#And his confession coming from guilt over Jean? Bitch what are we doing here. What story are we trying to tell?

[procrastinationaccount]

Production of American Psycho where all the instrumental tracks are just played from yt or spotify and Bateman goes on semi-scripted tangents about each product, and a few nonsensical ads for poisons industrial weapons etc are sprinkled in with increasing frequency as it goes on. Also all the songs are different because I fucking hate what they did with that show.

[chanluster]

10/10 | {m} ; {c} ; {f}

oneshot | friends with benefits! au | 18.7k words

“Because what you feel for your best friend cannot be described in words, but in numbers.”

s u m m a r y > > you and bang chan had no secrets between one other. each detail of your life would be discussed with your best friend of forever, no matter how insignificant it may be, through a little system you both had concocted — through a small rating. a number out of ten. a simple concept, used from being a child and rating your cookie a solid eight out of ten to your later years in high school, giving your first kiss a measly five. however, when you confess an average rating of your sex life in one hazy evening, chan decides this dilemma cannot be solved with buying you consolation cookies. he must simply raise that rating, all by himself.

w a r n i n g s > > friends to lovers! au, college! au, music! major chan, music! major reader, you both are literally soulmates, came out the womb holding hands, so much teasing, sexual! tension! chan has a massive fucking cock (i mean isn’t it obvious already), shit loads of making out, aggression, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!!), kinda hate sex, orgasming left and right, ex! hyunjin, who’s also really bad at sex lmfaoaoao sorry king, chan is hella soft dom at the start but goes !!! hella hard later!!!! (i mean idk but) shit ton of fluff, friend! jisung which chan gets soooo jealous of, reader is so fucking annoyin, teensy weensy bit of angst, and yeh basically me venting out my love for chan once again

p l a y l i s t > > here!

a u t h o r ’ s n o t e > > this is dedicated to my dear friend chloe, boo i love u so much and thank you for that insane prompt :( also help this feels so rushed to me at the end but i hope y’all do enjoy <3

t a g l i s t > > @hanflix @thatonepieceofpineapple @kimkailover @decembermoonskz @smilesohwas @missskzbiased @illicit-roses @embroideredstarz @freckledquokka @moonluvbunny @aliceu @coupscarat @maedesculpaeusoubi @baby-wolf @multi-fandom-kpop-stan​ @minaamhh @leescrt

back to masterlist

“I’M SORRY, BUT I DON’T THINK I CAN DO THIS ANYMORE.”

Hyunjin’s face faltered completely at your words. It was expected, really. The poor boy was not anticipating this news.

“Wh-what?” he asked, a little too loudly, catching the stares of a few others in the coffee shop. You immediately glared at him, and he retracted back into his seat, but still had a befuddled expression on his face. 

You sighed a little. “Look,” you started, swirling your latte with a thin, wooden stirrer. “I’m going to be completely honest with you. I just think we’re much better off as friends.”

“Friends?” the boy flinched at the term, and even you had to hide your self-distaste. God, ____, at least try to be a little nicer! “Damn it, we’ve been dating for nearly three months, and you think we’d automatically become friends?!” he leaned in, knitting his eyebrows in growing desperation. “What the hell happened?”

You fought hard to not scratch the back of your neck. And possibly run away from the shop. Taking a long sip, you tried to feign the most sympathetic expression you could muster. “Hyunjin, please…”

“B-but, babe—” he started, and his eyes widened, trying to grab onto your hands which cupped the latte. “I don’t understand, we were so happy!” He huffed a smile, trying to convince you of your oh-so heavenly times spent with him. “Why are you thinking like this?”

You tried not to retract your hand from his — not only because it was hard to console him, but because they were embarrassingly sweaty. “Don’t think I have just done this on a whim. I have thought long about this decision.”

Finally, something out of your mouth which wasn’t a blatant lie. You had been thinking of breaking up with this goon — had the notion in your mind for half the time you dated him.

“____,” he said, and the melancholy you heard in his voice had you silencing your tongue. “What’s happened?” He began to caress your hand with his fingers. “Have I...have I done something wrong?”

Oh no. There it was. The reaction you dreaded.

Well, kind of. But still. Not the reaction you imagined in the perfect situation. 

Reluctantly, you put a hand over his fingers, hoping that your face was a painting of sympathy. 

“Hyunjin.”

Don’t say it, girl! Don’t you dare!

“It’s...it’s not you.”

You put your hand on your heart. 

“It’s me.”

Oh, Jesus.

Your eyes raised to his own, wide and glistening. 

Now, you knew Hwang Hyunjin was not the brightest kid on campus. The boy, who once asked you what the purpose of a spork was, may not have possessed the most intelligence, but you were scared that he may be smart enough to figure out that what you just said was complete, utter bullshit. 

Face it, ____. You’re done for.

A few tears spilled from his eyes, and a pang of guilt shot through you. “I-I see.” 

He did not let go of your hands. “We can still be...friends, right?” he sniffled, blinking at you rather irritatingly. “Like, we can still hang out together?”

You raised a brow, but reigned in a sarcastic reply. The boy would probably not even understand. “Of course,” you replied, a saccharine smile on your face. “But I think it’s best if we had some space from each other, okay?”

That was not the answer he seemed to be looking for, but he nodded, a little sadly. “Okay.” He still refused to take his hand away. “Does that mean I can’t rock up at yours midnight anymore if the junior needs a little taking care of?” 

Your brows could not help furrow in absolute exasperation. “Yes, Hyunjin,” you monotoned, unable to believe that you put up with this man for three months. “Now can you let go of my hand?” 

Realising his clammy hold on you, he flushed, looking away from your directory gaze. “I...should go, then.”

“No, no,” you insisted, getting up from your seat as you grabbed onto your drink. “I shall leave. I’m the one who dumped this news on you.” 

You debated leaving without paying for the latte — you knew the boy was still infatuated enough to cover your expenses. Sadly, shame coursed through your veins, and you cursed yourself for feeling a little sympathy for your now ex. “Here,” you offered, fishing out a little cash from your jacket. “For the drink.”

When you nearly stepped past him, you stopped, looking down at him as he tilted his head upwards. Your hand itched to put upon his shoulder, but you knew better. Hyunjin would only take that as a hopeful sign.

“I’m sorry,” was the last thing you said before you left the coffee shop.

Upon falling into a leisurely step onto the street, you let out a harsh breath, an endless amount of relief washing over you.

You were almost delighted to let Hwang Hyunjin go.

Now, it was not like he was a monster who had caged you into his two-feet-squared, dingy flat. In fact, the boy was, in almost every way, a decent boyfriend, whose stupid personality earned him a few laughs. 

Although extremely corny, the problem was not truly all him.

It was partly you as well.

Hearing your phone vibrate, you brought it out from your jeans pocket, already having an inkling on who the sender was, spamming you with messages.

CHRIS THE PISS :

bitch have you done it?

CHRIS THE PISS :

helloooooo??

CHRIS THE PISS :

hoe answer the phone i’m dying!! 

CHRIS THE PISS :

or prolly hyunjin at this moment lmaooo

You could not help the eyeroll which escaped from his words, and you decided to ignore him until you arrived at your destination. 

Which, evident from the persistent vibrations still, you figured you could not do.

CHRIS THE PISS :

i KNOW ur reading my messages DAMN just tell me!!

CHRIS THE PISS :

unless this is hyunjin and u killed her FUCK

CHRIS THE PISS :

haha dude whats poppin!! best man for ____ by far don't know why she was breaking up w u 

YOU :

chan i will kill u :)

CHRIS THE PISS :

hyunjin i promise i didn't mean it when i said u looked like a cheese string w ur new hair

CHRIS THE PISS :

that was ur girl putting words in my mouth 

YOU:

omfg chan STFUUU i’m coming

CHRIS THE PISS :

PLS HYUNJIN I SWEAR UR SEXC

Letting the man panic, you turned a left into student residence, buildings lined down the street, providing accommodation for hundreds of people like you in need of a place to sleep, eat, party, and contemplate the inevitability of death under.

Smiling at a few acquaintances, you entered the designated building, finding yourself with dozens of doors of the same, dead colour. Walking along the hallway, you stopped right at the very last one, bringing out your keys.

With a single twist you unlocked the door, but before you wrapped your hand around the knob the door swung open, catching you completely off guard.

“Funny, Hyunjin, how did you manage to transform into a little bitch so quickly?”

You cursed at the man who welcomed you.

“Damn it, Chan,” you said, hand on your chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sad it didn’t kill you off, then.”

You heard him splutter into laughter at your sad attempts to pinch his shoulder, glaring daggers into his crescent eyes. The bumbling idiot was Bang Chan, the one man you managed to keep for your entire life. That too is purely because none of you could manage a stable, healthy relationship — which was a shame, of course, when your best friend, with his fluffy, raven curls, black-oversized hoodie and sweatpants, was admired by so many. You often wondered how you had not fallen at his feet when he smiled at you, but then he’d open his mouth and all would be understood, as your anger would flare up, and rush to hit him as hard as possible. 

He gave you such a smile then, fingers gripping the doorframe. “How is Rapunzel, then? Sent him back to the tower?”

Wrenching his hand off the frame, which nearly had him falling onto the floor, you side-stepped past his stumbling figure, peeling off your jacket. “Rapunzel is never stepping in our lands again.”

After regaining his step, he muttered a cursed endearment your way and sat himself down on the couch, instantly settling his laptop upon his legs. “Oh, God. How badly did you break his heart, ____?”

Smiling, you dumped the jacket on the side table as you entered the living room, settling on the other end of his sofa. Propping your legs upon his, you pondered over the answer, and said, “At least a good seven.”

Chan let out a little whistle. “Oh, he’s definitely causing a shitshow on the groupchat tonight.” A huffed laugh was his answer. “Want Chinese or Indian tonight?”

“Surprise me,” you said as he brought out his phone. He dialled a number, and then you added, “Actually, can we please get Chinese?”

“No, we’re getting Indian.”

You raised a brow. “Didn’t you cry the last time you had their special curry?” 

The man stared at you for a minute before sighing, putting the phone to his ear. “I’d like your least spiciest dish please.”

He groaned as you pushed his legs off the couch, laughing at his pathetic tolerance towards spice. As he carried on with his order, you grabbed the TV remote, surfing through the channels. 

Even after all these years, you still found it endearing how Chan understood the depth of the numbers you tell him. The system between you two had been created during kindergarten, when, on the last day, you both had received such delicious cookies that words could not express the joy you felt when having the first bite. It was a mere joke at first, rating random classmates despicably low in middle school to even more serious situations, when you moaned to your best friend of your mundane kiss, expecting fireworks and butterflies yet were only met with an over-enthusiastic tongue. 

Chan himself used this system  — it was the reason you knew of his distaste towards spicy food, and certain girls he had dated in the past. Even now, when the two of you had started college together, working on the same projects and going to the same parties, this concoction had not been shelved in your memories. Although this may be something which others might deem insignificant, the concept had become a pillar of your friendship with this absolute loser.

The food arrived within the hour, and you both continued your box set as the plastic containers were cracked open, the pungent smell of curries and biryanis filling the room. Chan provided the plates and cutlery while you poured him the sufficient amount, and you rebuked his whining as you added the spicier dishes onto his plate.

“I refuse to let you eat only korma, Crispy,” you scolded. “Prick, careful! Don’t spill it on your laptop!”

“Bitch!” he yelped as a bit of the residue nearly stained his sweats, but was saved by his hands. “Just ruin everything I wear, why don’t you? Now I got curry on my fingers!”

You propped your legs over his again, eyes upon the screen once more, and the action occurring. “Just lick it off?”

“How about you do it for me?” the boy then simpered out, and you nearly tossed your entire dish on his head. 

“Let’s just focus on Tommy and his cocaine problem,” you dismissed him, but returned his impish smile as you elbowed him, nearly causing his food to stain his hoodie.

The two of you seemed to settle down after a bit and watched the show, commenting on the terrible choices the characters were making, and then boasted of how you and him could easily be the better leader from the protagonist. Soon, you had finished your takeout, and after Chan followed, he got up, hurrying into the kitchen situated behind the doorway in the lounge. He then came back, you delighted to find his hands occupied with two tubs of Ben & Jerrys’.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” you sang, snatching one of the tubs from him and pulling open the cover, digging straight in. “I didn’t know you brought ice cream!”

“Thought it’d help with the breakup,” he confessed, settling back into the sofa, shuffling closer to you. “But it doesn’t look like you need it.”

“Oh, I can’t believe Hyunjin broke my heart like this!”

Chan shook his head at your melodrama. “You may fool the looney princess, but you’re not fooling me.”

“You know me too well,” you said, which he agreed to with an absent-minded hum, eating his dessert.

There was a short pause, a comfortable silence reigning upon you both for a little before your best friend broke it, gulping down his ice cream.

“____?” 

“No, you’re not having any of mine.”

Chan prodded you lightly with his foot. “No, I don’t mean that. I was just wondering something.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re not...upset, right?” He took a bite of his ice cream. “Like, I know you always complained about him, but breakups can be difficult.”

You looked at him, and saw genuine concern painted on his face — along with a little vanilla stain on the corner of his lips. “You don’t have to pretend to be happy if you’re not, okay?” he continued. “Especially with me.”

Your heart melted slightly. “Of course, Chan, don’t worry. I wouldn’t ever lie to you.” 

Turning to the TV screen, you sighed as you thought of your recent relationship. “There were good moments for sure. He was still a sweet guy, you know?” You then stabbed the creamy plains inside the tub. “It was just so...dull.”

The man beside you took in another bite, if a bit slow. “What do you mean?”

Following him, you relished the chocolate goodness, swallowing. “Dates were kind of boring. I carried most of the conversations because he’s too thick to talk about anything.”

Chan let out a soft snort. “I remember you telling me about it. I can certainly believe it.”

“Well, you won’t believe what I’m about to tell you next.” You focused on your ice cream, a sarcastic smile plastered upon your face. “Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin was terrible at sex.”

You did not need to see your best friend to sense his shock. “What?”

A small chuckle escaped you. “First time he fucked me, I think I cried. Not because it was so good, no, but because it was so bad.”

“No way,” Chan said, brows furrowed. “Didn’t you say he had a big dick or something?”

“That’s the downside, bud,” you countered, halfway through your tub. “Because he had a massive cock he thought that was enough for me to enjoy. But it’s not. He just did not know what to do with it!” 

The man had been silenced. He took another bite of his ice cream, in disbelief. “So you were...deprived of pleasure?”

“Deprived?” You scoffed. “Chan, I thirsted for a crumb of pleasure. God, can you believe I’ve faked nearly all my orgasms with him?”

This time, your friend glanced at you in horror. Carrying on, you said, “The only real orgasm I had was not even because of him. God, I was thinking about Lee Donghyuck singing between my legs.”

A soft growl entered your ears. “Oh Christ.”

“Bastard was so proud when I came all over him,” you crowed, trying to sweeten your bitterness with the dessert. “If only I told him I undid myself for an idol I’m never going to meet.”

Your friend did not say anything. The episode finished, and when you noticed his further silence, you used it to your advantage, starting a romantic comedy before he could even complain.

Even with the movie on for about twenty minutes, and the romance you thoroughly enjoyed, the man stayed quiet, idly stirring his melted ice cream in the tub. You ignored his rather odd behaviour, assuming he was either thinking of his assignment or had gotten a brain freeze. Either way, it let you watch your movie in peace, swooning outwardly at the man’s teasing to the girl.

One hour in, and you asked if Chan was okay. “Yeah...yeah, I’m good,” was his answer, sending you a second-long smile before going back to his brain freeze. You raised a confused brow, but went back to the chick flick, gasping when the boy went back for his love.

This was it. The fireworks, the passion which exuded from the mere actions of lips enveloping lips, hands holding onto waists or necks or locks and refusing to let go. You craved for your heart to drop down in lust as you let yourself fall, be wrapped up in another as you undid yourself. Where was this? Where was this for you?

Did you not deserve your desires to be fulfilled? Did you not deserve to have your entire world turned upside down in pure exhilaration?

Before you knew it, the credits rolled, and you let out a long, laboured sigh, leaning into the cushions. “Maybe it’s time I find myself a millionaire who’d pay me to have sex with me.”

The man was still looking at the now black screen. “Do you mean a prostitute?”

“Well, yes, but—” you groaned. “You know what? Maybe I’m meant to stay forever displeased.”

It was after a long time your best friend spoke. “Or…” he cleared his throat. “You find yourself someone who would pleasure you.”

You turned to him. “Wowie, thank you for a perfect solution! I really wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.”

Then, you saw his eyes darken. “____.” He propped the tub upon the coffee table. “Why search for other alternatives when you have options right here?”

Confusion marred your mind, not just from his words, but his entire change of character. “Chan, what are you on about?”

“____,” he said, and his hand inched closer to yours. “ I’m saying you should have a friends with benefits.”

The silence was suddenly heard. You did not realise the sheer weight of this man’s gaze till his very stare gravitated you to him. The lights were dimmed, and all you could see from the laptop’s light was his face — his beautiful face. 

What was all this? Why was your best friend looking at you like that? Why were you being affected by his gaze?

“I…” You could barely get the words out. “I never thought about that before.”

Chan had no such problem. “Well, maybe you should. There are many who would gladly be that person for you.”

You gave him a look. “And who would they be?”

A slight cock of his head. “____, who is your best friend, in the same class as you, share the same interests and would help you out in any way whatsoever?”

The question rather befuddled you. Why couldn’t the man just say the answer already? You thought of the few viable options, tossing, turning the names. 

Then it occurred to you. Your friend’s face sparked a little in what could only have been hope.

“I know!” you exclaimed, holding onto his arm. “I should ask Jisung!”

The little sliver of hope in his eyes morphed into annoyance. “What the fuck?”

Raising your brow, you asked, “Is that not the right answer?” You listed out the evidence. “He’s basically my best friend, is in music with us, we like similar things and would be willing to help me in any situation. I think.”

When you were done, you found yourself more confused when Chan closed his eyes, shaking his head. “What?” you demanded.

“Oh my God.”

His fingers caressed yours, and you gasped to find your skin prickling at the touch. You raised your eyes to his, and found yourself lost for words.

“You dumb bitch, I should be your friends-with-benefits.”

Your mouth dropped.

Perhaps you would have said something, but then his thumb began stroking your skin, and you figured it was better to relish that instead. Thus, you looked at him, gobsmacked, not entirely sure what to say to his declaration. 

It seemed Chan was a little nervous too. “Look, I can tell you’re surprised…” he paused, a little lost for words as well. “Fuck, I guess I shouldn’t have suggested so early into the breakup, but you just…”

He pinned you with his gaze. “I couldn’t have my best friend miss out on the pleasure she deserves. And if that means giving you the pleasure myself, then I will do it.”

Bang Chan. Not just the best friend you’ve ever had, but the man who proposed benefits to this certain friendship.

“Well,” you got out, after what seemed like eternity. “Well damn.”

“We don’t have to do anything right now. Or even anytime soon.” He let go off your hands, and you did not know why the touch was missed so greatly. “Just...think about it for me, will you?”

You didn’t really have it in you to refuse. “Of course,” you said, feeling the need to touch something. Your eyes fell upon the remote, and figured you should distract yourself by watching the next episode of the series you previously watched. 

You needed a clear distraction, or else Chan would not need to wait long for his answer.

The episode began, and you watched, clamping your lips together as you felt the man shuffle closer to you, one hand sprawled on the top of the couch with his other hand idly surfing on his laptop. You rooted your eyes to the screen, finding yourself engulfed in 1920s England, trying to forget that your best friend left no space between you two.

Managing to somehow distract yourself from the lack of distance, you even began to relax, swooning softly of the gangster’s mannerisms towards his love interests, their intimate dancing in her bedroom. It was touching, and you even let yourself lean into your friend, who, too, glanced every now and then, a little smile upon his face.

Everything was fine and dandy until the characters started to kiss.

Now, there was nothing wrong with kissing. You were a hopeless romantic, and adored to see the actions of love on screen, the final breaking of barriers between two characters.

The problem was, the kissing did not seem to end there. The bigger problem was that this lust on screen made you all the more aware of your best friend beside you.

You froze, watching with no small amount of confused shock as the characters increased their desires, unbuttoning their clothes, discarding them as their lips moved against each other’s. Your eyes widened at the nudity, once never a bother but suddenly extremely embarrassing, as they collided, bare chest to bare chest.

The matters did not help at all when you sensed the increased beating of Chan’s heart, almost as loud as the instruments harmonising in the background. His searching on his laptop had ceased, as frozen as you were as his eyes refused to look away to the man and woman making love.  

It was too much. You had seen much worse scenes in your life before, but never had one made you so hot and bothered. Of course you knew why, though. Of course you knew, when the man you laid your head upon was breathing harder than you do when you walk up a flight of stairs. 

You did not waste a minute longer as you pointed the remote to the TV, and switched the screen off. Completely black, void of further lust radiating through the glass. 

A shuddered breath escaped Chan. “Well...double damn.”

You did not answer back. Only distanced yourself on the sofa, his fingers on the couch brushing against the back of your head. His touch may have been the last thing you needed then.

But that was not true. Seeing that sex scene, all glorified and affectionate, had you craving his touch. Your eyes could not bear to meet him, but his presence was suffocating enough. God, if you did not leave that couch now, you would dare to do something quite unimaginable.

Chan did not seem to move either. Your presence, too, had him nearly choking out a pained sob. Anymore time spent, and he would have another problem erecting soon.

At last, when a few minutes seemed like hours, you felt your friend stir. You were surprised to be devastated at the prospect of him leaving.

You were further shocked when, as Chan mustered all the strength in himself to get off the couch, he was stopped by your hand encircling his wrist. 

Whirling his head at your direction, his eyes widened. He was met with your own aghast ones, as your hand tugged him back to the couch.

You did not let go of his wrist as you whispered the words you never thought would have left your mouth that night.

“Let’s do it, Chan.”

His hand went limp in your hold.

For a second you thought he died under your grasp, but the way he parted his mouth went against your judgement. Perhaps you had sent his living soul flying out of his body, but you could not blame him — you did not feel at all like yourself just then.

“I wanna do it,” you murmured, refusing to let go. 

Chan’s eyes darted to the tight hold upon his wrist, and then to you once more. He opened his mouth, closing it straight after as he glanced away.

With a heavy sigh, he looked to you once more, an abundance of emotions swirling in his usually mischievous, soft eyes.

“Are you sure, ____?” He leaned a little closer, causing your heart to malfunction for a second. “You don’t have to think about it now—”

“Well, it’s all I can think about,” you cut him off, eyes never leaving him, despite the reddening of your cheeks. “And I want to do it.

“Like I said, Chan.” You shuffled a little closer, and your knees brushed against his. “I am deprived of pleasure.”

The man blinked once, twice, taking your declaration all in. He had to tell himself that this was not a dream, but a very much a fortunate reality, and that you were asking him of something he had been wanting to give you for a very long time.

There it was. Something he wasn’t quite ready to admit. You wanting your desires met by him was so much more than enough.

Dreaming still, he slithered one hand around your waist, almost like second nature as the other found refuge upon your face. His fingers were tender, softly caressing your cheeks as his eyes beheld you in a way he had never before..

This change of sight had you unable to look away from him.

“If you feel uncomfortable with all this…” he swept away a stray curl. “I will stop. That’ll be the end of it.”

You nodded, finding solace within his eyes. “I know.”

But there was no discomfort. Rather an impatient welcome, a growing urge for your needs met. Promises fulfilled. 

When you sensed him lean closer, so shy and yet so determined, hands still holding you, those vows were sure to be carried out.

You found out in the best way possible — the second when Chan brushed his lips against yours. 

His touch had you flying out your skin; well, not really, but it sure felt as such, when his mouth moulded with yours, a confirmation that he was strangely perfect for your own two lips, that he was meant to embed himself upon your mouth. 

You closed your eyes, heart climbing up your chest as your hands skimmed around his neck. Chan began his movements, and you were so unaccustomed to the actions that you could not help but be led by his kiss. The man had a way of making you listen to his every order, vocalised or not. 

The kiss was so...unreal. It was all that rang in your mind, over and over as the man took his time; he carried out a sensual rhythm upon your lips, not only to avoid overwhelming you, but to fully take in his situation — that he was kissing you, and no other girl who he had never dreamed of. 

He had all the time in the world for this.

The hand upon your waist gripped onto you a little harder, nails skirting around the hem of your shirt. His tongue teased you now, running along for entrance, to delve inside and drink in your every essence. Your mouth practically begged the man to prowl inside, opening up to him completely, a signal of full trust. 

You wanted this as much as he did. 

His elated rush was expressed through his tongue, when it slithered inside your mouth. Butterflies erupted in your body at the way he swirled it along with yours, almost playing with your tongue as if you both did. Of course, this is slightly different, because your gimmicks with Chan never had you salivating at the mouth. Nor feeling like you’re about to leak into your clothes from his touches.

Which really was the situation you ended up in; Chan, his hand now skimming under your shirt, revelling the skin of your abdomen, warming beneath his touch. The hand, once upon your face, had latched upon your locks, while you ran your fingers through his own velvety hair, nearly undoing yourself over the soft feel. 

Just when you thought he was going in for more, he broke away, hands still upon you — your breathing was ragged, the man in front of you panting slightly as well. His eyes, with no small amount of surprise, seemed a little feverish, whether that be from a random cold he contracted during the minutes he kissed you, or…

Or, as you found yourself biting your lip, he took an intoxicated toll over you, and how exquisite it was to drive his tongue in your mouth.

“Better than Rapunzel?” He whispered, so close his breath fanned your lips, spit-slick thanks to him. 

You made sure he was aware of your fingers threading in his locks, eliciting a low murmur. “Rapunzel better not leave the tower again.”

Chuckling, he wasted no time before he was upon you again, an invisible leash on him threatening to snap. He drove the shirt higher, skirting up your sides until he broke away from you for a mere second before peeling the shirt off of you and tossing it beside him.

Heaving, the sight of you in a bra was making the leash all the more tight, hands never leaving your sides as he latched onto your neck. Leaving open-mouthed kisses, down and down until his lips trailed past your collarbone, you let the moans leave your mouth, heightened and quick and unexpected. Suddenly he descended on you, kneeeling on the floor with hands following suit. 

Pleasure. You were oozing with pleasure as you hurried for the hems of his black hoodie, needing to have it off and run your hands on the expanse of his chest. Chan, a little preoccupied, did not realise your demands until you whined out your request.

“Chan—!” you gasped out as his lips left your belly, fingers upon the buttons of your trousers. “Hoodie, I need it off!”

The man only continued with his task, taking the zip down. “Up,” he rushed out, gesturing with his hand.

Dazed, you replied with a confused murmur, only understanding the need to take his stupid hoodie off.

He looked up from his endeavours, and the sight of him hovering between your legs nearly undid you. “I mean your hips, baby, put them up.” He grabbed onto the sides of your jeans. “I wanna take this off.”

Gulping, you raised your hips, giving Chan ease to pull your jeans, all the way down until your legs were bare, save for the soiled underwear which he instantly landed his eyes on. 

His mouth slipped out an uneasy fuck, which was just the right way to have you leaking even further. “Chan, come on,” you hurried, seething at the throbbing. 

His hands pushed you back on the couch, travelling down until they caressed the back of your knees. Pulling you closer from there, he leaned in until he was a few inches away from your moistened cunt, hurting more the longer he made you wait.

It wasn’t his fault, really. He still felt as if he’s living a dream he did not deserve. 

Fingers drumming against the back of your knees, the man blew a little upon your folds, and you let out a strained hiss at the soft breeze. This hypersensitivity was going to be your undoing, but even the smallest of actions brought you such thrill.

“I’m about to spoil you good, ____,” he whispered, and before you could reply, he descended.

The first kitty lick along the surface had you in shock.

Tendrils of pleasure gushed inside you, lurking all over your body as Chan swiped his tongue along the outside of your cunt, teasing, shying away, awaiting your reaction. You answered him with an indecipherable noise, a sound which had never escaped you before.

Maybe because no one had ever played with your cunt like this.

You truly had wasted your time with Hyunjin — this man, tasting your arousal, let out a satisfied hum, and when he dug deeper with his tongue, spreading your legs further, the moans you let escape were, for the first time, absolutely real. No acting, no bullshit.

Just like your best friend promised.

“Chan—!” You stuttered out, when he began circling your clit. “God, just like that!” You encouraged further, hips shaking at the way he made a mess of you. 

In response his hands left your legs, pressing them upon your hips. To your horror he paused his actions, peering up from your legs. 

The slick shining upon his lips could well have made you cum on his face right then and there. “I need you to stay still, baby,” he said, his hands on your hips keeping you in place, as his eyes did the same. “So I can do this properly.

“I don’t want you getting half-assed pleasure, okay?”

His soft demands, his calm explanations brought you in a further state of frenzy. You could not nod faster, chuckling emitting from him as his hands travelled down once more. 

“Good girl.”

And his mouth was upon your cunt again, this time the leash finally snapping as his tongue hardened against the seams. Your moans could have been heard in the hallways, but you didn’t particularly care when Chan, in the midst of his ravenous lapping, introduced the prospect of his fingers, caressing your dripping folds, swiping them over around the edges.

You didn’t know what to do — your hands scrambled to fist the fabric of the couch, laying back against the pillows. The hold grew tighter when your best friend slid his middle finger inside of you.

The journey may have been slow, but that was what made it all the more delightful. Feeling it go deeper and deeper had a particularly loud groan flying out of you, but the rhythm he adopted, pulling it out, but then diving it back again without leaving your cunt, had you delirious. 

A once foreign, unimaginable feeling you never thought you’d experience, was back inside — the heavy sensation deep within your gut, like a dull ache which grew more known the harder Chan worked between your legs. The feeling you had only ever experienced when you imagined Donghyuck instead of your ex-boyfriend in this similar situation. 

Fuck, there it is, you thought. The feeling of your incoming orgasm.

And it was not going to go if this man worked harder than the devil tonight.

“Chan—fuck—” you got cut off when he increased the speed of his finger inside of you. “I-I’m close.”

Never ceasing his finger, he looked up at you, hooded eyes welcoming you despite the tenderness on his face. “You’re doing so good, ____. So fucking good for me,” he cooed, melting your heart despite the situation. 

This time, he accompanied his fingering with a second digit, stretching out your walls and working harmoniously together in making you submit to him. Already you felt as if he’d filled you up, and the actions of his digits practically scissoring inside of you had every muscle in your body readying for release.

He dove back in, merciless to your clit, and all this work, everything at once, was so much that when you cried out, your release had to follow through. You couldn’t control yourself as you let your cum escape, staining the couch and the floor — most importantly, how most of it landed in Chan’s mouth. 

Breathing unevenly, and louder than you ever thought possible, you closed your eyes, slumping further into the couch. You sensed an emptiness inside you, and figured Chan had taken out his fingers. Opening your eyes, you saw him close your legs together, propping his head upon your lap, hands supporting his chin. He looked up at you, licking his lips free of your residue.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

The man smiled at you. “Satisfied?” he asked, fingers caressing your skin. 

Oh, of course you were. Damn it, you were more than satisfied — you were positively elated. If he had managed to make you cum with his fingers and tongue alone, imagine what he could have done with his dick.

You blinked. 

Imagine what he could have done with his dick.

“____?”

Perking up, you looked to the man kneeling before you still, anticipation brimming in his stature. “Please tell me you didn’t fake it.”

Embarrassment engulfed your body at the idea. “Chan, if you really think I faked all of that then I deserve an Oscar.”

Pride washed over his features. “Good.”

You then watched him slowly get up, climbing over you, hands skirting up your figure till he captured your face in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. You had enough strength to kiss him back, but failed to exceed him when he began nibbling upon the swell of your lip, making you revert to stage one of your growing need all over again.

Breaking away, you glanced up at him, holding onto his hoodie. “I want...more.”

The man stilled his actions, hands going limp upon your skin. You had about three seconds of panicking as you tugged on his clothes, whispering, “Wait, Chan, it’s okay if—”

But suddenly, his hands left your face, and the panic increased with you being lifted into the air, his hold under your knees and back as he brought you close to his chest. 

His eyes upon you were a hazard to your well-being. “God, ____, you could really ruin me.”

Your flustered nature was interrupted by Chan rushing to his bedroom, kicking the door open with his feet and pressing quick kisses upon your mouth, your cheeks, all over your face as you giggled out in reaction, arms locked around him.

His room was the same as his attire, black on black on even more black, save for a few gold corners and grey instruments settled in the far end of the space. His bed, however, was vast and comfortable, a place you have slept in many a time when late night recording sessions turned into sleepovers.

Gently, he laid you down on his bed, feeling the cool sting of the night air on your cunt, making you shiver. Your bra was useless in keeping you warm, but when Chan began to take off his hoodie, shirt dragging out along with it, you suddenly began to feel a lot hotter.

Discarding the clothes, you were rewarded with the image of shirtless Chan, slightly disheveled due to his endeavours between your legs. His smile revealed a hint of arrogance as he acknowledged your blatant staring, slowly taking off his sweatpants. 

“Careful, baby, or you’ll cum right there,” he mused, noticing the way your legs shivered in ecstasy. He dumped his clothes along with the others, catching sight of his Calvins barely containing his erection.

You felt the mattress press down as he prowled to you upon the bed, the more chaos erupting in your gut the further he came closer. You could barely contain yourself when he hovered over you, lips mere inches from yours. A powerful force within you halted your very breath — you knew, though, that at this particular moment, your entire soul rested in the hands of this man, looking at you through long lashes. 

He enveloped your lips, grinding his clothed erection against your cunt, drinking in your whines, your silent pleas of replacing it with the real deal. He smirked against your mouth, opening the seams as his one hand grabbed onto yours, leading it to the waistband of your boxers. 

Your fingers fumbled to take peel down the fabric, Chan parting from your lips to take it off entirely. His cock sprang free, and you let out a god-awful, shrill-like noise at the way it stood, red and angry and so very fucking big. 

“Fuck me,” you slipped out in a breath, earning a chuckle from him. 

“I very much plan to,” he had the nerve to reply, you wanting very much to slap his shit-eating grin off of him. Or perhaps kiss it till your breath was lost. 

Embarrassed, you tried to look away, but his fingers gripped your chin, leading your eyes to his. Other hand holding onto your hip, he gently positioned himself between your legs, precum already staining your folds. Breathing stunted, your stare reflected subservience, a request to bury his dick inside you already.

He read your every plea. 

Pressing his forehead against yours, he let out a shuddered breath before beginning the final descent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Chan slid his cock inside — your mouth parted from the transition, at the tightening sensation as he kept going, burying those inches until your eyes were as wide as saucers, unable to look away from him. You dared not move, fear of snapping more a reality in your head than some far-fetched delusion.

Dragging his stare from your slit to your face, he caressed your cheek, offering you a small smile.

“Don’t be quiet, okay?” he asked, hand on your hip like iron. 

Nodding, it was all the signal he needed.

Just as gradually, he began to slide out, and, with his words in mind, you let yourself be shameless. The rhythm of his hips, the pain-stakingly tempered movement, made you whine profusely, and when the man slithered inside once more, moaning lewdly was your only reaction. It was all your brain could think of, when his cock was the sole deity which mattered in this moment.

His pace began to fasten, though, grunting erratically as his grip on you tightened. Your cunt was taking a toll, your second orgasm of the night a great possibility as you felt it inside you, as tangible as the dick being pushed and pulled out into you. 

“F-faster!” you wailed out, and God bless Chan, for he obliged you completely, increasing his rhythm, practically abusing your slit with the way he fucked into you. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you let them fall, for there was no hiding your emotions with this man.

Your best friend could see right through you anyway. 

Chan’s strength seemed unhuman as he thrusted his cock into you faster and faster, and you knew if he did not stop then you would cum all over for the second time. The very image had you on the edge of your sanity.

When his cock hit your g-spot you really believed yourself hitting seventh heaven of delight. White spots blurred your vision, tears now your beloved companion as they trailed down your cheeks. “I’m c-close, fuck—” you tried to voice, but were cut off when slid out once more, tip never leaving your folds. 

His hair stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat peppered on his face as he crushed you with his lips, relishing your whines. His tongue befriended yours, and the swirling of your muscles with each other had brought a new form of high bubbling within you. 

You moaned his name onto his lips, hands sliding around his neck, pulling you as close as physically possible. This was it. You could not wait any longer. You wanted your undoing, and you wanted it now, in these sheets, within his arms, within his hypnotic presence. 

It was incredibly fortunate that Bang Chan could read you like the back of his hand.  

Parting from your mouth, he kissed a sloppy trail all the way to your ear, lips grazing against the lobe. 

“Go on, then,” he purred, leaving a small kiss to your skin. “Cum for me.”

His words were all you needed before you let yourself go, crying out as release poured from the tight spaces your cunt offered, and onto the sheets below. You wheezed in a few breaths, tired gasps gripping your body.

Chan, within the second, pulled out, just in time for him to let out a pained growl as he came onto his bedsheets. Some of the fluids sullied your legs, but seemed the perfect time as he collapsed right beside you, breathing as heavily as you were. 

You and Chan were the only noise in the room — however, if one could translate emotions into sound, that would be an entirely different matter. 

At least for you. You could barely contain your elation.

An emptiness may be present inside of you, but it was now replaced with a full heart. Fuck, you could not believe you had finally been given pleasure, such unadulterated satisfaction that you wondered whether it truly occurred, or was just another fantasy — this time with Chan’s face plastered rather than your infatuation of the month.

Sensing the said-man move, you turned to your side, smiling to see his stare fixated on you. Shifting closer, he curled a stray lock from your face behind your ear. “How’re you feeling?” he asked gently, hand on your face still.

You laid your head against your arm. “I am so pissed I didn’t break up with Hyunjin sooner.”

Laughing, his fingers trailed downward, sketching onto your collarbone. “You…” he paused, biting his lip with what you saw, surprisingly, as apprehension. “You really liked it?” 

Your eyes darted to the surroundings, smirk spreading across your lips. “I mean, I am an insanely good actress...”

His shock horror had you spluttering into laughter. When he tried to turn his back to you and sulk, you held onto his arm, keeping him in place. “Oh, stop! You know I’m joking, you big oaf.”

Pouting, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “You better be,” he muttered, earning further giggles from his truly. The laughter was replaced with your yawning, which Chan instantly picked up on. “Hey, ____, you should sleep.” He began stroking your hair. “You’re really tired.”

You tried to object, but your intended groans become more deep yawns, proving his point. He passed his fingers over your eyelids, fluttering them close. “I’m not hearing anything else!”

Stinging out your tongue in what you hoped was at his direction, you grudgingly obliged. “Fine.”

You felt him sigh upon your face. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight, Hyuck.” 

“Nevermind, I hope you have a terrible sleep.”

With your last round of exhausted laughter, you let yourself fall into oblivion, safe in your best friend’s arms. 

YOU WOKE UP WITH CHAN ALREADY GONE.

It was not such a huge disappointment. The man had warned you before that he had to leave early to meet up with his supervisor. In all honesty, maybe it was good he was not there, next to you in his sheets. 

Your hands gripped those very sheets, raising them right under your chin as you looked up to the ceiling, watching the dried swirls of black paint overlapping each other.

“Oh my God.”

Indeed. Here you were, in your best friend’s bed, basking in his scent, in his world. Of course, you always seemed to smell of him, considering you both never seemed to let go of each other, but last night was different.

Obviously, because Bang Chan had never rocked your shit before. 

Your legs began to tingle at the thought. Even the mere memory had you feeling a mysterious sensation all over your body, reminders of the places Chan had looked, touched, tasted. God, you did not think, did not let yourself think further or you’d be calling that man this second.

You knew you had to get up at some point — you had some recording to do today, and more assignments to hand in. You had tasks, obligations to take care of. Unfortunately, the warmth of your best friend’s bed was much too enticing for you to submit to the requests of reality, and so you let yourself lay there for moments longer, in hope you can recreate the scene in your head once more.

There was no lie about this. Bang Chan knew how to fuck you into another dimension. 

Just when you were about to dream into last night, your phone vibrated harshly against the bedside table. Curious, you stretched out your hand, grabbing the object and checking who so rudely disturbed your shameless manifesting.

CHRIS THE PISS: 

just stopped by the medical room,,, want me to get a wheelchair?

CHRIS THE PISS:

cause im sure asf u can’t walk rn 

You rolled your eyes until it hurt. Stupid prick.

YOU:

i haven’t gotten out of bed actually 

CHRIS THE PISS:

oh damn

CHRIS THE PISS:

i PARALYSED u??

CHRIS THE PISS:

why am i so powerful 

“This asshole,” you muttered. 

YOU:

STFUU COCKY MF

CHRIS THE PISS: 

It’s ok you’ll cute in a wheelchair

YOU:

?!?!?!?!!?!

CHRIS THE PISS:

but tell me 

CHRIS THE PISS:

how good was it

This had you pausing. 

CHRIS THE PISS:

outta ten

Now here was a rating you couldn’t bring yourself to confess.

All you wanted to do was give him a solid ten — the man finally offered you a better view of sex and how it can be appreciated, and the way he guided you through it was more than just adequate.

But the thing was, you and Chan hadn’t ever given each other 10/10s.

A perfect score was a rarity in your dynamic; possibly a rating never revealed before because you and Chan had promised each other never to exaggerate on this system. The only time you had ever used the solid ten was when he made you his first ever song at the tender age of nine. At the time, it was a terrible tune, with beats all over the damn place with no form of rhythm, but because he made it especially for you, you voiced your true opinion and rated him the perfect score.

Again, the situation here was different.

So, instead of the truth, you resorted to irritation. 

YOU:

2/10 :)

You waited for his text.

However, you did not receive it.

Only the shrill ringtone of your phone, snapping you further into consciousness. 

Groaning, you swiped right onto the screen, pressing the speaker button.

“Now I know you’re lying!”

Laughing, you propped the phone beside you on the bed, upon the place where Chan would have been. “You got a big ego there, hun.”

“That may be true, but my cock is bigger, so I still win.”

You were glad he was not here — the man would have sensed your embarrassment in an instant. 

It was worse because he was not lying. “Now tell me, Pinocchio,” he continued, voice interrupting as the noise of the students around him came through the receiver. “Out of ten.”

“I already messaged it to you, buddy,” you said impassively, or at least you tried. “A solid two would suffice.”

God, you could almost feel your nose growing.

Perhaps he felt it too, for he answered, with no small amount of pride, “I’m gonna pretend I fucked you so good you forgot how to think properly.”

You could not help gulping, raising the sheets over you. It wasn’t exactly hard on boning, but even so...you really thought for a second you’d lose all feeling in your legs last night.

“Shut up, Chan.”

“Shut up, Chan,” he parroted, which had you threatening to hang up. “Don’t think I’ve let you go on this subject.”

“Try me, buddy,” you jeered.

“And for Christ’s sake, stop calling me ‘buddy’,” he demanded. “Or else I’m pulling a Hyunjin.”

“A Hyunjin?”

“Yeah, a Hyunjin.” You heard the sound of horns blaring at the end of his call. “Ruining your sex life.”

That nearly made you freak. “Damn, I won’t say it again, Christopher Bang, musical name Bang Chan, nicknamed Chris the Piss—”

You heard his chuckling through the phone. “All that for my dick. I must have changed your life, ____.”

Heating up from his stupid comments, you grabbed the phone from the table. “I’ll see you in the studios, asshole.”

His smugness ran rich in his voice. “Buh-bye, baby.”

The minute the call ended, you sighed heavily, clutching the phone to your chest.

He did change your life.

Not necessarily your entire life, but certainly a huge aspect of it. A small part of you was horrified at how easily he shifted your daily balance, making you ponder over him more often, with much more intensity than before. Were you a sex maniac? Were you so deprived of being touched that one night of fun had you begging like a woman starved?

“Whatever,” you groaned, swinging your legs to the side of the bed, and upon the carpet. “Fuck Chan.”

Hopefully tonight.

FUCKING AROUND WITH CHAN MIGHT HONESTLY BE THE BEST DECISION YOU HAVE EVER MADE IN A LONG, LONG TIME.

And you weren’t the one to make good decisions. You get up an hour before the afternoons, drink Pepsi Max to compensate for your lack of water drinkage, and worst of all, you would gladly sell your body for Colin Firth, especially if he dressed himself up as Mr. Darcy at his age. Whatever setbacks you possessed, you knew that this, at least, was a step in the right direction.

Bang Chan may have been as big a loser as you were, but the man made you feel like a powerful entity. Hell, in all the state, with the way he made you act.

Never before had you become so daring — libraries, which were once your place of study, became a rendezvous for his slender fingers inside your cunt. The living room had become a breeding ground, and even your shower was stained of your promiscuity. There was no place left where you and Chan hadn’t done something scandalous, and you wondered, with no small amount of excitement, on how this new side of your friendship with him would progress. 

These thoughts accompanied you as you walked to your destination. It was not far off as you entered campus, and smiled at the few students who passed by.

Soon, you found yourself in the music department, and walked through the familiar halls, littered with posters of different artists and singers in their peak careers. A few trophies were boasted of behind a glass screen, but the surroundings all became irrelevant when you approached your designated music rooms.

Expecting Chan to be inside, headphones adorned, you did not bother knocking, strolling straight into the room. However, you stopped completely when a giant, hoodie-clothed back did not greet you.

Instead, it was a tinier hoodie-clothed back, faded yellow over the trademark black. Although not your best friend, you instantly recognised the alternative, and smiled.

“Jisung!”

The boy did not seem to hear, for he kept bobbing his head, no doubt trying out beats. 

You tiptoed slpwly until you stood right behind him. Then, in a flash, you snapped your hands upon his shoulders.

“Boo!”

A shrill, terrified yell erupted, chair being swivelled suddenly as the back hit against the controls. You took a step back out of shock too, a choked giggle escaping when you beheld the face of Han Probably-shit-his-pants-Jisung. 

“Oh my fucking God,” he rasped out, hand on his chest. He then locked eyes with you, and suddenly his quivering mouth melted into a smile of relief. “Ah, ____!”

“The one and only.” You sat down on the neighbouring chair. “Sorry if I made you shit your pants. It was fully attended.”

“Stop,” he insisted, taking off his headphones and scooting a little closer to you. “These are new jeans as well.”

“Not my fault if you’re a pussy,” you chanted, picking up the headphones, settling them upon your ears. “Can I listen?”

“Of course!” Jisung pressed a few keys on his laptop, and the music began. 

Your eyes widened in surprise to hear pleasant, almost lo-fi background before his voice flooded in, comforting you with his soft lilt and meaningful lyrics. On instinct your head bobbed along to the rhythm of the beat, smiling at the wordplay and the rising vocals.

“Jisung, this is really good!” you exclaimed. The boy waved off the compliment, but you instantly saw his face reddening. “Oh, stop it, you know that you’re one of the best out here.”

If you thought he couldn’t get more flustered, he proved you incredibly wrong. “Don’t say that,” he shrilled, propping his feet up on the chair and hugging his legs tightly. When he saw the look on your face, though, he smiled, teeth and all. “Thank you, ____. It means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, I’m no musical genius,” you said, pressing the play button to hear his music. “Just a motherfucker who can appreciate a song of the year when she hears one.”

Jisung nearly passed out from your compliment, but you did not take it much into account as you focused all your attention on the piece. It was an undoubted fact that Han Jisung was an extremely talented dude. You already knew you could never compete with him, but he was certainly up to Chan’s level of musical expertise. With all this talent brimming around you, you made a mental note never to make more gifted friends in the future. 

Once the song ended, you took off the headphones, propping them gently upon the table. “I think you’ve inspired me to do some actual work.” 

The boy was still smiling as he reached his hand out, planting it upon your own on the table. “Well, I’m honoured to be your inspiration.” His eyes reached yours, and you were engulfed with his warmth. “The feeling is more than mutual.”

You offered him a grin, and were about to say something when the door opened.

Turning, you were welcomed by Chan’s dark figure at the studio entrance, holding two cups of coffee. Despite his black attire, you found yourself admiring a little too brazenly the bare face he never exposed in public, the beanie hiding his curls, and the tick in his jaw, which heightened further when he took in the scene.

The actions were quick — the darting of his eyes as they started on you, then travelled to your hand, engulfed with another’s. He raised them to the man guilty of the touch, and found himself staring at Jisung, beaming not only from you anymore, but at the arrival of his friend.

The joy was not returned. 

“Chan!” Jisung greeted, letting go of your hand innocently as he ushered your best friend over. 

He nodded in return, gaze back to you as he walked, a little too slowly, to the two of you. He put the two beverages upon the table next to the keyboards. “I didn’t know you were in as well,” he said. After a pause, he added, “I would have gotten another coffee.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” he assured him, even though it did not look like he needed any reassurances. 

Catching onto Chan’s attitude, you slid your coffee to the boy beside you. “I don’t want any right now. You take it.”

You took note of the pursed lips, and ignored it as Jisung widened his eyes. “No, no, it’s okay—”

“Ji, I insist,” you pestered him, driving the cup within his grasp. “You look so tired.”

He offered you a lovely smile before taking the beverage. “Thank you.”

Chan, watching this little conversation, had him clamping his lips together, possibly to not say something stupid. It was a little habit of his, thankfully in action. He slid the other cup to you. “You can have mine.”

You looked up at him. “I’m good, buddy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Share.”

You rolled your own, taking a sip of the coffee, and thanked yourself for not being petty enough to refuse him. “Fine.” 

Jisung swivelled his chair so he faced Chan, fingers upon his laptop. “Do you wanna listen to the demo?” He grabbed the headphones, holding it out to him. “I’m nearly done with it.”

“You can send it to me later,” was his curt answer, as he took the cup from you and drank. 

You looked at him in exasperation, but the boy nodded in satisfaction, picking his bag off the floor. “That’s chill!” he said, heaving off the chair. “I got all the time, so don’t worry too much about it.”

He then turned to the two of you as he strolled to the door. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you both something.”

“Spit it out, then,” Chan jeered, which had you glaring at him. What the fuck was his problem?

Jisung did not catch on, continuing. “So, later this week, Changbin and I are throwing a party, and I was hoping you both would like to come.”

You perked up at that piece of information. “That’s something I like to hear!” Snatching the coffee cup from your friend, you purposefully took a huge gulp. “Any specific date?”

“I was hoping Friday night.” A small sip of his drink. “We just wanted to have some fun after a difficult week, dissertations and all.” His gaze never faltered from yours. “You in?”

Chan, noticing, settled in the space previously taken, and raised a hand in objection. “Sorry, Ji. ____ and I always do something Friday night. Gotta uphold the tradition.” 

You turned to face him, a brow raised. He wasn’t wrong, in all honesty. But why did he mention it now?

Jisung, too, was a little curious. “Oh?” He fixed the strap of his bag. “I won’t get in the way, then.”

He turned, and you made to open your mouth only to have Chan press a finger to your lips. His brows were furrowed, which you matched until he left the finger as the boy looked back once more. 

“I’ll see you around, guys!” he exclaimed, eyes sliding to you before opening the door, and leaving the studio.

After a few seconds of silence, you faced your friend, who had the audacity to sigh in relief. “What the fuck was that?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do!” you finished the last of the coffee, throwing the empty cup in the bin nearby. “Why were you being such a dick to Jisung?”

“No I wasn’t,” he only said. “I was being the perfect gentleman.”

“Stop it, man!” You couldn’t believe his stupidity in the situation. “He was being so lovely, asking for your opinion on his music, inviting us to his party and shit. Why were you being so mean?” 

Chan only shook his head, turning away from you as he made to put his headphones on. You, on the other hand, were not going to be satisfied with silence, and grabbed his arm, wrenching him toward you. “Chan?!”

He turned to look at you, and you hitched in a breath — you had never really pondered over your friend’s angered face, nor really drank in his heightened features before. However, in this moment in time, with his eyes darkened, bare face twisted, frizzy morning curls all over the place, you had to stop yourself from the butterflies fluttering downwards. You’re supposed to be mad, not horny.

Your hand upon his arm — his tensed bicep, specifically — seemed almost feeble now. Still, you were glad it was on there, if only to feel his muscle bulge.

Chan studied you and your dazing, and made you jump when he guttered. “What?”

Instantly getting back to the situation, you cursed yourself silently for letting your desires try to take the reins. “I said,” you continued, trying your hardest not to be fazed by his eyes, “Why are you being such a massive prick to Ji?”

He cocked his head slightly, and if he leaned any further his lips would brush against yours. “I’m being a massive prick, ____, because he really fucking likes you.”

You felt hands upon your waist, tugging you off your seat. With a yelp you found yourself upon the man’s lap, hands encircling you fully.

Even though you looked down at him, his stare had you shaking. “And that really fucking pisses me off.”

You couldn’t suppress a shudder, an action which had not gone unnoticed. A smile ghosting his face, he craned his neck upwards, catching your lips and rendering you completely at his mercy. Your fingers went straight in his morning curls, carding through the locks as he captured your bottom lip in his, sucking on it to the point a whine escaped you, helpless and shameful. 

He left a trail of heated kisses down your throat, fingers skirting underneath your cardigan, your shirt, and savouring the skin. His mouth landed on a particular part, grazing his teeth against it as he softly nipped at the skin. Your breath quivered at each flushed kiss he branded upon you, but when his free hand began undoing the top buttons of your shirt, you finally called out his name.

“Chan!” you gasped out, shivering at the lovebites stinging your throat. It did not seem like the man would stop, unbuttoning your shirt just so he could glimpse the sliver of your lacy bra, humming with satisfaction. “Chan, w-wait!”

He paused his actions, tilting his head upwards in irritation. “Do you mind?” he asked, pouting too cutely for his words.

“Yes, I do,” you answered, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why are you so mad, buddy?”

A harsh scoff was your reply. “Well, first of all, because you never stop calling me that.” 

You pinched the back of his neck, but when he pursed his lips, you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his. “Chan, you’re overreacting. He’s just a motherfucker trying to gain your approval.”

“I think it’s more your approval,” he countered, nuzzling his head against your shoulder. “With the way the asshole can’t keep his name out of your mouth. God! And the way he held your hand? Like you were his one and only?!”

“Jealousy isn’t a cute look on you, hun,” you mused, but in reality, you were lying through your teeth. His jealousy was like fuel to your turned on fire.

“Permission to punch him in the face?” 

“You might have to put a hold to that.” 

“Fuck.”

Raising his head, his agitation grew in his eyes as you beheld him. “He just...goddammit, he just makes me so angry at times.”

You played with his curls. “How angry?”

He held onto you tighter. “9/10.”

That certainly made you do a double take. 

9/10. A rare rating, you noticed with quite some surprise. It did reflect the fury which Jisung unintentionally ignited, but you did not realise how much it truly affected him. The two had always been friends, as far as you were concerned, but you had to admit that Chan never really felt as easy with him as he did with you.

Of course, because you were his closest friend.

“I know,” he said then, snapping you out of your thoughts. “It’s...unreasonable...but I don’t care. I really don’t give a shit.”

Clamping your lips together, you watched him look away, swaying you back and forth upon his lap. Well, you couldn’t have a dear friend sulking away when you knew Jisung meant nothing and less to you.

Suddenly, a very pleasing idea came to mind. 

“Chan,” you murmured, fingernails grazing against his neck.

 Sensing goosebumps form there, you were met with his undecipherable gaze. “Yeah?”

You brushed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “How about,” you began, trailing down to his nose, “I help…” you carried on, another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Soothe your irritation?”

Although completely compliant to your touches, he grumbled, “The only way you can do that if you consent to me giving Jisung a broken nose.”

“Hmmm…well...” you peppered another kiss, and felt his hands wander lazily once again. “This is a very close second.”

Catching the implications dwelling in your gaze, you could have sworn the man’s breathing halted. His tongue swept along his teeth, and you had a dire wish to replicate that action with your own tongue.

“Come here, then,” he guttered.

The lower octave had you nearly squealing as you pressed your lips fully onto his, giggling when he responded with twice more ardency, the desperation lurking beneath his physique. He pried your mouth open with his tongue, swirling it along with yours as he pressed your body completely against his, refusing to let you go. 

On instinct you grinded against him, sensing the outline of his boner beneath you with no small amount of excitement. He groaned into your mouth at the friction, digging his fingers into your skin.

It was a dire shame you had to break away from the kiss, catching his disappointment. “Tease,” you heard him mumble, which had you pecking his lips quickly before sliding your own down his neck, leaving his skin altogether.

Slumping downward, you kneeled before Chan as he spread his legs before you, struggling down his black trousers till he revealed the angry outline of his erection underneath his dark boxers. You noticed, with pride, how the top of the fabric was stained with arousal. 

“I think your dick is angrier than you around Jisung right now,” you said, failing to contain your amusement. 

Chan’s eyes promised murder. “I’m so glad my cock will shut your stupid mouth up,” he jeered. 

Thank God you were kneeling, cause that comment alone would have made you fall.

Shuffling closer, you raised your hand to his boxers, feeling his clothed length between your fingers. The touch had your friend growling much too loud, a reaction you enjoyed thoroughly. 

“How about a little less teasing,” he seethed, gripping onto the arms of his chair, “And a little more sucking, baby?” 

Baby. You didn’t know why now, of all times, it struck a deep chord within you. His command had you reaching for the waistband, pulling his boxers down until his cock sprang free. 

The image had you remembering your Lord and Saviour. 

You don’t know why you kept forgetting how insanely big Chan’s cock really was. Its length was inside of you on almost a daily basis, so maybe all this foolery had finally gotten to your head. Observing it now, hard and veiny as it curved against his stomach, the only reaction you could offer was your mouth breaking its seams. 

“Staring at it won’t be enough, ____.”

Gulping, you planted one hand upon his leg, the other wrapping around the shaft. Even the slightest contact had the man hissing, making you smirk at his helplessness. Slightly gurgling, you spat on the head, lubing his member with your fingers, and then you began.

A string of groans escaped him as you commenced, a slow rhythm of pumping his cock as your hand moved up and down. The repetition was constant, neverending as Chan’s grip on his chair threatened to snap the plastic, but you dared not slow down. You knew this was not how he gained his satisfaction — he needed a perfect graduality, a refined art-like stroke or else he’d lose his high. Fortunate for him, though, you never let him down.

You increased your pumping, sensing him containing his moans. You could feel him holding back, but that didn’t stop you at all. In fact, that only had you progressing to the next step, an action that would have him screaming your name.

Shifting even closer, you spread his legs further, Chan’s eyes rooted to you as you directed the tip to your mouth. Letting your tongue free, you swept it along the shaft, and sure enough, an obscenely loud moan emitted from his truly. Chuckling, you carried on, trailing all the way up to the head and ending your journey with an ironically chaste kiss. Staring up at him, you smugly observed his lust-struck face, mouth releasing irregular breaths already. You couldn’t wait to have him curse at you.

Eyes back on the task at hand, you grabbed the base of his cock, opening your mouth. Slowly, aggravatingly slow, you sunk down, taking in inch by inch — Chan pushed his hips forward, and you nearly gagged at the impact of his head hitting the back of your throat. 

“Shi-shit baby,” he sputtered, watching you in awe at your work. “You better tell me if you don’t want your throat fucked.”

You answered him with your progression, slowly releasing his cock from your lips, tongue licking his slit before descending back on him again. You tried to be slow — you didn’t want to go straight to deepthroating, but the way Chan choked out his curses was sweet encouragement. Holding his dick still, you began bobbing your head and down, shallow at first, testing the waters.

When the man instinctively began bucking his hips, pushing his cock into your mouth further, you opened your jaw wider, taking in the remaining inches. The gag reflex kicked in like a bitch, but you refused to cease your labour as you increased your pace. Chan leaned in a little, caressing your cheeks as he rutted against your mouth.

“God, you’re fucking perfect, baby,” he cooed breathlessly. “So good for taking my cock like that.”

Unable to smile, you answered him with your hands, now playing with his balls, slapping them slightly to make him groan out in pleasure, head laid back against the chair. “I’m close, ____,” he warned, never stopping his own thrusts. You hoped he never would, when his end was so near.

Taking all of him in, you pressed your hands on his legs, urging you to look at him. With one final home run, you hollowed in your cheeks, surrounding his entire cock in your mouth as you imprisoned him with your hooded gaze.

The image of you, a beautiful ruination, was his undoing. 

Chan let out a vicious string of curses as he released, ropes of cum spilling inside your mouth. He slumped into the chair, breathing in the entire county’s worth of oxygen as all energy left him. This time, to add to his lust-driven shock, you swallowed his release, thanking your lucky stars that your friend finally listened and ate some fruit. His cum, at last, tasted more than bearable. 

After a few silent moments, the man finally raised himself from the dead, sighing as he beheld you kneeling still. “I think I can’t live without you.”

Chuckling, you heaved yourself up, legs unsteady. “That’s just your inner horny speaking,” you said, nearly falling over on your own feet. Quickly, Chan brought you back onto his lap again, creating an iron grip around you.

“Think what you like,” he began, peppering small kisses on your neck. “But your head game is stronger than my will to punch Jisung, that’s for sure.”

You hummed as he plunged his teeth upon a certain spot, pressing your legs together. “It better be.”

Finding your lips, he lazily kissed you, hands skirting higher as you move your mouth against his, never tired from his touches. 

“Have we christened the studio yet?” The man asked in between kisses, pushing his chair forward till your back hit the table. 

You shook your head no, already sensing his unbearable grin. You could not help returning his enthusiasm.

And as you both continued in your shameless arrangements, there was one thought that lingered in your head. 

There was absolutely no way you were going to that party. 

OF COURSE YOU WERE GOING TO THAT PARTY.

You looked to the building, the whole ground floor alight with different, ever-changing lights, and a dim pandemonium welcoming your ears. Your phone pinged with messages, but you dutifully ignored them, taking a deep breath as you took a step inside.

Greeted with a half-full hallway, it was not hard to find the party house, greeting awkwardly to a few drunk acquaintances before entering Jisung’s dorm. You were instantly hit by the smell of sweat and alcohol as the noise of popular music made your ears ring in discomfort. An abundance of students were cramped as they danced along to the tunes, screaming and laughing and simply enjoying themselves. 

While observing the scene, a small part of you wished your best friend was with you, an arm slung around you as he makes a comment on the specific people dancing rather terribly in the centre. You could already imagine him in his Friday attire, midnight-kissed with gold chains dangling off his belt, rings adorning his fingers and a little makeup to elevate his already exquisite features. Maybe, if you had insisted, he would have let you paint his nails, something which you adored on him. 

Fuck, you thought, searching through the crowd for a place to get a drink. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. 

You shook your head, though, beginning to squeeze through the partygoers. No. You can’t let Chan win in this.

And so you found your way to the kitchen, cans of beer, vodka and tequila stacked in broken pyramids to drink away. Just as you made to grab the Smirnoff your hand brushed against another’s. You turned to the direction, and beamed to see Jisung holding out the can for you.

“____!” he exclaimed, barely heard from the commotion yet could feel his joy radiating from him. “Don’t you have a thing with Chan on Fridays?”

“Well, that can happen every Friday, Ji, but your party was only today,” you answered him, and he was more than satisfied. 

He grabbed the same drink as yours, cracking it open as he looked at you, stare lingering upon your black dress. “I’m really glad you came, love.”

You blinked at the sudden endearment, but before you could say anything Changbin had interrupted the both of you, threatening to bring the roof down with his whining.

“Pleeease Ji, get me away from her!” he begged, holding onto Jisung’s arm and rocking it back and forth. “She keeps tryna drag me into the bedrooms and I can’t do it with her, bro!”

The boy adorned hints of irritancy, but he let himself be led by his friend, glazing at you. “Wait for me,” he requested.

His answer was a little wave, which he returned dutifully as he began to berate his friend for tearing him away from you. Raising your eyebrow, you turned back to the alcohol, finding some soda water and pouring it into the empty cups along with the Smirnoff. You would have drank the vodka straight from the bottle but you decided against drinking your tits off tonight. You didn’t really have a great desire for intoxication. 

You cursed at a few passersby as they bumped against you, nearly knocking the drink off your hands. Fixing your dress, you took the first sip, relishing the strong taste. The songs kept changing, the dancing getting wilder, and at this rate you knew someone was going to get handsy soon. 

Drinking away, you snapped the cup on the table beside you, waiting for Jisung to come back. 

Why did you even come here? 

You instantly soured at the thought.

Still, you could not help pondering further.

You should have stayed home. With him.

You groaned out loud.

It was ridiculous how you were unable to have any idea which didn’t centre around that prick. If he did not want to join you that was on him. 

Then were you feeling miserable?

Great. You poured yourself some more diluted vodka. Now you’re a full-time simp.

That helped you down the drink some more. At least this time, in fortunate circumstances, you were not a lightweight, and so were still completely aware of your surroundings. 

Aware enough to see a more tousled Jisung stagger toward you, giggling like a little child. 

You watched him lunge towards the tequila cans and crack one open, downing half the thing in one go. “Careful, Ji, or you’ll fall to your death!” you warned him, laughing as he exhaled with great exaggeration. 

He staggered to where you were standing, slumping against the wall and taking another can. “I’m so sorry!” he simpered, much too loudly for your sober ears. 

You raised a brow, about to ask him for what but he was already answering your question. “I made you wait so looong!” he dragged, drinking some more. “Look at you! Leaving you all alone.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly, crossing your arms, drink still in hand. “Just say I have zero friends.” 

“Hey, don’t say that!” You were taken aback by Jisung grabbing onto your arm, pulling him to you. He looked you dead in the eyes, wide and alive. “You do not have zero friends!” he declared, louder than before. “I’m your friend.”

Your poor ears hurt like a bitch, but you smiled at his words. “Yes, indeed you are,” you said in earnest. “Thank you, Jisung.”

It was then he blinked slowly, parting his lips as his fingers upon your arm began to wander. “But I wish you didn’t think like that.”

His touch did not go unnoticed at all. You looked at him, raising a brow, but that action went unnoticed. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, you’re a smart girl,” he slurred, voice still soft and innocent as his hand travelled to your shoulder. “You know exactly what I mean.” 

Freezing up, you felt the pads of his fingers caress your face. When he tilted his head, you finally saw what he had been trying to show you since the start of the year, the emotions he was too drunk to hide any longer. 

Lust. Pure lust swirling in his eyes. 

It was like a lightbulb had finally switched on in your grape-sized brain.

“Oh my God!”

Instantly, you pressed your hands to Jisung’s chest, pushing him completely off. He nearly fell flat on his ass, but grabbed the table just in time to stagger back to balance. He glanced upwards, and you saw his eyes widen.

“____?” he got out, but you raised a finger, which he was still intelligent enough to figure out to shut up.

“Ji, what the fuck?” You slapped your drink down on the table, making him jump. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he exclaimed, taking another can. “But it’s the truth, damn it, and I’m tired of having to pretend all the time about it!”

Fuck, you suddenly thought, realising that you needed to get out of this crammed residence. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Jisung, look—” you started, but he groaned out loud, waving off your answer.

“No, no, I know what you’re gonna say.” He then did a terrible impression of you, simpering, “Oh, Ji, I can’t go out with you because I’m soooo in love with my best friend in the whole wide world!”

You snapped your head to his direction. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me clearly!” He finished off his nth can. “Okay, maybe it isn’t a Romeo and Juliet shit going on, but I know something is going on between you two!”

A laugh huffed out of you, but the boy was not convinced. “We’re just friends. Good friends, that’s all.”

Your answer was a hysterical bout of laughter, confusing you even further. “Come on, ____. I’m stupid, but not completely braindead.”

He took a step closer to you, careful of your hands still. “I know Chan practically adores you.”

This little statement made your shit freeze. “Stop it,” you murmured.

“Why?” he demanded. “Because I’m saying something the both of you refuse to listen to?” 

“It’s none of your business,” you snapped. “Don’t get mad because I don’t wanna go out with you.”

“I’m not mad because of that.” With one last tequila can, he grabbed it, turning on his heel. “I’m mad because the both of you keep lying to yourselves.” 

Before you could counter back, the boy stumbled away from you, hollering to the crowd to leave some space on the dance floor for him. You wondered for a second how he’d handle dancing when he could barely walk properly, but then your thoughts drifted back to the more dire subject at hand.

“Fuck,” you cursed out loud this time. 

There it was. The question you should have addressed ever since you started this arrangement with Chan.

Were you really just friends? 

You knew the question to that yourself. Both you and him had transcended past that point now, and in a horrifying realisation, you didn’t mind it that much. After experiencing his touch, his whispers, you doubt that you could ever see him as a friend again. 

But...to be more?

Fuck indeed. You had a lot to think about tonight.

“But first,” you muttered, “To be out of this stupid party.” 

Quickly, after taking two Smirnoff cans, you squeezed past the million drunkards, making your way to the exit. When you were out of the residence, you breathed in the cool night air, a rarity in these sweaty dorm rooms. 

You had a small hope, as you walked down the lanes, that Chan would be there, right at the entrance as you left, but he was not there. He had a little habit of going wherever you were supposed to be if you were not home at the expected time, worried sick if you had drank or done something more stupid than usual. 

But he was not here today. Maybe going to Jisung’s party made him extremely pissed.

There was a reason he rated it 9/10.

Soon, you were at your building, entering inside and finding your door at the very end of the hallway. Fishing out the keys, you slid them into the lock, careful of the cans, hearing the click! of the unlocking.

Your hand rested upon the doorknob. Eyes staring at the lifeless colour of the door, you closed your eyes, letting out a deep breath.

Stop worrying. Chan is your best friend.

You turned the knob.

Your best friend.

Pushed the door open. Stepped inside.

Right?

“Back so soon?” 

Your body shivered at the words. Quickly walking inside the living room, you found the back of the sofa greeting you as per usual, with Chan’s head peering on top as he watched the TV. Walking further, you noticed yours and his favourite show playing on the screen.

“Yeah, it was quite boring, but the real question is,” you began, irritation marring your features, “Why are you watching this without me?” 

He didn’t even glance back at you, nor pause the TV. “Oh, I don’t know, ____, maybe because it’s Friday night, and it’s our thing to do this every time? Do tell me if I’m wrong!”

“Shut up, Chan,” you seethed, dumping the Smirnoff on the coffee tables in front of him. “This is the one time I missed this, so stop being such a baby.”

“Oh, so you tell me to shut up,” he jeered, snapping the remote on the table, making you jump slightly. “Fine, I’ll shut up. You won’t hear a word from me again.”

You took a glimpse of his face, and caught this cold fury simmering beneath his skin. Oh no. Had you going to Jisung’s party made him this angry? It was beyond nonsensical now. Bang Chan was the most reasonable man you ever befriended.

Taking in the emotions inhabiting on his face, however, proved otherwise.

I know Chan practically adores you.

The memory brought chills all over you again. 

Making your way into the kitchen, you figured to make yourself a midnight snack, hearing the crack! of a can opening behind you. Asshole, you refused to voice out loud, but opened the fridge, taking out leftovers and heating it up in the microwave.

“Anything interesting happened, then?” you heard the dry question travel to you. 

Scoffing, you turned, taking out your food. “Oh, I thought I wasn’t hearing a word from you again.”

Your best friend’s smile was anything but sweet. “Well, I figured if you weren’t going to tell me things, I had to ask you myself.”

That snatched any faux amusement you might have harboured. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“You know what the fuck that means!” he snapped, getting up from the couch, pausing the screen. “I can’t believe you’re not telling me.”

“How about a little less attitude and a little more truth, you prick,” you rebuked, putting the cartons on the kitchen counter. 

“Fine, I’ll tell you the truth that you’re too much of a pussy to say yourself!” He thundered into the kitchen, Smirnoff still in hand. 

You backed up against the counter when he caged you with his glare. “Since when did you start going out with Jisung?”

Instantly your brows furrowed. “Who the fuck told you that?” 

“Shit, I knew that bastard wanted to get in your pants,” he roared. “And you let him use you!”

“Woah, woah, buddy, slow down there!” You raised your hands in objection. “I’m not dating Jisung!”

“What?” He took a gulp of the vodka, confusion mixing with his fury. “You’re not?”

“Of course not, the fuck?! Who told you this?”

“He—” but then the cogs turned in Chan’s head, and suddenly it made sense to him. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

“What happened?” you asked, but he was drinking some more, cursing himself for even believing such nonsense. “Chan?”

“That son of a bitch called me before you came,” he started, swirling his drink in the can. “And I don’t know why he did, but he kept telling me to back off from you.”

You let out a low curse, but your friend was not finished. “I told him to get some sleep, cause clearly he wasn’t right in the head, but then...he said some words which literally shut me up.”

Then, you saw him hitch in an uncertain breath. “____, he bragged that he asked you out and...and you said yes.” 

His reaction had you widening your eyes, mouth parting just a little. “And, damn it, I thought that this is why she’s so nice to this little fucker, giving him my coffee, or missing Friday night for his stupid party. Hell, even suggesting him first to be her friends-with-benefits.

“Because maybe she liked Jisung all along.”

You watched in horror as he finished his drink, crumbling the can and throwing it in the bin beside you. A shuddered breath escaped you at the explanation, but you sucked it in once more when you blinked back the sheer intensity of this man’s stare. 

“So...yeah.” He ruffled his hair, breaking the stare as he looked away, face flushing with colour. “That’s why I just...yeah.”

A small part of you melted at his words, and his now embarrassment after expressing his desperate worry for you and your potential relationship.

Still, you had some problems that needed solving. “Chan, then why were you so angry at me?!”

You crossed your arms. “You didn’t even wait to hear what I had to say on the matter.”

“I don’t know, okay?!” he exclaimed, propping his hands to his sides. “I heard Jisung saying all that bullshit, and at the time I was so pissed that…”

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d go out with him, you dumbass!”

“Well, I don’t know, he’s just such a nice guy like you keep saying, and all that flowery poetry for him just went straight into my head!” 

The situation almost seemed comical now. “Oh my God, did you really think I liked him?!

“Of course” he cried out, slapping his hands on the counter top next to you, unable to let you escape. As if you even wanted to. “Of course I thought that or else I wouldn’t be shitting my pants all night!”

“Then you’re the dumbest fucking prick I’ve ever met!” you screamed, as you grabbed hold of his hoodie, pulling him closer to you. “Because I don’t like him!

“I like you!”

“Well, I like you too, you stupid bitch!” 

The confession had you both stopping, preventing the two of you going deaf from your shouting. The whole fight was completely ridiculous, but when you looked at each other, drinking in the words that just left your lips, the realisation finally dawned on you. 

I like you too.

Well, shit. There it was.

The one thing you’d been hiding ever since you decided to fool around with him. 

Maybe this was the last way you wanted to tell him, shouting out your declaration to prove his suspicions wrong. It was almost like something out of an unfunny American sitcom — this weird, comic deflation, but at least it was out in the open now.

You had finally told him of your feelings. 

A pinch of that anger brewing within his features settled a little, hands still fisted on your sides. His eyes darted on every point of your face, as if he’s trying to memorise every inch, every detail etched upon your skin. 

Although his blatant awe made you flustered, the aching inside spoke for you. “Are you going to keep staring all night or just kiss me already?” 

God, you were such a bitch.

Chan seemed to think so too. “Nevermind, I fucking hate you,” he snarled, capturing your lips with his in an instant. You smiled against his mouth as you kissed him back with the same intensity, the same need which spread like wildfire in your body.

Kissing him should have become a routine with the amount of times you did it, but every locking of your lips with his sent you in a frenzy, lust-driven emotions spiralling out of control. You welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, the strong taste of tequila and desperation enlivening your inner workings, heightening your need for him, him, and only him.

His hands had no restrictions — the pads of his fingers had their very own needs, their own desire to feel every crevice of your body, your every curve and corner till you have no secret stored in your figure which they did not know of. You welcomed their ravaging, embraced their interrogation as they tried to uncover everything you held dear. 

Once these hands found a weakness in the form of your dress altogether, they cleverly found an opening, reaching for the end of your dress lined at your thighs. His fingers hitched the hem upwards, skirting it higher until it bunched at your waist, revealing a red, silken thong, embroidered with black thread. You relished in Chan practically salivating all over the image, but his lust slapped him out of his dazing, and hurried to get it off, hands slipping it down your legs until it was discarded on the kitchen floor. 

In an instant the man thrust two fingers inside of you, stretching your walls and creating a hypnotic rhythm of removing and inserting them back again. Your moans could bring down the whole residence, but none of you cared when Chan was scissoring you with his digits on the kitchen counter, desire radiating off his stature, and a determination to completely ruin you stark on his face. 

“M-more!” You begged, knowing you could take it, and you were rewarded with a third finger, filling you up as you cried out in pleasure. His mouth quietened you, sucking on your lower lip and then taking all of you, had you delirious, but this insanity only progressed as the thrust of his fingers hit lighting speed. 

The three digits had quickened your potential release, right on the tip of your cunt if he did not stop. “I’m g-gonna—fuck—!” 

You were interrupted as Chan’s lips left yours, trailing down to your neck, collarbone, brushing his teeth between your chest as he fell to his knees. Pulling you forward, on the edge of the countertop, he spread your legs apart, cock twitching at the drenched cunt which awaited him, like a feast displayed for a starved, wild animal. 

Looking up at you, he growled, “Cum when I say so, understand?”

Your hurried nods was all he needed as he dove right in, tongue sliding up your slit, lapping up your arousal as if it was an eternal cure. He fastened his stroke as he welcomed in his sight your clit, swiping his tongue along the bud. 

You moaned out his name like a cry for help, and he answered at first ring when his fingers still laboured, faster and faster, along with his heavenly tongue licking your clit like ice cream on a summer's day. 

“Chan, please—!” You choked out, one hand carding through the man’s hair, driving his face deeper into your cunt. “Please, I need to cum!”

Completely ignoring you, he carried on his ravishing, making you shake your legs to a point your body was beyond your control — you were at his mercy when his head was between your legs, when he prodded at your core as if it was no one else’s but his. 

When Chan brushed against your g-spot, it took every muscle in your body not to cum on his face then and there. He was being cruel; this was punishment for going to that party, justice for choosing Jisung’s company over his.

You did not know punishment felt so pain-stakingly amazing. 

Calling out his name for the last time, you knew that if the man carried on, you would go against his wishes and free yourself of the burden pushing down on your gut. Gripping onto his hair hard enough to rip right off, Chan spared a single glance at you from above, licking his lips off your mess.

“Cum for me, baby.”

That was the first time you came that night. Shaking as you freed your juices unto him, he gladly accepting the release. It was like you possessed a vessel of your release, the way you kept it inside for so long. He could never refuse though, when he knew he was responsible for driving you down that road of vulnerability. 

However, even with all of that, you still wanted more. 

And as Chan ascended on his feet, yanking his fingers out of you, he saw it in your eyes. The uncontainable passion. The unadulterated desire. 

All for him. All. For him.

Your best friend’s smile was positively wicked.

“I will completely ruin you, ____.”

He was upon you like a beast, no mercy upon your lips as he bruised them with his teeth, your pleas drowned out by his mouth as he lifted you in his arms. His kisses never ceased as he led you in his bedroom, nearly ripping the hinges at the sheer intensity of slamming his door shut. 

Throwing you on the bed, your breath whooshed out of you at the free fall, heart running miles as you witnessed Chan take his shirt off, his entire chest glistening with sweat, no doubt from the work he put in mere minutes ago. 

Upon you in seconds, his mouth robbed you of any more oxygen, prying it open as he attempted to unzip your dress from the back. Then, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, he tried to loosen the zipping, but the damned thing got stuck in it’s trail, unable to satisfy. 

Letting out an angry growl, he damned the dress when, using his hands at the front, he ripped the fabric in half, completely down to the hem. 

“My dress!” You gasped out, watching him discard the torn fabric as if it were a minor inconvenience in his path.

You were cut off by his mouth, scorching you down to the bone. “I’ll buy you ten more, baby,” he muttered, skimming his hands down your bare sides.

You had the audacity to roll your eyes at his words. “Why do you keep forgetting you’re a college student?”

It seemed Chan did not take kindly to your comment. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, resulting in you leaking right onto his sheets. 

That kept you wilfully obedient, and rightfully so, when he unclipped your bra, tossing it to the side, and settled upon your breasts. Grinding his clothed cock upon your bare slit, he licked your right nipple, making you whimper out at him. His reply was swirling his finger on your left nipple, toying with your body as if it was his plaything. You would have had a right mind to shout at him if he didn’t bring such euphoria along with it. 

“Chan,” you whispered, gripping onto the sheets as he continued sucking your breasts. “Chan, I...I need you to fuck me already.”

He paused his assault on your bud, raising a groomed brow. “What do you say to that?” He asked, too calmly in a crazy situation like this. 

Of course, he wanted to make you beg. Considering you did not care the least for your self respect, or lack thereof, you completely obliged him, rutting your bare cunt upon his trousers. 

“Please, Chan. Please.”

Hearing the little pleases had him kissing you insane as he urged you to take his pants off. You willingly obeyed, tossing the clothing along with his Calvins, and when his cock sprung me you felt the inside of your mouth water at the sight. 

The man hovered just above you as he positioned his dick right at the entrance, poking between the folds. “Say the magic word, now, baby,” he commanded quietly, and just for the last time, you had to be the most annoying person in the world. 

“Donghyuck!”

The second that damned name slipped out of your mouth, you completely regretted it as instead of making sweet, slow love to you, Bang Chan thrusted his cock so hard into you your whole body flinched with the impact. You couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped, tears settling in your eyes, but alas, your best friend had little sympathy for you. 

“Bitch,” he seethed, pulling out, widening your eyes only to have him slam his cock back into you, sending you into another universe entirely. 

You envied his strength — you could barely hold onto his arms while his grip on you could probably compete with the Earth’s gravity, stable and safe and inescapable. He imprisoned you in his hold as he pulled out slowly, and then drove back inside, but you wanted to be in this cage, to never leave his midnight eyes that offered something other than rage and lust and humour. You dared not wonder what it might be, but when you closed your eyes, your mind began to ponder, float amongst the stars of ideas and questions which defined your relationship.

As Chan began to fasten his pace, thrusts more erratic, you held onto his dark curls, mouth never refraining every moan and whine which he fucked out of you. There he was, the man who deemed you worthy of being pleasured, despite risking your decade old friendship to see you have the same advantages as any old person who was sexually frustrated.

But this man did not just give you any old advantages — he offered the whole world in his hands to you, knelt before you, fulfilled your every waking desire, held onto you before you could ever slip away into the chaos of your mind. Even now, with you getting lost into the galaxies of his eyes, it was solely his hands which were the anchor to reality, a reality he made better by his offer. 

Bang Chan, your very best friend. 

When he caught the tenderness radiating on your face, he could not help stealing a little for himself, moulding his lips upon yours as he pistoned you in the bed. It was perhaps this small warmth, along with his perfect rhythm of his cock that had you crying out, barely able to contain your second release.

You broke away from the kiss, and uttered his name like a prayer. “Chan,” you whimpered, not needing to say anything for him to realise that you were so very near.

He pressed his forehead against yours, unable to keep away from you. “Fine then,” he grumbled. “I’ll go easy on you.

“Cum for me, ____.”

The words weren’t fully out when you stained Chan’s bed with your release, pushing through the tiny spaces in your walls. He, too, let out an aggravated cry as he spilled into you, most mingling along with your cum upon the sheets. 

A heavy silence fell upon the both of you, both of your breathing harmonising with each other in the cold midnight. Chan toppled on the side of the bed next to you, closing his eyes as he breathed from his mouth, chest rising unevenly.

For minutes none of you said anything to each other, simply basking in each other’s peace. You felt the eyes of your best friend, and locked them with yours.

You decided to break the silence first. 

“I’m sorry for saying his name.”

Brilliant. Why would you mention that stupid idol once again? 

Chan, surprisingly, burst into laughter. You were caught completely off guard, but seeing his smile lighten up his face had you reflecting his happiness. 

“You are,” he rasped out, holding onto his stomach, “The most annoying bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Hey!” You exclaimed, smacking him on his arm, which he responded with threats of pushing you off the bed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

His hands were upon you in seconds, steering you at the edge of the mattress. He cackled at your shocked yelping, and you glared at him as he pushed you away from the edge, and into his arms. “Asshole,” you murmured, burying your face in his chest, which he gladly welcomed as he stroked your hair softly with his fingers. 

You both found solace in each other’s embrace for a little while before Chan let go of you. “Hey, I completely forgot, but...I got you something while you were out.”

Your eyes perked up at the idea of a gift, which the man tutted when he noticed. “Greedy whore,” he crowed, getting out of the bed as he strolled to his desk, grabbing a brown paper bag. His marble-cut ass was out for you to see, and you took full advantage, watching it with no small amount of admiration. 

“Enjoyed the view?” He asked innocently as he slithered right back into bed again, offering you the paper bag. Sticking your tongue out at him, you took the offer, opening it up to see what was so special inside.

Catching sight of the gift had you bursting into a smile.

“Chan!”

You whipped the goods out of the bag, hand on your mouth.

The man bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide. “You like it?”

“You like it?” You parroted, already digging in. “Where did you even find these?”

“Oh, I visited my mom earlier in the day, and she got the cookies from the old shop,” he explained, taking one of the sweets for himself. “I instantly thought of you as she gave them to me, so I saved them for you.”

You widened your eyes in affection. These sweets may have been normal, bakery cookies, but they held a significance for the both of you: these cookies were what started the whole trend of you and Chan rating certain objects or situations for each other, and whenever you were on an academic break, you made sure to drag your friend back to our hometown, where you could always grab a dozen of your favourite snack.

“Thank you for these, bud,” you said, eating away the first cookie. “I think they’ve become better than an eight now.”

Chan hummed in agreement, finishing off his one too. Licking the crumbs off his fingers, he then turned to you, a question riddled all over his face. “Hey, ____?”

“Yeah?”

When he didn’t say anything, you focused your attention on him, propping your head on your elbow. You saw with slight surprise that his cheeks were reddening by the second.

“Chan?”

“It’s just…” he raised his hand, holding your own. “I’ve been thinking about…all of this.”

You raised your brows, refusing to reveal the dread rising in your gut. “Us?”

“Yeah, us,” he confirmed, stroking his thumb across your fingers. “Now, remember that you’ll always be my best friend, okay, like I don’t want you thinking that this would be the end of us or something—”

“Get to the point, buddy,” you hurried along, earning a glare from him.

Then, he licked his lips in anxiety, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Hand never leaving yours, he pinned you with a stare, making you even more nervous.

He parted his mouth. 

“____, would you like to go on a date with me?”

You blinked. 

Your delayed reaction had Chan groaning. “Fuck, nevermind, just forget I said anything!” He swiped his hand away from yours, holding his head in shame. “I should have kept my big mouth shut, your bad habits are really growing on me—”

“Yes.”

Your best friend paused. 

Turned, ever so slowly, towards you. 

“What?”

You could not contain your smile as you took his hand once more. “I’ll go on a date with you, you big oaf.”

For a second you truly believed you had killed off Chan with that declaration. Then, his face exploded into pure joy, and he tackled you in a massive hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“Oh my fucking God!” he cursed, “Don’t do that to me again!”

You laughed heartily as you put him at arms’ length. “You were the one doing mental gymnastics!” 

Refusing still to let go of you, he played with your hair as he clamped on his lips. “One more thing.”

“Shoot.”

“How good was I?” He looked at you, a vulnerable expression etched onto his beautiful features. “You know...with all of this.”

You stared at him, drinking in his face, his every detail, as if you had all the time in the world. Firstly, you had a right mind to pull his leg one more time, but you feared that if you made fun of him again, he might die of a heart attack.

And you still had many more years of tormenting your best friend.

So you brought him towards you, pressing your lips onto his. He seemed very much obliged to go deeper, but you pulled away just as quickly, offering him a ghost of a smile.

“I think you were a 10/10,” you whispered. “From start till finish.”

Hearing the score, and sensing your sincerity along with it, had him in near tears. He enveloped your mouth with his, backing you against the divan as he expressed his affection within the rhythm of his lips. 

When he pulled away, still mere inches from you, he said the words he’d been meaning to say since the day he first laid eyes on you — since the day you two contacted this system, since the day he knew your rating as if he knew his own name.

“Well, baby, you’ve always been a 10/10 for me.”

[nightfall-kachiniko]

‘ A Broken Promise’ Mikasa x Reader Fanfiction || Angst.

||| Chapt.4 「 FINALE. 」 “The Loss of Freedom of the boy who fought for it,”

﹋ 「 This contains MAJOR AOT Spoilers for the manga, please proceed with caution. 」﹋

“AGH!” Shit. You felt your body falling through the air, blurred vision as You screamed. Something just- hit you, and you had not a clue what it was. Your leg felt numb, almost like it wasn’t there. “Y/N!” Jean called out to you. his voice getting closer as You felt my body hit his arms. “Shit you alright!?” He asked. Gritting your teeth as your focus came unblurred. The sight infront of you, terrifying. Dozens of titans, more than the nine shifters. So much blood everywhere. Remembering the injury, you looked down at my leg to see a big gash in it, blood falling down into the atmosphere.

“There’s- so much… screaming..” Tears fell down your cheeks. “The titan won’t stop..”

「 This is a time skip to this part. 」

Falco’s titan took you four up in the air. You , Mikasa, and Pieck who can’t turn into pure titans. The people below emerging into titans as you all soared higher. Turning around, you saw Armin fighting Eren in his titan form, his punches no avail to Eren’s.

“Mgh…f-fuck..” You jolted your head as you heard Mikasa murmur. “a-ahh..” She let out in pain. Mikasa’s hand laid rested on her head, her teeth gritted as she suffered.

Her headaches.

That’s what’s happening. Mikasa told you about them once when you both were only cadets. You often helped her through them, letting her lay on your lap as you stroked her hair, giving her comfort. But, that’s all in the past now. You guys are done. Hell, and so is the world..

“I’ll kill him, Help me.” Your Ex’s voice said. “Alright,” Your Captain said. “Y/n, Don’t let Armin accidentally hit us,” He commanded. “And Don’t get caught up with Reiner and Pieck!”

It was all chaos. The explosion of the thunder spear hitting Eren’s teeth left a ring in your ear. Everything is too much..You thought. I- I don’t know how much longer of this I’ll be able to take..

I need someone. I need something. You shut your eyes as you landed on Armins shoulder, stumbling because of your broken leg. It was a relief to be close to him. He turned his head over at you, looking at your tear stained “THEY’RE GONNA DO IT!” You screamed, telling Armin. “THEY’RE GONNA KILL EREN!” Your eyes fell saddened. Everything went blank for you. The screams of children, mothers, fathers, the elder. People who didn’t deserve it, their screams getting more and more faint with every crush. I just, want it to stop.

Eren’s colossal fist punched Armin as you saw Mikasa and Levi heading for the mouth. Bracing your self you gripped your ODM gear tight hanging on.

Please, God just make it Stop.

And then all of a sudden, you blacked out.

Opening your eyes, you saw eren standing right infront of you. He looked into your e/c eyes, guilt and regret on his face. Your eyes widened as you saw him. “Eren…” You said, “y-you�� you BITCH!” You sent your hand flying across his face, every ounce of anger inside of you you let out in that one punch. He let out a groan of pain, “YOU’RE SUCH A TRAITOR! YOU’RE NOT ANY BETTER THAN ANNIE BERTOLDT OR REINER! DO YOU NOT SEE THE PEOPLE YOU’VE KILLED!” He held his cheek while after being knocked to the ground.

“ARE YOU STUPID!? DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW MUCH THIS HAS AFFECTED US!? DO YOU EVEN CARE!” Tears spilled down your cheeks like a waterfall.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO THE KIDS WE WERE! THE KIDS WE USED TO BE!”

“they’re gone now,” he replied, looking at your angered mess. You gritted your teeth just looking at him. “You are such a dick.” You growled at him. “Y/n, I know how you feel.”

“WHAT!? YOU KNOW HOW BAD IT HURTS SEEING MY FRIEND SINCE I WAS EIGHT KILL MILLIONS OF PEOPLE!? DO YOU EREN?!” Heavy breath as your screaming continued.

“Y/n,” Eren said. “Make sure she kills me,” His sentence caught you off guard.

“AND YOU… what..” you replied back, your eyes widening.

“Right now we are in a place called the paths,” Eren explained. “I need you to make sure Mikasa kills me,” you looked at him like he was crazy. “Eren, you’re fucking nuts.” The man infront of you eyes glimmered the same as they did as when you were a kid. “I- I don’t want you dead.” You confessed. “You deserve it like hell though! What the hell would your mother think!” You shot at him. “She’d be disappointed in me,” He looked down at the sand beneath you two. “DAMN RIGHT SHE WOULD!”

“Make sure she knows I never hated her, and that she was like family to me,” he said biting his lip. “Don’t tell her I said that, but-“ You were confused, “What are you talking about, we are in the middle of a war you created and you started! We were all at peace till you snuck off to Marley 3 years ago! You said you hated us, that we weren’t ‘free’ you called Mikasa a slave and said that that’s the only reason why she fell in love with me because she’s an Ackerman!”

“Y/n I’m going to tell you this, I did it to protect you.” You scoffed, “did it to protect us my ass, you betrayed us Eren,”

“I know you hate me, but, y/n live your life after this war.” The boy said. “Huh? The hell you getting at? You basically dropped us like flies Jeager! It’s almost like you don’t want us apart of your future”

“No! That isn’t true!” Eren looked up at you, tears flowing down his eyes with pain in his voice. “I did this all so you could have a future! I never wanted to leave you guys! Ever! I wanna be there for you and mikasas wedding! I wanna be there when you have kids! I just..” Eren gritted his teeth, ribbons of water running down his cheek “Nevermind that..”

You sighed, tears of your own forming up in your eyes, “Please, just come home.” You begged. “I can’t,” He said numbly. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“We love you Eren, we just want you back.. that’s why Mikasa fought so hard to change you..” you sniffled. “There’s nothing that can happen now, I promise, it’s none of you guys fault,” You sighed, “Eren..”

“I love you all so much, It was worth it.” He said, a small smile on his face. You pulled him into a hug as you cried. “Y/n, I’m so happy for you.. You’ve been through thick and thin and you’re still standing.”

“I just want you here.. with us,” you wiped your tears. “ I always am,” Eren put your hand to your heart, doing the salute. “Always,” his gaze more soft. “Until we meet again, Y/n L/n,” the boy said.

“ See you later, jeagerbomb.”

You were snapped back into reality only to see It ended. Everything. The screaming. The titans they just vanished. And the war. It was finally over. Oh shit is Mikasa okay?! You thought. Swinging your ODM gear over to Eren’s body you landed inside his mouth.

Mikasa stood there, her body still, as she held up the head of your childhood best friend. Eren Yeager. ‘She- finally..let go..’ she let go of the person who was her only family left. Running through the town of Shiganshina together. You four played hop scotch, fought of Armins bullies, captured butterflies and fire flies. The memories of when you all were kids was the only thing you could think of. She let go.. so it’s time for you to as-well.

Mikasa turned around slowly, her face numb, neutral. The head of Eren in her hand as she held it up to the air, frozen. You gave her a reassuring smile, “I’m.. so.. so..proud of you..” You limped, walked up to her as you cupped her cheek. Her eyes looked up at you, realization in her gaze. All of a sudden she wrapped her hands around your waist, she buried her head into your shoulder. Tears flowing down her eyes.

“You freed him baby..” Sniffling you said, “I know deep down, he thanks you.. you put him out of pain Mika…“

“I never wanted to hurt you.. I never wanted to...” Your girlfriend confessed. “I’m so..sorry..” she choked, tears building up in her eyes. “I love you mikasa,” you replied. “I love you too... “ The Raven Haired woman hugged you tighter, fighting back tears. “I just.. wanna..go home..”

“Then let’s go..” you whispered softly to her. She picked you up as she started heading for the exit of the mouth. Finally after fighting for so long, we got our freedom.

Thank you Eren Jeager, the boy who sought freedom, Goodbye. <\3

“Waffles!” The child cheered out. A small chuckle was heard from the Raven haired girl that passed out breakfast beside you, “You’re right good job!” She said congratulating the baby that sat at the high chair. It had been three years since you gave birth to (Child’s name) Ackerman. Now here you both were, your year marriage anniversary coming up and your daughters fourth birthday right around the corner, seems you both had a busy schedule for the week. “Thank you love,” you kissed the cheek of your wife as she gave you your tea, “of course,” she smiled returning the kiss.

“Mommy, ummie,” the child with Raven hair asked with curiosity, “how did you meet?” You both giggled a little bit before looking at each other, “well, it’s a long story,” you said to your daughter who’s identical to Mikasa. “How did you get that thing on your face ummie?” Your daughter asked Mikasa, “Someone’s full of questions today huh?” She teased tickling her. The cute laughs of the sweetheart you gave birth to made you smile with joy. Mikasa scruffled up their hair, “how did you meet?”

Looking at each other you both smiled.

“Well honey, it started along time ago, with a boy I knew, named Eren.” :)

Your daughters face lit up in confusion, “Who’s Eren is it one of Uncle min min’s friends?” There was a knock on your door as she asked her question, “well that’s a story for another time, and I gotta get that it’s probably Armin and Annie with Glacious,”

“ummie can you tell me?” (Childs name) asked.

“When you’re older sweetie,” Mikasa smiled.

‘Eren jeager, God, I hadn’t heard his name in a long time’you thought. ‘That boy..’ you laughed to yourself, ‘he stood out from others,’ Eren, the boy who sought freedom.

Memories of him filled your mind as all that was left was his memory, and forever that’s all that will be left. ‘Eren, I know you’re watching from up above,’ you said to yourself.

but as the days passed, his face got blurrier and blurrier, and all that was left were memories of when you all were children in Shingansia District, waiting for freedom to soar.

And Eren, that crazed man, made it soar :,)

➪ Kachiniko ||♡︎ My Blog ♥︎ || ☾What I write ☽ 08/ 01/21

Chapt.1 “Come back to me,”

Chapt.2 “The conclusion”

Chapt. 3 That promised light, the string called hope.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

[candycityy]

rumour mill (special ops ft. 104th crack with a dollop of rivetra because it's the weekend, why the hell not)

Friendship is a confusing thing.

As such, despite Hanji Zoë's sheer oddness—Levi really doesn't know any other way to put it—he counts her as one of his very, very few friends. At least, inside his head.

It's a friendship that most people don't understand, him least of all. But for what they lack in the conventional features of friendship—things in common, trips to town, et cetera—they make up in one particularly powerful phenomenon: gossip.

"Kirschtein tried to send Ackerman a love letter today," Levi reports, the second they sit down at the officers' table. As expected, Hanji's jaw drops in quite a gratifying manner.

"No," she breathes. "How'd you know?"

The captain allows himself the faintest hint of a smirk. "I caught him hovering outside the women's barracks. Apparently there's some sort of holiday coming up—"

"St. Valentine's Day." The mad scientist nods wisely. "I'm familiar."

"Whatever," Levi snaps. "Anyway, he was just waiting outside there for the longest time, like a creep, clutching an envelope in his hands."

"For how long?"

"Ten minutes. I counted." Hanji lets out a muffled scream of laughter, which garners them a very pointed look from Erwin. Levi glares at her.

She shuts up.

"So, then, I finally go up to him and ask him what the fuck he's up to, and the brat looks like he's about to shit himself." He rolls his eyes. "It took some...persuasion...but he ended up confessing that he was trying to pass something to Ackerman."

"How'd you know it was a love letter, though? It could've been something lame, like a report," Hanji points out. He rolls his eyes.

"Four-Eyes, the envelope was scented. But that's not all."

"No!" Hanji repeats, looking like she's on the verge of passing out with excitement. "Then what happened? Did he end up passing it to her?"

"I was just about to send him off, but then guess who walks right out of the door." A wicked gleam flashes in his eyes. "Jaeger."

"He didn't!"

"He did. And then of course the shitty brat demands to know what he's doing there, and Kirschtein gets all defensive asking what he's doing there, and then Jaeger grabs the letter and reads it and I swear, he yells so loudly I was afraid he was gonna go all titan-mode on Kirschtein's ass."

"And I don't suppose the poor guy stood there and let him read it?"

Levi snorts. "Of course not. Kirschtein ended up in the med bay and Jaeger lost another tooth, but whatever, it's probably grown back already. But look." He nods discreetly at the recruits' table, where the two boys are resolutely glaring off in opposite directions, while Mikasa sits in between, obliviously tucking into her potato stew. "I guess they haven't made up yet, the brats."

"Poor things. Love is hard," Hanji says. She sounds almost sympathetic, and perhaps he'd believe she was, if not for the almost maniacally wide grin on her face.

Levi just sips at his tea and smirks.

==

The new members of the Survey Corps stares at the officers' table, where Captain Levi and Squad Leader Hanji appear be deep in conversation. As they watch, the brunette lets out a peal of laughter, and the ordinarily impassive captain's lips quirk into something that is almost a smile.

There's a collective intake of breath. "You see?" Connie whispers heatedly. "The captain smiled. I told you they had something going on."

"I think it's adorable," Krista goes dreamily. Ymir snorts.

"That's rubbish," she declares. "I don't think Captain Levi is capable of like, a relationship. He's too busy being a scary, frigid bastard."

"Keep your voice down," Eren implores, his eyes darting to the table. "And the captain's actually really nice—he's just, uh, got a strange way of showing it."

"Whatever, Jaeger, we all know you have some sort of hero-worship crush on the captain anyway—"

"I do not!"

"As if Eren would ever," Mikasa sniffs. "As if anyone would ever like that shorty, he's so full of himself—"

"Keep your voice down." Eren looks around nervously. "And I honestly don't think Captain Levi has anything going on with Squad Leader Hanji. In fact, if anything..." He lowers his voice dramatically, and everyone leans in, even Ymir. "I'd suspect he has something on with Ms Petra."

There's a shocked silence. Sasha interrupts it by bursting into laughter. "Petra Ral? The lady in your squad?" she giggles. "You've got to be joking, she's way too nice for him."

"And way too cute," Jean interrupts with a snigger. "Although, at least she's shorter than him, ha—"

"I still think he has something going on with Squad Leader Hanji," Connie says firmly. He grins mischievously. "And if there are any disagreements...well, anyone care to settle it with a bet?"

==

"Guys," Eld announces, striding into the room and grinning like he's just won the lottery, "you'll never believe what I overheard at dinner."

Petra yawns. Gunther shrugs. "Don't know, don't care," Auruo goes, wincing as he stretches in his chair. "Training was a bitch today, I just wanna get to bed."

"Well, you'll reconsider when you hear this." The squad's second-in-command leans forward, his eyes gleaming. "The captain and Squad Leader Hanji have something going on."

For a moment, no-one moves.

"Wow." Auruo stares at him with awe. "Did you take a hit on the head with a tree branch this morning or something?"

"Even if it was true, you've some nerve telling us." Gunther rolls his eyes in amused disbelief. "The captain could walk in any minute, you know."

"I'm keeping a lookout," Eld insists. "But it's true! I overheard the kids talking about it, and you know that Captain Levi spends almost all his time with them these days, them and the Jaeger brat. They must've seen or heard something."

"If the captain was dating anyone, Petra'd be the first to know," Gunther points out wisely, and turns to their sole female squadmate, and Captain Levi's alleged favourite "Right, Pet...?"

He trails off when he catches sight of the look on the woman's face. Her usually sunny demeanour has been replaced by something pale, stony-faced, and all in all quite terrifying.

There's an awkward silence. "Petra?" Eld ventures. "Is it...is it true then? About the captain dating—"

"Dating who, now?"

Everyone except Petra leaps to their feet instantly, their eagerness quelling to a deer-in-headlights guilt as the man in question stalks through the doors, as silently and with rather the same, threatening air of a predator cornering its prey.

"Eld, you ass," Gunther mutters out of the side of his mouth at the failed lookout.

Auruo, on the other hand, glances sideways at Petra, who remains seated, the strange, cold fury still on her face, her fists clenched at her sides. "What are you doing?" he hisses. "Get up."

She ignores him. "Captain," she says instead, her voice frighteningly calm, "Eld was just talking about a rumour he'd heard."

The man laughs nervously. "Petra," he mutters through a forced smile, "I don't think the captain needs to hear about this."

She continues on, as though she hadn't heard him. "Apparently," she says, her words taking on a note so decidedly threatening that even Humanity's Strongest soldier starts looking slightly nervous, "you're dating Squad Leader Hanji. Is that true, sir?"

The last word hangs in the air, like a warning. The captain blinks.

And makes a sound low in his throat that sounds almost, incredibly, like a muffled snort.

For some reason, Petra seems to take offense at it. She shoves her chair back, sends him one last look of absolute loathing (the boys suck in bated breaths at that), and flounces out of the room, slamming the door bodily behind her.

No-one says anything. The captain's expression doesn't shift a centimetre.

"...uh, sir?" Gunther finally ventures, after a full thirty seconds of silence. "Are you...all right?"

The question seems to snap him out of his reverie. He rounds on Eld, even as his face remains a mask of deadly calm.

"Where," he asks icily, "did you hear that?"

"The kids," Eld confesses after a moment's hesitation.

Captain Levi mutters a curse under his breath.

==

Several fingers point, at once, to Connie Springer.

He sputters, looking around wildly at the traitors. "It wasn't just me!" he cries, and glares accusingly at his comrades. "Krista, you agreed, too!"

Ymir steps protectively in front of the blonde girl. "Don't you pin this on her," she snarls.

"Well, she did," Mikasa says, as deadpan as ever. "So? What's this about? Is it true, sir?" The recruits turn a shade paler at her blunt remark. Eren elbows her in the side, and yelps as his arm collides with what seems to be a wall of solid muscle.

Levi glares at the lot of them. "You shitty brats really don't have a brain cell between the lot of you, do you," he barks. "I've never heard anything so stupid in my life."

"If I may, sir," Mikasa goes smoothly, even as Sasha hisses at her to shut up already, "if it was rubbish anyway, why waste your time coming after us? Gossip isn't exactly a subject worth your attention.

"Yes, captain," another voice comes snidely from behind him. It's Petra, arms folded and glaring daggers, lips twisted in a frown that looks quite out of place on her ordinarily cheerful face. "Why bother?"

Eren's eyes widen, darting rapidly from the captain to his pissed-off subordinate. A look of gleeful understanding dawns on his face.

"Oh," he breathes. "Ms Petra, you're dating the captain, aren't you?"

There's an awkward silence. "None of your business," Levi snaps, just as Petra replies, "No."

The captain turns to her, incredulously. "No?"

"Did I say something wrong, sir?" she drawls. They glare at each other in a silent argument that goes on for a few heated moments, before Levi finally looks away.

"Fine," he growls. "I'm not with Four-Eyes. I'm...I'm with Ral here. And no-one outside this room needs to hear a fucking word of this, understand?"

"Yes, sir!" the recruits chorus in unison, thumping their fists over their hearts with suppressed grins. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Connie Springer and Sasha Braus discreetly exchange coins.

He decides to ignore this.

"Anything else?" he asks, folding his arms and turning his best glare on them.

Nobody dares to move. At least, until Eren raises a tentative hand.

"If it helps," he volunteers, "I betted on you, Ms Petra."

Petra doesn't smile. "Thank you, Eren."

==

"Captain!" Eld exclaims, bursting into the room two days later. "Is it true that you and Pet—"

"Fucking hell."

[drethanramslay]

26, 58 and 61 for ethan x mc please? like angst in the beginning but fluff in the end. thanks!! i love your fanfics btw i read it like 100 times and i can’t seem to get over it.

Aww thanks anon ☺️ and thank you for the ask ❤️❤️

You can find the prompt list here.

#26-“Are you angry…?”

#58-“Where have you been?!” 

#61-“I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have done that, you can look after yourself…I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.” this prompt is in the form of a text message 

Author's note: okay anon I know you wanted a fluffy ending BUT, I decided to write it as a continuation to Hard for me i.e the prompt in which people demanded asked for a part 2

So forgive me for the ending

Word count: 1.2K

Warning: none, it's just angsty as hell

Cry for me

The next one week was painful. 

Ethan's confession in the lift had left Leah in a flux of emotions. On one hand she was joyous that he returned her feelings and that he was all in.

But on the other hand she felt gut wrenching guilt which slowly started eating away at her sanity. She was in a relationship with Bryce. She had a freaking boyfriend but that still didn't stop her from pining for Ethan.

She was so lost in her thoughts half the times, zoning in and out of conversations. Bryce could see something bothering her so he slowly formulating a plan to cheer her up.

"Hey Princess?" Bryce asked as they drove to the hospital.

Leah snapped her head towards Bryce. "Yeah?"

“Are you angry…? Did I do something wrong?"

"Of course not, queen B!" I am angry with myself and the world.

"I just... Can't see you so down and lost. You know you can talk to me, right?"

I don't think I can talk about how I am completely and utterly in love with my boss and the fact that he returns the sentiments.

"Yap I know. It's just been a stressful week, y'know?"

"What if we have a movie night today?  We can eat junk food and laugh on trashy movies?" Bryce spoke up as they got out of the car.

"That's exactly the thing I need. Thank you Bryce." Leah smiled at him and wrapped her arm around his waist, giving him a side hug.

Bryce gave her a breathtaking smile and wrapped his arms around her. "Anything for you Leah."

As they stood there, with their arms around each other in the parking lot, Leah failed to notice a pair of stormy blue eyes burning into her back.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- After changing into her scrubs and grabbing a coffee from the coffee cart, Leah made her way towards Ethan's office. June and Baz were sitting and drinking coffee, pouring over the charts while Ethan wrote on the whiteboard.

"Good morning team." Leah greeted them with a smile.

"Good morning, Leah!"

"Good morning, Dr. Garcia."

"You are late. Where have you been?"

Leah's eyes snapped to the clock above the whiteboard.

8:00 am.

"I was getting the charts. And I am not late. We start the meeting at 8am." Leah said as she placed her laptop and coffee on the table.

"Dr. Garcia, this is not your 9 to 5 corporate job where you enter and leave at a given time. You are a doctor and time should cease to exist because our patient's life is in the palm of our hands. Every minute you spend wasting time, that much is cut from our patient's life. Have you forgotten your Hippocrates oath?"

Leah wanted to answer back, but she bit her tongue. NOT worth it Leah, calm down. 

So clenching her jaw and swallowing down the humiliation, she responded in a curt voice. "Yes Doctor."

"Tardiness in not acceptable. Is that clear?" 

Baz interrupted, trying to diffuse the situation. "Ethan she wasn't even that lat-"

Cutting Baz off, his icy eyes bored into her angry hazel ones. "Dr. Garcia, am I clear?"

"Crystal." Leah spoke up, glaring at Ethan.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- And that's how the entire day continued. When working the case they were like a well oiled machine but outside in the hallways, they would glare at each other as if they wanted to kill each other.

The tension between Ethan was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. They butted heads throughout the duration of the shift that even the staff noticed.

Leah felt like a ticking time bomb, threatening to explode. Anger, frustration and pain is a very dangerous cocktail together, and now she had all of them whirling inside her like a tornado.

I'm gonna fucking confront him. That son of a bitch has it coming. Leah thought to herself, her teeth grinding.

So when she saw Ethan head towards the stairwell, she followed him.

"Dr. Ramsey, wait up."

"If it isn't patient related, don't bother me."

Leah rushed after him and grabbed him by his elbow with incredible strength, causing him to stop and turn towards her.

"What has gotten over you Ethan?"

"I don't know what you are talking about." He crossed his arms and stood there, towering over her.

"You are a smart guy. Acting dumb doesn't suit you. Now, let's try again, what has happened that has made you so pissed with me?"

"Rookie, I'm not mad at you."

"Yes you are!! You said Rookie in B flat and that only happens when I have royally pissed you off. And last time I checked I haven't done anything wrong-"

"What you did wrong, was crash into my life. What you did wrong, was try to cheer me up on a bad day. What you did wrong, was comfort me in my pain. What you did wrong was have faith in me when I was in doubt. What you did wrong, was make me fall for you."

Leah's jaw dropped. What sort of backhanded compliment was that? Clearing her throat and squashing the butterflies in her stomach, she spoke. "Ethan you can't say things like this to me."

"Why not? It's the truth. I like you way too much for my liking." He said in a low voice.

Leah threw her hands in the air. "Because, I am in a freaking relationship! You had your chance and you blew it. Don't Gove me mixed feelings now."

"I-"

"No now you will listen. You pushed me away. You said that you wanted space. You wanted my professional development. You wanted things to go back to normal. This is the new normal, okay? Accept it."

For a first time in a very long time, he looked helpless and guilty. "I was so wrong sunshine..."

Leah stuffed her hands in her coat and looked down at her lavender converse. She was at a complete loss of words. If things would have been easier she would have kissed him and hugged the sadness out of him.

But life is complicated. And everything has a price.

"So that's it huh? So..." Gulping Ethan continued, "You are over me?"

Silence.

Her brain was screaming at her to say yes and to move on from the angsty and painful chapter of her life. But she could not get herself to say it.

"If things were not as fucked up as they were... Do you think we would be a thing?"

Sighing she patted his arm. "I think you are smart enough to figure that out."

Leah side stepped him and climbed down the steps and opened the door of the stairwell to find Bryce standing there, a deer caught in the headlight expression on his face.

Leah greeted him, curiosity laced in her voice. "H..hey?" 

Bryce immediately turned and started walking away fast.

"Bryce wait up."

This is some deja vu.

Bryce stopped and turned towards her, pain shining in his eyes. "Is it true?"

"What?"

"That you have feelings for Dr. Ramsey."

Shit shit shit. An alarm went on in her brain which caused her to freeze up.

"I-" Leah started but she was interrupted.

"I heard everything."

Leah took a deep breath. Cat’s out of the bag. No point denying it. "Please don't jump to conclusions. I-" her pager beeped, signalling that a VIP patient had arrived and she sighed.

"I need to go now. I will talk to you tonight. Please don't do anything rash. I beg you."

Without saying a word, Bryce shrugged and walked away.

Why is does it feel like the two important men of my life walked away from me in a span of 2 minutes?

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

It was nine in the night and Leah was finally done with her rounds. Wearing her jeans and jumper, she tied her hair long black locks into a messy bun and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Letting out a breath, she gave herself a pep talk. Okay Leah... You have to make a decision. You are not Hannah Montana. You can't have the best of both worl-

Her phone pinged, interrupting her. She picked it up to see that it was a text from Ethan. 

Letting out a sigh, she picked up her messenger bag and walked out of the hospital, only one thing running in her head.

Who do I listen to? My head thats telling me that Ethan will hurt me again and that Bryce is better? Or my heart which tells me that Ethan is my one shot at true love?

It was painful to write this 

Also the last part got 88 notes so lets get this to 90 notes so that I have motivation to write part 3 heheheheh 

what do you think will happen in the next part?

ALSO GIVE ME SUGGESTIONS FOR WHAT I SHOULD NAME THIS SERIES

I love you guys 

Permanent Tag list: @trappedinfandoms @oofchoices @agent-breakdance @dailydoseofchoices @tyrilstouch @siaramsey @theeccentricbibliophile @ac27dj @ramseysno1rookie @justanotherrookie @openheart12 @jamespotterthefirst @checkurwindow @chasingrobbie @junggoku  @bellcat2010 @choicesstan1 @mvalentine @crazynutella @hatescapsicum @anonymously-cool @nooruleman @sanvivrma

Ethan x MC Taglist: @ethandaddyramsey @edith-eggs1 @pixelberryownsme @samihatuli @loveellamae @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @zeniamiii @binny1985 @an-urban-witch-ig @ramseyegerton @mrsdr-ethan-ramsey @newcolonies @theodorepjames4 @unluckygs @choices-love-affair @kaavyaethanramsey  @caseyvalentineramsey @ohramsey @squishywizardhq  @junehiratas @lilyvalentine @itsgoingnuts  @choicesfanaf @humanpokemon @temptress-of-death-and-desire @rookiefromedenbrook @courtesanofedenbrook  @hatescapsicum @sanchita012 @edgiestwinter  @fabi-en-ciel @mrsdrakewalkerblog @elwetritsche75  @livingpurpose @drramseysownsme @queencarb @andromedasinclaire @schnitzelbutterfingers @thanialis @floatingmeera @rookieoh @ethanramseyswhore @lucy-268  @big-yikers ​ @have-aheart ​ @whimsicalreader @tsrookie @itschoicesfanaf @lilypills @mals-chesthair @raleigheffingcarrera @utterlyinevitable @choices-fangirl-yeet @rookie-ramsey @papinaveensbitch @custaroonie @helloayzcream @hyperlightgrifter

[kaysreadingarchive]

Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing: Part 3

Pairing: Jacob Seed x Reader, slightly John Seed x Reader x Joseph Seed

AUs: Omegaverse, werewolves

Warnings: Cursing, mention of death, threats, theft

Word Count: 2,741

A/N:  Thank you all for your love and support while I write trash and sip tea. It means the world to me! And like always, give me some feedback on what I could do better or what I did alright, where you wanna see this whole mess go, or something you just don’t understand. I also really want to know what your theories are for the coming story. I always love reading your guys' analyses.

Masterlist       Omegaverse Rules

-------

The picture just seemed to vanish. It wasn’t ripped up anywhere or jammed to the bottom of the bag. Your eyes were getting strained from how many countless times you look for it. You dug through your torn clothes and nothing came up. To other people, it might have looked like you’ve gone mad. Ripping up clothes with an uneasy gleam in your eyes. Maybe they even turned red like John’s. That color still sent shivers down your spine when you thought of it. A dark red, almost an old blood or maroon color.

If it wasn’t here, it had to be inside the church. You could just go in, it would be quick. It would be way easier than looking at someone or making eye contact. Then they would have to start a conversation and you weren’t in the mood to talk about how bad America’s politics were or the latest crop failure.

You looked from the entrance of the white church back to the bed of your truck. As you thought your plan over, you started to chew the inside of your cheek out of habit. The plan was pretty solid, the problem was the people outside rather than inside. Joseph, John, and Jacob stood at the door as people hugged and talked. They blocked most of the entrance as if it was a sign they didn’t want you in. Were they hiding something? This theory alone was stupid. Of course, they were hiding something, they were shady as hell. Jacob just happened to be the least shady of them.

If someone was talking directly to him, he would just nod, not making a real attempt to answer back. You didn’t really notice, but his blue eyes would wander to your truck where you practically ripped your clothes up more than they were, looking for your photo. Sure, he might have some secrets, but they were something you didn’t want to hear. John’s seemed pretty obvious. His secret was he fucked a lot of women and it was pretty obvious. He had money and a dick, what more could a woman like you want?

If you didn’t go in and it was in there, you would hate yourself. It was the only real thing from your parent’s house that you wanted before it was taken by the bank when they died. But if you did go in there and it wasn’t there, it would be all for nothing. It seemed like a lose-lose situation. It’s only been a couple of minutes and you already feel like giving up.

Nevertheless, it didn’t seem like you had much of a choice. So, you just bit the bullet and hopped out of the truck and made your way along the concrete sidewalk.

The blood was pumping and ringing in your ears along with the overwhelming beat of your heart. You felt the need to make yourself as small as possible. Maybe if you did, people wouldn’t stare or make comments. How dare she just walk into the Church and disrespect the Family. She doesn’t even thank them or hug them, nor does she have the audacity to talk to them.

As you walked by, these people, these followers gave you the dirtiest looks. It was only when their flock noticed you, the Seeds started to acknowledge you as well. Lana, or Faith as she liked to be called, was the first to notice.

Lana was the least problematic of the four. You’ve never personally spoken to her. Her dark brown hair had daisies woven into it and she wore a white sundress covered in more flowers. What really unnerved you was her smile. Her pearly white teeth were stretched into an uneven smile that stood out against her tan skin. Her smile didn’t reach her brown eyes, which were dull in comparison. She was really trying to show off how innocent she was with the whites. She wanted you to see her this way, as Faith rather than Lana. They seemed like two entirely different people.

You walked slightly farther away from her as she hugged another follower. It was Danny. He not only came for the service, but he stayed behind. Doesn’t have dedication towards his job, but when it comes to weird religions, he’s all for it. This was real proof of how persuasive and charismatic these people turned out to be. To turn someone’s character completely upside down was startling, to say the least.

“Can I help you with anything, my child?” The voice came from behind. It was smooth and gentle. You turned to see Joseph staring with a small smile on his face. His yellow aviators were still present and he looked absolutely ridiculous with no shirt on. Sweat dripped from your brow as you tried to avoid his attentive gaze, but it followed when your eyes landed on a more interesting patch of dirt in front of you.

“I lost something, inside the church. It was a photo.” Fuck, you even sounded suspicious. Your mouth tripped over the words as you tried to shove them out. You sounded and looked like a mess. You could even feel John’s and Jacob’s gazes once more. One was more of glare or stare down than the other. No wonder some people were so terrified, they were intimidating up close. You weren’t even looking directly at them and your anxiety was pushing your heart to the bottom of your stomach.

“We could help you find it.” He sounded sincere like he wanted to help. You knew this all too well. Joseph Seed put up an act, it was very clear to you. Something was boiling underneath. Something dangerous lied below the surface. Maybe it was even worse than John or Jacob.

“NO! I mean… I can do it by myself. Thanks for the offer.” There it goes, your entire life down the drain. You might as well have angered the wrong people. Killed right in front of your own coworker no doubt.

“Please, I insist.” He was pushing. He made it clear in the undertone of his voice that he didn’t want you talking back. You looked back up once more and saw the smile from before was gone. Only replaced by a disappointing frown. In some way, you felt disappointed in yourself. It was odd because you did nothing wrong. What the hell was wrong with you?

Joseph put a hand onto the small of your back and guided you into the church. He started in the right aisles and you started on the left.

You scrounged through tons of daisy petals and hymn notes and nothing showed up. Not even the remains of a photo. But there was something interesting. White books were tucked away behind the back of pews. They had gold trim on it and in the middle was the same weird cross in gold. It was rather heavy and the first page had the title, ‘The Book of Joseph.’ Oh, fuck, this guy had his own fucking bible. Just great, now you knew this place was weird. This just wasn’t any church, it was a different damn religion.

The covers of the book gleaned in the fluorescent lighting as you peered over the rows of pews to Joseph. He was on his knees, back facing you, looking under the seats for the photo. It was somewhat touching that he cared, but that wasn’t the point. You looked down at the book once more.

You could take it. No one would know and bring it back to the Department. Joey would get a kick out of this. There was the possibility of Danny finding out and telling one of the fucking Seeds then you would be in huge trouble. You could already see Jacob waiting outside your house to attack you for stealing from his brother. The mere thought caused you to bite your lip until you could taste the iron flavored blood.

This was a great opportunity to learn more about these guys. Maybe Hope County will remove the wool over their eyes. You looked back at Joseph once more and slipped the book into a pocket that lined your jacket. If you put your hands in your front pockets, no one would suspect a thing.

“Did you find anything?” You called over to Joseph. He got up and dusted off his jeans with an apologetic look on his face.

“I am sorry. I didn’t find anything. If it helps, I will come by if I find it, Deputy.” He knew you were a deputy. Hell, why wouldn’t he? There were only four of you in the entire county, five if you counted Nancy. You wish you could just whip out your badge and arrest him on the spot. It would be so much easier.

“Thank you for your help, Joseph.” You didn’t even bother looking him in the eyes. He would instantly see how guilty you looked as you felt the book’s cover press against the palm of your hand. You could feel the guilt and sorrowfulness start to bubble in your chest. The thought of stealing from a somewhat innocent man was frightening. All this just for some proof of something. Whatever it was had to be bad. A murder confession maybe, you prayed to whatever God or higher being was out there that there was something to gawk at.

You ducked out behind him and went out of the church. The sky was already dark and it made you wonder how long you were looking for that damn photo. You practically sprinted across the yard, your hands placed firmly in the jacket’s pockets. Both John and Jacob watched you leave, but Jacob was a whole other story. His blue eyes were narrowed as he caught a glimpse of the rectangle-shaped object hidden in your jacket. Fuck, he knew! You looked back again to see him just standing there with his large arms crossed and a small smirk on his lips. Both of your eyes met for a split second as he grabbed something from inside his pocket.

It felt like everything was in slow motion when Jacob held YOUR picture between his fingers. His smirk only got bigger when you bit your lip, trying to resist the urge to attack him. It would look bad, it would look so bad. There was no telling what he was going to do with it.

Jacob slowly reached into another pocket and brought out a small lighter. That son of bitch! He was gonna fucking burn it! He looked up again and held the picture right above the flame, swinging it back and forth like he was teasing you. What hurt the most was the fact that he was dragging it out. You knew he had no intention to burn it. “Please don’t…” Your voice was barely above a whisper but he heard.

Jacob turned off the lighter, and walked closer to you. You could barely hear his heavy footsteps in the dirt over the sound of your blood pumping rapidly in your ears. “What was that, girl?” His deep voice was laced with that teasing tone, much like John’s. He knew it was making you angry and it only seemed to excite him more. From what you could tell, Jacob enjoyed it when others were at his mercy. It was really inflating his already massive ego, but John still held the record. He liked being the top dog, the Alpha. He liked the control. It was like a game of cat and mouse, it was a hunt.

“Nothing, I’ll just be going.” He seemed pleased with this answer because he stuffed the picture back in his pocket without even saying anything. His eyes flashed that same red that never left your memory. This definitely wasn’t your imagination. Jacob slowly backed away and went back to John, making sure to reach into his pocket as he went.

It was nice to know who had it now. Figures it was fucking Jacob. Haven’t even talked to the guy until now, but it was very evident he was a huge asshole. It wasn't like John where he was very active or hyper. He seemed lazy, very out of tune with his emotions. Jacob Seed was definitely someone you didn’t want to fuck with. Especially when he now had this much power over you. You were basically at his beck and call now. Like a little fucking pet. You just hoped he won’t make you suck his dick for the picture.

------

The ride back to the house was tense, even though you were the only one in the truck. You refused to even turn on the radio now that the Project seemed to be playing their own mixtapes. The only things that ate up the dead silence was your breathing and the chirping of crickets outside.

The drive wasn’t long just across the river and outside Fall’s End. Pop’s house was just down the road from the Cougar’s home field. It was a small place, but it was cozy for only two people. Your old swing set was in the back and what was odd about your yard was the lack of a bunker.

A lot of doomsday nut jobs lived in Hope County and you weren’t one if you didn’t have a bunker. Earl summed it up to just not believing in that bullshit. If God wanted to pull the plug he would have done it a long time ago before things got really bad.

You parked the truck and hopped out, locking the door. You grabbed your duffle bag and headed inside. “Gramps! I’m home!” You called out down the hall to the living room. The lights were off, but the T.V. was on. It was playing a commercial for Sunrise farms. A plump pumpkin mascot jumped around a field, just begging you to come by and pick one.

And right in front of the T.V., in a reclining chair was Gramps. His hat and glasses were set on the table next to him and his uniform was still on. At Least he got his shoes off this time. He practically lived in that uniform. You turned off the T.V. and put a knitted blanket over him. His snores shook the house at this point. You made your way down the hallway, past the many pictures on the wall to your room.

It was still very girly. With peeling boy band posters and an awful canopy bed. You never got around to upgrading it. It was one of the many things on your list that will never get done. Just imagine bringing a boy home to this. No boys in the country really interested you. Pratt was an obvious one. He had this weird thing for Joey, but Joey was very much into girls. It was well known since high school, despite being a few years ahead of you.

You grabbed the book from inside your jacket and tossed it onto the bed. It flopped onto the sheets with a smack directly onto the spine. It opened to a random page that just seemed to call to you. You quickly got changed and dived under the covers. You flipped to the first page but stopped. Should you bring this back after you're done? This was only for research and a good laugh, but it felt wrong to make fun of someone else’s religions. Even if it seemed odd to you.

You just had to know what these people were up to and this book seemed to have the answers. The questions just weren’t asked yet. No one in Hope County wanted to ask. They just wanted to follow blindly. They thought this Project brought them hope and faith, nothing like what their government could give them. When you thought about it, was there really a separation between church and state? The lines between these two were very blurry for most people. The Project was building onto something this county had a lot of. Distrust. They were taking advantage of people’s weaknesses.

But you weren’t swayed easily. Any religion involving John or Jacob Seed was a religion you didn’t want to be a part of, especially with a persuasive and charismatic leader like Joseph.

Maybe this book will help you after all. You had no other option other than reading or joining some crazy religious group.

[hermannsthumb]

hey idk if u take prompts like this but I love ur work; there’s a line in Hozier’s song Talk that says “so I’ll try to talk refined, for fear that you’ll find out how I’m imagining you” where hermann overcompensates for his dirty thoughts about newt by being exceptionally proper

newt’s Himbo energies in this one are off the charts..... (warning for 18+ content later on)

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

The first thing Hermann says upon walking into the lab one ordinary Friday morning, half-asleep, travel coffee mug in hand, most comfortable sweater pulled on, is “What on earth are you doing?”

The first thing Newton says, down on his hands and knees on the dirty lab floor, and peering under Hermann’s small bookcase, is “Looking for my contact lenses.”

This is not what Hermann expected to hear. He deposits his mug on his desk and frowns at Newton. “You don’t wear contacts,” he says.

“It’s something new I’m trying,” Newton says. “I break my glasses a lot, you know. And lose them a lot. More, uh, cost effective.” He swipes his hand under the bookcase and curses.

“You lost these, too,” Hermann points out.

Newton pops up for a brief moment merely to scowl at Hermann. Or, really, to scowl in Hermann’s general direction. He’s squinting in a way that makes it quite clear he can’t actually see anything. “I’m aware, Dr. Obvious.”

Hermann takes a sip of coffee and settles in against his desk. “It’s Captain Obvious.”

“I was making a joke, you dick,” Newton says. Hermann watches, mildly entertained, as Newton swipes fruitlessly beneath the bookcase a few more times before crawling over to feel under the kitchenette. “I had no fucking clue how to put these bitches in. They just--popped right out. Ew.” He lifts a moldy crust of bread up, squints at it, and tosses it over his shoulder. It bounces off Hermann’s shoe.

“Newton,” Hermann scolds, kicking it away.

“Newton,” Newt repeats in a mocking approximation of his accent. He gropes his way over to Hermann’s desk and comes to a stop in front of Hermann’s shoes. “Do you mind--?”

“What?” Hermann says. “Oh.”

Feeling a bit warm under the collar at Newton’s uncomfortably suggestive position, Hermann parts his legs. Newton dives between them to peer under the desk, thighs jostling either side of Hermann’s ankles, rear stuck out. His shirt is riding up his back. His sturdy back. If he turned over, Hermann would get a glimpse of his stomach, the sparse bit of hair that--or so Hermann presumes--trails down to his waistband. Hermann grows warmer. “Do be careful,” he says, swallowing hard. He taps at Newt’s boot with his cane. One false move and Newton could send him tumbling. Distantly, dazedly, he thinks he ought to move.

“Mmhmm,” Newton says, rear end wiggling, grunting loudly with effort, then, “Oh!” He wraps the fingers of one hand around Hermann’s calf to steady himself as he sits back on his heels and presents a single dusty contact lens with the other. “Got one.” He squints at it, pink tongue poking out between his lips, as if attempting to asses the damage.

“Fascinating,” Hermann says, hoping, vaguely, that Newton doesn’t attempt to cram it back into place without washing it. Newton’s shirt is still rucked up his chest; he’s not let go of Hermann. His hair is a mess. It would be very easy--almost too easy--for Hermann to thread his own fingers through that messy hair, to draw Newton closer, to press that pink tongue and lips to the front of his trousers and hear him make more of those lovely little grunts. Hermann taps his cane against Newton’s boot again. “N--Ah--I have to. Newton. I left something in my quarters.”

“Huh?” Newton says.

“Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann chokes out. “Ah. My quarters--”

Newton releases Hermann’s calf quickly, his eyebrows creasing in obvious confusion. Not without reason. Hermann has not used his full title since the early days of their correspondence. “Right. Sorry.”

“Jolly good,” Hermann says, and, fumbling with his cane, half-sprints away.

Newton’s reverted back to his standard eyeglasses when Hermann ducks back into the laboratory thirty minutes later, his problem taken care of, so to speak. “Failed experiment of the day,” Newton declares. He makes a show of flicking both--filthy--contact lenses into the trash bin, and then following them up with the box of the rest of them. Hermann wonders if Newton waited for him to get back to do that. He also wonders why, if Newton had his glasses on hand, he didn’t put them on before writhing around on the ground. “Oh well. It was worth a test run.”

He has dirt from the lab floor staining the knees of his skinny jeans. Forcefully dredging his mind from the gutter (Newton, scuffed jeans hiding bruises from where he’d kneeled for something else entirely, and something entirely for Hermann), Hermann nods stiffly. “Certainly. Of course.”

“Glasses suit me better, anyway,” Newton says, and tugs them off his face to wave them around.

"Indeed,” Hermann says.

This is hardly the first time Hermann has been caught embarrassingly off-guard by Newton’s ability to inject a healthy douse of sexuality into even the most innocuous behavior. Newton eats with his fingers and moans when he’s really enjoying his food. Newton has never managed to not stick his ass out into the air when he drops something and bends to pick it up. Newton sucks on the tips of pencils when he’s deep in thought, cheeks hollowed, lips puckered and spit-slick. It drives Hermann mad, frankly, sends him spiraling into completely inappropriate arousal in the middle of the laboratory or mess hall or restaurant every time; he’s long-since developed a routine on how to deal with it. Act proper. Act professional. Newton will never know.

It’s hardly the last time today, either. Hermann is around ninety-percent certain he’s imagining it (fantasizing unintentionally, perhaps) when, three hours later, he hears Newton emitting those same little obscene grunts as before, which is why he ignores it at first. Then they grow louder. Then--

“Hermann?” Newton says. A little squeaking huff. “Hey, dude, can you help me with something?”

Hermann drags his glasses off with a little sigh and sets down his chalk. “What is it?”

Another grunt. “Uh. I’m having--a little problem reaching something.”

When Hermann finally turns, it’s to find Newton leaping and swiping desperately at the cupboard above the kitchenette. Just out of reach for someone of Newton’s height. Not out of reach for someone of Hermann’s height. “We really ought to get you a step-stool,” Hermann says, but clacks over nonetheless. He’s not sure what could possibly be in that cupboard that’s so urgent that Newton needs it right away. They never use it.

Newton has not stopped swiping at the cupboard when Hermann comes up behind him; in fact, he’s only struggling harder. Evidently he’s not heard Hermann. “I almost--”

He grunts against as his fingertips graze the metal handle, deep and exertive, just as Hermann chooses that unfortunate moment to take a step forward to attempt to steady him; Newton falls back with a loud oof!, stumbling, ass rubbing fully against Hermann’s crotch, at the same time Hermann reaches out to catch him, on instinct, and ends up with a hand up Newton’s shirt and a grip around Newton’s soft left side.

Newton stares upside-down at him, eyes wide, glasses askew, pink blooming across his cheeks. Hermann stares down at Newton.

“Whoops,” Newton laughs. “Uh. Sorry. Thanks for--” He wriggles out of Hermann’s grip and turns, awkwardly, to pat his arm. Hermann jerks away.

“Of course,” he says. Too loudly. He pushes past Newton and pulls the cupboard door open so hard it nearly snaps off its hinges. “What--ah--what did you need?”

“Box of disposable gloves,” Newton says.

Hermann grabs it and thrusts it at Newt without even looking. He had not expected Newton’s skin to be so soft and warm to the touch. Obscene fantasies come, unbidden and fast: Hermann stroking both hands up that shirt and over that soft, warm body, Newton making those same little grunts and squeaks, perhaps, even, allowing Hermann to grip his waist and bend him right over and rub against him, rock his hips against him-- “Right,” Hermann says. “Well. Ah. Here you are. Newton. Dr. Geiszler.”

Newton’s tongue flicks out over his lips. He smiles. Innocent, and a little confused. Hermann feels a rush of guilt. “Hey, thanks!” Newton says. He rips open the top and pulls out a pair, teeth worrying at his lower lip for a flash of a second in concentration and leaving behind a tiny dent. He snaps the gloves on. “I bet a stool would count as a business expense.”

“Mm?” Hermann says. He cannot tear his eyes away from the dent. He could leave some of his own on Newton--kiss him until his lips are red and swollen, perhaps. Bite at them until Newton comes apart with a cry under Hermann’s fingertips. Until Hermann can taste blood.

“A stool,” Newton says, and Hermann wonders if all of him is as warm as his chest. “I said we could request a stool on our next supply requisition form.”

Hermann shakes his head. His heart is racing. “I suppose,” he says. He tries to push past Newton. “Ah. Yes. Pardon me, will you, I--”

“I can see your boner, Hermann,” Newton says.

Hermann freezes in his tracks. “Excuse me?”

“I can see your boner,” Newton repeats.

“No you can’t,” Hermann splutters, going beet-red, “that is to say--you cannot, because I do not have one.”

Newton points to the front of Hermann’s trousers; Hermann quickly blocks the view with his cane. “Yes you do,” Newton says. He takes a step closer, one hand settling to rest at Hermann’s waist, and flutters his eyelashes. “Is that for me?”

Hermann’s breath catches, and, for a moment, he considers confessing it all, the fantasies, how wild Newton drives him; then Newton’s face splits into a grin. Mortification surges within Hermann. “This is an entirely inappropriate conversation to be having in--in the workplace,” he spits, pushing Newton off and backing away, “as are your--your jokes. Completely unprofessional. Please refrain from--”

Newton catches his arm. “Listen, man,” he says. “Sorry. I’m not joking. Do you want me to blow you or not?”

Hermann blinks at him. “...Are you certain you’re being serious?”

“Well, yeah,” Newton says. 

“Alright,” Hermann says, happily.

[bluboothalassophile]

Hello since it will be Jason's birthday tomorrow I was wondering if you could make a oneshot where Raven surprises him on his birthday and she accidentally confesses that she is in love with him

Hello,

Happy Birthday to Jaybird! We love him and Fuck DC for making him so damn miserable all the fucking time. Anyways here’s a piece for you’re request and I hope you enjoy the story!  There’s a part two to this as it fits a prompt request I have somewhere in my inbox. =)

Something We Want…

Occasionally Jason would, rather morbidly, dwell on how he’dgotten this far in life. He’d been killed, stabbed, beaten, blown up, tortured,discarded, and every time he somehow came back. He was starting to thinkhimself a cockroach or something, and not in a good way.

Getting home, to his safehouse apartment, away from everyonehe rolled his shoulder feeling the old aches from having been strung up for twomonths, his chest was itchy, and the scar on his face was throbbing. His rightankle was bothering him; he guessed there’d be a storm coming tonight, somehowthat was fitting. Also, there was this raging energy scratching beneath thesurface of his skin, it was annoying him enough that he had bid his family andfriends who had gathered for his birthday adieu and removed himself from thepremise of all their company.

Truth be told he was just overwhelmed at the sheer amount ofpeople there, and it was exhausting to him. People in general were exhausting.

Jason discarded his heavy jacket, jeans, boots, and shirt infavor of some low riding, ratty sweats, as he picked up a favored hoodie. He wasn’tsubconscious about the scars; it was hard to be when they were scars, but hedidn’t like people staring at them or him, so he didn’t undress around anyone;not even family or ‘dates’ anymore.

Kara had stared at his scars in disgust, Donna had looked inhorror at them, Rose had merely added to them, and his family… Fuck, them andhis friends stared at him with this unrelenting guilt; like the scars weretheir fault somehow.

“Okay, so I have Deadpool 1, 2, & 3, also I have Equalizer,all of them, and of course I brought your birthday present. I also got cake;don’t panic, I didn’t bake it, I picked it up from the baker we like,” Ravensaid as she walked through the shadows. “And I brought Beauty and the Beast,and I’ll hear nothing about it other than how much we like it, tomorrow you caninsist I forced it on you.”

“I wanted to be alone Raven,” he pointed out catching herhead and halting his much shorter friend. Her dark eyes flicked up to him asshe frowned.

“When have I ever left you alone when you want to be alone?”she demanded. She was unphased at the sight of his chest and body which had himdropping the hoodie as he flopped on his couch.

“You’re a bitch.”

“I’m a witch, keep it straight.” She dropped herselfunceremoniously into the seat that she typically claimed. “And I’m not leavingmy best friend alone for his twenty-eighth birthday.”

“Stop, you’re making me feel old,” he groaned.

“You are old, ancient according to Damian,” Raven frowned.

“Twerp barely decided on going to Berkley, he can come gripeto me about being old when he’s legally allowed to drink,” Jason stated.

“That’s terrible,” she said. “But true, and that brings meto the final gift of the night; a bottle of B’s finest whiskey, a gift from Selinato you, she handed it to me after nicking it from his stash.”

“It’s scary how close you are with my family.”

“Ah-ha! So, you admit they’re you’re family.”

“Merely a relation through adoption,” he grimaced as heshifted to get comfortable. His chest and scars were killing him right now.

“One of these days you’re just going to accept they’re family.”

“Are you part of that package?” he chuckled.

She snorted. “Fuck no, do I look Batty enough to be a Bat?”

“You look rather vulnerable as a little bird to be honest.”

“I’m Queen of Hell, hardly vulnerable,” she mused as she setup Deadpool.

“And I’m merely the Right Hand of the Queen,” he chuckled. “Rae,”his tone was serious as he looked at her, she turned as she cocked her head abit. Her long hair fell just so, the rays of the light made it violet ratherthan midnight, and her dark eyes looked brilliant blue then. His heart did thatfunny thing it’d been doing since he was sixteen and she would look at him likethat. “Thanks,” he smiled.

“Of course, what else are best friends for? Now move over, Iwant to sit right here,” she decided as she tucked herself so effortlessly intohis side, pulling his arm around her and she sighed as she made herselfcomfortable.

“Are you comfortable?” he chuckled as he assessed her.

“I am now,” she smiled.

He hugged her a bit tighter. “If I didn’t know any better,love, I’d think you were claiming a spot as girlfriend, what would Jerichothink?” he mused.

“Joe and I are over,” she stated unceremoniously which hadhim stiffening. “It wasn’t going to work with him mooning over some guy and noteven being with me to be with me. So I called it quits, besides, I don’t thinkI’m his type past platonic interests. We have a lot in common, but nothing lasting.”

“Do I need to go get Victor to help me beat the idiot blackand blue before burying the body? I know he’d more than willingly help me out,”Jason admitted.

“No, Joe and I are friends,” Raven reached up and touchedhis jaw. “Joe also said it’d never work as long as you and I were friends.”

Jason frowned at her. “You and I are best friends, and that’sall; if he thinks less of you because of that then he’s an idiot.”

“He doesn’t think less of me, he just thinks no one can competewith you in my life; which is utterly ridiculous as we know,” she shook herhead. “You’re my best friend, that means everything to me at times. You’repractically family for importance,” she admitted softly.

Jason said nothing as he watched the opening scene ofDeadpool and Raven magically summoned popcorn.

He was so fucking sunk. He could feel that much.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven lay there, securely against Jason’s side and enjoyedhis warmth.

What Raven didn’t tell Jason was that her and Joseph hadfought about him; again, as most their fights had revolved around herrelationship with him. Joseph had grabbed her and screamed it as best as hisdamaged voice would permit:

‘You Love Him!’

Those three words had hung heavy between them as they hadstared at one another, Joseph had been quick to sign his thoughts and furtherarticulate his evidence for this claim before he had smiled brushed her hairaside and kissed her brow. Then he had told her to go to Jason and they werestill friends, but they weren’t together. If they ever had been.

Raven didn’t know how to feel about this revelation.

Yes, Jason was a sexy mother fuck if she ever saw one. Hehad that bad boy persona wrapped up in tragedy and forged with hellfire, he wasthe only person she’d ever dare to say was her true equal; even if he wasn’t a ‘powerful’man, just a dangerous human, who was merely human. But more than that, he washer best friend. Since about day one there’d just been this instant connection,one she couldn’t explain, a familiarity as if he’d always been there.

True, the trust wasn’t there in the beginning, the sarcasmand distrust were evidence of that, but somewhere between that first meetingand that first mission of knowing each other they had gained true friendshipand trust in each other. Also, she picked him.

Raven always picked Jason. She had promised to pick him, buthe also made it easy because he was Jason. She got Jason, he was someone shejust understood. She didn’t need to sit there and analyze every nuance of hisemotions or expressions, something about him just made sense to her. It alwayshad. These past few months had kind of proved that to both her and Joseph andshe pressed herself closer to Jason. She took a few of his old aches from hisscars as she watched Deadpool.

She pretended not to notice the deep radiating emotions fromhim as she lay there. Frequently she had felt this emotion from him, she couldn’tname it, but it was almost peaceful.

But now she had a name for the emotion and she stared dumblyat the television.

“I love you,” she blurted out which had Jason freezingbeside her as his head snapped to her. His eyes pulsed that dangerous green,she stared at him levelly though. She knew that face, she knew his eyes, andfreckles, she knew that scar and those lips. She knew the scars, the stories.She knew him.

“Raven…” he started.

“I love you,” she repeated before he could doubt it and shetwisted a bit, pulling herself to straddle his lap. Raven carefully traced hischeek with her thumb and stared at his eyes as they pulsed green to blue. “Idon’t expect anything from this, Jason, I just… I want you to know, I love you.”

He said nothing but somehow his mouth was on hers, and hishands were on her hips as he dragged her closer. Raven didn’t squeak, shemoaned as she dove her fingers into his hair. Great Azar! This felt divine as hedeepened the kiss and she kissed him back. Fingers trailed over her hips andbeneath her shirt, his hands were on her skin and they moved upwards to the dipof her waist. They didn’t move as he circled his calloused thumbs over her skinand held her tight.

Jason groaned a bit as she pulled away from the kiss, mostlya groan of frustration as his lips trailed over her jawline.

“Jason,” she whispered as she felt her eyes flutter a bit.

“Raven,” he managed against her skin, his teeth traced overher jugular and instinct had her tilting her head to give him better access. Henibbled a bit on her pulse which had her humming a bit as she tried to movecloser to him. His grip kept her at bay though as his hands moved over herskin. “What are we doing?” he murmured against her skin.

“Something we want,” she whispered back as he finally sild hishands down to grip her ass as he dragged her closer. Raven gasped as shecrashed into his chest and then she kissed him again. Her tongue traced hisbottom lip as she slid her hands between them, over his skin, noting his warmth.

Tenderly she traced the symbol of the Arkham Knight, carvedinto his chest, skinned and grafted there, looking like an angry red burnthough it’d healed rather well in recent years.

“Rae,” he moaned his head fell back as she traced the scar,she watched his face as his eyes closed and he looked near pain and bliss.

“What do you want Jason?” she asked him.

His eyes snapped open, there was a pulse of green before shefound herself flattened on the couch as he loomed over her. Jason said nothing,his eyes were pulsing dangerously as he stared intently at her. “Raven this isn’ta game,” he warned. “You are my best friend, I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“You can’t,” she promised as she came up to him and kissedhim lightly. “I don’t know when, and I don’t know where, but somewhere betweenthe start to now I fell in love with you Jason,” she whispered against and shelet him fell it as she gripped him tightly, so he could feel it. He kissed herhard then as his hands gripped her hips and pulled closer to him.

“I think I wanted this too long,” he murmured.

She smiled as she traced his scars, his stories. Jason inhaledsharply before his mouth was on hers again, and his hands slid over her thighsas he made himself comfortable.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“I love you,” she admitted as her hands traced his theragged scars on his spine.

[singingunderthecurtain]

The Eve [I]

Pic not mine, found it on google.

Author: @loeyeolty and @julietsoddeye (smut) AU: Canon Genre: Crack | Smut | Angst Pairing: Chanyeol x OC x Kris  Trigger Warning: Some swearing, Angst, Smut and jokes. Word Count: 5,336

MINI MASTERLIST

Plot: Your best friend, Chanyeol, drunkenly confessed to you. What would you do? 

Another collaborative work!!! We used my OC Amano Hisako and Liu Yanmei from the Diamond universe, but this is a completely different universe lmfao. Diamond was CEO!AU, while this is Canon.

“Chan can you drive yourself home?” you handed over his car keys, which he took without any hesitation.

“Of course! I’m a fucking expert driver. Watch me!” Seeing Chanyeol get inside the Driver’s seat was a pain to watch, he almost tumbled down in several attempts.

While he successfully inserted the key and started the car, Chanyeol’s head fell face flat on the wheel. Squishing the horn, making a nonstop beep.

You pulled Chanyeol back, cupping his cheeks, “Chan, how many hours do you need to sober up?” Your best friend actually looks really cute with his face smushed up like that.

“Sobering up is easy, healing my heart is not,” he wailed.

“Hyung, when I saw them together I felt like my heart was being pounded into pieces.”

“Joy and who?” you released him, laying his head on the headrest.

“Joy who? I was over that heartless bitch ages ago. Hyung, Kris is dating Hisako. I thought she was my best friend. I, of all people, should know first. I should be her first!” He pounded his fists again on the horn.

It’s almost 5 am and your pre-work morning yoga is being interrupted by a flurry of missed calls from MQ.

“You’re awake? Good. Please come over asap, Chan doesn’t look too good.”

MQ's voice was not exactly the best thing to hear in the morning.

“Why what’s up?”

“So we drank last night, he wanting to get over some mumbling girl named Joy. I went out to pee, then I came back and he passed out all over our table.”

“So? Bring him home then?”

You scratched your head in annoyance. MQ disturbed your dead man’s pose.

“I would if I did not have to catch a flight in like 3 hours. See you here at Itaewon.”

he hung up.

As much as you hated MQ, he was your best friend’s best friend after all. And your best friend Chanyeol is needing your help. It's not as if he always asks for your help in drunken situations. Chanyeol was usually a responsible drinker. For him to be unconscious, that girl Joy must have wrecked his heart.

'Fine.' You mouthed to yourself, grabbed a huge coat over your work out tank and yoga pants, and booked an Uber to Itaewon.

“This is our situation.”

MQ greets you at the door of the samgyupsal grill. Pointing at a half-lidded Chanyeol who was groaning with his head glued to the table. He was pressing a lettuce on his ear, in a drunken stupor.

“Actually, this is YOUR situation.” With much emphasis on your,

“So do we hail a cab or what?” you remove the lettuce from his gigantic ears and try to pry him off the table.

“Uh no. Got to go! Here are his car keys.”

In a swift motion, MQ dropped Chanyeol’s Benz keys in front of you on the grill table and made a mad dash towards the exit. Ignoring your screams of 'MQ come back', 'MQ you asshole'. You were sure he didn’t see your flipped middle fingers as well.

“Shit. Chan, get up,”

You tried lifting the tall man from the table, whilst stuffing the keys in your coat. He was still half awake, so you grasp his arm and pull it over your shoulders, forcing him to stand up.

Despite the fact that he was way taller than you. His heavy brown curls rested on your head, putting half of his weight on you.

“MQ you look like a girl, you look pretty now,” he slurred with a smirk.

“It’s because MQ did a sex change for you,” you joked as you guided Chanyeol to the dark parking lot.

“I’m only saying this because I’m drunk and I will regret it but, if you looked like that Hyung, I'd fucking marry you.” Chanyeol slid himself off your grasp, upon reaching his SUV.

“Chan, that’s gay.” You continued to pretend to be MQ, and he doesn’t seem to get the clue.

“Chan can you drive yourself home?” you handed over his car keys, which he took without any hesitation.

“Of course! I’m a fucking expert driver. Watch me!” Seeing Chanyeol get inside the Driver’s seat was a pain to watch, he almost tumbled down in several attempts.

While he successfully inserted the key and started the car, Chanyeol’s head fell face flat on the wheel. Squishing the horn, making a nonstop beep.

You pulled Chanyeol back, cupping his cheeks, “Chan, how many hours do you need to sober up?” Your best friend actually looks really cute with his face smushed up like that.

“Sobering up is easy, healing my heart is not,” he wailed.

“Hyung, when I saw them together I felt like my heart was being pounded into pieces.”

“Joy and who?” you released him, laying his head on the headrest.

“Joy who? I was over that heartless bitch ages ago. Hyung, Kris is dating Hisako. I thought she was my best friend. I, of all people, should know first. I should be her first!” He pounded his fists again on the horn.

You felt frozen in your seat. How did he know? You and Kris have tried to keep things low key.

“I thought I had a chance with her, then I caught Kris leaving her apartment yesterday.” a tear rolled down his impeccably soft cheek.

It never really occurred to you that this guy may actually like you. He always just asked you for advice, of his new flavor of the month, recently Joy. You told him to stop being a fuckboy, and he actually got mad. Really? If bringing home a different girl every month is not the definition of a fuckboy, then what is?

You had thought that being the only constant go-to girl in this life. Albeit platonic, he would come to his senses one day. Until Kris came: he was loyal, sweet and caring. He assured you that you were the only girl in his life. Week after week, you were the only girl he was with. For the first time, you felt like a woman, he treated you like one.

“Hyung,” a lone tear rolled down Chanyeol’s cheeks, yet his nose was clogging up,

“I don’t know what to do with these flowers,” he points at some wrapped up items at the back of his car.

“They’re rotting, take them home. I can’t bring them to her.”

You take a glimpse of the foul-smelling, brown and faded roses, in a disordered array at the back. There was also a stuffed toy of a huge Neko Atsume, stained with the withering roses.

“Nice cat,” was all you could mouth. Your hands were shaking in guilt, confusion, and anger. You were too late Chanyeol, too late.

“I was planning to give that to her, but I can’t bear the fact that Kris is probably fucking her right now. And she’s begging him to take hi--” Chanyeol clenched his hands on his jeans, almost ripping up at the seam in the process.

“Stop.” you placed a gentle hand on his,

“I’m sorry Chan, I’m sorry for your pain.” Yet there was a pang in your heart, thinking of what could have been.

“I’ll drive you home,” you instructed him to switch seats. Like an obedient kid, Chanyeol climbed up to the passenger seat and wiped away his snot.

“Thanks, Hyung.”

You drove Chanyeol home. And upon arriving at his pad, the sun was starting to break, sky changing colors from black to orange and then blue.

“Thank you,” he murmured in his drunken state, his head resting on the window.

“Hisako and I used to go on drives, we would switch driving. I miss her.” he gathers a handful of his hair and tugs it.

Chanyeol’s words twist a knot in your heart. But you are already committed to Kris. Chanyeol has been stringing you along for years after all. Who knows when he will change? Out of friendship, you help him get inside his apartment studio. Wherein the giant swoops down on his couch.

6AM. You will be late, but you feel compelled to give him an explanation at the very least. You nudge Chanyeol, whose face is all reddened up, to his side, and calmly clasps his cold icy hands in your warm ones.

“Hisa--ko..?” He finally recognizes you, as daylight broke.

“Chan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hide it from you, but I’m seeing a guy named Kris. He’s really kind. As my best friend, you should know.”

Chanyeol swallows a heavy gulp, you gaze at his eyes, seeing a glint of pain and betrayal.

“Also, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep fetching you whenever you’re drunk, or always available at your whim. It would be unfair to Kris, I’m sorry.” you felt that his hands were prying away from you, so you let him go.

“What does he have that I don’t?” Chanyeol sniffles, and tries to sit up, scrubbing his giant hands for heat and places them over his face. You lend your hands to his cold ears too, but he swats them off.

“Don’t touch me, just answer me!”

“He actually had the courage to tell me that he likes me, and me alone.”

The words that you have always been wanting to tell Chanyeol, over the past few years. Came hurling out like a snowball.

“He doesn’t sleep around, and he doesn’t beat around the bush.”

“I like you too Hisako.” his expression changed from flushed to stern and serious.

“But you didn’t give me a chance... if only that fucking giant didn’t beat me to it. I would have...” his eyes were begging with compassion.

“Careful, that fucking giant is my boyfriend.” you felt a bit defensive of Kris, yet at the back of your head, you have always wanted the boy in front of you, over these years.

He envelops you in a warm embrace,

 “I hate myself. I lost my best friend. I lost the love of my life. Please let me win her back.”

You hug him back,

“This isn’t goodbye. We are still friends Chanyeol. You could still talk to me about your latest, uhm, chick.” You pat his arm, asking for release.

Stab me right in the heart, don’t you?” he was still unwilling to let go.

“You know how to stab mine too. It used to hurt me a lot seeing you with a new chick every month. But now, I’m okay.” You push yourself away from him.

Standing up, you ruffle his hair.

“I wish you the best with, uhm, I really can’t remember the name of your latest one.”

“Neither do I. They don’t matter. Only you, matter.” Chanyeol looks up to you, laughing. but his eyes as if begging you not to go.

But you had already made up your mind,

“Why are you so cheesy? This is not the Chanyeol I know.” you giggle to shake your tension away.

As your heel prepared to leave, Chanyeol walked you to the door. With his towering height, he whispers in your ear,

“I’m going to win you back. Just you see.”

“I wish you happiness, my dear friend.” You gave him a sincere smile, as you shut the door behind you because finally, you were free from him.

Or are you?

------

“I’m going to win you back. Just you see.”

My ass. Chanyeol’s words hover over your head like Blanche. You weren’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that Your Best Friend made zero contact with you over the past 6 months.

Not that you were expecting any action from him anyway. At least you know that you made the right choice: Kris. And you were able to spend uninterrupted time with your boyfriend.

He was exactly your type: tall, funny and sweet. The same points that made you attracted to Chanyeol, yet he was the committal type. If Kris didn’t have schedules that needed him going back and forth to China, he would have been the perfect one.

But what even bothers you is that even his asshole friend MQ stopped contacting you. It’s like Chanyeol has imposed a permanent ban on you perhaps. The most news you could get about him was through official news sites, just like a regular fan.

November-- the perfect weather. It wasn’t too hot, nor too cold, and you could catch a glimpse of the first snow. You enjoyed staying in bed with Kris, who just came home from China last night. Snuggling under the comforters.

You sneaked out of the bed in your tank top and underwear, made a simple breakfast of egg and toast for your lover. And tiptoed back to the room.

Expecting that you will still find his gorgeous form asleep. But you're surprised to find him awake, scrolling on his phone.

Setting down the breakfast tray on Kris’ lap, you join him on the bed. “What you doing Baby?” You trail kisses on his bare shoulder.

“Wow, Chanyeol seems to have hit the jackpot. Careerwise. Look,” Kris shows you his phone screen

“He now writes songs for Exo. And this song Heaven is said to have been staying longer in the charts, months even after its release.”

“Great for him,” you grab a piece of toast and offer Kris a bite.

“I’m curious. How come I never saw him? I’ve met Yanmei and the others. I kinda wanna see him since we last saw each other was in 2014..” Kris nibbles on the toast, while grabbing your waist with his free hand. Pulling you closer to him.

One of the things you loved about Kris was how you can rest your head on his shoulder and feel totally secure. But this time, talking about Chanyeol made you feel uncomfortable.

“I guess he’s just busy.”

“Invite him over. I wanna see him for old time’s sake. I wanted to throw a small advanced birthday party before I go back to China next week. Heck, he can even invite Baekhyun or Sehun.”

He nuzzles his chin on the top of your head. You know he meant to be romantic but his pointed chin hurt your scalp.

“I’m bad at organizing things Kris, I’ll just give you his number. Up to you.”

You didn’t want to go against his wishes. But you didn’t want to see Chanyeol as well. Not after that, he didn't live up to his promises..not that you were expecting.

---

Thankfully, days has passed and you didn’t hear from Kris of any positive reply from Chanyeol.

On Kris’ last day, November 3, you had decorated your living room with balloons. Prepared some Red Wine and bought a kinky cake with an outlandishly pink nipples design. Sexting the boyfriend, who was out meeting out with some old friends. 'I can’t wait to celebrate your birthday in advance tonight. I want your juice.' That sounded a bit, weird but whatever. You had hit send.

Disappointment crept up your face when he did not reply. Damn, time for Plan B. You took out the lingerie you had been reserving for special occasions. Red leather underwear and red nipple tassels. The weather was chilly so you wore a tan coat over it while waiting for Kris to come home.

Finally, your phone beeped, receiving a measly lame reply from Kris. 'Great. Bought some pineapple juice. Coming home in 5.'

You weren’t sure if he understood that you were wanting him tonight but at least he’s coming home.

A mere soft knock on the door made you jump in anticipation, still clad in your tan coat. But opening the door sent chills down your spine.

It was Kris.

But with an equally tall guy behind him.

His hair was red tinged with black roots and pushed back. And still in his perpetual black shorts and Adidas hoodie.

And here you were, almost naked beneath your tan coat.

Feigning warmness and friendliness,

“Babe!” You kissed Kris on the lips before giving Chanyeol a friendly hug. His body pressing onto you, making you feel the hardness of your tassels on your chest. You pray that he did not feel that.

But the smirk on his face after your release from the hug indicates otherwise.

“Oh, Hisako you prepared all this for me?” Kris covered his mouth, astounded with all the preparations. But one thing you did not expect was visitors, hence the boob cake laid out for both the tall guys to see.

“That cake is amazing but I don’t want the fake thing,” Kris comes towards you, giving you a squeeze on your waist. You blush, feeling hot at his words.

Chanyeol stood there, awkwardly watching the two of you, as he cleared his throat.

“I did not know you were coming,” you asked him to sit down on the couch.

“He accepted my invite, last minute,” Another knock on the door and Kris was quick on his toes to receive the guest.

A loud mouthed boy had entered your ruined sexy birthday party

“Hisako!!! Long time no see!!” He immediately takes you in a tight hug. And without any filter, he comments,

“Woah, I think you have some card boards on your chest--” to which he stops and stares at you.

“Oh sorry, for Kris right? Kris, you lucky son of a bitch!”

“What? Babe, it's hot, it's okay to take off your coat,” Kris genuinely, out of concern, asks you to.

“No, I’m okay.” Your body has weird ways of not cooperating. Instead of feeling embarrassed, your tits started feeling hard instead.

“I just, came home from work, I need to change..” you excused yourself to your room.

But in earshot you can hear Baekhyun “Hyung, she’s wearing lingerie. Nipple Tassels I think.” And breaks into solo laughter.

You quickly change into a floral dress, with a fairly decent neckline cut. Enough to show some skin, and enough to elicit inappropriate comments from Baekhyun.

“Kris Hyung, I knew you’d be the luckiest among us,” with him blatantly staring at your chest.

“I know. I am.” Kris sits beside you on the sofa, across Baekhyun and Chanyeol who were chugging on some soju shots.

“How about you Baekhyun, seeing anyone? Taeyeon?” Kris asks. You glance at him and he seems seriously happy to be reunited with his buddies.

“Ah. I learned my lesson.” He coyly answers.

“You should ask Chanyeollie he’s the player!” Baekhyun’s comment merited him a nudge to the rib by the man in the hoodie.

“Seeing anyone Chanyeol? Last time I left you were still dating that trainee Joy..” Kris innocently asks. There seems to be no trace of awkwardness or jealousy on his face. As Kris starts to not so subtly, trace his hand inside the hem of your skirt, rubbing your thighs.

“None. I have decided to focus on my career, producing songs, song writing.” He cockily answers, and Baekhyun nods in agreement.

“I don’t know what got over Chanyeollie. But he completely stopped fucking around earlier this year. I asked him how did you stop? Are you turning into a priest?” Baekhyun slaps his thighs in his own joke.

“But he just told me, sometimes the player thinks he’s just playing but he eventually loses the game. And I’m like, who the hell made you like this?” The smaller man continues to chatter.

“Yeah, I’m like who the hell made me like this?” Chanyeol retorts, raising a brow at you.

You try to slow down Kris’ aggressive hand up your thigh, and Chanyeol was clearly seeing what you two were doing.

“So who’s this girl who broke Chanyeol?” Kris put a pillow on your lap to hide his doings.

“It’s always the nice girls who play badly.” Chanyeol fixes his eyes on you.

“Yeah like Taeyeon,” Baekhyun adds.

“They lure you in then they suddenly crush you without warning.” Chanyeol continues.

“Amen. Hisako, maybe you have friends as nice as you we can introduce to them?” Kris’ rubbing on your knee intensifies, leaving you flushed.

“Male or Female?”

Your question triggers Baekhyun, standing up, putting both of his hands on his own waist.

“Ya. You’ve seen me and Chanyeol with a lot of girls and you still accuse me as gay?”

Kris snaps the garter of your panties, leaving you weak, your

“Noo..” was almost a moan.

“But of course, I like women, but I only have a specific type,” Chanyeol laughs, motioning Baekhyun to sit down.

“What type?” With Kris’ fingers inside your underwear you know you weren’t going to last long. You pinched Kris’ arm. But you still managed to ask Chanyeol that question.

“You know exactly my type, Hisako.” Chanyeol grins.

“Oh shit. My Chicken is burning.” You stood up, pillow falling to the ground.

“I’ll help.” Kris followed you.

But there was no chicken.

You did not cook anything up.

And the kitchen was on the other side.

But walked towards the bedroom.

Seeing Kris enter the room as well.

“Let’s be quick.” With hungry eyes, you closed the door and pinned Kris on the wall.

“Scream as much as you can, I want those fuckers to hear it.” He commanded.

As Kris starts peeling your dress off your body, he simultaneously turns you over. And your left cheek and chest hit the wooden door with a loud thud. You heard muffled sounds of two sets of feet shuffling from the other side.

“What was that? Are they having a fight or something?” Baekhyun asks loudly and Chanyeol hits him on the chest rather roughly.

“Shut the fuck up!” Chanyeol whispers loudly with a slight scowl on his face. He situates his big ear on the door to have a better heed of what’s happening inside. Baekhyun following suite of what his friend did.

“Mmm so wet and needy for me already.” Kris roars out as he rubs 2 fingers on your heat roughly, your back arches and you felt him already hard on your ass. Kris’ left hand is securely wrapped around your nape, pinning your head on the side to the door so you won’t get to move.

“Daddy please stop teasing and just fuck me already.” You gyrate your ass on his boner making your giant of a boyfriend growl with delight. And the razing of his fingers on your clit accelerated. Your legs wobbled when you felt the buzz drawing close. You held onto the towel rack that was flimsily nailed on the door directly above your head. Praying to the heavens above it won’t break and cause an injury to the both of you.

“Fuck! Daddy, please don’t stop! I’m very close!” Baekhyun slaps his mouth shut with his hands to stop himself from making any noise. When he heard you howl in pleasure. Chanyeol removes his ear on the door frame as he swallows the lump that formed in his throat. His cheeks flushed with anger, it should be him who is making you moan, not Kris, he thinks to himself.

“Be a good girl and don’t cum until I’m inside of you.” Kris snarls at your ear. His tight grip on your nape loosened and he pulls down your underwear just enough for him to take you from behind.

“This is so fucking awesome!” Baekhyun mouths as he snickers silently, fishing for his phone from his jean pocket.

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol’s eyes widen when he saw Baekhyun pressing his phone back to life.

“I’m gonna record this so the rest can hear.” Baekhyun tried tapping the audio recording app, but Chanyeol snatches his phone away.

“I will fuck up our bedroom and I will blame it on you so that Kyungsoo will finally kill you for real this time!” Chanyeol whispers fiercely through gritted teeth.

“Fine, fine! I won’t. Fuck Chanyeol, why are you so mad?” Baekhyun snatches his phone back and secures the device back inside his pocket.

“OH MY GOD DADDY YOU’RE TOO BIG!” You cry out when Kris suddenly ram his dick inside of you without any warning, whatsoever. He immediately starts thrusting in and out of you hard and fast, not even giving you time to adjust to his size.

“Are you hearing this right now?!” Baekhyun mouths silently to Chanyeol again, his eyes the size of the moon. Chanyeol wanted to kick the door down so he can stop the lecherous acts you’re doing with Kris. But he knows he doesn’t have the right to since he started ignoring you 6 months ago.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck.” Kris keeps cursing like a sailor when you clenched your walls around him. This is the only way you know that will make him cum faster, so you can both climax together.

“Oh God! I’m almost there Kris, don’t stop, please don’t stop!” You scream out loud, and with that Kris thrusts harder and faster. The banging of the door getting heavier and heavier on every single pounding. You’re sure your bedroom door will be trashed by the time you finish.

“Fuck! you’re so fucking tight Hisako.” Kris yowls even louder than you. Chanyeol’s fist balled up with anger. He doesn’t wanna hear this shit anymore but he literally can’t move away as his feet grew imaginary roots to the ground.

After a few more hard thrash, you finally came and fell apart. Kris didn’t stop his ravage, chasing his own release. With the overstimulation, your grip on the towel bars became flaccid. And Kris tightened his hold around your body before you can even let go of the handlebars completely.

“Oh, baby girl… Fuck....” And just like that, you felt his hot seed burst out and your head whirl as you are overfucked once again.

Kris pushes you up against the flat door with a bang, and finally sealing in the deed with a sloppy kiss to your mouth. “Happy birthday Baby..”

“Hisako, you’re the best birthday gift ever..” Kris lets go of you, leaving your legs numb in the euphoric state you were in. After zipping up his jeans, he graciously helps you get in your dress. He handed you a Kleenex, but before you could even wipe yourself. Nor find your discarded underwear, a loud thud outside was heard.

“Chanyeol!” A worried Baekhyun screams nearby.

“What’s happening?” Kris spontaneously opens your bedroom door. The sounds of crashing plates and series of thundering sounds ensues.

In a hurry, the both of you rush to a panic-stricken Baekhyun grappling a furious Chanyeol from behind.

“Cha-Chanyeol, lets go!” Baekhyun restrained Chanyeol’s hands. Yet he managed to throw the kinky cake off the table, stomping on it as it hits the floor. You scan your surroundings. Your favorite China plate has crashed on the floor as well some of the birthday decorations.

“Chanyeol I don’t know what’s wrong but you better stop before I call the cops.” Kris took a protective stance and hid you behind him.

“Chanyeol..” his raged composure was broken by your soft voice. He looks at you with much betrayal in his eyes. More anger built up on his chest as he saw Kris’ residual juice trickle visibly down your leg. He just could not look, it was killing him, and taking control. Jealousy turns saints into the sea. Clenching his fists, and his ears turning a deep shade of scarlet. Chanyeol knew he was not in the position to be mad at Kris, nor be mad at you.

You feel your insides twist with guilt. Could he still be harboring feelings for you despite even after ignoring you for long? It wasn’t your intention nor Kris’ intention to drive Chanyeol to jealousy. The two of you were merely caught in the heat of the moment between two normal lovers. Besides Kris was oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that the other taller man had confessed his feelings to you months ago.

With a deep sigh, Chanyeol flees the apartment, Baekhyun running after him.

Kris stops you from following your friends. Reasoning out that maybe Chanyeol is just upset over something. You just help Kris pack for his red-eye flight.

Picking up the remnants of the ravaged cake and plates, you thought to yourself, How did it end up like this?

[quillerqueen]

One Fine Mourning (Your Soul Touched Mine)

This was originally intended for two other themes of @spookyoq​, but since I didn’t manage to finish it in time, let’s just pretend it kind of fits today’s theme as well...if you squint really hard...with both eyes. It’s not exactly a happy story, but you get to pick your ending if that helps at all.

It looks so desolate Regina could cry.

Not for fear, for she barely notices the sheer creepiness of the deserted place at this hour of the day, nor does she have a thought to spare for silly superstitions.

No, Regina’s tears are borne of heartache for times long gone and loved ones long dead and buried, of guilt and shame that life had taken her far enough from her parents’ final resting place to let it come to this

What used to be an elegant tomb marked by a majestic tombstone with elaborate engravings now bears the telltale marks of abandonment: the cold marble crusted with dirt, the lanterns overturned by one too many harsh winds, the vases empty but for the dust of flowers long wilted and dead. Oh how mother would bitch and berate Regina for letting the delicate lettering spelling the names of Henry and Cora Mills disappear beneath a coat of dust. And daddy--she sniffs as she wipes off the brownish substance to reveal the words beloved father--daddy would merely give her that sad but fond smile, his eyes alight at finally seeing her again.

The dam breaks then, just like she knew it ultimately would, and she’s weeping into her grimy gloves, allowing herself a rare respite from the poised and polished exterior she normally projects to the world. There’s no witness to her breakdown after all other than harsh stone and bare-limbed trees.

Or perhaps there is.

There’s a...presence.

A slight tingle at the base of her spine.

She’s being watched.

Regina clutches her bag to her side, feels for the small can of pepper spray in her coat’s pocket as that tingle spreads up and up, ever building. She braces for a shiver--but it never comes. All she’s left with is this peculiar tickle in her belly.

She tightens her grip on the pepper spray and turns around.

All she sees is blue. Brilliant, and sincere, and so very warm. Attached to the searching gaze she’s on the receiving end of is a man, casually dressed in jeans and jacket with a hoodie underneath, sandy-haired and stubbled, leaning slightly towards her yet seemingly rooted to the spot.

“Apologies,” he says, his voice as warm as his gaze and raspy, she thinks, with the last vestiges of sleep and the cool morning air--or perhaps he’s been crying, too, over a loss of his own. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I don’t scare easily,” she shrugs, squinting at his outline against the backdrop of the brick wall separating the old part of the cemetery from the new one. “I just expected to be the only one making this particular visit so early on All Hallows’ Eve.”

“Well, it certainly is less busy this time of the day,” the man nods. Then he flinches a little, frowning as he tells hers:  “If it’s solitude you seek, I’d hate to intrude--”

“Actually,” she grimaces, cursing Gold to the fiery pits of hell, “I just couldn’t get the day off.” Her answer surprises even her, although it’s no lie--not exactly. She does prefer the peace and quiet, feels a stirring of panic at even the idea of crowds milling about narrow paths surrounded by flickering candles and prickly wreaths--yet she doesn’t mind this stranger or their chance encounter. “At least I can work from my hotel room for the day. Otherwise I couldn’t have made the trip at all.”

She glances at the tombstone, awash with guilt again.

“I haven’t been here since my mother’s funeral five years ago,” she confesses, quiet enough that he may or may not hear her from where he remains standing. “I was...sick, and the drive’s a rather long one.”

But then, about six months ago, on May 8, the unlikely happened--they found a suitable donor, someone whose life had been tragically cut short, and Regina was reborn.

“Do you visit often?” she asks.

He draws a long breath and nods slowly, biting down on his fleeting ghost of a smile.

“I’m here every day.”

“Parents?”

He pins her with a look that is pure melancholy, whether for her or himself she can’t tell, and she wonders if--no, why--she’s being so uncharacteristically nosy. And why he’s still standing there, his hands pocketed and his eyes never leaving hers.

“Wife,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. “She died years ago.”

That’s a kind of loss she, too, can understand. Daniel’s grave, close enough for her to visit whenever she fancies, is overgrown with flowers and showered with care even a decade after his early demise.

Perhaps this man, the only one here apart from her, stays because he wants company.

Perhaps she’s not adverse to the idea herself.

She clears the carved bench of the large bouquets she’s yet to deposit in their intended place, rights the vases and proceeds to carefully arrange the roses in the one on her mother’s side and the dahlias, doomed to a short life in the cold but her father’s favourite, on his.

“Wanna sit?” she offers with a sudden onset of nerves, tucking her hair behind her ears unnecessarily.

The man’s face splits into a smile so bright it seems to make the air around him shimmer--and that odd little tickle at her spine explodes, spilling liquid warmth into her chest, letting it trickle all the way down to her belly.

He moves noiselessly, like a thief, with not a crunch of leaves trailing behind him, and stops abruptly about a step from her.

With a slight upward tip of her lips, she offers: “I’m Regina.”

Instead of taking her outstretched hand, however, he shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Cold day,” he says regretfully, flashing a crooked little smile. “Forgot my gloves.”

And it is--remarkably cold, now that she thinks about it, chillier even than she remembers from when she arrived half an hour previously.

“I’m Robin.” And with that intense look directed at her, and that smile still playing at his lips, carving dimples into his cheeks, his words carry added warmth despite the odd way his voice hitches halfway through the heartfelt: “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Regina.”

He keeps several inches of respectful distance between them as he joins her on the bench just wide enough for two, and for the first time lets his eyes travel from her face and trace the writing on the stone instead.

“You miss coming here,” he says softly.

Regina considers that for a while.

“Yes and no. I don’t regret leaving Storybrooke, but I do wish sometimes I lived closer. It feels like I’ve abandoned them. Especially Daddy. Mother was...difficult.” Regina isn’t at all sure why she’s telling this stranger all this, but it’s not like she’s going to see him ever again, so there’s not really anything to lose, is there? “She never forgave me for moving away in the first place. Chasing chimeras, she called it. I still miss them both.”

He hums his understanding.

“It never goes away, does it? The missing those we’ve loved and lost.”

“I’m sorry about your wife.”

“Thank you.” She thinks he’ll leave it at that, but instead he, just like she did, chooses to confide more. “It was unspeakably hard without Marian, but I still had our son. Roland was just a baby, and needed me to keep it together. To find a way to live, for him.”

Regina nods--she can relate to that, too.

They sit in companionable silence for a while.

“So you sought happiness outside of Storybrooke,” Robin prompts, “even though your parents didn’t necessarily approve. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I did for a while,” she admits easily--surprisingly so. “My husband, Daniel...he passed away just after we’d adopted our son. Henry’s the light of my life. I don’t need more.”

It’s Robin’s turn to convey with a simple nod what words can’t. And yet--

“But do you ever--?” He hesitates, glancing at her, then plunges ahead with a deep breath. “Do you ever wonder if, perhaps, there’s someone else out there for you? That we all get a second chance if only we open our eyes to see it?”

Regina scoffs at that--she’s beyond feeding herself false hope.

“Not in this life, no.”

“Perhaps another one then?”

And okay, that’s new. She turns to him, her curiosity piqued despite herself.

“You believe in that sort of thing?”

He grins, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “That I do.”

Regina seems to find none of the mocking words she’d normally respond to such sentimental notions with.

“I wish I could, too,” comes out instead--a confession she’s yet to make even to herself. “A comforting thought, that we’ll be reunited with those we’ve lost.”

Robin shifts in his seat, managing somehow not to jostle her.

“What if it’s more than that?” he says slowly, his clear gaze holding hers. “What if--what if we also get to be with those we never found in life?”

Regina blinks.

“So,” she says slowly, “if I miss my second chance in this life--and I’m not saying I believe there even is such a thing for me--I’ll still get to enjoy it for all eternity when I die? That sounds--”

“Crazy?”

And yes, perhaps it is that, but Regina opts instead for:

“Too good to be true.”

“Perhaps,” Robin shrugs. He seems entirely unaffected by her lack of faith--indeed cocks a knowing eyebrow at her, accompanied by a half-smirk. “Perhaps not.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see then,” she challenges with an arched brow of her own.

“I suppose we shall.”

She chuckles softly at the sheer absurdity of it all--how utterly peculiar for her to be sitting here, in the small hours of the morning, engaging in deep conversation with an attractive stranger at her parents’ graves, and feeling lighter somehow yet fuller, and more at peace, than she’s felt in forever. Comfortable. Content.

So she chuckles--and Robin’s breath seems to stutter in his lungs, audibly so, as he angles his body towards hers, the pure awe in his expression matching the one in her heart.

It thump-thumps against her ribcage wildly, that wondrous organ, performs a series of entirely unforeseen somersaults, then skips a frantic beat when Robin’s eyes momentarily drop to her lips.

It’s his turn to chuckle, soft and incredulous, as he shakes his head--and smirks. A smug, victorious sort of thing it is, too, as if he’d won an argument she’s not privy to, or been proved right about an issue of grave importance. He smirks at her, and she back at him, before they settle into a comfortable silence again, gazing up at the still-charcoal sky.

And Regina’s heart is no longer galloping but settling instead into a calm, steady rhythm she’s secretly, foolishly, yet quite helplessly convinced matches the rhythm of his own.

Dawn prods the murky skies with a dusky finger. They watch the black ink seep from the stormy clouds as if an invisible hand had pressed a sheet of blotting paper against it, the night fading slowly into another steely day specked with the rust of fall.

Robin squirms as his eyes settle on the ever greying horizon.

“I’m afraid I must go,” he sighs, every syllable dragging reluctantly from his mouth.

“Right,” Regina nods quickly, disappointment dropping lead-like upon her. “So do I--work.” She doesn’t want to go, though. Wants to leave Storybrooke behind, sure, but not this man with whom she feels so...with whom she just feels, like she hasn’t in years. "Thank you for...well, this. It’s probably not an appropriate thing to say,” she gestures vaguely at their surroundings, “but I had a good time.”

And she loves it--is terrified of it, but wants more nonetheless.

“As did I,” he breathes into the space between them. (His breath doesn’t fog up the way hers does.) “Very much so.”

He sways slightly on his feet as he stands, drawn to her it seems as much as she is to him, and Regina’s tongue darts out to lick her lips. They reach for one another in perfect unison...

...but a split second later Robin is taking an abrupt step back--and it only makes her crave touch a hundredfold more.

After all, she realises with more than a little surprise, they haven’t so much as brushed against each other all this time.

But this is a cemetery they’re presently at, and certainly there are better places for them to explore this unexpected, intriguing connection. Yes, her stupid fear be damned, they’re going to exchange numbers, and then--

“Farewell, Regina.”

Wait, what?

Her incredulous look is met by a positively crushed one of his own, his whole face crumbling before he takes a step back, and another, still unable to tear his eyes away from her face as he backs further and further away, still cataloguing her features.

And then he turns on his heel and stalks off towards the north exit.

She’s too dumbstruck to call after him.

It’s true what she told him--Regina doesn’t believe in second chances.

Not for her, anyway.

She’d made her peace long ago with the fact she’s clearly not meant to have the great, epic true love of fairy tales. Convinced herself the love of her son and a handful of friends is enough. And for years it has been.

So why does she suddenly crave more?

What if Robin decided not to pursue her because of her ardent refusal to believe in even the possibility of a happy ending? Could he have meant there was a second chance for them, the two of them, together? And taken her answer for a no not so much to the concept of it, the way she’d clearly meant it, but his person specifically?

Her head tells her to return to the city without ever looking back (or is that her cowardice?).

Her heart, on the other hand...

Tomorrow. She’ll ask him tomorrow. She can go to the cemetery early again, before she drives back home, and catch him where he’d confessed he’s to be found every day. She’s going to ask him out for a drink--no more, no less--and see where it takes them. Yes, that’s just what she’ll do.

She’s going to open her eyes, and heart, to a second chance.

Shy sunbeams poke the new part of the cemetery shyly, lending it a much more pleasant face than the drab blackness of yesterday’s pre-dawn. Filled to the brim with a daunting cocktail of eager anticipation and crippling anxiety, Regina weaves her way between the tombstones, all fresh and shiny. An odd chill crawls up her spine as she nears the brick wall, looking every which way for Robin’s figure.

“Look, Uncle John! Papa’s left me one again!”

A child’s excited voice is coming from beneath a large weeping willow, and Regina’s feet seem to change direction of their own volition.

A burly man is hunched over an object clutched in a dark-haired little boy’s tiny fist, smiling gently down at him.

Regina halts her approach so as not to disturb a private moment, but can’t hold herself back any longer when the pair grab a watering can each and head for the well.

The headstone they'd just left behind is a gorgeous work of art carved out of wood, with a portrait etched into each side.

“Careful, Roland,” comes the burly man, John’s, voice from afar. “You can’t carry all that.”

“But we need to water them good and proper,” the child objects, “so that mama and papa have a nice garden to rest in.”

And Regina is overcome with the urge to run--yet at the same time she’s rooted to the spot. Barely breathing, she squints at the carved letters, and makes them out to read Marian Lenore Locksley--accompanied by a bunch of dates she skips--and beneath it, another name.

Robin Fletcher Locksley October 30. 1981 - May 8. 2017

Regina’s heart stutters. Her stomach drops. The air freezes in the confines of her collapsing lungs.

It’s him.

She knows it before she even raises her eyes to the portrait.

Robin Locksley, the man she’d met and spent a precious hour with only yesterday, the one she’s allowed herself to hope might be her second chance at happiness, had been dead six months.

Her hand flies to her mouth, a choked cry bursting forth as she tries to hold herself together.

Six months. The exact amount of time Regina has been living her second chance at life itself.

Locksley.

“Oh my god…” She sinks onto the bench, tears of shock and a myriad other emotions spilling freely.

R. F. Locksley. The name she’d, quite by accident, managed to read on top of a confidential folder after they’d told her her donor’s family wished to remain in anonymity.

Here lies Robin Fletcher Locksley, the man who’d quite literally saved her life at the cost of his own. And then, just yesterday, on All Hallows’ Eve, his ghost came to meet her, to flirt with her, to make her feel more alive than ever.

And now her heart--his heart--is flitting about her chest like a frightened little bird, unable to process all this as she sits there, bent double under the terrible, crushing weight of the twofold revelation.

His story was over before theirs ever began.

.

.

.

THE END...?

(((Now, for those who enjoy their angst nice and bitter, I suggest you stop here. Those looking to alleviate the pain a little, please read on - I hope this little bit helps.)))

.

.

.

A single grey feather floats down from above, settling gently on the tip of her shoe.

Regina stares at its blurry shape, blinking and choking on tears, then picks it up gingerly, automatically, for inspection.

“Are you a friend of my papa’s?”

The child, Roland, is standing before her, looking up at her with wide brown eyes.

For lack of a better response, Regina simply nods.

“I thought so,” the precious boy grins happily, those dimples matching his father’s sending a stab to her gut. “He sent you the same message he always sends me when I miss him most.”

And the ghost of a caress lingers upon her cheek, like an invisible hand reaching to wipe away her tears.

Farewell, Regina.

“So long, Robin,” she whispers. “You still owe me that drink.”

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds s01e14 Riding the Lightning review

Episode 14 – Riding the Lightning

So last episode was so fucked up I had a hard time wrapping my head around it. But this one sounds awesome, riding the lightning. Sounds like a catchphrase from a superhero movie or something.

Why is Gideon daydreaming like that on a way to a case? He looks so out of it.

Central Florida. Cool? Never been to it, I think.

Aww, and Garcia is in the car with Reid, Elle and Hotchner! Yay, field trip!!!!

“You guys do realize that visiting death row is not part of my job description?” I love you, Penelope, I do. “They slaughtered thirteen young women with blonde hair, hello?” oh lord.

But yeah, a serial murder couple is definitely not something I’m looking forward to here.

“Well, if she doesn’t change it, she’s going to carry that story to old Sparky,” wow, I’ve never heard that kind of talk, Morgan, I like it. And I know I shouldn’t.

She wants to see the moon before she’s executed, is that so hard to arrange? Regulations be damned, that chick is about to die, you idiot. She looks like she’s accepted her fate, just do it.

Florida State Penitentiary. Okay.

Why are they protesting? Oh, they’re celebrating the execution. Damn.

Oh wow, that Jacob guy looks positively demented. Yikers.

Damn it, Kirsten still isn’t a regular!

Genesis 9:6. Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.

That’s some powerful stuff, Lord.

Countdown 35 hours to execution.

Damn, that Jacob is one sick fuckhead.

Wait, they’re now investigating to make sure that everything was really committed by the two nutcases? They are to be executed for it, doesn’t it mean they’re already convicted?

Oh they’re giving final confessions and explanations. Got it.

Sarah Jean was fine until she met that psycho asshole Jacob. But her daddy was a military man and hit his daughter? Damn. No wonder she fled to Jacob’s arms.

Oh he hit her mommy. Got it. Explains everything even more.

Statement of innocence? What?

That Jacob is seriously annoying and gross and I’m never using the term ‘babycakes’ again. I swear.

A diagnosed sexual psychopath. Gross.

Yes, Hotchner smiles, asshat, but not for you. You gross son of a bitch.

Hey! They’re reading out your confession of innocence! Why are you trying to hurt Gideon and Spencer for trying to help? Come on, Sarah Jean. So she wants to die even though she’s innocent just for having guilt over seeing those murders? Wow. She’s one messed up cookie.

Why is Jacob trying to get Hotchner to laugh? He’s weird.

Why is JJ going into the cell? Why the fuck is she doing that?

Okay, if he wasn’t a sexual psychopath I would’ve thought he was funny as hell. Cuz he is funny.

Why are they bringing in her paintings? And girlie, you’re facing death row, nothing is private anymore. Those paintings are all positive and amazing.

So he’s going to play poker with Hotchner, if he wins he gets to sniff JJ’s hair like a psycho weirdo, and if Hotchner wins he gives up a name of another murdered girl? Oh boy.

She didn’t kill her son. That’s obvious now. But why did she confess to it? Come on.

Aw, my poor sexual psychopath was in solitary and didn’t have company. Wonder why…

She doesn’t even know where her son is buried? Wow, Jacob is so fucked up in the head.

But, isn’t Poker with five cards? Why is Hotch only showing four? And why is he showing a losing hand? Ha! Boom, motherfucker! He beat Jacob! Awesome!

Wait, what? There aren’t any bodies? But he just said …

Ha, they’re going to free Sarah Jean. About time. She didn’t kill Riley.

Wait. Jacob, you are one twisted fucker, you know where she buried a son she didn’t kill? God this episode is messed up in all the right places.

So they found a skeleton. But it’s not Riley. It’s a fourteen-year-old girl who used to clean in Sarah Jean’s mom’s house. Oh my god, Jacob is one sick puppy.

Wow. Sarah Jean was really cut up about that girl! Damn!

Oh Jacob, I am going to skin you alive, you fucker.

Wait. Jacob isn’t done yet? Oh god.

Why is Sarah Jean kicking Gideon out? He’s trying to help.

They have little under 5 hours till execution. Come on.

Aww! Sarah Jean saved Riley and sent him away. So amazing. But then why is she trying to pretend he’s dead? Why?

Oh god, Jacob makes me sick.

Aww, they let Sarah Jean see the moon after all. So cute!

Why is Gideon looking in Sarah’s cell? What is he looking for?

Is that a clipping of Riley? Wow. He’s most definitely alive.

Go to hell, Jacob.

You are one crazy fuck and I want to kick you in the fucking nads.

Wait. They’re executing him in the chair? Oh that is nasty, guys. I didn’t even know they still used that on felons. Damn.

Hahaha, oh my god that was the most amazing thing Hotch has ever done on this show. Showing Jacob the picture of an alive son that he thought his wife had murdered. You lose, fucker.

“We’re never going to make it in time,” “Not if you keep running your mouth” “Well, then, you better buckle up.” Oh sweet hell, Elle and Derek together is also funny as hell.

Why is she still willing to go to the chair if she knows Riley is alive and can be brought back to her? She hasn’t done anything wrong, it was all Jacob, why is she taking all the blame on herself and willing to die? Damn, girl.

Her life ended the day she met Jacob? Oh god.

They found Riley! Why isn’t she doing something? Why is she so willing to die? Oh god, this is heart-wrenching. I can’t believe it. She honestly thinks she’s evil for letting Jacob manipulate her like that. God.

What did Gideon whisper to her?

Wait. So she wants Gideon to be the last face she sees and not her mom? Oh damn.

Oh wow! That was full circle! The first image we saw was actually Gideon sitting at Riley/Byron’s recital! Oh my god that is so amazing.

Albert Pyne: “What we do for ourselves dies with us, what we do for others in the world is, and will remain, immortal.” Nice.

Oh god, this was absolutely a gut-punching episode at every turn and I can’t believe Sarah Jean wanted to die just to save Riley/Byron. Damn.

[ncmadiic]

&. —— ❝ 003. ❞

                                             ( washington dc - march 2014 ! )

By the time evening struck the city, Anabelle had all but forgotten her father’s instruction and she found the deserted streets of the city quite eerie. But she ignored her intuition as the events of the next morning worked their way into prominence of her mind. After she’d dropped her daughter off at her mother-in-law’s house, the overwhelming feeling finally took over. It was all too much. First, her brother, Andrew, then Tom, now Jake--- all the men that she’d cared about wound up being trouble, some way or another. 

Andrew was spending the rest of his life in prison because he took the fall for a criminal--- Tom’s disappearance after she gave birth, and now, all this--- it simply was just TOO MUCH. 

Anabelle parked her car behind an old warehouse, knowing that hardly anyone passed through. She checked her surroundings, making sure that she was completely secluded before she went for the briefcase, albeit, her convictions were hesitant. She placed her thumb on the print reader, before punching in the combination--- 0424 and the case opened with ease. 

As Anabelle flipped through the itinerary, reviewing her new ID, passport, and home of record, a knock on the window startled her. She gasps, dropping the file in her lap, thankful the pages didn’t scatter. “GODDAMNIT.” She curses, flicking her eyes between the person at the window, and the Manila folder. Father, please forgive me for cursing your name. In Jesus' name, I pray, Amen.

She rolls down the window and is surprised to see Steve's face as she expected a police officer instead. He changed out of his stealth suit between the time she’d seen him and now, and he was dressed in a brown leather jacket, black Under Armor shirt and a pair of jeans. She looked at him incredulously, brows knitted together before spitting, "What are you doing here?"

“I thought you said you weren’t working?” He replies, coolly, resting his forearm against the roof of her car, hovering over the opening of the window. 

 “What’re you, stalking me now?” She returns the quip, with a half-hearted smile. 

 “No.” Well, yes, but that was solely for the mission he’d been appointed. 

“Then go away.” She’s still irritated from their previous interaction, but Anabelle had all the intention to be left alone. 

 “I just wanted to check on you.” Rogers pushes his weight off of the car as he lowers his form to be at eye-level with her. 

“Why?” She doesn’t look at him as she edges the loose pages neatly within the folder before placing it back into the briefcase before closing it and allowing it to lock automatically. She fails to notice Steve's curious gaze on the piece of luggage. 

 “I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer and when you left HQ, you didn’t sign out, so, here I am.” This catches her attention, and she finally looks at him with her eyebrows furrowed. The sun catches her eyes and the flecks of green enveloped within the rich sky-colored hue shimmer with confusion. 

She was almost POSITIVE that she signed out with security, but then, again, with what happened in the elevator being on her mind, anything was possible. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry about that,” she conceded, though still doubtful, “Hey, you want to sit in the car with me? It’s a little cold and---”

“You sure?” A grin splits his face. 

“Yeah, let me just---” Anabelle tosses the case into the back seat hastily before unlocking the passenger door. Steve wastes no time making his way around the hood of her car before opening the door and settling in her passenger seat. A few moments pass as they sit comfortably in silence before she's the one to break it. 

 "Steve, I---" she hesitates, feeling pride grip her apologetic words from spilling from her lips, though, as if the soldier could read her mind, he interjected. 

 "No, Ana, I'm sorry. I was being an ass and honestly, with everything going on with the Lumerian Star, I've been kinda stressed. You didn't deserve the way I've been treating you." He knew she'd be eating from his palm with him confessing fault first, and this would be his leverage against her to lower her guard. 

"Hey, it's okay, to be fair, I think we both were under a lot of stress." A smile lifts the corners of her mouth and her posture softens into a more relaxed position. He notices this and takes this as his opportunity to distract her before he incapacitates her. She may have been much smaller than him, however, he'd trained her himself, along with Agent Romanoff upon direct orders from her father upon her post-initiation into SHIELD after her daughter was born. He thought it was foolish of Nicholas to drag his own flesh and blood into the organization as this could compromise him, though, he'd made no comment.

This was all valuable intel to pass over to HYDRA and he did. Steve did have to admit that Fury was not the fool that he expected him to be, though, as he did not assign his daughter to covert ops where she could be compromised herself, instead he had placed her in Records, like the good father that he was to keep her from harm. He knew that Anabelle was fully capable of pushing paperwork all day, despite her experience in the US Air Force as a combat medic. 

"Ana," Steve's voice comes in a soft breath as he attempts to catch her gaze. He'd done as he was ordered; befriend the woman and wait for the perfect opportunity to use her as leverage against the director--- Even if it took years. And now that Captain Rogers had been shown the agenda of Project Insight by the man himself, he'd received confirmation of his directive: take the woman hostage. 

She remembered the last time he said her name like that and it made her smile stretch just a fraction wider. She remembered the way her lips had melted against his and how warm his hand was against her cheek. Even with her ex-husband, she'd never felt the way that Steve made her feel that night and she could feel herself longing for that same feeling once again. She turned her head to meet his gaze and she'd noticed that his pupils were dilated. 

Maybe this was meant to be? 

She remembered how she'd pushed him away, as her divorce had not yet been finalized and she couldn't bear to live with knowing that she’d committed adultery, regardless of her circumstances. Though, she couldn't shake the guilt of doing that to him, even after a year and a half, she'd always felt bad for the situation. She never forgot his tinted cheeks, flushed from embarrassment (or so she thought) and it continued to haunt her to this very day. 

Now, however, it was different. Her husband had departed from this life, therefore, she was no longer obligated to him. Anabelle's eyes trailed from his, down the bridge of his nose and in finality, she'd settled her gaze upon his lips and hesitated a moment before flitting her eyes back up.

This was the signal he was waiting for, and it was more than one reason that drove him. His lips were on hers in an instant and he cradled her jaw in his hand, pulling her closer to him. Her hands were placed on both his shoulder and his the back of his neck as she grazed her nails against his skin. He let a low moan slip from his mouth into hers before he wraps his arm around her waist to lift her and settle her into his lap. His hands now wander from her waist down to her backside giving a gentle squeeze before he trails a hand back up to entangle in her hair. She shivers from the gesture and her body responds as she presses her chest into his, deepening the kiss. 

As the woman is distracted, Steve takes the time to slowly reach into his jacket pocket for the syringe filled with a dose of some sedative that could easily render her unconscious. As he grasped the toxin, she'd moved her lips to his neck, kissing and nibbling at the flesh which distracted him from the task at hand and he'd almost given in to his lust, savoring the feeling for just a moment longer before he decided to take matters into his own hands. She'd sensed the shift in his demeanor and when she pulled back, the expression on his face had turned almost animalistic. 

Everything in her had screamed for her to stop as she was just about to commit a sin against the Lord again, but she was willing to ask for forgiveness later as finally admitted to herself that she wanted this just as much as he did. 

Screw it. 

He moved his hand from his pocket, absent the toxin and he moved his hand to her backside once again, taking no pause to squeeze it, much harder this time and he relished in her reaction as a soft moan had slipped from her lips against his neck. There was no time limit for him to return with Anabelle tonight, so he was content in getting his rocks off first. 

He bedded many women since he'd been retrieved from the ice, but in this moment Anabelle was among his greatest conquests. From the night that he met her, he wanted nothing more than to ravage her, regardless if she were pregnant at the time and he’d succeeded at one point after Grace was born--- but it only left him wanting MORE. 

"I admit, you two are putting on quite a show and I'd like to stay and watch, but you need to wrap it the FUCK up." Rumlow's voice was hushed through the earpiece. He watched the two through his sniper scope from the vantage point barely 500 yards away from where she parked. 

Damn you Rumlow, can't you just let me have something?

"No." He muttered, loud enough for his comrade to hear, though Anabelle thought that he was rejecting her and he could tell by the way she pulled away from him, and it wasn't hard to miss the look on her face. He saved the moment, however, by following up with "I wanna do this in the back." Rumlow sniggered, shaking his head before pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"I gotta do everything around here." He doesn't hesitate as he re-positions his rifle and fixates his cross-hairs onto Anabelle's back and before he pulls the trigger he mutters, "Gotta admit, the bitch has a nice ass." 

The dart sinks into muscle, missing her spine by two inches and the toxin instantly hits her bloodstream. "Ouch!" She exclaims before she realizes that there's a hole in her windshield. before she can register what has happened, her vision fades. 

"Steve?" She slurs before she slumps in his arms. 

 "God damn you, Rumlow."

[thorne93]

What Are We Gonna Do? (Part 1)

Prompt: Imagine that you’re Spencer Reid’s wife, and you get the news of his arrest in Mexico. But you’ve been keeping something from him and the team. How will it affect Spencer?

Word Count: 1564

Warnings: Language, violence, anger, drama, angst

Notes: This picks up right at the beginning of Season 12, episode 13. Spoilers from here till then. Thanks to my beta @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

Tags: @ultrarebelheart

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

Your life was pretty much nothing but change. You traveled constantly for work, people were always coming and going from your job, but these last few months, they were hell on you and Spence both. Morgan had left BAU and Hotch was right behind him, both due to two fucking unsubs that you wanted to get your hands on. Morgan was one of your greatest friends and Hotch, well Hotch was like your own father, you had the most respect for him out of any one on the team. You nearly started bawling when Rossi told everyone on on the team that Hotch was probably never to be seen or heard from again. Not only were two men you greatly admired gone, you had to try and work with Dr. Lewis, Luke, and Walker, it was rough. Even Emily being the new unit chief was hard to adjust to even though you loved her. Much like Garcia, change wasn’t something you welcomed with opened arms.

 Despite all that though, you had Spence. You’d worked with him for 6 years, and had been married for 3. Hotch said that there was no reason to think that you being married would cause any issue on the job, so he allowed you to stay on.

Then this morning, your world exploded around you. Spence had gone to Mexico for some more drugs for his mom. You knew this but the team didn’t.

 JJ, Garcia, Luke, and you were all talking about your weekends, when Emily and Rossi stepped into the office.

 “What’s wrong?” JJ asked as your back was turned to them.

 Emily said, “Reid is in jail.”

 “Jail?” Garcia breathed but before you could listen any more, your world flipped upside down.

 “What?!” you exclaimed, feeling woozy suddenly. The surroundings started to spin before Luke caught you. You thought you were going to throw up, or to hit someone, or fall to the floor. Your stomach was lurching as your mind continued to wrap its head around this.

 “Woah, woah, woah,” Luke said as you leaned on him. “You alright?”

 “No! No I am far from alright,” you snapped. “Emily, what the fuck is going on?”

 “He’s in Mexico.”

 “Mexico, what the hell is he doing down there?”JJ wondered as she glanced your way.

 “There has to be a mistake!” you shouted, your emotions rocketing through you. You were usually a steel cage of emotionless nothing when it came to work. That could be why you and Hotch got along so well, so your outbursts were probably a bit surprising, but just like everyone on this team, when someone messed with your family, they messed with the wrong person.

 “What’s he being held for?” Luke asked.

 “Drug possession and intent to distribute,” Rossi answered.

 “What drugs?”

 “Cocaine and heroin.”

 “Oh my god,” JJ said as she rubbed your arm.

 “This can’t be happening,” Garcia said as she shot a look toward you.

 You broke free from Luke’s grasp and ran to the nearest bathroom and puked up this morning’s muffin and last night’s dinner. When you finally were able to stand up, you washed your mouth out in the sink five times and splashed water on your face.

 How the hell did Spencer end up with cocaine and heroin and in jail in Mexico?

 You exited the bathroom and found Rossi waiting for you.

 “Hey, kid, you alright?” he asked.

 You merely looked at him, hoping your eyes would convey the answer. He nodded in response.

 “Y/N, did you know he was in Mexico?” Rossi questioned as you started to walk unsteadily with him, not sure your legs were able to hold the weight of this news.

 You thought of lying but Dave would instantly know.

 You nodded, feeling like the worst wife in the world. “Yes, yeah, he went.”

 “Y/N,” Rossi sighed.

 “Look, he went for a good reason.”

 “But he didn't let us know. You know that breaks policy…”

 “I know that.”

 “So why did he go?” he asked as you stood right outside the office.

 “I need to tell the team something,” you confessed.

He nodded in response as you two walked into the common area as Emily had her go bag and Luke was on her heels.

 “Rossi, come with me, we’re going to see Reid,” she instructed.

 “Sure thing.”

 “Wait a minute, I’m coming with you,” you said as you went for your desk to grab your things.

 “Oh, no, I can’t let you come,” Emily argued.

 “What?” you deadpanned, turning on your heels. You were sure fire was coming off the top of your head with how angry you were.

 “It could compromise anything we do down there.”

 “Emily, you can’t be serious,” you said, frowning at her.

 “Y/N, it’s too risky.”

 “Am I not allowed to come as an agent or as his wife?” you demanded, your arms crossed.

 “As an agent,” she said.

 “Then I’ll turn my gun and badge in now,” you informed as you started reaching for your things. “I’m coming with you come hell or high fucking water, he’s my husband. Do you understand?”

 Em sighed and nodded. “Alright, alright. No need to quit. You can come.”

 “Thank you,” you said without much kindness in your tone.

 Once everyone was gathered in the conference room and on the plane, you sighed before you began, pacing the aisle way.

 “Okay, Spence has been going down to Mexico to get drugs for his mom -- not illegal drugs. Just....I don’t know, I think they’re holistic. Nothing here has been helping so he sought help outside of the U.S,” you explained, wringing your hands.

 “Without letting the Bureau know?” Emily questioned.

 “Look, it’s not ideal, but he has been so stressed. You all have to understand he's at the end of his rope here.”

 “So these drugs, where was he getting them and who from?” Luke asked.

 You were still pacing, your stomach in a million knots as you twisted your hands around, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what's it in. I don’t know how Spence found them. All I know is the first time he went, he told me he was going to Mexico to meet someone. When he came back, he had these vials of dark junk, that almost looked like thinned molasses.”

 “That can’t be good,” Rossi noted.

 “This is that son of a bitch Scratch isn’t it?” you snarled, shaking your head. “I swear to God, when I find that mother fucker he’s going to wish he never fucking knew my name.”

 “Alright, let’s calm down,” Emily tried.

 “Calm down?! You want me to calm down? Spencer, my husband, is in Mexican jail for something he didn’t fucking do and you want me to calm down?” Your blood had been on nonstop boil since the news came in about Spencer. You didn’t have time to think about anything else except seeing your husband and making that psychopathic son of a bitch Scratch pay.

 “I’m sorry, I know…We also have to consider this might not be related to him,” she said.

 “Drug cartel gone bad,” Rossi suggested. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

 “Oh, it’ll be wrong place wrong time alright. I’ll make sure every fucking local asshat down there knows they fucked with the wrong family,” you growled, still pacing.

 “Spence’s mom is okay, the home nurse you all hired said all is stable,” JJ voice came through the phone.

 Relief and guilt flooded through you. You’d been so preoccupied about Spencer, you forgot to check in on his mom. A small sob choked out from you as you sat down far away from the others.

 “But why would he have narcotics?” Rossi asked.

 “I have no idea,” you said.

 “Exactly! He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t,” Garcia panicked into the phone. “I’m not going to share any secrets I’m not supposed to but those drugs were planted on him.”

 “Absolutely, but why would someone do that just if he’s trying to get some holistic medicine?” Walker questioned.

 “Cruz just sent me the arresting report,” Garcia announced prompting a strangled sob to escape from your throat. “Arresting report” rung over and over in your head. These words were being applied to Dr. Spencer Reid, your husband. You’d never thought you’d associate those two things together. “It says here that Reid was involved in a high speed chase?”

 “What?” Emily said and your head suddenly turned back to the group.

 “Spence? No, he can barely stand when I drive the speed limit, let alone go over it,” you said.

 “None of this sounds like him. It says he was wearing jeans, he was really confused, and according to the arresting officer he was really high on something.”

 “Well that officer was fucking high,” you snapped toward the phone.

 “She’s right,” JJ agreed. “He wouldn’t do that. Not after what happened with Tobias Hankel.”

 Luke had inquired about who that was and Emily explained it, then Rossi asked about the intent to distribute.

 “It says in the trunk, in a duffel back was cash, cocaine, and three bricks of heroin.”

 None of this made any sense. Not one lick of it. Why would Spence be dressed that way? Have those drugs or that money? Why would he be chasing someone? All you had were millions of questions and no answers.