#I still don’t understand the third place rule??

[okiee--dokieee]

current euro’s opinions in the tags

[jamespotterismydaddy]

The Prince Regent

aemond x sister smut

A/N: I haven't given yall smut in so long :( pls forgive me

WARNINGS: smut!, incest, murder (bye bye aegon)

WORD COUNT: 1,475 words

You feel ill when your brothers come back from battle. Your husband, Aegon is a step away from death and Aemond is… different. It all unnerves you.

You spend hours visiting your husband on his sickbed but there’s only so much you can take before you have to retire to your own chambers. You hated Aegon sometimes but you truly never wanted such a thing to befall him. You miss when he was healthy.

“Sister.” You don’t think you even heard Aemond knock before he’s in your room.

Your eyes well with tears when you see him, knowing it’s okay to break a little when in the presence of your dearest brother. “Aemond…” you let out in a whimper.

His face softens as he immediately makes his way over to you, pulling you into his strong arms. “It’s just all so awful.” You say.

“Oh my poor, dōna riña.” He murmurs into your hair, rubbing circles on your back. You’re such a fragile little thing. Aegon was terrible to you. Your twin can hardly understand why you’re so upset that he’s bedridden.

“I just… don’t want my children to grow up without their father. They’ve already lost their brother. They don’t understand why he won’t come to play with them anymore. There’s no way for me to explain it to them… I don’t know how to help them.”

“Aegon was a shit father anyhow.” He comments.

“Aemond.” You give him a scolding look through your tears.

“You can’t say I’m being untruthful. Besides, I can care for and love your children better than he ever could.”

“You are so careful with them. I am appreciative of it of course.” You murmur, feeling comforted by your brother’s gentle touch. “But you shouldn’t speak so unkindly of our King while he lies on what might be his deathbed.”

“If it is his deathbed, then I am the king.” Aemond responds.

“Would it not be Jaehaera as queen?” You question. Should it not be your daughter who would rule next?

“It would be difficult to have a girl heading our cause when Rhaenyra is also a woman. Besides, i’ve been named Prince Regent. I’m the king in all but name… and all kings need a queen.” He gives you a look that you can’t quite place.

“I am sure the Baratheon girl will be ever so pleased when she is informed of her rise in status.” You murmur.

“I won’t have dark haired, Baratheon mutts as my heirs.”

“Then who shall you marry? One of Vaemond’s granddaughters perhaps? I don’t think a Velaryon is worth breaking such a beneficial betrothal.” You don’t see it yet. You haven’t caught on to what his words mean, his treasonous words.

“I shan't break my engagement for some woman I care not for... I’ll break it for you.”

Your jaw drops. “Aemond, that is absurd.”

“I will quell their anger by arranging a match with Daeron. A third son is as good as a second.”

“You know that isn’t what i’m shocked by.”

“Are you truly shocked?” He tilts your chin up so you have no choice but to look him in the eyes. “I know it is I that you desire, not Aegon.”

“Aegon is my husband.” You protest.

“Aegon is a useless cunt who will be dead soon.” Aemond says firmly. “And when he’s dead, i’ll be king.”

“He might yet live and if he does, i’ll still be his wife. I won’t be an adulterer.” You push away from your brother, creating an appropriate distance. 

“I would never make such a woman of you. All I ask is that you answer my one question. If Aegon were dead, would you choose to marry me?”

There’s a long pause as you think about your answer. It would be treasonous to respond truthfully… but it is Aemond asking the question. You can’t lie to your beloved brother.

“I would.”

There’s a certain glint in his eye when you give him your answer. He leaves the room without saying anything else.

Over the next few hours, you try your hardest not to overthink. The way Aemond phrased the question, the way he looked at you after you answered, it was unnerving. You know your brother wants nothing more than to take care of you but he could never harm Aegon, could he?

Your question was answered by morning. Aegon is dead.

It wasn’t Aemond. You tell yourself, repeating it for a week. You only left your room when it was time for the funeral. You don’t speak to anyone, especially not him. Tonight, you don’t sleep, trying to distract yourself with what most would call silly feminine interests.

“Sister?” You look up from your needlework to see him standing there, stoically in the middle of your room.

“The hour is late, Aemond.” You say, confused by his presence and more than nervous by it.

“I know. You should be sleeping. I thought you would be sleeping.”

“I couldn’t find my rest.” You whisper.

“Why?” 

He knows why.

“It was by your hand, was it not?”

“I hardly know of what you speak.” He brushes you off.

“I am no fool.”

“I know you aren’t. That is why you’ll never say it aloud.”

“Is that a threat?” You ask and there's a visible pang of hurt shown on his visage.

“I would never do anything to harm you.” He states firmly, getting closer and taking the needlework out of your hands so he may hold them instead.

“But you would covet your brother’s wife as he lies on his deathbed. He has been cold for but a week; have you already come to claim me?”

“You desire to be claimed by me.” He states, irritated by your current disdain for him.

“I desire a good man by my side.”

“Then why do you think of me when Aegon fucks you?” Aemond grabs your wrists, pulling you closer to him. You gasp. He’s never spoken to you like this before.

“Aemond…” You breathe out, appalled. 

“You toil with this decision so i’ll make it for you.” His right hand slides down to your waist and he pulls you flush against him. “We will consummate tonight.”

He kisses you with rough passion, stealing your breath from your lips. Your brother has waited too long for this and will not wait a second longer. He pushes you back until you reach the bed, the two of you falling atop it.

“I will have you now, my wife… my beautiful bride.” 

“This is… we can’t.”

“The King can do as he pleases.”

He wastes no time, reaching his hand up your skirts until he finds your small clothes. He rubs gently through the fabric, smirking as he feels the wetness before he pulls the garment down.

“Be gentle, Aemond.” It was never a request you would make of Aegon. Such a sentiment would do you no good with a man who takes pleasure in pain.

“Of course, my dōna riña but by the end of the night, my babe will be in your belly.”

You gaze up at him as he unbuckles his trousers, such a sweet nymphet was wasted on a bastard like Aegon.

You wince as his cock splits your tight cunt and he marvels at the grimace. He must be much more well endowed than the dead king to warrant such a response.

“Shh, I'm sorry. I know it hurts. Poor sweet angel.” He lets you adjust to him, wanting you to enjoy the times you will lie together just as he does.

When he no longer sees pain strewn across your face, he begins to thrust. A little choked gasp leaves your throat as he does; you never expected to enjoy such a feeling.

“Hmm, you like that?” He taunts, beginning to pick up to a pace that you can’t handle.

“Oh, it’s too fast.” You whimper, but he doesn’t slow. Your big brother knows what you can take. Besides, there’s a bit of sadism in every Targaryen man.

He begins to pound into you, relishing each moan his baby sister makes. It’s sick, but nothing brings him more pleasure than knowing he will be a better husband than Aegon in every way possible.

Aemond hooks one of your legs over his shoulder and the new angle lets him get even deeper inside you.

“Gods, you’re just sucking me in.” He wanted so desperately to last longer as he begins to furiously rub your pearl but the way you squeeze around him makes it hard.

His hips stutter but he knows you’re close too as you begin to spasm around him. He digs himself into you with one final thrust before painting your walls white with his seed.

“We will have the wedding this week, my darling. I’ll wait no longer for you.”

comment to be added to the taglist

[pearlywritings]

To think of lace - to lose one's mind

synopsis: that little game of teasing you started back home promises to keep your husband on his toes throughout the whole day. Will he manage to endure? And is it really a punishment or more like a reward?

pairing and characters: Alhaitham x fem!reader

tw: SMUT, established relationship (marriage), lingerie, petting, fingering, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex

word count: 6.7k+ words

a/n: this the second part of A slip of the tongue and I highly recommend to read it first!

Ever since you bid your goodbyes to Kaveh and left the house, Alhaitham has been glued to your side. With your fingers wrapped around his wrist the two of you had a nice morning walk to the top of the enormous tree, where, upon entering the Akademyia, you immediately had many eyes drawn to you. It is almost funny how some of the students still get that stupefied look on their faces whenever your husband is spotted with you by his side, clearly not looking like simple colleagues.

You, however, ignore them, turning the opposite to the House of Daena direction and making your way to the auditorium of where your defense will take place.

The nuisance still appears in the form of some senior student, who practically jumps in your path and waves a stack of documents in your husband’s face. Oh, looks like someone is brave this morning.

“Scribe Alhaitham, I need your approval for-”

“Declined,” the man doesn’t even stop in his way, momentarily wrapping an arm around your waist and moving your bodies to step around the young scholar.

“What!?”

“Check my working hours next time. Besides today I do not accept anyone in my office or outside of it,” his hand squeezes your hip a little, and you roll your eyes with a smile. Of course, because he is making his priorities right.

Leaving the stunned student behind, you take a turn to the next corridor, which is notably emptier, and you cannot help, but tease him.

“Oh, am I making my dear husband abandon his duties? What a bad wife I am…”

“You are my duty too. So technically I don’t slack off,” his face remains stoic, though you take notice of how his hand still lingers on your hip - usually he is never this handsy in public.

“Sure, sure, if you say so,” chuckling, you lean into his side. The rest of the walk remains silent.

On the inside, however, Alhaitham’s thoughts are all over the place like an annoying buzz. The primary one is understanding that under these few layers of clothing the thin lace is kissing your skin, and his palm is directly there. The second one is of irritation, that you let him take a look, but never appreciate it properly. The third one is cursing at himself for being ruled by the thoughts of how appealing your body is, wrapped in that set of lingerie, looking like a perfect temple to worship. The fourth is rolling his eyes for the last comparison he did - Kaveh’s antics do rub off on him it seems. The current one is realizing that the next time he’ll manage to get a glimpse of the tempting sight is only back home, and until then it’s going to be many excruciatingly long hours.

Today is your test for becoming a Dastur. Right now it is his test for patience and sanity.

He manages to calm his heated mind down when you leave his side to go to the special stage from where you’d be holding your speech. The Scribe joins other attendants and members of the certification committee, but sits as far as he can and alone, to escape unwanted discussions and make his presence forgotten. Because he is here only for you, and he knows that you see him very well from where you are standing.

You smile when your gazes lock, and warmth spreads in his chest, which quickly travels south, when your fingers, as if smoothing your tunic, brush right where he knows the hem of your stocking is. Yes, it is indeed a test for his patience.

The title and introductory part is all good - his mind is cleared once again, and he admires the way you talk and demonstrate the valuable information on the slide behind you. But the longer he watches your lips move and body slightly sway and bounce when you take steps across the stage, the thinner becomes the string of self-restraint for not sliding his eyes all over your figure, imagining your without such unnecessary clothes. Until it snaps and he does. It’s a simple action, really - and no one would’ve noticed it, had they not been Alhaitham, who has been watching you like a hawk - you take a sip of the water. Just a sip, but the tiny droplet that escapes the corner of your mouth and slides down your neck and disappears under the hem of your shirt, makes the clothes before his eyes completely disappear, gleaming orbs following the imaginary path of the cooling bead on your smooth skin.

Has it been long since the last time the two of you were intimate? There is no other explanation for the man’s easily-rising excitement rather than the combination of the sexy look of his beloved wife and the lack of bedroom activities in the past month - you were too busy with preparing for your presentation, and he had a work trip somewhere along the way. He’d come home, eat dinner with you, spend time together, reviewing your work or enjoying reading his book and then go straight to bed. Of course he took notice that your visits to his office during hours at the Akademiya got fewer, but with how hectic your lives are, he didn’t give it much thought. Well, he should have.

And he definitely will tonight.

His strayed attention is back to reality and you manage to catch that moment, when in the clouded eyes appears the sparkle of clarity. Oh, you are enjoying this so much. Whatever your husband may say about Kaveh - the architect is a freaking genius. It was his idea to give Alhaitham some eye candy and then tease by not giving him more. At first you did not believe it would work, to which your blond friend only rolled his eyes dramatically, picking up his mug, and claiming that he was not blind and saw the way the ash-haired man at times devoured you with his eyes alone. Now, you see the artist really has a keen eye.

Yesterday you truly were annoyed with your partner (in the beginning) - even for a moment he didn’t want to stop and think and carefully choose his words and show you that he understands that you want some support from him and not a lecture. So now, even though you no longer hold any grudge against him, the payback feels so great. Besides you weren’t lying - having witnessed how the man was looking at you in the morning with a hardly concealed desire to touch boosts your confidence.

You want the typically reserved man to squirm.

Three hours. It's been three, goddamn, hours, that could have been one, if it hadn't been unnecessarily stretched with the attendees' stupid questions. Alhaitham didn't even care what looks he could attract, when he grabbed your hand and led you to his office, after you were dismissed for the committee to start an equally long discussion about your academic destiny.

The fireflies were bumping all over the walls of your heart when your husband finally dragged you inside the secluded space and slammed the door closed, locking it. It was your initiative, however, to take a hold of his cape's lapels and draw him close, luring him into a kiss. Your plan is far from its end after all.

"Habibti…" his voice is so breathless, hushed words caressing your plump lips, before he dives in again, kissing them, holding you tightly between his toned body and the wall in his office. You are so pliable in his arms, leaning into him, embracing his neck, fingers burying in the short hairs at the back of it. 

On purpose you push your body into his hold eagerly, letting his palms slide over your waist and down to your hips, gliding over the curves in silent appreciation. With the stressful factor (the presentation) out of your way, there is undoubtedly neediness rising in your own system, your own realization of just how hot you would be with all the clothes off, and how enticingly would glint your husband's eyes once landed on your body again.

For a moment it gets hard to follow the plan and not give him a green light to have you right against the wall of his office.

However, you will yourself to keep your act.

Alhaitham groans in dissatisfaction when you break the kiss and draw your face back, putting the tips of your fingers against his lips, not allowing him to chase after yours.

"My love…" you make your voice extra breathy and borderline sad, looking at him with fake droopy eyes and lips drawn in a line. "I am so tired… You think I can use your couch to take a quick nap?"

It's so easy to see the shift in the man's expression. The attention he observes your features with. The hands that return to your waist, but sliding more to the small of your back to support your suddenly weakened body. The shaky sigh he releases and a gentle kiss he presses under your eye, where, conveniently, the evidence of your lack of proper regular sleep is quite apparent.

"Yes, my love, of course,"  watching him holding back once again, this time with your best interest in mind, is heartwarming and you lean close to peck the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you, habibi. I promise, we'll have our fun tonight. Can you wait for me?"

Closing his eyes and leading you to the couch he firmly nods. His self-restraint is admirable and there is just a tiny slither of guilt in your chest. But at the same time you know - some denying now will cause a greater experience later.

"Certainly. Give me a moment, I'll bring you more pillows."

"Spoiling me, huh?"

"Not yet, but I will," he holds your hand as you sit down on the plush couch Alhaitham demanded for his office's accommodation years ago. "You were great out there."

"Aw, thank you, dear," a bright smile lightens your 'tired' face, and your husband feels his heart skip a beat. If he had a genie to grant him one wish, he'd ask to see your smile every day till the rest of your lives. "Did you enjoy the way I shot all the Rajkumar's critiques down?"

"More than I probably should've," he quietly chuckles, kissing your temple and straightening to go and grab extra pillows. "I saw your scientific supervisor smirking smugly while you were at it.”

“Oh, yes, sounds like him,” you hum in acknowledgement, and the man hears some shuffling. It’s astonishing how quickly the whole mood has changed and, while you, without any doubt, appreciate it greatly, you can’t just not tease your beloved some more, right?

When he turns around with two pillows in arms though, his breath hitches - the view from before is once again in front of him. Mesmerized, he watches you carefully laying out your robe on the table, which leaves you in a white shirt only and those pretty stockings in sight.

“Love, mind grabbing a duvet for me too? I know you have one somewhere in here,” you don’t even look at him, sitting back down on the sofa, stretching those beautiful legs and letting the hem of the last proper piece of clothing left on you roll up your hips. Silently, Alhaitham walks to you, handing what he’s holding and getting a soft ‘thanks’. A minute later you are also provided with a thin blanket, and your husband receives a kiss on the inside of his wrist.

“You are the best,” burying the side of your face in a pillow, kicking your shoes off in the process of fitting onto the sofa, you let out a quiet yawn. “Wake me up in an hour alright? Bet they are going to be discussing for two.”

“Okay,” it’s hoarse and thick, falling from his dried lips, and you praise your boldness. A big palm slides under your ankles to shift your legs a bit comfortably under the piece of soft fabric, and you hide a smirk at his sneaky attempt to touch your clad in dark green legs. 

Suddenly sleepiness actually overtakes your body, growing heavy and mind foggy - you were going to spy on him, but now an actual nap doesn’t sound so bad.

The last thing you hear is the scraping sound of the chair being drugged closer to the desk.

Alhaitham could barely concentrate on the papers in his hands. Your stunt - he really can’t come up with a better word for it - from before left his mind occupied way better than any volume before could. Sure, you’ve napped in the security of his office before, with a door locked and no visitor allowed in when you are over - but never were you this…enticing.

With an exasperated sigh, the Scribe lowers the documents and pushes them to the side, glancing at your soundlessly sleeping figure, hiding from him under that damned duvet, back turned to him and one of the pillows held close to your chest.

He sure as hell won’t do much in an environment like this - only if driving himself mad and aroused, which won’t do, at least not now.

Grabbing the back of his chair, the man carefully moves it, standing up and just as cautiously pushing it back. He could at least make some use of this hour - it’s been a while since breakfast, and he won’t be surprised if upon waking up you’d feel hungry.

Quickly writing a note and putting it on top of your robe just in case, Alhaitham picks his office keys from the desk and strides to the door, the carpet muffling his steps perfectly.

Four turns of the key later he is walking down the corridor and to the exit. The warm breeze caressing his cheek and running through the ashen locks the moment he steps outside is sobering. Lungs fill with air hungrily, making his broad chest rise and fall quite heavily, heart calming its wild pace. Archons, what his wife manages to do to him… In a process of punishing her husband no less.

The amused quirk of his lips is gone faster than anyone around him can register it, and the Scribe hastily descends down the many stone pathways. The bustling market he steps in is such a stark contrast to the quietness of the Akademiya, and it quickly overtakes his being, making the thoughts of you lose their grip on his mind. Maneuvering between the many people on each and every road, Alhaitham makes his way to the Lambad’s tavern, pace even and fast, his long legs being perfect for the task at hand.

However, halfway to his point of destination, an annoyingly familiar voice calls out for him, and only then the stoic man realizes - he forgot to turn on his earpieces. Truly, only you would make him forget even the most routine things he does.

At first he doesn’t even want to acknowledge Kaveh, pretending he didn’t hear him, but when a hand grabs his wrist, the Scribe is forced to stop.

“What?” The architect isn’t fazed by the irritation hidden behind those cerulean eyes.

“Where’s Y/n? Don’t tell me you actually left her on such an important day.”

“I did not,” it irks Alhitham how quickly his roommate jumps to conclusions, but, then again, you did “complain” to your friend about his idiotic attitude yesterday. “And if you are so concerned, why weren’t you present yourself?” “Because I had an important meeting with a client this morning and Y/n supports that,” he finally lets go of his wrist, putting a hand on his hip instead. “Besides, trust me, I was not going to sit there and watch you drooling all over your wife like a desperate idiot, I have enough of it at home.”

“My home.” “Your and your wife’s home, if we take law into consideration,” the blond huffs. “By the way, about that. You might think your face is all unreadable and stonelike, but I know your stupid ass long enough to recognize the look in your eyes and the thoughts behind them when your wife is simply mentioned. I can pretty much guess the events of this evening, so I’ll stay at Cyno’s tonight. Just wanted to give you a heads up.”

Oh, so your little plan was crafted by two people? He should’ve guessed that Kaveh contributed to it too. However, as much as it annoys your husband, he can’t completely brush off the usefulness of the architect at times. Especially when he intentionally and inadvertently makes your marriage so much better.

“Thank you,” the stunned look on Kaveh’s face is almost amusing, but he doesn't care to elaborate. Turning on his heels, Alhaitham walks away as if this short exchange never happened.

“What for?” He hears from behind and only quickens his pace to mix with the crowd sooner. “Hey, what for!? Alhaith-!”

This time the Scribe doesn't forget to turn his earpieces on.

Teasing and riling up your husband proved to be an amusing and pleasurable experience - one you’d really like to repeat again. His mesmerizing eyes have not once strayed from your figure for the remainder of the day, gazing at you as you slept, as you two shared lunch, as you were named Dastur and congratulated by many, as you smiled brightly, happiness radiating from your very being. His hand was unwilling to let go of yours whenever you had to leave his side, and immediately intertwined fingers with yours once you were back with him. His lips shaped in beautiful words of quiet praise for you, pressing a kiss now and then to the back of your hand, to your temple, the corner of your lips when no one looked.

It was amazing and flattering how his body gravitated towards yours in different forms and by the time you stepped inside your shared home, your mind was set on not torturing him any longer.

And since your husband assured you of Kaveh’s absence…

Alhaitham is almost taken aback, when you grab his hand and drag him to the closest piece of furniture to push him onto - a daybed in the lounge area, not so far from the entrance. The moment his back touches the cushions and he bounces a little, you are already dragging your robe off. When he pushes up on his elbows, you are straddling his hips in an instant, palms firm on his chest and a sweet smile plastered on your lips.

“Oh, my love, you’ve been such a good boy for me today…” your voice is as sugary as the words you grace your husband with. Applying some pressure onto his pecs you force Alhaitham’s arms to give out, putting him on his back again, which he doesn’t complain about. Next you reach to take his earpieces off and immediately gasp, when the man effortlessly lifts his hips with you on top of him, to untie the waist porch with a player inside. With the device out of the way, you are no longer afraid to take action.

Alhaitham grits his teeth and throws his head back, as you forcefully push your clothed pussy against his concealed length, grinding. Fingers curl around the collar of his tight shirt and tug, baring the skin of his neck, which in a moment becomes the victim of your eager mouth. His big palms fly to your hips, burying under the white blouse of yours and cupping the tantalizing curves you’ve been hiding and teasing him with all day. Green lace is pleasant under the fingertips and he has half a mind of tugging it off, which is quickly cut off by your lips sucking a mark right under his jaw. Alhaitham quietly moans.

“Mmm, how I love these sounds of yours,” you murmur against his ear, gently biting onto the lobe, sending a slight shiver down his body. “Much more enjoyable when listening to you lecture me.”

Ah, right. This whole thing was supposed to be his punishment. Even though right now, with the way you drag your cunt against his crotch, it feels more like a reward. Good to know you’re acknowledging his efforts.

Although he can do so much more to earn your forgiveness. Plus, he did promise to spoil you.

You gasp when he uses the strength of his body to roll you two over, pinning you to the daybed and hovering above. The man takes a moment to drink in your disheveled state; legs, clad in pretty stockings, brush against his thighs in an attempt to close and hide the wet patch on the front of your panties. Then there is that blouse, which rode up to your waist, and he doesn’t waste time reaching to undo the buttons, gently swatting your hands away when you try to deny him weakly. Once open it reveals the beautiful almost see through bra, and your husband thickly swallows at the sight of your perky nipples straining against the sheer material.

“The lingerie stays on,” he almost doesn’t recognize his voice - hoarse and thick with arousal, and it seems to be doing things to you, given how you squirm from just a few words.

He sits back onto his heels, busying himself with undoing the clasps of his cape and letting you lift your upper body enough to tug the blouse off. His top is the next piece to end up on the floor and the scholar can’t help but chuckle at how quickly you start palming at the hard muscles of his chest. You mewl when he pinches your left nipple through the bra in retaliation.

For now he leaves his pants on, going back to what you were doing just mere minutes ago - pushing his clothed semi-hard dick to your pussy. He doesn’t care if there is going to be a stain on the dark fabric, all he cares about is your scorching lips finding his and drawing the man in a kiss full of unresolved need. It’s nice to know you’ve been craving him the same way he has been you and your little game affected your body too. He rubs himself between your legs, rocking his hips with vigor matching yours, while his hands cup your soft breasts, squeezing and rolling the erected nubs with his thumbs.

He catches every single moan with his mouth, not letting you go for longer than mere seconds to gasp for some air. The room grows hot, or maybe it’s just your heated bodies, glued to each other and even more so with your legs wrapping around his waist.

Archons he needs to taste more of you, not just the lips.

A surprised, borderline dissatisfied sound leaves your throat when he breaks the kiss, but is quickly transformed into a pleased sigh, as Alhaitham starts laying a path of gentle pecks down your neck and all the way to the valley between your constricted breasts. With an index finger he tugs that little center gore between the cups, enough to bare some of your tender flesh, humming in approval after you reach to roll the straps down your shoulders, letting the nipples pop out of their lacy confines too.

Right as the left nub disappears in his hot mouth and is pressed on by that skilled tongue, your hands fly to the back of his head, fingers burying in the soft ashen locks. Back arches and pussy throbs - fuck he can feel it with his cock through those little barriers you still have on. Your husband sucks and is not disappointed with the breathy moan you release and another throb of your core, which he sure is making that spot on your new panties bigger. Maybe he should help you a little.

“Shit, aaah, fuck- Haitham!” He can feel your nails slightly dig into his scalp and body jolt when his hand disappears under the waistband of your sexy underwear, the pads of his middle and index fingers immediately sliding between your pussy lips.

“Who would've thought that one of the esteemed Haravatat Dasturs got herself so worked up, that the mere touch from her husband can force such a language out of her,” the Scribe can't help, but snicker, lazily toying with the same nipple by the tip of his tongue, before carefully taking it between the teeth and slightly tugging.

It feels like the spark of electricity shoots through your body. Especially as he taps your clit at the same time.

“You are- oooh~ very mean right now,” Alhaitham doesn’t need to lift his head to see your pout, but he does so nevertheless, leaning up to give you a reassuring kiss.

“Just trying to match my wife,” he murmurs against your lips before returning to your chest to take care of the neglected nipple, two fingers entering your fluttering hole. Your mouth hangs open in a myriad of moans as he sucks and kisses the areola, all the while working his quickly soaking digits in and out of your heat. Your typically patient and lazily teasing in bed husband is making quite a quick work on preparing your body, which has you smiling proudly at achieving your goal today. Sure, moving up the scientific ladder was a satisfying thing, but having your lover so eagerly caressing you is an amazing treat.

Alhaitham hums when your hips start rocking, trying to match the thrusting of his fingers. It’s not unwelcome, but tonight he feels like doing all the work. So, he finally leaves your wet and swollen nubs at peace and, traveling another path of kisses down your stomach, pushes your body further up the daybed to come face to face with your pussy. He smiles as your fingers comb through his messy fringe, putting it up and away from his face, and he loves how your breath hitches when he looks up at you with those magnetic eyes of his, right from between your spread legs.

Not breaking eye contact, he hooks the fingers of his free hand onto the front of your panties and tug them aside. He feels how you clench around the two fingers and when he draws them back next time to re-enter more comfortably, pushes the third in as well. You are the one to look away, throwing your head back and whining his name, and he, after sucking a blooming mark right above the hem of your stocking, dives in.

Having Alhaitham put his mouth onto your cunt is a rare treat, given how much he loves teasing you and how he’d rather prefer kissing your lips, swallowing your muffled pretty sounds. And because he knows how damn loud you get when he eats you out.

Just like now, moaning and whining and barely forming any sentences while his tongue and lips are toying with the sensitive clit, fingers curling to press against your g-spot. It’s no surprise that not a minute later your thighs clamp around his head and with a sensual arch of your back and a scream of your beloved’s name you cum.

The man doesn’t care that he is being suffocated, he keeps working his fingers and mouth to help you through this mind-blowing orgasm, and only when you start kicking your feet from overstimulation, does he stop fingering you and wraps both his big hands around your thighs, forcing them open. He loves the whining sounds you make and how you try to push his head away as he licks your swollen labia with the languid strokes of his tongue, flicking the tip every time it reaches the clit.

Finally he decides to have his mercy on you, placing a soft kiss to the hipbone and pushing himself up. As he wipes his lips and chin with the back of his hand, he can’t help but appreciate the disheveled state he put you into. Locks of hair streaming wildly on the mattress, the hooded look in your eyes and the mouth slightly ajar are drawing a beautiful picture. Accompanied by your bra being pushed down and panties aside, you remind him of the ancient sculptures, depicting the true beauty of the lover’s body.

Without a second thought he leans down to kiss you. Your shaking arms are a welcomed wrap around his shoulders and he slides his open palms under your back to embrace you tighter. 

“So,” he begins after a few seconds of slow kissing, putting his forehead against yours, “would you like to continue here, my dear impatient wife, or would you like me to bring you to the bedroom?”

You think for a moment, playing with the damp hairs at the back of his neck - more to collect the shattered pieces of your mind than to anything else.

“Mmm… In all honesty, I don’t feel like moving to the cold sheets of our bed,” you eventually say after a couple of beats of silence. “And here it’s so warm already and comfortable… I want you here. Please.”

Well, if you ask so nicely.

“I am not dealing with Kaveh if he comes screaming at us for leaving stains here,” Alhaitham unwraps the lock of your hands and straightens his posture, before stepping down from the daybed to remove his pants and underwear.

“You’ll just have to be careful and cum inside,” you give your body a stretch in preparation of what is to come, letting out a pleased sound.

“Oh, I am not worried about myself, habibti,” naked at last, your husband joins you once again and, tugging the panties aside more properly, presses the tip of his fully hard cock to your entrance. “I’m more concerned about you dripping all over here.

“You-!” He effortlessly catches your hand and presses it beside your head, leaning forward and pushing the head inside. Oh, how quickly the annoyed look on your face changes to the surprised and then keening one. With every inch of his dick sliding inside, your chest rises and falls more feverishly, and more delicious sounds are drawn from your throat. A pretty unmarked throat.

Now, Alhaitham isn’t necessarily a possessive partner, but even he can’t deny the appeal of having his wife’s neck be littered with his marks. So when the last inch of him is finally settled inside you, he gives you a moment to adjust, instead focusing on sucking and nibbling onto the skin of your shoulder, slowly moving higher up the side of the neck, only to repeat all of this but in reverse for the other side. He can feel your arm wrap around him again, nails slightly digging into the muscles of his back, because you know very well, what a brutal pace your lover is capable of setting. Your breath hitches when your beloved grabs your hip, letting your other hand go, which immediately goes to his back too, and bracing himself on his now free one.

A couple of shallow thrusts are to test the waters, and when he gets a positive response of your gummy walls clenching around him but with no painful resistance, Alhaitham draws his hips back till only the tip stays inside and slams forward properly. 

A whole month without sex shows in the fast pace he quickly sets, the deep strokes that stimulate all your sensitive places, the wet slapping of skin against skin with every thrust he delivers to your pussy. It’s also in the desperate need to be impossibly close to you, chest to chest and lips to lips, tongues meeting and moans shared. The way your legs wrap around his waist once again, attempting to pull him even closer, drives the man insane, because he feels the nylon of your stockings, he is reminded how gorgeous you are at the moment, and the memory of your teasing snaps the very thread of the sanity he’s been trying so hard to maintain throughout the whole day.

You curse as he uses the hand still holding onto your hip to move your pelvis in tandem with his, pushing you down onto the daybed when he pushes out and slamming you up as he thrusts in. The squelching sound is so dirty and there is a thought at the back of your mind that you sure are to ruin the piece of the furniture, but it is quickly forgotten when your husband groans into your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“You’ve done such a great work,” he whispers, kissing over one of the marks, “I’m so glad I came to watch you. My most amazing, smartest, patient and forgiving wife. I love you so. Damn. Much.”

Each thrust accentuating his words cuts off your attempt to tell him he doesn’t need to apologize anymore, that he’s justified enough already with his prior actions, but it seems that Alhaitham wasn’t taking it lightly than he promised to make it up to you.

You scrunch your eyes together, tilting your head back as he keeps his eyes glued to you. Cock drilling in and out of you the man licks his lips, cursing under his breath at the particularly hard squeeze of your cunt. His expression is surely the same as yours - eyebrows pinched in pleasure, jaw slack, breath labored as he is driving you both to your peaks.

“Feels good?” He asks after another deep thrust that jolts your body a little. Clit is throbbing with the need of being touched and you mewl to your husband, begging just for it. He chuckles deeply and lets go of your hip, leaning back and grabbing your legs under the knees instead. In a second you find yourself folded in half with your handsome husband jackhammering into you. As asked, he also reaches for your clit, ribbing tight circles with his thumb, eliciting the loudest moans he hasn’t fucked out of you in a while.

“Better, beautiful?”

”Yes-!”

He groans, watching your body jerk and shake at his ministrations. He can’t take it anymore, his cock throbs at just a mere sight, not to mention the telltale rhythmic clenching of your walls, warning him of your rapidly nearing orgasm.

A wail you let out as you cum sends a wild shudder down your husband’s back, pushing him over the edge just seconds after you with a moan of your name. White shoots inside, painting your walls, filling you up with warmth, greedily milked. 

It takes everything in Alhaitham not to collapse on top of you, but he catches himself right on time, one hand planted onto the mattress next to your shoulder, the other abandoning your swollen clit and sliding up your thigh to the back of the knee, gently rubbing. With deep shaking breaths he caresses the skin hidden under the nylon and then carefully puts your leg down, uncurling your body, to which you groan in relief - he makes a mental note to rub your thighs when he’ll be taking you to the bath.

For now he focuses on showering your cheeks and nose with fleeting kisses to make you squint, to hear you giggle. Your arms embrace his frame for Archon knows what time this night, and you lean up to leave multiple tender pecks on his face too and, as he quickly realizes, to try and catch his lips with yours.

Before he indulges you in your desire, Alhaitham swiftly puts his hand under your back to find the clasp of your bra, worried that the tender flesh of your chest has been squished uncomfortably by the bunched material. The relieved sigh you let out when the hooks are undone is chased after and successfully captured by your husband’s mouth.

With the bra thrown to the side, the man slowly slides his softened length out and immediately tugs your panties back in place, to prevent his cum from leaking out and onto the expensive looking cover of the daybed’s mattress. You whine at the loss, but he kisses you again, murmuring a promise of the second round, should you desire one after you finally move from the lounge area. Which you eventually do in a couple of minutes - not without the help of your beloved, your legs feel like that wobbly Padisarah pudding after all. 

As much as you didn’t want to continue your evening escapades in the bed previously, the cool sheets are a nice contrast to your heated skin now, after Alhaitham put you down to prepare the bath. With a quiet groan you roll onto your back and lift one leg, pulling the knee to your chest to remove the stocking.

Just as you throw the sheer piece to the floor and lift the other leg, your still naked husband emerges from the bathroom.

“What do you think you are doing?” You note the strange undertones in his voice even before you turn your head to look at him and notice a small scowl on his face.

“Undressing? Weren’t we going to take a bath?” Confusion paints your features, thumbs already hooked under the hem of the second stocking. The man just sighs, shaking his head and walking to where you are lying.

“With all that teasing I’ve endured today, I assumed that unwrapping your body is the least compensation I could’ve had.”

“Oh, is that so?” A smile tugs at the corner of your lips and you straighten your leg, extending it towards him and touching the chiseled abs with your toes. “I suppose you are right. You’ve done a very good job today, being an amazing supporting husband that you are.”

Alhaitham catches your foot, holding it up and placing a lingering kiss to your calf, sending blood to your cheeks. Then he slides his open palm along the length of your leg, caressing it in appreciation, inching towards the slightly darker hem. Hooking his index finger he puts on a show of slowly tugging the nylon off, making the action so vulgar and hot with the bottom lip caught between his teeth and lids half-closed, that you feel the blood running south this time.

It’s almost sobering how earnest his next words are.

“You’ve brought it to my consideration that I tend to switch off my mind when I’m around you, spewing nonsense as a result. So, from now on I promise to pay closer attention to what I say to you.”

“Habibi,” you rise onto your bent elbows, foot still firmly held in his hands, “as much as I appreciate the notion, I want you to know I am not mad. And you’ve shown today that I do matter to you more than the discomfort of staying for long around other people and your distaste for big Akademiya gatherings”.

“Oh, believe me, I know you are not mad. If you were, you would’ve put all the books lying around the house into the bookcases and put the locks on them and then made me sleep on that very daybed yesterday,” a small smile graces his face and he gives you a knowing look, right before finally tugging the stocking completely off and lowering your leg. “But I still mean what I said. I know I am not a perfect man, but for my wife I am willing to work on my shortcomings.”

“I know you do, love, it was in your wedding vows after all,” you mirror his smile, pushing yourself up, not without a small wince at the feeling of his cum leaking out and wetting already ruined panties. “And trust me, I knew what I was signing for when I decided to get serious with you.”

“Hopefully you are not disappointed,” is a quiet murmur, as he gently holds your waist and helps onto your feet.

“Of course not. It would’ve been so boring if you were always agreeing with me,” he gives you a look, but you only laugh, raising your hand to cup his cheek. “Thank you for sharing this moment with me today, Alhaitham. It truly means a lot to me.”

“Yes,” he closes his eyes, leaning into your touch with serenity etched into his features, “I am glad I was there too.”

taglist: @meimeimeirin, @rjasmin2021, @callinz, @monamourbladie-mb

[beesspacedotorg]

Honeysuckle, Honey Boy, Honey Sweet

Summary: You take care of your Beta during his rut, and he's sweet as can be.

Warning: OMEGAVERSE !!!1!!1! sex. gender neutral reader. nothing too crazy for this one. hyune is sweet and subby because this is my house I make the rules. you don't have to read Dibs or Third Leg to understand what's going on, but it would make me happy. special thanks to ems for reading this and letting me know if it was bars. and for letting me steal the honey boy nickname

notes: hello adoring public. this is the third part of the dibsverse. this is what happens when you're insane. I had intended to post this in March and then forgot. Oopsie. I hope you enjoy it and have fun reading it the way I had fun imagining Hwang Hyunjin sweaty and naked.

You love your Hyunjin, your honey boy. That’s how you refer to him in your head, as yours. In all reality, you share him with the pack, but he holds a special place in your heart. He found you first, he kissed you first, he was your first in this pack for many things. You two are laying together, curled up on his bed watching some Business Proposal for what feels like the hundredth time.

“He looks a little like Seungmin,” is what you say and he rolls his eyes.

“You say that every time.”

“It’s not my fault. He does. Also, the glasses thing is hot.” Hyunjin huffs at you.

“I wear glasses.” He sounds like he’s pouting. You turn your head to the side and see that he is.

“Are you … Hwang Hyunjin, are you jealous? Of Cha Sunghoon?” You pause the show. Hyunjin presses his palms into his eyes and sighs.

“No. Well. Maybe.” You frown at him, it’s not like him to be jealous. He’s so full of love for everyone and everything, and you know that the pack would bend over backwards to make sure he feels cared for so this has to be something specific.

“Hyunnie. What’s wrong?”

“I think my cycle is going to start soon.” You hum at him.

“What’s it feel like?” Hyunjin is a Beta, so while his cycles may be mild, he’s subjected to either heats or ruts depending on who he’s around. Your pack has a considerable amount of Omegas, and you know that Changbin’s cycle throws him all over the place depending on who he spends more time around during that period, but you aren’t sure how Hyunjin’s works. The two of you have been together for a while, but his cycle is slower than most, so he hasn’t yet had anything.

“A rut, I think.” You hum again.

“Is that why you’re needlessly jealous over me thinking a fictional character is hot?”

“I’m not jealous-”

“You most certainly are.”

“Fine, I’m not jealous of Cha Sunghoon.”

“Better. Who are you jealous of then, baby?” He hides his face in a pillow and says something that you don’t hear.

“What?” You raise your voice a little, poking his side until he answers you.

“I’m jealous of Seungmin.” That makes you still.

“Seungminnie? What- why?” Hyunjin crosses his arms.

“You keep talking about how hot he is!”

“Well, what do you want me to do, be blind?”

“No, I just-” Hyunjin flops himself over in bed so he’s not facing you anymore, and you can tell from the way his sweet honeysuckle turns into rot that he’s not happy. You lay down beside him and wrap your arms around his back.

“Honey boy. What is it you want me to do?”

“Will you spend it with me?”

“Yeah, I will. Don’t worry.” You kiss the back of his neck, his long hair tickling your nose. “Anything for you, baby.”

-

Felix drapes himself along your back while you’re in the kitchen.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Yongbokkie. What’s up?”

“Hyunjinnie smells like he’s close.”

“Does he?” Your tone is tinged with sarcasm. Hyunjin hasn’t let you out of his sight for very long since you agreed, getting more and more possessive as it gets closer to the start of his cycle. You don’t mind, but you’re also more aware than anyone else how close he is, all things considered. Felix bites you in retaliation for your snark.

“Mean.”

“Captain obvious.”

“What are you doing in here? All by your lonesome.” Felix’s hands start wandering and you laugh a little at him.

“I was going to see if we had enough food, but it seems our Luna took care of that already. So, I’m making a snack instead.” Felix starts to slide his hands under your shirt, mouthing at your neck.

“That’s crazy. I could be your snack instead.” You burst into laughter, shaking him off a little.

“That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, and Changbin took me on a date last week.” You hear a half-hearted yell from the living room that makes you snort.

“So… is that a no?” Felix’s hands are resting on your hips, and you feed him a bit of your snack when he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

“That is a no.” Felix huffs, letting go of you to throw a fake fit behind you.

Felix pretends to throw things around the kitchen, ranting about spoiled Omegas and how they don’t know how to please their Alphas anymore. Something you find extremely ironic, because Felix is an Omega. You’re in the middle of laughing at him when Hyunjin comes in, hair wet from his shower. He gives you a backhug, water droplets falling on you.

“Hi, baby.”

“Hi, Hyunnie. How was your shower?”

“Would’ve been better if you were in it.” You hear Felix gag. Hyunjin flips him off.

“That’s what she said.” You can’t help yourself, giggling at your own joke. Hyunjin takes Felix’s place in your neck.

“Lee Felix Yongbok.” You hear Felix snicker.

“Yeah?” He’s wormed his way between you and the counter to stare Hyunjin in the eye. He’s also in the way of your snack.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what? I’m not doing anything.” Felix smiles, sweet and deceiving, before he wraps his arms around your waist and gets nose-to-nose with Hyunjin.

“I’m telling Channie hyung.” Felix shrugs. Hyunjin’s scent changes so something a little tangier and you can picture him squinting his eyes. “I’m telling Minho.” Felix pulls away almost immediately.

“Hyunjinnie, you’re so mean to me.”

“You’re riling me up on purpose!” Lavender hits your nose before Hyunjin is done speaking.

“Speak of the devil,” you mumble. Felix is still in the way of your snack.

“Yongbokkie,” you know that coo. Felix is fucked.

“Hi, hyung.”

“Are you teasing our Hyunjinnie?”

“I would never.”

“Liar,” Felix has finally moved away from your food. You shove some of it in your mouth when you snitch on him.

“Hey!” He says that, but he’s following where Minho is dragging him with little to no resistance.

“Send me pictures, please.”

“Perv.”

“Sky is blue, grass is green.” Hyunjin grumbles some more as the resident cats of the house leave the kitchen. You feed him.

“Do you want to go to my room, dove?” His voice is quiet, sleepy.

“Yeah. Let’s lay down, hmm?”

-

You like Hyunjin’s room. The walls are painted a calming shade of periwinkle and they’re decorated with pictures of the pack and paintings he made. His desk is covered in half finished sketchbooks and paints. If you look at his easel, there’s a half drawn portrait of you with a picture you don’t remember him taking attached to it.

He’s also in there, which is nice.

He’s woken you up from a nap, hips rutting against your ass and sweat dripping onto your skin.

“Hyune?” Your voice is crackly and groggy with sleep, you think you might have sweat through your shirt, and there’s a pillow crease on your cheek.

“Baby,” he lets out a whine and something in you cracks a little.

“Hey, hmm? What’s wrong?” You turn around to cup his cheeks, and he leans his head into them. You know what’s wrong, so the question is a little redundant, but you ask anyway. Not that it matters, because instead of answering he hikes your leg over his hip and grinds against you in a way that’s dirty and draws noises out of you that you know you’re going to get shit for later.

“Hyunjin, sweetheart, let’s get these off, yeah?” You move to pull away and his grip tightens on you in a way that’s almost painful, an arm coming up under your body to wrap around your waist. He lets out a short growl, and then his eyes widen at himself.

“Okay, yeah. That’s fine. We can stay like this.” His hips pick back up, and you know without a doubt that these sleep shorts and underwear are going straight in the trash when you’re done. Well, maybe not straight. Han Jisung and Lee Felix are freaks.

You let him rut against you messily, kissing his face and his mouth when you can. He’s stronger than he looks, and you aren’t doing anything to fight back, so his motions are rocking you up the bed.

He lets out another whine when he comes, face red and sweaty and the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’s finally still, and you can feel every place where your body fluids are cooling down and it’s largely unpleasant. Hyunjin seems to agree because he starts shoving at the clothes he’s wearing angrily. You grab his hands.

“Hey, hey, Hyunjinnie. Let me help, yeah? Let me help and then you can finally fuck me. Isn’t that what you want?” You get to watch his pupils dilate in real time, plush lips falling open as his jaw drops. He’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. You want to eat him alive. You take off his clothes and yours, dropping the soiled clothes somewhere on the floor because Hyunjin doesn’t seem to care what happens to them right now.

You and him have fucked, to be sure. After everything with Minho, there isn’t a moment where you aren’t being propositioned by someone in the pack. You’ve never seen him like this though, flushed and sweaty, out of it with rut. For a second, you’re worried he might have rut fever, but he can still understand you when you talk to him, and he still kisses back when you press your lips to him, so he’s fine.

“Dove,” his voice is scratchy with disuse and something else.

“Hmm?”

“Want in, please, let me. Lemme,” his hands are pawing at your hips desperately. You lace your fingers through his hair and pull his head back, kissing his neck.

“Calm down. I’ve gotta get ready first. You don’t wanna hurt me, do you?” He shakes his head as best he can through the grip you have on his hair. “That’s what I thought. My honey boy doesn’t wanna hurt his precious Omega, right?” You shift so you’re straddling him, seating yourself right above his cock. You know he can feel where you’re leaking and wet for him. You know what you’re doing is mean, but he already came once, you can have some fun.

“Hyunjinnie,” you let go of his hair to rest your hands on his chest, sliding yourself along his cock. “You feel so nice like this, maybe I won’t even let you inside.” He pouts, eyes furrowing in that cute way of his, bottom lip jutting out and you kiss it.

“I’m kidding.”

“Better be.”

You get yourself off like that, sliding along his cock, letting the tip graze your hole for just a second, just to tease. Hyunjin comes too, a second time, adding to the slick mess on his stomach. He’s whining now, hands grabbing everywhere he can reach, your chest, your ass, your neck, but he hasn’t made any move to force you despite his rut. He’s dirty, your boy.

You know that you wouldn’t be getting away with this if it wasn’t Hyunjin. You know that if you were with any of the Alpha’s during their ruts or Changbinnie or the Omega’s you would’ve been pinned to the bed and stuffed full by now. The knowledge gives you a bit of a head rush. That Hyunjinnie wants you to make him beg a little for what he wants, that he trusts you to take care of him when he’s too out of it to take care of himself. You lean forward and kiss him, all tongue and teeth and filthy.

“Dove, please.” He says this against your mouth, one hand coming up to the back of your head, the other gripping your wrist where it still sits on his chest. You can feel how his grip tightens and loosens periodically, and you appreciate the effort he’s making to not hurt you.

You lean back and this time, this time, you let him sink into you, sliding down down down until you’re at the hilt, sitting prettily on his hips. The noise he lets out is music to your ears, but it’s loud. You hum, rocking against him while he squirms under you.

“Hyunjinnie, baby.”

“Mm?” He peeks his eyes open, god, he’s a vision. Pretty brown eyes blown wide, mouth kiss bruised and open just enough that his pretty tongue is peeking out just a little. His hair is sweat slick just like the rest of him and it’s plastered to his face in some areas.

“Open your mouth for me, honey.” He does, a little confused, but sweet like always. You shove two of your fingers in his mouth and watch as his eyes roll back in his head and his hips buck up into you.

He’s groaning as he sucks on your fingers, treating them the way he would a cock, and you throb at the visual. He’s wrapped his own long fingers around your wrist, moving your hand in and out of his mouth himself. You use a little force to make him gag on them, just because, and the moan he grants you with has you feeling dizzy.

“Honey boy,” You keep your fingers in his mouth as you return your focus to riding him. “Such a pretty boy. Pretty cock too, yeah?” You hook your fingers behind his teeth and yank his jaw open. He has such a pretty mouth. Maybe after his ruts over you’ll play with it. Run the pads of your fingers over his teeth and along his tongue. Push your fingers back until he gags on them, hold them there for good measure. Watch as his drool runs down his face and off your wrist before teasing him for making such a mess.

“Should I get one of the Alpha’s in here? Hmm? Let you choke on their cocks while I ride you silly? Or maybe I should bring in Changbinnie? He stretches your jaw out so nice, doesn’t he?” You feel Hyunjin’s dick kick inside you, but he shakes his head anyway.

“No, you don’t want that?” He grabs your wrist to pull your fingers free and you oblige.

“No, want,” he sucks in a shaky breath when you wipe his spit on his cheek, “just want you.”

If he wasn’t high off brain chemicals, you’d accuse him of flirting with you. You know that he’s not running game, just being honest and sweet, but something in your chest flutters and seizes, causing you to stop your movements.

“Hyunjin,” you didn’t think you’d cry this time. Absolutely certain that you could avoid it if you were taking the lead. He lets out a whine like he’s been hurt and reaches up to wipe the tears off your cheeks.

“Dove?” He sounds panicked, and you kiss him to shut him up. You know he’s been thrown for a loop by your tears, worried he’s hurt you or underperforming in some way, not with it enough to know that you’re crying because you’re in love with him.

“You’re a charmer, aren’t you, Jinnie?” You sniff slightly and pat his shoulder. “I’m getting tired, why don’t you finish the job, hmm?” He goes to turn you over and you pinch his arm. “Like this. I like the way you look under me.” You smile salaciously at him and he ducks his head a little, suddenly shy. You stay where you are, nose-to-nose with him so you can kiss him when you please and lift your knees a little so he has room to play, and he takes it.

He’s sloppy and uncoordinated, but that doesn’t stop him from shifting around until he’s found an angle that has you moaning almost as loud as he is. It makes him smirk, all self satisfied and cocky, before you yank his hair a little and he loses it.

“‘S good.” He’s cute like this, moaning and whining about how hot and wet you are around him.

“Yeah? Just a little more and you’ll make me come too.” He groans. “You want that? Want me to come on your cock?” He nods fervently and his thrusts get faster. You lean down so your lips are pressed against his ear and you can feel his sweat slicked chest gliding against yours.

“Or, maybe you want me to come on your knot. C’mon, honey boy. Let me have it. Your Omega wants it so bad.”

He growls this time, yanking you down by the hips while he fucks up into you, forcing his knot inside your heat. He’s a Beta, so admittedly his knot isn’t as big as an Alpha’s is, but you moan and come on it just like you said you would.

“More.” He reaches his hand between the two of you and places it where you’re sensitive and swollen.

“Hyunnie, what?”

“One more. One more, c’mon.” His spare hand comes up to rest inbetween to shoulder blades, forcing your chest down against him. Between that and his knot you’re stuck

“You motherfucker-”

“Please,” his voice is deep and low and right in your ear. He lets out a groan when the way he’s touching you has him clenching on his knot.

“Hwang Hyunjin-” Your threat is too breathy to have any bite.

“You said you’d do it, you have to.” It doesn’t seem to dawn on him that you came when he did, or if it did he doesn’t care because he keeps up the stimulation until you fall apart on top of him again, walls fluttering along his cock, teeth biting just shy of his scent gland.

When you come back to yourself, he’s pressing kisses on your shoulder.

“You’re a shithead.” You tell him this softly, while running your fingers along the side of his face. He grumbles in response.

“You bit me.”

“Deserved.”

You stop scolding him to kiss him again. It’s not your fault his mouth is so kissable.

“You feel better, honey boy?”

“I feel tired.”

“Good.” He rolls the two of you over until you’re on your side, eyes closing. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Open your mouth.” He squints at you.

“Why?”

“I wanna see it.”

“You’re a freak.” He drops his jaw anyway.

-

(Halfway through your in depth exploration of his molars your phone buzzes. It’s Minho, with pictures of Felix fucked out and crying.

“Who?” Your fingers are still in Hyunjin’s mouth so it comes out muffled. You show him your phone as you take them out.

“Lixie got his just desserts.”

“You can be my dessert.”

“Corny.” You let him roll you onto your back anyway.)

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER ELEVEN: DOWN CAME THE RAIN AND WASHED THE SPIDER OUT

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SUMMARY ↳ Cat's out of the bag. Jon pops in frequently, bringing snacks and trying to cheer you up with his jokes and antics. He's restless and energetic, always finding something to fidget with or bounce around on. His concern for your well-being is evident, even if he tries to mask it with casual banter. Damian, on the other hand, remains more aloof, observing from a distance, but you notice his presence nonetheless. His gaze seems far more heavy and intense than usual. You wonder if he feels like he’s been lied to (ironic.) pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: mentions of being paralyzed (not permanently) wc: 4.4K

“Maybe it’s just their suit.”

“What kind of metal lets you stick to walls?”

“Alien metal?”

As soon as Superboy and Robin brought you to the cave, the first thing Bruce Wayne did was get you taken care of. He set you down in a cot and hooked you up into a monitor. Alfred treated your wound with care, sedating you and removing the bullet tentatively. He wrapped it with practiced efficiency, and predicted you would be awake in a day or two. The news relaxed Bruce, it gave him enough time to move you out of the cave safely.

The second thing Bruce Wayne did was scold the boys for bringing you there in the first place. “If they turn out not to be Spinnerette, you could’ve compromised us,” he had said. “They were safest here,” Damian had mumbled. “I chose to trust Damian,” Jon had muttered.

The third thing Bruce Wayne did was take a sample of your blood and run it through his system. What? He wasn’t one to let this opportunity get away from him.

The fourth thing Bruce Wayne did was take off your bracelets to examine them. His son had said that you always have them on. Spinnerette has devices on their wrists that shoot out webs. If you are Spinnerette, then these bracelets could be those devices. As far as he can see however, they just seem like regular bracelets. He’s left Tim and Duke to poke and prod at it for now.

Jon and Damian lingered nearby as long as they could, but Alfred ultimately shooed them away. Their faces were identically pensive. Jon cannot sit still for the life of him, and his movements only seem to make Damian more tense. His son keeps twirling a knife around.

Looking up at your DNA results now, he had his answer. Kind of. For one, you don’t have the metagene. It sends his kiddos spiraling into a discussion about your suit, because if it’s not you, then it must be your suit. And they’ve seen the cool stuff you can do. What you do have is… a kind of radiation? The strands of DNA are thicker as well. Actually, it all looks highly intricate and interconnected, much more than regular people. To put it simply, your DNA doesn’t look normal

“Radiation?” says Dick, coming up to his side. Jon perks up across the room, making Damian pay attention as well. “Maybe it’s… cancer?”

Bruce can see how Damian’s hand tightens around the knife. “Not the kind of radiation we’re used to seeing with cancer,” Bruce replies, his eyes narrowing at the screen. “This is something else entirely. It’s as if the radiation is part of their genetic makeup.”

“Like they were born with it?” Tim suggests, examining the bracelets closer. “Or it was… introduced somehow?”

Bruce gives a noncommittal grunt, his mind racing through the possibilities. “Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that their DNA is fundamentally different from ours. We need to understand how this affects them, and more importantly, what it means for us if they’re indeed Spinnerette.”

“Maybe it’s not even the suit,” Stephanie interjects. “Maybe their body naturally produces this radiation, and the suit just channels it into their abilities.”

“That’s a good point,” Bruce acknowledges. “We can’t rule out anything until we have more information.”

Jon, still restless, added, “But if they're not Spinnerette, then what are we dealing with? Someone with mutated DNA?”

Stephanie chimed in again, “Or maybe it’s some experimental enhancement gone wrong. We’ve seen stranger things in Gotham.”

Bruce Wayne remained silent for a moment, absorbing the various theories. “Until they wake up, we can only speculate. But when they do, we’ll need answers quickly.”

“Well, I’m flattered, B-man. You can just ask me, though. No need to be shy.”

The entire room stiffens, all looking above towards the ceiling where the voice came from. Bruce's eyes dart upwards, his instincts immediately kicking into high gear. Above the rafters is rather dark. The bats that occupy the cave like to hang out around there. There, hanging casually from the cave top, is… you. Hanging from a thread, a web. Upside down. There’s a grin on your face.

"How long have you been up there?" Bruce asked calmly, his eyes never leaving you.

"Long enough to hear all your theories," you replied, flipping down gracefully to land on the ground. "And I have to say, you guys really know how to throw a party."

Damian tightened his grip on his knife, but Jon placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, a silent signal to stay calm. "You shouldn't be up," Jon said, concern lacing his voice. "You were badly injured."

You shrugged, a nonchalant expression on your  face. "I've had worse. Besides, your butler did a great job patching me up. Thanks, Alfred."

Alfred nodded politely. "You're welcome. But it would be best if you rested a bit more."

You smile at Alfred's concern but shake your head. "I'm tougher than I look. Now, let's address the elephant in the room. Yes, I'm Spinnerette. No, I’m not a meta. It’s… complicated. Yes, I know all of your identities.” You web a chair and pull it over to you, slumping in it. “Any questions?”

Everyone starts speaking at once, making you snort. You barely make out a single sentence before Bruce raises his hand, silencing everyone. Bruce's gaze pierces through the noise, his authority commanding the room into silence. "One at a time," he says firmly, then turns his attention back to you. "We thought your webs came from your bracelets, but clearly not. How?”

You hold out your wrists, facing them up. They lean in to inspect, finding two little holes residing on your skin. “I have organic spinnerets. The reason I have the bracelets is because they can do more than my regular webs.”

Damian gently takes your hand as he looks. “Assuming you’re human–” You roll your eyes and nod. “–if you're not a meta, how is this possible?”

“I was bit by a radioactive spider,” you shrug.

They all blink, then the room erupts into a chorus of disbelief and skepticism. Bruce holds up his hand again to silence them. "You're serious?"

You nod. "Completely. It sounds ridiculous, but it's the truth. I was bitten by a genetically altered spider. I’m not sure what exactly the spider was for, but instead of killing me, the bite gave me these abilities."

Bruce narrows his eyes, processing this new information. "And this spider bite altered your DNA?"

"Exactly," you confirm. "The radiation you detected in my DNA is a result of that bite. My body's changed at a fundamental level."

Stephanie leans forward, curiosity in her eyes. "So, you're saying this spider bite made you... what, part spider?"

"Something like that," you say with a wry smile. "Enhanced strength, agility, the ability to stick to walls, and of course, the webbing."

Dick, ever the optimist, chimes in. "That's actually kind of amazing. I mean, as far as origin stories go, it's up there with the best of them." You grin at the flattery.

“Yeah, cool and all,” chimes Tim, holding up your bracelets, “but why do your web-bracelets just look like bracelets? I can’t figure it out.”

“Oh, that’s probably because Karen’s not letting you.”

A reply of “Karen?” drops from their mouths. You point at the Batcomputer. “Karen?” you prompt.

“It’s good to see you alright, [Name],” comes Karen’s voice. “What can I do for you?”

Puzzled glances are exchanged. “Please introduce yourself,” you smile.

“I am Karen, the AI assistant inside of [Name]’s suit. I was created by Tony Stark to provide assistance in the form of information, analysis, and tactical advice.”

“Tony Stark?” Bruce questioned. “Your father?”

You nod. “He made the suit. Karen here is my trusty AI companion. She helps me out with all sorts of things, from analyzing situations to managing my suit's capabilities."

“How does she have access to the Batcomputer, though?” asks Duke.

You cringe guiltily and sink into the chair. “Yeah… about that…”

Bruce raises a brow. “You guys remember that one time the Batcomputer got hacked…?” you mumbled.

Blank faces greet you, wondering how exactly you remember that. Then, Tim gasps, pointing at you. “YOU!”

“Me!” you chuckle.

Bruce's expression darkened slightly at the mention of the Batcomputer being hacked. It was a sensitive topic, considering the level of security and classified information it contained. "You hacked the Batcomputer?" Bruce's voice was calm, but there was a firmness to it that suggested he wasn't taking the matter lightly.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, sensing the tension rise in the room.  “Yeah, sorry about that. In my defense, I just wanted to find a place to work on my stuff. I figured if anyone had information on the city, it’d be you. Karen got carried away and got you for all you’re worth.” You clap your hands. “As my apology, you may use her as you’d like. Trust me, she’s really useful.”

Tim's eyes widened, alternating between disbelief and admiration. "You breached the Batcomputer's security protocols?"

Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder, silencing any further questions from Tim. His eyes flicked to Karen's interface on the Batcomputer screen. "Karen, you have access to the Batcomputer?"

Karen's response was swift and straightforward. "Yes, Mr. Wayne. I apologize for any intrusion caused. My primary directive is to assist [Name] in operational efficiency and tactical support."

You sighed, realizing the gravity of your actions. "I'm genuinely sorry for any concern or inconvenience it caused. It was never my intention to compromise your security."

Bruce remained silent for a moment, contemplating the situation. "What were you looking for?"

“I was able to find an abandoned subway thanks to the maps on the Batcomputer. I turned it into my own lab/workshop so I could build my stuff in peace,” you explain. “I can take you there if you’d like.”

Bruce's expression softened marginally. "Responsibility is a word we take seriously here, [Name]. Trust is not easily earned, especially when it comes to the safety of this city."

You straightened up, meeting Bruce's gaze with sincerity. "I get that. I'm here now, willing to work with you. You have my word."

“Why reveal yourself to us now?” asks Damian. he hasn’t stopped staring at you, same with Jon.

“Well, I already know you were suspicious. I knew your secret, now you know mine,” you shrugged. “Plus you were gonna find out about that guy I paralyzed and have major questions.”

Dick chokes out, “I’m sorry, paralyzed?”

You wave your hands. “Not permanently! I have a paralyzing venom that comes out of my fangs, fangs which come out of my gums. It’ll wear off in a few hours,” you reassure. “Though… that bite mark might be permanent.”

The room falls silent once more as everyone absorbs this new piece of information. Bruce's analytical mind is already working through the implications. "Paralyzing venom... and fangs," he muses. "This spider bite of yours truly altered you in more ways than one."

“So… the suit?” implores Tim.

You web the bracelets out of his hands, making him gasp. You slip them on, “Karen?” you prompt. Instantly, the suit begins to cover your form. The nanotechnology flows over your body like liquid, covering you in your distinctive Spinnerette outfit. The Batfamily watches in awe as the transformation completes in a matter of seconds.

"That's... incredible," Duke breathes, his eyes wide with fascination.

You nod. "Yeah, my dad outdid himself with this one. The suit enhances my abilities and provides extra protection. It comes with a bunch of different web combos and can adapt to different situations."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "And Karen controls all of this?"

"Karen assists with the suit's functions and provides tactical support," you confirm. "She's an invaluable part of the system."

Bruce folds his arms, his expression thoughtful. "You've certainly managed to impress. But there's still the matter of trust. You've breached our security once. How can we be sure it won't happen again?"

You meet his gaze steadily. "I understand your concerns, Bruce. My goal has always been to help, not to harm. If working with you means gaining your trust and ensuring the safety of the city, then I'm all in. You have my word."

“I do believe they’ve been up for far too long,” cuts in Alfred. “Back to bed, Mx [Name].”

“Oh, that reminds me,” you start, walking back to the cot. “I have enhanced healing. As long as I eat a lot I’ll probably be all healed up in a day or two.” Alfred nods and leaves the room, probably to make some food.

You relax into the cot. Holy shit. That just happened. You think it went well, all things considered. Jon floats over to you, criss-crossing in the air. Jon's concern is evident as he hovers beside you, his arms crossed. "You sure you're okay? That was a pretty intense wound."

“I’ve had worse.” It does nothing to reassure him, only making his eyes shine more with worry. “I’ll be fine. I just need to eat well.”

Damian steps forward, still gripping his knife, though his posture is less tense now. "You took a big risk revealing yourself like that," he says, his tone a mix of admiration and skepticism. "You keep surprising me.”

You stretch out, feeling the weight of the day beginning to catch up with you. "I've always been one for surprises," you reply with a playful wink. "But don't worry, I'm here to stay."

Jon and Damian share a look, their expressions conflicted between curiosity and caution. Jon eventually speaks up, his voice laced with concern. "You're not just some ordinary vigilante, are you? I mean, with all these abilities and the suit... it's a lot to take in."

You chuckle softly, seeing their reactions. "Nope, definitely not ordinary. But I'm on your side, if that helps. I want to help make Gotham safer."

Dick steps forward, a reassuring smile on his face. "Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance. Welcome to the team, [Name]. We'll figure this out together."

You blink. “Just like that, are you sure?”

He snorts, “Please, Bruce has been wanting to horde you into his brood since he found out about you.” Chuckles ignite the room. Bruce defends himself by saying nothing. “Tim literally figured out who we were because he’s a nerd,” he ignores Tim’s indignant ‘hey!’, “if you ask me you fit right in.”

You nod, relieved. Leaning against the pillow, your eyes begin to feel heavy. “Wake me up when there’s food,” is all you say as you begin to drift off. You feel a hand brush your forehead before you’re pulled under.

Two days pass slowly, languidly. Alfred insists you stay in bed (and who are you to say otherwise). The rest of the batkids come to visit. Jason tells you of how Bruce ‘picked him up by the scuff’ when he found him stealing his tires, saying, “you fit right in.” You already know how Jason got in with the family, but it was kind of nice of him to be reassuring.

Tim and Duke like to chat with you about all the capabilities of your suit. Tim says that he caught up Barbara on the situation, and that she’s expecting you to share some of your skills.

Meanwhile, Cass drops by silently, observing you with keen interest. She doesn't say much, but her expressive gestures and occasional nods indicate that she's evaluating you, perhaps sizing you up in her own way. You catch her mimicking your web-slinging motions once or twice, which brings a smile to your face.

Dick, true to his nature, acts as the unofficial cheerleader of the group. He brings positivity and encouragement, checking in on your progress with genuine warmth. Sometimes you catch him lingering by the door, scratching his head and pacing. You figure it’s awkward now that you ‘know’ he was the one trying to parent you a while back.

Jon pops in frequently, bringing snacks and trying to cheer you up with his jokes and antics. He's restless and energetic, always finding something to fidget with or bounce around on. His concern for your well-being is evident, even if he tries to mask it with casual banter.

Damian, on the other hand, remains more aloof, observing from a distance, but you notice his presence nonetheless. His gaze seems far more heavy and intense than usual. You wonder if he feels like he’s been lied to (ironic.)

The first thing you do when Alfred gives you the green light to be officially off bed rest is call May. She confirms that Nari is a-okay, which fills you with relief. The second thing you do is call Sam. They fuss and worry over you before promising to tell the others that you’re fine at your request. The third person you all is Victoria. You’re pleasantly surprised to find out she’s been worried as well. The attempted robbery had made the papers, and she assumed that your stupidity had got you in trouble again. She wasn’t wrong. You reassure her and promise to update her if something like this happens again.

The first thing Bruce does is tell you to show them your base. And so, you, Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin spend the night traveling across the city. At some point you and Nightwing have a ‘flair-off’, taking the time to add as many flips and twirls into your swings as possible. Among you all, it ends up being a tie.

Coming upon the entrance, they stop once they see the rocks covering it. “Did it cave in?” asks Tim.

“No,” you say as you walk up to the rubble. Your claws dig into the rock slightly as you move it with ease. “I just move it whenever I need to get in and out.”

They all stare as you move very heavy rocks with ease. “What?” you mutter.

Dick grins, shaking his head and walking in. The rest of you follow, entering the dimly lit space. Dick hums in approval at the fairy lights that make the place pretty. “Are those sticky?” he asks, pointing at the web hammocks. At your head shake he immediately crosses the room and lounges in it.

Tim spins around, taking in the mess that makes up your workshop. “What is that?” he points, referring to the large tube that wraps around the room.

“A particle accelerator,” you hum, mask retracting. You hand traces it as you walk around. “It’s to synthesize the badassium.”

“Synthesize the what now?”

You hum, holding up your arm and pulling up a holographic interface of the blueprints for the new element. “My dad’s dad came up with this,” you gesture to the plans, “but neither of them got around to it.” Well, Tony Stark did get around to it, but not in this universe. The hologram expands, showing your group the atomic structure of the element.

“What is it?” gruffs Bruce.

“A new element my dad would’ve called badassium.”

Tim and Dick openly gape, while Bruce simply stares. “A new element? As in periodic table material?” gawked Dick.

Bruce folds his arms, his expression thoughtful as he studies the hologram. "Creating a new element is no small feat. How far along are you with this?"

“Karen says I’m about 97% complete with it,” you say, closing the hologram.

“Where did you even get all of this stuff? This is high quality material.” Tim pokes the particle accelerator.

“Some of it I scavenged from the school, you can ask Damian about that,” you smirk at the boy who's been lingering at the back the whole time. “I’ve got a friend who can pay and bring me the more expensive stuff discreetly.”

Tim looks at you with a mix of curiosity and admiration. "And you've been doing all this on your own?"

You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck. "With a little help from Karen," you admit, gesturing to the suit. "And my own knack for tinkering."

Damian finally speaks up, his tone serious. "You've been keeping quite a secret."

You meet his gaze squarely. "Yeah, well, so have you.”

Dick claps his hands together, breaking the tension with his trademark optimism. "Well, color me impressed. You've definitely got our seal of approval for sheer audacity."

Tim is still inspecting your workshop, his mind clearly racing with ideas. “What will it do, exactly?”

“My dad theorized that it could be a clean, virtually limitless energy source," you explain. “Once I synthesize it, you can use it as you’d like. I only need it for my creations.”

“This can change the world,” Tim stresses. “You should… patent this or something.”

“Funny, my friend said the same thing,” you breathe out a laugh. “I’m okay with changing the world in secret. I’m not looking for fame or anything.”

You catch the look Dick sends Bruce. Bruce’s gaze softens slightly, and he gives a nearly imperceptible nod. “Your intentions are admirable,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “You have the potential to do a lot of good. We’ll support you in any way we can.”

“Have you thought about the security of this place?” Tim asks, already thinking ahead. “If anyone were to find out about this…”

“Karen helps me with that too,” you reply. “She monitors the perimeter and alerts me to any potential threats. Plus, I’ve got a few traps set up.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “Traps?”

You nod, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Oh, yeah. Let’s just say any unwelcome visitors will have a hard time getting out.”

As the night comes to an end and everyone starts to head back to the cave, Dick pulls Bruce aside. “You know, they’d make a great addition to the family. You know Damian likes them.”

Bruce looks at him, understanding the unspoken suggestion. He glances back at you, watching as you talk animatedly with Tim. He sees Damian behind you too, eyes staring through you. “I see,” he says quietly, though there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

Alfred’s waiting for you at the cave with various snacks. He gives you most of them. Perhaps he’s caught on to the fact that you need to eat more. You gratefully accept the snacks from Alfred, settling in comfortably at the cave. 

As the night winds down, Bruce takes a moment to pull you aside. "You've proven yourself capable, [Name]," he starts, his tone serious yet not unfriendly. "Your skills and ingenuity are impressive," Bruce continues, his expression contemplative. "But being part of this team requires more than just abilities. It's about trust, responsibility, and a commitment to our mission."

You nod, understanding the weight of his words. "I get it, Bruce. Trust goes both ways. I'm here because I want to make a difference, to help protect this city." You meet his gaze with sincerity. "I'm committed to earning your trust, and to proving that I can be a valuable member of the team." Jeez, when’s the last time you’ve spoken so formally like this? You feel like you’re putting it on thick, but you are being earnest.

Then, he clears his throat, looking to the side. “Damian, I, would like…” he trails off. You tilt your head to the side and raise a brow. Damian ‘tt’s at his side.

“Do not bring me into this.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “He’s trying to ask you to move in.”

“What.” you say.

Bruce clears his throat again, a faint hint of discomfort crossing his face. "I believe Dick is being... rather direct," he admits, glancing at Dick with a slight frown. "But what he's suggesting is that we'd like you to consider joining us here, in the manor. Making it your…home."

"Move in here?" you echo, trying to process the offer. The idea of officially joining the Batfamily in such a concrete way hadn't crossed your mind before. "I... I appreciate the offer, I really do. But I..." God, it’s like a fanfiction. When did things get so complicated? Maybe you should’ve just stayed out of Gotham.

Dick steps forward, his expression earnest. "Hey, we get it. It's a big decision. But you're already part of this team in a lot of ways. And honestly," he looks at Damian, “...it would be a lot easier to have you close.”

You look at Damian as well. He has his arms crossed and his face is tense. There’s a miniscule pout on his lips. He catches your gaze. “...It’s your choice.”

“But…” you try to think of one last rebuttal. “...my cat?”

Dick blinks, before laughing heartily. “What about it? Just bring it here.”

Bruce shakes his head as he watches the exchange, a small smile playing on his lips. "Your cat is welcome here too, [Name]. We have our own, we promise they’ll be comfortable."

You consider their words carefully, feeling the weight of the decision. Part of you is drawn to the idea of being closer to this makeshift family that has welcomed you in spite of yourself. Another part of you hesitates, unsure of what it means to fully commit to this life.

“Just say yes. They’ll only get more annoying until then,” comes Jason’s voice around the corner. “Your apartment is ass anyway.”

“Oh, well, you didn’t have to clock me like that,” you huff, deflecting. Bruce ‘hn’s  softly at Jason's comment, though his eyes remain on you, waiting patiently for your response. The room is quiet, the tension thick as everyone watches you, giving you space to make your decision.

Finally, you meet Bruce's gaze squarely, a determined look in your eyes. "Alright," you say, your voice steady. "I'll move in."

Duke and Stephanie ‘whoop’, high-fiving you. Bruce nods approvingly, his demeanor showing a rare hint of warmth. Damian’s reaction remains inscrutable, but you catch a fleeting glance from him that might be interpreted as acceptance.

Alfred, ever the pillar of support and practicality, ensures that the transition goes smoothly. Your belongings are carefully relocated to Wayne Manor, including a comfortable space for Nari, who quickly finds a friend in Alfred (the cat). It’s done discreetly and out of the window. You tell May that you’re moving in with your boyfriend.

You settle into your new expensive and comfy mattress, exhausted. Your senses buzz quietly, not sensing any danger but still uncomfortable. Nari curls up next to your head, the only familiar comfort. You let your eyes shut, letting future you deal with this new circumstance.

notes: the long awaited identity reveal teehee

[webslingingslasher]

hi babeeee!!! idk if this is how requests work bc i never request fics but i was wondering if u could do something super duper angsty, like really angsty, and then hurt comfort with a fluffy end? it can be anything you want, but like that sort of timeline would be so so so good, if u could and if requests r open,, xoxoxox

it may have taken me 12 years but i did it bestie.

Peter Parker wasn’t the type of boyfriend to have rules. 

You were your own person, and should live as one. However, there were some things he was a bit more passionate about. 

Like: texting him when you get home (and he wasn’t around), calling him if you feel unsafe or nervous, keep him informed of your whereabouts so he could try and track you down if he needed to, and always, always, call him back. 

Peter had one rule, let him know you're safe. Always. Even when you’re mad at eachother, even at your most ugly, you’d let him know you’re okay. It was Peter’s one true rule, the other things he liked and he preferred you’d do, but this was his number one thing. 

And you’re not following it. 

The third time you ignored his call he felt frustration brew so deeply he almost slammed his phone to the ground, it would’ve done nothing to fix anything, and would’ve made a bigger problem, but the satisfaction of watching something break apart into a million pieces would’ve made him feel better. Even if just for a moment. 

It’s almost like you knew it’s pissing him off, you’ve never dug this deeply into a wound. You knew it would get under his skin in the right places, it was something that either of you didn’t play with. It was too serious for Peter, and knowing you were most likely safe and just doing this to try and get even with him made him furious. Because he can’t prove it. And because he can’t all he could think about how not okay you might be. 

Peter hates leaving angry voicemails but he can’t stop himself this time. 

‘This is the fourth fucking call you’ve ignored, I think you proved your point. I know you’re mad at me but this is just childish, you made this night go from a small hiccup to a massive fight because you won’t answer your phone. Just call me back, goddamn it.’ 

Peter’s never once gotten loud with you, he’s never once felt enough rage towards you he could ever buck up enough energy to yell at you. But all he wanted to do was scream about how inconsiderate you were. He understands he may have started it, he even tried to apologize but you must’ve had this in your heart for a minute because you couldn’t wait to bulldoze him. 

‘I’m so sorry, baby. I got caught up in the low-’ 

‘Whatever, I don’t care. I’m going home.’ 

‘Hey, no, no, no! We can still hang out! I haven’t ate-’ 

‘I did. I waited over an hour, Peter. I’m going home.’ 

‘I’m sorry, I really am, baby. I know tonight was important to you.’ 

And that’s when the night switched. 

‘No, Peter, this wasn’t important to me. This was important for us, this was about you trying to prove you still care about us.’ 

‘Woah, hold on, don’t you dare stand there and tell me I don’t care about you or us, that’s unfair and you know it.’ 

‘You know what, Peter? I didn’t sign up to date two guys. I was willing to accept the other because it was a package deal, but I’m tired of being picked last. You know I’ll always be waiting around and it’s so fucking tiresome just waiting around.’ 

‘Bullshit. You knew exactly what you were signing up for, you don’t get to act like this is new news.’ 

‘I’m always picked last! I understand who you are, Peter, who you share a life with, trust me, if anyone here knows best about understanding, it’s fucking me, but that doesn’t mean I’m always the last priority. I know sometimes I have to be on the backburner, and guess what, Peter? I fucking understand. But, tonight? What stopped you? Because it’s not like there’s a domestic attack on the city, so tell me, what was so fucking important tonight I was shot to the bottom of the list for it?’ 

‘Okay, I get it. I know you’re mad, but I think we both need to take a breath and talk about this at home.’ 

‘No! I want you to look at me and tell me what was so important NYPD’s finest couldn’t handle it for an evening.’ 

‘Baby, I really don’t-’ 

‘Fucking tell me! I want you to admit right now it was nothing important. Look me in the eye and admit you didn’t care about my feelings.’ 

‘It was a robbery. I have a responsibility to keep the city safe, a city you very much live in, by the way.’ 

‘Ah, the classic, ‘if you really think about it, I’m doing this for you’ line. Real original.’ 

‘Can we please just go home? If you’re going to be pissed at me anyways I’d rather it be in the comfort of our home.’

‘You can go wherever you want, but I’m not going anywhere with you.’ 

‘I’m gonna get a cab, hold on.’ 

‘No, I’m not going anywhere with you and I mean it.’ 

‘You can hate me at home, let’s go.’ 

‘No! I’m leaving, you can sit around waiting on me for once.’ 

‘Why are you doing this now? You’ve never been this persistent before, I moved in with you and you still don’t think it’s enough. What else do you want from me? I’m giving you all I can, fuck.’ 

‘You know what? I hope someone fucking kidnaps me, maybe then I’d be your first choice.’ 

‘Don’t, don’t you even dare go there. You know that’s a low blow.’

‘I do. I hope I’m fucking tortured with you on the line, too.’ 

Peter tried calling out for you, screamed your name even, but you walked across the street and were swallowed into the crowd. He tugged at his hair a few times before looking around, he wasn’t sure what to do. Get a cab, bus, train? Does he walk in the direction you went? It’s a start. 

Pulling out his phone he tried calling, you sent him to voicemail on the second ring. You’re pissed, that’s fine, he just needs you mad and safe. Peter dodged bodies on his left and right, checking each alleyway for you, assuming you’d stop to collect yourself and call him when you had a breather. 

No sight of you. He doesn’t know where you went from here, it splits two ways. He tries using his boyfriend intuition and attempts to channel you, he’s left hopeless. Like a hail mary he remembers you share locations, Peter’s hands shake when he reaches for the app, your name loading until a small circle appears in his. 

You’re close. He follows the road forward, he knows you took this way and his heart squeezes. You deliberately took the sketchy route, the one you told Peter you wouldn’t dare walk without him. It looks like he’s getting closer, but it’s impossible to tell when he has to wait for it to constantly reload. 

Peter swears he can see your jacket ahead, he calls your phone, picking up the pace and trying his best to catch up. You blocked his call again, but he saw you do it.

He knows you heard your name get called, because you started to walk faster, it’s useless, Peter’s quicker. The only option you had was to hide in the crowd, squeezing yourself in the middle and out through the front. Sighing heavy at your escape, and a bit unamused by the childish behavior. Peter looked down at his phone refreshing your name ‘find friends.’ 

His face crumbled into a thousand pieces when the notification appeared, ‘- stopped sharing their location with you.’ His response was to call you, this time you let it ring out, and he left a nasty voicemail. It was like he snapped, he pulled at his curls and exhaled a loud ‘fuck!’ before gripping his phone so tight he thought it’d snap, and that's why he put it away. 

If you wanted to play dirty so could he, you’re hard to find from the street but when he’s swinging from building to building you’d be out of luck. He was tired and hungry, he wanted this to be over. Fight about it like grown adults, at home, while he’s making a grilled cheese or something. 

Peter ran down a back alleyway, ripping his clothes from his body and pulling his mask from his pocket. The suit came in handy tonight after all. Taking a sharp inhale, he took a leap, screaming out when he took flight. 

‘Not you, not you, not you, not…. You? No, not you.’ 

‘Where the fuck did you go?’ 

You were nowhere to be found, still no answer on his calls or texts. He knows it’s irrational, but he’s terrified you’ve jinxed yourself and really are in trouble. He’s taken the route on a spin three times and he still hasn’t seen you, there’s three options, you either went into a gay nightclub, were kidnapped, or somehow snuck your way across the road and into… central park. 

Of course you did, Peter should’ve known that. He told you one time it was a weak vantage point, he couldn’t see through the treelines all that well, and didn’t have much to swing from. At least he has a general idea of where you are, he just has to do it on foot. 

Maybe you were right, maybe he just sucked at prioritizing you now. He doesn’t know when he became this way. He just feels so responsible, he got a great gift and it’s only right he shares it. He just hasn’t figured out how to share Peter with you and Spider-Man with the world yet. Both people need him at the same time. 

At last, sitting on the edge of the fountain, is the love of his life. Just looking terribly sad, he hates to know he caused it. He may have started the fight, but you said some terrible things, things that were only said to jab at the most vulnerable spots. 

Taking a seat next to you he sighs, his entire body deflating in one breath. You mimic the sigh. 

“Rough night?” 

You hum, “my boyfriend and I got in a fight. Maybe we still are, I don’t know. What about you?” 

Peter stretches his legs, red feet scrape the brick. “My girlfriend went nuclear, kinda deserved. But, she also really hurt my feelings.” 

“Did you hurt her feelings too?” 

“Does that make it deserved?” 

Silence. It didn’t. 

Peter watches you twiddle your thumbs, chewing on your bottom lip and sniffing. 

“I’m sure she’s really sorry, and she knows whatever she said hit a soft spot. It seems like your job comes with some downsides, and maybe she kept it all bottled up until she couldn’t anymore, because how do you tell a superhero you want their attention more than a city needs protection?” 

He knows what you mean, he knows how selfish it could sound, but it’s not. You’re allowed to want him around every second, because he does too. 

“You don’t.” 

Peter can feel your eyes, “you don’t tell the superhero, you tell your boyfriend.” 

Your throat clears, “what if he’s both? What if he’s already spread too thin and his whining girlfriend is his last straw?” 

“No. He’s not spread too thin. He was unaware of how you felt, he didn’t know how much it bothered you. He didn’t know how far he pushed you away.” 

“So what changes now he knows?” 

Peter breaks character, this is about real solutions. 

“We figure it out. We’ll go home and look at our schedules and work around it, and have a set day where it’s only us. Twice a month we’ll have a standing date, attendance mandatory. The police scanner gets turned off unless it’s a slow night, and from now on, unless it’s a domestic attack, nothing comes before you.” 

[adonis-koo]

sweet nothing • 8

| in which you run into an old costumer |

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word count: 3k

Previous | Next

Note: just know that the only reason these updates take so long is because I keep writing plot based chapters and I really just wanna post fluff based chapters 😭

“Thank you for taking me out!” You grinned as you took a large sip of your hot chocolate, it was still definitely not cold enough for it yet but you didn’t care.

Something about hitting your third trimester had you wanting to nest like crazy, it had you going around the estate cleaning and getting guards to help move furniture around.

You really had no right to be doing it but nobody told you otherwise.

Jungkook had come back midday, surprisingly early, he had paused in the entry hall of his home locking eyes with the pregnant menace that had abruptly put herself at the forefront of his life once again.

It was then he realized you definitely needed to get out of the estate.

“If it keeps you from not moving all my stuff around,” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat, eyes flickering from his phone to you.

You frowned, “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what possessed me.” You sighed, “Well I do, they say third trimester can make you start nesting.”

“Nesting?”

You glared are the way he snorted as if not believing you, “It’s a fact, you can look it up.”

“The fuck is that even supposed to be? What are you, a bird?”

“It means you just get the innate urge to just…” you puffed your cheeks, ignoring that look he was giving you, “Clean and decorate and just…I don’t know I can’t describe it! Just wish I had my own place to do that with and prepare for the baby.”

Jungkook sighed, his eyes went from looking at you to dropping down to your stomach, it was round when you had first come to the estate, but it was evident six weeks had passed, “Then maybe it’s time we talk about a nursery.”

You paused, getting ready to take another drink from your cup but it never meets to your lips.

Jungkook sighed, “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but finding your brother has quite literally lead me to dead ends I didn’t even think would exist. You’re almost thirty weeks pregnant, that’s less than three months.”

“Okay yeah I can do basic math, but it’s already been almost two months. Surely it won’t take another two months to find him,” You pressed your lips together nervously.

“Would it be so terrible if you gave birth in the estate? It’ll probably be a better experience than the hospital.” Jungkook commented, picking up his coffee as he took a sip.

It wasn’t that you were against giving birth in the estate, professional staff in the comforts of a bed? That was a luxury every woman could only dream of having, it was more the aftermath of it.

The idea of still living at the estate post pregnancy…it was a dangerous thought, it was too close to the life you had once wanted with Jungkook.

You just weren’t sure how to articulate that too him.

Jungkook finally raised a brow at you, noticing your lack of reply.

“I just…don’t want to get too comfortable at the estate.” You finally spoke carefully, “I don't think that's good for anybody involved.”

“I understand but I also don’t like being unprepared- in any aspect concerning me or my estate, and that includes you whether you want it or not.” Jungkook replied, “Just because a nursery is there doesn’t mean it’ll ever be used, it’ll just be there so first of all, you stop moving all my shit and you have a place to do your bird stuff-“

“Nesting.” You glared, lips quirking into a pout as your hands wrapped around your stomach.

Jungkook’s lips curved a little, “Bird stuff. And second, if it does turn out that your stay is extended, it’ll be ready.”

You still weren’t completely sold on the idea, if anything you felt like it would just feed into the delusion even further.

“Why hello there mama.” Another voice suddenly cut in, grabbing a chair from the empty table next to you both and plopping it on the side of your table.

Jungkook immediately straightened up, eyes glaring daggers that could definitely kill, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Yoongi!”

The man brushed his black hair from his eyes a quirky smirk on his face as he shrugged, “Uh I’m just stopping in to say hello to my favorite barista who got put on bed rest early.”

A smile twisted on your lips, you were familiar with his face, he had been a regular for almost two years, the realization however quickly hit that Jungkook was very acquainted with this man.

You felt flabbergasted for a moment, you couldn’t believe you never made the connection that the regular customer Yoongi was also Underboss business partner Yoongi.

“It’s nice to see you again Yoongi! I can't believe I didn’t recognize you as Jungkook’s partner…” You sheepishly smiled.

Jungkook clearly didn’t share the same sentiment, his nostrils flared and he looked ready to maul his partner.

“Nah probably for the best you didn’t realize. You as well, you look only a thousand times prettier, have that pregnancy glow about you.” Yoongi threw your a wink.

Jungkook wasn’t sure what made him more violent, the fact that you both were already well acquainted or Yoongi so casually flirting with you.

It was part of his personality but it still didn’t make any attention he or any other male gave you, any easier for Jungkook to witness.

“If you aren’t here for business, get the fuck away from our table.” Jungkook gritted his teeth, as if it took every fiber of his being to not right hook.

Yoongi didn’t seem phased, “Oh I was just in the area, been coming to Serendipity for a long while now, and then I suddenly see my favorite barista who’s been gone for two months, of course I have have to say hello.”

“Okay well you said hello, now go the fuck away.”

“Jungkook!” You said sternly, “Don’t be so stubborn, Yoongi can sit with us for a few minutes at least.”

His eyes were a raging fire as they burned into you, his chest puffing but he said no more as Yoongi observed you both, a smirk on his face as he leaned back in his chair.

“How are you enjoying the estate Y/n?”

You smiled tenderly, “The company makes it honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without Jungkook and Yeonjun.”

“Yeonjun?” Jungkook looked like he sucked on a sour lemon as he spat the name out.

“I still want my apartment back but I’ve made the most of the it. What about you? Why haven’t you come to visit if you knew where I was?” You asked, curious as to what the man had been up too.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to Jungkook, “Well…let’s just say I was asked to not drop by unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“And it isn’t.” Jungkook gritted.

“Okay well first of all this doesn’t count cause we’re not at the estate, second of all you’re not the only one who has relations to Y/n, I mean have you ever had this woman’s chai? Or her baked cinnamon rolls? Talented hands right there.” Yoongi stretched out in his seat, that playful nature about him.

“Oh don’t flatter me.” You shooed his praise.

“No you deserve all the praise in the world, in fact you deserve-“

“We’re going.” Jungkook stood up from his seat, sick of this if he had to hear one more word come out of his stupid partners mouth.

“Jungkook!” You complained, but nevertheless took his hand when he offered it, “Please visit Yoongi, you’re conversation is always welcomed.”

Yoongi only smiled, sunk into his seat as he watched the tall broody figure practically drag you away, it made him laugh in amusement.

Yoongi by no means kept an eye on you the last two years for his own benefit, but he supposed somethings would always remain thankless.

He had accomplished what he wanted though, evidently no matter how much Jungkook talked- and he talked a lot, it was clear he had grown possessive over you in the last few months.

Yoongi shook his head in amusement, watching the viper leave the parking lot through the window, he was happy to see that old spark in his partner return.

“What was that about!” You complained, immediately dialing the heat down to sixty in the car.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” Jungkook grumbled, hands gripping the steer wheel as if he was trying to strangle it, “If you care about your baby’s safety you’ll make an active effort to not talk to him.”

“Hes been one of my regulars for like two years,” you complained, “How was I supposed to know he was your partner? I never even officially met him! What makes him anymore dangerous then you? Hm?”

Jungkook deflated, obviously not having a good reason, “The difference is I’m protecting you.”

“Oh so you’re saying he wouldn’t?”

“The point,” Jungkook gritted his teeth in annoyance, “Is don’t talk to him.”

You frowned as you twisted to fully look at Jungkook, was he…jealous?

“Are you mad that I’m paying attention to someone else?” You asked upfront, you could only be discreet about so many things.

“I’m not mad”.

“No you’re definitely mad.” You replied pointedly.

“I’m annoyed that my business partner is talking to me outside of business.” Jungkook replied.

“But he was talking to me, not you.” You crossed your arms.

“He was doing that on purpose.” Jungkook huffed.

It was silent for a long moment as you folded your hands into your lap.

Of course you didn’t have to point it out, but truthfully it felt too ridiculous to not? “Are you jealous?”

“No.”

There was another pause.

“Why would I be jealous?”

“You tell me,” you replied, a pout on your lips, “You always do this when someone talks to me, men specifically.”

“Do you actually want an honest answer?” Jungkook looked even more annoyed, even so much as throwing you a frosty glance before his eyes returned to the road.

You blinked before a troubled frown slowly curved on your lips, you could think of several ways he’d be honest and none of them you’d be able to fully believe.

“What I want,” you took a breath, “Is to be able to have a conversation without you looking like you’re shooting daggers out of your eyes.”

“I wasn’t shooting daggers out of my eyes.”

You puffed your cheeks, “Well you claim you don’t do a lot of things, that you do in fact, do.”

“How about we just stop talking.” Jungkook replied.

You pouted but spoke no more as you yawned.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You nodded with a small groan, “Yeah, I need to take a nap,” you nodded with another yawn.

Jungkook only nodded in return, eyes occasionally glancing at you, attempting to sleep in the car, when did his life start revolving around you this much?

[mint-yooxgi]

Promises - Yandere!Kraken!Felix

Yandere AU & Kraken AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Felix X Implied Chubby!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,958

Warnings: Implied violence and shipwreck, kidnapping, Felix is a type of Sea God in this, mentions of past sexual relations. Tentacles. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Did I base the start of this drabble on the ending scene in Dead Man's Chest? Perhaps. Is this a bit tamer than the others. Maybe. Either way, I still hope you like it! I've been slowly easing myself back into writing, so I'm happy with what I've been able to do. Plus, I just fucking love the banner I made for this hehehe... Anyways, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The Thirteenth of The Feral Drabbles

They thought they could keep you away from me.

They really thought they could keep you away from me.

It’s laughable. I thought it was a known rule for sailors not to anger the sea, but alas. Here we are.

The frantic screams and shouts don’t deter me for one second. I know what I came here for, and I’m not leaving without you. You’re mine. I warned them what the consequences would be, yet still they refused to give you to me. Even after we promised ourselves to each other! Can you believe that?

Oh, that sounds so harsh. It’s not like you didn’t also choose me. It’s these… these… things keeping us apart. They don’t understand our love. Think I’m corrupting you, or something.

Such bullshit. The only thing I’m corrupting is their ability to live.

They hid you on the third level, thinking you’d be safe within the deepest confines of the ship. Little do they know it’s the worst place you could be. It’s like they want you to get hurt, like they want me to kill you. Such things I would never do. 

Still, despite my anger as I tear this floating piece of wood apart, I’m careful. Your safety is my top priority, and I’ve already ensured that. Right now, you rest, cocooned inside a few of my tentacles. Magic surrounds you, ensuring none of their attacks have any effect on me or you. Like hell I’ll allow them to disturb you now. Besides, you passed out shortly after my assault started on the ship, but you don’t have to worry. I’ve got you.

I can still remember when we first met, how you told me you didn’t fare well with sea travel. Yet another offence they’ve made against you. I’ll never forgive them for their transgressions. Sinners need to pay, and I am here to pass my divine judgement on those that would call themselves ‘heroes’.

Do not fear, My Beloved. Once I finish smashing apart this pathetic excuse of driftwood, I’ll take you home. 

Where you’ve always belonged. 

With me.

These planks are so brittle, it’s almost laughable. Your captor’s pathetic attempts to defend themselves are cute, in a way. If not for the fact that every time I start to pull you out of the wreckage, more of them show up to try and hinder me. I don’t know why they’re so obsessed with protecting you now when they’ve never done so before.

I’m the one who always saves you. I’m the one who ensures you no harm. Not them.

No matter. They haven’t seen everything that I can do. My capabilities far surpass what their puny, closed off minds can comprehend. I’ve got magic beyond the darkest depths of the ocean, strength greater than the harshest of tides. There is no being, save myself, that could keep me away from you.

I don’t even know why they try.

Finally, I’m able to pull you out of that godforsaken wreckage and unleash my full wrath upon these wretches. The boat snaps like a twig as I pull the debris and all remaining survivors below the surface. 

None will survive. They don’t get to. I won’t let them.

Honestly, it’s kind of fun tearing stuff apart. I’ve always enjoyed making a mess of things. I only wish you could be awake to see just how strong your lover can be. After all, I’m doing this for you. I warned them about what would happen should they lay their filthy, traitorous hands all over you. I’m simply staying true to my word!

You know firsthand that I’m a very truthful guy. I would never lie to you, My Pearl. I would rather be slow roasted over an open fire than even think to deceive you.

Aren’t I so loyal?

Oh. Right. You aren’t awake to hear my teasing. Teasing which you seem quite fond of whenever I’m with you.

I think you just like hearing my voice…

That’s okay, Beloved. I will speak for as long as you desire me to. Besides, the feeling is quite mutual.

Gods- I can’t wait to see your face when you wake up in our home, and I get to tell you everything that I’ve done for you. Finally, we can be together, free of oppressive opinions and suppressive stares. Where I’m taking you, we can be ourselves, and the magic of my ocean will keep you safe. Eventually, when you’re ready, you’ll even become like me, too. 

Won’t that be incredible? Just thinking about it makes my whole body tingle.

Or maybe that’s just the change in depth.

I promise my home isn’t too much further out, and it’s in a safe area. You’ll be able to live here with me free of any restraints. I’ll be your comfort. I’ll be your guide. I will provide for you everything you will ever need. 

There is nothing stopping our love now.

I’ll even make sure that no sliver of the wreckage I just caused gets to you. The currents listen to me. They’re my friends, and soon they will be yours, too.

Either way, I’m glad that’s over, because now I can focus on you! I know that you’d be celebrating with me if you were awake, but for now, I’ll simply revel in this sweet victory alone. Having you safe in my arms is enough reward, and when you wake, the true celebration will begin.

Hmm, I wonder what we should do first? Should I take you to the reefs so you can see all of the colourful coral that I’ve grown just for you? Should I present you to the schools of fish that always seek refuge around my house? Get them to revel in your beauty? Or maybe I’ll worship you in the den of our own personal sanctuary, where nothing - no one - will be able to interrupt.

My Beauty.

My Beautiful, Beloved Pearl.

I’ll admit, there’s a certain ring to those names that I enjoy. It calls to me like the cavernous songs of the sirens. An enchantment I can never seem to escape: you.

Not that I want to. 

No. Never. Not since the very first time I laid eyes on you.

You’re addictive, you know that? One glance caught my attention. One melodic note of a spoken word, and I was hooked. Your eyes are deeper than the darkest sea, and I could swim in them forever. You hold me, transfixed, with your gaze whenever you look at me, and I never want it to stop.

Honestly, I can never grow tired of you looking at me. I want you to look at me, and only me. I want to be the first thing you see in the morning when you blink those glorious eyes open, and the last thing you see when you go to sleep at night. I want to wrap you in my arms and hold you close, whispering the sweetest words of all the worlds in your ears, and hear you do the same for me in return.

There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Beloved, and I will never hesitate to prove that to you. With me, you will never have to settle for less than what you deserve, for I will always give you every single thing your heart could ever desire.

Fuck- I can still remember the way your body trembled from the very first touch. The more I trailed my arms over your body, letting the tips of my tendrils caress your skin, the more your whole being warmed. You fit so perfectly in my hold, that I long to always touch you - to always be near you, and obey your every whim.

I am but your loyal servant, sent to worship the very depths of your soul. Your entire being calls to me, and I could bathe in your warmth for all eternity. Right now, it’s that warmth that I crave more than anything. That glorious nectar that seeps from between your legs beckons to me. One taste isn’t enough. I need to feel you flooding my every sense once more.

Sweet.

Addictive.

I could spend ages defining it, but nothing could ever truly put into words just how ethereal you are to me.

People always thought my existence was mere myth itself. Rumours and legends only meant to scare those away from pursuing adventure on the high seas. Nothing more than a fable to tell their children at night to ensure they don’t go off swimming in the bay alone.

They have always been, and will always be, wrong.

I’m as real at the tide, as sure as the sand that resides against the ocean floor. There is nothing in these waters as deadly as I am, and all those that oppose us will face my wrath.

Well, where we’re going, we won’t have to worry about being disturbed at all. Plenty of room for the both of us. Plenty of privacy. No one dares disturb that which should be left undisturbed. At least, those smart enough to.

That is, of course, unless I use my magic to let those sirens get a taste of their own medicine. Water echoes even the smallest of sounds, and yours should be heard for miles around. I can still hear your glorious voice calling out my name as you bathed me in your own sacred waters, and I want all to know that you are mine, and I am yours. For all eternity. 

I’ll admit… I’m addicted to you, and I can never get enough. Though, from the way I remember your hands clinging to me that night only days ago, I don’t think you can get enough, either.

Good thing we have forever to spend fully satisfying each other!

Ah… looks like we’re finally getting close to home. I can see the familiar drop off up ahead. Don’t worry, Beloved, there’ll be plenty of air for you to breathe inside. I won’t always have to keep you covered in a veil of magic. Though, I would always like to have an arm around you. Feeling your skin pressed against my own is a sensation unlike any other, and I long to never let you go.

Perhaps I should tidy up a little more before you wake. I always have way too much energy after destroying a ship. Something about adrenaline and all that.

Perhaps when you wake up you could even help me with it… You might be a bit tired and disoriented when you wake, but my magic can help with your exhaustion. You seemed to like that that last time I used it on you.

How else could we have gone as many rounds as we did?

Oh, you flatter me by pulling yourself in closer to me subconsciously when I shift into such a basic form. It easier to move around like a human within my home when it’s drained like this, and besides, I haven’t exactly shown you my entire true form yet. The last thing I want to do is scare you as soon as you wake up. You’ve already suffered the trauma of being stolen away from me today. I don’t want to make things worse.

There. All you need to do is rest now. 

In my arms? Well, who am I to pull away from My Pearl when you’re clinging onto me so tightly in your sleep? 

I truly can never say no to you…

Just rest, Beloved. This creature shall keep you safe, tucked away deeply in his heart for all eternity. Once you open those glorious eyes of yours, our own adventure will start.

Just you and me, forever. 

I promise.

[inuiiwonderland]

Twisted captivity

Chapter 1

Twst third years x fem reader

A/n: here is the first chapter of my new series “twisted captivity” !! Again this is a yandere series so it will have some dark themes! Also, the first couple chapters will be more on the short side since It has been a while since I wrote anything and also because of my major writers block and motivation for writing. So I’m taking baby steps rn lol. But I genuinely wanna write this since it’s been on my mind for MONTHS! So enough about my rambling I really hope you guys enjoy this!

Words:766

-

You walked down the long hallway as Crowley explained to you the rules and things you would be in charge of.

“Since your father told me you’re a researcher, you will be in charge of writing down every detail and interaction you have with the mers and also help us understand more about them and their biology!”

You simply nodded, still not believing that he has REAL mermaids and mermen’s in his care.

“You will also be in charge of feeding them, cleaning and taking care of their tanks! Though do be careful, some of them can be very wary and may attack when they feel threatened!”

“Ah that’s…good to know”

“Great! Now it’s time for you to come meet them so follow me” You followed him as he led you down a long hallway before walking through a double door which led you to a giant lab. In there you can see a big window as people rush in all sorts of directions.

“This is our lab! Here we run all our experiments and test” Your eyes grow wide as you see a couple of people roll in a big cart with an equally large tank which has a mermaid inside.

The poor thing was thrashing around in the tank as she clawed on the glass. The tank must have been made with really strong glass since it didn’t crack or break by how hard the poor thing was banging on it. The cart was rolled to another room, which you did NOT want to know about.

“Don’t worry she’ll be fine”

Something tells you she wouldn’t….

“Come follow me! I’ll show you the less aggressive ones first”

Okay now you were slowly starting to regret this

Maybe you should’ve stayed home and made yourself a good meal as you watched your favorite show. But no, you decided to show up instead.

What if this is all illegal? What if the government or whoever doesn’t even know such a thing exists?! Or maybe Crowley is working for the government?!

As you begin to panic, you accidentally bump into said man as he comes to a stop.

“Sor-“

“We’re here!” You step aside and you stare in awe as you are met with a beautiful sight.

The place looked absolutely gorgeous. It definitely didn’t look like it belonged in a research facility.

The place had a huge waterfall along with some beautiful trees and huge rocks and caves. You noticed a bridge in the center of it all and it had beautiful long vines surrounding it.

This definitely looked like it came from a fairy tale

“Welcome to the heartslabyul enclosure!” He says with a big smile.

“This place is so…”

“Amazing right? I’m glad you think so because I spent millions on this place!”

“Hey Crowley!” You both turned around to see a man with black and white hair. The man looked annoyed as he glared down at Crowley.

“Ah! Crewel! Nice seeing you here today, say why are you here?” The man scowled.

“I work here you idiot”

“Hey now that’s not a good way to talk to your boss! I have a new worker here with me and you can’t make it seem like calling me an idiot is okay!” Crowley says as crewel turns to look at you.

“You should still run while you have the chance” He says which causes Crowley to gasp.

You just awkwardly laugh as crewel and Crowley continue to bicker back and forth. You step away from the two as you decide to explore the area a bit more.

You walk down the bridge and to a small path that leads you to another beautiful part of the area. As you continued exploring, you didn’t notice the pair of eyes that peeked from under one of the lily pads.

Red eyes followed you as you continued to walk down the path.

Weird….never seen her around before

He watches you like a hawk before quickly ducking down as you turn around.

You eye the water curiously

“Weird….could’ve sworn I heard something” As you were about to walk a little closer towards the water, the sound of your name being called made you stop. You look up to see Crowley waving at you from the bridge.

“Come! I have more things to discuss with you in my office!” You just nodded but before you left, you looked back at the water one last time before walking away and to where crowley was.

As you leave, the boy slowly comes back up with curious eyes.

She looks nice….

-

Again sorry for such a short chapter😓 but as I said, baby steps!

Taglist: @ruisann @roseapov @0ffth3rec0rd @anunholyabomination

Ask if you wanna be put on the taglist!

Also! Reader will have more like a mother/older sister relationship with the 1st and 2nd years! I will explain more as the story goes:)

[spiderlandry]

connect — ethan landry

Description: Ethan is enamoured with the girl who beats him during a college trivia night.

Pairing: Ethan Landry x F!Reader (she/her pronouns, reader is referred to as a girl)

Warnings/Tags: non-gf ethan, fluff, probably super corny (you have been warned.)

Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note: the trivia is based off an episode of only connect. for the record, i’m not british i just love that show

There aren’t many things in college that really matter to Ethan besides his grades. Sure, he has his friends—but they understand his incessant need to excel in academics once he opened up about his aspirations, which more often than not have him holed up in the apartment he shares with his longtime roommate, Chad. They’ve been roommates since freshman year in the dorms, and Chad said he didn’t want anyone else to be his roommate, so they decided to rent an apartment for junior year. Being a good roommate is third in the list of important things.

However, the thing that takes second place is something that his friends don’t understand. It’s the annual trivia competition held by Blackmore’s Honor Students Society. Particularly, one held by the STEM students. This tradition, having existed since the society was founded, has been a loved custom.

Spanning three days, the winner gets a donation to a charity of their choice under their name at the end. It’s been vital for frats and sororities to win because of the reputation points earned for their society, but Ethan is not part of one; yet he still wants to win.

Often, he gets teased by Chad and Mindy while he prepares for the upcoming few days. But he lets them, knowing they’d agree to be his teammates like they always do. His team during the first part—the trivia bowl—has always consisted of him, Chad, Mindy, Anika, and Tara. They switch out teammates for different categories. It has worked all these years, there’s no reason for it not to work again.

Well, he’d be proven wrong this time.

The first day is by far the most difficult due to the amount of people participating: twelve teams.

The lecture hall is alight with excitement, nerves running through the crowd as the host gets on the stage. Ethan being the team captain, he sits in the middle with Chad and Anika on his left, Mindy and Tara on his right.

(After some trial and error, it was best Chad and Mindy didn’t get to sit together because of their banter, and if the arrangement was Mindy with Anika and Chad with Tara, it’s just Ethan fifth-wheeling.)

“Who’s ready to rumble?!” The host shouts, the boom of the microphone travelling around the room. They cheer in anticipation. “Alright! I’ll explain the rules for the quiz bowl, then we’ll get to introducing our teams.

“For this first day, we’ll play connections—the goal is for your team to find the connection between the clues we put on the screen,” he points to the big projector screen. “For the first ten seconds, there will be two clues. After that, the other two clues will be shown and there are fifteen seconds for your team to figure it out.

“The clues will get harder as it goes on. Every team has a bell, whoever dings first gets to answer. Now! Let’s get to introducing! From the front of the room, you—“ he points.

Chad speaks for the team, “We are the Fab Five, and we’ve got a champion with us.” He half jokes, shaking Ethan by the shoulders.

The host chuckles, “That’s right. Certainly a legend, Ethan Landry, who’s won the past two years. Think you can keep your streak?”

Ethan, confidently nodding, “Absolutely.”

Every other team introduces themselves. Nobody stands out, at least not for now. There are only some familiar faces to Ethan and that’s it.

It’s not until about halfway through the game, during a question that Ethan realizes he may have actual competition. Of course, he’s been confident throughout the past hour, his team in the lead with the most points, but there’s a close runner-up that answers from across the room.

The screen reads:

Audio CDs. Details of The Budget.

The silence in the room is cut with a familiar ding. Ethan looks to the source, spotting the one person who seemed to have an edge over his entire team. You.

“Red books,” You answer.

God, who are you? Ethan thinks. He shakes his head—he has to get it together. His strategy has been to focus on his team only, and he can’t stray from that now. His brows furrow when the host says you’re correct.

“This has been interesting,” the host smiles, “The Fab Five has tied with the Three Fates.”

Ethan looks closer, and indeed, there are only three people on your team.

You don’t seem to pay him any mind.

So the game continues.

Aqua Regis. Aqua Fortis.

“Alchemist names for acids,” Ethan answers.

Oscar Niemeyer, Brasilia. Charles Barry, London.

“Architects of parliaments,” you chime.

Meanwhile, his friends can definitely sense the nervousness radiating off Ethan. He isn’t usually concerned with staying first place, but he keeps sneaking glances to your position in the room and they’re beginning to think it’s not just about trivia.

All in all, their team still stays in the lead with two points ahead of yours.

-

The second day.

The host welcomes everyone back into the room, a few less people than yesterday. He leans against the podium, grinning as your team and Ethan’s are forced closer together, tables next to each other.

“The teams have been cut down to the top four who earned the most points yesterday,” he explains. “The other teams are invited to come watch, as well as anyone else interested as the game finally gets interesting.

“For the next hour, you’ll play sequences. The goal is to predict the fourth in a sequence—if you predict it with less clues on the screen, you get more points. Two seconds in between each clue. No need for introductions, let’s do it!”

Fear.

Surprise.

Ethan rings the bell. “Devotion to the Pope.”

“Three points to the Fab Five. Next!”

Observation.

Statement.

“Testing.” You answer.

“Three points to the Three Fates, well done.”

It goes on like that, with the other two teams occasionally answering. But mainly it’s just either yours or his that answers.

A game of cat and mouse. It gets under Ethan’s skin, the way you easily answer the questions while laying back in your chair all the while Ethan is probably bouncing off his seat.

Amidst the chaos inside his own head, a jumble of questions and answers, there’s something about you that stands out. In his own circles, he’d never seen or heard about you. Though Blackmore was a big college, the amount of STEM honors students they had was relatively small, with the university being known for its film programs. He needed to know who you are.

The game is over before he knows it.

Hours later, thinking about his choices and zoning out, his train of thought is interrupted by an object being hurled at his head.

“You okay?” Chad throws a pillow at Ethan, who is sitting on the couch. He catches it last second.

“Why?” Ethan hugs the pillow close to his chest as his roommate gets something from the kitchen.

“You just seemed fidgety today. At the trivia thing.”

Even after knowing Chad all these years, it surprises him that he notices.

“No, yeah. I’m fine. Nobody’s just come close like that before.”

“Well, Y/N’s smart.”

Ethan’s interest piques. “You know her?”

“Yeah. I met her at a party, last semester. She just transferred here. She was drunk, going off to me about this new thing they discovered in physics.”

“Oh,” is all he can say.

“What, are you nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous?”

“Tomorrow’s the big day. You’re gonna have to face her without us.”

“Shit.” He sighs. He was so caught up in beating you that he’d forgotten the last part of the challenge. He has to face you individually with other teams watching to see who gets the winning prize.

“You guys would get along, I think.”

“Are you kidding? She’s getting on my nerves.”

Chad tilts his head, akin to that of a confused puppy. “I don’t think you know the real reason, bud.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying!” He shrugs. “She’s very pretty.”

And as his (infuriating) roommate walks away, Ethan can’t help but silently agree.

-

A few continuous buzzes from Ethan’s phone is what finally takes him out of a studying session. Picking up the device, the screen reads:

Quinn

can you come pick up ur notes

He groans. The sun had taken its place above, a contrast to when it was just dawn as he woke up to study for the final part of the quiz. It was probably a good idea to go outside, though.

On the steps of the Carpenter/Quinn residence, he taps his foot against the welcome mat impatiently.

The door swings open.

Here’s the thing: With the three people living in this apartment, it was a common occurrence for friends to be over. Tara’s got a big group that she knows, Sam has coworkers over, often Danny even opens the door or one of Quinn’s flings.

But out of all the possibilities, the last person in his mind to open the door is you.

Ethan’s smile drops, and you seem to notice it. “Oh, sorry.” You stand aside to let him in, yet he doesn’t move an inch. “Who are you looking for? You’re Ethan, right? Chad’s roommate?“

Just then, Tara’s voice booms from the other room. “Come in, Ethan!”

One second under your scrutinizing gaze is enough to make him stumble into the apartment, and he’s sure he can feel your stare burning the back of his head as he rushes to Quinn’s room.

He closes his sister’s door with a slam, making her jump. “What’s your problem, asshole?” She turns from her spot on the bed, facing him.

It takes a minute for him to catch his breath. “My problem? I should be asking you that!” He’s careful not to be too loud, his words coming out more as a whisper. “Why would you ask me to come here?”

“To pick up your notes? I told you.”

“No that—” He shakes his head, “That Y/N is here. Didn’t I tell you about that girl from trivia?”

“The one you have a crush on?” She laughs. “So? She’s friends with Tara.”

“Friends with—” His head tilts to rest against the wall. “You didn’t tell me she was here.”

“…I did. Didn’t you read my texts?”

Texts. As in plural. He fully opens his phone into the app, and lo and behold, the texts are there.

Quinn

the girl you have a crush on is here lol

where have u been

can you come pick up ur notes

She laughs even harder when she realizes his mistake.

“Please shut up, Quinn.”

“Why don’t you just talk to her? She’s nice!”

“Keep it down.”

“Fine,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Your notes are on my desk.”

He picks them up and turns to leave, however not without an additional comment from his sister.

“I promise you won’t regret talking to her.”

He only grumbles, walking out. He has to face you again, though he’s sure if he’s fast enough he can avoid you.

Nope. Totally wrong.

You stop him before he exits the apartment, he shoots a stern look to Tara in the background when she audibly holds back a snicker.

“Hey, you.” You nod to him. “You’re my competition.”

He finally faces you. His eyes scan your expression, treading lightly as to not get lost in your eyes. “I am.”

You flash him a devilish smirk, “You think you’ll win?”

“I know I will.” He quips back, slowly gaining confidence. You slide in front of him, opening the door to let him out.

“See you tonight?”

“Good luck,” he smiles. “You’ll need it.”

Unbeknownst to him, it was Tara who invited you over just to psych him out. And it worked.

“The final day of this competition,” The host speaks to the crowd consisting of the teams who competed. “It’s been a close race between the Three Fates and the Fab Five.

“Per our tradition, the team captain of the two leading teams are to face off each other in a timed game of missing vowels.

“On my right is Ethan Landry, team captain of the Fab Five with twenty-two points,” He reads off an index card. “He’s an honors statistics major, in his third year here at Blackmore. On my left is Y/N Y/L/N, team captain of the Three Fates who have twenty, she is a double major on linguistics and anthropology. She recently transferred here from Rutgers University.“

The audience cheers. You and Ethan stare at each other intensely, like you can see straight through his soul.

“The objective of this game is to fill in the missing vowels of what’s on the screen. You’ll be given a category, the first one being endangered mammals. Thirty minutes on the clock, use your bell to answer, and best of luck. Time starts now.”

FRC NLPH NT

Your bell goes off before he can even think, “African Elephant.”

You have an advantage, he realizes. But he studied.

BLC KRH NCR S

“Black rhinoceros,” Ethan answers. You smirk—for a second he’s thinking if you hadn’t answered on purpose.

The game is back and forth.

RN GTN

“Orangutan.”

BC TRNC ML

“Bactrian Camel.”

He can feel the audience’s eyes jumping between him and you, and besides either of your voices and the host moving onto the next category, the room is unusually quiet. It’s not like any other year, he should have worked harder.

It does not help that you’re gorgeous, but it takes all of his willpower not to get distracted by your frustratingly enchanting smile and the crinkle of your eyes when you beat him—

You beat him, and he lost.

“Time’s up!” The man announces, and he meets you halfway on the stage to shake your hand.

“There’s always next year, man.” Chad pats him on the back pitifully, though he knows it’s out of kindness. “Look who’s coming,” His roommate gestures to behind him. He turns around, and of course you’re there.

Ethan can see your group exiting the room, and he can sense his group leaving, too. It’s just you and him now.

“You did well,” you say. And to his chagrin, it really does sound like you mean it. “Wanna get a milkshake?”

He tries not to show surprise. “With me?”

“The least I can do,” you nod.

“Lead the way.”

He hopes you don’t notice the beads of sweat on his forehead.

He can’t help but feel slightly guilty when you pay for his drink. Slightly. You did beat him.

Expecting to separate from you after that, he moves to leave but you catch his wrist. “Where are you going?” There’s a laugh brewing, but you hold it back.

“I’m—“ He pauses. “I thought—“

Thankfully, you get him. “No, I wanted to talk to you. Come on, I know a spot.”

The cold drink in his hand is surely a good distraction. He follows you into a small academic building, and you start making small talk with him. He really doesn’t mind, not when it’s you.

“Where are we going?” He finally questions when you lead him to a set of stairs.

“Rooftop,” you reply when you both reach the top.

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Illegal?” You open the door, ushering him outside as you follow.

The sunset is the first thing he sees. He’s drawn to it, staring in awe. Various pink and orange hues paint the sky.

“It’s not illegal,” you pipe up. “Blackmore just doesn’t allow it. It’s a liability.”

He knows that, though. “So how did you get us up here?”

“That’s for me to know.”

He mirrors your grin. “Come on, tell me.”

“Maybe one day.”

The implication of a deeper friendship with you makes his heart soar. Or something more than that.

“What does the competition mean to you? Do you just like the bragging rights?”

His brows furrow. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. That’s a lie, he knows. “I donate the money to this animal shelter where I got my childhood dog.”

It’s a moment of honesty that is unexpected, even for him.

“What’s the shelter?”

“Why?”

“So I can donate it under your name.”

Hm? “What?”

You chuckle, “I like your reason. It’s nice.”

“But you won.”

“And I get to decide,” you say.

He can’t really argue with that. So he does the next best thing, “We can do it under both our names. You keep the bragging rights.”

“What makes you think I want it?”

“You were teasing me!” He bickers.

You go back and forth again, this time without any prying eyes. You stay talking until your milkshakes are done, even more after that. The sun has almost gone down, with only a little bit of light left.

When it’s time to leave, though, neither of you want to. It’s an invisible string.

“Just text me the name of the shelter.”

“Text—“ he starts, “I don’t have your number.”

You raise your brows, as if asking something. “Well?”

Getting the hint, “…Can I have your number?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

[yenonnoff]

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! 28. what comes after heartbreak?

note: word count is 3.2k (^O^)

atsumu was face-to-face with the person he used to call his “love.” what would usually be the feeling of butterflies or warm rush of affection through his body was replaced with pure contempt. now, he only saw a witch—a girl that had insidiously beguiled him into falling in love. 

atsumu was already inside the record store when he saw emma. long hair, rosy cheeks, full lips—the epitome of pretty privilege. from afar, she looked as approachable and friendly as a lily; however, get close and she might bite you like a venus flytrap. 

atsumu understood why he was so charmed by her all those years ago. nevertheless, that was then and this was now. a switch was flipped the moment the two broke up, and all the sweet affection was drained from him. 

one moment, atsumu was inside the record store; the next, he was sitting across emma in a nearby cafe. this was against everything atsumu stood for. however, he needed answers and he didn’t want to rush headlong into a sudden confrontation. he didn’t want to destroy his one sanctuary just because of emma.

“why are you here? how did you know i was here?” atsumu demanded firmly. a vexed wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, matching the guarded way he sat with his arms crossed over his chest. his body was completely tense. atsumu miya’s defenses were all up and his system was working overtime on full alert. 

“oh, please. it’s a public place for crying out loud,” she retorted. 

atsumu stared at her in disbelief, his frustration completely inflamed. “first, it was that photo you posted. now, you appear in front of me in the record store. how much more selfish can you get?” 

“what? selfish?! this was the only time i’ve been back to that scruffy place filled with junk. besides, i just asked around for your schedule. today’s your break and i know you always go there to clear your mind.” she drew in an exaggerated breath, her index finger twirling a strand of hair. she continued with a scoff, “especially after everything that happened last week, i had a feeling you’d come back here.” 

one thing about emma was that she always got whatever she wanted. but not here, not with atsumu. 

“never come back here again. i thought i made that clear when we broke up—guess i’ll have to drill it into your brain for you to actually understand. if you don’t leave me alone, i’ll reveal every single detail of what you did during the time we dated to the public.”

emma’s eyes widened. “are you crazy? are you threatening me right now?” 

that was another thing about emma: she only ever cared about herself. 

“our agreement was that i keep your shamefulness a secret. in exchange, you were to never associate with me again; never message or mention me; and never step foot near the places connected to me. this included the record store. you broke the rules first, i have every right to ‘threaten’ you.” 

atsumu’s body was less rigid now, but his eyes were still narrowed in earnest hatred. his disdain for emma ran deeper than anything anyone could ever imagine. 

when a waiter stopped by, atsumu waved an absent hand in dismissal. “i’m not ordering. i won’t be staying long enough for a drink anyway.” awkwardness swirled in the air and atsumu could feel the thundering displeasure coming from across the table. after the waiter walked away, emma grumbled, “could you have at least saved me some face? now i look desperate.” 

“funny. that’s rich coming from you.” 

“listen, i think there’s been a misunderstanding. i didn’t come here intending to break our agreement. i came here because i was worried about you.” 

emma’s third thing: her dedication to her cruel artifices, honing them like a mad lady. that was how she’d fooled him into becoming so disastrously lovesick. if he didn’t know better, he would’ve been swayed by her endearing concernment. 

“why would you be worried about me?” 

“because of the movie theater incident obviously. i recognized the denim hat you always wore, and that hoodie, it’s the one your brother gifted you, right?” 

atsumu’s gaze bore into her. he wanted to laugh at her absurdity but her words had brought up another issue he’d been dealing with: you. he hadn’t been able to talk to you all week. his mind was restless wondering how you’ve been doing. 

he wanted to talk to you in person, be surrounded by your warmth again and experience the fervid comfort you bring him just by being there. even now, in the disturbing presence of his ex-girlfriend, all he could think about was you. he thought about your worrisome craze for coffee, wondering if you’d like the small cafe he was currently in. he thought of all the puerile topics he’d talk to you about if you were sitting in front of him instead of emma. 

“still obsessed with me are we?” atsumu asked. 

to be honest, he was exhausted. he’d only come here to be alone in the record store absorbed by all the captivating music it had to offer. but no, he was wasting his time talking to a brick wall. he wished you were here instead. 

emma huffed, crossing one leg over the other. “honestly, how could you be so reckless? how could you get caught with a no name actress? good thing that guy cleared things up. do you know how damaging it could’ve been to you?” 

the fourth thing about emma was her shameless ideology: reputation and prestige mattered more than anything else. obviously this was all masked during the time they dated. for two years, she concealed her dishonesty and false compassion—even her friendliness and good nature weren’t real. she had played atsumu miya like a fool. and he often wondered if she ever went to sleep laughing quietly to herself while being cuddled in his arms. 

atsumu rubbed the bridge of his nose. of course he didn’t realize how damaging his actions could’ve been, he wasn’t even the one getting bashed on by randoms. it seemed—similarly to them—emma also lacked critical thinking skills. she failed to see that her fans were targeting you instead of him. so while she sat here blabbering ludicrously, you were probably still dealing with crazy fans in your comments. 

there was another thing atsumu couldn’t let go. how could she call you a “no name actress,” when you weren’t the one that paid your way into the industry? her comment was just ridiculous. 

“never talk about y/n like that ever again. i’m serious about my threat, emma. i wasn’t the one that wanted the agreement in the first place. you’re the only one who'll get hurt if i release a statement.” 

he prepared to stand when emma reached over and caught hold of his arm. he pulled away immediately, disgust written all over his face.  

emma let out a defeated sigh. “wait, please. look, i don’t think we ever got the closure we needed, so i came here to say i’ve changed a lot after we broke up. i don’t do that thing anymore…”

atsumu rolled his eyes. it’s been more than a year since they separated. what closure did she need now? 

“and by ‘that thing,’ you mean your habit of bribing people,” he sneered. 

emma’s gaze faltered. his words had made her hesitate. “yes, i’m just grateful to director sage and his film. it allowed all of these opportunities and sponsorships to come in.” 

atsumu’s hands curled into fists by his side, his knuckles turning patently white. at that moment, he wanted to scream at her. she’d learned nothing; this whole time, she barely needed to lift a finger. all those opportunities were handed to her after she paid for a role on director sage’s film. it was still bribery. she still paid her way to success. 

“then what about your current role? why am i hearing people say you paid for that too?” 

“what? where are you hearing that?” she asked, enraged. emma’s fifth thing: she hated being criticized and proven wrong. 

“you forget that everyone in the industry hate you. staff members talk shit behind your back and actors despise your guts. even director sage hated working with you. it’s astonishing really.” 

emma was too dazed to reply. she didn't know if it was true or not, but she hoped it was just an attempt to rankle her. 

atsumu continued after her silence: “tell me, did you or did you not pass the audition?” 

“this again? i told you, i stopped doing that stuff a long time ago!” emma groaned, tapping her index finger against the table frantically. “obviously i passed. that’s why i have the role in the first place.” her finger continued to tap, her feet flicking up and down in a similar rhythm. 

“liar,” atsumu said plainly. “you’re lying right through your teeth. you did it again, didn’t you? used your dad’s money to buy the role you failed to get.” 

“i’m serious!” tap, tap, tap— everything about her was becoming a nuisance. she was a disturbance to the cafe’s homey atmosphere; her honeyed voice, the one he’d once loved so dearly, had turned rough and utterly annoying. 

atsumu shook his head. “oh, c’mon. you claim you’re an actress but you can barely lie to save your life. stop doing that thing with your finger and foot whenever you lie, it might help you save some embarrassment.” 

“are you being for real right now?” 

“extremely. so stop it, emma. stop trying to be so glorious. stop trying to act like jolie.” he scoffed in disbelief, “did you really have to stoop so low?” 

he watched as her face twisted in confusion. “i know you tried copying her personality. did you know she still gets hate for it? when your quote-unquote fans noticed similarities between how you both acted, they went rampant on jolie for ‘copying’ you. you’re poison, emma. you only cause people harm.” 

emma waved a dismissive hand in the air as if his words were a pest. that action alone embittered atsumu beyond belief. he could still remember how jolie felt after receiving hundreds of tirades from people online. she was torn between being true to her selfless nature or containing it. she’d chosen the latter, and it was only recently that she started loosening up again. 

“i’m done. i don’t know why i wasted my time here with you. if you post another picture as a ruse to get people talking, i really am going to expose how you cheated on me.” 

that garnered an immediate reaction. “it wasn’t like that!” 

“right. on our business trip, in our hotel room, on our bed. who were you even fucking? some a-lister you randomly met?” 

“i was drunk!” her exclamation received stares from nearby staff members. emma’s drink had been on standby for a while now, except no one was brave enough to bring it to her. they didn’t want to get caught in the heated conversation, preferring to tend to other customers. 

“you already gave that excuse,” atsumu said, his voice barely above a whisper. he was reliving hell just by sitting there. the memories of the heartbreaking incident were unfolding in his mind—the memories he wanted so badly to suppress. 

it just had to be on valentine’s day of all days. the two of them were invited overseas to partake in a modeling event; they were there for three days and on the last, emma reid got bored and messed up. 

atsumu learned two things that day: first was his girlfriend’s incompetency, and how she resorted to bribery to get acting roles. the next was her disloyalty and how their relationship was a complete lie. it all happened in a single evening. 

the last day of their trip was dedicated to solo activities only. emma had finished her duties early and was free to do whatever she wanted around the city. atsumu, on the other hand, was stuck at a stuffy and formal gathering. people of various reputable statuses were there and atsumu was invited as a guest by a brand he was modeling for. being social and talkative was one of atsumu’s strong suit—but it also led him to discovering a truth he never wanted to know. 

that night, a young man around atsumu’s age approached him with a smile. he was another model that was invited as a guest, and the two got along quickly. then, when the man asked about atsumu’s relationship, atsumu watched as he started to laugh boisterously. apparently he’s worked with her before. the world really was small. 

“oh, but isn’t her family really rich? i heard her dad’s loaded! looks like he dotes on her a lot.” 

“and?” atsumu asked, wondering where the conversation was going. 

“well, i heard she only gets roles and gigs through underhand tactics. y’know, like bribery, using her family’s name and wealth to—“ 

“but you only heard that though. it’s not true, just gossip.” 

he gave atsumu’s arm a playful slap. “hey, man! stop hurting my feelings, i have lots of connections so i know everything that happens in that industry. it’s fucking twisted honestly,” the young man laughed again. “i heard a director talking about it once, so my suspicions are cleared. do you want another dri—“

by then, his words were already drowned out by atsumu’s racing thoughts. his mind was engaged in a futile debate, but he already knew what was true and what wasn’t. atsumu was slowly piecing together all the coincidences during the time they filmed with director sage. he was always so distraught by her for no apparent reason; he was also much harsher on her compared to the others in the main cast. he was more displeased, more spiteful of the film despite it becoming a large success. connect that with everything else and a complete puzzle was formed. 

atsumu was too lovesick to see anything at the time. he was too convinced and blinded by her geniality to notice her hateful schemes. still, this was something the two of them could overcome… they could talk about it, resolve things, and he could help her become better. 

but could he? would his conscience allow it? would he be able to sleep soundly knowing he was with someone who stole opportunities from others? 

the rest of the event was a blur. when everything ended, atsumu rushed back to his hotel room, clinging onto the diminishing hope that everything would work out—that the two of them would still be okay after this. then, he saw someone leaving the shared hotel room: a man atsumu was sure he’d seen on one of the city’s billboards. the attractive man faltered when he saw atsumu in the hallway, and atsumu felt his world falling apart. 

a million assumptions ran through his mind and he reached the door in hurried steps, bypassing his girlfriend’s accomplice completely. the sight of her naked on their shared bed had said enough—said everything. 

clothes on the floor, crumpled sheets, tangled hair. all atsumu could do was whisper her name in crushing anguish. he stood there as she fumbled to shield herself with the blanket, shame overriding her previous smiling expression. she’d been caught. she’d messed up. 

he watched as she clothed herself, a swarm of emotions rushing through his veins. he swallowed his heartbreak and bore his defenses. he needed to prepare himself for the next few agonizing minutes. 

at first, he was calm. perhaps a bit shaken up, but he’d just returned back from an exhausting event. the collar of his dress shirt was digging into his skin, and he feared he didn’t have enough energy to argue. 

emma—beautiful and serene, the one person atsumu confidently loved with his whole being—sat in front of him avoiding eye contact. she didn’t say anything; she didn’t even apologize. the gesture made atsumu question their whole relationship. 

through her silence, atsumu found his strength to speak up. defend himself. he inevitably triggered a tug of war, a painful back and forth between him and her. both were persistent and defensive, becoming increasingly inflamed with anger.

their words sharpened into blades that pierced one another’s hearts at different angles. atsumu continued to sit while emma stood with ire surging through her body. she was on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by his barrage of accusations and questions directed at their relationship. 

did she even love him? did she even care about their future? about him? what was he to her? 

then, atsumu brought up her bribery and her facade instantly cracked. she didn’t give him any honest answers. the only thing that increased with her excuses were his sighs. so this was how they were going to end things. 

caught in the heat of the moment, emma admitted that atsumu was only a publicity stunt to her. she’d only dated him for more recognition and immersion into the acting industry. his good looks and charms were only a bonus. she’d said out of spite, hoping to hurt his feelings, and it’d accomplished just that. 

it was done: their relationship, their future, everything. 

atsumu moved past emma to pack his belongings. he’ll get a new hotel room and flight tickets; he’ll get to see his brother again, maybe even visit rin in his studio, or just invite all three of them (omi if he’s not too busy) to play beach volleyball. yeah, he’ll be fine. everything will go back to normal when he lands in tokyo again. 

then, emma grabbed onto his arm. she begged him to keep everything a secret—to have the faintest sympathy towards her. if emma’s cheating schemes were exposed to the public, even her family’s wealth wouldn’t be enough to calm down the media. her bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks had convinced him. while he might’ve been in love with a facade this whole time, he’d still experienced happiness. she’d kept him content and smiling for two years; keeping this a secret was the least he could do. 

however, if he was going to do this, she needed to agree to his conditions as well. peace was all he wanted and he’d set up the agreement with it in mind. 

back in the cafe, emma continued to insist on a false reality: “atsumu, honestly, i didn’t know!” 

he saw her tapping finger and felt something ugly and twisted wrap around his tattered heart. he felt regret for ever comparing you to her. clearly, you were far greater and more special than emma will ever be. he truly wished her the worst. 

“we’re finished here. i don’t ever want to see you again; i know how precious your reputation is to you.” he stood from his seat, his sudden action surprising the nearby weary staff members. “oh, and, stop with your stunts, they’re embarrassing. you should know better than to drag rin into this. he hates your guts as much as i do, maybe even more.” 

“what?” she craned her head upwards to stare at him. “but he always waves back when i see him in the studio. he… smiles sometimes too.” 

“here’s the nice thing about rin: he’s not an actor but he can still lie. did you know he tells us everything behind your back? he always has a good laugh, saying how stupid you are.”

“he—!” 

“go buy some acting classes with your dad’s money for god’s sake. you have so much at least put it to good use.”

atsumu didn’t wait to see her reaction. he left the cafe immediately, calling for a taxi home.

masterlist ⌒☆ previous ⌒☆ next

fun facts:

atsumu was able to hang out with osamu, rin, and omi when he got back to tokyo. however, he fell into long periods of stagnation afterwards, finding it difficult to stop thinking about emma and their previous life together. it ultimately led to his year long hiatus.

the cafe staff members were lowkey eavesdropping, but they were completely clueless about what was happening. they're just teenagers trying to get a paycheck, someone help them. all they knew was that the girl messed up and the blond guy was right (as they should!).

please join the emma hate group along with me, atsumu, jolie, and rin (there are probably more members we hate this girl)

emma actually fumbled. why would you cheat on atsumu in the first place, please!!

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE! ｡ｏ♡ an atsumu miya smau

synopsis: when y/n l/n, a rising actress, decides to star in a romance film that could make or break her career, she’s unable to showcase her skills, revealing her inexperience within the romance department instead. worst of all, atsumu miya, her co-star and the main lead’s love interest, seems to hate her guts! with absolutely, unbearably zero chemistry between the two, an idea was proposed: spend time with one another in the upcoming weeks. will y/n be able to ignore her professionalism and listen to her heart? and will she, a clueless romantic, be able to pick up on the signs her co-star is sending her?

a/n: idk if my writing is inconsistent pls tell me if it is actually no actually yeah. hmmm anyways act 3 guys !!!

taglist is open! dm or ask to be a part of it! (those bolded were unable to be tagged)

⌒☆ @kqbukimono @empathum @clyver @chosoluv @oceansfloor @sunarots @marga-j @rukia-uchiha-98 @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @rintarousgirl @ast4rg1rl @seiamor @saiewithakatana @usermins @literally-a-ferret @terrarain @iuspired @haruskatana @wolffmaiden @ris-krispie @vellichxrr6782 @animenaces-world @reignsaway @emii4evr @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @yuminako @tojirin @v3nusplanetofluv @vyvixen @secondary-character-25 @tenjikusstuff4 @444choso @mylahrins @deimmortales99 @hisfuture @staywhelmed8801 @dl-yum @nessaasstuff @milesmoralesluvs @101tsumu @ryeyeyer @cherrypieyourface @azharyy @mimi3lover @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @dazball @whykirbo

[bethecliche]

family dinner l vincent renzi x f!original character

summary: your kids don't want to eat your food and vincent comes to the rescue word count: 2.6k content: female reader, no mention of skin color, hair or apparence, no use of y/n, maternity, food, kids being kids note: a short and quickly made story to thank you all for "my love mine all mine" good reception! omg 100 notes what a honor!!! from now on, word count will only increase :')

The table was set, but there were still two things left for dinner to be complete, one of which was Brigitte's food choice.

“My sweetie pie, would you rather have carrot or potato?” She asked the beautiful baby girl on her lap, pointing to the two options inside the kitchen cabinet. The baby, who had her head resting on her mother's shoulder, quickly stood up with interest in the bright colors inside the cabinet and was ready to stretch her hand to try to pull something out.

“It's too heavy for you, Brie. If you try to pick it up, you’ll drop it on the floor and make a mess for mommy to clean.” The mother warned, kinda hoping that her daughter would understand and stop reaching out to grab everything she saw in front of her, which didn't happen. Brigitte was in a pointing at everything phase and loved to knock things out, specially the ones that break.

With her eyes shining, the baby now bounced in her arms, excited as she recognized the jars in front of her as her baby food.

“Gu.” She tried to say, still pointing forward at the cabinet, but now looking at her mother, hoping she would understand what she was saying.

And she understood, just as she understood all of her daughter's almost words. “That’s it, my love. Food!" The older one repeated correctly so that Brigitte could repeat and learn. “Say it again: food. Fooood.”

But the baby was not interested in learning to talk, she was hungry and continued to push her weight towards the closet. Not wanting to take more long with it, her mother gave up and decided that Brie chose the potato flavor since that was the direction she pointed to. She placed the baby in her high chair and started to feed her.

Not long after the third spoonful, her restlessness began again and her pointing habit returned. She was completely uninterested in the spoon in front of her face and kept pointing to her brother's plate at the other side of the table.

“You can’t eat that, it’s your brother’s. Babies like you drink milk and eat baby food.” Mom said, pushing the spoon closer to her face.

But Brie wasn't caring about her food anymore. She was hungry but for the only thing she couldn’t eat: her brother’s food.

“You wanted it two minutes ago! How can you change so quickly?” Said her mom trying to laugh at the situation. The baby just kept trying to leave the high chair to crawl the table while the mom kept putting her down. “Can’t you eat at least two more spoons? For me?”

She tried to bargain, however Brie didn’t care.

“Baaaa.” Babbled the baby, in her way of saying “brother” and showing again her desire to whatever he was eating. But luckily for Brie, at that moment her mother noticed her son and how he was not eating too.

Little Vincent's plate was also full, even though she had put it down more than 10 minutes ago, right before looking for Brie’s food at the cabinet. The little boy was always the first to finish, looking forward to the rule that he could only eat dessert after cleaning his plate. Now, even with a pudding (something he loves) waiting to be devoured, he didn't want to eat the main plate.

“Vinnie, your food it’s getting cold.” She pointed out, turning towards her son to also give him attention. “Is there something wrong?”

“I do not like this.” The 4 year old said in a soft voice, almost embarrassed to speak out loud and upset his mother.

The woman, not understanding, insisted. “It’s made from cheese. You like cheese!"

“But I don’t like this one.” He pushed the plate away lightly and placed his little elbows on the table, frustrated, probably understanding that he won’t be able to eat pudding today.

“But I've never made soufflé before and you didn't touch the food. How do you know you don’t like it?”

“It looks ugly so I don’t like it.” He said pouting.

“Baby, it doesn’t look ugly!” She gave an uncomfortable laugh, not wanting to belittle her own creation, but she understood that it was paler and smaller than it really should be. “At least not that ugly.”

The front door opened before she could say something and the second thing missing from dinner appeared. Vincent entered quickly, leaving his coat and briefcase on a table next to the front door. He looked very tired and sweaty, but he kept a smile on his face for his family.

“Hello, reasons for my happiness.” That was the first thing he said as he approached the dinner table. He squeezed Brie's cheeks, gaining a smile with her little baby teeth from her and her arms thrown in his direction, asking to be picked up, which he couldn't resist to say no.

“Daddy!” Said little Vinnie, leaving the table and his sad face to hug his father's leg.

“Hey, champ.” With his free arm, Vincent got his son up too, kissing his forehead and shaking him a bit to get some giggles, putting him down again. Now for his wife, he gave her a quick kiss on the lips (gaining a “bleh” sound from their son) and sat down in front of her.

“Sorry for being late for dinner. You won’t believe the case that came to me today. I had to drive to meet a friend and… Well, I won’t talk about the details in front of the kids.”

She gave him a weak but happy smile, looking a little tired but trying not to dampen the mood. “It’s okay. We kinda just started.”

She started to put her food down on her plate, since Vincent arrived and could help her with the kids.

Already noticing there was something wrong, he continued on to a subject that might please her. “What did you do for dinner today, babe?” Even with everything on the table, he asked his wife to answer, as she loved talking about her attempts in the kitchen.

Most of the days, Vincent was the one cooking at home and she only made the most basic parts or simplest foods. Her husband has always been a handyman in the kitchen and prepared one thing tastier than another. Often, he would make some preparations on the weekend so that they could eat for the rest of the week, but as his work schedule was busy that month, his wife tried to cook something new to make his life easier.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t known for her cooking skills and that’s why Vincent took care of that part.

But after becoming a mom, she decided she wanted to cook more for her children and today’s experience was not the best.

“Soufflé au fromage. My mom called today and we talked about things I liked when I was a kid and after finding out what soufflé was, I wanted to eat it everyday, all the time. So I decided to make one for us.” Said sitting on the table again.

“Aw, that’s really sweet of you, babe. I didn’t know that.” He stretched forward to hold his wife’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. “But why do I feel there’s something wrong?”

She sighed, throwing herself back and pretending to melt on her seat. “Your kids.”

“What did my little rascals do? ‘Cause they’re only mine if they’re bad behaving.” Vincent said with a teasing smile, managing to get a grin from her too.

No matter how frustrated she could get in any type of situation, Vincent never needed to say or do much to make her forget her problems. His jokes or reassuring words always made her believe she could get out of any bad mood. That’s kind of his thing.

“I’m starting to believe they are plotting against me.”

“No, they would never plot against you without inviting me.” He jokingly said, giving her hand another squeeze and smiling at her. “Let’s start with this cute baby here. What’s the problem?”

“She forgot her teeths are still little and wants to eat the soufflé she can’t have.”

Vincent started to shake his leg up and down to bounce the baby, who began to giggle happily.

“That’s always a thing with her, huh? But that’s the secret. She always wants something she can’t have.” He proceeded to reach for the baby food in her seat and put it in front of them on the table. He filled the spoon the most he could and pretended to eat, opening his mouth and passing the spoon right next to his cheek. “So good. Let me get more.”

It didn't take long for this to attract the little girl's attention and she began to pull her father's arm, interested in what he was doing.

One spoonful after another, Brie was completely interested in finishing her meal and Vincent placed her back in her baby seat to move on to the other question.

“You make it seem so easy.” Said his wife in disbelief, still shocked with his efficiency to solve the problem.

“You deal with worse situations than this all day. That’s nothing.”

With their one year old in diapers and their four year old potty training, he could only imagine how her day went being a stay home mom. 

At this point, Vincent got up from his chair and went in direction to his son, picking him up from his seat and showering him with kisses. “What about this young gentleman here? Huh?”

“I’m innocent.” Said Vinnie making one of his cutest faces to appeal to his father, who just laughed along.

“That’s something a bad guy would say.” Replied the lawyer.

Brie was a very predictable girl. She is curious, likes to investigate the house and poke at everything in front of her, so assuming that she would want something "forbidden" was easy. Vinnie was a different story. When he puts his foot down, he won't change for anything. He also knows his parents are light hearted and usually goes along with his wishes.

“He also refuses to eat.”

“But I don’t like it!” Vinnie stated with a sullen face.

“Have you tried?” Vincent asked his son, to which Vinnie replied shaking his head no. “Then you don’t know what you’re missing! Soufflés are actually very good, especially the type your mom made. You’ll never know if you don’t try it.”

“Then I’ll never know.” The little boy shrugged.

Mrs. Renzi couldn’t resist but burst into a laugh, not believing what the 4 year old was saying. “He got your sharp tone.” Said pointing to Vincent, who provoked her by sticking out his tongue.

Vincent took the spoon and tried to feed the kid too, earning grunts and "no's" from him. “You’re growing and you need to eat to be big and strong! Just like your dad.”

“Can’t I just eat beef? I like beef. I don’t want to like anything else.”

This case was lost and the only thing he could do was accept it. Vincent looked at his wife, who just shrugged, satisfied that at least they got 1-2.

“It’s okay, we won’t insist anymore. But mommy worked hard to prepare this meal, be grateful for her efforts.”

Vincent released the child, who ran towards his mother and apologized for his behavior, promising he wouldn't do it again. “Sorry again, mommy.”

“It’s okay, my baby. I’m not mad.”

She made a move to get up, with the idea that she would make the steak for her son, but Vincent put her down, kissing her forehead and assuring her that he would take care of it.

“Let me do it. You need to relax a bit. Finish your food.”

Once again, she picked up her fork and now could finally eat.

-

After the difficult dinner, the Renzi family sat in the living room to finally enjoy dessert. Lucky for them, the pudding had come straight from the market and the woman had no involvement in its preparation.

For family time, they watched Frédéric Anton scolding the Masterchef chefs for their mistakes. A very educational program for them.

“It was terrible, wasn’t it?” She asked Vincent as soon as he sat down, kinda already knowing the answer. Vincent took a little more to eat since he had to prepare a different dish for his son and at that point, his wife was already cleaning Brie in the bathroom, so she couldn’t see his face eating the food first hand.

He wrapped his arm around his wife, shaking his head. “It’s not terrible. I would never use that world.” 

“Then you love it?”

“Love, love…” He looked away with a small smile on his face, a little unsure of what to say. “Love I only have for you.”

Rubbing herself a little closer to Vincent's embrace, she felt the response was enough. “Good answer. I’ll let it slide.”

The two were finally having a moment together (with Brie off to the side drinking a milk bottle and Vinnie distracted by the television and the pudding, sitting on the floor). Vincent kissed her cheek and then her mouth, hugging her body against his and finally enjoying the warmth of her body. She also couldn't resist his touch and her body was completely relaxed, feeling light and untroubled to be next to him.

But they had children, so it couldn’t last long, of course.

“Mommy, I want to eat that.” Vinnie pointed to the television that was showing this week’s challenge, which was a carbonara dish made from scratch. He jumped up and down, excited “Mommy, can we eat this pasta tomorrow? Please, please, please!”

“I bet your dad knows how to do it.” She replied to take away her responsibility for this work. “How about asking daddy to prepare it? Tomorrow is his day off, he will have time to cook this for us.”

“We can prepare together, like the chefs on television. Look!” He pointed once again to the TV and ran to the sofa, jumping between his parents. “It'll be fine, won't it? If we do it together…”

It was his way to say again that he was sorry for not liking her food and how he had hope for her cooking skills. She felt relieved and really loved, with Vincent by her side also giving her support. There was no plot against her, after all.

“Sorry again, mommy. I like your food sometimes.”

“I can sleep with that.” Said jokingly.  “Okay, we’ll do it.”

Little Vincent offered her a well accepted hug, followed by big Vincent joining too. She already anticipated that it would not go right on her part and carbonara would turn into carburnara, but to have her children and husband next to her, believing she could do it, she felt like she could make a thousand mistakes, ‘cause they would still be there waiting for another try.

“I can't wait to try this dish.” Vincent said out loud.

“No, daddy. I said I want to eat so it's just for me. You’ll only help because you’re an adult. Stated the young boy.

“You won’t give me even a small, small piece?” Vincent asked, pretending disbelief.

“No!” Vinnie said laughing and running across the sofa to get to Brigitte, now on his mother's lap. “Maybe I'll share it with Brie because she's cute. But only with her.”

Vincent, offended by his son's selfishness, started tickling him and his wife took the opportunity to tickle Brie too, leaving the room filled with laughter.

Food really brought people together. Especially the Renzi family.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A theory i have is that the reason Malleus isn't able to find the group sometimes when they go to a different dream, is because his dream self doesn't EXIST in the said dream. Don't you find it weird, the whole time MC, Grim and Dia-boys where in Lilia dream, no Malleus appeared BUT when dream baby Malleus is born then POOF here he is ? Take the pomefiore dream for example, no dream Malleus so no IRL Malleus. His dream selves are probably like gps or something to naviguate in Dreams -sarah

That’s… not a theory though 😅 The game essentially confirms that the Malleus is likely not capable of manifesting in a dream unless the circumstances of the dream are something he is reasonably familiar with. This is because magic in Twisted Wonderland is reliant on the limits of one’s imagination.

Because Lilia’s dream largely takes place in a period of time Malleus himself is not informed about, Malleus is not able to imagine it, and thus cannot appear yntil his own egg hatches. With that birth, Malleus now has a presence (ie “an understanding”) that allows him to enter the dream. It should also be noted that Malleus was keeping a close eye on Lilia’s dream in particular, since that’s someone he is close with—so naturally, when Lilia begins to “wake”, Malleus barges in using his new opening (his freshly hatched self) to fix things.

How Malleus’s UM works exactly is really dubious, so we can only guess the details. However, Idia tells us that while the “real” Malleus may be the boss that oversees everything, there also are many dream versions of Malleus that manage each individual dreamer.

Doesn’t that imply that there has to be a Malleus for every dream (and if not all of them, then surely most of them)? We probably just don’t see them in all instances because he isn’t a relevant character for the happiness of most of the NRC students (or, in the case of Vil, Kalim, and Jamil), they’re not at NRC in their dream worlds. There must still be Malleuses lurking around making sure the dreams are okay, and perhaps to serve as a point of entry for the “real” one. (… Still, it’s sort of funny yet sad to think about how many NRC students’ perfectly happy ideal worlds do not involve Malleus in any way, shape, or form.)

There’s a bunch of hoops the wake up squad has to jump through to not alert Malleus of their dream hopping. Ortho has to project holograms of the dreamers to trick the Malleuses overseeing their dreams into believing everything is going smoothly. They have to limit how many students can dream hop at once, because too many bodies could also tip Malleus off. Etc, etc, etc—it’s a lot of contrivances and rules. It’s like tying to tiptoe through a field you know is rigged with tons of booby traps.

I think their strategy seems to be working…? Cuz none of the Malleuses seem to have noticed to the degree where they would alert the real one to come in and stomp out the pests. So to me, Malleus not showing up doesn’t feel like the result of there being no Malleuses in those dream worlds to connect through. It’s more like he never got told in the first place that there’s an issue to be resolved.

Arguably, it should be a easier for Malleus to pull up to these dreams since they mostly take place in the present, a time period he can more easily imagine than 500 years in the past (Lilia’s dream). Some of the dreams (Idia’s, Rook’s, Epel’s, Sebek’s) take place AT Night Raven College too, a location Malleus is very familiar with as a third year student. If you want to count events (even though technically they are not canon to the main story), Malleus has also already visited the Scalding Sands in A Firelit Sky. Thus, he shouldn’t have trouble visiting Jamil’s dream either. Malleus isn’t chasing them because the game reasons that Idia’s “let’s keep Malleus distracted/keep him from noticing us!” plan is working.

bfkwvwiwkw I hope that made sense! Talking about Malleus’s dubiously defined dream magic always makes me get confused since it’s juggling a lot of details 💦

[pearlessance]

Dig Two Graves - Idle Threats [vii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel relives the worst moment of his life and finally reads your journal.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI (no smut in this part, but in almost every other in the series), brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, angst, canon typical violence, joel and reader fight the rat king, reader has an added backstory to progress the plot

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

There’s a certain sort of amazement in your horror. Joel watches you take everything in—watches you sift through trashed rooms, taking what hasn’t already been picked over. Scalpels, expired vitamins, and gauze all wind up in your pockets or your backpack.

You only encounter two clickers on the main floor, and they likely wandered in through the bomb-sized hole that’s been blown through the side of the hospital. 

He thought you were quick with the bow of yours, but it’s nothing compared to how lethal you are with that sawback knife. Before you even make it to the second floor, there’s blood splattered on your cheek and a murderous glint in your eye. When you take down the second clicker and turn to see him with his rifle raised, you draw a new, crystal clear rule. “We don’t use bullets unless we absolutely have to. We don’t use guns unless we have to. The less noise we make here the better.”

“‘Course,” he says.

But you narrow your eyes at him, unrelenting. “I’m serious, Joel. I’ll tell you when I need help. If you fire that thing every infected in this place will be on us in a second.”

He almost hears the echo of his own voice in your words. It makes him smile. There’s a sign hanging above the stairwell. Joel nods to it and says, “You got that list of stuff you need for Maria? Can probably find most of it in the labor and delivery wing. Third floor.” 

You nod in agreement and find the scrap of paper you’ve kept safely stored these last few days. It’s crinkled but still legible, the smeared ink list covering both front and back. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

There are spores on the third floor. Joel helps you secure your mask, tightening it maybe a little too tightly, and can’t help but smile to himself as you look up at him through the clear glass over your eyes. You look so innocent, so sweet—and he might die today and so he says, “You’re so beautiful, baby. You know that?”

You shove his shoulder playfully and scoff at his compliments, but your cheeks turn a shade of crimson he’s never seen before and he knows it’s gotten to you. “Shut up.”

The two of you slink through the halls on the third floor, and at this point, Joel feels like you’ve gotten too lucky on this trip. There haven't been any bad moments, any close calls. And you find a quarter of your list in just one room behind the nurse's station that Joel has to break into with brute force. But it works, and he tries not to think about how everything on the list for Maria had been easily accessible. 

He’s still bitter about this whole trip, in truth. Joel’s glad to have this time with you, glad to have gotten to know the most hidden parts of you. It’s all made him understand you better, made him see who you really are beneath the bratty facade you wear.

You’re different out here. And not just because of the inherent danger that comes with being outside the walls. You’re different with Joel. And he knows it’s likely because your rigid exterior has kept everyone else in Jackson from getting too close to you. Everyone except Maria.

Joel wonders if she knows how lucky she is, how fortunate someone like you has decided to love Jackson as much as its creator. Because if it were him, if it were Ellie in your position, Joel would never let her lift another finger for Maria even if she begged on her knees. You’re worth more than this. Your life matters beyond what you can provide. 

And he vows to remind Maria of it the moment the two of you return. He promises to put an end to this parasitic relationship formed between the two of you.

“Hey,” you say. “Look.” You pull something from a drawer behind the nurse's station. It’s an old folded paper, yellowed around its edges.

It’s a map of the hospital. Joel stands beside you, so close he can feel the heat of your body through the sleeve of his flannel. He scans the map briefly, taps his middle and index finger against the lowest level labeled operations. “That’s where we can find the rest,” he says.

“How do you know?” 

He doesn’t. Not for certain. “Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were always stocked with supplies, oxygen tanks, stuff like that. There was a cart full of things for anesthesia. Could be someplace else but it’s likely there. Maybe secured in some closet or somethin’ down there.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. He watches your profile, savoring the sight, watches you gnaw on your bottom lip. He can tell you’re nervous. He is, too. 

Joel presses a kiss against your hairline. “We’re gonna make it back home,” he says. But he can’t promise it, even though he wants to. 

Something is weighing on you. Your eyes are far away, misty. He wants to prod for answers but knows better. “Yeah. We will. Let’s go.”

The north stairwell past the third flood is blocked by rubble and debris, likely caused by the explosion from the bombings.

You end up doubling back, winding through the hallways down to the lobby and to the opposite side of the hospital. The south side of the building is in better shape but must have been where the quarantine rooms for Casper began because the infected are everywhere. A dozen clickers roam the halls, some hidden between solid steel doors or plastic sheets to section off makeshift rooms.

Thankfully, the task of eradication proves relatively easy. Until the last three, anyway. 

Joel’s crouched low, knife in hand, stalking slowly behind a clicker with fresh blood on its mangy shirt when a test tube shatters beneath his boot. 

The infected turns its head and lets out an ear piercing screech, gathering the attention of the other three clickers left. They descend upon him, and Joel is readying himself to jam his knife through the head of whichever one’s closest—but then he hears your voice. 

“Hey! Hey, over here!” 

And all three of them change course. You’re like a magnet drawing in death. Joel feels everything slow in an instant. 

It’s like he’s right back in that capitol building, leaving Tess behind as if she meant nothing. And Joel had never told her otherwise because he’d been too afraid of caring and losing. But then came you, who obliterated all of his defenses and wriggled your way into his worm-eaten heart anyway. 

And yet somehow Joel ends up in the same predicament. 

He abandons his knife altogether in favor of his rifle. He looks through the scope, aims, and the shot echoes off the hospital walls.

You’ve got your knife in the neck of one clicker but it still thrashes in your grip. You just missed the spinal cord—the first time he’s seen you miss any of your strikes. 

It’s too close for him to shoot without potentially hitting you in the process.

The other isn’t, though, and Joel looses another bullet that pierces true. 

He slings his rifle back over his shoulder and he’s only two yards away from you when you stumble backward, losing your balance, the clicker’s strength overpowering yours. 

You’ve got both hands holding its mouth just out of range of your face, knife still stuck in its neck, and Joel’s ears begin to ring.

He doesn’t remember reaching you. He doesn’t remember ripping the clicker off of you and onto the floor. He doesn’t remember shoving the heel of his boot through its softened, decayed skull.

All Joel can recall is the sound of your fearful scream in his ears. 

But when he comes back and the color red bleeds from the edges of his vision, the evidence is there. The infected brain matter has splashed across the white tile and his boot is covered in blood and gore. 

Your chest is heaving when he turns to look at you. You’re still sitting on the floor, arms stretched out behind you as you try and fail to catch your breath.

His voice is calm, and steady as he asks, “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

“Me? What about you, Joel? I said no fucking guns!”

He doesn’t know what to expect when you speak. But it certainly isn’t that. “I wouldn’t have had to use it if you didn’t try to get yourself killed,” he says, biting anger in his voice. Residual fear from the clicker, he tells himself. 

But it feels like a lie even in his own head. His fury has nothing to do with the clicker and everything to do with your brush with death, Joel knows.

“I told you if I needed help I would say so! I had it!”

Joel leans down and plucks your bloody knife from the dead clicker’s neck and hands it to you. “Did you? Cause it didn’t look like it from here.”

You push yourself to your feet furiously. “Yes, I did! And I don’t need you making decisions like that on a whim! It’s too goddamn dangerous out here. What happened to my run, my fucking rules? Hm? What about that?”

He’s never seen you this angry before. Even with Maria, you’d been more lax. It doesn’t bother him, though—because he’s just as furious. “A whim?” He scoffs. “You wanna talk about rash decisions? Alright—what about that stunt you pulled that got you into this mess in the first place? Yelling’ and hollerin’ like some banshee in the middle of a bunch of clickers and for what?”

“What was I supposed to do, Joel? Let them swarm you, kill you? Are you delusional? I—!”

He closes the space between you and takes your arm between his fingers, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Whatever you’d meant to say, whatever insult you’d had full intentions of hurling at him, lodges itself and stays stuck in your throat. “Don’t you ever do somethin’ like that again, you hear me?”

“What am I doing, then? Protecting you? Oh, sorry! I guess that’s my bad!” You raise your bloody hands in mock surrender. “Next time I should let them tear you apart, is that it?”

“Next time you don’t put yourself between me and a threat,” he says firmly. “I don’t care if it’s a clicker or the barrel of a gun. Your life fucking matters.”

You flinch as if he’d struck you in the face. It takes you a minute to come back from it, to gather yourself enough to respond. But the moment a crease forms between your brows Joel can sense a coming argument, and he cuts it down before giving you a chance to breathe life into it. 

“It matters,” he says again. “It might not to you, but it does to Ellie, to Tommy, to everyone in that town.” He doesn’t say Maria’s name, but he knows you mean something to her just as well. His voice cracks as he admits, “You matter to me.”

You search his face frantically, trying to find a lie when there isn’t one. He watches tears well that refuse to fall, watches your throat bob as you swallow down that fight in you. Your silence speaks volumes to him. 

Still, it’s not enough to settle the fear that’s curdled in his gut. “Promise me,” he says. “Promise me you’ll never do something stupid like that again.”

It takes a moment, but then you relent. “Okay. Okay, I promise.”

Joel releases his hold on your arm, and as his panic begins to subside, it’s replaced with urgency. He wants to get out of here, to make it back to Jackson. He wants to move all of your things into his two story colonial, wants to see you writing in that journal of yours on the porch while he sits beside you and strums his guitar. He wants to see you wearing nothing but his tshirt, padding barefoot into the kitchen while the moonlight streams in through the window. He wants to see you laughing with Ellie over a strawberry scone, wants the subtle sound of your breathing to lull him to sleep in the comfort of his bed. 

He wants to live.

As if you’d read his mind, you say, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with, I’m ready to go home.”

The south side of the hospital, while in better shape than the north, was still affected by the bombings. The descent proves treacherous, and more than once Joel has to hand you his rifle while he lowers himself down a steep drop in the rubble. When it’s your turn to climb down, he takes his rifle in addition to your bow and quiver, and stretches his arms out to ensure your safe drop. 

It must look much more daunting for you, he thinks. You move slowly, carefully, wiggling the heels of your boots between the unwavering stones.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, and gives a low grunt when you push yourself off the rubble slope and stumble into his waiting arms.

Once you’re on the lowest level of the hospital, you’re able to navigate through the building from the crumbled but still legible directories posted on the wall.

Your feet are silent as you round every corner carefully, an arrow knocked the whole time. Joel trails behind you, rifle poised against his shoulder, finger a hair's breadth away from the trigger.

The two of you clear the hallway that consists of only two runners—and it raises a bit of a red flag when you realize they’ve been infected fairly recently. You slaughter them both with your knife silently and send him a weary look over your shoulder. Joel knows, even though neither of you speak, that you’re thinking the same thing he is. 

What killed them?

But you discover nothing remaining in the hall. And the first operating room you investigate proves fruitful. Joel clicks on the flashlight tied to the strap of his backpack and closes the door behind him. “There,” he whispers, pointing to the cart behind the operating table. “An anesthesia cart.”

Unease creeps up his spine because this trip has been made easy. Too easy. But the cart has everything you need, and he’s not in a place to question the hand of God. Not anymore.

You place your bag on the floor between your feet and begin rifling through the cart’s contents. Joel watches you place viles, needles, surgical tubes, and a container of some sort of compressed gas all into your bag. Twice you have to readjust its contents to fit more into it. And when you’re finished, he switches you and lets you fill his just as full.

It doesn’t take long until everything on your list has been crossed off twice. You’re placing one last glass vile into his bag, trying to wiggle it into the pocket on the side. But you fail, and the vile slips through your fingers, shattering on the concrete floor. 

That’s the first time he hears it. 

A feral, angry sort of screech—deafening in the hospital’s silence. 

Joel’s eyes find yours, and he wonders if the terror on your face is reflected on his, too.

It’s a foreign sound. Not runners or clickers or bloaters—and Joel has absolutely no interest in making a new discovery. He tightens his hand around his rifle and nods towards the door. 

But the two of you don’t make it more than three feet before the wall standing between you and safety erupts into pieces, revealing the most monstrous thing Joel has seen in all his life.

It’s a massive, fleshy creature, and before the dust even settles he can see not one or two faces but four—bodies all held together by overgrown masses of cordyceps.

Joel can feel the icy fingers of death wrapping around his neck. He has only his rifle and your sure-fired arrows, both of which don’t have nearly enough ammunition for his liking. He knows, sure as rain, that he’s not getting out of this alive. 

But that doesn’t mean you have to die here. 

“Stay behind me,” he orders. “I’m going to clear a path—distract it, you go around and get out that door.”

He knows you’ll fight him on it but Joel doesn’t give you the chance. He aims for one of the heads and pulls the trigger. 

The creature wails and thrashes and charges forward blindly, teeth gnashing in the air. 

Joel fires again, but it barely registers. The first bullet seems to have made it somehow more lethal, movements harsh and angry. 

He realizes you’ve completely ignored his direction and instead have saddled up to his side, bow in hand with an arrow knocked. “You’ll have to shoot me, Joel,” you say over the clamor, and it makes his stomach turn. And then again, “If you want me to leave this place without you, you’re gonna have to shoot me.”

You’re not bluffing, he realizes when you loose your arrow and it buries itself deep within the creature’s mangled form. He needs you safe, he needs you out of here, far away from this place. Joel turns his rifle towards you, heart hammering behind his ribcage. He tries not to think about the way your eyes widen as he turns and aims for your thigh. 

But before he can pull the trigger the monstrous things charges towards the both of you. Joel surges to the left, pushing you out of harm's way and narrowly missing the onslaught himself. 

In a second you're back on your feet with another arrow whizzing through the air, piercing true. In that moment you remind him a little of Tess, and the thought crosses his mind that she would have adored you but he can’t linger in it long. Joel raises his gun and empties his magazine into the mass of infected.

He reloads and empties another. The creature slows but doesn’t stop and Joel begins to panic at the rapidly dwindling amount of ammunition. His heart is beating so fast that he worries it might burst. His palms are perspiring, sliding against the cold metal of his gun. 

“Joel!” Your voice cuts through the fog in his brain. “You think you can distract it for a minute?”

“I got it,” he says. He kicks the hospital bed in the center of the room and the mass of infected turns its gruesome head. He fires again and again and again, aiming for the several heads stuck between clumps of cordyceps.

He can’t see you but he can hear you fumbling with things on the anesthesia cart, can hear the soft click of a lighter through the cacophony. And then your sweet voice. 

“Hey, asshole!” An arrowhead drenched in blue flame flies through the air, landing true right in the creature’s center. 

It lets out a wail of agony, stumbles, and then charges towards you. 

Joel sees you falter, watches you become a deer in the headlights in real time. It reminds him so much of the look on Sarah’s face when she witnessed Joel’s first kill in their front room when Jimmy Cooper broke through the glass door; frightened, terrified. His chest pulls tight. 

He empties another round into its head, distracting it just long enough for you to come back to reality, to knock another arrow, light it, and release.

It takes every last one of your fiery arrows and all but six of Joel’s bullets before the creature falls to the floor in a mass of blood and flesh and fungus. 

He slings his rifle over his shoulder and tries to catch his breath, tries to accept the impossible reality before him. 

You’re alive. Alive, and safe, and he is too. It’s the first time in a long time Joel has felt this happy, this elated. His eyes connect with yours and you’re covered in blood splatter and grime but he thinks you’ve never looked so beautiful as the moment that pretty smile stretches wide across your face. 

You laugh, and he does, too. The sound fills the space with warmth and light and love. Joel swims in it, basks in it, savors the moment because it’s the best thing to happen to him in years. 

But then a clicker peels itself from the mass of decay on the floor and it’s on you in a second. 

Your laughter turns to blood-curdling screams, bow clattering to the floor and you tumble right along with it. 

Joel runs to you, shoving any fallen debris that stands in his way.  He angles himself just right, Aims. Shoots. 

The clicker falls limp over you. Your screams stop. Joel thinks his heart does, too. 

You don’t move. Even when he finally manages to get to you and shove the clicker away, your eyes are misty, far away. 

Your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, which is a relief, but you don’t look at him. He places both hands on either side of your face, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re okay,” he says, more for himself than for you. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”

He begins to wonder if he was too late. Maybe you’ve been scratched or bitten or—

That’s when he sees it. The blood covering your shirt, pooled in the center of your belly. And all he can think is not again. 

Please, God, if you’re listening, don’t do this to me again. 

It’s all too familiar. 

And suddenly Joel Miller isn’t in a hospital at all. He’s back in Austin, in the middle of that field, so goddamn close to the highway, so close to freedom. And that blinding light is being shined in his eyes again but this time it’s not his daughter dying in his arms, it’s you.

He must have missed. Must have shot right through the clicker. This is his fault.

Joel peels the wet cotton of your shirt up and doesn’t see any injuries. No scratches, bite marks or bullet wounds. But there’s so much blood it covers his hands now.

“Sarah,” you choke out. 

He freezes, trembling fingers still intertwined in the hem of your blood-soaked shirt.

It doesn’t feel real. You don’t feel real. Joel’s grip on reality is swaying. He must have heard you wrong, right? He must have. 

But then you speak again, voice stronger this time. “My sister’s name was Sarah.”

He says nothing. What can he say, anyway? 

Your eyes are still clouded when you finally look up at him. “Maria doesn’t talk about her. I…I want to, I should. I don’t want to forget her name.” The confession is broken in your mouth, breathless. “Please, Joel. Don’t let me forget her. Don’t let me forget—“

“I won’t,” he says. He swears he’ll circle back, swears to let you talk about this later. Promises it to himself, in fact. But right now he needs to get you to safety, needs to get you far from here. 

He helps pull you to your feet and doesn’t look away from you for more than two seconds while he searches for both abandoned backpacks full of supplies.

Joel carries them both and then wraps a tight arm around your shoulders, half carrying you. The ascent back up to the street takes longer, but he manages. And when you come upon two runners just outside the hospital, Joel wastes them easily even with extra weight on his back. 

It’s not the weight or the runners or the two mile distance between the hospital and the house where you’d stashed your horses and supplies that bother him though. It’s your complete and total silence that does. 

He doesn’t want to make things worse for you. Doesn’t want to get involved if you’re not ready to share. But he can tell something’s weighing heavily on your shoulders and the urge within him to fix it chafes him raw. 

By the time you make it half a mile from the hospital, it begins to rain. It’s a spring rain but still cold enough to make you shiver. Joel gives you his canvas coat, but it doesn’t have a hood. And you’re leaving a murky blood trail with every step you take. He thinks about clearing a house somewhere closer but knows even being away from the horses this long is a risk for thievery.

So, he forces himself to power through it, to watch you suffer silently while he can do nothing. Even though exhaustion is heavy in your bones, on your face, in your heart. And when you do finally arrive back at the house, the ends of your hair are plastered to your neck and the majority of the blood on your clothes has vanished.

He orders you to sit with the horses as he rummages through the bedrooms in search of something warm and dry. Joel returns with a pair of black jeans, an oversized sweater, and two towels to dry you off. “Stand up,” he says. 

And you obey wordlessly, which breaks his heart because he wants to hear some bratty remark, some unhinged comment. But you give him nothing but compliance. 

He strips you of your clothes, uses one towel to dry your skin and the other to ring as much rainwater from your hair as possible. He works slowly, gently. And then he maneuvers your limbs of his own accord, running two fingers over every inch of your bare skin. 

Your voice is broken and you sound so tired as you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Checking for bites,” he explains softly. “Maybe scratches.” He can feel your gaze on the side of his face, but Joel doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with his inspection.  He dresses you in the clothes he found. The jeans are a little tight and the ivory sweater has a moth-eaten hole in the sleeve, but your shivering lessens.

He knows it’s risky, but he breaks apart the crumbling oak dining chair and tosses the wood into the fireplace. He’s already striking a match and trying to light it before you catch onto what he’s doing. 

“No fire,” you tell him, a frantic tone slipping into your voice. It’s the first emotion you’ve shown since the hospital. “Joel, what if someone—?”

“Then I’ll deal with it,” he says, leaving no room for argument. You’re cold, and he has the tools to fix it. What kind of man would he be if he chose not to? 

The fire catches, illuminating the dark room in orange and yellow hues. He doesn’t want to leave you but he does for only long enough to feed the horses, bring them fresh water, and find dry clothes for himself. While sifting through one of the dressers he discovers more than just jeans and a black tshirt, though. 

When he returns to the main room, you’ve moved to sit in front of the fireplace, hands held out in front of the flames.

He moves the rickety old coffee table towards you and sits on the other side of it. “Look what I found,” he says, holding up the set of fifty-two playing cards. They’re no longer shiny and white, weathered and yellowed now with age. But they’ll still serve their purpose. Joel begins to shuffle the deck as he asks, “Is there anything you know how to play?”

You take your hands reluctantly away from the fire and tuck them beneath your legs instead. “Rummy,” you answer quietly. “Maria taught me.”

Joel nods and begins to deal out ten cards to the both of you. He can feel your stare, heavy and weighted, but doesn’t meet it until he’s lifted his cards to observe them. 

He’s got shit for luck. Always has. “Went out to a casino once with Tommy,” he says, smiling fondly at the memory. “Promised myself I’d only spend a hundred bucks but ended up spending double and left with less than fifty cents that night.”

You start a discard pile. Joel picks up your eight of hearts. “I’m okay,” you say. “You don’t need to do…whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

A crease forms between his brows. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“Distracting me,” you tell him, drawing from the stack of cards. “Trying to make me feel better. I’m just saying you don’t have to. I’d tell you if I needed to talk.”

He doesn’t believe it for a second. Because you might have a foul mouth and a habit of thievery but you’re also the most selfless person he’s ever met. You didn’t tell Maria you didn’t want to go on that run for her pregnancy craving, you didn’t tell him you needed him with a clicker trying to tear you apart, you didn’t ask for a fire or dry clothes while you shivered in the dark. Joel Miller doesn’t think you’d say a goddamn word even if you were drowning. “Would you?”

You don’t answer. You discard a three of clubs instead.

Joel discards and draws. He inhales deeply and lets out a slow breath. “You don’t have to do things alone anymore,” he says. “Supply runs, life riskin,’ grief…whatever it is, I’m with you.”

“Even back in Jackson?” There’s disbelief in your tone as you draw a new card. “People are gonna talk, Joel. You said it yourself.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah I did.” He discards his ace of spades. “Turns out, I care less about them and more about you.”

You don’t say anything. Joel wishes so badly that you would give him just an inch of an idea as to what’s going on inside your head. You pick up his discard and get rid of the two of clubs.

“That alright with you?”

“I don’t care about what the people of Jackson think or say about me. I already told you that.”

“I’m not askin’ about them I’m askin’ about you,” he says. Joel wonders how long you’ve been forced to put all your wants and needs aside for them. Long enough that it’s become a habit, even here when it’s just the two of you. 

“What about me?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, which only further proves his point. You discard a nine of hearts.

He picks it up. “I’m old,” he says, discarding his four of clubs. “Got a good fifteen years left in me, twenty if I’m lucky. You gotta whole lot more than that. An’ I don’t live on the exciting side of things much anymore. That really what you want?”

You roll your eyes and Joel feels warmth bloom in his chest at the sight. It’s something. 

“You could die tomorrow and so could I,” you say. “You know that as well as I do. Something as trivial as age doesn’t matter. Maybe it used to, but things are different now.”

He nods contemplatively and draws another card. “That’s true enough.”

“And you won’t ever hear me complaining about monotony,” you say, a little quieter. “Never had much stability. Doesn’t seem like a bad thing to me.”

It’s not meant to provoke sympathy but he feels it anyway. Joel wants to provide that for you more than anything. But he doesn't want to be the kind of man that keeps things from you. He learned his lesson the hard way with Ellie. “My, uh…my daughter. Her name was Sarah, too.” Joel lays his cards down on the table, displaying a perfect ace through king run of hearts.

You don’t even register the fact that he’s won the game. Your cards tremble in your fingers. He knows you won’t speak, so he decides to instead. 

“I think I’ve known for…for quite some time. Just didn’t want to admit it to myself s’all. But the minute you looked at me and said her name?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “When I realized we shared this loss, you and I…that we were…connected somehow—I knew there’d never been another option. No goin’ back. It’s when I knew it without a doubt.”

You lay your hand down this time, a perfect run of spades.

A tie.

“Knew what?”

“That I love you.” It surprises him how easy it feels to say it, how naturally it flows from the tongue.

You tense up, muscles going rigid at his words. He watches the orange flames reflect and flicker in your eyes, watches you hesitate to speak.

He doesn’t expect you to say it back. Doesn’t matter to him whether or not you ever do, in truth. Because he doesn’t love you for what you can provide, he just loves who you are. He just loves you. 

You make a sudden decision and stand to your feet, crossing the room to rummage through your backpack. It takes you a minute, but you finally pull the battered leather journal from the bottom and then you return to your spot. “Goodnight, Joel,” you say, tossing the journal into his lap and lying on your side in front of the fire. “You’ve got the first watch.”

He spends it learning everything about you. The entries are vague, details omitted. But it fills in the gaps left behind by what he already knows. He gets a glimpse of who your Sarah was, and in those entries, he sees bits and pieces of you within her. He sees your distrust of Maria spiral into acceptance and then into attachment, sees your view of Tommy’s arrival and your apprehension to trust him, too. 

He learns that ultimately it was a day you spent on patrol together that his little brother won your faith. Tommy told you all about his sibling he would kill and die for, a conversation that must have struck you deep enough to decide to protect Tommy the same way you protect the whole of Jackson.

One of the older entries shocks him. The first interaction you ever had with Ellie, it seems, was the night after they returned to Jackson when he followed her back to the hospital in Salt Lake City. Joel remembers very vividly how awful he felt back then. And Ellie, it seems, was much the same.

In the entry, you say you find her sitting beneath the willow tree across the street from your home. You find her crying, alone, and so frustrated and confused that she’s barely making sense. You bring her inside, and she confesses all to you. Ellie tells you about the hospital, about how she both loves and hates Joel at that moment. She tells you about her friend Riley, about Marlene and Tess and Sam and Henry. She tells you she’s immune.

And in the next sentence, you make a confession in ink that you would do no differently than Joel had. You say that you would damn everyone else if it meant the safety of this crying girl at your kitchen table, and Joel’s eyes begin to sting the longer he reads. 

You document a run that happened seven years ago in which you made your first human kill at fourteen. You reference it in several other entries as The Dying. It takes Joel until halfway through the journal before he realizes you formulate several things in this dramatic metaphorical way. 

Discovering Jackson is The Finding, you call your bow The Cursor and sometimes refer to Maria as The Director. Your sister’s death is referred to simply as The End.

With less than a quarter of the journal left to read, he finds an entry dated the day before he was assigned to watch duty with you. You refer to yourself as The Wraith, comparing yourself to the dead, to a ghost. You express your longing to be a sibling again, despite that fact never changing even after enduring such a heavy loss. 

And then the next entry, dated the day after your shift in the watchtower, is an almost blank page. In the center, there’s a hand-drawn moth, the only thing within the journal’s entirety drawn in color. Below it, a single word is written.

Joel.

[part six] [part eight]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef

[let me know if you'd like to be added!]

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Let’s assume for a second Meghan has been‘flagged’ as a fixated person or even a person of concern, can they be eligible for IPP? If she has been identified as a concern, can the government simultaneously give her that level of protection and access to intel?

This is all just speculation.

Disclaimer first: This is beyond my knowledge of national security.

Can a fixated person be eligible for IPP? Yes. Because everyone is eligible for IPP.

Would they actually get it? Mm, probably not.

Let’s talk it out.

First, the kind of information that protected people get in this case is information about the security threats against them and details of security plans designed to keep them safe. They wouldn’t be getting information about other protectees unless they’re at the top of the hierarchy (like say Charles or William) or the other protectee is their minor child because the compartmentalization of whereabouts and security plans is part of the safety plan.

Could a fixated person extrapolate the knowledge from their security plans to make educated guesses about someone else’s plans? Yes, they could. So that’s a risk that would be taken into consideration while determining someone’s IPP status.

But by and large the issue with fixated people (as I understand it) is not access to information but access to the person of their fixation. Which is why security exists in the first place. As long as there’s a degree of separation and security - and there would be between Meghan and Kate because Kate is the Princess of Wales and that comes with a totally different security posture than, say, the Duchess of Edinburgh - that’s really all that’s necessary. The security posture could change if the fixated IPP is in the same room, for instance like at the Platinum Jubilee service of thanksgiving where William and Kate sat in the front row of Section A but Harry and Meghan were sat across the aisle in the interior third row of Section B with sleeper agents positioned all around them.

Second, all the IPP (Internationally Protected Person) designation means is that the person has diplomatic status worthy of a protection detail. That’s all. It doesn’t come with a special security clearance or unrestricted access to anywhere or anyone their cold black heart desires. There are still rules and procedures they have to follow because all being IPP means is that they’re protected from the public. IPP does not mean that they don’t have to follow the rules and procedures of *other* IPP.

So what does that mean? It means that if the IPP fixated person wants to go somewhere near the subject of their fixation, they still have to follow the rules and procedures of the subject’s security team. They don’t get to just waltz right through the security checks and get all up in Michelle Obama’s business (IYKYK).

In other words, just because Meghan is IPP doesn’t mean she has free access to Kate. She still has to follow the rules set by Kate’s security team and I would imagine that if Meghan were to return to the BRF, William would draw his family’s security net even tighter to block any chance of Harry and Meghan trying to get through. For instance, there’s renewed gossip that Harry wants to move into KP Apartment 1 and/or KP Apartment 7 (Apt 1 being the former Gloucester residence next door to William and Kate’s 1A apartment, which supposedly the Waleses have taken over for more office space, and Apt 7 being part of Diana’s former residence). William will mostly likely probably block that because his family still uses 1A. And likewise, he’d probably block the Sussexes from returning to the Windsor estate, since his family is there now as well. (Meaning Harry and Meghan’s only options is St. James’s Palace or a country estate outside of London…neither of which meet Meghan’s very exact specifications.)

Third, the last piece of the puzzle: the security risk and threat assessment. Everyone who goes up for IPP status (or heck, even just to take a job in the civil service - which, let me remind everyone, the BRF is. They’re essentially government workers who live very cushy lives supplemented by generational wealth) has to go through a security risk and threat assessment where everything from our families to our hobbies to our known associates to our health to our travel to our neighbors and home is investigated and assessed via background checks and investigations.

(And yes, this most likely means that anyone who marries into the royal family who does not come from a known associate - eg a family known to the BRF like the Spencers and Fergusons were - probably has had background investigations done for them to be able to meet principal members of the royal family. Kate and the Middletons probably had one, though perhaps not as in depth since she and William were together for so long, but there certainly was one done on Meghan when Harry got serious enough with her that he wanted her to meet The Queen.)

Now the thing about background checks and investigations, security clearances, and IPP status is that if you leave the civil service to go work in the private sector for a few years and then you decide to come back and be a fed again, your old checks and clearances aren’t there waiting for you like an old coat you buried in the back of your closet for 5 years. You have to undergo a total and complete reinvestigation. And if there are things that pop up in your reinvestigation over behaviors or diagnoses or actions you did while employed by a fake mental health startup and Netflix (for example) that have violated certain codes, standards, ethics, laws, or that exponentially increased your vulnerability to being exploited by foreign adversaries, or that have exposed you as a significant threat to the mental, physical, and social wellbeing of a principal staffer, well, then, you’re not getting that job and you can kiss your old security clearance or your old diplomatic status or your old RAVEC status goodbye. Even if you’re related to the principal staffer(s) in question.

So to sum up. A fixated person is eligible to be declared IPP. But they still have to go through all the checks and threat analyses to actually receive IPP status, and that’s where the issue is.

Ignoring “fixated person” (since again, that hasn’t actually been confirmed and is only just gossip and speculation), this is why Harry’s latest tactic is to say “if only my father would just give it back to me.” He is eligible for IPP just on the basis of being King Charles’s son, and he has Tier 3 (case-by-case) status because of that. But Tier 3 isn’t good enough; he wants Tier 1 (25/8 permanent) status, but RAVEC’s position is that Harry is disqualified Tier 1 because of his own behaviors and actions. Harry wants Charles to overrule the government and so far Charles hasn’t, because he’s likely read the report that bringing Harry back in poses more danger to the Waleses than leaving him out.

To which I say yes, that’s true, but bringing Harry in means they can better control him and what he does, so it’s a safer security posture to begin with. The issue is Meghan, who has proven time and time again that she doesn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own and has no interest in being on a team. In that case, it’s a safer security posture for her to be on the outside and away from everyone where it’s easier to monitor her so that her arrival or appearance can be more easily and more carefully planned for.

Which is ultimately the core conflict. Harry wants Meghan. The BRF doesn’t (or can’t). So Harry will emotionally blackmail everyone to force them to accept her. They refuse. Meghan says “it’s me or Kate and if you don’t choose me, you’re all racist.” The BRF laughs and chooses Kate anyway. They go on a worldwide tour of privacy to declare everyone is racist. No one cares. So they go crawling back to the BRF. The BRF says “only Harry, no Meghan.” But Harry wants Meghan. The BRF doesn’t. And around and around and around we go.

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (8/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, fluff, flirting, semi-edited

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 7.0

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

A/n: I hope you enjoy, I will add all the extra links later. Please please please let me know your thoughts you have no idea how much it helps me. Enjoy!

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m.list | series m.list | wattpad

10 years ago.

You have circled around Dionysus Lake at least three times, in a failed attempt to calm your nerves. In all honesty you aren’t sure why you’re so nervous, it was a simple tutoring session with your friend's brother. Yet, the hammering in your heart and the pressure around your neck was impossible to ignore.

You know this has nothing to do with you finding him attractive. You can find someone attractive but not be attracted to them. Hence Jungkook. You know it has nothing to do with the fact that his meeting place of choice was the one cafe that was slightly out of the budget you set aside for iced coffees on the weekday.

What you do know is that it has everything to do with the fact that this is something new. A little hiccup in your perfectly curated daily routine. From now on every Tuesday and Thursday you will be meeting up with Kim Namjoon at seven o’clock at Serendipity Cafe. Who by some miracle will hopefully have you understanding the PEMDAS rules that you’re hundred percent sure we’re taught wrong to you. No more will be your days in which you stay at HYBE U’s seven floor library, cranking down on research or polishing essays after math class. No more will be your days that you decide that maybe it was time for some me time, and enjoy a nice long relaxing bath with different bath salts, bath bombs, and candles in an attempt to relax your racing thoughts and aching muscles.

No, now you have to squeeze in a half an hour walk after your algebra class to give yourself a breather. So, you don’t have to face your friend's brother all frazzled and annoyed that you have successfully sat through a math class without understanding a thing. Really, your nerves are really due to the fact that you don’t want to seem incompetent; but is it your fault that you’ve had incompetent math teachers or lack of math teachers throughout your academic year? It’s not your fault they couldn’t explain complex terms in a simple form. Or that they took advantage of the system to get close to younger children. You were cheated out of a decent understanding of math because the academic system simply worked against you.

It’s a thought you have been turning over and over in your head since you woke up this morning. You’ve been trying out every other excuse in the book.

“I’m sorry they had us do flawed computer programs in middle school instead of actually teaching us something.”

“You see I couldn’t really do my math homework growing up because I had ballet class at four until eight.”

“I’m actually really smart I just don’t understand how the fuck I have to apply an exponent when there’s a parenthesis involved.”

All of these excuses were dumb. A mask for the actual truth. Math was uninteresting, impalpable. It stayed constant and lacked excitement because you couldn’t see the puzzles laid out before you. That, and sometimes you sneakily read a book in the back of the class or whispered about the next big boy band with your equally as boy crazed friends Shalimar and Ruth.

Still, after your third wrap around Dionysus lake, you’ve decided that if questioned you’d just come clean.

“I’m stupid and I absolutely have no idea why we have to have letters and numbers mingle with each other.”

Hopefully he'll appreciate your honesty and grow a soft spot for you. At least that’s what you hope for. And you keep hoping for as you steadily approach the large wooden doors of Serendipity. There’s still about ten minutes until seven, but you figured you’d get there a bit early to grab a good seat. One in a section that’s quiet but not too quiet because the last thing you want while you sip on your peppermint tea is to be consumed by your overwhelming thoughts while you wait for your tutor.

You approach the counter, gripping the leather strap of your purse, going over your order in case you stumble upon your words due to pressure.

“Welcome to Serendipity whe—oh hey you’re Kookie’s girl.” The man behind the counter says in awe. While you cringe at the fact that you’re being referred to as Jungkook’s girl. You remember the doe eyed man referring to the man now wearing a button down with what seems to be condoms printed all over it as Hobi. Though his nametag states that his name is Hoseok. You try not to dwell on it for too long because he’s looking at you curiously. Probably wondering why you haven’t greeted him back or placed your order.

You shake your head, circling your moon shaped bag back to the front of your body, attempting to hide your discomfort. “Oh, hi, um, Jungkook’s just a friend.” You swallow, while he smiles in acknowledgement.

“I see, things are complicated. I get that.” He brushes you off before turning to the iPad in front of him. Before you can counteract with a ‘no it’s actually very simple, we share classes and he’s unfortunately picked me to annoy.’ He speaks up and gets right to the point. “What can I get you cutie?” He finishes, looking at you through his bangs.

The heat in your body erupts. No guy has ever been this forward with you but you’re positive this is just part of his customer service training. If he ever had one. Either way he’s talking you up and making you feel seen, which you assume is a specialty of his and probably why the cafe is crowded with many young adults.

With a grin you say. “Just a hot mint chocolate latte.” You nod in assurance before opening up your purse and taking out your wallet. When you fish your card out and go to swipe it across the reader a hand stops you. Startled, you look up to find Hobi or Hoseok smiling wide at you.

“No need, it’s already paid for.” He takes his hand away and gives you a white buzzer instead.

You furrow your brows in confusion. How has your drink already been paid for when you’ve just entered? You aren’t complaining, you did just save some money, but that small amount of happiness doesn’t mean that you aren’t confused.

The cashier seems to read your confusion and he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Namjoon paid for you earlier when he ordered his drink.”

“What?” You glance down at your phone to see the time. Did you get it wrong? The two of you agreed on seven, and you even confirmed it this morning through a quick text just to be sure. So, why does the analog clock on your phone read 6:55, and Namjoon has possibly already been waiting for you.

You curse under your breath and quickly put your wallet in your purse before turning around to look at the almost empty cafe. There’s only a couple of people occupying the circular tables. All of them fully immersed in their books or laptop screens. Namjoon is nowhere in sight. You look back at Hoseok—you’ve decided to refer to him as such since it’s what’s on his nametag—and he laughs at your confusion.

He lifts up a finger signaling up, “he’s on the second floor, got here about an hour ago.”

His statement doesn’t do anything but worsen the panic already coursing through your veins. Maybe you did misinterpret the time, still it wouldn’t make sense because wouldn’t he have texted you by now asking where you were?

“Um thank you…”

“Call me Hobi.” He waves a hand in front of your face. “Any friend or special friend of the boys gets the privilege to call me Hobi. Plus Hoseok—” He points to his nametag with a boney finger. “Sounds too serious.” He shrugs.

You nod your head. “Thank you Hobi.” You rush out the acknowledgement and turn around and speed walk to the industrial style spiral staircase.

It’s a dizzying journey up, but once you make it to the final step you spot the man that has your nerves at an all time high. He’s sitting in the far corner next to a floor to ceiling window. His back is hunched as he types away on his laptop. Today he’s ditched the beanie and you can see his dark brown hair. A few strands of his bangs sneak their way behind the thick rims of his black glasses. He’s wearing a simple gray long sleeve, with black sweatpants. He looks relaxed, the opposite of what you’re feeling because the thing you hate most in the world is keeping people waiting.

With quick steps you approach the table, halting when you get to the front of a chair. “I’m sorry, I thought we agreed on seven.” You rush out instead of a proper greeting. In a quick motion he lifts his head and takes off the earbuds inside his ears, and you feel like more of an idiot than before because of course he would be wearing noise canceling earbuds.

“Hey, you’re here. Did you order something? I told Hobi that I would just pay for what you wanted.” He grins and stands up, extending his hand for you in a handshake.

You put your hand in his and feel a shiver run down your spine when his cold one meets your clammy one. “Am I late?” You tilt your head to the side.

Namjoon shakes his head, and lets go of your hand before sitting down again. “No, you’re right on time. I just got here a bit early to get a head start on an essay due by the end of the week.” He reassures you, and finally you can let out the breath you had been holding in.

You feel calmer now. Relieved. You set down your stuff on an empty chair and take the seat directly in front of him. You place your white buzzer in front of you, tracing the circular ridges. Now, that you’re not in such a panicked state you can finally show your gratitude to his selfless actions. “Thank you for the drink, you didn’t have to pay for it.”

The busy man smiles and waves his hand in front of his face to brush you off. “It’s no big deal, Hobi gives me discounts anyway.”

“So, I’ve heard.” You whisper recalling the first night you met him a week ago. Since then, Jungkook snuck his brother’s phone number to you the next day at the library. He didn’t say anything, he just passed by you with a green drink from the only smoothie place on campus and a sticky note saying:

Text Namjoon, he’s forgetful. -JK

It took the whole day to muster up the courage but finally you sent a simple text regarding your name and the fact that his younger brother had been the one to sneak you his number. In case, he assumed you had gone through multiple deep dives on the internet to retrieve it. Thankfully, Namjoon didn’t question it and just replied with a simple greeting. Then the two of you got into a brief conversation that lasted about two days because you’re also forgetful and forgot to reply to his messages. Basically coordinating a plan further than the one you had discussed the first time you met.

It was strictly business. Yet, a part of you felt a little happy that you were meeting and talking to somebody new.

Just as you’re about to take out your small notebook and pen from your purse your buzzer comes to life, filling the spaces of silence in the air surrounding the two of you. Namjoon’s eyes tear away from his computer screen, and you’re about to stand up when he beats you to it. He quickly grabs a hold of the noisy device saying, “Don’t worry I got it,” and he disappears down the stairs.

You’re now sitting by yourself, wallowing in your over consuming thoughts. Most of them involve the story Jungkook told you about his very eventful weekend while the two of you were walking to your math lecture earlier today. Truly, it was so odd knowing that he had run into Taehyung at a club in the rich part of town. The two of them stayed together the entire night and even brought home two girls to Taehyung’s apartment. Thankfully, he didn’t share further than that, but he did share that he was in love. In which you rolled your eyes so hard it gave you vertigo.

In the few months that you have known the man. He has claimed that he has been in love with every single girl he’s slept with. Which surprisingly, given his flirty nature was not a lot. What was surprising to you was Taehyung being at the club. It’s not out of character for him, but Saturday nights were always spent at Jimin’s one bedroom apartment catching up on life, and binge watching One Piece. When his text message came through on Saturday evening saying that he wasn’t feeling very well and skipping out. You couldn’t help but feel a little sad because you hadn’t seen him in a while.

Taehyung was always out and about, chasing every new adventure he could grasp. He called it inspiration for his art, but you always knew there was another underlying reason. One he never cared to explain because in all honesty it only made sense to him. He was a tough book to get through. Sometimes it keeps you questioning why you even have a soft spot for it. Though, you suppose it is the backstory the two of you share. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit hurt knowing he had chosen to not ditch you but Jimin as well.

The night wasn’t a bust and you managed to finally make a significant breakthrough on the anime. Twenty episodes in one night was something that needed to be awarded. It did feel a bit awkward when it was just the two of you. It was as if there was an invisible ceiling slowly crushing you, because on Saturday for the first time ever the two of you found yourself stuck. Nothing to talk about. No updates on life, only the sound of the anime doing its best to fill the void of Taehyung not being there that the both of you unspokenly felt.

It made you question a lot of things. Like was it maybe time to finally part ways? A chilling thought that sent shivers down your spine and one you pushed so far into the back of your head. One you really don’t want to think about now, especially when you’re about to succumb yourself to a full extra hour of torture. Otherwise known as: College Algebra.

“Hobi says that if you take a picture of his latte art to tag him if you post it.” Namjoon voices, placing a small tray in front of your open notebook. A white mug with a beautiful Jack O'Lantern drawn in white foam decorates the top of your warm decaffeinated latte. It’s impressive, surely puts all those swans and hearts to shame.

“He’s a big fan of Halloween, and he always says that fall time means it's Halloween everyday.” Namjoon finishes with a chuckle, as he takes the seat in front of you again.

You laugh a little, fishing out your phone from the pocket of your jean jacket. “I can get behind that.” You say as you click on the camera app and snap a couple of pictures.

Unbeknownst to you, Namjoon is watching as you rearrange the contents on the table. To get the right aesthetic for your perfect picture. He can’t lie, it's a little endearing, seeing somebody so excited over latte art he has grown accustomed to seeing. It’s something he will definitely spill onto Hoseok before he leaves. His friend was crazy talented in many areas and he hates that instead of sharing all his passions out with the world. He’s stuck running Serendipity because his grandfather wanted the neighborhood's hub to stay in the Jung family. When he should be out in the world sharing his clothing designs with anyone who’s willing to listen.

Namjoon’s thoughts are interrupted by your extended hand, holding out your phone for him. “What’s his instagram?” You grin, and his eyes make their way to the small phone screen. A beautifully taken picture, showing off the spooky pumpkin with a caption reading,

Halloween should be all year round @--

Namjoon lets out an ‘ah’ before taking your phone and quickly typing out his friend's handle. He reads the caption again, double checking to see if he made any mistakes, Halloween should be all year round @uramyhope.

He nods in approval and hands you back your phone. Deep down he feels a surge of something foreign. He can’t necessarily put his finger on it but regarding Hoseok’s statement when he first met you last week, when he asked both his brother and him for your number. He feels a little strange, knowing that he’s basically given the two of you a way to start communicating outside of him and Jungkook. Knowing the aspiring designer, he won’t miss a beat, and that makes him feel a bit odd.

He shrugs it off though, pushes away the churning in his stomach, concluding that it was because he chose to consume caffeine so late in the evening. He looks back at his computer screen, while you type away on your phone. He continues to ignore it, saves the document on his computer two times before closing the lid. He pushes it aside, and clears his throat, catching your attention.

Quickly you lock your phone and stuff it into the pocket of your jacket. You look over at Namjoon, his hands clasped in front of him and a scowl prominent on his face. It resembled the same one he transformed into the first night you met him. When he coldly stated he was done with blind dating thanks to his mother and step brother. Though, this time it does feel less intense, probably due to the fact that he knows you’re just here to be his tutee and not his future wife.

Still, it lets you know that time was ticking and it was finally time to get down to business.

“How have you gone on this long without understanding the basic principles of algebra?”

Namjoon is serious. He means business and you’re about to pull out the hair from your scalp.

“Maybe because I never had a permanent math teacher, they’d all leave in the middle of the year.” You pout, crossing your arms in front of you and slumping down in your seat.

He lets out a sigh before sliding your notebook to his side of the table. The metal spiral scratching against the wooden surface, letting out an unpleasant noise making you cringe.

“That’s a good excuse.” He says, grabbing his red pen and making all sorts of marks along the paper. You don’t need to know what steps you got wrong while solving the math problem. You know exactly where you went wrong. It was the second you signed up for the class even if you didn’t have much of a choice.

You groan, throwing your head back. “It’s not an excuse. My eighth grade teacher left in the middle of the year because she got pregnant, my ninth grade teacher unfortunately was diagnosed with cancer. Then my tenth grade teacher was accused of being a pedophile so he was fired an—“

“Okay,” Namjoon cuts you off, setting down his pen on top of your notebook. “I understand, your school was just shitty at keeping teachers around.” He grins, placing the notebook in front of you again. “But did you ever do your math homework?” He tilts his head to the side in curiosity.

Unfortunately you’ve been caught. “No,” you whisper, dragging your fingernail down the spiral.

The sound he lets out tells you enough. He’s proven his point with the sarcastic hum that escapes his mouth. “In my defense I had dance practice everyday after school from two to four and the ballet from five to eight.” You add but it does little to prove your innocence. Instead, it makes you look guiltier or maybe not you but your parents because who would choose an extracurricular activity over academics. Especially when they knew their daughter was absolute shit at math. They did try though, but even the math tutor they hired back in high school could not get through to you.

“I see,” he puts a pensive hand on his chin leaning back. The look he gives you makes you feel small. You can’t tell if he’s judging your upbringing or the you now who can’t seem to understand the simple PEMDAS rules.

“Your problem isn’t even that bad. It’s easy to fix. You know what each operation does. You just get confused with the order along the way.” He leans forward, picking up the pen and pointing to the problem you just finished doing. “You know to do parenthesis first, but then you forget that parenthesis don’t really go away. That’s your first mistake.”

It’s like a lightbulb has suddenly flicked on inside your head as you watch him solve the problem while thoroughly explaining each step. Writing out every single step even if it was unnecessary, but it helps.

“So the answer should be seventeen and not twenty-two.” He finishes, and the puzzle slowly starts to connect itself before your eyes. The steps are laid out perfectly and neatly. The parenthesis stay until the equation is factored to the lowest it can go. And you’re about to jump across the table to give the man before you the biggest hug. He’s the only one who's been able to point out what you’ve done wrong your whole life and then explain it easily.

You lift your head up, wide eyed and say “oh, that makes sense.”

Namjoon laughs, almost as if he’s relieved but also disbelieved. You start to feel bad because for the past hour he’s been trying to explain to you the basic principles in every way possible. And it was only until he explained it to you in baby terms that you finally understood. You’re about to apologize, but instead you’re left stunned by his next words.

“I’m giving you homework for the next time we see each other on Thursday.” He hums, flipping to the next page. Your eye twitches a little at the thought of math homework. If you never did it while you were in school and getting graded for it, why would you do it now?

“Homework?”

He hums, and begins to write down a bunch of different math problems. He can sense that you’re about to fill him with different complaints, so he speaks up. “Do you want to pass math class?

“Yes, but do you really need to give me homework?”

“How many hours were you in dance class growing up?”

“I don’t remember like five hours, but what does that have to do with you giving me math homework.”

“What were you doing for five hours?” He lifts his head, handing you your notebook. You take it looking down at the ten perfectly curated algebra problems.

You want to throw up.

“Practicing.”

“Exactly, and how are you going to pass math?”

You huff, seeing exactly where his question was heading. Proving a point or whatever. Jungkook did mention his brother was a bit of a smart ass. Now you’re unfortunate enough to be at the receiving end.

With a grunt you close your notebook. “Fine, I'll do the homework.”

Namjoon smirks, tapping his ear, leaning in further into the table. “No, I want to hear you say it please.”

You stuff your small spiral notebook into your purse, snatching your special pink mechanical pencil from his side of the table. You spent too much money on it to let—your stupid math tutor who is now giving you homework to make you suffer—steal it.

“I need to practice math.” You mumble, zipping up your bag, and putting it over your shoulder.

Namjoon laughs, letting his red pen fall against the wooden table with a clank. You roll your eyes before standing up. At least your suffering was amusing to someone.

You cross your arms in front you waiting for his laughter to die down. When it does he looks at you, watery eyes from joy and you feel a slight tug in the inside of your chest. You push it to the side, convince yourself that it’s just the irritation bubbling up inside of you.

“Are you done?”

He nods, shuffles around the table to put his stuff away. “How are you getting home?” He questions, standing up and hoisting his vintage messenger bag over his shoulder.

You shrug, “the bus.” You state, pulling up your phone to check the bus schedule. If you can catch the next bus that comes in ten minutes then you’ll still be able to get home with a couple of seconds left of daylight.

“I’ll go with you then.” He states firmly, standing up abruptly and walking past you. It leaves you no room to argue against him.

You’re quickly starting to realize that once he says something firmly enough to be believed as the truth. There is absolutely no room left for a final say.

And they call you stubborn…as if.

The bus arrived a minute late. A minute that felt longer than what it should’ve felt. The two of you were the only ones standing side by side under the dim light of the bus stop.

It’s one thing to be in the same room as your tutor while the only thing the two of you talk about is math. It’s another thing to have him offer to walk you home. There’s no conversation. There’s no way to start a conversation. The only thing you really know about him is that he’s still studying, he is Jungkook’s step brother and he’s a philosophy major. The only philosophers you knew off were the ones from Ancient Greece. All the readings for your Introduction to Modern Rhetorics course that you were assigned to do were somewhere buried in the back of your mind.

You don’t want to start up a conversation in which you know you won’t be able to keep up. You remember very little about the readings and somehow the things you do remember blend into one another. So you can’t differentiate between what one philosopher said and what the other said.

Instead, Namjoon and you walk in silence. At a safe distance but close enough to still feel the presence of the other. Then you stand in the bus stop. Neither of you sit on the cold metal bench because it’s still not cold enough for them to turn on the bench warmers. And when you see that the bus is a minute late, you start to feel the slightly awkward air around the two of you get thicker.

You’re about to bite the bullet, take the embarrassing moment for some sort of small talk when the bright blue bus turns the corner. You watch it approach the stop fast. At least that’s what it feels like and soon enough the driver opens the double doors to welcome the two of you.

Surprisingly it’s not full. There are a few people occupying the seats, but there’s enough room to not feel like you’re being squished upon one another. Namjoon lets you enter first. Once you click your transit card against the reader you scan the rows for an empty seat. And of course, there’s two left in the far back. You walk to it quickly. Pass the exhausted bystanders and take the seat against the window.

After all, you will be here for the next twenty five minutes. Though, it’s not only occurred to you that you don’t know where Namjoon lives, until he takes up the seat next to yours. You want to ask if he’s going out of his way or if his place is along this route. But you don’t want to pry too much. You’ve only just met him officially. You also don’t know what you would do with yourself if it does turn out that his place is out of the way. Probably, apologize profusely for being such an inconvenience.

To save yourself from the discomfort you sights upon the buildings outside the window. Your daydreaming only lasts a few seconds when you feel a light tap against your shoulder. In a quick motion you turn your head to face the man sitting next to you. You tilt your head in question and he opens his mouth to speak.

“What’s the deal with you and Jungkook?”

The question feels like you’ve been hit by whiplash. It’s not the first time you get asked about it. Your longtime friend Jina has brought it up a few times, but you always reply with the same exact answer. “I guess we’re friends.” You shrug.

Namjoon hums in acknowledgment, nodding his head. He looks ahead for a few minutes before looking back at you. “Are you sure?”

Now, this question takes you aback. Nobody’s ever questioned your honesty. At least until now.

You quirk a brow and nod. “Yes, we share a few classes and sometimes we study together. But it always feels like I’m there to study and he’s just there to talk because he never shuts up.” You rant.

“Ah,” he chuckles, moving his head in confirmation. “That sounds like him, when he was younger he never talked, but then he turned fifteen got a little confident because he found out a few people found him cute and he just never stopped talking then.” Namjoon reveals, making you smile. “He also talks in his sleep.” He adds, smiling when he hears you let out a giggle.

Suddenly, it doesn’t feel as awkward as before. It feels a bit simpler. And you find yourself leaning into his aura a little more.

“I think he likes you though.” He adds, making your eyes grow wide in surprise. Maybe you’re dumb or you just don’t understand flirting thanks to the two very unserious relationships you had between the transition of high school and college. But from what you do know is that Jungkook holds no romantic feelings or a liking towards you. That’s something you’re very confident in.

“I don’t think so.” You scoff. “He would be stupid if he did.” You wave him off, and look out the window. You catch his reflection in the glass. He’s looking down at you, smiling in amusement. It somehow makes your cheeks get a bit hot and you divert your gaze down to the metal border of the window.

“He sat me down on our couch last night and laid down some ground rules.” He speaks up, looking ahead again. He lifts his hand and starts, “I’m not allowed to let you out of my sight, I have to be nice to you, and Hobi is not allowed under any circumstances get your number, which somehow I failed at doing.” He shrugs and counts with his fingers as if that proves his statement.

You stare at his hand before looking up at him again, you’re at a loss for words. Your thoughts are all jumbled up. Somehow you know tonight you won’t be able to sleep. You will now be questioning every single interaction you’ve had with Jungkook in the past few months.

Clearing your throat you say, “that doesn’t mean he like…has feelings for me.”

He lifts his hands up in defense. Your tone is harsh and he finds it amusing. He continues, “don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just relaying information on something I’ve observed.”

You finally turn to look at him. Your eyebrows are drawn together in a scowl. “No offense but your observation is stupid.” You cross your arms in a huff, pouting like a child. It makes Namjoon laugh loud enough to turn heads, causing you to look at him alarmed. It only makes him laugh harder and when you’re about to reprimand him, the automatic voice sounds in the speakers of the bus. It announces your stop and you scramble quickly to press the bright red button to stop the bus.

This shuts Namjoon up, he looks around, biting the inside of his cheek before nodding his head in confirmation. “This is your stop,” he voices just as the bus comes to a halt.

You nod, taking out your bus card from your purse and standing up. He copies your movements, makes his way to the card scanner and places his card against it. He doesn’t wait for you to exit he simply does and stands outside on the sidewalk, hands in his pocket. You scan your card and take the leap of faith from the bus stairs to the sidewalk. You land next to him, thanking your lucky stars for catching you and finally you voice out the question that’s been dying in the back of your throat.

“This is not your stop is it?”

“It’s not but, I promised Jungkook you would get home safely.” With that he turns on his heels and escapes the light of the stop, appearing again a few feet ahead underneath the street light. “Are you coming?”

“Do you do everything Jungkook says?” You grumble. The argument in which you state that you’re a big girl who is more than capable of walking home by herself escapes you. Only because when you’re finally standing in front of him. His head towering just a few inches above yours, it finally hits you. The jolt that springs in the pit of your stomach. The tug inside your heart that will have you up all night because it feels like a terrible case of heartburn. And the seed, his soft gaze plants inside of your mind.

It’s a mistake, a big one and you’re now regretting taking up Jungkook’s offer to have his brother tutor you. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen at all. The slow cascade down the wall you’ve built surrounding your emotions. You can feel it crumble already, ready to run down a dead end street, because that’s what it feels like. Whatever you’re feeling inside.

“I don’t.” The soft timbre of his voice brings out, you’re thankful it helps you find your way back down to the ground, but you’re not a fan of the way it paints goosebumps across your arms.

He continues, “I don’t want him to lecture me for not looking out after his friend.” He emphasizes the last part, combining it with a wink. You know what he is implying and you can’t help but feel a bit of the drink you had an hour ago threatening to make its way up your throat.

“You’re not going to give up are you?” You walk past him. It’s best to have him a few feet behind than right next to you. The space gives you time to regain yourself, yet it doesn’t last because in seconds he’s right next to you. His arm is so close. It almost brushes against yours. Thankfully it doesn’t but you can smell his cologne. It’s soft, and warm. Like fresh laundry on a sunday morning. It makes your insides burn and you know that from now on you will be looking for that scent everywhere so you can call it yours.

Namjoon shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him this protective over someone apart from his mom.” He whispers now, and the lower his voice gets the lower it sinks inside of you. “You must be special to him.” He concludes.

“I think I’m just the first girl who's never kissed his toes and finds him annoying.” You halt in front of a street light, and he stops with you. The little man signals red—do not go. You turn your head from side to side questioning your safety. If you run now, you will likely still be alive but most importantly away from the man next to you. Honestly, you’re a bit confused. When he was talking about algebra the only thing you could focus on was how to get from point a to point b while solving the problem.

Now that the moon is dim and the streets are emptying out. The only thing you can think about is how soft and ethereal he looks. Nothing like how when you first met him, but something straight out of a modernized fairy tale. It’s hitting you unexpectedly and you begin to wonder if it’s because your exhaustion is finally settling in, making you delusional.

“That could be true, but I think that you’re here to stay for a long time.” He chuckles. The little man switches to green and he takes the step.

“Why do you say that?” You walk fast to catch up to him. You realize that he is blindly following you and you to him. Sure, you’re almost home, but he’s leading the way as if he knows where he’s going. As if he’s done this before with you and has been doing this with you his entire life. It doesn’t do anything to calm your beating heart.

He stays quiet. He keeps on walking, stealing secret glances your way to see if he’s still at the same pace as you. It stays this way until you stop in front of a cute town house. The door is decorated with an autumn reef. The worlds ‘welcome fall,’ take up the entire circumference. There’s a red bell on the handle, to signal when someone is home since the doorbell has been broken ever since you could remember.

You’re home. But for some reason it had already felt like you were home.

“If it’s not Kook then it’s Hobi. Plus I need to make sure you pass math.” He voices.

You look at him, tilting your head in confusion. Until your mouth widens in a silent ‘oh’ recalling the question he had failed to answer a minute ago.

“I think your brain has been corrupted by reading into things while you do your research.”

He chuckles, “again don’t shoot the messenger, it’s not surprising though.” He shrugs, “My brother never shuts up about you, and Hobi hasn’t stopped asking for your contact information since you first walked into Serendipity a week ago.”

You roll your eyes, turning away from him and pressing your palm against the keypad of your house. It lights up, showing numbers and you quickly enter the code, wait for the little lock to signal it has been unlocked and you turn the knob.

Before you walk in you turn to face him again. “I won’t argue with you against the whole Hobi thing. But I know Jungkook doesn’t have feelings for me. If he did he wouldn’t tell me about all the dates he’s gone on and ask for advice whenever he has relationship or situationship problems. Plus he says he’s in love with someone he met this weekend.” You reason.

Namjoon takes his hands out of his pockets, raising his hands in defeat again. “Fine I’ll drop it, but I do think he finds you special. That’s all.” He states firmly and once again you’re reminded of that tone. He’s gotten the last word and you won’t bring up another one because if not then you’d be walking a tight circle around each other.

“Agree to disagree.” You smile, taking one step inside your house. “I’ll take your word for now. Thank you for walking me home. You didn’t have to even if Jungkook asked you to.”

He buries his hands into his pockets and grins. “I also wanted to.” He takes one step back. “Good night, I’ll see you on Thursday.” And with that he turns around, starts his way down the same path that led the two of you here.

Home.

You’re left astounded. In a rush to feel comfort once again, you hurry through the door, slamming it behind you, pressing your back against it. For a moment you’re scared your parents might find you in this state, wallowing in feelings you can’t begin to understand. Then you remember that they were at dinner with their friends, and you’re thankful that you still have some time to regain yourself.

Namjoon’s words cut deep. Not what he said about Jungkook. You know as well as you know your name that romantic feelings between the two of you are nonexistent. But you also know that he said he wanted to walk you home.

Chivalry might not be dead but the bar is low, because he wanted…he wanted…he wanted to wa—

Beep.

Your phone goes off signaling a message. With all the ditzyness a girl with a school girl crush can have. You fish out your phone with a haste, what if it’s him.

Though, that thought dies as quickly as it was conjured. It’s not him, but it’s a notification that in the same right births a little flame inside of you. Maybe not as bright as the one Namjoon left behind, but it has the potential to grow into something more.

uarmyhope wants to send you a message.

Your smile gets wide when you swipe across the notification. It opens up to your Instagram and it quickly directs you to your DMS.

You open it, and you feel a spark when you read the few choice words that were chosen. They’re simple but they’re enough. And they’re the start of a long night of getting to know someone else.

Your next latte is on me cutie.xx