#Goddamn………..Tap do you think we are like…the only two people here who are THAT insane over this stuff?

[keferon]

I can’t. I just. I JUST FUCKING. I CANT WITH THIS ANYMORE I GIVE THE FUCK UP WHERE IS MY FIC IM GONNA POST IT IF I KEEP SEEING SPELLBOUND AU STUFF WITHOUT DOING SPELLBOUND STUFF MYSELF MY BRAIN IS GONNA SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST THIS LEVEL OF CREATIVE ENERGY IS JUST TO MUCH I CANNOT RESIST

*sounds of epilepsy and dying coughing while digging coffin* This is not canon I just desperately needed them to be happy for one day, Spellbound au by Keferon The Bengsons - Hundred days

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[oldguardhc]

Headcanon that joe and Nicky have all (and I do mean *all*) of their old wedding rings. Whenever a bad death occurs or a war or if they just feel like it they retire the rings to their malta house so that they can look back on them later and remember the times they had. Joe always keeps two of their collective rings on his person- one for him, one to quickly slip on Nicky’s finger should they need or want to suddenly be married. In almost a thousand years they have lost exactly 8 of them

Old Guard hc #124

Nicky can’t stop staring at Joe’s hands. More specifically, Nicky can’t stop staring at Joe’s bare fingers. It’s not like Joe never takes his rings off. He always takes them off before a mission because they get in the way of his leather gloves; hell, he had them off a week ago, when they were in Sudan and only slipped them back on after they arrived in Goussainville. So Nicky’s not a stranger to Joe’s bare fingers; yet, he can’t stop staring at them. 

They’re bare and wrong and it’s driving Nicky insane. 

The obvious solution would be to bring the last two rings out of retirement. They’ve only been in the safe for a of couple days and nobody but them would even know, much less care. But every time Nicky thinks about grabbing the two rings, he sees flashes of Joe strapped to the gurney as Kozak takes sample after sample, tastes the cold sterility of the lab, smells the biting alcohol Kozak bathed them in. 

Nicky shakes his head. They retired those rings for a reason.  

He just needs to suck his feelings up for several more days until they get the green light from Copley and then they can go down to a jewelry store. They’ll get some new rings and they can immediately start creating happy memories to look back upon when the rings are inevitably retired. Just a couple more days. 

He can do this!

He cannot do this. 

He tries. Even though his husband is very beautiful—the most beautiful man in the world, in Nicky’s humble opinion—Nicky can’t keep his eyes on Joe’s face. They always start on Joe’s face; but Joe has picked up this awful habit of speaking with his hands and how can Nicky not notice the missing rings? Joe is literally waving the fact right in Nicky’s face! 

“Alright, we’re going to the jewelry store; Copley be damned,” Joe says, pushing himself away from the table to stand up. He holds out a hand and when Nicky stares at it for a second too long, he receives a very forceful flick to the forehead. “Stop doing that!” Joe says over Nicky’s startled “Ow!” 

Nicky angrily rubs his forehead and glares up at his husband. “I can’t help it! You keep waving your bare hands in my face!” Nicky grumbles, but he does stand up and follow Joe to the door. 

Four days. That’s how long he’s had to put up with Joe’s bare fingers. He should be a saint with how well he’s handled this situation. He grabs the car keys off the hook and opens the door. 

“I have not!” Joe argues, snatching the car keys out of Nicky’s hands and walking out of the house. 

Nicky sniffs. He didn’t want to drive anyways! “Have too!” Nicky says in a slightly louder voice, slamming the door shut. He does not stomp to the car; he is a grown man with legs that are having trouble waking up. 

“Have—no. Nope. We’re not doing this.” Joe snaps and points to the car. “Get in the car, listen to some Britney Spears and don’t look at my fingers. I said don’t look at them!” 

Nicky tears his eyes away from Joe’s bare finger and glares at his husband. What was he? A dog? He curls his hands into paws and in the flattest tone he can muster, says, “Woof.” 

It’s totally worth the unimpressed look Joe shoots him over the car’s hood. 

They listen to Toxic for the entire 15 minute ride. They’re still humming the chorus when they enter the jewelers and they only stop because it’s dead silent inside the store. It’s like a vacuum in there. 

And Booker call us socially unaware, Nicky thinks, matching the owner’s smile. He doesn’t think he succeeds from the way the owner’s eyes flicker between him and Joe. 

“Any particular style you two are looking for?” the owner asks.

“Simple platinum bands,” Joe answers, squeezing Nicky’s hand. It’s infuriating that the only thing Nicky can focus on, is the lack of metal pressing into his skin. 

The owner motions them to a display case and begins to point out some of the rings that match their criteria. 

None of them are right. 

They’re too shiny. Too thin. They have gold. 

Joe taps Nicky and points to a band that has a ring of diamonds embedded in the middle. It looks like it belongs on the hand of a gambler. “Right hand?” And on the hand of the most beautiful man in the world. 

Nicky makes a noise he hopes sounds like agreement. Diamonds are interesting, considering—“You don’t like diamonds.” 

Joe shrugs. “Maybe I don’t know people as well as I thought.” Nicky stares at Joe—who keeps his eyes firmly on the display case—and they need to talk. Not here and not now, obviously. But they need to talk about the giant French-shaped hole that’s only going to get bigger in the next century if left unattended. 

The owner clears their throat and pulls out the ring Joe’s been looking at for awhile now. “We can add engravings to all of our rings.”

Joe takes the ring with a small smile, “Thank you, but we’ll most likely add engravings at a later date.” Nicky watches as he slowly spins the ring in a circle before sliding it to the second knuckle of his right ring-finger. “Not bad,” Joe says, tilting his hand side-to-side. 

It’s…different. Nicky’s not used to having this much light glint off that finger, but it’s not bad. Might even be good. He can probably get used to it. 

Joe smiles upon seeing the approval on Nicky’s face and slides the ring off. “We’ll take this in a size 10.” 

Nicky chooses a much more sensible ring. It’s a relatively thick band with a hammered texture around the middle to match Joe’s. It looks good on Nicky’s left ring-finger and even better on Joe’s left index-finger. 

“And this one in a size 12,” Joe tells the owner, holding Nicky’s ring. Joe shakes his head at Nicky, “12. You’ve got fat fingers.” 

Fat? 

Nicky squawks and pokes his husband in the side. “They’re not fat! You just have feminine fingers!” 

“Feminine? These are the hands of an artist!” Joe exclaims, holding both of his hands up. There he goes again, waving his bare hands like a madman. 

Nicky slaps them away before he can get distracted and nods, all faux-sincerity. “If you say so, habibi.” 

“You two are going to last,” the owner interrupts with a laugh, contradicting their earlier impression and sets both rings down in front of them. Nicky trades a look with Joe. They have no idea. “See! You’re already wordlessly communicating!” 

“We’ve had…practice,” Nicky says. The smile they both share only leaves the poor owner confused. That’s alright though, the rings more than make up for it. 

—

Nicky can’t stop staring at Joe’s hands. More specifically, Nicky can’t stop staring at Joe’s ringed fingers. Every time he looks at them, he hears Britney Spears’ Toxic, sees the small rainbow on Joe’s skin as he held his hands up to the afternoon sun, feels the cold press of metal on both sides of his face as Joe kissed him outside the jewelers. 

It’s warm and full of love and so goddamn perfect. 

[bukojuiice]

rose-colored boy

ೃ pairing: (eren jaeger x fem! reader)

ೃ  tags: college/modern au, fluff, humor, love at first sight cliché, mikasa is your cute little sister, armin, sasha, jean, and connie are your besties, and eren is a himbo who works hard and has terrible friends.

ೃ warnings: strong language and mild suggestive content

ೃ part 1/??? of my (eren x reader) college au!

ೃ word count: 3000 words

ೃ  my nav  →  my mha writing masterlist 

ೃ This is my very first snk x reader fic! so i hope you bear with some errors! qwq 

i’ve been following the anime ever since it was released in 2013, and this is the first time i’m  going to be writing for it.  this month’s manga chapter really took me out so why not channel my sadness thru writing an fluff! eren fic? 🤧 i hope you enjoy either way!

ೃ  please do reblog if you enjoyed!! (feel free to add tags too because i love reading them and my heart swells with happiness when people love my work!)

ೃ  in which (Y/N) (L/N), 20, still in school, and regretfully-unregretfully-her little girl scout sister's assistant, meets eren jaeger in an embarrassing too innocent door-to-door cookie sale whilst a humiliating party was going on.

cookies, suspicious maybe-maybe-not pot brownies, meddling little sisters and friends, “oh my god they were roommates” vine on replay 24/7, homework, tears, and fairy lights bring them together.

“I’m going to enter now.”

“Ahhh yes, please!”

“Shut up, please.” Eren muttered to himself as he tossed and turned around in his bed, but still couldn’t get to sleep. “When will they ever stop doing this?” Why did Eren’s next-door roommate and his girlfriend have to do this five times a day? They had a lot of stamina for 21-year-olds who didn’t have anything better to do.

Eren’s thoughts eventually brought him to his parents.

His parents- did they even exist?

For pretty much 14 years of Eren’s life, they had been out of town or out of the country. His older brother, Zeke, blonde, bespectacled, tall, and sometimes too far up his own ass older brother who Eren is able to confide in from time to time, recently got a girlfriend whom he’s hopelessly in love with (they’re even thinking about getting married which isn’t really a problem since the girl is genuinely nice to his older brother so Eren is good with her.), so… things in the family had been a bit rough and busy to say the least.

Communication with his parents wasn’t always the best.

Eren would study late at night back when he was seven, because no one bothered to help him with homework. Along with the fact that he wasn’t the brightest kid in class, and he knew that very well, but he had ambition and he was determined to make it big in the world. He focused more on sports, particularly Soccer in middle school and high school, and tried to balance that with his studies.  After being granted a Sports Scholarship from Shigashina University, Eren decided to rent and share a flat, living with his batchmates who he met at a mixer party (before Uni started as this whole meet and get to know each other kind of thing) and whom he was so quick to call his ‘friends’, just so that he could get out of the hellhole that was his own house.

But things turned out much worse than expected.

Eren thought that the ‘College Life’ was to focus more on pursuing your future career and make a name for yourself but… it was the other way around.

He thought that after Freshmen year, everyone would take things seriously. Sure, have some drinks, get wasted after finals, or have house parties from time to time. But he was unfortunately, dragged into the wrong crowd. After attending around 5 parties in the first few months of being generalized as one of the infamous and pompous freshman archetypes present in every university, he called it a year and spent the rest of his nights doing homework, projects, playing video games, staying at the school soccer field until 10PM while his roommates were probably smoking crack and not caring about the number of units they needed to take for each of their goddamn subjects.

 He was ~living the life~ and now that he regrets most of the decisions he made in freshman year, the only option that he has left was to wait until his third year and move to a different apartment.  

 Now, here he was, Sophomore year, nearing the end of the semester, and very much eager to get the hell out of here and also study for his upcoming finals on Constitutional Law II, as his professor, Mr. Erwin Smith, was going to throw hands if one of his students score below average on the exam.

 “EREN MICK JAEGER! BROOOO!” Eren winces when he hears the shrieky and annoying voice of his flatmate Thomas Wagner, calling out to him. “Wanna go and party with us?” Eren smiles halfheartedly, shaking his head, “Ah, no thanks. I have a game tomorrow and finals coming up on Thursday.” Thomas smirked and wrapped his arm around Eren, “Oh fuck that, live the college life ya spoon.”

“No, really I have to study.”

Thomas frowned and groaned, “Oh god, you’re such a killjoy. Fine, if that’s what you want. Don’t blame us if we tell you to buy some beer down the block.”

Eren cracked an obviously fake laugh and pushed Thomas away from him, “You’re an ass. That only happened once and that was when we first met. Don’t you even dare try to ask me to buy you shit again.”

“Woah. Woah. Woaaaaaah. That was a joke Eren. Loosen up will you?” Thomas raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the brunette’s sudden aggressiveness. He hums Moves like Jaeger by Maroon 5 as a way to spite Eren whilst passing by him down the staircase.

The brunette shook his head, tying his hair into a bun carelessly and sprinting into his room without uttering another word.

Eren just wanted to study. He really did.

Instead, his roommates, all of them, mind you, were all partying in the lounge and the music was too loud and Eren was too annoyed.

They did manage to bring him out and make him stay in the kitchen where he mindlessly glared at anyone who came in. He sighed and tapped his pen restlessly amongst the insane amount of books on the table.

There was a knock.

His roommate, Floch, came in the kitchen with his girlfriend who Eren couldn’t even name with all the women he has brought into the apartment. She was hanging onto his arm and giggling. Floch’s eyes were red and his speech very slow and lazy. "Eren!" he said with a sly grin.

Eren raised an eyebrow, shooting him an irritated look. "What now Floch? Are you here to tell me to take a shot again?" The ginger-haired’s girlfriend giggled once again and kissed Floch’s cheek. Floch laughed and swatted her away, though he missed by a long shot. "Someone's at the door," a thumb pointing to the den. "wouldchumind ge'in it?" another giggle. The girl nodded sloshily. "Yesss! Erenieee get 'em door, please. Be a dearrrrr."

Eren frowned and stared at them menacingly, earning no reaction from the two as they were mad drunk. "You were just in the den," Floch’s eyes widened. "My lovey wovey-we was in the den?" His girlfriend’s mouth went into an O. "Di'nt notice tha'!"

Eren sighed and stood up. He miraculously got through the throng of bodies and to the front door. "Yes?" he called out exasperated, not knowing who was outside.

"Do you want cookies?"

Eren turned and looked to see a little raven-haired girl, a girl scout no less, a blonde-haired boy pulling on a trolley who looked significantly shorter than him, wearing rimmed glasses, and an overall appearance whom his “friends” would immediately label as a nerd they had to be a few feet away from if they saw him and lastly, a girl who looked very tired and very done with life.

Beautiful (h/c)-colored hair, her eyes looked like the starry night sky, twinkling as he catches her gaze and a smile that looked forced, but warm all the same.  

A girl who was just absolutely fucking gorgeous.

Eren was captivated. His heart was beating like crazy and he could feel his ears turn red. He would make a fool of himself if he looked red as a tomato right now.

"Um," The girl peeked inside and grimaced, squeezing the hand that was her little sister's shoulder and catching Eren’s gaze. "Mikasa, I don't think these kinds of guys would want cookies."

“Unless they're pot cookies,” Eren almost said. Mikasa pouted and widened her eyes at Eren.

The older girl crouched down and frantically covered her little sister’s eyes. "Nopenopenope, Mi, don't pull that on him."

"But (Y/N)!"

(Y/N).

Her name was (Y/N).

Eren smiled sincerely (for the first time today) and leaned back inside to the drawer by the door to grab the extra cash he and his roommates put there for emergency pizza and stuff. "You know what? You're absolutely brilliant at selling cookies. I'll take one."

Mikasa smiled back at him cheekily and tugged her older sister’s hand. "See, (Y/N)?! He wants some! Go get 'em!”

The raven-haired girl then turned to the blonde teen, practically jumping up and down. “Armin look! We sold another one!"

“We did!” The boy who was apparently named Armin, clapped his hands together, then gave the little girl a high five. “You’re a natural at this Mikasa!”

(Y/N) looked at Eren, then Mikasa, and sighed. She grabbed a bag from the trolley Armin was dragging around and pulled out a box of cookies. Eren grabbed them slowly from her, their hands almost touching as he gave (Y/N) a small smile. The (h/c) girl blushed lightly, though not visible enough for the brunette to notice.

"Hope to see you again!" Eren called out when the siblings said their thank you's and bid farewell.

And, this time, even for the slightest moment, Eren’s serotonin levels were going straight through the roof. His heart was still beating loudly, almost in sync with the trash music his roommates were blaring on the speakers. and for a moment, even just for a moment. 

He felt genuine happiness that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

 The three of you continue to walk animatedly, now that the coast was clear and the guy from earlier wasn’t within earshot, your blonde friend just had to break the silence.

 Armin smiles, pushing his glasses up to the crook of his nose. “(Y/N), you did see how he looked at you right?” The blonde chuckles softly, catching his best friend off guard.

 You blinked. “Him?” You try to stop yourself from smiling, blushing profusely. “Geez Armin, I don’t even know his name yet.”

 “I’ll bet you 100 bucks that he goes to our Uni.”

 “Even if he does, it’s not like we’ll talk to him or anything. Judging from the place he lives in and the people he was hanging out with, we’re in two completely different worlds.” You shook your head in denial, holding Mikasa’s hand, your interlocked arms swinging playfully. Armin gives you a knowing look in response.

 Mikasa continued to wave back at the boy whom they had just sold cookies too. (Y/N) looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Wasn’t he nice (Y/N)?” Mikasa asks her older sister. (Y/N) returned her sister a small smile, “He was.”

 "I hope we see him again!"

"I'm sure we will."

 The day of Eren’s dreaded finals finally arrive.

He has prepared tirelessly for this. Hours upon hours of hard work. But, before he finally gets his well-deserved sleep, he has a few more hours to cram and absorb more knowledge for his exams.

So, what better way to do so than head straight to the library as soon as it opens at 6 AM?

This time, no one was going to bother him. No annoying roommates and no distractions.

Eren heads over to a table near the coffee and snack machines. He puts down his bag on a seat next to him, and begins to study once again. Looking through the course materials and the lessons that he still didn’t quite understand. Eren was so absorbed with studying and relying on his gut feeling that no other student in this university would think of going to the library at 6 AM on the day of finals… then he’s wrong. Very wrong. 

 “Sasha, should you even be eating mashed potato this early in the morning?” Armin asks the brunette worriedly, a huge tone of concern in his voice.

“Armin! Don’t chu worry! I ate heavy breakfast! Bacon, Eggs, and Toast! Did you not see me in the kitchen!?” She reassures her blonde friend, continuing to scoop up the mashed potato on a reusable cup.

“Liar.” Connie hissed, narrowing his eyes. “I was awake since 4 AM. Not once did I see you sneak into the kitchen until (Y/N) woke you up.”

“Atatata. Can we… stop with the negative vibes for a second?” Jean tries to become the mediator by holding his hands up against his two friends who were about to start an argument. “It’s finals week. We have to keep a clear mind, body and soul-“

“Jean, you know that’s BS.” You yawn widely, still practically half-asleep.

“Oh, come on! Can’t you just let me be positive just this once!? If we fail this exam I’m going to blame you!“

The five of you continue to talk mindlessly on the way to the library. Connie pushes the glass door open, very much excited to have this huge library all to yourselves.

Until…

There was someone already there.

Your eyes immediately come into contact with Eren’s. His radiant jade eyes staring into yours, mouth practically agape, his hands holding on to wooden chopsticks as the hot air of instant ramen breezes through his face.

“Oh?” Connie blinks. “Guess we aren’t the first ones here then.” He whistles.

“(Y/N)!” Armin nudges you in the arm in an attempt to tease you. “Guess your wish came true huh? We did see him again! By himself too!”

“W-what am I supposed to do exactly?” You turn to Armin, speaking in a hushed whisper.  

“Say thank you to him! Offer him to go on a boba date or something!”

“You got the Sasha seal of approval (Y/N)! He’s hot!” Sasha motions you a thumbs up and you can’t help but feel yourself already wanting to die of embarrassment.

The four of them slightly push you towards his table. With your friends cornering you like this, there was no way of escaping this.

All you had to do was talk to him and properly thank him for buying cookies from your little sister.

That was it.

No need for any extra ad-libs or poor and bad attempts of flirtation.

Just thank him (Y/N).

You can do this.

You breathe a hefty sigh then approach his table with confidence. The brunette continues to look up at you whilst turning the page of his reviewer that he wasn’t even looking at.

“Hi again! I just wanted to thank you properly for helping my sister and I, out the other day. Mikasa really appreciated the gesture you did for her, and she couldn’t stop talking about you to our parents since we saw you. You see, none of the other girl scouts want to be paired up with my sister because they think she’s an emotionless and monotonous freak. They’re really mean to her but she really wants to continue being a girl scout so my friend and I accompany her whenever she has to sell cookies!”

“It’s N-no problem!” Eren quickly replies, running a hand through his hair. “Why would they say such horrible things to your sister like that? Judging from the way she acted in front of me, she was quite the opposite. In a positive way of course! Those kids are just assholes who are intimidated because another girl their age is seemingly better than them.”

You giggle in response. “Thank you. I’ll tell Mikasa that you said that!” 

There was short silence for a few seconds until you realized that you forgot to say something. 

“Ah! I’m (Y/N) (L/N) by the way!”

“Eren.” He smiles, reaching his hand out to you for you to shake. You grip his strong and calloused hand firmly, and Eren could feel his ears turning red again while you were about to blush as red as a tomato.

You hear your friends snickering in the background and you took this as a sign to go back to your table. “I guess, I’ll see you around campus?” You ask, tilting your head. For, you actually really wanted to see him again after this.

“Yea! I’ll be seeing you!” He grins widely, watching you leave where he was seated. His smile then envelops into a frown as soon as you went away then he goes back to studying.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)!” Connie whispers loudly, calling you over by waving his hand. Why was this dunce being so painfully obvious? “Ask him if he’s looking for an apartment or if he wants to live with us!”

“Already!?” You ask in disbelief, a bit shocked by what Connie had just said. He scoots to the left, as you take a seat between him and Sasha. “Guys, you’ve known him for like… 3 minutes. Only Armin and I actually interacted with him before this.”

“He has to pass the vibe check first.” Jean shrugs, sipping on an iced expresso. “But, yeah, he does seem alright from a few feet away.”

“Come on (Y/N)! Ask him!” Sasha nods approvingly. “It’s weird that he’s studying alone like this while we’re in another table trying to remain unaware that he looks lonely as hell.”

“UMmMM… maybe he wants to study alone because that’s the only way he can focus? That’s a thing that normal people do, Sasha.” You remark sarcastically, trying to think up of more reasons to not approach him again.

Armin clears his throat, “Look, (Y/N), it won’t hurt to try right? Besides, don’t you feel a tiny bit sorry for him? He does seem lonely and you do have a crush on him so… more ways to interact with him right?”

Your shoulders slump and you breathe a defeated sigh. “Okay okay fine.” You make your way to Eren’s table again but before you do, you turn to your friends. “By the way, I don’t really have a crush on him just yet. I just find him cute okay?”

“Yeah yeah.” They say in unison as you continue to walk back to the brunette’s table.

“Hi again Eren!” You wave and try your best not to fumble or look painfully obvious that you were infatuated by him. He looks up and you try your best not to smile like a weirdo.

“Hm?” He hums.

“Would you like to come over to our table and study with us?”

To be continued.

[coconutstars]

Right people at the wrong time p.IV

Part I | Part II | Part III 

Pairing: Stiles + reader   Prompt: Perhaps, we were the right people at the wrong time Summary: Reader and Stiles finally get to talk things out and figure out if they are, finally, the right people at the right time (of course they are, I’m not cruel) A/N: HELLO, HOLA, BONJOUR. This is it. This is the thrilling conclusion. It’s long, it’s cute and every chic-lit lovers dream. Fair warning, it’s not proofed at all so be ready for some mess- ups here and there. I did my best. Hope y’all aren’t too disappointed! Thank you for all the kind comments on the other parts, they’ve warmed my heart so much. Anywho, enjoy my lovely friends.  ♡

[ :: ]

“So… are we just not going to talk about you and Stiles?” Kira was laying on your bed, flat on her stomach, supporting herself on her elbows. Her eyes were practically twinkling with curiosity. It was the end of your first week and the two of you were cooped up in your room, eating chips straight out of the bag with a sappy soundtrack playing in the background. With a sigh, you lifted your gaze from the toenail you were painting. You could tell the curiosity as to why Stiles and you had been avoiding each other like the plague was eating Kira alive.

“It’s…” you began, searching for the right words to describe the situation. You really wanted to tell Kira about Stiles but where would you even begin? It wasn’t as simple as just ‘we had a fight two years ago’. There was so much more to it. Explaining it all would take time, and a lot of energy. It would mean having to tap into old feelings, insecurities and heartaches and you just weren’t sure you could deal with that right now. “Complicated?” Kira asked, interrupting your train of thought. Your lips curved into a soft smile. “Something like that”   Kira let out a breath and rolled over on her back. “Yeah, I’d know a thing or two about that” “Oh?” you questioned, pulling your knees up to your chest. “It’s Scott” she exhaled loudly. “I don’t really know where we stand” You nodded thoughtfully. You’d sensed that there was something between Kira and Scott. They’d get… mushy when they were around each other. Kira would get all flushed and Scott’s gaze would always linger just a little too long in her direction. “I mean not that we’re…we’re not dating or anything, or I mean, I don’t know if we are… it’s all confusing and when we’re talking” Kira stammered. “Hey” you interrupted calmly “Don’t worry, I get it” Kira let out a breath of relief and rolled over on her stomach again. Her eyes met yours and she curved her lips into at silent conclusion. “Complicated” You nodded in conformation, your smile mimicking hers. “Complicated” [ :: ]

“Uh… Apparently there’s a party going on” Kira exclaimed in the middle of the romcom you were watching. She angled her phone towards you so you could read the words on the illuminated screen.

From: Scott Received 9.42 pm. Hey I know it’s late but there’s a party at Danny’s. You coming?

You lifted you gaze to meet Kira’s. “You wanna…go?” she questioned slowly, biting down on her lip. You knew she wanted to; her body language practically scream it. You suspected it had something to do with the opportunity to be close to Scott. “Uh...” you made an indifferent gesture with your hand. “yeah sure” you said with a pressed smile. Truth was you’d rather stay home. You wouldn’t really know anyone at the party except for Kira and you really didn’t want to be third wheeling it with her and Scott, especially if they were trying to figure out their “are we or aren’t we” situation. So while they did that, you’d probably end up squeezed in on a couch between some passed out kid and a couple making out. Great. Kira must have sensed your unwillingness because she suddenly got up on her knees. “I mean-“ her voice was anxious “we don’t have to! Seriously! I love what we’re doing…” she stressed. You felt bad. If Kira had the chance to… evolve or clarify her feelings for Scott, you didn’t want to be the one to stand in her way. “Kira” you began with a calm smile. “It’s fine, I want to go” Her entire face lit up in a smile. “Really!? Cool” she jumped off the bed and started pacing like she didn’t know where to start or what to do. “Wait” she suddenly said, her smile fading. “I don’t really…”. She looked down at her leggings and zipped hoodie. “Don’t worry” you grinned “I got you”

[ :: ]

Stiles POV

It was crazy how often he thought of her. He wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. It wasn’t as simple as just walking up to her and going ‘hey sorry for being a dick two years ago’. He needed to show her he meant it but how was he supposed to do that when he could barely even look at her without the guilt taking over. Hell, just being near her fucked him up. His hands would get sweaty, his pulse would rise, and his ability to get out a coherent sentence would momentarily non-exist.

Once again, Stiles eyes searched the crowded room hoping to catch even a glimpse of Y/N, but she was nowhere to be seen. All he could see was a bunch of kids playing beer bong over a trashed kitchen table, a guy from the team puking in a corner while his friend filmed it with their phones and a girl from English making out with a guy who wasn’t her boyfriend.

“She left ten minutes ago” a familiar voice declared. Scott appeared beside him, red solo cup in hand. Stiles considered playing dumb but knew there was no point. Scott was his best friend and brother; he didn’t have to be inside his head to know what he was thinking. Besides, he’d been picking up on his emotions all week. “I’m not sure she wants to talk to me” Stiles answered truthfully “Wouldn’t be so sure of it, man” Stiles let out a deep sigh. “I wouldn’t even know what to say” Scott curved his lips into a crooked grin.

“Then figure it out”

[ .. ]

Y/N POV You’d convinced Kira to stay at the party. Not that it took a lot of effort. Scott and her had been talking non-stop ever since the two of you walked through the door. You on the other hand had been hit on by some drunk guy in a Hawaii shirt, offered molly from a girl who looked like she went to Sunday school and had your favorite top ruined by a freshman with shaky hands. He’d apologized and offered to have it dry-cleaned but everyone knew beer stains were textile hell, even for professionals.

Slipping into a pair of printed sweat shorts and a hoodie, you tied your hair into a messy bun and made your way to the kitchen. You hadn’t eaten anything besides the bag of chips you’d shared with Kira. You’d planned on ordering pizza but got to busy getting ready for the party.

Raiding through the fridge you realized pretty quickly your parents hadn’t stocked the fridge before leaving for their “healing retreat” this weekend. It was some stupid trip their therapist had advised them to take every month to “heal the hole” in their marriage.

Closing the fridge, you grabbed a box of cereal with way too much sugar and made your way over to the couch. Taking a few seconds to flip through the different titles on Netflix, you ultimately settled on some new original series and watched passively while digging your hand into the box.

Getting back up, you were just about to grab something to drink when there was a knock on the door.

Shit.

Shit

Shit.

What the hell was Stiles doing here?

Full of panic, you stood in the hallway like a moron, chewing the mouth full of sugary flakes you’d stuffed your face with only seconds earlier. Why. WHY did he have to show up the one night you’d chosen to wear the shorts with fricken mermaids and seashells on them!? For a moment you considered pretending not to be home but realized pretty quickly that you couldn’t. The lights were on and your car was in the driveway. Besides, a part of you was kind of curious as to why he was at you house 11 p.m. on a Friday night when there was a party going on. 

Running your hand over your mouth, you sure to get rid of any crumbs or powdered sugar before opening the door.

“Y/N!” Stiles exclaimed, almost surprised. He’d been running a hand anxiously through his hair but moved it towards you when you appeared in the doorway. “You’re…You’re here” You furrowed your brow; you were determined to act cool even though there was a storm of emotions raging inside you. “Yeah… I kind of live here” you said, going to fold your arms over your chest only to realize you were still holding the cereal box in your hand. Sigh. For once. Could someone give you a goddamn break

Stiles shifted his gaze and started flexing and unflexing his hands. “yeah, no, course” he cleared his throat. There was a moment of silence between you.

“so, you’re uh… probably wondering why I am here” Stiles said with a nervous chuckle. You nodded slightly; lips pressed together. You still couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds.

Stiles cleared his throat again. Seems his plan of action only stretched as far as showing up at your house. “Yeah, so I came to say that…are you… eating that out of the box?” Stiles asked, nodding towards the cereal. “Yeah, so?” you asked defensively. “It’s dry” “I happen to not like milk” Stiles furrowed his brow. “What? You used to love milk? You literally drank like half a gallon when Melissa baked those fudge cookies for Scotts twelfth birthday” You remembered that party. You and Stiles were the only ones that came.

“Please, it was hardly half a gallon and I only drank it” you began, suddenly lowering your tone to a whisper “because those cookies were dry” You were acting as if Melissa was around the corner at risk of hearing you bash her baking skills.

“They were well-baked” Stiles whispered back. “More like burnt. They were literally black Stiles” For a moment it was like the two of you were kids again, sitting in Stiles room, discussing which superhero was the strongest. Stiles eyes searched yours and for the first time since seeing each other again, none of you looked away. “I’m sorry” Stiles mumbled softly. It was strange, and insanely cliché, but something inside you seemed to happen when he uttered those words. You wouldn’t call it heal but it was definitely along those lines.

“For what?”

The muscles in Stile’s jaw flexed. “everything” You looked down for a moment. Stile’s voice was low, and you could tell by his tone that he was being genuine. “I didn’t mean it” he continued. “I was mad, and…” he threw up a hand before letting it fall again “I snapped. I shouldn’t have but I did. But none of it meant anything”. “It’s fine, I get it. I shouldn’t have said those things about Lydia..especially since the two of actually....” For a moment it looked like Stiles had absolutely no idea what you were talking about. “Oh” he said as the realization hit. “Oh no, no me and Lydia aren’t... we’re friends. No, you were right about us” He paused for a moment. “My feelings, what I felt for Lydia...It wasn’t-” he searched for the right words. “Real. I made this, I had this idea of who she, of who I...” he shook his head. “anyway it doesn’t matter. What does though is that I never should have said the things I did. I ruined everything and...” He looked at you with such an intensity you wanted to look away but forced yourself not to. 

“I’m sorry” You leaned your body against the doorframe. You hadn’t realized how much you’d craved an apology until you got one. Suddenly it was like your hurt and anger didn’t matter as much as it used to. Perhaps it was the raging crush or mere wishful thinking, but you believed him. Believed him when he said he hadn’t mean it. A part of you must have always known, or at least hoped, that your friendship had been to real to not have meant something to him.

Your tone was low and soft. “It’s okay”

Stiles shook his head. “No, it’s not. But I’m going to make it up to you. I’ll do...”

You had a feeling the sentence was going to end with something along the lines of ‘I’ll do anything to fix our friendship’ or something equally as cheesy and you had to stop him. Not because it would be awkward as hell but because he needed to know you still had a crush on him and that being friends probably wasn’t the right way to go. You wish you could handle a friendship, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t be around with him without being with him. Your heart ached for him and knowing he didn’t want you in the same way you wanted him made it impossible to be near him. 

“Stiles…” you began, creasing your forehead. “I don’t think we can be friends” Your words clearly took him by surprise. “What? Why? Is it because?... I mean is it because of what I said? I swear, I really didn’t…” “It’s because I’m still love with you” you blurted. There was a moment of instant regret and you could feel every fiber of your body wanting to slam the door in his face, dive into bed and hide under the covers for the next few years.

Stiles stood there looking at you for what felt like hours. You sucked in a breath, feeling the panic in your chest “So… yeah that’s why and…”. Warm hands found their way to your cheeks and before you had a chance to finish your sentence, Stiles had pulled you in and pressed his lips to yours. It took a few seconds but when you were finally able to wrap your head around what was happening, a rush of ecstasy ran through you and you eagerly kissed him back. 

“Stiles” you whispered after a while. You didn’t want to end the kiss but knew you had to. Stiles, however seemed to have other plans and started trailing his lips down your jaw down to your neck. 

“Stiles, I’m literally standing on my front porch, dressed in mermaid shorts, holding a box of Frosties”

With a laugh Stiles pulled back. “Yeah, I meant to comment on those mermaids” he said. Rolling your eyes, you turned around to walk back into the house.   Stiles arms instantly found their way to your waist and he pressed you to him as he walked behind you. “What? I was going to say there are very fashional” “It’s fashionable, and I know” you said, not being able to hold back your smile. It was insane.

Seems like the two of you were finally the right people at the right time. 

Taglist: @loulouloueh

[chibistarlyte]

it’s okay (to not be okay)

Todoroki nodded and pursed his lips. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his mismatched eyes focused on his own hands as they tried to move in an unfamiliar pattern. If Katsuki were the sappy type, he might have admitted Todoroki looked cute when he was concentrating.

But Katsuki steered himself away from that train of thought, watching Todoroki’s hands sign a very simple, very loaded question.

“Are you okay?”

hi i’m here with some todobaku hospital fluff because the manga didn’t give us any :(

spoilers for up to chapter 302!

you can read the fic below the cut or here on ao3! you can also find a masterlist of my bnha fics here!

.

Katsuki felt a weight land on his shoulder. 

It was enough to rouse him out of his fitful, pain medication-induced sleep. He forced his heavy eyelids open and stared into the darkness of his hospital room, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light. Katsuki tried to tilt his head down to see what was on his shoulder, but something prevented his movement. He felt bandages and soft strands of hair tickling his jaw. His muscles tensed on instinct, causing a throb of pain to ring through his abdomen.

"The fu—"

A bandaged hand entered his field of vision, coming closer until it rested atop his own mess of hair, awkwardly patting his head. 

"Didn't mean to…" a raspy voice began to say, but the short phrase was cut off by a dry cough and a small, pained whine. "...to wake you."

Katsuki felt himself deflate a little, his own voice hoarse with sleep when he spoke. "Stop talking, you moron, or you'll lose your voice for real."

Todoroki grunted in response, scooting himself closer to Katsuki on the bed. He pressed his left side, his warm side, against Katsuki’s right. A soft heat pulsated in the air and made Katsuki relax even further. 

He hadn't gotten to see Todoroki much during their stay at the hospital. Most of what he knew, he learned from Kirishima when he visited his room earlier that day. He told him that Todoroki's mother, brother, and sister had showed up to his room. Then, the entire family had disappeared to Endeavor’s hospital room for a good, long while. 

Considering everything that had happened—everything that had been revealed just a few short days ago—Katsuki wasn't surprised about the Todoroki family meeting.

But the fact that Todoroki was here, in Katsuki’s room in the middle of the night, could only mean one thing. 

"Your family's not here right now, are they?" Katsuki asked softly.

He felt Todoroki shake his head against his shoulder, the other boy’s hair wisping against his skin in such a way that Katsuki unconsciously shivered. 

"They left," Todoroki croaked, his words barely audible.

Katsuki let out a shaky sigh, pain creeping in at the edges of his awareness. One cursory glance at the IV bag hanging next to his bag told him his current dose of pain medication was almost up, and he'd need it replenished soon. But until then, Katsuki did all he could to focus on the physical pain so he could ignore the storm of emotions swirling in his bruised, battered, burned chest.

"Are you—" the question was cut off by a sharp intake of breath, followed by a series of short, strained coughs.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, blindly reaching his hand out as far as he could with Todoroki squishing his arm against his side. He patted what he hoped was Todoroki’s leg. "I told you to fucking stop talking," he chided, though his word lacked any real heat.

Todoroki wheezed and ducked his head a little, settling it on Katsuki’s chest. But he avoided the areas that were covered in bandages.

It was quiet between them for a little while. The only sounds taking up space in the silence were the quiet, steady beeping of Katsuki’s heart monitor and Todoroki’s even quieter, raspy breaths. Katsuki wanted to go back to sleep, but the steadily increasing pain prevented him from drifting off. He idly wondered if Todoroki had fallen asleep already, until he saw Todoroki’s hands moving.

"The hell are you doing, half-n-half?" 

Todoroki didn't answer, which was probably a good thing since he couldn't talk without hurting himself. He shifted until he was able to sit up, facing Katsuki. Once again, he started moving his hands.

Katsuki recognized the motions as a very unpracticed, very clumsy attempt at signing. Todoroki’s hands were shaking a little, though whether it was from nerves or injury, Katsuki wasn't sure.

"Sign that again, but slower," Katsuki instructed when Todoroki’s hands stopped in mid-air. 

Todoroki nodded and pursed his lips. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his mismatched eyes focused on his own hands as they tried to move in an unfamiliar pattern. If Katsuki were the sappy type, he might have admitted Todoroki looked cute when he was concentrating. 

But Katsuki steered himself away from that train of thought, watching Todoroki’s hands sign a very simple, very loaded question. 

“Are you okay?”

Another haggard sigh brushed past Katsuki’s lips, a sardonic smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward. "Un-fucking-believable," he said, leaning his head back on the pillow and staring up at the dark ceiling. 

Todoroki made a questioning noise that Katsuki almost missed because of how quiet it was.

Katsuki glanced back down and saw Todoroki looking at him curiously with his head tilted to the side. Cute crossed his mind again, but he shoved the thought away with as much mental force as he could muster. "Your entire family's dirty history has been broadcasted to all of fucking Japan, and your not-dead brother is a mass murderer who tried to kill you, and you're asking if I'm okay?"

He didn't mean to raise his voice, but the way Todoroki flinched and averted his gaze made Katsuki bite down on his tongue. He wrenched his eyes shut and blew out a frustrated sigh through his nose.

Katsuki felt a light tapping on his sternum, right above his cummerbund of bandages. He cracked his eyes open again to see Todoroki's finger lightly poking at his hospital garb.

Todoroki sat up again and brought his hands back up after getting Katsuki’s attention. He paused to think for a moment, then motioned the sign for “ hurt.” He paused again, a shadow descending over his bandaged face as he more cautiously signed “ die.”

And hell , if that didn't bring up another thought that Katsuki had been trying to avoid since he woke up. 

Because Todoroki was right. He did almost die. Todoroki had almost died. And Deku…

Goddamn Deku .

Todoroki tapped Katsuki’s hand this time to get his attention. Katsuki watched as Todoroki struggled to sign out “ Mi-do-ri-ya .”

"What about him?" Katsuki growled out, hoping his anger would hide his worry for his childhood friend.

"…Coma," Todoroki said, sounding like it took every ounce of voice he had left to say it. He wrung his hands together, fingers interlaced tight enough that Katsuki watched his knuckles turn white.

"Yeah…" Katsuki said, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. "He hasn't woken up yet, the fucking asshole."

"You saved him," Todoroki said, falling into a small coughing fit after squeaking the words out. Even though his eyes were watering from the exertion, the sheer admiration and pride that Katsuki saw in those crystal-colored irises when Todoroki looked at him…

"It wasn't enough," Katsuki said, gritting his teeth. He punched the mattress, but there was hardly any fight behind his fist. "He's still…he might…"

Todoroki lightly touched the back of Katsuki’s fist, holding his fingers there for a few moments. Then, he reached his other hand out and gently took Katsuki’s wrist. He slowly turned Katsuki’s hand until his fist was face-up. Then, his fingertips aligned with Katsuki’s fingernails and Todoroki slowly unraveled Katsuki’s fist until his hand was lying limp on the sheets.

The sensation of Todoroki’s blunt nail lightly scraping against his bandaged, calloused palm made Katsuki shiver. Todoroki’s finger traced shapes into his palm that Katsuki only barely put together. 

It was hiragana. “ Go-me-n.”

Katsuki raised a brow and looked up to Todoroki in surprise. "Sorry? What the hell do you have to be sorry for?" he asked a bit harsher than he intended, genuinely confused at Todoroki’s apology.

Todoroki took Katsuki’s hand in both of his and squeezed it tight, staring down at their joined fingers instead of at Katsuki. "I couldn't…" Todoroki tried to clear his throat, but it only brought on more coughing. He wheezed out, "I couldn't save him…or…you…"

Katsuki felt a punch to the gut that hurt almost as much as Shigaraki's tendrils piercing right through him. "Couldn't…are you insane ? You stopped me from plummeting to my death after I was fucking stabbed and bleeding out all over the goddamn place."

Todoroki shook his head. He let go of Katsuki’s hand to sign at him, and Katsuki couldn't help but miss the contact. Todoroki pointed at Katsuki before signing Midoriya’s name again, a little faster this time, and again signing “ hurt.”

Katsuki genuinely couldn't believe what he was hearing…what he was seeing . "Well, yeah, we were hurt, but you saved us both , Icyhot. We would have been goners without you. You know that."

Another shake of his head had Todoroki’s two hair colors mixing together at the part. "My fault," he croaked out, ducking his head low as if ashamed. His hands fisted the sheets, and his knuckles turned white again.

Before he could think otherwise, Katsuki leaned forward and placed his own hands on top of Todoroki’s. He ignored the stab of pain in his abdomen as he jarred his wound. "Stop," he said firmly, perhaps angrier than he intended. And wasn't that always the way, his emotions manifesting themselves as anger to the people around him. "Nothing is your fault, you fucking hear me? Your dad's a shitbag, and he's the one who fucked up and has to answer for that, not you. Never you."

Todoroki looked up at Katsuki, tears streaming down his face and soaking into the bandages wrapped around his cheeks. He seemed...surprised.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. "Look, Deku isn't awake to make you feel better, so it's my job right now," he said in his own defense. His glare turned more intense as he lowered his eyes to the sheets. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around Todoroki’s. "He better fucking wake up, or I'll kill him."

Something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh came from Todoroki, and he masked it behind a cough. 

Katsuki glared up at Todoroki. "What's so funny, you bastard?"

Though there were remnants of tears dripping down Todoroki’s face, he smiled softly at Katsuki. "You care…for Midoriya," he rasped.

As much as it was his reflex to deny any kind of emotional attachment to the nerd, Katsuki fought down his instinct and nodded curtly. "Wouldn't have jumped in front of him if I didn't…"

Todoroki continued to smile at him, sniffing his own tears back and nodding. "I care…for you both, very…" He swallowed, a strained whine escaping his burned throat. "Very much."

Flutters ran rampant in Katsuki’s stomach, hearing those words from Todoroki’s mouth. It was too much for him to handle, the pain in his gut piercing through the kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering about his insides. 

As soon as a pained hiss left his lips, Todoroki’s hands were on his face, cupping his cheeks like Katsuki was someone very dear, very precious to him.

“Pain?” Todoroki asked, the very same sensation mirrored in his own voice.

Katsuki nodded shortly. “Damn meds are wearing off…”

Keeping one hand on his face, Todoroki reached around Katsuki with his other hand and grabbed the nurse call remote from the side of the bed. The little button illuminated red, reflecting off the stark whiteness of Todoroki’s hair. 

“Nurse’s station. What do you need, Bakugou-kun?” one of the nurses asked through the speaker on the remote.

“New IV bag,” Katsuki said through gritted teeth, trying as hard as he could not to start hyperventilating from the pain. He didn’t need to pass out, especially with Todoroki still on the bed with him.

“Okay, we’ll be there shortly,” the nurse assured him from the other end of the line.

“Todoroki, you should leave,” Katsuki said, in too much pain to relish in the surprise on Todoroki’s face that he’d used his actual name and not some witty moniker. “Before they catch you out of your room.”

Todoroki bit his lip then shook his head, telling Katsuki without words that he intended on staying right where he was. He ran his gentle fingers through Katsuki’s hair, a soothing motion to help dull the pain even a little.

Katsuki was grateful for the distraction.

When the nurse arrived with a new IV bag full of medicated fluids, she didn’t say anything about Todoroki being there. She just set to work on replacing Katsuki’s medication, and once he could feel the cold sensation of the fluids entering the vein in his arm where the needle stuck, he began to relax a little.

Todoroki was still sitting on the bed when the nurse finished up and left the room, running his hand through Katsuki’s hair. But once they were left alone again, Todoroki withdrew his hand. 

Katsuki wanted it back.

Todoroki exhaled before signing “ go,” at Katsuki, nodding his head toward the door.

And really, Todoroki should be in his own room, resting.

But Katsuki shook his head.

Todoroki tilted his own head in question.

Katsuki didn’t answer.

A beat of silence stretched between them, and Todoroki’s hands began moving again.

“Are you okay?”

Katsuki blew out a ragged breath, deflating against his angled mattress and shaking his head. His eyes slid shut, if only to stop the burning tears from daring to fall down his cheeks. “No…I’m not.”

Something warm pressed against Katsuki’s side. Something familiar, something comforting. Katsuki felt a weight land on his shoulder, and a tear slid down his cheek.

“It’s okay…” Todoroki said, his raspy yet gentle voice coming from right below Katsuki’s chin. “To not…be okay.”

Katsuki let out a watery laugh, trying to sniff back his tears to no avail. “That sounds like something damn Deku would say.”

Todoroki hummed, the soft noise interrupted by a whine. He didn’t say anything as Katsuki continued to cry quietly, and really, nothing needed to be said.

Katsuki appreciated Todoroki’s quiet company more than anything right now.

After some time had passed, and Katsuki’s tears finally ceased, having left dry and salty tracks down his face, Katsuki let out a tired sigh. 

“…Thanks, Todoroki.”

“…Shouto.”

Katsuki blinked, his heavy eyelids slid open, staring down at the mop of red and white hair on his shoulder. 

“Call me…Shouto.” A cough, a wheeze. “Please.”

The butterflies were back in Katsuki’s stomach, immune to the medication that numbed his pain. 

Wordlessly, Katsuki tapped Shouto’s arm to get his attention. The other boy sat up just a little, turning his head to look at Katsuki. Katsuki felt his breath catch in his throat, having Todoroki’s eyes fixated on him so earnestly and curiously.

Katsuki lifted his own hands, wiggling his fingers to draw Shouto’s gaze to them. Once Shouto was watching, Katsuki began signing.

“Ka-tsu-ki.”

The pure happiness in Shouto’s tiny smile nearly killed Katsuki on the spot.

“Ka-tsu-ki,” Shouto repeated aloud, his damaged voice cracking on the final vowel. His hands also mimicked the motions Katsuki had shown him to go with each syllable.

Katsuki then signed Shouto’s own name, going through the motions slowly and carefully so the other boy could catch on.

They practiced a few more times, with Shouto signing Katsuki’s name and Katsuki both signing and speaking Shouto’s name, until Katsuki grew drowsy from the medication. He settled back down to sleep, and Shouto curled up against his side with his head on Katsuki’s shoulder once more.

“‘Night, Ka-tsu-ki,” Shouto whispered, letting out a content sigh against Katsuki’s chest.

Katsuki let out a content sigh of his own, his eyes sliding shut. “G’night, Shouto.”

[darling-i-read-it]

The Great Red Dragon

3x08

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, blood, surgery, canniblism  

Author’s Note: I LOVE will graham and you can tell in this chapter i kinda went ham with my absolute adoration for him. Usually i try and hold back but im to sad to tonight so here is this love letter to will graham 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: As events jump forward three years, Jack seeks help as he pursues Francis Dolarhyde, AKA `The Tooth Fairy Killer'.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) (can you tell i love will graham. i feel like its excessive now but he is so handsome in this episode and every epsiode but this episode too) 

Alana Bloom sat on an uncomfortable chair. The divider between her and Hannibal Lecter was a thick, clear plastic. To Hannibal they were sitting together at his desk. To her, to the reality of her, he sat in his jail cell. The two of them seemed comfortable with each other once again, now that there was no way Hannibal could lay his fingers on her again. 

It was the only reason Alana agreed to stay. 

“Congratulations, Hannibal. You’re officially insane.” 

In front of Hannibal were different and various papers. A newspaper sat there, detailing a family slaughtered in Buffalo. 

“There’s no consensus in the psychiatric community what I should be termed,” he said.

“You’ve long been regarded by your peers in psychiatry as something entirely Other. For convenience, they term you a monster.” Hannibal’s eyes flickered up, away from his papers and on to her. She had cleaned herself up since they were last close. The suit she wore made her look distinguished. Her hair up in curls. Sophisticated. 

“What do you term me?” he questioned.

“I don’t. You defy categorization.” 

“Do you still prefer beer to wine?” he questioned. She pursed her lips, remembering bad memories.

“Stopped drinking beer when I found out what you were putting in mine.”

“Who,” he corrected. She gave the slightest of nods.

“Who.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “This means you’ll be spared the federal death sentence. They had enough to convict you dozen times over.” 

“A baker’s dozen. Lest we forget Mason Verger. You’re welcome.” 

“You’re welcome Hannibal. The needle was guaranteed. But you beat it all on an insanity plea.”

“I’m not insane.” Alana nodded. She understood that.

“You know that and I know that. A dozen or a baker’s dozen, enough people have died.” 

“You haven’t,” he pointed out simply. 

“A promise in waiting, isn’t it? A promise you intend to keep.” 

“I always keep my promises.” His lips flew into a small smile. Alana simply adjusted her spot in the seat.

-

“Get out of my chair, Frederick.” 

Chilton stood up from Alana’s chair. Since she had become the director of the asylum things had been changed. For the better. Chilton was crooked, despite his frequent placing in her chair. She walked over and sat down at her desk and reorganized the documents that Chilton had been messing with. 

“Shall we join hands in prayer of gratitude? ‘Thank you, Father, for allowing us to remove this monster, monster of monsters, from your flock. Thank you on behalf of the souls We will spare of pain.’” Chilton stood at the other side of her desk now. 

“Thank you on behalf of the monster.” She leaned back in her chair. “Was that the magisterial We?” 

“It’s our cabal, yours and mine. Hannibal Lecter will spend the rest of his life in a state institution, watching the diaper cart go by.”

“We lied. You wrote a book of lies,” she pointed out.

“Not difficult to see lies flying above my head, but it is almost impossible to shoot them down,” he pointed out. 

“You should be lucky that Y/N is a respectable woman. She should have sued you for what you insinuated between her and Hannibal,” she pointed out.

“You say that only because you couldn’t sue me for speaking the truth about you and Hannibal.” He dragged a finger along the desk. “I wasn’t invited to the wedding though.”

“You held the groom at this asylum when you ran it,” she pointed out.

“Still. I put the actual murderer in jail.” 

“I’m pretty sure they did that.” She picked up her pen. “Either way, Hannibal will shoot down your lies. He’s written a brilliant piece for The American Journal of Psychiatry.” 

“Everything he writes is always about problems he doesn’t have,” Chilton said. 

“What he’s written is going to be your problem. It’s not so much an article as it is a rebuttal.” She smiled to herself. “He has an acid pen.” 

-

Will stood out by the shed. The dogs were balancing around him, running around and barking happily. Will was bundled against the cold although you had been the person who threw all of the layers at him. The dogs kicked up the snow. He was repairing the fence out there, something to keep busy. 

He looked up the gravel driveway and a black SVU came down the track. 

He let out a sigh, caught by the cold. 

Jack Crawford came out of the car.

-

“Don’t want to talk inside?” Jack asked as Will handed him a mug of hot cider. Several stray dogs lay and mill at their feet as Will leaned against the porch railing. “Don’t want to let me inside. Come too far to let the cold stop me, Will.” 

Will pursed his lips.

“Bold of you to show up.”

“Where’s Y/N?” he questioned.

“Making dinner. She didn’t hear you coming up and was, lucky for you, unaware I was making two cups of cider.” Will was relaxed but his tone was uneven. 

“You don't want to talk about it here,” Jack said.

“I don't want to talk about it anywhere. You’ve got to talk about it, so let’s have it. Just don’t get out any pictures. There’s no point in doing that.” 

“How much do you know?” Jack questioned.

“Two families killed, in their homes, a month apart. Similar circumstances,” Will said. You and him and passed the newspaper to each other at breakfast. Looked into it. 

“Not ‘similar’. The same. You ever think about giving me a call?” 

“If I ever thought about it Y/N would divorce me on the spot. But I didn’t think about it,” he admitted.

“You know what it is,” Jack said. 

“I didn’t think about calling you because I didn’t want to. I don’t think I’d be all that useful to you, Jack. I never think about it anymore. I don’t believe I could do it now.” Will looked down at the lakeshore and Jack pulled out two pictures from his jacket pocket. He flipped them out on the table. Will looked down at them. 

“All dead. This freak seems to be in phase with the moon.” Jack tapped the photos. “Killed the Jacobis in Chicago almost four weeks ago. Full moon. Killed the Leeds family in Buffalo night before last. One day short of a lunar month. If we’re lucky we have a little over three weeks before he does it again.” 

“Will!” Your voice carried in from the home. Both men looked over. 

“Looks like your luck has run out Jack.” You opened the door to alert Will that dinner was done. Upon seeing Jack you stopped. For a moment you were wordless. You looked down at the two pictures on the table, at Will, and then back at Jack. You recognized those people from the newspapers. You took in a deep breath and held your composure.

“If you want to by any chance keep your head I would recommend picking up those pictures, putting them back in your pocket, getting off my goddamn porch and driving your car back to where you came from,” you said evenly. “And give me that cup of cider.” Jack handed it to you and you snatched it, allowing it to spill on your hand without a reaction. “We need Will’s help. More of these families are going to die,” Jack said.

“I’m not going to let this happen again. I let it happen once.” 

“You would sacrifice families lives for the miniscule chance one person gets a little hurt?” You stepped forward to him but Will lifted his hand. You stopped but you were still pretty close. 

“If that one person is Will then yes. He’s saved enough lives.”

“He isn’t going anywhere,” Will said. You looked up at him and stepped back. 

“Dinner is done,” you said and turned back into the house. Jack and Will shared a look.

“So,” Will started, pushing himself off of the balcony railing. “Joining us for dinner?” 

-

You sat beside Will who was at the head of the table. Jack observed the house. It looked simplistic, comforting. On the small shelf by the table were picture frames. Each one of both of you. One when you were fishing, a small fish in front of your face as you laughed. One of Will by the fireplace in the Baltimore house. A couple from the wedding of the two of you looking happier than Jack had ever seen. 

Jack had been at the wedding. Will invited him discreetly and because you were so distracted by your own happiness you couldn’t fight. You looked amazing. It had been a long time coming that day and when it did come everyone celebrated. There were even pictures of you, Margot and Alana on that day, cheering to a new beginning. 

“People dump small dogs here all the time. I can give away the cute ones, rest, stay around and get to be big ones,” you muttered, petting the dog at your feet. 

“You’ve always been a sucker for strays,” Will said.

“You’re not fooling anyone Will.” You stabbed at the plate and took a bite. Will placed a hand on your thigh and kept it there. You put your hand on top of his destreetly. 

“Got a nice life here,” Jack said. 

“I’m lucky here. I know that,” Will said. 

“Surprised there aren’t any kids yet. Bella and I wanted them but with my job we could never fit it in.” The mention of Bella would make you sympathize with him and he knew that. Despite having calmed down a bit you still held up a good face. 

“We have a lot of dogs although I can’t say we haven't been trying,” Will said. His face flushed a bit but you were so mad still you couldn’t even be flustered. Will knew there were some things you needed to say to Jack that you couldn't’ say in front of him. “I’m going to take the dogs out to pee.” He tapped your thigh once more before letting his hand leave as he stood up from the dinner table. You nodded numbly as he left, watching him go.

Your gaze went back to Jack. 

“When you came into his classroom that day I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt but you failed me Jack. Countless times, you failed me.” 

“You left me there to die In Florence.” You smiled. 

“A fond memory.” You placed your fork down carefully. “You’re going to take him no matter how much I want to kill you for it.” 

“I have to. I’ll make it as easy on him as I can. He’s changed. It’s great you got married.” You nodded.

“He’s better and better. He doesn’t have nightmares anymore.” You paused and collected yourself. “He was really obsessed with the dogs for a while. Now he just takes care of them. He doesn’t talk about them all the time. Doesn’t worry about them.” 

“I know what it is I’m asking Y/N. And I wished to God I didn’t have to.”

You smiled slightly at what you were about to say.

“If he decides to go, and that’s a big if, he will not be going alone.” Jack nodded slowly. He figured this would happen. There was nowhere he went you would not follow.

“I know.”

“And you’re willing to deal with me for as long as it takes to get rid of this killer?” 

“If I have to.”

-

You sat on your bed. The world was quiet out here. You loved it. Will loved it. It was why you got it together, your first joint home purchase. Will was taking off his shoes and you put your arms around him from behind. 

He cuddled his head against yours. He could feel your breath against his skin when you spoke.

“I don’t want you to go, you know that.” 

“I don’t imagine you’ll let me go alone,” he whispered. “But you know if I go, I’ll be different when I get back.” You nodded.

“I loved you at your worst and I’ll love you for the rest of the time you’ll let me,” you promised. You kissed him tenderly and his hands rested on your cheek, moving your body with his other hand so that he didn’t have to crane his neck. 

-

Darkness moved around the bedroom peacefully. You slept beside Will but he was awake. He looked over at you and then slid out of bed. He pulled open a drawer quietly and took out a letter. The envelope is addressed to Will and Y/N, through the FBI. He hadn’t shown you this yet. He wasn’t sure if he should. 

But you had felt him get up. Years of feeling when he was having a nightmare trained you for that kind of moment. You sat up and slid out of bed. Will looked over to you.

“What’s that?” 

“I wasn’t going to show it to you.”

You walked over to him and put your arms around him from behind. You looked at the letter and the second you saw the handwriting you froze. 

“Is it directed to you?”

“Both of us.”

You took it from his hands and stood up straight. 

‘Dear Will and Y/N, we have all found a new life, but our old lives hover in the shadows, like incipient madness. Soon enough, I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking. I encourage Will, as a friend, not to step back through the door he holds open. I don’t doubt Y/N will protest against this ever happening but in case her will is not strong enough I must promise that there is darkness on the other side of the door and madness is waiting.’ 

You handed him the paper. 

“I’m calling the girls from down the street. Their teenagers will watch the dogs.” 

-

Will and you looked through the Leeds house. The two of you looked at the bloody remnants of what had happened there. You weren’t there to observe though. You were there for moral support. 

His eyes were shut for a while. You watched him stand there. You were silent.

Until he opened his eyes and a deep breath left his lips. You quickly approached him and hugged him tightly. He hugged you back, catching his breath in your arms.

-

“Jimmy you’re the light of my life,” Jack said.

“I know. The print’s smudged. Came off Mrs. Leeds eye. Never did that before. Never would’ve seen it, but it stood out against an eight-ball hemorrhage,” Jimmy explained. You, Will, Jack, Jimmy and Brian all stood in the morgue together. He kept stealing glances at you and Will whose thoughts were elsewhere. “I just...I can’t believe you’re back. I’m surprised you're back.”

“I’m surprised Y/N didn’t drag Jack's dead body in here,” Brian said. He hit Will’s back. “Welcome back.” 

-

Jack looked up from his desk to see Will and you standing before him. You were both looking at the information sheet. 

“You were asking about the dog. Last night, a vet called the police. Leeds and his oldest boy brought it into the bet the afternoon before they were killed,” Jack explained. 

“What’s going to happen to it?” Will asked.

“Please don't worry about the dog.” Will smiled a bit.

“What do you expect me to do?” he whispered. You smiled at him. Ever the sweetie. 

“Best you can, that’s all. Busyworks been a narcotic for me sometimes, especially after I quit the booze. For you too, I think,” Jack said. 

“There’s something else we can do,” you started. You paused for a moment. You and Will had talked this over just briefly but you understood it was what you needed. “We can wait until Will is driven to it by desperation in the last days before the full moon. Or we could do it now, while it might be of some use,” you finished. 

“Is there an opinion you want?” Will nodded slowly.

“We have to see Hannibal.”

3x09

[jasperswh0re]

Savior [Raylan Givens x Reader]

hihihi so im like super in love with this character and i haven’t seen like any writing for Timothy Olyphant Characters besides Cobb and Mickey... so i thought i would do that for our favorite U.S. Marshall, Mr. Deputy Raylan Givens

Might make this a series. Let me know if you wanna be tagged if I make another part!

Summary: You’re going about your daily errands at the bank when there’s suddenly a robbery. Luckily, a U.S. Marshall was inside and there to save the day. Gender neutral reader btw

Warnings: Gun use, swearing

---

You tapped your foot violently against the tiled flooring of the bank. In ten minutes you were to be at an appointment yet this line wasn’t moving an inch. The beat of your toes hitting the ground had you bouncing at insane speeds. You hated waiting.

“You doing alright there?” You heard someone say behind you. 

You flipped around to see a taller man wearing a cowboy hat. He was looking down at you, an amused glint in his eye. He was handsome and his country drawl was deep.

“Just in a hurry,” You shrugged and smiled sheepishly. He chuckled when you turned forward to see that the line still hadn’t moved.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Kentucky life can be one hell of a doozy.”

“You’re tellin’ me...” He sighed. He was scanning the area, as if he was searching for something. Though, you didn’t think much of it and held out your hand.

“(Y/n) (L/n). Nice to meet you... I haven’t seen you around before,” You introduced yourself, snapping him out of detective mode.

His grin grew wide, “Raylan Givens... I work down at the uh-... Marshall’s Service.” 

“Wow. A marshall. Do we really still have those? You look like you walked out a western film.”

Raylan’s head tilted back with laughter, making sure to hold the tip of his hat, and you felt any sense of urgency wash away. 

“Like I haven’t heard that before.”

“It’s hard not to say.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment. Smiles were wide on each face and the socially accepted distance for people in line was crumbling between you two. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Raylan said. You shook your head no. “Where you from then?”

“Way up north. Just a little town in Oregon...”

“You’re a long ways from home then,” He lifted his head up once more to look around the room. His eyes would flicker back to one spot, not far from the two of you, in between sentences. 

“I guess so...” You sighed. You stared at Raylan a little longer while he was focused on something else. When his gaze landed on you once more you checked the line in front of you. One person had been attended to. You and Raylan moved about two inches forward.

“What in the world is taking-”

Before you could continue complaining shots rang out inside of the tiny building. Instinctively, Raylan guarded you and brought you down to the ground. You let out a yelp, along with a few other screams from bystanders, as Raylan forced your body downwards. 

“Sorry...” He muttered.

“Get down on the ground! Everyone on your fucking stomachs!” A man in a ski mask yelled, assumably the one who started firing. You couldn’t see since Raylan was blocking your view of the man. 

No one dared to move a muscle so he lifted the gun at the nearest person to him.

Raylan, who was knelt down, pulled a handgun from his holster faster than you had ever seen. The robber crippled to the ground before he could make the shot.

For a split second, you thought you were saved until another robber in a ski mask came running in with a much larger gun. It must have been automatic, you thought. You didn’t know much about weapons. Raylan directed his gun in the new robbers ‘direction but the newcomer let out a tsk.

“Nuh-uh, you put that here gun down. Or I shoot. I got two buddies coming. This won’t end well for you.”

Raylan didn’t move.

“I swear to god, man. I’ll shoot.”

Raylan thought it through in his mind. This criminal was either bluffing or telling the truth. He could shoot, adding another life to his belt but it wouldn’t matter much anyway. The authorities were on their way. The robbers were wimpy, so this wasn’t going to last long. 

He darted his eyes towards you. You were on the floor still, eyes wide with fear but otherwise gave no indication of being afraid. He looked around at the people and sighed, placing down his gun slowly. 

The robber skittered towards the Marshall and kicked the gun away, holding the automatic rifle toward his face. 

“Everyone. Jewelry and cash. Now! On your stomachs!” He hollered.

And they did. Two more robbers with their faces covered came in once everyone was down and they took any valuables offered. None of the three bothered with their buddy who was bleeding out on the floor and began taking out stacks of cash. 

Before reaching the registers, one of the men stopped by your figure and grinned. A silver bracelet sat on your wrist, you had completely forgotten about it. He went for your arm and you jumped in surprise, instinctively pulling your hand away. 

The man’s smile dropped to pure rage and shoved his gun in your face, his hand still locked around your wrist, “Give it to me.”

Your mind went blank. Raylan watched, ready to pounce at any moment if any moves were made and cursed himself for kicking his gun away. Ever worse, he knew it would be too risky to pull out his backup. So, he watched the robber decisively. And watched you carefully. 

Words couldn’t formulate the feeling in your throat. You wanted to swallow badly but you feared any outside movement would end up in your head blown off. So, your hand moved slowly to unlatch the bracelet. It had zero sentimental value, so you weren’t about to make a fit.

He stalked off after snatching the thin piece of jewelry and you dropped your head in relief. One long breath of air exhaled from your lungs. 

To your left you could hear Raylan muttering something under his breath. He was frustrated. Glaring daggers at the criminals in front of him. You studied his face while he did so. 

“It’s okay,” You whispered. 

His angry expression became thoroughly confused.

“What?” He hissed.

“It’s okay...” You repeated. “You looked angry, not only at these men but... also yourself. They won’t get away with it.”

Your ghost of a smile reassured Raylan. Everyone in this room was shaking in their boots or crying out of fear for their life. Yet here you were making sure that he was okay. Immediately after a gun was propped against your skull.

Had you not said a word, he’d have done something brash. Something that Art would definitely not be happy about. More AUSA cases, more paperwork. His gun wasn’t far, too. Instead here was this random person, laying next to him calm as can be.

And in all seriousness, you were a terrified. You’ve never been a part of something so scary. But you knew just as well as Raylan that these men wouldn’t be successful. Everyone would be okay if they just complied. 

If, is the key word here.

Not far from the two of you, one of the robbers started making trouble. It was the same one that had confronted you. A man on the floor was aggravated, he didn’t want to give up his watch. So, as expected, the robber stuck a gun to his head. Raylan looked at his gun that was a few feet away. 

The criminal continued to shove the weapon in the man’s face, screaming for the watch. 

“I will shoot you fucking dead old man. Give me the goddamn watch.”

The man shook his head furiously. The robber opened his mouth once more to yell but was interrupted by the sound of a gun clicking. 

“You wanna put that down now... don’t try anything.”

Raylan had his handgun pressed against the man’s head. His accomplacises were in the back, trying to open the large safes, so the man was left on his own. 

“You wanna make the right decision now, don’t you?” Raylan’s southern drawl was calm but sharp. “You can either die right here... or go to jail. It’s that simple...”

There was no response, but the criminal set down his automatic slowly. At that moment the sound of sirens blared and officers stormed through the building. Raylan took the man by the wrists and shoved him at an nearby police officer, while shouting that his buddies were in the building somewhere.

With a sigh, you watched the chaos reign through the building. Much to your surprise, Raylan approached you with a grin.

“You’re pretty weird, you know?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothin’ bad,” Raylan folded his arms. “You weren’t afraid. You didn’t even tremble in fear.”

“I don’t tremble,” You shrugged.

“Hell, I’ll believe you. Your hand was steady when giving him your bracelet.”

“I tend to stay calm in situations like these.”

“So you’ve had something happen?” Raylan tilted his head.

You paused, thinking of the words to say. 

“I guess you could say that...” You finally smiled at the man in front of you. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You saved all these people today. Especially that man,” You pointed at a victim. “And in a way, you saved me.”

“I couldn’t save your bracelet,” He lifted his brows. He seemed to regret that he didn’t stop the robber.

“You can make it up to me sometime...” You said, placing a hand on his upper arm. Raylan gave you a sweet smile. “See you around, cowboy.”

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Painted - Chapter Two

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Y/N has moved on, her scars are barely noticeable anymore, and she’s finally stable. Or at least she was. 10 years after the worst day of her life, Y/N found herself staring face to face with an unimaginable horror. In the wake of her worst nightmare come to life, she finds herself reunited with the man that saved her all those years ago - Agent Dean Winchester who had left her a decade before broken and wanting. Dean Winchester has spent the last 10 years trying desperately to forget Y/N and the tragedy that he pulled her out of, but when she called asking for his help he dropped everything to come to her aid as he knew he always would. Can Y/N and Dean solve the mystery that has resurfaced after all this time? Will they be able to resist the pull between them? Or will this be the final brush strokes on a canvas, sealing their fate for good?

No Beta currently, all mistakes are my own! Pairing: Dean/Reader Tags: Dark!Fic, Agent!Dean, Serial Killer Fic, Smut etc.

Chapter Two

He’s back.

It took Dean Winchester no time to drop everything he was doing and go to her. His coffee was left to cool at his desk, his computer booted up, and his case file open wide for the world to see. As he sped down the streets of downtown Boston, he clicked on the siren on his dash.

“Is he in the house? Are you in danger?”

“No. I’m safe.”

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. It had been ten goddamned years, but when he heard her voice he was shot back in time. He’d thought about disconnecting the number dozens of times. He hadn’t been a field agent in a long time, after all. Eight years away from the city, and only one back at the Bureau. He was getting his toes wet - not sure who he wanted to be.

But if Y/N called, he knew where he would be.

Making it to her house in record time, he drove through the already-open gate. She had followed his instructions and called in the break in. Local PD was already on the premises and seeing the squad cars let him breathe easier.

“I’m safe.”

It was why he had chosen the job, after all. To keep people safe. It was also the reason he left. He got out of the car, remembering to take his keys with him as an afterthought and pushed through the open door.

He stopped mid stride when he saw her. It had been a long time, a decade, a lifetime. She wore jeans and an oversized flannel, her Pitbull rested protectively at her feet. Her hair laid wet and tangled, pushed behind her ears as she nodded, talking to an uniformed officer.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his in a moment that completely slowed time. “Dean,” she exhaled his name like a sigh of relief.

“Hi Sweetheart.”

The officer turned to look at him, surprised. “The FBI? Agent Winchester, I didn’t realize you’d be here…”

“Have you taken her statement?” The officer nodded to him, his eyes still wide in shock. “Then I’ll take it from here.”

The Officer stepped out of the way, making room for Dean to go to her. Y/N stood as he approached, her hands flexing at her side like she was actively trying not to reach for him. “You came.”

“I told you I would,” he said quietly.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Her voice broke, her eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He reached for her, capturing her by the waist before she collapsed. He held her steady, lowering her back onto the stool.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, holding her head. “Haven’t eaten today.”

Dean crouched slightly to meet her eyes, his hands on either side of her. “Show it to me, then I’ll take you to get something to eat.” He reached up to push a lock of damp hair behind her ear.

“I can’t leave Castiel here.”

“We will take him with us,” he promised, offering a supportive grin. “We will eat on the patio.”

“Okay.”

She took his extended arm and allowed him to support her weight as they walked down the hallway. He didn’t need her to show him where the painting was, he just followed the sounds of crime scene techs talking, photographs being snapped.

“Did you notice anything else out of place?”

“Just the painting.”

One of the officer’s was calling to the prison. It was impossible that he could’ve gotten out, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t have resources to plant the painting. If Dean was sure of anything, he was sure of that.

He felt Y/N tug at his arm at the entrance to the hallway, halting mid-step. He glanced at her. Her pupils were wide and her lips were parted, ragged breaths escaping. “I’ve got it from here,” he told her, his hand lingering on her arm for a beat before releasing her and leaving her standing next to her dog.

Dean made his way down the hallway, officers making room for him like he was Moses splitting the Red Sea. He walked until he saw it, the painting. He settled on her eyes in the painting, delicate, detailed, but expressionless. They were missing the light that made Y/N Y/N, but it captured her likeness well enough.

He’d seen them before, of course. The paintings were famous. He thought back to the twenty-three year old girl who blushed in embarrassment the first time she saw them hanging on a wall. Dean didn’t look at them for her body, he knew it didn’t belong to her. He looked at the painting with the eyes of a detective. It was a piece of the bigger puzzle, just another clue. He leaned in closer to the painting and took a large inhale through his nose. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back any kind of reaction. He knew she was still watching him. They all were.

“Tape off the house,” he instructed, looking back to the techs and officers. I want this entire place looked over. Leave no stone unturned. I mean it. I trust you’ll secure the space, and then leave it to us. My team will be taking over from here out. Johnson,” he said, turning to an officer that he recognized. “Call the FBI field office and let them know the details and that I said I'm taking the case.” His gaze turned from the officers to Y/N. “Let’s get you some clothes. I don’t think you’ll be sleeping here tonight.”

“You read my mind.”

****

They sat at a table on the patio of a coffee shop, Castiel sleeping at Y/N’s feet. She watched Dean blow on his coffee. He looked good if she was paying attention. His strong jaw was speckled with light hairs, his full lips were pursed, blowing on his coffee to cool it enough to drink. He held the mug in large calloused hands. His moss green eyes flickered to her, catching her staring, and she suddenly felt unbelievably vulnerable.

“So, you’re a PI, huh?” He asked, his voice rougher than she remembered it to be.

Y/N shook her head. “Not frequently.”

“Why not?”

She held her own mug between her hands, tapping the lip with her index finger. “There weren’t enough wins. I couldn’t save…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed. “Well, you know what it’s like. So I opened a self defense gym. Preventative measures instead of cleaning up the messes after the fact. I’ll take special cases, and I consult every now and then. They say I have a special eye for it.”

“I suspect you do.”

“What about you, Dean?” She looked back to him, through the steam on her cup. It was the transitional time in Massachusetts when the summer shifted to autumn, and the chill nipped at her ears. “Where have you been the last ten years?” She wasn’t meaning to sound so accusatory, but that’s how it came out - pointed and full of resentment.

Silence settled between them, heavy and pressured. He cleared his throat and placed his mug down. “After everything that happened I was approached to be a part of a tactical team with the military. I didn’t feel I could decline.” Her eyebrow shot up in surprise. “I joined the Marines. I’d always thought about it after high school, it’s what my father did… and after everything that happened... I needed a change.” She watched his fast twist in itself, his lips curl and his eyes drop back to his coffee. He felt guilty for being messed up. She wanted to reach out to him and take his hand in hers to comfort him for that.

“You still answered my call… on the line that you gave me that long ago. Your work line.”

“I never got rid of it.” His eyes flickered up as he gazed at her through long dark eyelashes.

“Why?”

He chuckled low and shook his head. “It sounds insane.”

“I’ve lived insane. Try me.”

“I worried that this would happen… that someday you’d call. Every time I went to cancel it, every year that went by, I just sat in my car in the parking lot and never went in to do it. Couldn’t risk it.”

“This was your case… the one that changed you.”

He grunted, leaning back in his chair. “You sound like you’re saying from experience.”

“Well, it changed me too,” she said with a mischievous grin. His thick eyebrows shot up in surprise. She unsettled people frequently, especially when they knew her past.

“Of course.”

“Are you still in the marines?”

“Once you become one, you’re always a jarhead.” He grinned at her, a dimple pressing into his cheek. “But no, I’ve been out for two years. I got pulled back into the Bureau. They wanted me, begged me to do it.” He sighed.

“You don’t want it?”

Dean’s eyes locked with hers. “It’s been a lot of paper work. Never much wanted a desk job.”

“You’re not at a desk now, agent,” she challenged.

He grinned at her. “When a beautiful woman calls me I’m duty bound to come to her.”

She smiled and peeled her eyes from his. The banter was flirty, light, but it was a Band-Aid taped over a wound that was too close to bursting. “I’m glad you answered,” Y/N said quietly, Castiel nudging her leg with his nose. “It was instinct to call you the second I saw the painting.”

A jolt ran through her as he took her hand in his. He squeezed it gently, cradling it with care. “Y/N…”

She pulled her hand out of his and wrapped it around her mug instead, sipping her coffee. “I can’t.”

“Of course.” He nodded with an understanding that felt unfair, unwarranted.

“Do you think it’s him?” She asked, almost blurting out the question that was sitting on her tongue from the moment she saw Dean again.

Dean sighed heavily and clasped his hands together. “I don’t see how it can be. He’s been in jail for a decade, Y/N.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes stung as fear pressed insistently against her chest preventing her from taking a full, deep breath. She didn’t think it was possible to live this way anymore, she didn’t think she had to. It was like for the first time she’d thought she could breathe easily again, just to get the breath knocked out of her in one swift kick to her stomach.

“As sure as I can be, but not sure enough to not check into it. Never sure enough to not check into it.” He leaned forward, his green eyes intense. “I’ll figure this out. I can promise you that.”

“I don’t know who else would do this.”

“Has he contacted you?”

“Not in years. He gave up eventually when I wouldn’t take his calls or write him back.”

“He wrote to you?”

“Every day for the first year. He’d send me drawings…” She tightened her grip on her mug, her knuckles whitening as a chill seemed to crawl up her spine. “I stopped opening them after the first week.”

“Do you still have them?” Dean asked slowly, carefully.

Y/N was familiar with people walking on eggshells around her. It was no real surprise that Dean would do the same. He was cautious, calculated, a professional. She wetted her bottom lip with her tongue, a nervous habit to keep her from picking at the dry skin. He made her nervous. The situation made her skin itch beneath her clothes, heat rising up the back of her neck. “Yes. They’re locked in a drawer. I’ve thought about burning them a thousand times but I just…”

“Can’t bring yourself to?”

She nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m punishing myself for not realizing. Or maybe it’s a reminder to never let it happen again.”

“I’d like to see them.”

She sat up a little straighter in her seat, her jaw tightening in an expression that she was sure resembled a grimace. “They’re personal.”

“I suspect they are.”

“What do you think you’ll learn from them?”

“I don’t know, which is why I need to examine them. I need you to trust me…”

“I trust you, Dean. I think you should know that by now.”

10 years ago

“It’s inappropriate, Agent Winchester! I gave you orders to wait. She needed to be evaluated, but you went in anyway and now… ” Captain McLeod was pissed, to put it mildly. Her nostrils flared and her eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at him. For such a small woman she was terrifying, and in any other circumstance he would’ve rolled over and played dead like she obviously wanted him to. But this wasn’t any circumstance.

“She's imprinted. I know that’s what the psychologist said. She trusts me. Only me.”

“You can't be her connection, Dean.”

“I have to be. We can’t take another thing from her. I can’t abandon her after everything she’s been through.”

“You aren’t trained in psychology,” she hissed.

“I’m taking pointers from the hospital psychologist. I‘ll take her lead. I’ll tread lightly. Come on, Rowena. This is the right thing and you know it.”

“She’s having a mental break,” his captain said, her voice low. She grasped his shoulder. “I don’t want you to get too attached to someone so unstable.”

He nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral, because if he was honest with himself he would have to admit that he was already attached. How could he not be? “I’ve got this. You can go, I’ll report on what I find.”

She looked at Dean suspiciously, but finally nodded with a sigh. She had no choice but to trust him, and that fact was to his advantage. He watched her leave, before quickly entering Y/N’s hospital room again.

The hospital room was bright, the blinds raised and the light bleeding in. She looked absolutely exhausted, deep purple half moons rested under her eyes. Her hair was freshly brushed, pushed behind her ears, and down. The monitors beep steadily, showing her heartbeat, blood pressure and a dozen other numbers that he couldn’t begin to decipher. The top of the bed was raised allowing her to sit up a bit, and her bandaged arms rested on her lap.

“Dean,” Y/N said breathlessly as her tired green eyes caught his. He could tell even from where he stood in the doorway that her eyes were more grey than green from her exhaustion.

“Hey, Sweetheart.”

“I thought you left.”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

Her eyes flickered down to her hands where she picked at her nails. “I know you did.”

“I won’t leave you. You can trust me,” he promised, walking to her. He sat in the chair next to her and pulled it close to her bed. She looked so small and fragile in that bed. Seeing photographs of her before the incident was jarring, she looked like a completely different person.

“Okay,” Y/N said, her voice weak. She nodded and sucked in her breath.

“You can talk to me if you need to.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Don’t feel pressured to talk.”

“You’re sending mixed signals, Agent.” She smiled then, it was weak but the spark in her eye wasn’t something he could ignore.

“Yeah, most of my dates say that.”

“Is this a date?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“What? No - of course not. I…”

It sounded better than he could’ve ever imagined, and fuck, he hadn’t expected it to come as soon as it did. She was laughing. “Relax, Agent.” She exhaled, trying to catch her breath. “I was kidding.”

“Sure, of course you were.” His back relaxed again. He felt tightly wound, stressed. He hadn’t been able to truly relax over the last twenty-four hours. Pressure was higher than ever and things hadn’t gotten much better. No one was convinced it was over, himself included. He would have to get some information out of Y/N eventually, but he wanted to tread lightly after all she had been through. Kindness was the least that she deserved.

“It’s over, Dean.” She looked like she was reassuring him. “Right?” Her eyes met him with fear and intensity behind the brave face she was putting up.

“I don’t want to upset you,” he said carefully.

“I’m already upset. Just spit it out already. You look like you’ve sat on a thumbtack.”

Dean wanted to laugh at her image of him, but there wasn’t much to laugh about. He hated this part of his job. Y/N had been smiling a moment before, she felt safe and that wasn’t something that should be squandered or minimalized. It was a big thing. After he told her what he had to say, she wouldn’t feel safe. Not really. “We think there may be more.” ------ Chapter Three Read on A03 Here Tag List:

@lyarr24

@dean-winchesters-bacon

@waywardbaby

@akshi8278

@sexyvixen7

@deanwanddamons

@siospins

@beanie-beebo

[xjoonchildx]

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader  chapter two: san juan

pairing: jungkook/reader word count: 6.6K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings:  criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: okay, ya’ll. I really never intended to make this story anything more than a one-shot...but a couple of people asked for more and then the wheels started turning, and I had more than a little crush on this sexy, smartassed jungkook. so here we are! I hope you guys like it.

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna​ who’s smut is even better than her art

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

You still think about Jungkook Jeon.

You think about him when you spot his beautiful face on the poster in the hallway at your office, with the word WANTED emblazoned across the top.

You think about him every time you fly because you leave condoms behind in the bathroom like some kind of kinky Fairy Godmother.

And sometimes -- late at night, after you’ve had a glass of wine -- you shut your eyes and think about him when you slip between the sheets and then slip a hand into your panties.

You wonder where in the world he is and how he’s getting away with life on the run -- again.

Though technically he’s not your problem anymore.

The Marshals took over his case after he pulled his vanishing act in Los Angeles, so it’s some other poor sap’s job to find him and bring him in.  You’d done your part -- you’d tracked him down and brought him to the States, even got him before a judge.  

So what happened after that didn’t happen on your watch.

Totally out of your hands.

No reason for you to still obsess over how it all went down.

At all.

Right?

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

The humidity in San Juan hits you like a wall the second you step out of Muñoz Marín International Airport.

You quickly scan the throng of waiting drivers and find the one holding the sign with your name on it.  The suit you’d worn on the plane is already sticking to the backs of your thighs in this heat.

“Welcome to Puerto Rico,” the driver smiles warmly, offering to take your luggage off your hands. You smile back as you follow him to the line of cars idling outside.

The ding of a text alert distracts you for a moment.  

You pull out your phone and see it’s your boss, checking to make sure your flight landed on time.  The driver opens the car door and you slip inside while he pops the trunk to put your bags away.  

You’re so busy tapping out a response that you don’t realize something is off until the driver raps twice on the back of the car.

Because that’s a signal for the car to go.

Because the man behind the wheel is not the man who just loaded you and your bags into this car.

Because the man behind the wheel is --

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you breathe, eyes wide on the reflection in the rearview mirror.

He’s got a snapback pulled low over his face but you can still see his eyes. And you’d know those eyes anywhere. You’ve thought about those eyes a lot more than you’d like to admit.

“That -- “ Jungkook says, pressing the gas, “-- is the weirdest way to say you missed me, too.”

He tilts his head up so you can catch the reflection of his wide smile.

You are in a car with Jungkook Jeon. In a moving car with Jungkook Jeon.  

“Start talking,” you snap.  

“Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

You slump back into the seat and clap a hand over your face. Damn this man and damn his stupid, smart-assed, beautiful mouth.

“Where are you taking me?”

Jungkook snorts at the note of panic in your voice.  

“To your hotel, dummy.  You have a meeting in like, two hours.”

“Unbelievable,” you sigh after a moment. “Do I even want to know how you know all of this?”

“Well in my defense,” he starts, “you guys still have really shitty firewalls.  You’ve got a lot of nerve calling yourselves an intelligence agency with that set-up in place.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along your feedback,” you mutter.

“You should. So anyway, I was reading through your emails one day -- you know, as I do -- and I saw you were coming to town. I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you.”

Holy shit.

That’s a lot to take in right now and you’re still trying to process the series of events that led up to you, in a car with Jungkook Jeon.  You keep asking questions because it seems like the only sane thing to do in this entirely insane situation.

“You read my emails.”

“Yeah.”

“How often?”

“Uh….all the time?”

You blow out an exasperated breath.  

“You’re a real piece of work. Just what makes you think I won’t have this car surrounded by Feds by the time we get to the hotel?”

“You could,” he concedes thoughtfully. He looks up from the road for a moment to lock eyes with you in the rearview. “But we both know you won’t.”

His certainty makes you bristle.  Is he right about that?

You force yourself to look away from him and redirect your gaze outside to watch the carefully landscaped palm trees speed by.  He’s been here for some time, you think, as he navigates the streets with ease.  He doesn’t seem to be looking for his next turn or second-guessing which way to go. He’s not even using GPS.

“You are in some deep shit back home, Mr. Jeon,” you say, finally. “You embarrassed them. They hate being embarrassed.”

He chuckles.

“Don’t you think it’s time to drop the formalities, Agent? I’ve had my tongue in your pussy, you know.”

He startles a laugh from you with his casual, crass statement of fact.  You forgot how funny he is -- how smart and affable and completely disarming he is.

“Anyway, that’s their problem, not mine,” he continues. “And not yours anymore either, from what I understand.”

Boy, he really wasn’t kidding about those emails.

You mentally rummage through your inbox, try to imagine what information he’s had access to these past few months.  Countless agency messages, a few personal ones and at least one exchange that could qualify as both. You wonder if he’s seen that one, too.  

You clear your throat, uncomfortable with the thought.

“So what’s your plan, then? Hide out in plain sight in a territory of the United States?”

“It’s worked for me so far, hasn’t it?”

You roll your eyes.

“Anyway, my plan right now is to drop you off at this hotel,” Jungkook says, turning into the drive. “Then you’re going to skip that reception they have scheduled for tomorrow night because you’re going to have drinks with me instead.”

You say nothing for a moment.

It’s absurd that your first reaction to his words is a tingle of excitement. It’s ludicrous that you haven’t picked up the phone to call this in by this point. It’s fucking bananas that you’re picturing yourself sharing a drink with this man instead of having him arrested.

The car rolls to a stop.

“Now, as much as I’d love to act the part of a perfect gentleman and help you with those bags, I can’t,” Jungkook says, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a small piece of paper. “Your hotel is crawling with cameras and believe it or not, I’m trying to minimize the number of stupid risks I take these days.”

You snort.

He reaches behind his seat to hand you the note.

“Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 7 o’clock. Be sure to wear something tight, yeah?”

“You are out of your mind,” you say from between clenched teeth, snatching the paper out of his hand.

Jungkook laughs.

“I know, right?”

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

You should call the Marshals.

You should really call the Marshals.

Why haven’t you called the goddamned Marshals?

“ -- do you think, Agent?”

Fuck.  

You can’t seem to keep your mind focused on this meeting and now everyone around the conference table is looking at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” you’re forced to admit. “Catch me up?”

“I was saying,” Agent Dominguez starts again, “that given the damage done to the office here in San Juan, we should move agents to the mainland temporarily.  Miami, preferably.”

“Yes,” you agree. “That would be best.  Until we can get things back on track.”

Dominguez smiles in a skeptical way, like he knows you’re preoccupied and he’s curious as to why.  You smile back and hope it’s convincing.  

“We’ll have to go over some logistics, of course, after the final decisions are made,” he continues, turning his attention back to the room at large. “But for now, let’s consider that a flight from Miami is just a hop, skip, and a jump.  It makes sense.”

The rest of the assembled meeting guests murmur in agreement.

Your mind wanders back to that slip of paper tucked away inside your bag at the hotel, back to the man who gave it to you.  The ridiculous, self-assured little asshole who just knows you aren’t going to rat him out. Who just knows you’re going to join him for drinks like he’s not an actual federal fugitive and you’re not an actual federal agent.

Dominguez continues to drone on in the background.

“...and if you look at the numbers, you’ll see post-storm crime is actually way down…”

What you would give to be anywhere but this meeting right now.  You pinch the bridge of your nose, shut your eyes and go down the list of facts as you know them.

He’s been reading your emails.

Following your every move.

He wants to see you tonight.

What the hell is wrong with you that knowing all of this excites you instead of freaking you out? What does it mean that a part of you -- a really big part of you -- wants to take him up on his offer?

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

Dominguez pulls you aside after the morning round of meetings wraps for lunch.  

“Hey,” he says, stopping you in the hallway.  “Are you alright? You’ve seemed just a little off since yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you say apologetically. “Been feeling a little off these past two days.”

Not technically a lie?

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Dominguez replies smoothly.

“Hope you’ll be feeling up to attending the reception tonight,” he continues. “I’d hate for you to miss it.”

You offer him a weak smile.  The look on his face right now is making you a bit queasy.

What if they knew? What then?

Once was insane enough. Once could be written off as a mistake, a terrible lapse in judgement.  An embarrassing and regrettable fluke.

But twice? Twice is a choice, a conscious decision.  

Twice would make you complicit -- a co-conspirator, a co-defendant and a whole host of other “C” words you’d rather not contemplate right now.  

There would be no explaining away twice.

You busy yourself with getting a bottled water from the vending machine just to have an excuse to look away. You tell yourself not to be paranoid. You have no reason to suspect they know anything and this is not the time to borrow worry.

“I’m going to try and get some rest after we wrap for the day,” you say finally, opening the bottle to take a drink.  “See if I feel better after that.”

Dominguez’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.  

“You do that, Agent.”

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

Wrapped in a towel, fresh from a shower, you alternate between staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror and looking back at that damning piece of paper in your hand.

You should put on the nice-but-work-appropriate cocktail dress you’d chosen for the reception that you should be attending tonight.  You should drop this piece of paper in the trash, forget Jungkook Jeon exists and move on.  You should be having drinks with your colleagues from the San Juan office in an hour, making decisions that don’t amount to career suicide and living life on the straight and narrow like a normal fucking human being.

Should, should, should.

You walk over to your suitcase and pull out a slim-cut sundress with spaghetti straps instead. You smooth your hands over the delicate material, imagine the light weight of the fabric would feel just right in this humid weather.  You slip the dress over your shoulders, smooth it down with your hands, turn from side to side to assess the fit.

For a moment you close your eyes and allow yourself to imagine Jungkook slipping his hands underneath this dress, pushing the hem up your thighs. You imagine his thumbs and fingers circling the sensitive skin there.  His lips on your neck.  His voice in your ear.

The sound of an incoming text knocks you out of your fantasy and you open your eyes to see your flushed reflection staring back in the mirror. You reach for your phone.

you gonna make it out tonight? [ 5:48 PM ]

You stare at Dominguez’s message for a moment.

Decision time.

Are you?

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

You’ve been over every step you took before leaving the hotel at least a dozen times by now.

You’d sent Domniguez a text, claiming to be under the weather.

You’d left your phone in the safe in your room.

You’d walked out of the hotel through a service exit and into a waiting car.

All clear, decisive, sane choices despite the fact that you are obviously a crazy person. Because no one in their right mind would be pulling this kind of stunt.

The ride is short, only a few minutes from your federally-funded accommodations to the much more humble beachside hotel where Jungkook told you to meet him. You give the driver more than enough money to cover the fare and tip and step out into the thick night air.  You spot him a short distance away, sitting at a tiki bar just off the water.

Puerto Rico has apparently been very good to Jungkook Jeon.  

He is reclined casually in a barstool, drinking a bottled beer.  The creamy off-white of his linen shirt is a perfect contrast to the deep golden tan he’s managed to acquire these past few months. He’s let his wavy black hair grow long again and it falls just below his ears. The laugh he shares with the bartender reveals his smile and makes him look relaxed and radiant and fucking perfect.

Jungkook turns in his stool just as you approach and the slow, appreciative once-over he gives you makes your entire body feel warm. The corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile.

Dammit.

You’ve got to get your head on straight.

Jungkook isn’t some hot, available guy you’re trying to land. He’s a wanted man and the fact that he’s sitting out in the open at this tiny outdoor beach bar makes you nervous. It’s a saving grace that the bar is damned near dead but there are still too many angles, too many clear lines of sight. You’re annoyed that he’s being so flippant about keeping a low profile.  

You wait until you are close enough to whisper before you speak.

“This is a terrible idea.”

He cocks a brow. “Drinks?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you hiss. “We need to go somewhere more private.”

“Christ woman,” he groans. “Don’t you know it’s polite to wine and dine me first? I’m not a piece of meat, you know.”

He grins when you huff your frustration.

“Besides, if you were really worried about drawing attention --” he pauses, rakes an appreciative gaze across your décolletage, “-- you certainly wouldn’t have worn that dress.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, does he ever turn it off? Is he incapable of recognizing how risky and fucked up this situation really is?

“You’re an idiot,” you bite out, turning to leave -- but Jungkook grabs for your wrist.

“Relax,” he soothes, pulling you back.  “Seriously.  I have the situation under control.”

A charged moment passes as you give him a long look. His hand remains firm and warm around your wrist.

“Do you trust me?”

What a ridiculous question.  

What you know about Jungkook Jeon could fit on an index card, and what little information you do have doesn’t exactly do him any favors. You’re putting your career -- potentially even your freedom at risk even being here.

But something about the naked sincerity on his face makes you want to trust him.

God only knows why.

You take a deep breath in and out before sliding into the barstool he’s pulled out for you.  The bartender smiles from a few feet away, makes his way over.  You tense, turning to face away and Jungkook puts a steadying hand on your knee.

“It’s cool,” he murmurs. “He knows me.”

“Why on earth do you think that’s supposed to make me feel better?” you fire back.

“I think -- you just need to have a drink,” he reasons, eyes sparkling. He lifts his beer to his lips and you catch yourself staring for a moment at the way the tendons in his arms flex, the way his lips slide over the mouth of the bottle.

Has the simple act of drinking a beer always looked that masculine?

Shit, you do need a drink.

You order a mojito without ever looking the bartender in the eye. Whoever he is -- Jungkook’s buddy it would seem -- he’s understanding about your appalling lack of manners. He can probably recognize a truly fucked-up situation from a mile away and is steering clear like someone with an inkling of common sense.

For his part, Jungkook has dropped the flirtatious act for a moment and the small smile that plays across his face is calm and reassuring.

It works.

“Alright Jeon,” you sigh after a moment. “Let’s talk. How did you do it?”

He takes a long drink of his beer.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

You’d expected as much. You would bet everything in the bank that his parents helped him get out of Los Angeles.  The kind but guarded look on his face is the closest you’ll get to a confirmation of that fact.

“Ask me anything else.”

“Fine.  How did you pull off the stunt at the airport?”

“Oh, that was easy,” Jungkook teases. “I found the driver holding your name card and offered him twice the fare. He was happy to help me out. Nice guy, actually.”

“He’s lucky you didn’t cut me into pieces,” you grumble.

Jungkook laughs. “You’ve got a wild imagination. Besides, who wouldn’t trust a face like this?”

To make his point, he turns from side to side to offer you a better look at his profiles. Outwardly you roll your eyes, but inwardly it’s hard to ignore the sharp line of his jaw, the perfectly symmetrical angles of his face.  You take another long drink from the cocktail in your hand.

“Why Puerto Rico?”

“Why not? The scenery is beautiful, the food is delicious, and people know how to mind their own goddamned business,” He takes another sip of beer. “Besides, you guys didn’t exactly leave me with a lot of options when you took my passport. And hey -- thanks for that, by the way.  Finding a good fake is a real bitch.”

“We’re not travel agents, Jeon,” you snort.

He laughs.

“So this -- “ you motion to the small building attached to the tiki bar, “ -- is where you’ve been staying?”

“Dammit, woman — I said ask me anything, not everything. You’re not wearing a wire, are you?”  

He grins at the glare you fix him with.  

“I’m kidding, obviously. No way you’d be able to hide a wire under that delightful little number.”

He chuckles when you flush.

“So yeah, this is one place I’ve been staying. Mostly locals around here.  After the storm, so many new people turned up to help rebuild that it’s been pretty easy to blend in with the new faces.  Plus, it’s not hard to find work.”

“So you’ve got this all figured out, huh?”

“Some of it,” he demures, and you can’t help but notice he’s managed to slide a little closer.  His proximity is distracting. You’ve only had one drink and you already feel a bit lightheaded.

Jungkook scrubs a hand down his mouth, fixes you with a long look.

“Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Fair enough,” you concede.

“You gonna go to dinner with him?”

You exhale a nervous laugh against the rim of your glass. You’d wondered if the series of back-and-forth emails between you and Agent Kim Namjoon would come up. You should have known it would.

Agent Kim’s last email came this week. It said he would be traveling to Los Angeles for some training soon.

It said that he wanted to take you to dinner.  

You should have fired back an enthusiastic yes! right away because Agent Kim is hot and smart and to your knowledge has zero outstanding warrants.

But you didn’t.

Jungkook tilts the mouth of his beer against his lips.  

“Well?”

“Yes,” you say, finally.

“Don’t.”

The reply is so abrupt, so emphatic that you have to laugh.

“Why?”

“He’s an empty suit. A cardboard cut-out. Not right for you at all.”

The smirk on Jungkook’s mouth indicates he’s teasing, but his tone indicates something else entirely. The territorial current that runs under his words is annoying and exciting and complicated.

“He’s just trying to fuck you, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow at that.

“Oh, and you’re not?”

“No,” he murmurs, leaning close. “I have fucked you. I plan on fucking you again. He and I are not the same, at all.”

His words set off a throb between your thighs and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, uncross and recross your legs.  Jungkook leans back, looking satisfied with how much he’s managed to unnerve you.

“So this is some kind of pissing contest?”

You laugh to keep the sounds of your words light, but your words come out uneven. “You stalk my inbox for months and abduct me from the airport to what -- keep me from fucking Agent Kim? You hate him that much?”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Kim,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“You know what this is about. Don’t play with me.”

He’s right, of course.  You do know what this is about.  

It’s why you fucked him in an airplane bathroom against all rules of decorum and common sense.  It’s why you’re here, making stupid decisions and taking dumb risks instead of back at your hotel playing it safe. It’s why you’ve never been able to stop thinking about him.

Something connects you to this man, something you don’t really understand -- and now you know for a fact that whatever it is, it isn’t one-sided.

Your body is rigid, unnaturally still as the bartender drops off new drinks and you immediately reach for the glass, if for no other reason than to stall.  Jungkook takes a long sip from his new beer before speaking again.  You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t look back.

“I like you.”  

No sarcastic quip follows. No charged sexual innuendo.  Something about that simple admission is more intimate than the fact that he’s literally been inside you.

“You don’t know anything about me,” is the only thing you can think to say.  

Jungkook shoots you a playful smile.

“I know you like mojitos.  I know you have a standing appointment with some fancy hair salon in LA every six weeks.  I know you order Chipotle far more than is necessary or probably healthy.”

He leans closer and the look on his face changes into something different -- something that makes you shiver.  He slides his hand under your jaw, tips your head up, strokes a thumb across your cheek.  

“I know what you sound like when you come,” he whispers. “I know I’d like to hear that again.”

Oh, God.

This must be what it’s like to drown. To see your demise play out before your eyes but still feel powerless to stop it.  Every smart-assed retort you could fire back dies on your tongue and all you can do is blink when Jungkook brushes his lips against yours.

“And I know you like me too,” he whispers against your mouth.

He’s right.

You do.

You really, really do.

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

It’s like a switch flips inside your brain.  Once you start kissing him, you can’t stop.  

You both fall through the open door to his room in a tangle of limbs and lips.

Jungkook lifts you up off the floor and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist, never stopping the assault on his mouth and skin.  He moans when you lick a stripe up his neck. He tastes like salt and sunscreen and sex and you are so desperate to feel him inside you that you can’t think straight.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he protests, walking you both over to the mattress.  He drops you unceremoniously on top of the bedding.

“Stop.”

“God, no,” you groan, panting.  “Why?”

He takes a deep breath in and out, shoves a hand through his hair.  

“I promised myself I was going to take my time with you if I ever got this chance again,” he explains, voice ragged with arousal. “No cuffs. No rush. Not this time.”

You huff in exasperation and climb up onto your knees on the mattress.  

Jungkook’s eyes widen when you drop both hands to the hem of your dress and pull it up and off in one swift motion.  You’d had to forgo a bra given the skimpy nature of your sundress and it’s easy to forget he hasn’t really seen you naked. The look on his face says he heartily approves.

“Take your time later,” you fire back.  “Take your clothes off now.”

Jungkook laughs.  “Are you always this bossy?”

“Yes.  If you wait one minute longer I’m going to sober up and realize this is a terrible decision. Take your clothes off.”

“Hush woman.”  

He silences you with mock annoyance as his fingers drop to work the buttons of his shirt. You catch your mouth before it drops open as he pulls the shirt off, exposing the chiseled planes of his body.  You swallow thickly when he drops the garment to the floor.  

No human being should be allowed to look like this.

It’s obscene.

The tattoos that run across his hands and forearms extend up to his shoulders, across his chest. The defined lines that outline his abdomen are made even more plain by his deep breaths.  He is -- hands down -- the sexiest man you have ever seen in your life.  

“Shit Jungkook, you’ve been holding out on me,” you breathe, a note of awe in your voice.

“And I knew you had amazing tits,” he grins, shoving his jeans off his hips. “Lie back.”

The gruff command makes your body tight with anticipation.  Jungkook’s face is damp with sweat, locks clinging to his brow when he sinks down onto the mattress and crawls until he’s hovering over you.

“Goddamnit,” he whispers, slanting his lips over yours.  “Goddamnit, I’ve been thinking about this for so damned long.”

You sigh into his mouth.

Me too, you want to say. But you don’t.

“I’ve thought about the way you taste every single day, did you know that?”

He circles one aching nipple with his tongue and teeth.  You whimper at the heavy drag of his tongue.  

“I’ve imagined getting my mouth on you again far more than is normal or sane,” he whispers against your skin, pulling the damp lace of your panties off your ankles and tossing it away.

“Jungkook,” you whine. “Please.”

His lips skate over the sensitive skin between your breasts, across your stomach as he slides downward.  Your body stills when you feel his lips at your entrance, breath warm against your wetness.  

The first touch of his tongue is quick, teasing.  You’re wound so tight your hips jerk off the bed at that light contact.

“Easy girl,” Jungkook teases, sealing his mouth over your clit.  The strong fingers of one hand press into your hip, grip you tight to keep you from pulling away.  He slips one long finger from his other hand inside you to join his tongue in the all-out assault.

“God you are sexy,” he groans, licking deeply into you.  You grab handfuls of his damp hair in between shaking fingers.   “You’ve ruined me for all other federal agents, you know.”

Your laugh bleeds into a gasp when Jungkook slips a second finger inside of you, presses harder against you with his tongue.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, legs trembling. You roll your hips mindlessly, enjoying the way he moans in response.

“You gonna let me hear it again?” his words vibrate almost painfully against your already aching clit. “Be as loud as you want this time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh in agreement, feeling that telltale prickle building between your thighs.

He sets you off with the firm press of the heel of his hand on your mound.  You can’t control your body’s reaction when the pressure against that sensitive wall and the stimulation of your clit combine.  Your back arches high off the bed when you start to come apart, moaning wantonly.

Your orgasm seems to go on and on forever and Jungkook whispers words of encouragement as you ride it out.  He doesn’t stop with his tongue and fingers until you start to quiver from the overstimulation, breaths hitching when shudders run up and down your back.

“Dammit, Jungkook,” you gasp once you regain control of your ragged breathing.

He laughs as he kisses his way back up your body, across your chest and neck.  You welcome the press of his body when he settles over you.  He grinds his hips down and you whimper at the feel of his rigid cock straining against his boxers.   You clench hard at the memory of him deep inside you.

“Take those off,” you order, scraping your teeth against the damp skin of his neck.

“Ask me nice and I might consider it,” he teases.

You shoot him a playfully disapproving look before pushing against his shoulder until he rolls over.  His eyes fall shut when you climb over him and drag your drenched center against the firm outline of his cock.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he whispers, and you lean forward to seal your lips over his.  He pants into your mouth as you rock against him.

You slide down his body after a moment, hooking your fingers into his boxers and pulling them down with you.

The thing about your hurried little encounter inside that airplane bathroom is that it’s hard to remember the details.  It was so rushed and illicit and bizarre that you can barely recount what he felt like, what he looked like in the moment.  But right now -- when his cock springs free and he looks down at you from beneath heavy lids and he looks so sincerely fucked out -- you make sure to commit this moment to memory.  

Jungkook sucks a strangled breath between his teeth when you take him in your mouth.  His fingers immediately wind into your hair and you sigh around his length when he groans his satisfaction.  His hips jerk when you pull off of him, dragging your tongue against the sensitive spot under the head of his cock before releasing it.

“Shit,” he moans, “I forgot how good you are at that.”

You laugh and wrap one hand firmly around the base of his cock. He’s already leaking at the tip and he hisses when you sweep your tongue across the swollen head. He gathers your hair in his hands, pulls gently on the strands but you can feel the restraint he’s exercising. His body is radiating tension, taut with unspent energy.  

“You can get rougher if you want,” you breathe, pumping him steadily with your hands.  

His agonized groan tells you he’d love to take you up on that offer.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” he pants, words sounding pained. “I’m doing everything I can not to literally blow my second chance here.”

You release his cock with a smile and he pulls away to shift his body up the bed. He reaches into his bedside table and pulls out a condom.  He holds it up for a moment and the two of you share a knowing laugh.

The laughter dies the moment you crawl up the bed to join him and take the condom out of his hand.  Jungkook’s eyes are dark and focused as you rip it open and roll it down his straining cock.  Once it’s in place he steals the air from your lungs with a deep kiss and pulls you onto his lap.  

You’re struck still for a moment when you look down at him just as you are lining him up with your entrance. He looks back at you with those blown-out pupils and kiss-bitten lips and you lose your momentum.  You should say something or do something but it’s so damned hard to focus when he’s looking at you like that.

He brushes a damp lock of hair away from your face with his fingers and fixes you with an expectant look.

You want to tell him how handsome he is.

You want to tell him that he’s the most interesting person you’ve ever met.

But you don’t.  

Jungkook rescues you from your sudden crisis with a well-timed tease.

“You’ve been rushing me since we got here,” he chuckles, brow raised. “You’re gonna leave me like this?”

He grabs the base of his stiff cock with one hand, rubs the head against your clit to make his point. You answer him with a desperate kiss, swallowing the groan he makes when you finally sink down.

His hands move to either side of your ass to guide the movement of your hips.  Your first few thrusts are hesitant, shaky as you adjust to the feeling of him deep inside you.  He feels harder and thicker than you remember.

“Oh, god --” you moan.

You feel his faint hum of satisfaction against your breasts.  He tongues messily at your aching nipples, sucks them into his mouth.  His fingers dig into your ass as he thrusts up to meet your thrusts down.  

His mouth is full of you. His hands are full of you.  You are full of him.  The feeling of filling and being filled is unbearable at this point.  It’s so much stimulation at once that it borders on painful.

“Feel so good wrapped around me like this,” Jungkook groans. “I can’t get enough.”

Me neither, you want to say. I’ve been dying to feel you like this, you nearly whisper.

But you don’t.

You feel disoriented for a moment and grab onto the headboard for desperately needed balance.  It gives you the leverage you need to take him deeper, faster, and the steady rhythm of his thrusts and breaths starts to pick up in speed.

Then you make the mistake of opening your eyes and looking down into his face.

He is covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes hooded and mouth slack with pleasure. He fixes you with a look so erotic you nearly blush.  It’s pretty ridiculous to be literally riding a man’s cock and feel suddenly shy, but that’s exactly what happens.  

You force yourself to close your eyes.

Jungkook buries his face in your neck. You feel one of his hands move away from your hips, down to where the two of you meet. The rough pad of one thumb starts to work your clit and the stimulation distracts you for a moment, makes your rhythm sloppy.  

“I want to feel you come,” he breathes, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone and neck. “I want to know what it feels like when I’m inside you.”

“So close,” you whine on a shaky breath.

“I’m gonna go off like a bomb,” he groans, stroking so deep you see stars.  “Take me with you.”

If it weren’t for the one hand keeping you anchored to the headboard, you’d have collapsed onto him with the sheer force of your orgasm.  You whimper as Jungkook’s orgasm rips through him, body shuddering as he pounds harder and faster.  It takes a few frantic, frenzied moments for his rhythm to slow and his moans to subside.

Then you do slump onto him, spent and sweaty and rubbery with utter exhaustion. You’re both still for a moment, damp bodies pressed together as you both catch your breath.

He brushes your hair away from your face and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

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

You take a shower together.  

Afterwards, you both fall back into bed clean and warm.  

You make good on your promise to let Jungkook take his time this go-around.  He fucks you slow and relaxed from behind while you lay side by side.  The steady lap of the waves outside his window is a perfect backdrop as he whispers into your ear and buries himself deep inside you.

Afterwards, everything is still but the waves.  

You both enjoy the complete silence for a while.  Your stroke your fingers across the strong forearm Jungkook has wrapped around you and he breathes deeply into your hair.  It feels natural, somehow.

It feels good.  

You can’t remember the last time anything felt this good.

“Stay with me,” Jungkook whispers after a while, nosing into the nape of your neck.  He drops a soft kiss on the sensitive skin just below your ear.  

“I can’t,” you whisper back.  “I have a meeting first thing in the morning. Don’t tell me you skipped that email.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“I wasn’t talking about tonight.”

You go rigid from head to toe.  Maybe you didn’t hear that right.

“What?”

“Stay with me,” he says again, like it’s going to make more sense the second time he says it. “We could go all over the world and eat the best food and fuck in the most beautiful places.”  His fingers stroke up your side, sending chills up your back. “It could be great.”

You wait for him to laugh.  He doesn’t.

You pull out of his hold, flip your body so that you’re facing him.  You expect to see his teasing smirk staring back, but you don’t. He looks serious.

“What the fuck was in that beer, Jeon?”

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he says quietly. “You could think about it for a while.”

You stare at the side of his perfect profile, dazed for a moment by the strange combination of feelings swirling inside you right now.  

There’s disbelief at the insane Bonnie and Clyde fantasy he’s decided to pitch.

There’s disappointment because there’s a tiny part of you that wants to entertain that fantasy.

And there’s a little bit of heartache because right now he looks so lonely.  

That’s the part that gnaws at you.  It makes you feel raw and exposed.  So you do what you know best and try to redirect with humor.

“Who’s got a wild imagination now, huh?”

His lips twitch into a wry smile.  

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

You’d waited until you were certain he was asleep before slipping out of his arms and out of the bed.  He slept heavy, not stirring once while you slipped into your clothes and shoes.  He slept like someone without a care in the world.

Hardly.

It had taken a moment to find a piece of paper.  It was only just as you were about to give up that you remembered Jungkook’s note, tucked safely into your bag.

You looked back at him in the bed -- studied him for a moment before quietly scrawling a note on the other side of that piece of paper.

you know i can’t. i’m sorry.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Savior

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, mentions of COVID.

Words: 2633.

Summary: Nothing goes right in the middle of pandemic while you try to come back home. Luckily, Bucky is there to give you a hand.

P.S. Basically, I typed all the story on my phone, so please forgive me for any mistakes. Hope you'll enjoy!

_________________________

You knew something would go wrong. You had that nagging feeling the whole day right after you woke up and prepared your bags before arriving at the airport. Today you had a flight back to US right in the middle of pandemic. You needed to get back to your sick father as he had no one but you to take care of him, and the urgency made you disregard all the risks related to your travel. You needed to get home at whatever cost.

But nothing was as easy as before, and now you were almost crying, staring at one of Sokovia Airlines officials who blankly stated you simply didn't have enough documents prepared by the Embassy for your travel. Basically, they were implying that instead of taking a transit and flying back home you might stay in Sokovia - of course, you had only a transit visa that didn't give you any right for a long stay. Both company's representative and you knew you only planned to return home, but he simply couldn't let you pass without full set of documents.

"God, honey, how long are you going to stay there?" You heard someone's grumpy voice behind you and turned back to see a huge man with long dark hair advancing towards you.

Who was he? You had never seen him before arriving at the airport. Then you spotted him in the line - his muscular built draw your attention immediately, and your cheeks were flushed when you saw him looking back at you. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes showed you he was smiling at you. But what was he doing now? Did he take you for someone else?

"I'm sorry, who are you?" The representative asked, watching the man suspiciously.

"I'm her fiancee." The stranger barked and took a look at you, his light blue eyes strangely comforting. You weren't sure, but did he just... winked at you for a second?

The man behind the counter didn't look pleased.

"Then why weren't you standing together?"

"Because we had a big fight this morning and were mad at each other when we arrived here." The stranger furrowed. "With all due respect, it's none of your business. Would you tell me what is the issue with her papers, please?"

You gulped, your arms shaking slightly. Although the stranger probably wanted to help you, you weren't sure it would work out - the representative only needed to ask if you knew this man's name to figure everything out. Was he actually travelling to New York as well? Would the officials ban you from entering US at all for your lie? God, anyway, it was too late to confess.

"I'm sorry, dear." You whispered, looking at you shoes and hoping no one would suspect anything.

The stranger let out a sigh tiredly and scratched his head. Instead of answering you, he gave his passport to the official. 

"Your fiancee doesn't have the form WS-21, Mr. Barnes. We cannot permit her crossing the boarder of Sokovia without it, unfortunately. Do you have your own form?"

"I'm sure I do." He passed the man behind the counter a pack of his documents and carefully took the papers you held in your arms. Flipping through them, he gripped the phone in his other arm.

"Yes, your forms are alright, but..."

"Just a minute, please."

You watched him dialing some number and shivered at the thought of being trapped in the airport. The only thing you wanted was to come back home, to your father. You prayed to stay healthy and was supposed to take a test right after your arrival. Of course, you knew perfectly you were most likely to stay two weeks at home, but it was way better than staying thousands miles away, nonetheless. 

"Hi Steve." The man's voice almost made you jump. "Yes, I'm good, but my sweetheart has an issue with one of the forms... Yeah... Well, you know her, always forgetting one thing or another... The Embassy, of course. Hey, could you?.."

You saw him walking away to the next few counters, keeping his distance from other travellers with their huge bags. His large bulky figure looked scary, his face concealed with a black mask, and you suddenly wondered who this man was. A complete stranger, he was eager to help you. Why? Was he truly a Good Samaritan? If not, what was his motive? Nervously tapping your hip, you felt your eyes watering - your anxiety was getting worse.

The official huffed and puffed, visibly irritated. You saw people passing around you with the boarding passes in their hands, looking for the right direction, and asked yourself why you were not as lucky as all of them. Could that mysterious Mr. Barnes help you? Watching him pacing across the airport hall, you chewed your lip to bits. 

'I'm so, so sorry." You whispered to the man behind the counter. "Please, just a few minutes more." 

He didn't answer, and you were left to your own dreary thoughts.

However, your frightening savior showed up soon with a smile hidden beneath his mask. Judging by the way he looked, things might be not as bad as you expected them to be.

"Don't worry, honey." He said confidently and gave all your documents to the representative. "Consul will be here in 10 minutes."

You gaped at him, trembling at his words. What? Consul? Consul was coming to save you? This man was able to convince him to drive all the way to the airport just to help you with this goddamn form? You couldn't believe it. It sounded insane.

You realized you were crying only when the man in front of you shushed you gently and rubbed you shoulder with his gloved hand. Thinking it looked odd, you decided you had to say something convincing and mumbled, "I'm sorry for all the things I said in the morning. I was... I was..."

"It's ok, honey." He said softly, his icy blue eyes warming up at the sight of your flushed face. "It doesn't matter now. Everything gonna be alright, let's just relax and wait a little bit." 

He was right, of course. Once Consul had showed up and came to speak to the officials, it turned out you didn't even need the form WS-21 because you had the other one to replace it. Bucky - that was your handsome stranger's name - chuckled quietly once he saw the red face of Consul walking to you to offer his sincere apologies. The company's representatives looked like someone just splashed a bucket of cold water over their heads. It didn't matter to you, though, as you got the only thing you wanted from the start - your right to come back to US. 

You were the last one to go through customs - your flight was delayed for 15 minutes just to give you time to board after this hussle. Bucky was with you all the time, always keeping the distance. He even gave you one more mask since yours was drenched with tears. It's unsafe to wear a wet one, he said.

It was still hard to believe all this happened to you. Now you were sitting close to Bucky and looking out the window happily. God, you thought you would have a heart attack before this kind man showed up to save you as if he were a prince charming. You were ashamed of yourself for thinking he was frightening. Well, he looked beefy, but Bucky was a former Navy SEAL, and it wasn't surprising he wanted to keep himself in shape. Listening to him trying to make a small talk, you smiled. He was a good man, and you were lucky to meet him.

"Thank you... for taking care of me." You said in a tiny voice. "If you weren't there, I'd never leave this place."

His eyes sparkled with joy at your words, and he laughed a little through his mask. 

"I'm glad I was able to help." Smiling at you, he watched the flight attendants coming closer to your row and offering drinks to the people in front of your seats . "I understand how important it is for you to come back."

___________________

The rest of your journey was as stressful as its beginning, but Bucky was always there for you. Still pretending to be your fiancee, he dealt with your new issues so fast as if he had a magic wand, and you couldn't express your gratitude for everything he had done for you. Apparently, meeting someone as good-natured as him was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

In the end, exhausted from your long journey - you spend more than 20 hours travelling - you fell asleep on the way back to New York. Bucky was next to you again, and you finally felt safe. All was good if he was close.

Thinking of the ways to repay him for the kindness he showed you, you closed your eyes and dozed off in a matter of minutes. Everything was going to be okay.

Or so you thought before you woke up in a place you didn't recognize, all you belongings gone. They even changed you clothes! Feeling hazy and tired, you shifted uncomfortably on the bed and looked around a plain room with only a few pieces of furniture. What had happened? Did you fell sick during the flight? But it didn't look like hospital. Why no one had woken you up if anything serious happened? Why didn't you wake up yourself? Surely, it was loud enough when you landed. You weren't even a heavy sleeper!

Still a little groggy, you got your feet on the floor and walked to the door next to the white Ikea drawer. You hoped your were back to US, at least. If you were in Sokovia... God, you didn't even want to think about it.

"Excuse me, is anybody here?" You asked once you entered the corridor, looking for people.

Although you saw no one at all, you heard someone's footsteps and froze, suddenly feeling afraid to move. Why were you so sure it was safe to raise your voice? You didn't know where you were, why you were kept here, and who was the one who brought you to this place. Did you break any laws? Were you confined? 

Before you freaked out, you saw Bucky emerging from one of the doors and advancing quickly towards you with a wide smile. He had no mask covering his face, and you saw how handsome he was with his soft chapped lips and a three-day beard. Was he really here with you? You saw his grin and felt relieved. Thank goodness it was Bucky, you thought. If he was here, you two would definitely figure something out. 

"Morning, honey." He smiled and stretched his huge hand towards you. "How are you feeling?"

You laughed at his words: he was still playing your little game. 

"Hi Bucky. A bit tired, but otherwise I'm pretty good. Um, where are we now, actually?"

He looked at you dumbfounded and helped you walking into the closest room - a nice spacious master bedroom with lots of photos on the walls, a huge king-sized bed, a closet and a table. The room looked a bit unfinished, but better than the one where you woke up. 

"We're home, honey." Bucky answered softly when you landed on the comfy bed.

"Wait, your home?"

"What do you mean? Our home, of course."

When you looked at him with wide eyes, he simply gestured to the frames on the wall, and you saw yourself kissing him on the cheek. The other photo was a selfie where you were depicted sleeping on Bucky's shoulder. One more had you two dancing. You couldn't believe your eyes and jumped from the bed to have a better look at the photos, but it was really you there along with him. How could it happen? What did you miss? You could swear you had never seen Bucky before. Was it Photoshop or anything like that? It would be more realistic, really.

"Didn't we... m-meet yesterday at the airport?" You whispered, horrified to the core.

"Honey, we met two years ago." Bucky frowned, coming closer and looking at your face intently. "Listen, I'm going to call the doctor again, ok? I see you didn't recover from your fall yesterday, so let's have you checked one more time."

"What fall?"

"Your bike. Yesterday's evening. You lost consciousness for a few minutes, remember? The doctor said you had nothing serious, but I see he was wrong. Give me just a few seconds to call him, ok?"

You stared blankly at him, unsure of what to do. Was it all true? You felt like you were going mad, watching Bucky walking out the room. Did you really lose your memories because you hit your head? Maybe it sounded quite logical, but you just didn't feel it was right. 

When Bucky was talking to the doctor in the corridor, you quickly searched the room but didn't find your cellphone or anything that could confirm your suspicions. On the other hand, you didn't remember anything after you fell asleep during your flight. Anything at all. There was no memories of your father even, although you cared about him more than anyone else in your life. How bad did you have to hit your head? It didn't feel real.

Sighing, you walked to the closet and opened it, finding there just a bit of Bucky's clothes and a few pieces of your own old one. If he didn't know you, how come your clothes was here? Surely, he couldn't bring your unconscious body through the customs, then come to your house, fetch your clothes and bring you here. How was that even possible? 

You looked in the mirror, watching you face growing more wet with tears streaming down your cheeks. You needed to calm down. Whatever had happened, Bucky was not your kidnapper, obviously. He only wanted to help, nothing else. Maybe you really hit your head too hard. 

Scratching your temple, you looked closely at your face to see if something had changed. As far as you could see, you were the same as before, but you had never been keen on changing your appearance, anyway. Maybe it was all true. Maybe you were now living with Bucky in your new house as a couple.

You sighed again and touched your shoulder with your palm. You were safe. Regardless of what had happened, you were back in US, visibly unharmed - well, almost - and living in a pretty decent house. It was silly to think that Bucky was here to torture you. He was probably no less concerned than you: his honey couldn't even remeber those two years they spent together.

But then you suddenly saw a little blue line on the back of your palm. It was hardly visibly since you tried to rub it off your skin once you accidentally marked yourself with a pen while filling some documents in Sokovia, yet some ink was still there. You looked carefully and saw that it was the very same curved little line. It wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be.

When you heard Bucky's concerned voice somewhere from the corridor, you backed away to the bed, watching the door with horror. It was all a lie. Those pictures on the walls were really photoshopped, and the clothes... if he could make the pictures in such short time, maybe he had someone to take care of your clothes. Maybe he had never been a Navy SEAL in the first place. Was he a hitman? A serial killer? You didn't know for certain, but one thing you knew for sure: Bucky wasn't your savior. He was your captor.

___________

Tags: @hurricanerin @pandulceamor

[marauders-venting]

Happy Birthday Moony

pairing: wolfstar (remus x sirius)

genre: fluff

warning: i don’t think there are any but if anybody sees something i should add please let me know

words: 2288

summary: it’s Remus’ birthday and his friends throw him a party. it’s not big or chaotic, just his close friends. Remus prefers it that way. but despite how much he has been enjoying this day, he can’t stop thinking about Sirius, pining for him. but Remus is determined not to let those feelings get in the way.

a/n: this is the first oneshot i’ve written. it’s definitely not my best piece of work and i’m not sure how much i like it. but i was determined to post something for remus’ birthday so here it is. i hope some people enjoy it (although i don’t really have any followers so i don’t know who i expect to see this but if you do read it, i’m open to any comments/tips/criticism from anybody but please be nice)(also i hope i did the tags right)

Remus was watching Sirius. He couldn’t help it. It was his birthday after all. He should be allowed to watch whomever he wanted to. He stared at the line of Sirius’ jaw, the curve of his lips, the sparkle in his blue-grey eyes, the flush in his cheeks as he took another sip of alcohol. Remus watched Sirius, he noticed these things, but he was constantly reminding himself that Sirius was not his to watch.

He had had a good day, really he had. His friends had decorated their dorm with balloons and banners for his birthday, they had showered him with birthday wishes and gifts, they threw him a party but not something big and loud; it was just Remus’ friends, the other three marauders and Lily, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas and Alice. Remus preferred it that way, smaller, fewer people. But the size didn’t make the celebration any less of a party. There was music being played, dances being dances, songs being sung, games being played, alcohol being drunk. Remus was happy. But if he was happy, why couldn’t he stop thinking about his unrequited crush for one second?

Peter had brought a cake from the kitchens. Nobody knew how he managed to get it but nobody was questioning or complaining about his methods. There were sixteen candles on the cake.

“Don’t forget to make a wish!” Alice said as Remus blew out the candles. Remus didn’t make a wish. He didn’t believe in making wishes. When he was younger, he used to wish for the same thing every birthday: that his lycanthropy would go away. But the years passed and Remus’ wish never came true, so Remus stopped making wishes altogether. It was easier to just not hope for anything. But if Remus was given a single wish right now, he’d wish for Sirius, that Sirius would love him in the same way that he loved Sirius. And every moment that Remus spent staring at Sirius made it more and more difficult to accept that he’d never get his wish.

So Remus tries to refocus his attention on the conversation.

“James, pass me a beer,” Marlene said, holding out her hand. James tosses her a beer and she tries to catch it but doesn’t even come close. She picks it up off the floor, magicks the cap off and takes a sip.

“Marlene, did you just miss a catch?” Lily asks, her shock dramatically exaggerated.

“I did not,” Marlene insists, her arms crossed.

“How drunk are you, Marlene?” Remus asks, smirking.

“Better be careful, Marly,” Dorcas says. “If you drop the Quaffle like that at next week's match, James will kick you off the team.”

“Hey, I am not that mean,” James protests. “I wouldn’t kick her off the team.” Dorcas snorts.

“No, no he’s right,” Peter says, seriously. “He wouldn’t kick Marlene off the team, he’d have her head. And then he wouldn’t need to kick her off the team because headless people can’t play Quidditch.”

“You guys are being ridiculous; I’m not that bad,” James says defensively. “I just… really like winning. So I get a little bit strict.”

“Yeah, ok,” Sirius snorts. Then he goes into full story-telling mode. “It was our third year. We lost the match to Ravenclaw because that one kid, Dawson, tried to hit the Bludger at Ravenclaw’s seeker but missed and they caught the snitch. Afterwards, James, you come up to me and say, and I quote, ‘Dawson should be kicked off the team.’ And I was like, ‘ok mate, don’t you think that’s kind of harsh?’ And you just shrugged and said, ‘it’s what I would do if I were the captain’. Just cause he messed up! One time! So yeah, you are that bad, Prongsie.”

“Wha— how do you even remember— oh you know what, fuck all of you,” James grumbles.

“Don’t worry, we all still love you,” Sirius adds, reaching out his hand to ruffle James' hair. He stands up to get another slice of cake and Remus’ eyes linger on him until continuing to stare at Sirius would have meant having to turn his head 180 degrees.

“I’m bored,” Mary says. “Let’s play a game.”

“Truth or Dare,” Lily pipes up. Peter groans.

“That is literally the worst game on the planet,” he says. “And we always play it.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Lily says, glaring at him. Peter says nothing. “Didn’t think so. Truth or Dare it is. Remus, it’s your birthday so you can ask first.”

“Ok,” Remus says. “Alice, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Fuck, I thought you’d say Dare. Damn it, I don’t have any good Truths for you.”

“Oh, oh, I have one,” Dorcas says. She leans towards Remus and whispers the Truth in his ear.

“Fine,” Remus says. “But only because I couldn’t think of anything better. How long have you liked Frank and when exactly do you plan on asking him out?” Alice turns red and slaps Dorcas on the arm. Dorcas cackles.

“Oh come on, it was so obvious,” she says. “Now answer the question.”

“Fine. I’ve liked him for… I don’t know. A couple of weeks maybe? I’m not keeping track. And I plan on asking him out never,” Alice says. “My turn.”

“Wait, what? Why won’t you ask him out?” Sirius’ voice comes from right behind Remus, making him jump. “Sorry Moony,” Sirius adds, putting his hand on Remus’ shoulder, steadying him. Remus still feels the touch even after Sirius removes his hand. He tries to shake it off.

“Pads, have you ever met Alice?” Remus says, turning around to face him. “When was the last time she asked out a guy?” Alice was pointing at Remus, indicating that he was exactly right.

“But why not?” Sirius asked.

“Because,” Alice said. “I don’t know. It’s too nerve-wracking. If he likes me, then he’ll ask me out. And if not then I’ll just move on, I guess?”

“Or you could just ask him out yourself,” Mary chimed in.

“Or not,” Alice says. “It’s my turn now, so shush. Dorcas—” Alice turns to face her, “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Dorcas says.

“I dare you to stand up on the bench at breakfast tomorrow, cast Sonorus on yourself and start singing a Muggle song.”

“Challenge accepted,” Dorcas says. “But I don’t know any Muggle songs so one of you is going to have to find me one.”

“I have one for you,” Mary says. “Dancing Queen by ABBA.”

“Oooooo yes,” Lily says, nodding in agreement.

“Teach it to me then,” Dorcas says.

“I can play it now.” Mary taps the record player sitting in the corner of the common room with her wand and the song starts playing. The girls stand up and start dancing and James joins in before long. Remus waits for Sirius to do the same, given that Sirius never misses the opportunity to show off his dancing skills. But he doesn’t.

“Remus,” Sirius’ voice whispers from behind him. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” he asks, still keeping his voice down

“Sure.” Sirius takes Remus by the arm and pulls him towards the stairs of the dormitories. The others are too caught up in the singing and the dancing to notice them leaving. The touch of Sirius’ hand on Remus’ bare arm is enough to make Remus dizzy. It burns and Remus craves more. He wants more than arms touching, more than accidental bumps of the hand.

“I wanted to give you your birthday present,” Sirius says, after closing the dormitory door. He hands Remus a beautifully wrapped package. Remus slowly opens the wrapping paper, careful not to tear any of it. Inside is a book. A book that Remus had been talking about non-stop for the past five months. It was by his favourite Muggle author and had been published just two days ago.

“Sirius,” Remus says, turning over the book in his hand, “how did you even get this?” Sirius shrugs.

“On Wednesday I snuck into Hogsmeade, took that Muggle thing that you taught me how to ride—”

“A bus?”

“Yes, that thing. I found the nearest bookshop and waited with a crowd of people until they finally opened and, y’know, shoved people out of the way so I could get a copy before they ran out. Mind you, I’m pretty sure I nearly broke the Statute of Secrecy when I paid for it. I've got no clue how to use Muggle money. I’m pretty sure the guy at the cash register thought I was insane.”

“Sirius,” Remus says again, “this is just… incredible. Absolutely incredible. You are incredible. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Sirius says shrugging. “But I wanted to. You deserve it, Remus. Also, this was the only way to get you to shut up about that goddamn book.” Remus laughs.

“If you think that I’m going to shut up about it now that I actually have it you are sorely mistaken,” Remus says and now it’s Sirius’ turn to laugh. Remus catches himself staring at the way Sirius’ mouth looks when he laughs. The way the edges of his lips curve up into a smile before they part, revealing white teeth; the way Sirius’ grey eyes light up, the smile in his eyes just as telling as the smile in his mouth; the way the happy, bubbly sound of Sirius’ laughter makes Remus’ glow inside.

Remus looks away, his face flushed. He shouldn’t be thinking like this.

“I have one more present for you,” Sirius starts, and Remus can hear his voice shake ever so slightly, “But only if… only if you want it.” Remus is facing Sirius but his head is tilted towards the ground. He can’t quite meet Sirius’ eye.

“Pads, you’ve given me more than enough…”

“Shhh,” Sirius says, and he places a finger on Remus’ lips to silence him. It works. Remus has been effectively shocked into silence. He feels frozen like he couldn’t say another word even if he wanted to.

“Remus,” Sirius whispers. “Look at me.” He tilts Remus’ chin so Remus has no chance but to look Sirius in the eyes. “Look at me.” And then, without warning, without a second’s hesitation, Sirius kisses him. And Remus freezes on the spot. For a moment, Sirius has very literally taken his breath away. But as soon as Sirius’ thumb brushes his cheek, Remus feels himself relaxing. And it feels familiar even though it’s new. It feels so right. But just as Remus’ is getting used to the feeling of Sirius’ lips on his, Sirius pulls away almost as quickly as he came in. Remus feels frozen again. Like he can’t move a single muscle in his body. But inside this frosty exterior, a fire is raging, wanting more. More of Sirius’ burning touch that fuels the flames, more of his lips that melt the world as they connect with Remus’. More of Sirius. His disappointment at the abrupt end of the kiss must show on his face. But Sirius completely misinterprets it.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius says, backing away from Remus and shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why… I’m sorry Remus. Just forget about it.” This snaps Remus out of his frozen state.

“No, no, no please don’t be sorry,” he says, begging Sirius to have meant the kiss. “Please, please don’t be sorry, Sirius.” And Remus feels like words are failing him because he can’t express how much he needs Sirius to have wanted that kiss, how much he needs the wanting that he felt in that kiss to be real for Sirius too. He can’t express it in words, but Sirius is looking at him with his penetrating grey eyes and he’s still so close. Close enough to kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” Remus asks. Sirius’ eyes meet his. He nods. So Remus does. He gives in to the fire, he gives the fire exactly what it wants. And Sirius gives him more this time too. Sirius’ hands find Remus’ neck. They travel down to his back, slowly making their way to Remus’ waist. So Remus’ hands, seemingly of their own accord, slide up into Sirius’ hair, pulling Sirius in, taking more and more. And all the while, their lips are pressed together and when Remus’ lips part in a sigh he feels his face heat but Remus barely has time for self-conscious thoughts before Sirius is slipping his tongue into Remus’ mouth, making all of the thoughts slip out of Remus’ brain; Sirius is all that remains. Sirius is all that there ever was, all that there is and all that there ever will be. And Remus is perfectly fine with that. And when they finally break apart, they’re both breathless.

“I love you, Remus,” Sirius says, his fingers grazing Remus’ cheek. “I’m in love with you.” Remus feels his breath catch (yet again) because no, this is too good to be true.

“Are you drunk?” Remus asks.

“I’m drunk enough that I had the guts to do this,” Sirius says, shrugging, “but not so drunk that you should have any reason not to believe me when I tell you that I’ve wanted this for so long. That I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Are you sure?” Remus asks and his voice comes as a whisper because that’s all he can muster.

“Positive.”

“I love you too,” Remus says. He takes Sirius’ hand, letting their fingers lace together and feeling a warmth spread from the tips of his fingers to the rest of his body.

“Happy birthday, Moony,” Sirius says, leaning in to kiss Remus again, granting the birthday wish that Remus had been too afraid to make.

[downwiththeficness]

In the Bond-Chapter 11

Summary: Lilah often wished she’d never said yes to working with the Gecko brothers—usually while dodging gunfire. At no time was she regretting that decision more than when she’s hanging upside down from the ceiling, staring down a group of hungry culebras and one (1) extremely powerful sun god.

Word Count: ~5,400

Warnings: Smut

A/N: This is an AU of my Story In the Blood, which can be read here. Basically, this fic explores what would have happened if Lilah had met up with Geckos before she met Brasa.

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Taglist: @symbiont13  

The bar was empty when Brasa and Lilah arrived, though that wasn’t surprising. The sun was not yet set, would not set, for several hours. Lilah followed Brasa to his room where she set down her bags. Her buzz had worn off over the hour drive and she was feeling more tired than she should have, given that it was still early afternoon. She attempted a soft smile when Brasa eyed her carefully, his mouth pulled down.

He touched her cheek with a gloved hand, “You should rest. Javier is waiting for me.”

Lilah held his gaze, “You’re insane if you think I’m not coming with you.”

He hesitated briefly, then nodded, taking her hand and leading her through to his public office where, as expected, Javier was waiting. Today, he was dressed in a deep crimson, accented with black and gold. The cane he periodically carried was hanging loosely from the crook of his thumb. When he spotted them, he stood and buttoned his jacket.

“My lord,” he said, with reverence.

Brasa acknowledged him, his expression serious, “Have you found them?”

“I have,” Javier answered, already moving towards a tablet. He tapped it awake and ran his finger over the screen to pull up the map, “They’ve dug into the old tunnel system. Here, and here.”

He handed the tablet to Brasa, who took it and scanned the places Javier had indicated on the map.

Brasa smiled in way that made Lilah’s eyes narrow. It was too satisfied, too confident, “Two groups?”

Javier ticked his head to the side, “Yes, and no. Two groups, same leader. Benny rotates between them—perhaps to keep us guessing.”

Brasa set the tablet aside and moved to sit down in his chair behind the desk. The languid movement, the stretch of muscle as he leaned back, made Lilah’s stomach twist in a way that she absolutely did not need in that moment.  They were supposed to be planning a coordinated manipulation of a dangerous group of predators. She couldn’t be mooning over him right now, a fact that didn’t stop her.

He was looking at Javier—a level, focused expression in his eyes. Brown eyes that not an hour ago were sparkling at her conspiratorially as they schemed. Like before, when they were just discussing finances and trade deals, he’d listened to her, assimilated her opinions and thoughts. Lilah had found herself fighting back a smile as she watched him think, her own mind circling back to the primary thing that occupied her attention.

The last two days had solidified things between them in a way that Lilah, three months ago, would have found utterly infuriating, if not terrifying. And, here she was, fine with it—maybe not fine. More fine than she had been. Which wasn’t saying a lot. Fuck, but she still felt the conflict within herself. Everything was going too fast, and yet she couldn’t seem to make herself slow down. She wanted it too much.

She had spend a lot of her life alone, without real, solid relationships. And then Seth had walked into that bar. And Lilah had learned to be friends and to trust. And then she’d fallen through that goddamned roof and right into Brasa’s arms.

The kind of trust she needed to have in Brasa far exceeded anything she’d ever experienced. Lilah congratulated Brasa for his patience, and he had been patient. She still had a long way to go, but progress was progress. Lilah might be moving at a glacial pace, but she was still moving, and that had to be enough for both of them.

“Do we know where he is now?”

Javier smiled unkindly, “We do.”

“Good,” Brasa announced, rising as he pushed his hand through his hair, “Then we meet him as he wakes, with the others.”

“Perhaps,” Javier edged, “We should just...eradicate them now, while they rest.”

Lilah felt that fuzzy feeling in her stomach drop. For all the diplomacy that she’d witnessed between them, all the political manipulation, the bargaining, the negotiation...underneath it all, this was exactly how they’d remained in power for so long.  Complete domination of their enemies. Utter genocide, if necessary. She acknowledged the effectiveness, but knew that the method would produce the results that Brasa wanted—he wanted the population to buy in to a new way of doing things, not merely give their compliance with directives in an attempt to keep from being slaughtered.

Brasa shifted on his feet, pushing hands into his pockets, “We discussed another option.”

Chuckling, Javier said, “Of course.”

Lilah didn’t like the way he said it, as if he were humoring his boss, as if he knew that the plan would fail. She was no expert on culebras, but Lilah knew people. The plan could work, if everyone stuck to it.

“I think we start with that, and then…” Brasa trailed off, indicating that simply killing them was always on the table.

She didn’t know how she felt about it, but Lilah was at least mollified that Brasa would look to the solution they’d discussed first. It would buy her time to work on back up plans, when the shit inevitably hit the fan.

Javier nodded deferentially, “Understood.”

“Good,” Brasa said, moving around the desk. “Its been a long trip home. I’m going to get cleaned up and I’ll meet you at the bar at sunset.”

Javier hesitated for a second too long, but eventually said, “Yes, my lord.”

Brasa once again took her hand, leading her back to his rooms. Inside, he pulled off his gloves and sat on the bed to untie his shoes. Lilah sat next to him, her weight leaning into his body comfortably.

“You should rest,” he reiterated as he shucked off his socks, “I’ll shower and get changed while you sleep.”

Lilah very nearly offered to shower with him, but the mattress beneath her was calling her name, the last few days catching up with her. She smiled at him as he stood and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, watching as he headed for the en suite and shut the door behind him.

Lilah reached into her bag and pulled out her phone.  She had several new messages to answer, her thumbs sliding over the screen. Hitting send, she tapped open the clock app and set and alarm for ten minutes before sunset. Lilah had no intentions of sleeping through that meeting with Benny.

Sliding up towards the pillows, Lilah kicked off her sneakers and toed off her socks. Her sweatshirt went over the side of the bed and, after a moment of deliberation, so did her jeans. Rolling onto her side, she reached up and flicked off the light. Snuggled into the covers, she drifted off easily.

Lilah awoke an indeterminate time later, blinking groggily into a pitch black room. Even in the dark, she could tell that he was lying next to her. Feeling brave in her half conscious state, Lilah shuffled over to him and laid a hand on his chest. Saying nothing, Brasa lifted an arm and gathered her to him with a contented little sigh. She wondered how long he’d been resting near her, awake and listening to her breathe.

As she ran her hand over and down to his side, along the angular plane of his body, Lilah’s brows drew together in confusion, “Did you get fully dressed just to lay in bed?” She felt around a little more, “On top of the covers?”

“Sunset is in an hour,” he answered, the words coming out slow enough that she knew he was choosing them carefully. “I did not want to get too comfortable.”

It was the way that he said the last two words that cued her, an emphasis that did quite match his normal speech pattern. Lilah grabbed onto them, mentally, and felt herself smirk.

Rising to her elbow, Lilah rested her head on her palm and teased, “Do you think that if we got ‘too comfortable’, we’d miss the meeting?”

He drew in a breath, “That’s...possible.”

Fingers tracing up the line of buttons on his shirt, she lowered her voice a little, “I set an alarm. It would have woken us. And, I’m pretty sure you can tell where the sun is, being a sun god, and all.”

The last part was pure conjecture, but Lilah felt fairly confident in her analysis of his powers. Though, to be fair, she had probably only skimmed the surface of what he was capable of doing.

The arm around her waist tightened, “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

When she walked her fingertips up towards his neck, Lilah found that his face was turned towards her. Beneath the pad of her thumb, his Adam’s apple bobbed. He was warm, the kind of warm that told her he wanted something. She was inclined to give it to him.

“You barely slept last night, traveled across two countries over the last few days, you’re stressed, this is your bed—why would you not want to be comfortable, to sleep in your own bed?” The smirk that had been on her lips during the conversation widened, “Unless you thought we might not be sleeping.”

He flinched. Oh, this was too good not to dig into.

As warmth wafted from his body, Lilah felt an answering heat bubbling in her belly, “What did you think would happen?” Her voice dropped to the smallest whisper, “Did you think that if we got too comfortable, we’d end up fucking?”

The answer to that question was a sharp inhale and a low rumble. She was absolutely correct.

“You did!” She exclaimed in mock surprise.

He said her name, a warning in his tone as he moved to sit. Lilah chuckled as she put weight on him to hold him still, satisfied when he relented. She wondered why he hadn’t pressed his advantage the night before, and again on the plane. It left her with a question borne of insecurity.

“Do you...want to?”

He scoffed, “Of course I do. I would have taken you to bed that first night, if you were willing.”

He had a point. She had been desperate to get as far away as possible—not exactly receptive to seduction. Still…

“You had other opportunities.”

Like when she’d most recently thrown herself at him.

“Yes, and those opportunities have usually been after we’ve had an argument.”

Lilah wished she could see his face. His tone was so matter of fact that her confidence faltered. She quickly shored up her last bit of bravado.

“Point.” Then, “So, you have thoughts…”

In a smooth flex of muscle, Brasa had her rolled beneath him, his mouth hovering close enough that his lips brushed hers as he spoke, “Lilah, it would be fair to say that the multitude of ways I want to have you takes up a significant portion of my thoughts.”

She preened under those words, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, “Care to share with the class?”

He huffed out a laugh, and she felt him shake his head.

“I mean,” Lilah continued, allowing that teasing tone to seep back into her voice, “You already got to act on at least one of those thoughts last night—which reminds me, I think I left you hanging a bit.” When he made a sound of question, she added, “I got to come so hard I passed out and you didn’t get to.”

Brasa’s bare hands, which had been trailing over her skin, stilled, “I...did.”

Intrigued, and not a little bit titillated, Lilah urged, “Do tell.”

She didn’t have to be able to see him to know that he was about to balk, so she cut off the intention with a sound kiss. Swallowing his groan, she ran her hands down his chest and pushed so that he rolled to his back.

Lilah kicked out of the covers, stretching her body out beside him, “Please? You could start at the point where I lost consciousness.”

Brasa cleared his throat, fingers tangling with hers as they lay on his chest, “I carried you to bed and went back downstairs to sit on the couch. Your scent was everywhere, I could still taste your blood.”

Lilah licked her lips, “Then what happened?”

Breaths coming in faster, he said, “Your scent, it was on me. On clothes, my hands. I just wanted a taste, and…”

“And?”

He drew in another deep breath, the words coming out of him in rapid succession, “I licked my fingers, sucked them clean.” His hand squeezed reflexively, “It was so good, Lilah.”

Drawn by the desperation in his tone, she rose over him and kissed him deeply, her tongue dipping in to run along his lower lip. He grasped her by the back of her head, holding her steady so that he could nip at her with teeth that were now very sharp. He shifted, leveraging his greater weight to put her on her back once more. Lilah went willingly.

In between kisses, she prompted him, “What did you do next?”

“I,” he started, cutting himself off with a needy moan that melted into a series of panting breaths against the skin of her neck.

Once more, her hands caressed down his chest, continuing down to palm him through the fabric of his pants. Brasa’s body bowed as his hips tilted forward, a hiss sounding from between his teeth.

Lilah stroked him languidly, “Did you touch yourself?”

He nodded, hands grasping her wrists and pulling them away to pin them to the bed. Lilah writhed beneath him, working her tangled legs free and using her calves to pull him into the cradle of her hips. He let go of one of her wrists, tracing down her body to grip the back of one thigh. Lilah thought he might pull away, put some distance between them. Instead, he hitched her leg higher so that he could grind against her, a choked sound coming from the back of his throat.

Her breath stuttered as he slid against her clit, only the material of her underwear and his pants between them. She groaned his name loudly, earning another hard, steady grind. Even in complete darkness, she saw stars.

And then she had an idea, “Do you want another taste?”

His unequivocal ‘yes’ was out of his mouth so quickly that Lilah could only chuckle, her hand pushing beneath the waistband of her underwear. Brasa lifted up at bit to give her room, a pleased growl vibrating from deep in his chest.

The sound of her fingers sliding through her slick was almost embarrassingly loud. Lilah pushed her fingers inside one by one, rotating her wrist to coat them at thoroughly as possible. When she offered him her hand, she expected him feel his tongue running along her skin instantly. What he actually did was sit back on his heels to yank her into his lap. Only then did her suck the first two digits into his mouth.

He whimpered, and Lilah could feel his cock pulsing beneath her. She wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and tried to keep her mind focused enough so that she didn’t melt into a puddle in his arms. When he had licked her skin clean, Brasa dropped her hand and pulled her in for a kiss. It was messy, frantic, tainted with the taste of venom.

He held her tightly, forehead pressed against hers as he worked to catch his breath. Lilah tried to kiss him again, but he pulled away with an airy laugh. Lilah’s eyes narrowed in the dark. He was not going to tease her now.

Shoving one hand into his hair, she yanked his head back, sucking what she hoped would be a deep bruise onto his neck. He snarled, dislodging her hand and throwing her onto the mattress.

Following her down, Brasa let most of his weight fall against her as he hissed into her ear, “Don’t test me, querida.”

Stubborn, stubborn man.  Lilah would have to try something else.

Nudging along his jaw, she picked up where she’d left off before, whispering, “What did you think about when you were making yourself come?”

His answer was cut off by her alarm sounding. Brasa gave her a short kiss before levering himself up and over to the nightstand where he dismissed it. A moment later, he turned on the light. Lilah had no idea what she looked like, but if his appearance was anything to go by she was more than a little rumpled.

Black eyes wandered all over her, lingering on her exposed thighs. Clearly, he liked her a little rumpled.

Lilah took a breath, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Brasa’s head cocked to the side, his mouth tilting upwards in a smirk, “You’re right.”

He crawled over to her, all sinuous movement that should not have been possible with such a large frame. Arms bracketing her body, Brasa leaned down and fixed her with an intent gaze.

“I thought about you taking my bite as you come all over me,” he murmured, his hand cupping her cheek, “I thought about pumping you full of venom and making you come until you’re begging me to stop. Does that answer your question?”

Lilah blinked owlishly up at him, her mouth open in shock. She fully expected him to say something along those lines. But, actually hearing the words, seeing his face so full of conviction, it made her shiver.

Brasa leaned back and away, “I need to go. Javier is likely waiting for me.”

“You mean waiting for us.”

His jaw set and Lilah could hear the argument before he’d even started. With a frustrated sigh, she pushed from the bed and dug around in her suitcase for her work attire. Brasa busied himself with pulling on his gloves and pushing the tail of his shirt back into his pants.

As she pulled on her jeans, she asked, “Did you think I was kidding when I said you’d be insane to think I wasn’t coming with you?”

Brasa stood and ran his hands through his hair, raking it back and away from his face, “I had thought you might see the sense that there is a potential for a nasty fight.”

Lilah rolled her eyes, “Who helped you come up with this idea?”

That was a solid argument, and she could tell the Brasa knew it. He looked away, his arms crossing.

She shrugged on a sweatshirt and pulled her hair into a ponytail. He was silent while she strapped her knife and gun to her body, rolled on a pair of socks, and stepped into her sneakers. When she was finished, Lilah moved closer to him and dared him to argue further with a lifted brow.

Brasa sighed, relenting, “If you go with us, you must do something for me.”

“Okay,” she agreed readily, surprising herself.

Hands coming up to grasp her shoulders, Brasa looked her squarely in the eye, “I need you to let me in. Relax into the bond so that I can communicate with you, if necessary.”

She frowned, “How do I do that?”

“You’ve felt me before, just reach out to me.  Feel for me.”

Lilah’s frown held, but she closed her eyes and concentrated on that little tingle at the back of her brain that always went off whenever he was around. Shoulders dropping, she did exactly as she asked. She reached out to him.

Nearby, he inhaled sharply, “There. Just like that. Keep your mind open while we’re out there.”

She nodded.

A while later, Lilah was riding in the back of an SUV with Brasa next to her, Javier navigating effortlessly on roads that were nearly non-existent. As requested, she had left the bond open. Lilah could feel Brasa’s mental presence as surely as she could feel his hand resting on her thigh. It was warm, like him. She resisted feeling too happy about how easily he fit into the space.

Brasa was not exactly nervous. Lilah could feel an unrelenting calm from him, but there was a faint vibration underneath it. Curious, she touched on it, drawing back when he turned his head to look down at her.

“Sorry,” she said, embarrassed that she’d been caught.

Brasa took her hand, the leather of his gloves soft in her palm, “Don’t be. I welcome your curiosity.”

“You say that now,” Lilah murmured, “But when I’ve asked you the thousandth question of the day, you might think differently.”

Shifting a little in his seat, Brasa lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, with his free hand, he twined his fingers in hers, “I would rather you ask questions than run away.”

Lowering her eyes, Lilah felt the censure for what it was. Her instinct was always to cut and run at the first sign of trouble. It had been what had saved her life many times before. Lately, it had not suited her purpose quite so much. She settled further into his body, idly watching the road.

Eventually, they came to what looked like a cave in the face of a cliff. Lilah eyed it as she ambled out of the car, her hand reaching down to pull open her holster. Brasa walked ahead of her, stopping just short of the entrance.

“You’re sure he’s here?”

Javier nodded, “I have a source from the inside.”

Brasa looked back at Lilah. In the moonlight, his body covered in shadow, he looked right at home. She took a breath and stepped up beside him, her eyes turning to the darkness ahead.

“You know where we’re going?”

“I do,” he replied easily, “I know the way.”

Lilah glanced at him sidelong, “Okay.”

Using her cell phone as a flashlight, Lilah followed Brasa, Javier behind her. The floor of the cave was smooth, too smooth to be natural. A few niches were cut into the sides of the path, rounded little pods. At the back of the cave was a door. Wooden, no lock. Brasa opened it and looked down—literally down. It was a hole that dropped about fifty feet or so. No ladder, no hand grips. Just smooth stone all around. The circumference was fairly large, the edges rounded in a way that told her it had been well used at one time.

Reaching back, Brasa pulled her into his body, “Hold onto me.”

Lilah slipped her phone into her pocket and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands ran down her sides and under her ass, leverage that he used to pull her up and into his arms. Lilah didn’t have time to give him the laugh that threatened to jut out of her throat as she was suddenly falling, the wind pulling at her hair.

They landed audibly, dirt skittering around Brasa’s shoes. Lilah blinked in the dark as he helped her ease her legs down from around his waist.  He steadied her, his hand at the small of her back.  

Lilah left her arms where they were, her muscles having loosened from where she’d clenched them on the way down, “How many more of these are there going to be tonight?”

She could hear the smile in his voice when he answered, “This is the only one. At least, for tonight.”

“Good to know.”

Javier dropped down next to them, and Lilah wondered if he’d gotten dust all over his sharp suit, or he’d come out of this as crisp and clean and put together as he usually was. A light clink echoed, his walking stick tapping the ground.

“Through here,” Brasa directed.

Lilah grabbed for her phone, lighting the way so that she didn’t trip over her own feet. They moved to another door, same as the other. There was a faint light beneath it. Without preamble, Brasa opened it and strolled inside.

A hand at her elbow stopped her. Lilah looked back to Javier, who pulled her to a stop.

“Wait a moment. We didn’t announce ourselves. These kinds of surprises are usually unwelcome.”

He wasn’t wrong. Lilah heard voices rise, snarls and growls following. She craned her neck, peering into the room through the doorway. A body went flying across her line of sight, followed by more yelling. It took about two minutes for things to die down, Lilah fidgeting the whole time. Beside her, Javier rested both hands on his cane, his expression serene.

“This happen a lot?” she asked, her ears straining to hear.

Javier shrugged, “From time to time. Lord Brasa rarely makes personal visits. I imagine this is quite the shock.”

Lilah nodded, distracted by the shadows moving in the room.

In the next moment, Javier was moving forward, saying to her, “Please stay close to me. My lord would be unhappy if you were hurt.”

Face scrunching in confusion, Lilah followed him in. There had...clearly been a fight. A few angry, bleeding members of the group littered the room. Brasa stood near the middle, looking relaxed. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Lilah made an effort to control her face as she filed in behind him.

The group was pretty rough looking. Clothes that were torn, dirty faces and hands, hard stares, teeth bared. A few had their game faces on. Lilah’s hand hovered near her pistol.

At the far end of the room was another door, open. Voices could be heard filtering down the hall. They’d gone to get Benny. As expected, he appeared from the darkness. He looked much the same as he had in the bar. Kind of a douche. Lilah noted that his skin was clean, his clothes worn but not tattered. He looked well fed.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he spit at Brasa.

“Making an offer,” was the response—cool, calm, polite.

Lilah remembered when that tone of voice had grated on her nerves, made her grit her teeth in an effort to keep from lashing out.

Benny’s glare deepened, “We don’t want anything you’re offering.”

“Even if its food?”

That got a lot of the group’s attention. Lilah watched their eyes spark with interest. How many of them were hungry? And for how long?

Benny shook his head, “Yeah. Food. If we play by your rules, if we stop hunting.”

Brasa’s head cocked to the side, “Why would you need to hunt if you’re fed well?”

This was the argument that they’d agreed on. Lilah was glad he was sticking to the script. Benny wasn’t buying it, as she suspected would happen. His snarl was near constant, and one look at the others in the room told her that they were going to feed off his energy. Everything about this could get out of hand very quickly, if Brasa wasn’t careful.

“Look at you,” she cut in, letting just the tiniest bit of derision drip into her tone, “You’re living like animals. You’re not animals.” The last three words were enunciated, sharp, and clear.

Benny’s attention turned to her, and Lilah caught Javier moving subtly in her periphery. She did her best to remain relaxed, but her body’s natural reaction, the adrenaline, kept her heart beating harder than she wanted.

“Look at you,” Benny echoed. Then, sarcastically, “Did Lord Brasa bring us a snack along with his ridiculous new world?”

Lilah closed her eyes as Brasa’s growl sounded so loudly that her ears rang.

She took at step forward, making sure to look straight on at Benny, “You know that starting a fight is bad news for every one of your people here,” Lilah asserted, her hands waving to the faces that were watching the interaction intensely. “We’re only here to talk.”

Benny’s expression—half amused, half enraged—held, “We don’t talk with humans, we eat them.”

The challenge in his voice, in his expression, told her exactly what she would need to do. In this hierarchy, she was the more powerful, despite her species. Every single culebra in the room would need to know that, and to honor it.

“You’ll talk with me.”

“Why?”

Now or never, she thought.

Lilah drew herself up, “Because I am Lord Brasa’s bondmate, and because I am literally the only person in here that can ensure you’re still alive when we leave.”

Benny laughed, his fangs reaching out towards her from where they’d fallen past the seam of his lips. She grit her teeth and waited, knowing that this was delicate and that she needed to get through the rest of this as they’d agreed. From across the bond, she felt Brasa soothe the edges of her worry.

“You kill me, you’ll only make me a martyr,” Benny asserted, though Lilah could see the faint tremor in his mouth as he spoke.

“Not a matyr, not really. We’re here to talk, you start a fight, you’ll lose. Every one of your people will die.”

This was very fucking true. There were maybe fifteen of them, and they didn’t look well trained. Add the obvious hunger, and they didn’t stand a chance.

Another laugh, another sneer, “We’re ready to die to keep our way of life.”

She lifted a brow, “Running, hiding, starving. You’re willing to die for this?”

Benny drew back, his eyes narrow. He worked his jaw, and seemed to think. Ahead of her, Brasa shifted his weight. Lilah glanced at the back of his head, noting the relaxed stance. Her brows drew together as he turned in a slow circle, his eyes lifting to the ceiling of the room.

“Do any of you know where these tunnels came from? How they were made?”

Lilah felt her mouth tighten, tension rising in her arms and in her hips, her body readying to react. This wasn’t in their script. What the fuck was he doing?

Brasa looked back at the group, smiling, “We made them. A long time ago.”

“Bullshit,” Benny spat, “Just like everything else about you.”

Brasa chuckled, “No bullshit. There’s a hundred kilometers of tunnels that all lead back to a central room. In it is an altar.” He paused, fixing his attention on Benny, “And a door.”

Lilah watched the reactions of the others, catching a few look at each other, the details confirmed with involuntary micro-expressions. Meanwhile, she worked hard to contain her own misgivings. This wasn’t in the discussion—had this been what he’d been doing while she slept?

“I know what it is that you want,” Brasa continued, “You want to open the door between this world and Xibalba.” A coy smile, “What did they promise you?”

Benny flinched. Lilah felt herself involuntarily inhale. Brasa was right.

“It doesn’t matter,” Brasa said easily, “I know what will happen. You will try to open the door. If you’re successful, which I very much doubt, you’ll bring more Xibalbans into this place. They will take your people as sacrifice, and enslave the rest. You might live to see yourself speared by a pike and burned to ash on the next sunrise.”

That was...a pretty damn effective argument. Lilah felt herself kind of impressed by how cleanly he’d laid it out. From the back of her mind, she felt the warmth of his gratification, it drifted down over her neck and nestled in the space between her shoulder blades.

“He’s lying,” Benny spit as he looked around him. “That won’t happen.”

“So you do want to open the door?” Lilah asked.

The silence that followed was enough to convince everyone in the room that this was, at least, part of his plan.

Javier dropped his cane loudly on the stone floor, “We have a steady supply of blood. We have warm beds. We also have a need. Our operation is growing. Some of you have skills that would help us ensure that no one goes hungry, that we don’t draw the attention of hunters, that we coexist with humans for centuries to come.”

Here was the offer, as they’d discussed. All of these things were true. Brasa could only do so much, even with Javier at his side. There were logistics that needed to be carefully monitored to keep the supply running and to keep it off the radar of the authorities. In this world, the power of the hunt became the power of achievement, possibly a more potent lure for anyone unhappy with the status quo.

Lilah kept her attention on the group, looking for signs of breaking with the pack. A few looked promising.

Javier rested both hands on top of his cane, “Who’s in?”

To Lilah’s left, a woman with dark skin, hair, and eyes, raised her hand.

[irronstarkss]

DO WE HAVE A DEAL?  ∞  E. MIKAELSON

part one | part two | part three

requested by: @mo-whore​ / @thesnugglingduck​ / @derangedangel​

wc |  3.2k

warnings |  y/n is a salvatore! so lots of wittiness :) but other than that, neh. 

notes: this part was going to be over 5k words and then i was liiiike nah. so look out for a part 3! :)

masterlist

Y/n’s foot bounced nervously against the hardwood of Mystic Grill, her fingers mindlessly swirling the drink in her glass. She’d been sitting there only a few minutes, maybe, but minutes still felt like hours when you were waiting for someone. An itching thought in the back of her mind told her he wouldn’t show, that this place was too obvious, but as her eyes scoured the surrounding patrons, she saw no one who could go back to her brothers and rat her out. She sighed though a bubble in her cheeks, flipping her phone over and checking for any texts of cancellation, or perhaps of the fashionably late excuse, but there was nothing on the screen. 

Her gaze drifted to the twisting alcohol in her drink, eyes low with annoyance at both him and herself. Herself for thinking he, an Original vampire who was beyond mysterious and definitely out for something, would trust her to meet up with him; him for just… existing. Her straw stuck to her lips and she took a drink, eyes drifting up to the entrance and locking on the entering guests. 

He almost slipped past her — though she wasn’t sure how that could happen. He was clad in a grey suit, neatly tailored and hugging all the right places. His hair was neat, but still casually laid on his head, and she found her heart skipping a beat. He was absolutely one of the most handsome men she’d ever met, and simultaneously, so goddamn insane. When his head turned and their eyes met, she sat straighter in her seat, legs crossing under the table and a fleeting smile gracing her lips. 

He gave a nod, then headed over, scoping out the rest of the Grill like she had. When he was within earshot, she snickered lightly, “I promise no one here knows who you are. Hell, doubt they even know who I am.” 

His lips parted as he breathed out, pinching his suit jacket apart as he sat down across from her. “Hello, Ms. Salvatore.” 

She flinched a little at the name, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth before shaking her head lightly, “Please, call me Y/n, Elijah. I’m not one for formalities.”

“As you wish,” he nodded, “you must forgive my tardiness, Y/n.” He propped his elbow on the table, fingers gesturing upward and lifting with his eyebrows, “I was caught up in some… business.” The way her name had come across his lips sent a strange shiver down the center of her back, forcing her to situate herself a little differently in her chair. This, most definitely, did not go unnoticed. 

“It’s no worry,” she dismissed, even though minutes before she’d been absolutely anxious out of her wits. “So, now that you’re here, would you mind indulging me in who Elijah Mikaelson is?”

He smiled, looking down toward the table as his hand fell flat against it. His eyes found her’s again after a moment, “What would you like to know?”

“Start from the beginning,” she lifted her chin, “tell me everything about why this Klaus character is after my brother’s girlfriend, why it matters so much that she stay alive, and why it matters to you that she’s alive.”

He gave a thoughtful nod, a small scoff leaving his chest as he let out a long breath, “Niklaus… is my younger brother.”

Y/n’s brows furrowed as she looked on at Elijah, “That’s not what I’ve heard. They said Klaus was the oldest of the Originals.”

Elijah chuffed out a laugh, leaning back in his chair and tapping his finger against the table, “At times, I’m sure he wishes he were. But, no. That would be me. I see people do their research.” She let out a chuckle at that, catching his eyes as they crinkled in the corners. She admired how witty he was — stark contrast from the deal-making, strictly-business Elijah she’d heard about from Rose. 

At the thought of the vampire, she pointed a finger to the ceiling in thought, “Quick question. A– well, an acquaintance of mine,” she cleared her throat — Rose was no friend to her, “claimed that you were… the easter bunny compared to Klaus.” She offered an amused smile with the delivery of her words.

Elijah’s eyes rolled and shook his head in annoyance, “Your acquaintance must be rather ill-informed, then. I can assure you, where Klaus is concerned, I am the worser-evil to cross.” 

“Oh,” Y/n said with a crinkle of her brow, “I don’t doubt it. You strike me as very threatening, Mr. Easter Bunny.” 

His eyes narrowed at her, head tilting to the side and a smirk threatening the corner of his lips, “Ms. Y/n, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe you are… mocking me.”

She feigned thoughtfulness, tapping her chin with her index finger, “I think you might be right!” She laughed quietly with her statement, and Elijah couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face.

“You bring me here to answer your questions, and instead I am met with mockery— quite frankly, I see no reason why we should deal any further,” he taunted, going to push off the table with one hand while the other pulled his jacket together. 

“No, no! Wait,” she surrendered, her hands up by her shoulders, “I give.” She chuckled, smiling a rather giddy grin, “I’ll stop. I’m seriously curious. It’s just funny!”

He raised a brow at her with a tight smile on his face, sitting down and returning to his laid-back position in the seat. “Very well, so, from the beginning.”

For the next few minutes, Elijah explained the curse that they were trying to break. Y/n was taken by much surprise when he revealed that the curse wasn’t real at all, instead written by him and his younger brother hundreds of years ago for kicks and grins. Then, he discussed with her Elena’s importance in it, detailing the necessity for the blood of a dopplegänger, as well as the other ingredients — a vampire, a witch, and a werewolf. 

“Niklaus will stop at nothing to make sure this curse is seen through,” Elijah sighed, eyes closing, “and I must make sure that it isn’t.” 

Y/n studied him for a moment, processing all of the information before drawing in a breath, “Elijah?”

He looked up at her in question.

“Why? Why do you not want Klaus to break his curse and embrace his natural state?” She wasn’t siding with the other Mikaelson, not in the slightest; the idea that you could finally be who you were after thousands of years of being only half of yourself, she was sure she’d jump at it every opportunity she had, too. 

“If he succeeds,” Elijah started, brows dropping and gaze levelling her’s, “then he will be entirely invincible. A hybrid. And, if that happens, he will rage a war on every species he can until he makes everyone cower before him.” He leans back and his chest swells with breath, “That is his natural state. A creature of bloodshed.”

“Oh,” she said, smally. Her eyes fell to the table, gears turning in her mind as she thought of what that could possibly mean. Everyone would be in danger once he became a hybrid — impervious to wooden stakes and practically any harm. 

There was a thick silence between them. Y/n wasn’t sure what to ask from there. It just seemed so dim, so dark, like there was no good in Klaus becoming a hybrid. And, truthfully, if the curse was not real, and vampires would always be damned to wear rings else they burn, then there was no good. The ritual was only a very bad idea. 

When she looked at Elijah again, his eyes were locked on the window, staring off and lost in his own thoughts. Then a question sparked in her mind, and without much thought, she blurted, “Can you kill him?”

Elijah blinked as he came back to reality, looking to Y/n with a narrowed gaze, “Yes. But that in itself will prove the most difficult task.”

Y/n had the thought of offering her help, but it was quickly squashed by the much more realistic thought that she truly wouldn’t have been able to do much. That, she figured, was a much more deep-rooted familial issue, and she had too many of those to deal with right now. She was not going to get in the middle of them. Instead, she sipped her drink and asked, “You have an idea of what you’re going to do, right?”

He nodded, “I do. Keep the most vital part of the ritual in my possession, strike when the time is right.” His vagueness made her temples itch with curiosity, but she knew it was pointless to ask. He was not going to reveal it all to her — there was trust, but not that much. She respected that. 

The rest of their visit was filled with lighter conversation, Y/n filling Elijah in on some of her own life with her brothers. She explained how she was there to help Lexi help Stefan, how she was there when Stefan had found Elena. She skipped over a few of the worser parts of her history — her selective distaste for her eldest brother, being one. But Elijah listened, and she was sure even with the blanks, he could tell just why she’d made this deal in the first place. 

“You care deeply for your brothers,” he murmured after a moment, fingers drumming lightly against the table.

“Yes,” she nodded, “you figured that out the first night we met.”

“Well,” he gave another smirk, “it was an educated guess at the time. Nothing more than a shot in the dark, as they say. But, you’ve proven me right.”

She scoffed, licking her lips and nodding, “You know, ‘Lijah,” her name slipped across her tongue so casually it took him almost by surprise, his eyes narrowing for only a moment, “I find it so strange that I can trust you.”

He gave a shrug of his shoulder, “I’ve been told I’ve that effect on people.” 

Another laugh, another exchange of adoring glances, and she nodded, “I’m sure you do.” 

They held each other’s look for a moment. Her heart was racing in her ears, and she knew he could hear it. But she didn’t mind. Something about the man in front of her drew her nearer, like a drug to an addict, and she was not at all appalled by the idea. In fact, she was intrigued with him. The secrets he held behind those brown eyes, the unsaid words held back by his tongue, the smile that graced his lips, it all told her so much yet so little about him. And she loved it. 

Then his phone rang. Quickly, he gave her an apologetic look and answered. His expression dropped, the smile replaced with a slack frown. “Alright. Make sure nothing happens until I get there.” Then he hung up and turned to her with a plastered smile, “Forgive me, Y/n. But I must find my leave.”

“Business?” She offered, witty yet sincere.

He nodded, standing from his seat and fixing his suit jacket. Then he took her hand that had been resting on the table and placed a gentle kiss to the knuckles, “I hope we have the chance to meet like this again, Y/n Salvatore.” Then, he was gone, as if he’d never been there at all.

                                                              ∞

Over the next few days, it only proves harder and harder for Y/n to keep her side of the deal with Elijah. Elena continuously puts herself in the position of absolute death, and it’s driving all three of the Salvatore’s up the wall. She hadn’t heard from the Original, but she was sure he was aware of all of it, as well, and it the annoyance was settling deep with him, too. 

Y/n sat low on the couch, entirely invisible to anyone who were to walk in. She’d heard Damon leave earlier that morning, heard Rose say something of not leaving a girl hanging, and she’d cringed. Of course Damon was sleeping with a kidnapper. Makes perfect sense. She rolled her eyes and scoffed lightly, scrolling through her phone and pushing away the rather horrid mental image.

Then the door opens behind her, yet she doesn’t bother to check to see who comes in. She can already tell by the light feet and the rapid heartbeat. Elena had made her entrance. But she doesn’t say anything, and Y/n thinks a moment about sitting up and asking her what she wants, but Rose beats her to it by coming around the corner and making some flirtatious comment about how Damon left a naked girl in his house. 

Again, gross. 

She heard their awkward conversation, Elena’s need for something from Rose, and then she perks up when Rose pads away. Why hadn’t she gone to her brothers? Surely if she truly needed something, she would’ve gone to Stefan. But then again, how could she? Stefan, the dumbass, ever valiant white-knight, had gotten himself stuck in a tomb with Katherine, and the reminder of the thought made Y/n wince. 

Even then, with their current plight, she would’ve at least considered going to Damon, first. Not Rose. Y/n sighed, sitting up from the couch and catching Elena’s gaze almost instantly. “What, pray tell, are you up to?”

“N– Y/n, I’m not– Nothing, I’m not up to anything,” the Gilbert girl stuttered and Y/n’s eyes narrowed. The vampire didn’t have to say anything before Elena cracked under the weight of her glare, “Fine! Fine! I’m– You can’t tell Damon, okay?”

Y/n looked off to the right, then considered the possibilities. If she didn’t tell her brother, she would likely get a stern talking to, and then life would go on, and if she did tell her brother, he’d probably rip Elena a new one for keeping something so important from him, and Y/n had made a deal with Elijah to keep her safe. Giving in with a sigh, she shrugged, “Fine, I won’t tell ‘im. But you’ve gotta tell me, and if you’re going somewhere, I’m coming with. No argument.”

Elena seemed annoyed enough, but she didn’t come up with anything to say in retaliation. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna find Klaus. Or get information, anyway. Whichever comes first.”

Y/n stared at her for a moment, lips parting and brows furrowing, “Why?”

Elena said nothing, shrugging.

The vampire’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. She’d have to play it off like she didn’t know about the Original and his wants, and she knew that if Elena started asking too many questions too soon, there was going to be someone bound to come after her. Y/n wasn’t stupid — there was more to this game Elena was playing and she just had yet to show her hand. “You know that is a terrible idea, yeah? If you go poking around too much—” She cut herself off as an open-ended warning. 

Again, just a doe-eyed look in response.

Y/n huffed, walking toward the girl and then directly past her, grabbing her jacket from the hook. “Fine. I cannot let you get yourself killed, and you, obviously, are hellbent on doing that, so looks like I’ve gotta step in, huh?”

Y/n’s smile was genuine, but the sarcasm that laced her tone was anything but. She was annoyed, yes, but she did want to make sure Elena stayed safe — both for her brother’s sakes and her own. Rose joined them moments later, clad in leather, and she stopped at the sight of Y/n. Then Elena quickly explained that the Salvatore sister would be coming along, yet the tension didn’t lift.

Y/n was nothing if not critical of the women that were so carelessly brought into the Salvatore’s lives. Especially when they brought ancient vampires out for blood along with them. 

“Shall we?”

                                                              ∞

“So,” Y/n sighed as they approached the rather large looking apartment doors, “this Slater guy has everything you need to get to Klaus? Is that what you’re saying?” “Slater has information on every vampire that’s ever lived,” Rose offered, looking up the door, then down at the handles, “if there’s anyone with a connection to Klaus, he knows them.”

“Well,” Elena gestured to the door, “let’s ask him.”

Rose shot her a look, then knocked once, shouting his name. When there was no response, she was ready to turntail and leave, and Y/n couldn’t say she didn’t agree. But Elena stood her ground, “No. We didn’t come all the way out here for nothing.”

With a roll of her eyes, she pushed in the door and chains rattled to the ground, “After you.”

Y/n and Elena walked in ahead of her, looking around the apartment. It was spacious, modern as modern could get. The vampire smiled at the appreciation this Slater guy had for architecture. There was another beat, Rose calling out Slater’s name before stopping dead in her tracks.

“I don’t think he’s going to be much help,” she called. Elena raced to her spot, and Y/n followed behind, the three of them stopping to stare at the dead vampire lying on the ground. 

“Damn,” Y/n whispered, walking past the two women and crouching down to Slater. The wooden stake hadn’t been a stake at all, but something broken off. “Doesn’t look like he struggled with anybody,” her eyes darted around the room before she stood up. “Everything’s in its place, nothing’s messed up. Whoever killed him was in and outta here without so much as a shoeprint.” 

Rose deflated as she walked over, leaning down and pressing a soft hand to his shoulder. Within a few minutes, they had covered his body and moved on to what they’d come here to do. Elena walked over to the computer, Rose standing right next to her, and Y/n standing back just a little. When she clicked the mouse, a password screen popped up. “It’s password protected, I can’t get in.” 

Rose was quick to offer up the idea of leaving, and once again, Y/n couldn’t see why she was wrong. Then, any thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt clatter from further back in the apartment. Y/n turned over her shoulder, and Rose warned Elena to stay back. The two vampires walked to the source of the sound, Rose looking to the Salvatore before opening the door. At first, it didn’t look like anything had been in there, then a woman peeked around a cabinet, shaking and absolutely terrified. 

“Alice?”

“Rose!” The woman came from behind the cabinet, sobbing and falling into Rose. Y/n looked at Rose, then to Elena, the three of them exchanging knowing glances. 

It was only becoming harder to convince Elena this was a bad idea.

[mipplenoop]

Chapter One: Refractory

I swiped left, I swiped right. My lips echoed those satisfying plinks and plonks as points racked up and candies dropped. There was a strange sort of comfort that came from controlling supersaturated treats on an iPhone screen, as their bright light danced on the mute concrete around me.

Though I was a prisoner, the phone made me feel free. It brought me back to all those hours at home, playing the 8-bit games that were all the rage back then - especially Sweets Smash. With Aaron, with Ruby, I remembered sitting under the dining table gathered around my brother’s old console, hiding from the discipline of our parents. Even though it was called Candy Crush now, and on a screen smaller than my palm, the feeling was the same. Just like back then, staring at those lacquered sweets made my mouth water.

Oh, how I longed for a good meal. I couldn’t recall the last time I had digested something other than salty, rubbery chicken and reheated green beans. I was so starved for something different that I could’ve eaten, say, an entire spotted hyena. Yes. I imagined myself grabbing the beast by the belly while its brethren howled and laughed, sinking my teeth into its fur and biting down through its thick, black hide. Tasting that sweet, fibrous flesh of a being inferior to me. In fact, I’d have eaten the whole pack - my stomach bubbled and churned as I immersed myself in the game, trying in vain to stave off that ever present sensation. But not a moment passed that I didn’t force myself to gulp down a torrent of saliva, lest I drown in my own starvation. At this point, the mold growing out of the cracks in the wall looked tempting. What made me, of all people, deserving of such punishment? Of such pain?

Nothing, I reminded myself. I was an honest person. I worked hard at making it in this life. I was caring, curious, and funny. Loyal. There were people who loved me. And I loved them, even to the point that I would’ve given my life for them. Sure, maybe I hadn’t always been the best I could be, but I tried. I tried so hard.

Yet in the eyes of the law, I was nothing but a killer. They - the police, the prisons, the surveillance companies, “They” with a big “T” - knew my sins, and were never going to forget. A cold, computational system never forgets. Charged on two counts of first degree murder. One count of aggravated assault.

Nobody understood that I was a victim, too. In the last moments of Duy’s life, it was me or him. Letting him live would’ve been a dark, endless pit that pulled me down forever, sinking me deeper and deeper into a suffocating void of toxicity until I died. Of abuse, or stress, or insanity, I didn’t know. But I felt it in my loins. That feeling was frustrating, and it was the only thing that hurt more than the hunger. They didn’t understand that I was more than ones and zeros. That Aaron, or even Duy was more than a statistic, more than... Fuck. The gnarled remains of my cock hurt just thinking about it. A phantom pain. Tears streamed down my pudgy cheeks, falling onto those precious candies.

I swept the tears away, but no matter how hard I tried, each move felt like a setback - a step towards loss. With each combo, blocks of chocolate grew in area, threatening to envelop my remaining freedom - eating away at the space which would allow the creation of striped candies and color bombs. Those big brown balls dotted with sprinkles of rainbow, that was what I needed to win. Just six of them, in about three times as many moves. I hoped that when I saw that victory screen, with all of the points I had won, it would be almost rewarding as a real meal - maybe I would be able to forget where I was, even just for a second. Yet those brown squares were eating away at my freedom to win, or to even try to win. It was a never ending battle for territory, where each attack that did not seek to eliminate the chocolate only facilitated in growing it.

“Your phone time is over, Gambia.”

The sound echoed through my head, disrupting the swirling thoughts that I had grown so accustomed to housing. When had he entered? I hadn’t even noticed.

Loop Liu eyed me through the bars of my cell, pelvis thrust forward in a display of attempted dominance. His hands rested over a pair of bony hips, lined by a belt weighed down with all variety of police gadgets. Handcuffs, pepper spray, knives, and whistles. Two empty gun holsters. Blue fabric of his much-too-big uniform sagged over them, weighted down by a sparkling, star-shaped metal buckle that identified the man as chief - pinned over his heart like a sticker for good behavior. It made him look even more so like a child in a man’s outfit. His lanky arm reached through the bars, beckoning me to hand over the phone.

“You made your one phone call, right? Who did you contact?” he questioned in a somewhat accusatory tone.

I looked down at the phone, at my game. I hadn't made the call, but only because I was too busy crushing candies. I tried to concentrate on winning, since that was the only thing I could control now.

Still, it was interesting that he used that phrase. “One phone call.” That was just a myth from Hollywood movies, wasn’t it? Aaron had made me aware of such factoids during our time in the hospital. People treated that line as if it was written in the Constitution. But in reality, I had no rights the second they found me - a beautiful brown big boy - beaten, bloody, in a room with two bodies. This phone didn’t even belong to me, but to the lieutenant currently at the front desk. It was an aesthetic. Worse than that, it was probably monitored, tapped, just so they could incriminate me further.

The chief sighed. “Gambia. This ain’t a hotel. Say something. You gonna make me come in there?”

Only fifteen moves left, and I still needed four more color bomb swipes. It was tough, trying to get a row of candies to align in the right configuration. With the limited space imposed by the chocolates squares, it would take all of my skill to get a win.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he taunted.

Fourteen moves now. I couldn’t stop.

“I know people like you, you don’t have anyone to call. You don’t have any family or friends, because either they got scared and ran away, or because you killed them. Am I wrong? I know I'm not. Frankly, it disgusts me that we have to do anything for murderers like you,” Loop Liu tucked his thumbs under his belt and stretched backward. “But it’s the law.”

I continued swiping. Two more moves but no closer to my goal.

He was wrong, wasn’t he? I didn’t call because I didn’t want to hurt anyone else. I had people to contact. The nurses at the hospital, family friends, my parents’ old lawyer. Right? I just didn’t want to involve them in it. And as for the people I had supposedly murdered… Duy… well, that wasn’t my choice.

“Now if you didn’t call anyone, that’s perfectly understandable. You can give me the phone and I’ll leave you be. But if you did talk to someone, and we don’t know about it, if you’re lying to me, well, that’s not good. In fact, some may say that your actions are grounds for additional obstruction of justice charges.”

Why was I still thinking those thoughts? About what happened with Duy. Why was I being stupid again? There was no way out for me. The chocolate was closing in, leaving me with only a five by five grid to build the bomb. Maybe I could use a lollipop booster? No. That would be cheap. Aaron would never have resorted to using microtransactions or cheating in Sweets Smash.

Then again, Aaron wouldn’t have killed anyone, either. Maybe I should just give Loop the phone. It wasn’t even mine, and, like I had said, it was probably compromised. It was evidence that the whole world was against me, that they would try their best to make sure I lived in a dark, cramped jail cell for the rest of my life. It was an impostor. It was a fake friend. My real phone was broken, along with Duy’s spine, when I had crushed him.

My arm began to move, raising the phone toward the chief’s hand.

But I stopped myself.

“No. I want to see Big Wang Chang’s body. Then I’ll give you your phone,” my voice cracked, after having not spoken for days.

It was a pathetic declaration. Irrational. Yet, there was something in me that wanted to grasp onto just an infinitesimal chance at hope. Even though I would never talk with Ruby or Aaron on our old farmhouse, my heart still jumped every time I swiped a candy and was reminded of their warmth. Despite the fact that I would probably never again see the light of day, I pictured myself taking Aaron’s body from the morgue, dressing it in fancy clothes, giving it a modest send off and burying it in the field out back with Ruby.

Loop laughed, as he unhooked a ring of keys from his belt. “You think you can make demands? You’ve already asked us for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a goddamn late night snack every single day you’ve been here. You’re out of requests.”

My stomach growled. Candies beckoned me, and they tasted like my lover. If I didn’t try now, I probably would never be able to again.

“I just want to see him one last time. I won’t do anything crazy,” I spoke, now with a more confident voice.

The chief rolled his eyes. “You want to see Aaron, you mean? Your ‘brother’?”

My twin.

“Not a chance,” asserted Loop. “Quit whining and give me the phone.”

I crossed my arms stubbornly in protest. The chief stood in contemplation for a moment.

Loop Liu lifted his cap and scratched his balding head. “Look, we don’t even have the body anymore. I don’t know what the feds did with it, but it got separated from Duy’s at the hospital. Good thing, too, if you ask me. You wouldn’t want to see your own handiwork. From what I already saw in the photos, that kid's chest was messed up.”

Duy had stabbed him, yet I was being blamed. This was the brilliant system at it again. Aaron was covered in my blood when they found us, and that was all there was the story. No need to investigate further, or to learn about how he saved me from an infection that would’ve taken my life, not to mention my whole cock. My blood began to boil at the sheer thought of it, and the only thing keeping me in check was that I had just gotten another color bomb. Its electricity reached out like tendrils of Aaron’s hair all those summers ago, long before he had cut it. I only had three more to go.

“That’s a lie. If you don’t have a body, how do you even know he’s dead?” I demanded.

I knew he was dead. There was no way around it. I was just stalling, taking up time, in a big middle finger to the chief. How dare he try and tease me, to give me the hope of seeing my twin once again. Fuck the chief. I remembered what Duy had done to Aaron. All I wanted was for them to give me the truth.

“Look, Gambia, we can go over all the fun details during your official interrogation. But let’s take things one at a time. First, I need you to hand me the goddamn phone.”

But I could already recall all the details. How the paramedics first took Duy’s body and threw it on a stretcher. How it landed with a squelch, and how blood spurted from his open mouth as his head fell back. His crushed, limp body jiggled as they tried to take his pulse. No response. Then they just carted him away, into another room full of body bags.

And I was left there gasping on the ground, as Chief Liu’s underlings took photos of me and Aaron.

The chief huffed. “Remember when we talked before? You gave me your solemn oath that we could get started after you settled in. With a real interview, and a phone call to your family, and all that good stuff.”

That wasn’t a promise. It was coercion, as I was being thrown into a hospital bed still bleeding, and still drenched in Duy’s blood. I was being smothered in questions and flashing lights, swarmed by the police, while they left Aaron in that terrible room all alone. Then when all of the doctors had gone, Chief Liu bent himself over me, and pushed his knee deep into the pulp that was the remains of my penis.

“Promises to bastards like you don’t count,” I sneered.

That last statement came out overflowing with anger. I guess I needed to practice holding in my emotions after experiencing so much trauma and isolation. Whatever. That didn’t matter now. I went with it. I held the phone out in front of my face and continued playing, as if to tell the chief “Come get it.” And my game was on an upswing, too. Only two more bombs needed, with eight moves left.

Liu swung his head to the side, with an amused expression.

“Don’t talk to me like that, boy. You won’t like me when I’m angry,” he laughed.

His air of nonchalance infuriated me. It wasn’t just about what he had done to me, either. I knew Loop Liu was corrupt. A liar and a rapist. Duy had told me as much the last time we met, as we hugged with his mouth pressed to my ear. In the end, perhaps he had become so disillusioned with the world because of what Loop had done. That’s right. I had to remember that we were all victims.

“And how are you when you’re angry? What’s that like?” I asked. My voice quivered with rage.

“You just might find out. I’m specially trained to take down punks like you,” the chief snorted.

“No, Loop. I’m going to take you down. There will be a day that comes when everything you’ve done comes back to bite you in the ass.”

“Really? That’s hard to believe, because I haven’t done anything,” the chief snorted.

“Of course you have. You know it, and I know it.”

“Is that a threat?” he asked, half jokingly.

No. It was a prophecy. One that was going to come to pass very soon.

“Duy told me,” I said flat-out. “I know what you did to him. What are you going to do when I let every police officer and lawyer in the city know that?”

There was a barely perceptible change in his expression. His brows crossed just a little deeper, and his forehead became just a little more wrinkly. This was the expression of a man who was not quite angry - afraid, and just enough to lose his cool. It made me feel a little bit better.

I was going to win. I could see the path forward - four blue candies split in half by a yellow. I just had to make the right move. Clink. Plop. Candies dropped. I looked at Loop as he started to tap his feet and pace the ground outside my cell. Clearly my statement had some effect on him. He was off balance now, so maybe there was a way through. Not just in the game, either. I was talking about getting out of this cell.

“You know, Julius,” he spoke quietly.

“What?”

“Some of the boys and I made bets. Bets on how many beatings you would have to take before confessing to the two murders. What do you think I wagered?”

“I don't know. Sixty nine?”

Loop chuckled to himself. “I said only one, because despite how fat you are, you have a feeble soul. And I reckon I’m right - don’t try to prove me wrong.”

Oh. Those were fighting words.

“Are we passing on the interview, then?” I asked, barely able to contain myself.

Loop Liu stared me down. “We sure as hell are. And I’m going to substitute it for a beating right now.”

It was fitting. As kids, Aaron always got out of doing chores on the farm by sweet talking our parents. He would joke with them, talk about how little work I was doing, or fake being sick by warming his forehead with our old heated toilet. I was never as smart. I would always end up doing his work, or take his beatings, while he got to go off on adventures with Ruby, or play Sweets Smash without me.

But as a result, I was used to doing backbreaking labor every day up until I fell off the roof of that barn. And even though it had been three years, I was nearly just as strong as I was then. Under my layers of folds and flaps was a man with the strength to bend steel bars. To crush the entire police force.

To kill.

Fuck! I messed up. It was the chocolate again. I wasn’t watching it. Now I had just two moves left, with no clear path to getting that color bomb.

I clutched the phone tighter as traumatic memories caused my hands to glisten. I couldn't handle another loss. I heard crackling, but I couldn’t tell if it was Candy Crush or the device itself. Or Duy’s ribs. The way I squeezed them with such ease, until his lungs popped and his chest caved in. Those round, blue candies reminded me of Duy’s glistening, pleading eyes as I smothered the life out of them-

“Just give me the damn phone!” screeched chief of police Loop Liu.

He had unlocked the door while I was deep in thought. Of course he had, that slippery bastard. Just like he had barged into mine and Duy’s relationship, he began to enter my cell. This space that they had designated for people like me without giving it a second thought. But now I knew it intimately, like Aaron’s smooth, slender body. And I could beat him with that.

Adrenaline, anger, and power pumped through my bloated body, and in that moment I saw every detail of my surroundings: the sixty nine rusted cell bars before me, the cold, mossy concrete slabs behind me, and the faint breeze that pulsed through each of their cracks. The high hum of the security system that blocked me from the outside world. Yellow heat lamps, swinging on their tethers. There was Loop’s pale hand against the door, ready to push. The hinges to squeak and squeal at his behest. And I knew the exact trajectory of its opening. I could think of one thousand ways to stop Loop from grabbing me, but I only needed one.

“You don’t want to do that,” I warned. “You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words.”

I strutted forward in a confident rage, knowing that I could take him. I no longer cared about my freedom, or Duy, or Candy Crush. I wanted revenge. If I played my cards right here, I may be able to escape and wreak even more destruction. The chief was thin and unathletic, hardly able to stand up to my thickness. The distance between his elbows was less than half that of my body. Even though I was sorely lacking nutrition, I had no doubt that I could take him.

I smacked the man across his face, knuckles digging deep into the bony recesses of his cheeks. His head snapped back and the chief fell to the floor.

I stood dominant over my prey. This spotted hyena of a man, a pathetic excuse for chief, pleaded upward at me in terror. But despite my blinding anger, I still knew in the back of my mind that he was cunning. Duy had told me that much. His pack could arrive at any moment. And so I kept an eye on bony fingers as they slid across his belt, making sure he didn’t radio for backup. Once they came to a rest, I was going to pounce. Aim for the legs, then the face. Then the groin - for Duy.

But no. Wait. the chief was reaching for something else, not on his belt. That was it. A bright red whistle tied around his neck. How had I not noticed that before?

In a single motion, Loop Liu grabbed it, put it to his mouth, and blew as hard as he could.

The shrill banshee cry made me shrink back, stumbling ass first into my cell, shielding my sensitive ears with my palms. My strength negated. Could I still salvage the situation? Nobody would have heard that whistle except for me, right? No. Before I had time to regain my surroundings, with just one glance, I knew it was over. I had no more hope of escape, save for some divine miracle. The physical barrier was just too great.

They lined Loop like a street gang: three dark, African men to each side of the chief, each outfitted in tactical gear, batons in hand, ready to wage full on war. They wore full face shields, the tinted plexiglass as dark as the skin peeking out beneath it. In contrast to the chief, they were brimming with vigor and muscle.

The men seemed to have appeared from nowhere, in a highly coordinated effort, and the beck and call of Loop. They stood with feet perfectly aligned, immaculately distanced from each other in a regular fashion, not a millimeter off. They were not only strong, but obedient. Clearly, the best of the police force.

“Come get some!” I shouted.

They charged, and my fists pounded against their vests.

They seized me. Twelve arms wrapped around my torso, beastial limbs ripping into my form as I struggled against them. With every twist, with each shove, they pressed into me harder than ever before. They were the chocolate, and I was that last color bomb, never meant to be.

As I was suffocated under their layers of Kevlar and sweat, I thought to myself that I could’ve overpowered these half dozen thugs. If only I had a little more food, if only I had won in Candy Crush, it would be a fair battle. The embarrassment brought on by my weakness, and my impotence, only galvanized my struggle even more. My muscles rippled under my corpulent body as I cried out in frustration and shame. This brought only further embarrassment, perpetuating a vicious cycle that soon brought me to tears. The phone fell from my hands, screen shattering against the unforgiving floor. I would never be able to play Candy Crush again.

“You’re not going to win, Loop Liu,” I resolved. “I’ll kill you one day, I swear!”

Loop Liu giggled like a hyena. His head rolled back and he clutched his belly, though I could barely tell through the prison of meat that surrounded me.

“Oh, Julius Gambia. You think you’re ever going to get out of here? Out of the most secure containment system humanity has seen since slavery? No. For that commotion you caused, you’re going somewhere not even your lawyers will be able to find you.”

“And where’s that?” I asked, gasping for air.

“To the depths of hell.”

[divinerulerluvr]

Michael Langdon smut blurb (sneak peak of my unrealease wattpad book ‘love or lust’)

warning: 18+, langauge, kinky, degrading words, vulgar language

Knocking on the thick door softly, i wait for any response before entering his room.

"Come in," Michael calls from the other side of the door. Shyly, i walk into his room. A large, kings sized bed with fancy red silk sheets lays in the dead center of his room. A large fireplace is pushed off into the corner and there are two arm chairs facing it

I was still in shock that i had actually made it into the sanctuary. Considering how he acted towards me. He was cold, distant, acting as if i was a fancy and expensive china plate that could break any moment.

He sits at the small desk by the door, typing quickly on his Mac Book. My eyes drop to his nimble fingers that type the words skillfully. His fingers adorned with rings that i can imagine on my skin already.

Michael glances up at me, an amused smile on his lips as he notices my staring at his hands. "Yes, Miss Roslyn?" he asks, his voice velvety and seductive unlike how he spoke to me at Outpost 3.

"I- uh, Sorry, Mr. Langdon but i-"

"Michael. No need for formalities when we'll be spending quite some time together," he smiles sweetly as he stands, approaching me slowly as his pale blue eyes stay locked on mine.

"Oh... well, Michael, i was called into here. I was told you needed to see me for something," i manage to say in a semi-steady voice, masking how insanely nervous i feel. He nods slowly, a sinister smirk on his lips as he stops in front of me, his breath fanning my neck as he circles me.

"Ah, yes. I heard about your... rendezvous. Sneaking into the parts of the Sanctuary that are kept off limits to our survivors, no?" he says coolly, his voice as smooth as silk. I swallow thickly before nodding slowly, keeping my eyes straight ahead as his hand ghosts my shoulder, his oddly warm fingers giving me goosebumps.

He tsks under his breath softly. He rounds back to my front, his eyes returning to mine. The intensity of his stare making my skin flush. I'm in trouble. "And what should we do about that, hm?" he asks, his lowly, clearly trying to get a rise out of me.

I hesitantly keep my eyes trained on his, feeling myself grow weak in the knees. He reaches his hand up and caresses my cheek gently. "I'd usually punish the rule breakers by torture or... just flat out kicking them out but... i have a sweet spot for you, Miss Roslyn," he states, keeping those beautiful blue eyes on mine the entire time.

"I'm sorry Mr. L- i mean, Michael. I heard weird noises and i got curious i-" i was quickly cut off from my stammering by a strong grip around my neck. He squeezes the sides instead of pushing pressure down on to my airways. He wasn't trying to kill me at all.

I let out a small whimper at the sudden movement. And Michael doesn't miss it. A sadistic grin spreading across his face becomes prominent as his grip tightens on my neck.

"Maybe i should just.... Use you for my own pleasure. Make your body mine since i do believe you are one of the only people who hasn't sold their soul to my father," he growls lowly in my ear, his cinnamon scented breath fanning my face gently, making me bite my lip to hide my whimper.

He watches me with that same sinister smirk. He doesn't speak, he just watches me as i look up at him with wide, needy eyes. "Such a needy little slut" he growls, releasing his grip on my throat and throwing me back against the bed.

I land near the middle of the bed, scurrying up to from my laying position to look at him. A part of me is screaming 'Get out! He's going to kill you!' and the other is telling me 'He's gonna give you a hell of a time'.

He stands menacingly over my helpless body as i look up at him. Literally. He's so goddamn tall. "I need to know that you are willing and want to do whatever i so please. So, Roslyn, i need you to tell me that you are okay with this," he says in a less intimidating voice than before, making me nervously search for words.

“Yes. I'm willing and i want to do whatever you so please," i choke out my words. A smug, satisfied grin breaks out on Michael's face. It soon fades into a malice smirk as his eyes rake my body.

"Take off your dress," he demands. I quickly do as told. Unzipping my dress and shrugging it off quickly. His eyes fall to my now exposed chest, analyzing my full breasts carefully before speaking again.

"Lay back and let me see that pretty pussy," he orders. I slowly lean back and slide my cotton panties over my hips and down my legs. I hear a satisfied hum come from Michael as his shoes tap the hardwood floor as he approaches me.

He runs a warm hand up my inner thigh lightly, using minimal pressure to spread my legs wide. He runs his fingers up my inner thigh even higher, his middle finger running down my slit to feel my wetness.

"So eager for me, aren't you?" he muses and i can hear the satisfaction very evident in his voice. he stays silent and i keep my eyes up on the ceiling above me to distract my mind from how he's just examining and analyzing my exposed body.

I soon feel light kisses feather up my inner thighs. His long hair tickles me, making me shudder softly. His kisses grow higher and higher until he's running his tongue up my slit lightly. I squirm in my place, wanting so, so much more from him. "Tastes so, so good," he purrs softly.

His tongue circles my clit at an agonizingly slow pace. My breathing is heavy as i grip at his silk sheets. "Michael..." i whimper out, my voice weak and pathetic. Michael exhales slowly against my wet pussy, causing me to shiver even more.

The pace at which his tongue moves speeds up ever so slightly as he applies some more pressure to my aching clit. I bring my hand to my mouth, biting the back of it hard enough i'm sure it'll bruise tomorrow.

My eyes watch his as he slowly sucks at my clit. His eyes flicker up to mine, making me so much wetter when i see his pale blue eyes shimmer in the dark candle lit room we're in. "Don't muffle your moans, princess. Nobody will hear," he says lowly, the vibrations from his words jolting up my core and make my skin erupt into even more goosebumps.

I bring my hand away from my mouth, letting small moans escape as he starts a normal pace of licking me. My hands go back to gripping the sheets for dear life, my naked chest heaving as i moan breathlessly.

I feel him slip one finger into me slowly, testing how tight i was. His eyes glance back up to mine as he removes his mouth from my clit, making me whimper. "Are you a virgin?" he asks seductively, tilting his head to the side as the finger that is inside me begins to pump in and out.

All i manage to do is nod, my teeth clamped down on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He smiles smugly, licking his lips slowly. "Good girl. Nice and untouched for me," he praises before his mouth returns to my clit with even more pressure, making me moan a little louder than i was.

His one finger continues to pump slowly before he adds in a second, making me wince. His fingers start in a pumping motion, but soon he's going in a scissoring motion, stretching me out even more.

I arch my back, wanting him to either go faster or deeper. I feel his lips curl into a smile as his mouth works at my clit, making me feel euphoric.

Michael Langdon would be the one to take my virginity.

His fingers speed up, switching between a pumping motion and a scissoring motion. My moans increase as his speed does. I squirm in place as my hands grip at the sheets as hard as i can. "Michael that feels so good," i manage to pant out, overwhelmed with pleasure.

Soon, he adds a third finger, making me cry out. I feel his lips curl into a smile once more as his teeth graze gently over my lit. I pant out indeterminable curses as i feel the knot in my stomach tighten tightly. My walls clench around Michael's three fingers, signalling my climax is near.

As if on queue, his pace increases and his fingers begin to curl in me, probing my g-spot wonderfully. "Fuck!" i call out as my vision blurs over and i throw my head back, my orgasm making my walls clench and my back arch. My hips buck slightly, wanting him deeper.

My moans are loud and occasionally i'd moan out his name as well. Once i'm completely down from the orgasm that Michael kept prolonging by continuing his curling motion, he stands back up, a satisfied hum leaving his lips as he looks at how disheveled i am. My face red and beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

"Keep acting like a goddamn slut and i'll fuck you like one. Bad girls get no mercy," he growls, his voice menacing. I just bite my lip as i watch his eyes scan my body. His degrading words make something in my body ache for him to rail me so hard i can't walk for days after.

I lay helplessly watching him as he undoes his shirt, throwing it off to the side. My eyes fall to his toned chest as he undoes his dress pants. He lets them fall to his feet before stepping out of them.

His eyes land back on mine as he hovers above me, his lips grazing mine. I move up to meet his lips halfway but i get pushed down aggressively by my neck with an invisible force as both his hands are on either side of my body.

His lips continue to ghost mine, his eyes heavy on mine. "Beg," he whispers. I look up at him with confusion. The invisible force on my neck grows tighter as a warning. "I said fucking beg or else," he growls, his lips still just barely touching mine.

"Please Michael... fuck me like there's no tomorrow. It's all i want," i whimper pathetically. He lowers himself even more, his bulge rubbing against my thigh. All i can't think about is how big he feels.

"Your pathetic," he scoffs rudely. I just bite my lip in anticipation as he hovers above me. He straightens back up, using his hands to pull off his boxers as the invisible force stays snug on my neck, keeping me pinned down.

My eyes fall to his hard dick and good fucking lord was i right. I don't even think i'll be able to take it considering i'm a virgin and all. I move my hands to touch him anywhere i could but my hands fly back, being pinned to the bed by an invisible force along with my neck.

The grip is tight on my wrists, keeping me helpless and submissive to him. He hovers back over me, his lips ghosting mine once he lines up with my entrance. "No touching," he whispers harshly before railing his dick into me.

"Ah fuck!" i yell out, throwing my head back from how mercilessly he thrusted into me. My hands ball into fists, drawing blood that slithers down my palm and onto the already red sheets. The pain is almost unbearable, but i love it in that sick and twisted way.

"Such a slut," he scoffs as he starts to thrust in and out of me. The pain sending shock waves through my body. "Do you think you've earned my dick?" he asks, his lips moving to my ear, biting at my earlobe.

"Fucking answer me," he growls after i remained silent. His thrust grow harder and deeper if that was even possible. it sounds so dramatic but i swear my organs are being rearranged.

"Yes i do," i stammer out, tears pooling quickly in my eyes from the pain that i fucking love. He smiles devilishly, his breathing rigid from how roughly he's fucking me.

"Oh really?" he asks darkly, his lips moving to attach to my neck. He bites and sucks at the skin there as i cry out in pain that soon subsides into an astronomical level of pleasure. i can feel him starting to sweat as his hips thrust in and out of me roughly, ramming into my g-spot over and over.

I try to move my hands but whenever i try, the invisible grip tightens by ten times, making me wince softly. "You'll learn it's better to comply to my helpers, princess," he whispers lowly into my neck. The feeling of his lips moving against my neck making me moan louder.

I whimper softly in response to his words, unable to form coherent sentences. He straightens back out, standing up as he continues to rail into me with insane force. He flings my right leg over his shoulder, one of his hands caressing my inner leg softly as he watches me cry out from the pleasure.

"So fucking hot when you're getting your virgin pussy fucked," he pants evilly, making me whimper from the effect his words are having on me. His free hand moves to my bouncing tits, squeezing the left one firmly. My mouth opens in a silent scream as my eyes flutter shut.

"Did i say you close your fucking eyes?" he snaps suddenly, making me open my eyes and meet his yet again. "Such a goddamn brat, aren't you? You live off of defying people. It even makes you wet," he says with malice in his words.

I nod eagerly, agreeing with his statement. He smiles smugly down at me as i cry out again, my walls contracting tightly around his length. He hisses sharply from my movement. His eyes screw shut and his mouth falls open

My walls compulsively contract around him as i thrash as much as i could. I moan out loudly as my second orgasm plows into me like an avalanche. "God-fucking-dammit, Michael!" i yell out as i release around his huge cock.

My ears begin to ring and all i can hear is him order me onto my knees. I comply, moving swiftly to my knees as he rubs himself so he can finish in my mouth. His warm cum shoots into my mouth perfectly. His hand quickly moves, grabbing my jaw and holding it so i can't swallow it properly.

"So pretty with my cum in your little mouth," he compliments, his free hand brushing my hair off of my sweaty forehead. I keep my grey eyes on his crystal blue ones as he smirks down at me with satisfaction evident on his face.

He snaps his hand back abruptly, making me jump a little. "Swallow," he instructs. i do as told, swallowing his cum quickly. His smile softens just a tad as he helps me into his bed, pulling the covers over my weak and tired body.

he gets into bed next to me, wrapping me up in his arms.

"Goodnight, Roslyn,"