it just instant ramen?”

“I can cook more than instant food thank you, I’ll make you eat your words.”

“Might be better than the food,” I teased with a laugh.

      His laughter echoed behind me with the fall of his footsteps as he jogged to catch up. In an instant Chan had closed the distance between us, the weight of his body draping over me almost made me lose balance. Neither of us could contain our laughter as we continued our way to the grocery store. Moving through the shelves in the store, I skeptically watched Chan grab ingredients and other things. I may have sidetracked the boy a few times by messing around, causing us to have to wind through the aisles a few times. We walked back to the apartment hand in hand, he insisted to hold both of the bags, and all seemed calm. The worries subsided enough for us to enjoy our time together as we talked and laughed, that is… until a certain nuisance entered my line of sight. Instinctively I gripped Chan’s hand a little tighter, moving closer in an attempt to get by without being noticed.

“Well look who it is. The “good girl gone bad” herself and with a little boy toy too,” he scoffs, “cute.”

      Chan moved to stand in front of me, a glare setting into his usually soft features. I grabbed his arm to prevent him from moving closer to Kyunghoon although I would’ve loved nothing more to see him get his ass served to him yet again. But we’re too exposed and that would be like Chan asking for trouble when Kyunghoon hasn’t done anything yet.

“Let me handle this,” I whispered before turning to Kyunghoon and asking, “What are you doing around here? This doesn’t seem like your part of town, let me guess yet another one night stand to add to your extensive list of girls you won’t remember by tomorrow?”

“Little kitten is growing some fangs now, is that a hint of jealousy I hear?”

“In your dreams. I want nothing to do with you.”

“Awwww, is that any way to address your future fiancé?”

      My what?! At the drop of the word “fiancé” I felt Chan resist my hold, making me hold him tighter. He looked at me, his eyes begging me to let him add a few more bruises to his barely healed face. I shook my head, my blood running cold yet boiling at the same time. This is exactly what my parents wanted.