#The four men being the laid back one and all of their hair are black LIKE

[solarrene]

My trios. They are important to me, your honor, so important to me.

[crescenthistory]

did i hear you say you were writing another animagus!reader x regulus where they cuddle at hogwarts in each their cat forms? 🥺🥺

you know what they say, don't believe everything you hear... except for that, that's actually true

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, copious amounts of fluff, established relationship, bsf!remus, background wolfstar, reader and reg are kinda goody-two-shoes, platonic physical affection

Note: read more about cat!animagus!reader's shenanigans with reg, wolfstar and james here & here

Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat

What a conundrum.

Remus should take this as an opportunity to be a good friend. You have spent almost two decades showing him exactly how to do that, playing the perfect part of the sister-he-never-had, loving and supporting him through life. For never turning your back on him, Remus is sure he owes you far more than what he can ever repay you, so he should try every single day. He should be a good friend.

But it was just too funny not to.

"At what point is it our duty to wake them up?" Sirius' voice whispered in his ear, shaking with mirth.

"I'm wondering the exact same thing." Remus dragged his words out to avoid making a decision. "How long do you think we can get away with?"

"I mean, they are already 15 minutes late to their Charms lesson, so we're dead men walking for not having said anything so far."

Remus is just able to tear his eyes away from you to glance sideways at Sirius, a too-fond smile already playing over his lips as he sees the exact mischievous look on his boyfriend's face that he expected. The look he fell in love with, not that Remus would be sappy enough to think about that right now. "So what you're saying is..."

"Leave it for a while longer?" Sirius grinned.

"Leave it for a while longer." Remus confirmed, whispering through a laugh, shifting his body further into Sirius' side as he lets his eyes fall back on you.

Well. On what he and Sirius knew to be you and Regulus, but what all other students in the library thought was just two cats sleeping in an armchair.

There was an elongated square of sunlight cast onto the middle of the seat by one of the beautifully decorated windows of the ancient castle, every cat's dream spot. The green velvet covering the seat of the mahogany chair was already riddled with fur from how long the two of you had been curled up around each other in it, white, grey and black hairs mixing together. Your forms might as well be mixing together too, fluid in a way that defied physics yet looked impossibly comfortable. Remus supposed you had to milk as much pleasure out of being an animagus as possible to make that whole mandrake leaf ordeal worth it. Though you could not answer even if he asked you right now, he was sure you at this very moment thought it was.

Remus' smile widened as he saw your chest rise dramatically as you breathed a sleepy huff, turning your head over slightly and burrowing it further into Regulus' plush neck. Your little cat bodies laid facing each other, arms around each other in a way he thought looked a little too much like a human hug.

It would be the absolute picture of serenity, two young things with no care in the world but each other – had it not been for the large clock ironically hanging right behind you, reminding you that you were not supposed to be here right now.

The four of you – five before James ran off the second he spotted red hair a few shelves back – had spent your two hours of shared free periods to read up together, for once actually doing a considerable amount of studying during it. Sirius was rubbing it in your faces, yours by consequence and Regulus' by design, that you still had one lesson left for the day when you abruptly stood up and demanded that you need a study break. When you then promptly dragged Regulus off into a corner, Sirius got the karma of a lifetime as he grew very concerned about what kind of break you would be engaging in. That was until the two cats lazily strolled back in and made themselves comfortable in the chair they now claimed as theirs.

Knowing you, Remus knew you hadn't intended on falling asleep, but maybe the fact that you did meant you really needed it. Yes, surely, you must have been exhausted and your body demanded a rest, so frankly he is quite an amazing friend for ensuring you listen to your health and your needs.

"Cats shouldn't be allowed to be that cute," Sirius all but grumbled as he looked at the two of them. "I should hate them on principle, but look at them Moony!"

"Quite literally no one is demanding that you hate cats on behalf of Padfoot, Siri."

"Padfoot is!" Sirius gave him a you can't argue with that logic look, but Remus knew he could.

"Ah, yes, my boyfriend the dog," he mused, cocking an eyebrow at Sirius who promptly reached out with his finger and pulled it back down.

"I could so give you a comeback to that, but I respect you too much not to say it in public," Sirius muttered and Remus couldn't fight his laughter.

Something moving in his periphery brought his attention back on you, seeing you shift even more into Regulus which caused him to begin stirring as well. Go back to sleep, go back to sleep, Remus whispered to you in his mind.

As always, you didn't listen to him, and ever so slowly Remus saw you peel one yellow eye open, blinking blearily at the room before turning your head back towards Regulus. The greyest of your four paws came up to gently pet at the black cat's neck, almost as if you were smoothing over the fur you had ruffled in your sleep. It made Remus' heart ache with love for you both, even as his stomach was slowly dropping.

A soft prrt! escaped Regulus before he instantly began purring and tightening his hold on you with his little cat paws, nosing his head against yours. A kind of softness Regulus rarely let himself fall into in public, though this was arguably a grey area.

It almost looked like you were about to be driven back into sleep by the vibrations moving through you from Regulus' chest. Remus noticed Sirius paying attention raptly as well, which was unfortunate.

Because when you shot up out of your seat with a small squeak, jumping as if startled as you looked towards the clock – now a good 30 minutes into your 45 minutes lesson – Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter. It earned him more than a few hushes from those around, but most importantly, it earned him your head snapping around to look at him with eyes that could rival a basilisk’s.

Considering Remus was already on a streak of making disloyal choices towards his loved ones, he didn't fight his instinct to stand up from his seat and back up when you ran and jumped onto the table right in front of Sirius' face with a hiss. You slapped at him with a clawless paw to which Sirius whispered something along the lines of "hey, knock it off, be cool" while trying to hold you at arm's length. You scowled at him as aggressively as any cat could, raising your back slightly before you arguably tut-ed at him and jumped back down.

Remus fought for his life to not laugh.

You turned around and ran over to Regulus who was still lazily stretching and gaining his bearings, not an ounce of care shown towards the near-assault of his brother. Nudging him with your head towards the end of the chair, he got the point and jumped down, already falling into his usual graceful mannerisms.

Together you scurried off back into your corner.

When you came back a mere minute later Remus swore there was no difference in your facial expression. Remus carefully walked around the table – where Sirius was still sitting with a petulant pout – hands up in surrender.

You crossed your arms, leaning your weight onto your right hip as you glared at your oldest friend, clearly expecting him to speak first. Behind you Regulus was strolling over, looking like he was trying really hard to be miffed but falling just short.

“How dare you,” you said – and it was a statement, not a question.

“In my defence,” Remus started, hands still up but so were the corners of his lips. “You two looked adorable.”

“That will surely hold up real well with the professor,” you scoffed.

“We didn’t make you fall asleep, princess,” Sirius grumbled to which you turned to him with a bitch please look Remus is fairly certain you picked up from Sirius.

“Apologies for expecting my friends to have my back. How stupid of me.”

“Very stupid indeed,” Sirius murmured as he took a sip of his coffee, grimacing when he found it to be cold. He nearly spilled some when Regulus gave him a light slap up the back of the head.

Remus figured it was time to pull out the big guns.

He manoeuvred his held up hands to be stretched out towards you instead with a rueful smile as he inched closer and closer. You had a moody expression still, eyeing him with suspicion, but you didn’t move out of the way. He dared make a small cooing sound as he brought you into a hug, coddling you like one would a child after they hurt themselves to keep them from crying.

“‘M super super sorry, lovie,” Remus half-muttered half-laughed into your hair as he rocked you a little bit. Your arms were still crossed against his chest, but you were leaning into him. 

“Don’t believe you, Loopy.” 

Regulus snorted at that and Remus looked up at him over his shoulder and the boys shared a look of humour and shared love for you that warmed his stomach. Though when Sirius nipped at Regulus’ sleeve to get his attention, the faux-miffed expression was plastered right back on the younger boy’s face.

Siblings, Remus thought and chuckled a bit into your hair.

“You laughing at me?” you questioned incredulously. 

“No, I’m laughing at our boys.” His response was quick to rid himself of any further accusations.

You instantly nodded against his shoulder. “Understandable.”

“Hey! Don’t bring me into this, amour.” Regulus' chiding tone was met with you uncrossing your arms at last, reaching a hand out behind you blindly, which he immediately took and squeezed with his own.

You let your other arm curl around Remus’ back. Forgiveness at last.

He pulled back to look down at you with a goofy grin, and was pleased to see you could no longer contain yours either. “You were really cute. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

You gave him a look. “Right, no laughing at our expense whatsoever.”

“Never.”

You gave him a light shove while you snorted, pushing him away from you. “This is what I get for my sacrifice for you?” you said as you shook your head at him not much unlike McGonagall would during detention.

“I would argue you got a pretty sweet deal with that sacrifice, doll, seeing as you can curl up with your equally sacrificial boyfriend and sleep in the library whenever.” Sirius nodded solemnly, while jutting his chin towards Regulus. “This one would never let that happen in any other form.”

“Oh, I’m sure I could’ve convinced him,” you replied, looking at Regulus with an almost salacious smile. As if to prove your point – or just to prove Sirius wrong – he came up to stand closer behind you, arms going around your waist. You leaned your weight back against him with a happy sigh.

“Disgusting,” was all Sirius offered.

You raised an eyebrow at him before turning your head sideways to give Regulus a short, sweet kiss.

“Disgusting,” he groaned once more, pressing the backs of his palms into his eyes.

“Karma,” you and Remus sing-songed at him at the exact same time in the exact same tone. 

Your eyes met in surprise before you both burst out laughing, any pretend fight seeping out of you as you both beamed at each other.

Siblings, Remus found himself thinking once more.

“Well, now that we don’t have a lesson to get to anymore, I suggest we get out of here,” Regulus sighed, squeezing your hips as if to underline his point.

“Where we heading?” Sirius asked as he swung his legs out to get up.

“I don’t know where you’re going,” you started. “But Remus will go hunt down a certain Head Boy and get him to make up some excuse to Professor Flitwick for why Regulus and I did not attend class so that our absence is removed from the records.” You put on your sweetest smile as you turned towards Remus at the last part.

“Regulus, what have you done with her?!” Sirius stage-whispered his accusation at Regulus who only responded with a certain impolite gesture.

“And why would James do that?” Remus drawls, certain that his entertainment was written all over his face.

“Oh, I’m sure he owes you for something, you figure it out.” You spoke as you tried to put your bag over your shoulder to leave, but Remus and Regulus both reached for it at the same time. They gave each other a look, trying to decide who will take the literal burden, before they both turned to Sirius and dropped the bag in his lap. He rolled his eyes at the both of them, but pulled the strap over his free shoulder nonetheless. 

“You are quite the minx, aren’t you?” Remus asked, going for chiding and landing somewhere along the lines of compliance.

“Learned from the best, Rem!” you cheered brightly, pressing quick smacking kisses on both his and Sirius’ cheek.

Before they could muster up a response or a reaction, you had already hauled Regulus down the halls of the library towards the exit with half-heartedly hushed giggles. The raven-haired boy looked over his shoulder right before you turned the corner with a barely-contained smile, inhibitions straw thin in your presence.

Remus understood him well.

He turned to Sirius with a pleased smile to find him already admiring his reactions from where he stood beside him.

“I get why they’re cats,” Remus mused as he interlaced their fingers, following the general direction you ran off to, ready to hunt down James and possibly claw up some furniture. 

“Because they’re adorable but also massive menaces?”

Remus breathed out contently. “Yeah.”

[kelppsstuff]

Dancing

Masterlist

Warnings: blood, killing, cannibalism

Human Alastor x reader

—

Alastor sat at the bar, his eye twitching at the loud mouths sitting beside him. It was a group of three boys and they were so loud most couldn’t hear the sound of the woman singing.

Alastor clenched his jaw, ready to take these assholes outside and kill them. Though the sound of a lovely voice stopped him.

“Sorry to cut your fun short boys, but some of us would actually like the music over your annoying voices.” Alastor turned his head — along with the other men — and saw you.

(H/C) paired with beautiful (E/C) hues. You looked like a goddess with your black flapper dress hugging your body. Showing off every curves your body had to offer.

Before the men could make a snarky reply to your face, you walked off. The pearls around your neck bouncing with each confident step you took.

“Fucking whore.” One of the men said, his ego clearly bruised by you. Alastor grip tightened around his glass of whiskey. Fucking disrespectful ignorant assholes, he thought. He downed the last sip of his whiskey and walked of after you.

When he caught up to you he was quick to introduce himself. “I’m Alastor. You are?” He spoke his voice remained indifferent but his eyes showed his curiosity. You smile and you took his out stretched hand. “Y/N.” You said as he kissed the back of your right hand.

Alastor smiled widened you told him your name. What a beautiful name. “Y/N” your name rolled of his tongue with ease. “Would you care to dance?” He spoke his question as the singer changed and a faster pace song started. “Why it would be a pleasure, Alastor.” He took you by the hand and started to twirl you around.

—

He had spent the night, dancing, drinking, and he even performed a song with you; courtesy of his dear friend Mimsy. 

“You’ve never heard of me of the radio?” Alastor asked, his voice in shock as if that would be impossible. “Unfortunately I’m not wealthy enough to own one. Probably my fault for coming here and drinking too much gin.” Alastor smiled, amused by the woman in-front of him. “That’s quite a shame.” You were about to continue your conversation when the same men from before started to become loud again. Alastor could see the irritation form in you, just as you could see it form in him.

—

As the night started to come to an end you wished him farewell as you walked out the door. Alastor noticed the three men from before follow you out. He went to go after them. He a devilish thoughts on what to do with them. Not only were they rude to everyone but being obnoxious, one had insulted you and he planned on making his death slow and painful.

He got distracted for just a minute and lost them. He started to curse himself, but he knew he’d get another chance.

He headed down the ally to get to him home only to be met with you licking the blood of a knife. Three men laid in front of you, all dead from stab wounds. You were covered in blood, your hair wet with it, you pearls stained of red, and your legs had streaks of bright crimson. He originally thought you looked heaven-sent, but as he saw you know heaven-sent wasn’t the right word. Ravishing was a better way to describe your tempting allure.

Alastor walked out the shadows and made himself known to you. “Looks like there’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

You eyes widen, you had been sure no one was following you four into the ally way. Alastor grabbed your left hand, as your right held the knife, and kissed it. He licked his lips and tasted the blood on your hands.

“Are you going to tell?” You could feel the panic bubbling in your stomach, but you didn’t show it.

“And why would I tell on such a splendid performance.” Alastor dropped your hand and grabbed the knife from you. Liking the rest of the blood off, just like you did before. “I must say, I am saddened you gotten to them first.”

You smiled at the tall man, “maybe next time I’ll catch you.” Alastor handed you back you knife. “Or maybe, we’ll both commit the act together.” He spoke.

“Care to dance?” He offered you a hand, making you raise a brow. “There’s no music.” You grabbed his hand.

He twirled you into his chest, the blood on you seeking into his white shirt a bit. “We can make our own.”

—

HIIII! I know this is short, but the idea came to me and I decided to write it. If you’ve seen my other “how long” fic then you should know that I’m working on the last and final part and it should be out very very soon! AND ALSO I AM WORKING ON ANOTHER REQUEST AS WELL!

-kelp 💛

Taglist

[envysparkler]

When Jason died, he’d still been a runt.  A black dog that could barely reach Bruce’s knees, more fur than shadows, eyes that had not yet started turning red.  He easily fit into the lap of whoever was holding him, wriggled into nooks in the Manor that Batman would never be able to follow, had an unerring ability to stumble upon dead bodies.

Jason had felt his own death before he ever laid eyes on the bomb.  It was a horrible thing, knowing you were going to die but not knowing how or when.  Knowing that Batman would be too late.  Knowing that this was the end.

A Grim’s power was always stronger closer to death.  To someone else’s death.  To their own.

The Joker left, not because he was done playing games, but because something in those blue eyes had begun turning red and there was a flicker of fear amidst that carefully calculated crazy.  The Joker left before Jason Todd started leaking shadows.

The bomb went off.  A baby Grim died.

But you couldn’t kill something that belonged to Death.

Jason woke up.  Jason came back.  Jason opened eyes of liquid green fire, and fully transformed, he stood higher than most men, a terrifying amalgam of shadows and fear.  A giant canine, solid black and reeking of Death.

Because that was the thing about Grims.  Their full powers only kicked in after death.

~#~

Tim shuddered as he walked towards the control room, fighting the subconscious chill.  The thermostats all registered the temperature as a balmy seventy-four degrees, but he’d been shivering for the last ten minutes and he was determined to find the source of the problem.

It was dark, the sky outside so cloudy it looked like night, and even the lights seemed dimmer than they usually were.  Just perception, Tim tried to convince himself, darting glances over his shoulder at an empty hallway, but it didn’t quite stick.

The darkness closed over him like molasses, sticky, slow and inextricable.

~#~

Tim woke in a rush, like someone had jolted him, and struggled blindly up in the instinctive reaction to an alarm, before his mind woke all the way up and helpfully pointed out that he was restrained.

Before Tim could register anything more than an increased heartbeat, the binds tightened, and a low voice said smoothly into his ear, “Calm down.  Deep breaths.”

Calm down?  Calm down?  Tim felt like he’d gone five rounds with Crane, and he was being restrained, and the room was too dark to make out any significant details, and—

Something slid through his hair, pressure on the right side of a massage.  “Shh,” the voice instructed.  “Your heart rate is too high.  Robin, slow down.”

Tim instantly untensed, the reaction ingrained after years of hearing the same words in Batman’s growl.  The voice was on the edge of familiar, and it was enough to bypass his climbing anxiety and drop him into a lull.

Had he been hit with fear toxin?  He didn’t remember—and then Tim went very, very still when his mind pulled up what he did remember.

“Robin?” the low voice asked.

Tim started, voice scratchy, “There was a—” A dog?  A wolf?  What could he even use to describe such a monster?  “A creature.”  Tim swallowed, and opened his mouth again, to try and detail specifics, but they were nowhere to be found.

Red eyes.  Tall, taller than him, filling the entire corridor, black and shadowy and Tim had been unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to think—

“Robin, calm down!” the voice cursed right into his ear and Tim felt himself being pulled up.  The restraints across his chest was a pair of arms, one hand pressed flat above his heart, the other stroking through his hair.  His legs were pinned by a boot-clad leg clamped around his knees, and Tim became aware that he was half-reclined in someone’s lap.

“The creature’s gone,” the voice said.  “He’s gone and not coming back, stop panicking.”  The voice sounded on the verge of panic itself.  “Just—just breathe, goddammit.”

Tim obediently breathed.  In and out, slipping into the breathing pattern Bruce had taught him—a breathing pattern mirrored by the man holding him, and things gradually began to break through Tim’s spiral.

Details.  Facts.  Conjecture.

Detail—the voice sounded very, very familiar.  Hoarser than he remembered, but familiar.

Fact—Tim was still in Titans Tower, still in one of the most fortified bases on the planet.  There was no one else visible.  They appeared to be alone.

Conjecture—Tim let out a slow breath and kept his limbs relaxed, waiting for his captor to release his breath before Tim twisted as fast he could.  He wasn’t aiming to break their grip, just to see—

Green eyes in a surprised expression.  A random white lock of hair.  A familiar, set, stubborn jaw.

“Jason?” Tim felt like he was drowning again.

[bloodywickedlips]

All this work.

Summary: You've worked hard for the past 6 months undercover, when a mistake is made by the BAU will it cost you more than you thought?

The day started off well and as you walked into the club you passed security easily with a smile and went to sit next to your boss.

You had recently moved up in the chain and was now one of the most important 8 people sat around the table.

You watched in silence as the men bickered and then soon it was over with drinks being passed and laughter along with stacks of cash laying on the table.

“we are expecting the next shipment to come in on the 9th” your boss said to one of well paying clients and you went over it in your mind. Four days. Only four days till the next batch come in.

You saw him pull more money out and slide it over to your boss and your boss motioned for you to check the bag.

Zipping the bag open you checked inside and nodded to your boss, this was enough money for at least three.

“pleasure doing business with you, I will send you the details as soon as it arrives” your boss said and you watched as they shook hands.

“Now tell me, does anyone pay to play with her?” the guy asked and tipped his chin towards you, making you glare at him and your boss laugh.

“That I can assure you will bring you more pain than pleasure if you try. She’s one of us, she makes sure our shipment is up to standards. The reviews certainly have gone up since she joined us” your boss said and you lifted your glass up in cheers and drank the bitter whiskey down without a grimace.

“Such a shame, I would have enjoyed it” the guy said and stood up to go back to his many girls entertaining him.

“If it is alright sir I would like to head back to the warehouse and make sure everything is ready for you when the shipment comes” you said and looked at your boss hoping he would left you as you needed some much needed sleep.

“Why don’t you take a day off, your work is always on time and you should relax a little bit. Get laid even” your boss says and laughs at his own joke.

“I might just do that if I see something interesting” you reply and stand up bidding your boss to have a good night.

You walk out of the club towards your car and drive your way to your house, you knew security was following right behind you and you sighed as you stepped out of your car.

Suddenly lights were shown on you and you heard voices shout. You looked around and ran down the ally way right next to your house, you tried climbing the long gated fence but a strong hand pulled you down and you collided hard with the ground.

Quickly jumping up you swung your fist and smiled in triumph as you heard a grunt and you felt your knuckles enflame in pain.

“Oh that’s how you wanna do it” the voice said back and you felt a punch to your own cheek and you had to admit that it stung.

You spat blood out onto the ground and motioned to the attacker to come forward with your hand and your fists were raised up.

The guy ran at you and tackled you back into the fence making you gasp as the air was knocked out of your lungs but you quickly hit your elbow down onto his back two times before he grunted letting go. You smiled and went to run back out of the ally when you were stopped by him pulling you back by your hair. “Ah fuck….” You shouted as he slammed you to the ground with his knee in between your shoulder blades.

“Stop fighting dammit, FBI you are under arrest, I will now read you your rights…” the voice said and you closed your eyes and sighed as he read you your rights.

You couldn’t believe it.

As he pulled you up by your cuffed wrists you hissed as they bit into your flesh and as he escorted you to their black SUV you looked to the side and saw Michael watching you from his car. Your boss was not going to be happy at all.

You were searched and then thrown into an interrogation room. You sat there for about an hour before finally someone stepped in and you arched your eyebrow to the man in front of you. He had a nice bruise on his jaw where your fist had connected.

“Laura smith….finally I can put a face to the name” the man said and you looked away to the side.

He slammed brown files down in front of you and you thought to yourself ‘here we go’.

He blabbed on about the files in front of you and not once did you speak up or give him anything.

“I want you superior” you said and he huffed out at you and slammed his hands down onto the table “there is no way you are cutting a deal, so speak now or we put you away for good” he said and you laughed out.

Not that you thought anything was funny…you were angry , no you were pissed off.

“you stupid prick!!” you hissed out and stood up although your hands were cuffed to the table you were seething.

“I want your superior in here now!” you shouted and heard the door open, looking to your side you saw a middle aged man in a suit step in and nod at you.

“Hotch we had a plan, don’t give in to her man” the other man said and you watched as this ‘Hotch’ moved to stand in front of you.

“Morgan I am curious to know what she wants” Hotch replied and you glared at both of them.

“So please explain to me how the FBI just hires any stupid idiot off of the force? You see Morgan I can tell you were normal police before this. So please tell me how stupid you actually are” you said in anger and you could tell you were getting under his skin.

“You are the stupid one, I mean we caught you” Morgan said and you shook your head as you sat down crossing your legs.

“I assume you have a technical analyst? Don’t answer its rhetorical, phone them right now in front of me and tell them to look up Y/N Y/L/N” you told them with anger.

“We don’t take orders from you” morgan huffed out and hotch was looking at you trying to analyse why you were asking for this.

“Morgan it might be another victim” Hotch said and you rolled your eyes.

You watched as hotch pulled his phone open and dialled a number while putting it on speaker.

“What can I do for you my lord?” a sweet female voice came through the phone and you stared at it curiously.

“Look up Y/N Y/L/N anything you cant find on them” Hotch said and you sat back staring at morgan as he glared at you.

“Alright scanning now, oh oaky got it. She’s gone awol for the past six months no trace of her at all, before that there is a lot of cases finished with her name at the top, nothing dirty although there is a sealed file” the voice said and hotch ordered her to unseal it.

“Don’t bother sweetheart, only person that can authorise that would be Erin Strause. So if I were you I would call her first as you stupid people probably just blew my cover!!” you hissed out the last part and saw all colour drain from the said morgan.

“That’s right morgan, you just probably blew my cover, I’ve been under for just over six months in the child trafficking ring and this would have been the biggest bust yet. You just cost hundreds of kids their lives.” You said and shook your head at them.

Not soon after you said those words hotch’s phone started ringing and him and morgan gave each other a look before he answered.

“What is this I heard you just arrested one of my best undercover agents?” you heard the voice of strause come through the phone.

“I’m sorry mam, we had no idea. The case we are currently working deals with children being abducted and all signs pointed to her, yes mam. Yes I understand” Hotch said as he hung up the phone.

“Mind getting the cuffs off of me now?” you stated angrily and rubbed your wrists as they were set free.

“All this work down the fucking drain” you mumbled and shook your head.

“I’m sorry for the mix up, you are free to go” Hotch said and you huffed at him. “no way will they let me back in after their people saw me getting arrested.” You said and winched at the headache you were getting.

“We’ll make it believable, let you go as you said nothing” Hotch said and you mulled it over in your head and nodded.

“Fine but I need a few bruises to make it believable” you groaned out whishing none of tonight happened as you were so close. This last shipment of kids coming in was your last piece of evidence you needed to bring down the whole ring with bosses and customers alike.

“That can be arranged” Hotch said and picked up the files and left the room with morgan.

You sat at the table thinking of ways to explain this to your boss, hopefully he wouldn’t see right through you and discover your intentions after a hard long six months.

Morgan stepped back inside with a woman following him and they shut the door.

“Hi I'm Emily Prentiss, Hotch explained to me and I'm sorry to have to do this” she said and you shook your head at her.

“You wont be touching me, he will be the one” you said and nodded to morgan.

“Whoa hey now, I am not doing that” he said and held his hands up as he stepped back.

“oh now you are good enough to not touch me” you hissed at him still angry over the whole situation.

“it’s not that, it’s just not fair of a woman to go up against Morgan” Emily said and you shook your head. “I am a lot stronger than I look, ask morgan, I gave him that pretty bruise on his jaw” you said and saw morgan clench his fists.

“Emily it’s fine” Morgan said and she held her hands up and shook her head as she walked out.

“So where do you want it?” morgan asked as he stepped closer to you and it’s the first time you actually look at him. He was very handsome for an FBI agent. Dark luring eyes and beautiful smile and very toned from what you could see.

“let’s do eyebrow and neck” you said and walked towards him ready for him to hit you.

You grabbed his hand and put it around your throat trying to get it over with, you felt morgan squeeze his hand but it wasn’t hard enough to leave a bruise.

“Morgan you need to do better than that” you said and you noticed he wasn’t looking at you at all.

Knowing what you had to do you stepped forward until he was pressed against the wall and smiled at him.

“What Morgan, you afraid to hurt me, come on show me what you’ve got. Or should I call Emily in to rather do a mans job” you sneered at him and felt his hand tighten a little bit, you were on the right track.

“Maybe I should talk to Hotch as well and send you back to your old squad so you can learn to be a proper cop. You know I help my boss with? Picking out the good kids to go out and sell, the be sold like sheep. They mean nothing, it makes them stronger. A little touch here and there does the trick” you said to him, mocking him and you knew it worked as his hand tightened all the way and his other hand joined.

He slammed you back into the wall and wrapped his hand tightly around your throat. “Shut up, you know nothing” he hissed at you and you saw something in his eyes. You needed something done and you felt bad for what you said next but you knew it had to look real for your boss.

“What don’t tell me you were touched and it’s still in that brain of yours. Come on morgan it means nothing, you mean nothing” you said out loud as much as you could with straining against his hold on your neck. You saw the rage in his eyes and felt the rush of air as he moved you and slammed your head against the table.

You felt a sting on your head and you knew you got what you wanted.

“Morgan enough” Hotch’s voice boomed behind both of you and you laid still as you saw morgan storm out,

“You know I only said it to get him angry” you explained to hotch and stood up to look at him. He nodded, not seeming happy that you could get under his agents skin so quickly but it was something you specialized in.

You followed hotch to the door and shivered as you stepped into the icy cold night.

You knew you couldn’t call a cab as everything was still in your car and decided to walk the few blocks to one of the ring bosses house to explain.

As you walked you heard a car screech behind you before a bag was over your head and you were pulled into the car.

You knew your boss had sent someone to get you and you hoped for the best as the car came to a stand still.

Being pulled out roughly you were shoved into a door and fell to your knees with a hiss.

“Laura, Laura, Laura please explain to me how you got picked up by the FBI nonetheless” the voice said and you recognized your bosses voice.

“I don’t know what happened, someone must have talked. One of the new clients must have slipped up” you said and squinted as the bag was pulled off of your head.

Your boss looked over you clearly noticing the bruises. “And what did you tell the FBI for them to let you go?” you boss asked and you shook your head.

“I didn’t tell them anything, they tried to rough me up but I never spoke up. I have just as much to lose as you do” you said and looked up at him hoping he believed you.

“You see Laura I don’t believe you. Things aren’t adding up for me and it all makes sense now. The stock that are no good, you always take care off. Dispose of them, but no bodies have ever showed up, missing posters of those said stock went off the grid. As if they were returned home” he said and you knew he was onto you.

“I can take you to the dump site if you wish” you said challenging him but he smiled at you.

“Bring her in…” he shouted and you saw two of his men walk to the side and drag a female in front of you.

“Lisa please repeat what you told me” your boss said and you looked at Lisa in front of you as the bag was pulled off of her head.

She had fresh bruises all over her and it took everything inside of you to not flinch.

“She said if I follow what she tells me I can go home. I mustn’t fight back and just accept my fate as then the men won’t want me and I can go home” Lisa sobbed out as she explained everything you told her before.

“You see Laura, I believe her” you boss said and you saw him walk up and point a gun to her head before the shot went off.

You screamed and started crying as you saw the blood run out of her and envelop her fallen body like a halo.

The sobs wracked your body as you cried, Lisa was someone you cared about a lot as she looked just like your little sister.

“I guess I have my answer” your boss said with a wicked smile and you knew you were going to be killed next.

“Congratulations Laura you just dropped to the bottom of the pit. Have her prepared with the rest, an agent will go for a lot of money on the market” he said and you knew that fate was worse than being killed.

It’s been three days since you were locked up in one of the cages, only getting water now and then and dry stale bread as a food supply.

Now and then your boss would come in and throw you around, taking his anger out on you. You thanked whatever god was above that it never went further than the beatings.

“Time to go” a voice called out and pulled you from your cage, you tried fighting back but a swift kick to you already bruised ribs made you gasp and curl into a ball.

You were pulled up by your hair and the ropes around your hands were tightened as you were shoved forward.

You were pulled into a big warehouse and only then did you realize the latest shipment already came as there were different children posed and up for bidding to be sold.

You were led to the far back and tied to a pole before your boss stepped up and smirked at you.

“Time to make me money, it should make up for everything you put me through” he said and flipped a knife open to cut your shirt and pants from you. Only leaving you in your underwear.

“Ouch that looks painful” he said and proceeded to punch you on your side that was littered with purple and green bruises.

You felt the snap an also heard it as your rib gave in from the strain and snapped inside of you. You were surprized that your rib only broke now.

The lights were dimmed and you felt like it was harder and harder to breathe. You knew what was coming and didn’t even flinch when a crash sounded and chaos ensued.

People were running and shouting as you heard voices all around you “FBI stop” was shouted all around you but you couldn’t focus as everything felt numb to you.

“She’s here” you heard a voice shout and felt your hands being cut free as you fell into a pair of arms.

“We need a medic” the voice above you shouted and you felt a hand press to your cheek.

“Hey come on  look at me, open those pretty eyes of yours” the voice said and you blinked your eyes open and saw the beautiful dark eyes looking down at you.

“There we go, now keep those eyes on me” he said and you smirked but grimaced as it pulled your split lip open again.

Everything started going blurry and you grabbed his hand “Get the kids out…” you whispered and begged him with your eyes.

“We got them, don’t you worry” he said and you nodded as you passed out.

Your head was pounding as you opened your eyes to the bright light and the beeping next to you didn’t help.

“shut up” you groaned at the beeping and heard a chair scrape against the floor.

“Doctor she’s awake” a voice shouted and you pulled your hand up to cradle your head.

“ow stop shouting” you said and flinched at the sound of your own voice, it sounded hoarse and terrible.

“Sorry sweetheart, I’ll keep it down” a voice said and you looked to your side and saw Morgan smiling down at you.

“Hey you came for me” you said with a smile, no doubt being high from the pain killers as you didn’t smile often.

“Yeah I went outside to cool off and I saw you walking on the sidewalk and then get pulled into a car, I knew nothing good could have come from it. So me and my team worked hard to try and decipher all  your notices and clues to figure out where they were selling. And after you didn’t check in for a day we knew something was up” Morgan explained and you nodded thankful that he saw what happened.

“Thank you morgan” you whispered and took his hand in your own. “and I'm sorry for everything I said, but I needed you to be angry” you explained and morgan squeezed your hand.

“Don’t worry sweetheart I know, and call me Derek” he said and you smiled up at him and nodded.

“Take me on a date first before we get to pet names” you said and watched as he laughed at you and nodded himself.

“As soon as you are healed up, I’ll organize a date” Morgan said and you laid back down happy that things ended up okay.

[saint-ajax]

Phantom Of The Sea

THE ONLY DAUGHTER OF POSEIDON AND Aphrodite was Sierra. She inherited her mother’s ethereal beauty and as her father was the God of  Sea, she could live in the deepest ocean there is. She was a product of mistakes and everyone in Olympus knew that. It may be one of the reasons why the Olympians look at her differently. None of the children wanted to make friends with her, and almost all her life she was treated miserably. But the Goddess of Warfare was the only soul who had a soft heart and kindness to the poor child. So as Sierra grew, she was clandestinely taught how to fight. She grew to be a brave lady with an astonishing beauty you can not deny. She was so beautiful that her mother, the Goddess of beauty and love, discovered a covetous jealousy that possessed her to banish her own daughter from her palace and sent her to her father to live in the sea. Sierra left Olympus with her heart filled with anger, hatred, and rage built ever since she was a child.

  In her life under the deepest and darkest sea, she found light in her enchanting voice and grace. At one point, she discovered that the sound and sight of her can seduce mortals, men, women, and… Gods. Ever since she was a child, she was clueless about what she was given to rule, what she was destined to be a God of,  but now in her new home, her lustrous scales gave her an idea. She was the Goddess of Sirens.

  Her heart was painted in anger and it pushed her to use her assets to seduce mortals who dared to sail, bring them to her cave, and decide their time of death. This continued for almost an eternity, thousands of humans tried to find and catch the infamous killer of the sea but none of them succeeded in passing her deceitful seducing mirage.

One morning, in one of her favorite islands where no one lives but silence, her paradise, where she goes to pass the time, had a living breathing mortal out of nowhere. The stranger was a rugged man in a veil. His mask seemed to be a skull of a being. And this awakened Sierra’s interest. It paused her plans to make that man her meal. From the corner of the island where she wouldn’t be seen by the young man, she eyed him in serenity. She watched how he walked by the shore in the morning and witnessed his sailing whenever the sunset. Her former annoyance of him vanished, whereupon the peacefulness of the island remained even with his presence.

One afternoon, Sierra’s curiosity got the best of her, and entertained the idea of approaching the boy’s boat without him looking. Her sneaking exposed her to silver and brass apparatus. Her attention was focused on a piece of silverware with four pointed edges. In a quick move, she swam deep with the material in hand. Back in her cave, after staring for hours at it, she ended up using it to untangle her silk hair. Meanwhile, the young man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why the calm water moved, but his focus was quickly diverted to his missing fork.

  The next day when he sailed, his fork came back out of nowhere with shiny pearls. Confusion built in his mind as he set them aside. Several exchanges of the moon and sun passed and their dance continued in its own rhythm. In every missing silver, comes back with newfound pearls. Whenever it was time to close the day, there was a mortal and a goddess watching without knowing the other knew about their presence.

      He could afford to build a castle with the amount of pearls he earned, he thought. At long last, he then decided to wait and catch the thief and returner of his belongings.

  He kept an eye on his ship and the body of water as the sun ended its reign, and by the time daylight covered the scene, the fairest woman he had ever laid his sight on made an appearance that surprised both companies. Their opposite-tinted orbs met. Once she realized that he saw her, she vanished out of thin air. She went back to her pitch-black nature. While he tried to chase her with his eyes, his confusion unfortunately froze him in his spot and he did nothing but let and watch her leave.

  The young man’s night became devoted to debating and thinking about whether it was a mermaid he saw. If he was in fact correct, he would be rewarded by the King if he ever brought them into their hands. The night went by and afterglow arrived once again, he found himself in his usual spot waiting for the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Meanwhile, Sierra purposely showed up, she was testing what would be the mortal’s reaction to her presence. If he dares to make the wrong move, then there would be a siren singing that night.

           But silence joined salt air when they finally saw each other. Their eyes lingered on one another until the young man decided to shatter the deafening silence between them.

       "When shall you be returning my silverware, fair lady?”

      The masculine man’s first words to her left her dazed. She could sense no fear as he stared directly at her radiant orbs and it only blossomed her curiosity of the man. When the fair lady did not respond, he tried once again.

 “Are you heedless that thy actions as stealing are pondered as a crime you shall be responsible for?”

  Her eyebrows lifted at his statement, and she enchanted him by simply speaking.

“I committed no crime when I intended to restore your taken treasure, and in truth, gave back more than I took.”

      “Capturing an object that is not thy possession without permission is known as stealing which is a crime.”

        The young man noticed that her eyes were focused on his neck, where his pendant of identification hangs from his service as a remarkable knight lieutenant for the King. When she pointed at it, he immediately disapproved by shaking his head.

 “I vow to return your fortune.” She swears.

“I’m afraid that's not happening.” He declines.

   “I advise you to trade it for gold.”

    “You heard me the first time, my lady.”

  “Sierra.” She received only a hum of acknowledgment from the young man. “And you are..?”

 “Ghost.” He made her smile. And all of a sudden he couldn’t look away from her blinding beauty.

   “You are a mortal named ‘Ghost’?” He confirmed with a nod as she released a contagious laugh.

      Ever since the mortal and the goddess met, they didn’t realize that they deliberately pledged time to spend together to capture the last gasp of beauty before the death of the day perpetually.

        Sierra even sang for Ghost once without any incantation and what he could only utter was,

      “You are a Goddess I would worship for eternity, Sierra.”

While she only responded with a mischievous sly grin.

      Like a usual afternoon, Sierra and Ghost were letting one another read chapters of their life.

       “Ghost.. Was the designated name for me when I performed my duties as a Lieutenant for the King.”

   “Lieutenant.. Ghost?” She fathomed in fascination. “If so.. Then ’Ghost’ is not your true name?”

     He hummed to confirm. That had put a frown on her face when she perceived the truth of the lack of trust he had for her by the simplicity of giving his birth name. Ghost took notice of her sudden silence, therefore, he tried to check up on her, but she was quicker to notice that he saw what was happening with her thus she proceeded to speak before him to cut him off.

    “Oh, I nearly forgot to caution you to be careful..there is a forthcoming storm.”

      His brows knitted at her change of topic. “It shall be as you say.” She nodded at his response. And when she prepared to swim away, he tried to stop her.

      “Am I bound to hope that we shall meet again?”

      “Fate shall know… Ghost.”

      She purposely weighed his name before vanishing to the depths of sea.

      When the moon wielded the night, Sierra’s oath came to life. Gigantic waves dominated the sea, heavy drops of rain demolished, and it was pure rage the wind and lighting proclaimed. Inside his sanctuary, there was no distress, no terror of the storm from Ghost but worry for the lady who was recently trapped in his labyrinth. He was worried for the mermaid who lived below the light and kept him on the edge of his seat the whole night. But the reign of moon finally ended yet all he could think about was her safety, her situation, if she was harmed or hopefully spent the night safely.

   Soon the king of light rose from the horizon, chirps of birds echoed along the calm wind and the sea was now at ease. A quiet knock came from the door. He was puzzled as he reached to open the entrance and see whoever was at the other side.

      The ground caught his jaw when the door gave sight of the Goddess on the other side. A captivating heavenly beauty stood familiar by heart, covered in peplos. 

    He was speechless, left in shock. He couldn’t believe a Goddess was standing right in front of his eyes. Luckily, a skull and clothing hid his face from the world.

     “Pleasant morning, Ghost. I only arrived as I wish to be aware of your condition after the storm.” 

     Her soothing tone comforted the harmonic morning and it brought him back to reality. He came back to his senses when he realized it was Sierra who was the stunning ethereal lady standing in front of him.

     “Sierra..”

“Ghost? Are you well?” She was starting to worry about his lack of response.

      “Sierra.. How are you with feet? I was secured the whole night. I am grateful that you care. You are the one who shall be questioned of their well-being. Do come in.” He widened the space for her to enter.

   “My pleasure. It is not necessary for you to worry about my health. I have experienced an even more terrible life in Olympus.”

      “I guess so.. –Olympus?”

   Sierra’s eyes widened when she realized what she had shared.

     “I only casted my feet to know if you are well. Are you confident that you are?”

     “You endangered yourself due to my being? Sierra, you are clueless of what you are doing. You shall come as I will take you back to your home.”

      “You are home.”

      “Stop being oblivious, Sierra. You would not desire to be with me, for I am not a nobleman.”

      “I am certain that it is not an appalling atrocity.”

       “I have taken hundreds of lives with my bare hands, Sierra.”

     “I am aware. You are the Lieutenant for your King, did you not say?”

     “Exactly.”

  “Therefore?”

    “You are the definition of pure and noble, Sierra. Your flawless skin.. your angelic eyes I could not find myself to look away from.. your luscious tail. In truth, you define perfection.”

    “I have not heard of your true name nor have I seen the magnificent mortal behind the mask, Ghost. Thus, same as me, you have not dived into my pool of sins for you to be definite of my genuine self.”

       “I am certain that it is not an appalling atrocity.”

         When Ghost threw her own words at her, she couldn't hold it anymore.

      “I behold such a fact that you are aware of my great love and care for you, Ghost. May whoever or whatever you have done.” Sierra held back tears before abandoning him speechless. And it was too late when he tried to run after her.

    Days elapsed and Ghost sailed consistently to try and catch Sierra by the nightfall, the time of day they usually meet, hoping to ask for her forgiveness. But days evolved into weeks and it was beginning to feel as if there was no existence of the mermaid at all.

       A mermaid who woke his long dead heart.

       He was filled with great sorrow and regret in the days when there were no signs of Sierra.

    Until one night, a miracle knocked on his door and made his heart beat crazy in hope of seeing Sierra once he opened the door. Heaven and earth entwined him when a different face of a goddess faced him.

      “Are you the mortal known as ‘Ghost’?” Authority and bravery would be sensed on her tone of speaking.

      “I am.” He responded.

     “If you without a doubt care about the Goddess of Sirens, you are to come with me right this moment.”

        “In what reasons would I care about the Goddess of Sirens?” Even if Ghost thought he had an idea who the lady was talking about, he didn't make it obvious.

       “For the Goddess of Sirens who ruled the Sea is named.. Sierra.”

        It was as if he was poured down with cold water with what he heard that he couldn't speak.

        “You are nothing but a fool if you weren't aware of this truth. Cease this nonsense right this instance and save the Goddess from the verdict of Zeus.”

    ��     Athena made the former soldier do as told with her commanding tone. Ghost wasn't sure how they arrived at the sacred mountain of Olympus, but he was certain that it was Gods and Goddesses daggering him with looks full of judgment and studying his existence as if he wasn't meant to be there. And they were correct, he was just a mortal who had no right to be in the same place or even breathe the same air as God. But he did not have any time nor intended to self-pity, for this once caused him the sole reason of his being. Or in simpler words, the love of his life. The only soul who was ready to accept and love him for whoever or whatever he had done.

       Proud yet emotionless was the face carved behind the mask of Ghost. He followed right behind Athena who stood and bowed to show respect to the throne of Zeus. One gesture of Zeus and Athena vanished from her position and stepped aside, leaving the center of attention to the only mortal in the room. Zeus flashed a taunting smirk when the mortal in front of him did not dare to break the eye contact it held with a God.

       “A foolish and impudent mortal is the one you bring to save the Goddess of Sirens from death, Athena?!”  He yelled, howled, and tore the noises they caused that made the whole stadium sit in silence.

      Meanwhile, the Goddess of Warfare reacted as if she heard nothing, as if she wasn't yelled at by the God of all, she remained cold and unmoved while staring at nothing. Ghost had the exact same posture except his eyes widened when he took notice of the use of the word death in the same sentence with Sierra.

     “Death.. ?” He could not hold back anymore and started asking, he badly wanted to know her situation. Is she okay? Has she eaten yet? Where was she?  Is she in the middle of the sea waiting for him to sail? How he wished that their condition would always be as it was.

        “Precisely. The daughter of Poseidon and Aphrodite shall be punished for unjust killings of thousands of mortals! men.. women.. And demigods.”

        Ghost knew that taking one’s life is vile, wrong, evil. But he couldn’t force to stop the smile that was forming on his lips when he knew that the woman who owned his heart was the same as he was. Morally corrupt, rotten soul, sinful and ungodly, a killer. They were fit for each other.

      “Yet.. the judgment can still be revoked..” All of a sudden, Ghost found a shed of light for just a split second when Zeus continued.

      “If only she were to marry me.”

     His closed fist tightened its grip on nothing when he heard those words. His anger boiled when he heard the condition of Sierra’s freedom from death. She was his. He would never let death nor any God or mortal take her away.

      “Bring her out!” He demanded.

   “Fool! And who did you think you are for anyone here to follow!?”

  “Bring Sierra out!” The mortal wasn’t moved one bit and even had a higher tone in speaking to a god.

     “Mortal!” Athena called out to Ghost to scold him for disrespecting.

   The mocking laugh Zeus released thundered the entire domain as he gestured to one of the knights.

  “You’re brave, Lieutenant.” An insulting smirk appeared on his lips while he sneered at Ghost, “I'll give you that.” obviously wanting him to know that he knew who he was.

    “Summon the Goddess.” Zeus commanded calmly which the knights obeyed immediately. A few tense minutes went by and the sound of chains hitting the ground was starting to sound close by. Then the knights appeared surrounding the most beautiful goddess in the room. But there was something off with her. She looked lifeless. And as if a dog whose owner did not want her to bark, she had a dog muzzle. His heart of stone tore into a million pieces at the scene. He fought the urge to run and rip the rope securing her wrists and feet and pull her to his embrace.

   But he became a statue as he took in her condition. She was pale, hollow-cheeked, as if she was starving for weeks. They forcedly sat her beside Zeus’ throne, as if she was the reigning Queen.

  “Sierra..” He whispered weakly.

    She slowly brought her gaze up to find the source of that familiar voice and found his warm eyes staring back at her. The eyes that calm her system down. She couldn’t do anything but squirm and persist to be free from being restrained. Her radiant eyes moistened from tears that begged to fall when she saw him. Weak and faint cries were heard from Sierra.

    Ghost wasn’t able to hold it together anymore when her cries reached his ears. He tried to run to her, but the alert knights held and forced him down before he caught the throne.

   “You stop this instance you imbeciles! You! Mortal! If you, as you claim, care for the Goddess, I challenge you to prove it right this moment.” One flick of his hand and one of the chevaliers threw Ghost away and a sword at him. He wholeheartedly accepted the challenge.

  Sierra became undone at the scene in front of her. She was nervous, scared, and at the same time impressed at the mad skills Ghost was showing as he defended and slayed the knights of gods. There was fire in his eyes, igniting him to win. But the battle wasn’t fair and square, Zeus was tiring him out by sending more and more warriors with each knight he slayed. Sierra kept squirming in her seat as she witnessed the unfair battle before flinching when she felt a hand land on her shoulder.

    Ghost was well aware of Zeus’ intentions, he was purposely exhausting him so he would give up, but no matter how many stabs or bruises he received, giving up would never cross his mind knowing the price it pays.

      Each swish of sword and duck of his, he sensed where the other was if it was nowhere near his sight. As he jabbed the steel into the man’s chest breaking through its skin and sinking into its bones, it was too late to duck from the stab that was coming from behind, but before a blade passed through him, a dead body dropped behind him instead, at the same time when the one in front his face dropped dead. When he turned around, he saw Sierra with a sword slightly gasping for air, his saviour from the traitor enemy. She ran to help him as soon as Athena untied her.

      “Ghost..” She whispered breathlessly. Just a few more steps and they were finally able to feel another’s embrace. At the drop of the armor, Sierra locked his neck around her arms while Ghost secured her waist in his arms.           

      “I love you, Sierra. I am such a fool, please, I need you to forgive—”

     “Shh.. shh.. I know, my only. I know. And I love you too, I love you so much.”

     “Fools!” At the same time as Zeus let out a scream, the arrow came free and landed on the back of the mortal.

    Sierra froze on her spot as she slowly processed what just happened. Ghost’s blooded body fell on the ground but she immediately tried to catch his head.

        “No.. no.. this.. This is not possible. This can not be.. no.. ”

        She couldn’t control the tears that were falling from her eyes. All the anger that burned inside her for centuries was turning into pure pain and sorrow.

       “Ghost.. Don’t.. Please.. Don’t leave me.. I beg of you.. Don’t.”

      Ghost weakly tried to reach his balaclava to let the Goddess know his genuine self. While Sierra was as seen as if she saw an angel, a handsome hunk angel. Even if he was painted in blood, and deep scars, it didn’t manage to lessen his striking beauty. From his brilliant eyes, sharp nose, and jaw, she was falling for him all over again.

       “You are the most handsome mortal I sang for.”

      “You are the most beautiful goddess I fought for.”

       At the same time a smile appeared on Sierra’s lips was the escape of tears and a cough of blood from Ghost.

      “Oh, Ghost. No.. shh.. no.. my ghost.."

     “Simon.” Simon corrected. “Simon is my true name, my only.”

     “Simon..” Sierra repeated in fascination. “I love you, Simon. I do.”     

     She left a kiss on his forehead as Simon left his last words before his last breath.

    “For eternity, even at the last gasp of sun, I can only witness beauty when I’m with you.”

      Each corner of the stadium was filled with Sierra’s screeching scream when Ghost officially caught his last breath. Her pain and grief were painfully evident in her yells and her cries. Every god and goddess watched her scream in pain. Her agony maimed everyone who heard her howl on the whole mountain of sacredness.

      Yet no matter what the two of them went through that day, she was still served with death on the same day and neither of her parents defended or sought to comfort her. No one ever did except for the mortal who lay lifeless next to her.

       From that day on, the cry and screams of agony of the siren echoed eternally at the depths of the sea, and anyone who came across, anyone unfortunate enough to hear it, was never found.

      And that became the birth of the phantom of the sea.

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle - jjk | seven

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - oof. goes without saying, it's angsty, graphic depictions of violence, physical and verbal fight between jk + joon, they are VILE to one another, drug usage (mostly snorting coke), alcohol, clubbing, taking things too far, insinuations of dangerous driving, illegal boxing rings, blood, one mention of the dark knight, one harvey dent quote, disgustingly sweet daydreams from jk, lewd references to sex, political dynamics, no smut, important plot points

PLEASE take note of the warnings. The fight is nasty, and both jk + nj use the women one another care about as weapons. Both men take things too far in a bid to make the other angry. The women -the oc and nj's sis- are objectified, degraded, spoken about sexually and yeah, just really unpleasant. These characters are career criminals. They are NOT nice people. Please consider your own limits before reading - I've actually edited this to make it a little more palatable and it's still not very nice.

word count - 13.5k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Metal clatters against the concrete floor of Kang's boxing club as soon as Jungkook opens his locker.

He's yanked it open with such ferocity that one of the bolts has fallen to the floor. Just a small one; a washer that helps to keep a hinge in place, but an inconvenience nonetheless. He stops. Sighs. Looks down at it for a moment, tells it to stop being a little bitch, and then rummages around in his locker for the black jumper he left in there a week prior.

His t-shirt drags against his skin as he sheds himself of it, still damp. The fabric slaps against the floor, echoing his mistakes around him, reverbing in the empty room. They bounce from wall to wall. Taunting him. 

If he picks his shirt up off the floor, there'll be a stain of red on the ground.  

Jimin's locker, once pristine, crumples beneath Jungkook's fist, overwhelmed by an unavoidable truth: 

Jeon Jungkook destroys. 

His touch impacts. Makes impressions. Leaves marks. There's no straightening out the door, he thinks. It'll always be rumpled by the indent of his knuckles. Disfigured. Broken.

Jungkook has been a hurricane for as long as he can remember; a facilitator of misfortune for those around him. He engulfs the best of people and spits them out again when they're at their worst.

If he really wants to, he can pinpoint the exact date and time he transcended from human to meteorological system. He's been upgraded recently - was once a tropical storm, is now a typhoon. 

Destruction is just who he is. More fool him for thinking that clouds could break, and sun could shine. 

Perhaps it's why things always worked so well between you both when the skies were dark, nightfall hiding who he was from plain sight. Any unpleasantries could be chalked up to bad dreams.

He rids himself of the clothes dampened by the commitment he made to you, a little red stain drying around the nape of his neck.

Despite his best attempts to lock it in, there's still dye leaking from strands of his hair, only serving to further remind him that you were never meant to be permanent.

You'll wash away with the spring rains that are set to fall in the coming months, and all he'll be able to do is watch as you drain into the gutter with the rest of his best-laid plans.

For a moment, he considers running. Wind cracks the back door open, light from a streetlamp pooling in. Dust dances in the orange beam, free and unrestricted by the confines of life. It's a freedom he'll never know, not really. He has choices he can make. Liberties he can take. He isn't really as trapped as he thinks he is - but the mind is a heavy prison for those who have shackled themselves to a predestined fate that doesn't exist.

It's not like he doesn't know this. He's aware that the only thing in the world that's stopping him is himself - but his feet are bolted to the floor with screws branded with the names of the people he loves: his mother, his father, one for each of the boys.

They're wound tight, twisted through his flesh and bones. He's tied to Daegu by everything he loves, and the promises he made to ensure that he'll never forget them.

But there's a missing screw, and it's threaded right through his heart. There's a name on it he wishes he'd never learnt, messy, and carved out in a hurry because he didn't have the time to properly process the way he felt until it was too late.

It pinches as he moves, scrapes against his spinal column, etches the letters into his bone.

You might not be permanent, but the mark you leave is as indelible as the ink on his skin.

He laughs when he thinks of you. Laughs in a way that isn't really a laugh. It's full of scorn, and loathing, and longing. The kind of laugh that settles in his stomach like acid that will surely burn away at his soft tissue. He'll disintegrate from the inside out before he ever has the chance to make amends.

Jungkook is pulled, all rather abruptly, from his thoughts when the entryway door slams open. His heart lifts in his chest, that damn nail scraping away at even more of his bone as it does so, body temperature rising and falling all within the same second.

"Here he is," Jimin greets him like a long lost friend. He only saw him, what? Five? Six days ago, maybe? "Where the hell have you been? And Christ, the hell happened to your hair?"

"Home," he says, eyes vacant, no trace of a lie. Of course, it isn't a lie - but it is a half-truth. He ignores the question about his hair. "Went to check on dad."

"How is he?"

"Same old," Jungkook shrugs, not needing to explain the situation. Jimin grew up with Jungkook. Knows the intricacies of his family history. He doesn't pry, and is rewarded with unfiltered access to the most private details of Jungkook's personal life.

Well, almost unfiltered.

Jimin doesn't know about you. He guesses. Notices. Clocks the way that Jungkook sometimes smells far sweeter, far more feminine, after a night of unexplained absence from the boxing club. Watches the way Jungkook keeps his phone on silent, but presses the lock screen far more frequently than usual to check for new messages. Can tell whenever there is a message waiting, because of the way Jungkook's cheeks twitch, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips, of which he refuses to let form.

It's adolescent, how Jungkook thinks he's able to hide his affections.

Jimin might not know for sure that it's you, but he knows his best friend well enough to know that it's someone. There's been no mention of a girl, not since Namjoon forced him into the ring after he found out about Naejeon, so he figures that it must be someone new.

Someone worth keeping secret.

Someone a lot like you.

When he looks over towards his locker, a deep-rooted sigh escapes his lips. "Really? Couldn't have fucked up your own?"

"Accident," Jungkook lies. "I'll swap our doors over."

Jungkook is good at solving problems, but is so quick - so logical - he doesn't often consider that perhaps the problem isn't the issue; it's the circumstances that led to the problem which need fixing instead.

"'S'fine," Jimin shrugs, as he opens it up with a creak and tosses his bag inside it. Not much care is given, because he's already dressed and ready to go. Always early, always punctual, he follows the orders given to him with very few questions asked. "How are you feeling?"

Pretty fucking awful.

"Yeah, fine," Jungkook dismisses, but is painfully aware of how short he's being. He doesn't wanna talk, doesn't wanna give Jimin any ammunition to weaponize against him (not that he would), but knows he's being too aloof. Jimin will start asking questions. "Just wanna get it over and done with, yanno?"

Jimin laughs. "Why such a hurry? Not like it's an in and out job. May as well take our time with it."

Jungkook doesn't reply as he pulls the hoodie over his head, and waltzes up to one of the tattered punching bags.

He begins to bounce on his feet, hands unbound as they tap against the leather. "Just don't understand Jin. Why'd he decide now or never? Couldn't we have time to prep?"

"Beats me," Jimin shrugs, back resting against the cool metal of the lockers. "But we've been prepping for months, Kookie. Been ready since the start of the year, it's months since we said we were gonna do this. Think he's just fed up of waiting."

The younger of the pair grunts a reply as his knuckles slap against the weighted bag.

"Aren't you?" Jimin adds on. "Aren't you tired of waiting, too? Always having to go to that damn gas station. Bet you'll be thankful when this is all over."

He knows he won't be. Knows that Jungkook goes to the gas station far more often than he lets on - has trailed him a couple of times just to confirm. 

It hasn't gone unnoticed by Jungkook, mind you. He's never confronted Jimin about it, but it is why he's started parking a little further away from the gas station. Jimin's caught on about that, too.

"Mhmm," Jungkook grunts, not paying any attention to his friend, squaring up to the bag once more.

"Save your energy. Might need it later."

"Better fuckin' not," Jungkook husks beneath his breath as his fist begins to tap against the bag, the sound of flesh against leather saturating the air. Jimin doesn't hear him as he whispers, "listen to me, C. Please just fucking listen."

It's useless. No amount of manifestation on his part will ever make a difference to the choices you make. You're a woman of your own convictions; a bull trapped in a ring who doesn't take too kindly to that stupid fucking red flag. Especially not when Jungkook's been so careless, waving it around, taunting you, encouraging you.

This mess is one of his own making - and he knows this.

He tried to clean it up.

He really did.

But now your bathroom tiles are stained in red dye, and as hard as he may try, his attempts to clean will be as fruitless as that robotic arm that keeps leaking hydraulic fluid no matter how many times it tries to scoop it up. 

You had watched a video about it with him in the sanctuary of his bed, deceptively chilly sunlight peeking through ashy clouds, the musk of his early morning embrace keeping you glued to his side. 'Can't help myself' the installation is called, and Jungkook thinks of it now as the rear door of the club opens up.

The rest of the boys file in, Namjoon first and then Jin a few moments later. The air is heavy around them, yet none of them seem to give a fuck. Jungkook thinks they're treating this like a fucking jolly. Why don't they care about what they're about to do? Aren't they worried about what could go wrong?

The answers are no, and not really - the same answers he'd have given a few months ago, too.

He started this all with nothing to lose, everything to gain.

Kinda feels like you handed him an Uno reverse card the moment he stepped foot in that bloody gas station.

"Two cars," Jin begins to instruct as they gather around on the old beat-up sofas in the corner of the room. He's sat on an old oil drum, taking command of the situation like it's what he was born to do. "Kook, you drive the main car, Jimin be ready in back up." 

They both nod, Jimin's eyes on their leader, Jungkook's on the floor. His bottom lip is clamped beneath his teeth, which are softly nibbling away like some sort of coping mechanism.

No one notices his state of distress. You would have done, he thinks - but you're not here. 

And Jungkook really hopes it stays that way.

There's stoicism in how he stands; a single strand of seaweed still yet to be plucked by the Haenyeo women of Jeju. Wonders if they'll come back for him. Knows they won't. Knows it's too late. He'll be subject to a life of solitude; swaying to a soundtrack that emits at 52 hertz.

So enthralled with his woe is me parade, Jungkook doesn't realise that Jin watches him with intent. He notices that there's something off about his gaze, how he's refusing to meet anyone's eyes. 

Jungkook's always been a bit of a liar, always been fairly good at it too, but he's never been without his tells; his eyes.

Always his eyes.

Windows to the soul, some say. It scares him. Doesn't let anyone look in them for too long, for fear of them finding out there's something sinister hidden behind them.

"Kang wants this done asap. Elections are coming up and if we don't strike now, it'll be too late," Jin begins to explain, hoping it will stem the questions that he knows Jimin is dying to ask. "We need to get the mayor distracted, off his game. Have him fretting over his family, not thinking about the polls, but equally not able to share his troubles with the public. The mayor will want the situation resolved quickly, which means we can probably put our demand up, ask for a higher price - and all the while, it will give Kang an advantage in the polls."

Jungkook rolls his eyes so hard he can almost hear them turn. He really does hate politics. 

"How much are we talking?" Namjoon asks, because the money is all he's really here for. Doesn't like the mayor, doesn't care for politics, doesn't really care for anything. Just money. "For the girl? Was 150mil, wasn't it? 150 million won?"

"Was," Jin nods. "Kang reckons we can go for 180, easy. Maybe even 200."

"180, five-way split," Namjoon begins to muse. "That's, what? 36mil each?"

And it's stupid, because the money used to excite Jungkook. Oh, if only you'd have heard the conversations they've had about what they'd spend it on, how they could blow it all in a single weekend. Yet despite the higher margin, the bigger gain, Jungkook scoffs.

"36 mil. We're doing this shit for 36 fucking mil. You know how long we're risking behind bars for this if it goes tits up? How long they put you away for for abduction? Blackmail? All for the sake of 36 fucking million."

It's on par with what he should be earning annually. Before he met you, before any of this, it's what would have been on his end of year tax return, or near enough. So much has been lost to you; time, energy, brain capacity. Finances are the least of his worries these days.

If he'd have just worked a little bit harder, put in some more hours, he could have kept on top of the repayments he's been making to the loan sharks who circle in the shallow waters of Busan, just waiting to sink their teeth into his father. He could have been back home, been present. Stopped all of this mess, all of this nonsense. He wouldn't know you. Wouldn't feel like his ribs are splintering whenever he thinks of you. In fact, he never would think of you.

Can't imagine it, now. His brain is a spongy mess of badly sung 80's songs and crying cat memes. Corrupted by you; preserved in such a way by his own desire to keep you around. He surrounds the memories of you in salt to keep the demons away, despite the fact it dries out the very essence of him. His brain will shrivel and rot, and all that will be left is you.

"It's not gonna go tits up, though, is it, Kook?" Namjoon pushes back almost immediately.

"It's not," Jin answers for him. "We get in, get the girl, get out. That's the hard part. Everything else is easy."

Jungkook's jaw is tense as he looks at Jin - and then he's looking away again. 

"Look, Kook, if you're not up to this, then  say so - but you're the one who came to us hell bent on taking her father down. You're the one who came up with this whole plan, you're the fucking mastermind - but we've got Kang on our backs now and we have to deliver. Either you're in," Jin shrugs. "Or you're out. Your choice."

"I'm in," Jungkook almost spits in retaliation. "I'm fucking in."

"Good. So go start the car. We're running late."

He pauses. Bites down on his lip, and nods. Does as he's told because it's the only way he can leave the room without raising suspicions. 

He doesn't breathe again until he's in his car.

His engine hums as it basks in midnight lunar light, predatory in the way his headlights stalk out the shadows. He turns them off, thinks he won't need them. The roads are quiet. If he gets pulled over, he'll feign naivety. 'Oh, sorry officer. I'll turn them on.' He doesn't wanna be seen. Doesn't want to announce the way he's coming into your neighbourhood. Doesn't want you looking for him like a lighthouse. Wants you to crash. It'll be easier, that way.

꾹: i can explain everything. just trust me.

꾹: go to yoongis. i need you safe.

꾹: give me a little time. i'll tell you everything, c. please just go to yoongis and let me know you're okay xx

His messages drop in your chat feed. They never deliver.

He's joined in the car by Jin, and then it's go time.

The drive is silent, and Jungkook sort of just blanks it out. Doesn't remember how he got from A to B, but before he knows it, he's on your street. Outside your apartment block. Wishing for a sinkhole to open up and swallow his beloved car, with him still inside it.

He's been told to sit, wait. Cut the radio, keep the engine going. Jin and Namjoon are doing their job. Breaking and entering; stealing the only thing of any value in your shoebox apartment. 

The idea of you looking at them, brows contorted, heart nice and bloody on your sleeve, plays on loop in his head. He wonders if you'll comply. Know you'll most likely fight.

Jungkook sits and stews in hushed cacoethes. He desires only you; the most forbidden of all the fruits. There's an ache in his chest, and a heat pricking at his skin. Poison, he thinks. That damn fruit. Damn you.

He needs to see you. Needs to know you're okay. Needs you in his passenger seat as you escape the city, forget it all, leave it all behind.

Ashtray mind and tobacco-stained eyes; there's nothing in his heart but the residue of things that will kill him. His lungs are all covered in the tar of you, too. Not like they matter. He left them with yours. Hasn't been able to breathe since he left your apartment, he doesn't think.

The road ahead is clear. 

Dark and wide, it's lit only by street lamps, and the occasional neon light, that will no doubt lead late-night revellers to karaoke rooms. They're all basement level; a passage to the underworld of sin that swells beneath the belly of the metropolis. Impiety laces the streets of a city marred by cult churches, no closer to God than the shit beneath their shoes. 

He doesn't believe in God, and certainly doesn't believe in the burning red crosses that sit atop the cult houses. They defile Buk-gu in debauchery; at home with the heathens, obscuring the ordinary. 

He does, however, consider asking for forgiveness; repenting his sins. He'd be suited to a confessional; the glare of impure light pouring through the slats, disfiguring the face you've grown to adore, like the shadows of a prison grate. 

He hates this place.

Hates why he's here, hates why he's stayed, and - funnily enough - hates that there's no longer any reason for him to stay. Not once his business is done.

He wonders if this could have played out differently. Maybe if he'd have been honest with you from the start, it wouldn't have come to this. You could have played along, maybe. Did what was asked of you willingly.

The door opens with a rough crack, far too much force being put on its old hinges. "Woah, woah- careful," he shrieks, drawn away from thoughts of you for a split second.

That is, until, he sees the look on Jin's face.

It's unfamiliar. Teeth bared. Snarling, almost. Eyes hard, jaw tense. 

Oh, fuck.

"Drive," Jin hisses. "Fucking drive."

But he doesn't.

And he won't. 

Not until he knows you're okay.

"The girl?"

"Don't act fucking dumb, Jungkook," Jin spits as he slams the door shut, imprisoning them both.

"I don't know wha-"

"Driv-"

"Where's the girl?" Jungkook snarls right back.

"Not fuckin' there!"

This is bad, he thinks. Real fucking bad.

But then he's overwhelmed with how fucking good it feels. You weren't there. You listened to him. You trusted him. He could laugh. Could cry. Might do both.

Not yet, though. He's still wearing his lies well. They sit atop the crown of his skull with pride. Liar of the year, 2022. Jeon Jungkook.

"Why isn't she there, huh?" Jin barks, spit gathering in the corners of his mouth. And then he's shouting. Shouting so loud that the whole fucking neighbourhood will wake up. "Again? Every fucking time Jungkook, she's just never where you say she will be. But you know what is where she should be? Huh? A bathroom stained in red fucking hair dye. Flannel shirts we both know damn well belong to you. Tell me, Kook, why didn't you want us to do it tonight, huh? Scared we'd catch you two at it?"

"You've lost your fucking mind, Jin. I don't know the ins and outs of her life."

"Oh, but on the contrary," Jin scathes as he slaps a receipt on the dash. It's branded. Jungkook thought he'd left it in the restaurant; that little pizza place in Busan. Hadn't realised you squirrelled away momentoes like that. Is still learning about you, apparently.

It's Jungkook's card number along the bottom of it. Jin won't know that. 

But he's got eyes. Can read. Your handwriting adorns the top corner, right above the date and location. Jungkook feels sick.

Dinner with JK <3

"No?" Jin presses. "So you don't know who JK is? Don't know why the fuck she was in Busan when you were? Don't know why she's drawing fucking hearts next to his initials, huh? Somethings not adding up, JK."

"I've never been good at maths," Jungkook retorts, tone flat.

"You ain't no good at lying, either," Jin growls, crumpling the receipt and throwing it at Jungkook. It hits his chest, right where his heart used to be. Sinking back into the passenger seat, Jin curses. Shakes his head. Sighs. 

"Just fucking drive, Jungkook. Just fuckin' drive."

────────────

Daegu tarmac is always a little harder in the winter. Jungkook prefers it, for there's less pull against his wheels as he hurtles down the streets.

He's vaguely aware of the fact he needs to check the wear on the inner treads of his tyres. They're pulling even less than usual, and he knows that he needs to adjust the tracking, but it's been the last thing on his mind lately.

Jin instructs him in the direction of the boxing club, and Jungkook almost refuses. Almost takes a left by the bridge to bomb up towards Palgongsan. He wants to see the city. Escape it. Look down on it; on you. Keep watch. Keep you safe.

It's an impossible task though, so he does as he's told - and quickly, too. He runs not one, but two reds. The streets are clear, marred by darkness of a midnight sky, so he's not concerned about getting caught - and if anything, it would probably do him a favour.

A night behind bars would be preferable to a night in the ring with Namjoon.

He's childish, and a grade-A dick when he wants to be, but Jungkook's no stranger to the way it feels when Namjoon's knuckles kiss his cheek.

A fight has been brewing ever since the last, Namjoon displeased with how Jin intervened, but Jungkook has fucked it now.

Even Jin is pissed at him - and rightly so. He's done exactly what he's been accused of.

He's betrayed them.

Been disloyal. Abused their trust.

Done things he said he never would.

"We in this?"

"In this shit for life."

Seems stupid now when Jungkook replays the memories back. He never should have promised the rest of his life. It was never feasible. He, himself, had seen how quickly life could change within the blink of an eye; but more importantly, how the change could be so slow, so gradual that he didn't even notice until it was too late.

It had happened with his mother; her illness slowly but surely taking hold until she was a shadow of herself. It had happened with his ex; her withdrawal from him so incremental that he didn't even notice the evenings she spent with Taehyung instead of him.

More recently, it's happened with you.

He should have known better. Hell, he did know better. Knew what would happen if he let himself get a little bit too comfortable.

There was a reason why he's been single for so long; why he never lets anyone get too close.

See, Jeon Jungkook is just as romantic as he always has been.

His heart has been broken, and misery has ravaged his veins, but he still believes that there's a life out there for him that doesn't involve any of those things. He believes that he could have a happy ending.

And it's foolish.

Foolish because nobody gets one of those. Foolish because people like him certainly don't.

Foolish because only fools fall - and lord knows he's been in the gutter ever since he met you.

It wasn't one of those first-sights, heart-palpitations, heavy-breathing types of situation, but it was something more than nothing - and when you're so used to drought, even the slightest spark can light the brightest fires. You had surged through him like a wild blaze, burning deep red, akin to the dye that stains his hair.

And now his bones are charred; irrevocably scarred by a girl who only ever sought to heal him.

So yeah, maybe he was a fool, but so were you for ever thinking he could be healed in the first fuckin' place.

Jungkook barely has the chance to shut his car off before Jin barks at him to get inside. Says that he's fucking lucky Joon didn't catch up with them.

He scoffs a laugh. "I'm lucky? I'm lucky? Joon's fucking lucky I haven't sparked him out before now. He's been on his high horse for far too fucking long."

"Yeah, and not without reason, Kook. The fuck have you been playing at, huh?" Jin asks, with genuine bewilderment, once they're inside Old Man Kang's boxing club. The air is cold, but the tension between the two men, who were once more like brothers, is even more so.

If Jungkook were to answer honestly, he'd say he doesn't know. Would probably cry a little bit, too. Maybe a lot. He's not really sure at this point.

He's not sure of anything. Not sure about his loyalties, about his motives. Not even how he feels about you.

The only thing Jungkook is sure of, is that Namjoon is going to be gunning for blood the second he storms through the door, and that he'd really rather not be here when it happens.

"I can fix this. Let me go and look for her, alrigh-"

"No."

"If anyone is gonna fin-"

"You've done enough, Kook."

"Jin, please-"

"Enough."

"But I-"

"You've done enough," he repeats firmly now, his eyes unable to grace Jungkook with mercy. He can't fucking look at him. Not after everything; not after all of it. They'd planned this together. Been in this shit together. A team. They had always had the same goals, the same motivations, and Jungkook had just thrown it all to the wayside.

He's never cared much for 'bros before hoes,' or any of that bullshit, but Jin thought there was an understanding between them. A common goal. Common ground.

Thought their friendship went beyond business.

He's known the kid for years. Watched him grow. Practically raised him after his dad couldn't afford to feed them anymore, his mother's life savings spaffed at the bookies every Sunday, then every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... He'd been Jungkook's parent when the poor kid may as well have lost both.

And this is how he repays him?

Jungkook tenses his jaw. Presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Nods. Curses as he lashes out at the pole marking the corner of the boxing ring. Yells a little as his bare fist cracks against the padded wood.

Jin just walks to the sofas in the corner of the room. Sinks into one of them, defeated. There's no point in arguing, not right now. Not while his head is all fucked up and his vision is marred by a shade of red that matches Jungkook's hair.

The steel of the fire exit door screeches as it scrapes against the pavement, too heavy for the hinges it's on. An easy fix which none of them have gotten round to doing yet. Too busy. Minds have been elsewhere - but Namjoon's mind is only on one thing as he hurtles toward Jungkook.

"You mother fucker," Namjoon spits, his fists rough as they grab onto the neckline of Jungkook's shirt. The friction burns a little, but nothing really hurts Jungkook. Not when it already feels like his heart has been cut straight from his chest with a craft knife.

He wants to hurt, though. Wants physical pain to match his mental torment.

"Joon," Jimin calls from the entryway, trying to draw him back, but it's futile. Bad blood needs to be drained in order to keep a body healthy, after all - and this band of brothers is dying. They need something - anything - to replenish their health.

It's a shame that Jungkook's on a suicide mission, really.

"Nah," Jungkook smirks, but his eyes are void of any humour. In fact, he's deadly serious as he says, "it was your sister I fucked, remember?"

He's barely finished mocking his former friend before a fist meets his face. The crack of Namjoon's knuckles against his skin echoes into the room, reverberating from wall to wall, like a chilling laugh sounding from the shadows.

"Is that all you've got?" Jungkook laughs, despite the fact a small red bead is forming on his bottom lip. It swells and drips, like the scarlet water that ran from his hair earlier that afternoon. He knows he shouldn't keep going, but he doesn't really care. Namjoon has a short fuse, and Jungkook feels like blowing up. "Even Naejeon liked it rougher than that."

For all his stupidity, the boy's got a sharp tongue about him. Knows just the right thing to say to get what he wants - this time, it's another punch to his face. His cheek. Gonna bruise like a fuckin' bitch.

Namjoon still has a grip on his collar and pushes him now, until his legs are pressed against the base of the ring, back against the ropes.

"Say another fucking word about my sister and I'll rip your fucking tongue out."

Jungkook laughs. Namjoon just makes it so fucking easy.

"Don't be like that, Joonie," he coos, the smile on his face borderline psychotic. "Naejeon reckons it's the only thing that ever made her cum."

When Namjoon punches him this time, he doesn't give Jungkook the chance to interrupt with any more quick remarks about his little sister. He was pissed at Jungkook for shagging her, pissed at Jungkook for ghosting her, but everything Jungkook's done since then only serves to make it so much worse.

"You," he spits, only pausing his words to land another punch against Jungkook's cheek. "Stupid" - another punch - "fucking" - again - "twat."

He grabs Jungkook's collar with both of his hands now, forcing him to stand up straight, face pink from Namjoon's knuckles smearing his blood all over it.

"You couldn't keep your dick in your pants, could you? First my fucking sister and then that fucking whore? Her of all people?"

Jungkook is laughing again. Sniffs back the blood dripping from his nose. Jin is sitting with his head in his hands, pretending like it isn't happening. Jimin can't take his eyes off it. It's like a car crash; a head-on collision between two boy racers, who always take it too fucking far.

"I can give you a comparison if you like?"

"Kookie-" Jimin tries to interject, but is silenced by Namjoon who snaps his head around to look at the most innocent of the bunch.

"Nah," Namjoon laughs. "Let him talk. Let him spew his bullshit."

And then he faces Jungkook again. Gets closer. Gets real close. Close enough that Jungkook can smell the cigarette he smoked half an hour ago.

His breath is hot against Jungkook's skin. Intrusive. Unwelcome.

Namjoon knows this. Knows that Jungkook hates people breathing on him. Hates it so much that Namjoon used to sneak up on him and breathe on his neck, specifically to get a reaction out of him. Used to find it funny.

He doesn't know that Jungkook never hated your soft sighs against his skin. Not against the crook of his neck during early morning embraces, not into his lips when the build of your climax got so intense that you couldn't focus on kissing him anymore. He doesn't know that Jungkook would do anything to hear the way you breathe as you sleep right about now; shallow and a little stuttered. His favourite sound. His very own metronome.

Namjoon doesn't know you were different. Wouldn't really matter even if he did know. Wouldn't change a single damn thing about the betrayal he feels. In his eyes, it's just one thing after a-fucking-nother with Jungkook. Kid's a liability.

"How long you been fucking her, huh?" Namjoon speaks quietly, breath warm against Jungkook's ear. It's hushed enough that none of the others can hear. Probably for the best. "How long have you been sinking your cock into your mother's corpse?"

"My mother's corpse?" Jungkook almost chokes, legitimately in a state of shock over what's just left Namjoon's mouth. It's probably worse than the stench of his ashtray breath.

"What?" He laughs. It's bitter. "Her daddy's the reason your mum's dead, isn't she? She's the reason. So you're fucking your dead mum by proxy, aren't you? There'd be no corpse if it wasn't for her."

It's good. Jungkook's gotta hand it to him. It's pretty fucking savage. He's not sure of the legitimacy of such a claim, not sure it makes any fucking sense, but the shock value? Yeah, Namjoon has him stumped.

Part of him knows he shouldn't bite. Part of him knows that Namjoon is only after a fight.

In fact, all of him knows this - but Namjoon's breath is all clammy on his cheek, and it makes his skin crawl in a way that rivals nails on a blackboard.

He doesn't wanna react. Doesn't wanna lash out. Doesn't wanna make this a fair fight, but he can't fucking help it as his head lunges forward, smashing against Namjoon's nose with a crack.

"Kook," Jimin tries again, sterner this time, but Jin shakes his head and tells him, 'let the kids have their squabble.'

"This has nothing to do with my mother," Jungkook spits as he stands up straighter now, taller.

"Oh, but on the contrary," Namjoon says, his posture slightly cowered from the impact of Jungkook's skull cracking against his own. He's feeling for blood with the back of his hand, eyes narrow. "It has everything to do with your mother. She's the reason you're here. She's the reason you wanted to take that bitch out in the first fuckin' place."

The worst part is he's right. Jungkook knows he's right.

"So?" He says before he spits, crimson phlegm hitting the concrete floor with a slap, red with blood from the inside of his cheek. "So what? So what if I fucked her?"

Namjoon's not even really concerned about the fact Jungkook's been fucking you.

If Jungkook had fucked you and not let it sway his judgement, Namjoon probably would have congratulated him for getting his dick wet and the job done well. Issue is, Jungkook started fucking with you with heart and thinking with his dick.

"Coulda fucked any whore in the city. I know you know where to find them."

"True. Did find your sister, didn't I?"

It's not Jungkook's finest hour. It's not been his finest few months, if he's being realistic - except for the fact it has been. The time he's spent with you, at least.

The training sessions he'd cram between leaving you in his bed and heading to work were always his best.

The days at work when he knew he'd be heading to your gas station afterwards were always his most productive. His area manager had been eyeing him up for a fucking promotion. His good, honest work is better because of you.

He doesn't understand why, he doesn't understand how - he just knows if he hadn't constantly had this huge guilt weighing down on him constantly, that maybe he'd have known what happiness felt like again.

He hates the circumstances that lead him to you. Hates the reality of your relationship. Hates that he's pretty sure you don't even have one, now.

But he loves that he met you. Loves that he got to experience you. Loves that you gave him hope where he'd only ever seen hardship.

It's useless now, of course. Down the fucking drain. Should have trained to be a plumber instead, he thinks. Maybe he'd have been able to salvage things.

He's an electrician though, and all he's done is keep you in the dark, until he blinded you with a spotlight. He's short-circuted everything now. Fried the motherboard. Destroyed everything you once were together. He knows there's no salvaging it.

But he's also questioning if there was ever anything there to begin with. Questions whether or not you really liked him, or just the way you perceived him - but it was no different from any normal scenario. No one shows their bad cards first. You're drawn in by the best, and learn to adore the worst, too.

For a long time, you thought that his worst card was the fact he used a 2-in-1 shampoo and shower gel. Used to tease him about it.

And now he's thinking of the way you laugh and he wants to fucking cry.

Joon can see it. See the shift behind Jungkook's eyes. Thinks he's won. Pushes Jungkook away from him. Spits on the ground. Walks away.

"You're pathetic, Jeon. Good for nothing waste of fuckin' sperm. Thank fuck you ghosted Naejeon. Thank fuck. Could think of nothing worse than sharing a bloodline with a coward like you."

Jimin breathes for the first time in what feels like hours, hoping that this is it. It's done now. Jin remains as he was, but reclines into the sofa as Namjoon saunters to meet him. He throws himself down into a chair and sighs.

"What now, boss?"

Good fucking question, Jin thinks. The plan is fucked. Jungkook knows there's no way it can be rectified. You know too much now. Know what to expect, even if not when to expect it. You don't know his motives, you just know they're not as pure as you once thought. Know that it's safer to hate him.

He wonders if you already do.

He turns to face the ring; holds on to the ropes, lets his body lean forward, heaving a little. All of this feels like a nightmare. The kind that loop, and replay again and again until insanity is the only logical explanation.

But maybe he is insane.

Insane for thinking that this could ever work. Insane for thinking that maybe he'd be able to mastermind a plan in which everyone got a happy ending. Insane for letting you into his home, insane for letting you into his sheets, insane for letting you into a part of his brain reserved for memories of his family before it all went wrong.

You're there now, though. It's permanent. The way you make him feel is something he'll never be able to shake, and he knows damn well that he's ruined for the rest of his life.

"Without the girl, we have nothing," Jin sighs. "The girl was our meal ticket. We needed her to get the Mayor's attention. Need her to make this whole thing work. Without her, there's no leverage. Nothing to work with."

"Hear that, Kook? We've got nothing," Namjoon taunts. "A little bit of sour pussy worth it, huh? Maybe I should just fuck her. See what all the hype is about. See if it's worth it. How'd she like it, huh? She like it rough?"

"Can the pair of you just stop?" Jimin snaps now. "You're like a pair of twelve-year-olds."

Namjoon ignores him. Sinks further into the tattered leather chair. Crosses his legs, and hooks an ankle upon his knee. Smirks.

"Bet she's a dumb slut with a rack like that," he says instead. "Her titwanks must be pretty fucking good, right?"

He knows - much to Jungkook's dismay - that Jungkook is a tittie guy. They've had enough conversations about it. Vulgar shit. Objectifying. Laddish banter, that was really just juvenile shit they both knew better than to say.

"That's what got you, isn't it, Kook?" Namjoon laughs. "Her tits? Your mommy issues are showing."

Jungkook's blood is burning as red as his hair, but he tries not to let it show.

"Not really," Jungkook lies, and they all fuckin' know it. "Her tits were good, but I can live without them. I mean, Naejeon's flat as a fuckin' pancake - and I fucked her for long enough, didn't I? Might see if she's free later, actually."

It's like they're playing a game of table football, each one of them trying to get one up on the other. It's Namjoon's turn, now.

"You never answered, Kook. How does she like it? Is she the kind of bitch that likes it rough? Likes it when you make them cry? She'd be good at that, I reckon. Crying. How long do you think it would take to get her crying?"

The thought of it makes Jungkook sick. Makes him want to cry. He's still leaning against the ropes, but it's mainly to stop him from falling down. His head feels like it's gonna fucking cave in.

"I dunno man," Jungkook shrugs, but he's a little breathless. Knows he sounds weak. Knows he has to go extra hard with the next insult flung Namjoon's way. "Given how tight your sister was, how much I had to stretch her little pussy out-"

"Shut the fuck up."

"I'm guessing that size runs in the family - so I don't imagine you've got much to make CC cry with, to be honest."

He says it before he realises - but the rest of them do. Notice it immediately.

"Sorry, who?"

"The fuck did you just call her?"

There's silence. Jungkook doesn't speak. Not till the question is repeated, this time by their leader. Jin's voice is stern as he asks, "What did you call her, Jungkook?"

"Nothin'. Doesn't matter. Just a dumb fuckin' nickname."

"A nickname?"

"Yeah, a dumb one. What does it matter?"

"How deep does it run?" Jin asks, genuinely concerned for Jungkook. This is so much worse than just hooking up. "This little affair you've been having? How fuckin' deep does it go?"

"Doesn't. Doesn't run deep, doesn't run anywhere. It's nothing," he spits. "She's nothing."

Saying it out loud makes him feel like a piece of shit.

You're everything.

"I'm sure she finds the lying all very endearing, Kook, but cut it out," Jin scolds him. "We're in this together. Just be fuckin' honest with us. We know you told her to run. You chose her over us. The least you can do is tell us how invested you are. How invested she was. Let us know what we're dealing with, here."

"Can't invest in something that you know will never give you a return," Jungkook says as if that makes a difference. He always knew the pair of you were doomed.

"She's not a financial investment," Jin debates. "And yeah, you can."

"But she is a financial investment."

"Joon. Not now."

"Well, I mean, she was," Namjoon adds a little mindlessly. "She isn't now. Golden balls has screwed it all up for us."

"I haven't."

Namjoon laughs. Looks at Jungkook as if he knows every fib he's ever told. Perceptive and well aware of Jungkook's tendency to tell white lies, there's no fooling him.

"You've been shafting the plans for months," Namjoon says with certainty. "The first raid? Tell me that you didn't have anything to do with it."

But he can't. And he doesn't want to lie anymore, so he remains silent.

"See, I told you," Namjoon nearly fucking yells. He'd gotten into much trouble for picking a fight with Jungkook after the raid, only to go and be proven right. "I fucking told you. You all told me I was overreacting but I fucking knew it."

His rant is ignored as the rest of them process what's been divulged by Jungkook.

"Ever since then?" Jimin asks quietly. His tenderness is noticed. Appreciated.

And so Jungkook nods. "Didn't know her back then. Not really. I just... I was getting cold feet. I'd never really understood that there was another human on the other end of the plan, yanno? I didn't want us to do something we couldn't take back. She could have been useful to us."

"Not sure Jungkook's personal cum-dump would have been useful to 'us' as a collective - unless you were planning on sharing?"

"Namjoon, will you ever just shut the fuck up?"

Jungkook ignores it. He knows Namjoon is just trying to get a rise out of him at this point. His face is aching enough now. They've had their fun.

None of them feel aggression towards him anymore. Not really.

They're scared, more than anything, knowing they have Kang to answer to if they don't deliver on their promise, and none of them enjoy the prospect of that too much.

"Things spiralled. I didn't mean for them to-"

"Ah, but you never do, do you?" Namjoon interrupts, but again, Jungkook ignores it.

"She wasn't there on the night of the raid, 'cause I was standing her up on a date downtown. Thought I'd try and figure some other plan out, but when I saw her next I panicked. Was trying to keep her on side."

He's downplaying it, granted. They're all vaguely aware they aren't getting the whole truth, but a half-truth is better than none at all.

"We ended up going out a week or so later. Both drank a little too much and - well, I mean, I don't need to teach you about the birds and the bees, do I? Pretty sure you know how the rest of it goes." There's a murmur amongst the boys, collectively agreeing not to ask more. "Things got out of hand. I panicked. I didn't know what to do."

"It's not an excuse," Jin says. "No fucking excuse at all, Kook. Your panic has fucked us all over. I hope you know how to fix this fuckin' mess, 'cause Kang is gonna have our balls for breakfast if we don't deliver. We signed a contract."

"Not exactly legally binding, is it?"

"Since when has anything Kang's ever done been in keeping with the law?" Jin asks, but the question is rhetorical. They all know the answer.

The cash counting machines in the back office, and the hostess noraebangs are a dead giveaway. Old Man Kang is bad news. Such bad news that Jin even fears having this discussion in the boxing club... just in case.

"Go home. I don't wanna talk about it anymore. Don't even wanna look at any of you, right now," Jin almost laughs, but they know he isn't actually joking. He's deadly serious. "We'll meet at mine tomorrow. I don't want Kang getting wind of this. Kook, clean up your blood, then get gone. Jimin, clear away the chair for the girl. Won't be needing it now. Joon, just get gone. I'll see you tomorrow. 9 am sharp. We'll figure it out."

He looks at Jungkook, and shakes his head. What a fucking mess that boy has made.

"We'll figure it out," he repeats, before adding, "together."

They all do as they're told. Jungkook is the last to leave, his hands a little stained in his own blood by the time he's done. He ignores the tightness of the skin on his palms as he drives, heading in the direction of home.

Jungkook's apartment is cold. He'd left the bathroom door open before leaving for Busan, and winter wind howls into the apartment as soon as he steps foot through the door. He doesn't close it. Just heads into his bedroom-turned-living area, flicks on the ondol and falls face-first into his bed.

He regrets it as soon as he picks up the scent of you on his sheets. You've not slept in them for the best part of a week, and yet you're still there. It's too late to put a washload on - his neighbour will bang on the ceiling with the handle of her broom again like she did the last time you'd had morning sex - but he can't stay like this. Can't stay suffocated by you.

He sits up. Sniff back a sob, and kicks off his shoes. "Stupid fucking prick," he laments, then catches sight of himself in his mirror. Sees his hair. It fucking stings. So fucking red. Looks like a fresh wound. He supposes it is; the remnants of his heart that were torn from his chest the second your eyes turned hard.

It had been dark in your room, but he could see the lights of your kitchen reflect with more variance as water began to grace your lashline. He'd made you cry and he couldn't even so much as give you a fucking hug to make it any better.

There's no enthusiasm in his steps as he skulks toward his bathroom. Doesn't bother stripping his clothes off. Just flicks the light on, twists the tap and sits on the floor as the shower chokes into action. The water is freezing as he sits, legs pulled up to his chest, arms hugging around his knees.

Slowly but surely it warms up, even if his heart doesn't. He doesn't even know what his aim is. Perhaps he's trying to recreate the last place he felt happiness - back in your shower, with you - or maybe he's hoping the water will wash away the remnants of you from his hair.

He's a warning light; a red flag that screams 'stay away.' He wishes he could. Would rather be with anyone but himself right now.

But there's a comfort to be found in the fact that he knows you're a walking red flag, too.

Eventually, he stands. Discards his clothes - he'll sort them in the morning - and rinses his hair through. His shampoo bubbles up all pretty and pink, but it isn't enough to reverse what he's done. Your relationship has stained him for all to see.

He deliberately avoids looking in the toothbrush holder. Doesn't want to see your one. Instead, he looks in the mirror as he reaches for his brush - it's thicker than yours, battery-powered, so it's easy to distinguish from touch alone.

It's as he's rummaging around that he notices an inconsistency in his steamed-up mirror.

It's in the bottom left-hand corner, discreet and hidden unless you know where to find it: a thin outline in the shape of a heart.

Jungkook didn't put it there, and there's only one girl who he's ever let stay long enough for a shower to be needed.

He has to grip the basin of his sink to stop himself from keeling over. Thinks he'll be sick. Actually gags a little. Never been so close to it without actually following through.

It's hard to tell what's making him feel this way. The guilt? The hurt? He's not sure. All he knows is that he can't fucking breathe properly. His shower is still pounding down on his spine as he hunches over, painful as the water slaps against his skin. He doesn't realise, but it's tender because your scratch marks are still running down it.

You're in his skin. In his head, his hair, his bed. You're still here, and he can't fucking shake you. You're haunting him. Taunting him.

Except for the fact you're really not. You're doing the opposite. You've gone ghost, yes, but entirely in the opposite direction. Radio silence.

He tries sending a message through to your chat feed, but it remains undelivered. He calls - this number is unavailable - and he calls - this number is unavailable - and he calls and calls and calls - this number in una- this number is- this nu- until he gets so frustrated he throws his phone across the room. Hears a crack. Knows he's fucked his screen. Just another thing to hate himself for.

He considers going to Yoongi's. Gets dressed, puts a coat on. His hair is still damp. He doesn't care. Gets in his car. Drives in fucking laps around the city. Thinks he sees you twice - doesn't see you a single time.

And he won't.

Jeon Jungkook had the luxury of finding you once. You're never gonna give him that again.

See when you left your apartment that evening, you did it on your terms. You packed your bag with the essentials: documents - some forged, some not -, money, and the hard drive that has everything your father wouldn't want in the hands of the wrong people. Up until now, you've been the wrong hands - but it seems like there are far filthier hands in search of it now.

You upturned a few items, made your life look as simple as you could; just a regular girl who had fallen for a no-good piece of shit. You pinned up a few photos. Scribbled some dumb nostalgic shit on a receipt.

And as you sit in the waiting room of the first terminal of Daegu Airport, you smile.

You imagine all the ways that little note could fuck him up. Wonder if they'll notice the shirts of his you left out, but neglect to think about the one you're still wearing. The blue one. Your favourite. Smells like him.

There's no time to dwell on it, mind you. A bell chimes. It's not the one in your stomach - you may as well have swallowed cement with how still it is, now. The bell echoes, and then a voice sounds. "This is the boarding call for flight 711 to Jeju. Please have your passport and boarding pass ready for inspection at gate 3. Flight 711 for Jeju, at gate 3. Thank you."

You sigh. Pretend like you can't smell the scent of his aftershave as you hook your bag over your shoulder, and head in the direction of gate 3. Doesn't really matter where you're going. All that matters is that you are going - and that Jungkook will have no fucking clue where to find you.

And yet part of you hopes he'll show up. Beg you not to board that flight. Tell you he's sorry, and that it's all a huge misunderstanding. Will buy a ticket, fly with you. Stay with you. Make things right on an island that's done no harm to either one of you. Not like the city you're leaving behind.

It's a hope you hold onto, even as you board. Even as the cabin crew begin safety demonstrations. Even as you begin to hurtle down the runway.

Jungkook's not a mind reader though, and so he sits, body all hunched up and crooked by your apartment door, waiting for you to come home. He's aware it's a little creepy. Knows you won't be happy to see him - but he doesn't want to fucking stalk you. He just wants to know you're safe. Wants this nightmare to be over.

He's woken the next morning, back in agony from his position, by the ajumma who lives across the hallway. He asks if she's seen you. She tells him it's none of his business, and to get gone.

Good old Eunhee. You've always liked her. She's always hated your boyfriends. It's a win-win.

Jungkook leaves his number with Eunhee, but she bins it as soon as she's inside her apartment. She knows if you want to call Jungkook, you will. She's old enough to know what men are like. Wise enough to know he's probably been up to no good. The ones who grovel always have been.

He walks home, just so he has an excuse to walk back to your area later to pick up his car. Forgets he's supposed to be at Jin's for 9 until Namjoon drives past him.

He expects Namjoon to hurtle off, but to his surprise, he pulls over. Tells Jungkook to get in. Doesn't speak to him the entire way there, but still gets him there ahead of schedule.

There are three cars outside Jin's apartment by the time they arrive. Jin's sleek Merc, Jimin's red Mx5, and a car that Jungkook hadn't expected to see: a Rolls Royce. Blacked out. De-badged. Discreet, but screaming importance. The plates are illegal. Decoys. The kinda shit used by criminals - which is fitting, Jungkook supposes.

"Shitting hell," Namjoon hisses beneath his breath as he pulls his keys from the ignition. "Looks like we've got a date with the Devil himself."

Jungkook laughs. "Don't think the Devil wears Cuban heels."

Namjoon smiles, too. Knows smiling won't be an option once they're inside Jin's apartment.

"C'mon," he says as he encourages Jungkook out of the car. Neither of them really wants to go, but both know their arrival will have been noted. Any slackness will have to be accounted for. Better men have lost fingers for less than tardiness. It's not worth the aggro. "Time to go face the wrath of Old Man Kang."

────────────

When Jin arrives at the boxing club that evening, Jungkook's skin is already glistening beneath the frosty glow of exposed lightbulbs. They're LED, providing no warmth to the shell of a room he's in - but Jungkook's been going at it for so long - been going at it so hard - that steam wafts from his body.

There's something stern in the way Jin is looking at him, as if he's willing for him to slow down.

Jungkook doesn't even so much as look in Jin's direction. His gaze is wasted, much like all of Jungkook's efforts of the past few months.

If he's being honest, Jin is surprised to see him at the club. He hadn't expected to see the kid for at least a day or two after Jungkook had stormed out of his place earlier that morning.

With a face of thunder, jaw tense, his jugular vein throbbing beneath his honey skin, he'd been royally pissed.

Credit where it was due, Jungkook had just about managed to hold it together for long enough to see Old Man Kang out the door - but only just.

He'd sat as quiet as a broken record player in Jin's apartment, leg jittering, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. Had barely even looked at their boss. Didn't want to. Didn't trust his misplaced anger.

See, Jungkook has a thing for shifting blame; everything is always someone else's fault. Him losing you? Well, it couldn't possibly be his fault. Had to be Kang's. After all, he was the one who'd sent Jungkook on the first stakeout of GS25.

Maybe not the second one, though. That was all Jungkook's doing. As was the third, and the fourth, and - well, I mean, Kang certainly hadn't told Jungkook to ask you out on a date, the silly cunt. Definitely never told him to put his cock in you, either.

He'd got himself into this mess all by himself.

Didn't like that admission, though, so he stayed silently furious with Kang instead.

Which worked out in his favour, actually. Being preemptively pissed at the stupid old fucker meant that Jungkook's visible annoyance was minimal as Kang dropped a fucking bomb on them at Jin's dinner table.

"Forget about the girl for now. There's too much heat around her. That coworker of hers... he knows too much. You let him know too much. The second she's gone, he'll be pointing fingers - and if they land on you? They'll land on the boxing club too, and whose name is printed above the door? Mine. Too much risk."

Kang had been oblivious to the glances being thrown Jungkook's way - but of course he had been.

Again, Kang had nothing to do with Jungkook's quite frankly ridiculous choices. There really was no one to blame but himself.

And that's the worst part of it all: Jungkook knows this.

It doesn't stop the anger from fermenting in his chest though, so fucking torn apart by the fact that if everyone had just listened to him, just given him a little more time, he could have fixed things.

If Jin hadn't been so headstrong - had just given Jungkook one more fucking day - then he could have kept you. Maybe not forever, but for a little bit longer.

And there he goes again, shifting the blame.

The reality of it being his own mistake, his own failures, is too much for him to come to terms with. He'll deal with eventually, but for now, he needs to forget it all. Forget you exist. Forget the look in your eyes when you realised he'd been playing you like a fucking fiddle. Forget the anger that came when you snapped the strings before he could.

He thinks he's only ever felt sorrow once in his life, and it was what dragged him all the way to Daegu in the first place.

He's not sure that he would classify the way he feels right now as sorrow.

It's too strong of a word to associate with such a silly circumstance.

His heart isn't broken. He wasn't in love with you, for christ's sake. Was just fucking you a little too well. Forgot himself in the moments that he found solace in you; forgot who he was, what he was supposed to do.

This is all on him.

And that's what upsets him so much. He's usually good at this.

If his tryst with Namjoon's little sister had taught him anything, it was that it's easy to not care. It's easy to fuck around with the same person for an extended period of time and not catch feelings. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy.

Was as easy as learning ABC's - except when it came to you, Jungkook found himself stumbling, mixing all the letters together, getting things all jumbled up. He was putting letters in the wrong order, but kept 'U' and 'I' side by side - 'cause even though he knows it's wrong, he likes the way it looks. Likes them together.

"Slow down, Kook." Jin's voice is stern as it bellows across the hollow room. "You'll tear something."

Beneath his breath, Jungkook mutters. "Good. Hope I fuckin' do."

"Heard that."

"Don't give a fuck."

He continues to spar against himself, the only enemy his own mind. There was no winning in this match, much like there was no winning in the life he'd chosen to live over the past couple of months.

"She's just a girl, Kook. There'll be others."

The statement hangs in the air like a rancid stench; foul and lingering for far too long.

Jungkook stops bouncing. Slumps his shoulders. Lets his gloved hands hang gamely by his hips. His laboured breaths fill the silence, but he wishes they wouldn't. Thinks it would preferable if he wasn't breathing altogether.

"I know that," he eventually says, rolling his head to his left shoulder and then his right. He bounces again. Taps his glove against the punching bag once, twice, then hits it with far more aggression than is really necessary. "Don't give a fuck about that. Don't give a fuck about her."

Jin wishes he wouldn't lie. There's no need to. The way Jungkook feels about you is stained into his fucking hair. It's not like it's black, or blue, or anything that could be explained away: it's fucking red.

Red like the blood that keeps him alive, and red like the heart that pumps a little faster whenever you're close by.

Red like the stop signs he charges through whenever he's in a rush to get to you, and red like the car you love to hate.

Red like your cheeks when you've had too much to drink, and red like the wires he'd cut on the night he raided the gas station, to stop the silent alarm from tripping.

Red like the sauce of the dakgalbi he'd shared with you on the first night you'd slept together, and red like his ears when his brother had asked if he was seeing someone new during the trip to Busan.

"You seem... I don't know.  You seem a lot like the Jungkook we used to know. Jungkook before everything happened. It's nice. That's all."

He's covered in red, head to toe and - because he doesn't like to ever blame himself - it's all because of you.

It's funny, 'cause reds always been your least favourite colour.

You like green best. Wear black like it's a religion. Always thought that if Jungkook was a colour, he'd be dark brown.

The colour of his eyes, americanos on ice - whisky, too. The indulgence of a chocolate cake, the stability of a thick bonsai trunk. The fur of the dog you'd petted together on Dadaepo beach, and the box of dye you're eyeing up in an Olive Young on an island you didn't know.

And more importantly, an island that doesn't know you.

You put the box back in place, and reach for black instead. The last thing you need is to be reminded of him every single time you look in the mirror.

He doesn't know this, though.

Whenever he thinks of you in the months that follows your departure from Daegu - which is pretty fucking often - he remembers it as it was.

He has intrusive thoughts of your hair, how pretty and red it was, and how he'd never had the chance to live out that little fantasy with you; the one where you'd walk down the street, hand in hand, and people would know.

"Cute."

"Their hair! They must be so in love."

"I wish my boyfriend would do stuff like that with me."

And, in Jungkook's delusions, you'd laugh about it, for you still wouldn't actually be a couple. You'd revel in the fact other people assumed you were, though. There'd be no reason for your lack of commitment; just the excitement of the unknown. The thrill of the chase.

One day though, inevitably, he thought commitment would come.

It'd be in your shared loft apartment, a dog sleeping at the foot of your bed, your initial tattooed on his ring finger after a bet gone wrong. He still wouldn't have asked you to be his girlfriend, but he'd press a kiss against your hair and say 'we should get married.'

You'd be in a courthouse by the end of the week, him in a blazer that didn't really fit him anymore, you in a dress picked up from a vintage store downtown. You'd look beautiful in white, he's sure, but when he pictures it, you're in champagne. Rings are foregone - he imagines there'd be a wait on your smoky quartz stone, due to the short notice of your nuptials - but Hairbo rings would be used in their place.

They'd be worn for the entire drive back to the hotel - the one in Busan where he'd decided that you were 'it' for him - and then he'd eat them off as some haphazard form of foreplay.

Not that he's given it much thought.

Barely even gave thoughts of you the time of day after you left.

He doesn't notice when two days ticks into two weeks.

Doesn't think much of it when two weeks becomes two months.

He'll admit that he thinks about you briefly when your father wins the election.

It's only 'cause Kang makes a big fucking fuss about how it's all Jungkook's fault, and that if he'd have 'just done that one fucking job', then maybe Kang would have won it.

In fact, he's sure he would have won it.

He tells Jungkook that next the time he wants to fuck around with a target - 'cause everyone knows, by that point, what Jungkook had gotten up to in the dark with you (thanks a fuckin' lot, Namjoon) - then he could consider himself a target, too.

He's lucky Kang likes him. Or not so much likes him, but recognises his potential.

Has him in the ring most Thursday nights, fighting scrawny fuckers from the neighbouring clubs, fat cats placing bets on them for sport. He's become quite the fighter. Doesn't see fuck all of the bets placed on him. Gets a 5% cut if he's lucky.

But it's that or face the wrath of Kang, and he knows which he'd rather.

Plus he kind of enjoys it. Likes to fight without consequence. Hasn't been fucking without consequence as of late, so it's a good way to rid himself of his frustrations.

Jimin tries to get him back out there, but every club night turns into Jungkook getting off his tits on god knows what was sold to him in the bathroom. Normally coke. He thinks it's pretty harmless. Just a little buzz. Something to get his heart beating in the same way that you used to.

Because Jin was right. You're just a girl. There'll be others. But while there isn't, he'll get his fix in other ways.

"Slow down," his friends would tell him on the nights he got coked up a little too fast, the house key around his neck dusted in white powder.

"Slow down," his friends would tell him when he was training too hard with fractured knuckles.

"Slow down," Jin would tell Jungkook when he's in the passenger seat, but Jungkook doesn't listen, too busy running reds.

Everyone wants him to slow down, but he doesn't understand it.

Slow down? Spend more time withering away? Spend more time thinking about you?

Slow down? Take longer to get over the fact that he's never gonna get the chance to apologise, never gonna get closure?

Why would the people who care about Jungkook wish that upon him?

And so he speeds up. The coke becomes a cocktail of whatever gets him fucked up fastest. He spends every spare moment training. Jin stops hitching rides from him, 'cause he fears Jungkook is becoming too reckless.

They're all concerned.

It's been months, now.

His hair has grown out and is back to its natural shade. He's filling in his tattoos, numbing his skin, covering the art he once loved. Gets a DUI, and only gets off because the superintendent is a spectator of Jungkook's fights; just another one of Kang's Pawns.

See, Jungkook's fights aren't exactly legal. The money made from them definitely isn't legal.

It's then that he realises he's a part of it now; part of the corruption. The same system that killed his mother, the same evil that he'd wanted to destroy from the inside out.

He thinks about Harvey Dent, and the way you could quote the Dark Knight word for word if you really wanted to. It was something he'd learnt about you by accident.

The film had been playing on his television- the Netflix accompaniment to your 'chill' - and you'd stopped midway through a fucking blowjob to do a god awful impression.

'You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.'

At the time, he'd laughed; pulled you in for a dozen kisses and told you never to do the Harvey Dent voice while holding his cock again. That, and also that from now on, movies were strictly off the table whenever the pair of you hung out - only for him to snuggle up with you the next night, watching the Dark Knight Rises because you'd been too sleepy after work to do anything but nap.

The quote haunts him now.

He knows he's lived too long.

It's a Sunday - three months after you'd left - when he finds himself thinking about you again. Your father is launching a new campaign. Some bullshit about healthy family activities. Is opening more parks. A grand opening is being televised.

He doesn't watch it, 'cause why the fuck would he? Avoids that fucker like the plague. Has no idea how your father helped create someone so fucking perfect.

Then again, he supposed it does make sense. Your dad had ruined his life, and you'd ruined his ability to live one without you. Maybe the apple didn't fall too far from the tree.

Jimin is the first to enter the club that night. Keeps a safe distance from Jungkook. Doesn't think he's coked up, but hasn't been happy with him as of late. Is withholding his friendship until the stupid kid gets a fucking grip.

Tonight is different, though.

"Hey," he hums, slinking down into the sofa beside Jungkook. "How you doing, man?"

Jungkook shrugs. "Same old, same old. You?"

His question is met with a near identical answer. Jimin glances towards Jungkook as he sniffs, rubbing the tip of his nose.

"Clean," Jungkook tells him. It's been about a week since he last did gear. Didn't like the way it was fucking with his head. Was trying to cut back. "Just habit."

It's an answer Jimin accepts but doesn't necessarily believe.

Not after the broadcast today.

"You watch it?" He asks, nervous of Jungkook's reaction. The TV is playing on mute in the corner, and Jimin can't take his eyes off it.

"Nope."

Jungkook doesn't even need to ask what he's on about, for he knows. Of course he knows - just like Jimin should know that there'd be no way in hell he'd have been watching. His answer is met with a nod. Jimin nibbles on his bottom lip. Can't look at his friend.

"Kook, there's somethin-"

The sound of the side door opening interrupts Jimin, screeching against the floor because none of them had fixed the hinges yet. It's Namjoon, out of breath and a little flustered. Jin follows in behind him, completely stoic.

"Did he see? Did he fucking see?" He's looking at Jimin, but he's asking about Jungkook.

"See what?" Jungkook asks right back, not enjoying the wild beast look in Namjoon's eyes.

"Oh, Jesus."

"Joon," Jimin warns him, knowing that this was not the kind of thing Jungkook needed to hear so abruptly. It needed Jin's touch. Someone calm, someone able to manage a situation without freaking the fuck out like Namjoon was.

"You know and you haven't told him?!"

"Told me what?" Jungkook asks, knowing that whatever it is can't be good. News delivered like this could never be good.

Jimin glances over to Jin for a little guidance, who simply nods towards the TV in return. "Unmute it."

Jungkook's eyes fall on the screen, where a news reporter is talking about the new campaign with such little enthusiasm it's a wonder it ever got aired.

"Don't wanna see it," Jungkook says, despite the fact his heart is fucking racing. Forget the molly, forget the coke, forget the adrenaline that comes in the form of victories in a boxing ring - the anticipation of you outranks all of those. Has his heart resting in his throat. Threatens to choke him. "If she's there, I don't wanna know."

Oh, but it's a lie. Such a big fat glorious lie. His eyes have never been wider, the flickering screen reflecting in them as he watches some journalist try and set the scene. He doesn't recognise the place. Somewhere downtown according to the location stamp, but he can't place it. Can't get in his car and drive there just in case the campaign is still running.

In the top corner, the time reads 2:43PM. It's now gone 9. This was filmed hours and hours ago. Whatever his friends need him to see is long gone.

The camera cuts to your father. Jungkook's blood seems to rise in temperature. There's a ringing in his ears. Your father is spewing some bullshit about the importance of an active family.

Jungkook thinks that must be nice; having a family you can be active with. Shame the prick on the television screen had torn his family apart.

And then he's talking about his own family. His daughters. Plural. About how lucky he is to have them both. How grateful is he to have parented such intelligent, beautiful young women.

The camera pans.

He sees your sister. It's to be expected. She's always there.

But then the camera pans again.

And it's you.

It's fucking you.

3 months gone and then you're back, back in Daegu, back by your fucking father's side - and Jungkook is seeing red again.

Or he's just seeing you. Either or.

He'd somehow forgotten the effect you have on him.

Jungkook stands. Walks away. Paces a little. Takes deep breaths.

And then he crouches. Rests his head in his hands, wants to scream but is entirely silent.

Joon is the first to speak. "Thought you said she didn't agree with her Daddy's politics?"

Jungkook muffles a response. "She told me she didn't."

"Well, she was fuckin' lying."

He didn't think you were. You'd been riding his cock down a Daegu back alley at the time. Would have been pretty hard to lie, he thinks. Too much else going on. He doesn't tell Namjoon this, though. Doesn't want to speak about fucking you. Doesn't want to think about it either, but the mind is a cruel mistress.

"Does it really matter?" Jimin interrupts, knowing how the pair of them like to gun for one another in moments of heightened tension. Now was no time to be fighting. Not when Jungkook would already be fighting against the demons he's been running from ever since you left. "She's back, and she's untouchable."

It's smart. Oh, it's so fucking smart. Jungkook begins to laugh at how much of a clever little fucker you are.

"That's exactly why she's done it," he says. He'd be proud of you, if the circumstances were different, he thinks. "We can't fucking touch her. None of us. Not even me. Especially not me, actually. She isn't letting herself be vulnerable to us. She's protected by a public persona she didn't have before. Smart bitch." He pauses. Lets himself laugh. "Smart fuckin' bitch."

There's a smile as he says it. A little bit of awe, too. Far more sadness, though.

"Smart fuckin' boy."

The voice that echoes into the room has Jungkook frozen. He doesn't react. Thinks it's in his head. Thinks he really has been taking too much gear lately.

But then hears it again, and fucking hell, it hurts.

"What a pair we could have made."

And then there's the click of heels across the concrete floor. Jungkook can't bring himself to look in the direction of the noise - not that he really has a choice as you walk straight past his pathetically crouched body.

He's not the man he once was, you think. Shame.

His eyes are level with your hand, though, where a ring glistens underneath the cold lights of the club as you walk on by.

It's on the same finger he's been keeping spare in his imagination for months. The one reserved for Haribo rings.

You take a seat. Cross your legs. Smile at the dumbstruck faces of the stupid mother fuckers in front of you.

You had expected this reaction from one of them, but it's kind of satisfying to have them all choked out.

"Sorry I'm late, boys," you smile, all pristine and pure. None of them really understand what the fuck is happening. "I hear you were looking for me? Well, consider me found. Let's get down to business, shall we?"

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

[jakeysfallingsky]

Among the Wildflowers - Chapter 1 - Jake Kiszka X Reader

Hi there, this was sitting in my phone notes for weeks and I finally turned it into a living document and realized it was 30k+ words in total - so please enjoy the first chapter of this story that was inspired by Jake's (not so new, now) haircut! There is much more to come for this story and much left to be written, but would love any feedback :)

Minors, please do not interact - 18+ content in upcoming chapters.

Summary: You're a hairstylist in Nashville, and the boys in Greta Van Fleet become your clients when they relocate to the city. They quickly all take a liking to you, one sweet guitarist especially. Jake is patient in his pursuit of you, but will your self-created set of rules hold you back from ever being anything more with him?

Word Count: 5600+

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol.

January 2020

It was a sunny winter day in Nashville, the cooler temperatures causing you to shiver as you walked from your car to the door of the salon you worked at. You had lived in Nashville since you were a teenager, relocating to the city with your family from the Midwest. Quickly falling in love with the vibrancy of the city, you knew this would continue to be your home for years to come.

You worked at a trendy salon, a lot of your coworkers also being younger. Most of your clientele were people around your age, and you enjoyed getting to know your diverse client base. Many artists of different varieties, people who worked for all of the surrounding record labels and studios, and of course - plenty of musicians.

Despite this, you tried to keep your personal life and work life separate. You didn’t accept the many invitations you received to come to art shows, local concerts, and simple hangouts. As much as you loved your loyal clients, you also wanted to remain a tried and true professional while you continued to establish your brand in the hair and styling industry. More than a few of your friends had their hearts broken by Nashville folks in the music or touring industries as well, and you had sworn off of dating anyone with a career that would take them away from the city frequently.

Sighing as you checked your schedule for the day, you saw that you had four new clients all back to back. You loved meeting new people and considered yourself a social butterfly, but you always tried to schedule a little extra time for first time appointments as you got to know your new client and their goals for their hair. Upon further inspection, you saw that three of the four individuals had the same last name and realized they had to be related.

“Hmm, some sort of family outing maybe.” You mumble to yourself as you get your area set up for the day. The first few appointments fly by quickly, and before you know it, there are four young men waiting at the front of the salon.

“Hi there!” You say cheerfully as you approach them. You introduce yourself and they go around and share each of their names as well. Sammy, Danny, Josh, and…Jake.

Jake is full on staring at you as you and his brothers speak. He’s left speechless as he takes you in - white Vans high tops, ripped black jeans cuffed at the ankles, black tank top that’s cropped just enough to show a sliver of your stomach and reveal your curves, and an oversized corduroy black button up over the tank. Your golden skin is accentuated by a dusting of freckles and your cheeks are tinted pink with a rosy hue. Your hair is gorgeous, long loose waves flowing down your back with curtain bangs swept along the sides of your striking eyes. There are words coming out of your full lips, but Jake isn’t listening. He’s realizing that you’re the most beautiful girl he has ever laid eyes on, and his nerves start to run wild.

“Jake…Jacob! You there?” Josh asks with a pointed elbow to Jake’s side.

“Oh-oh god, sorry, what was the question?” Jake stammers, cheeks turning red with embarrassment as he comes back down to earth.

You giggle at Jake, knowing that he was checking you out and thinking he is just too cute. “I asked if you are triplets. I get that Danny is a chosen brother, but the three of you just look so similar.”

“Josh and I are identical twins, Samuel is three years younger.” Jake explains and Josh immediately follows with “But I’m the oldest! By 5 minutes!”

“Okay, if you’re the oldest, then you can go first. Let’s go, boys.” You tell them and they follow behind you. 

Josh plops in your chair first, and after you discuss his trim and wash his hair, you start cutting and ask the group more questions to get to know them better. You learn that they’ve all just moved here from Michigan and they’re in a band together. Each of them is incredibly friendly, and you tell them about yourself as they share stories of their own. They almost feel like old friends, despite you just meeting them. They’re all quite chatty, except for Jake, who sits quietly and watches you interact with your brothers, chiming in with a brief answer to a question every now and then. Once Josh is all set, you trim Sam and Danny’s hair too, and then Jake is finally up.

“Your turn!” You say in an upbeat tone and Jake quietly takes a seat in your chair. His chestnut-colored waves flow past his shoulders down his back. “What are you thinking of doing with your hair today, Jake?” You ask as you start to inspect his hair, running your fingers through the ends.

“I uh, I don’t really like getting my hair cut,” he mumbles, “can you just take off the ends and even it out, please?”

“Yeah of course I can, I promise I don’t bite by the way.” You say cheekily and a small smile crosses his face and you take that as a win. He seems shy, but you can’t tell if that’s because he’s nervous about getting a haircut or he’s normally like this around new people. Jake’s uncharacteristic timidness is not lost on his brothers, who all picked up on that Jake is definitely nervous not only because he’s getting his hair trimmed, but because he thinks you are cute as well.

You push all of Jake’s long hair to the front of his shoulders and place a finger against where you think you should cut, about a quarter of an inch from the ends. “How does this sound?” You ask him.

“Sounds good.” He answers quietly and you nod and put a cape on him. The goosebumps rising on his neck where your fingers barely brush him is not lost on you, and you smirk to yourself as you take him over to wash his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you begin to work shampoo through his hair, and you look down at his beautiful features. He has a kind face with a strong jaw and cheekbones and full pink lips, with long lashes hiding the honey-brown eyes that you were careful to not get lost in earlier. He’s utterly stunning.

You finish washing his hair then take him back to your chair. You try to get him to chat a little bit more as you trim his hair, and you learn that he’s been playing the guitar nearly since he could walk, he loves to travel and cook, and he’s secretly a big fan of Imagine Dragons. The other three boys share a few looks, seeing the two of you really hit it off once Jake opens up a bit.

You finish his hair and ask him what he thinks. “Looks great!” He says with the corners of his lips curling up, and he means it. 

You turn to the group and sigh. “Well boys, it was a pleasure spending some time with you today. I do hope you’ll come back to see me next time.”

Josh immediately spoke up. “Oh yeah, we all look great. You’re our person for sure. Don’t worry, you won’t be getting rid of us anytime soon.”

You laugh. “Good! I had fun meeting you all today.”

Sammy then piped in. “Do you want to go get a drink with us later? We don’t have a lot of friends here yet since we just moved a few weeks ago. And you’re really cool.” Jake’s heart started beating faster at the thought of spending more time with you. 

You blush at Sammy’s  invitation and compliment. “Oh, thank you so much for the invite. I already have plans though. I can recommend some good spots for you to check out.”

Jake’s heart sank a little, but he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you yet. “Yeah, can you give us a few spots?” He asked. You quickly wrote down a few of your favorite go-to spots and even your drinks of choice at each establishment and handed the paper to Jake. 

“You guys have fun, and keep in touch!” You waved goodbye and each boy waved back, Jake shooting you a shy grin as he turned to leave.

You walked back to your chair and flopped into it, trying to slow the quick beat of your heart. Jake was certainly going to be trouble for you, if you weren’t careful. 

The boys ended up going to one of the places you had recommended, and everyone got a beer, except for Jake. He ordered the drink you had written on the little piece of paper and smiled when he saw the bartender reach for bourbon. A girl after my own heart, he thinks to himself.

“Jake, my brother,” Sam starts once they’re at a table, “you fucked up by not getting her number.”

Josh and Danny nodded in agreement. “You were looking like a lovestruck fool back there, but so was she.” Josh said.

Jake shook his head. “Don’t say shit like that to me guys. She was so beautiful but way out of my league.” He took the first sip of his drink - your drink - and noted that it was delicious, because of course it was.

“Come on man, we wouldn’t lie to you. But, there’s always next time.” Danny said.

There were a lot of next times, as fate would have it. Each boy routinely came in alone, or together, to see you. They quickly became your favorite clients. You really hit it off with each of them in a friendly way, and it pained you a little to turn down their frequent invitations to get a drink, dinner, come to a BBQ, go to a show, or even just hangout. But, the Kiszka’s and Danny were relentless, partly because each boy thought you were just the coolest and so fun, and partly because each of them wanted to set you up with Jake desperately.

The boy was down bad for you. The confident and collected rockstar found himself a nervous mess every time he saw you. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed every time you rejected his or his brother’s invitations to do something together. Jake could feel that there was chemistry between you two, but something was holding you back.

Eventually, because the boys were big fans of yours, you were hired by Greta Van Fleet’s team to style the boys for photoshoots and promo that they needed to shoot, so you ended up seeing them more frequently than every couple months. There were even a few select occasions where you were flown out to their sets across the country, when they were shooting something on tour away from home. Your feelings for Jake and platonic, friendly love for the rest of the boys grew and grew, and your resolve to continue your professional-only relationship with them was wearing thin after several years of them being only your clients.

•

•

Present Day, 2023

It was a sunny spring evening and the band came over to Jake’s to hang out. After a bit of practicing and playing some video games, everyone was hanging out on his back porch.

“What are you guys up to for the rest of the week?” Danny asked.

“Jacob and I are getting our hair cut tomorrow, I forced him to make an appointment with me,” Josh replied as he grabbed another drink, “he needs one.”

“I do not.” Jake grumbled from his seat.

Sam looked closely at his brother’s hair. “You definitely do, probably a few inches, Jake,” Sam started, “you have split ends out the wazoo. Go for below the collarbone or something.” 

Josh hummed in agreement. “See! Told you. That would look good.” Jake just shook his head in response.

Danny chimed in as well. “Don’t be nervous Jake, aren’t you excited to see your favorite girl tomorrow?”

Jake sighed and nodded with a wistful smile. The rest of the boys of course knew how Jake felt about you, but no one knew just how deep Jake’s feelings and adoration ran for you. 

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see her.” Jake said as he stared into his drink. 

“You should see if she wants to hang out with us Jake, it’s been awhile since anyone has tried to invite her somewhere.” Sam added. 

Jake nervously chuckled and the conversation shifted. Eventually, everyone headed out for the night and Josh clapped his twin on the shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I’ll pick you up.” Jake muttered a quiet thanks and said goodnight to his brother. He trudged upstairs to start getting ready for bed.

Jake sighed as he looked in the bathroom mirror. His brothers were right, he really did need a good amount of hair cut off. The thought of that scared him, but he knew if he asked you for something different with his hair, you’d make it look good no matter what. 

He brushed through his long tangles and took a frizzy lock of hair in his hand. He folded it back at different lengths to see how it looked in the mirror. It was then that he decided for sure that he would ask you for something shorter. His stomach filled with nerves at the thought of how much of his long hair would be chopped tomorrow, but he knew he needed it with how damaged and dry his hair was.

Jake crawled into bed and pulled up your Instagram to see if you had done anything fun lately to try to calm his nerves about what he was going to ask you to do to his hair. 

He remembers the day you followed him back, over a year ago, he felt like he had won the lottery. Every now and then, you two would DM back and forth, sending each other silly or interesting posts. Jake didn’t post often, but his stomach always filled with butterflies when he would see you like his posts or leave a comment.

He saw your recent post from a couple days prior that he had missed and smiled as he scrolled through your photo dump. He loved your bright smile and rosy cheeks that shone in each photo of you with your friends and family. Once he swiped to the last photo, his heart dropped. It was you and a man he didn’t recognize from your other posts, wrapped up in each other's arms at the top of a hike somewhere. Jake frantically tapped the tagged username, scrolling through the profile that unbeknownst to him, was for your high school best friend who had moved out west and was in a committed relationship with his partner. Once Jake saw the series of recent photos of your friend with his partner, relief washed over him. 

He sighed as he flopped back onto his bed, realizing that he was in way too deep for someone that won’t even hang out with him in a group setting. Jake decided that he would invite you to do something, one last time tomorrow, and if you declined his invitation, he would try to move on, even though the thought of that broke his heart. 

•

•

The next day was sunny and warm, putting a smile on your face as you walked to work in the morning. The weather was great, you were in one of your favorite comfy work outfits, and you knew you’d get to see a couple of your favorite clients today. 

The morning went by quickly and before you knew it, the twins arrived and were up front. 

“Hey guys!” You greeted them cheerfully. Josh popped out of his seat and smothered you in a big hug. “My sweet girl! How are you?”

You giggled and let go of Josh, missing the frustrated look on Jake’s face behind you.

Did he seriously just call her that?

“I’m great! It’s so good to see you both. How are you guys doing?” You spun towards Jake and he gave you a nervous smile. You didn’t initiate a hug and his smile fell a little. 

“I’m good, except for the fact that my brother got a hug and I didn’t.” God, that made me sound so pathetic.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you tugged Jake’s arm into you and lightly wrapped your arms around his waist as his came around your upper back. “Let it be known that the first hug was forced upon me but this one I’m choosing to partake in.” You teased, looking up at Jake, and his cheeks turn pink as Josh scoffs. You let go of Jake and wave both boys back to your area. It’s a quiet afternoon, so your chair and the one next to you are both open.

It’s no surprise to you when Josh flops into your chair, signaling that he’ll go first. Despite being completely head over heels for you, Jake still hates getting his hair cut and always lets his brothers go first if they’re there with him. Jake slides into the other chair and turns to face you and Josh.

You run your fingers through Josh’s curls. “I kind of like how loose your curls are,” you say, “I don’t really want to perm it today.”

Josh nodded. “If you could just clean up the sides and trim the rest, I think I’ll be good.”

You know Josh well enough to know exactly what he wants and you hum in agreement as you throw the cape around him. “We’ll be right back, Jake.” You say as Josh gets up. Jake silently nods and goes back to twiddling his fingers in the chair. 

You wash Josh’s hair and give him a scalp massage and he sighs. “I swear your fingers are magic.” He says loud enough for his brother to hear, trying to get a rise out of him. Jake rubs his face out of annoyance, but your response quells his anxiety.

“Stop being weird.” You snort as you turn the water off and wring his hair out. You take Josh back to your chair and comb his curls and pin them up. You grab your clippers and run them up the sides of his head, then trim up the rest of his longer hair as you two chat, Jake staying quiet next to you both. Running curl product through it, you diffuse his curls and he’s done within a matter of minutes. 

“What do you think?” You ask him. “Perfect, as always. You’re the best.” He responds and your cheeks darken at his compliment. 

Josh gets out of the chair and smacks his twin on the side of his head. “Your turn!” He says loudly.

Jake stands and sits in your chair without a word. You begin to run your fingers through the ends of his long unkempt waves. “You’re being awfully quiet today.” You tell him and he shrugs nervously. “Mind if we take these off?” You point to his sunglasses and before Jake has the chance to open his mouth, you’ve come around to his front and gently grasp both sides of his sunglasses and slide them off of his face. You turn to put his glasses on the counter and miss the way Jake’s lips part slightly out of shock and the deep blush that runs across his cheeks. Josh silently snickers, watching his brother. 

You come back around to be behind Jake and grab your brush, knowing your fingers will not be successful in detangling his hair. His hair is the longest it’s ever been and flows down his back and chest, but it’s unfortunately riddled with split ends and damage. He only lets you trim the very ends off every time he comes in because he hates getting his hair cut that badly. 

You brush his frizzy waves out and look at him in the mirror. “Just the usual? Quarter inch off your ends?” 

Jake clears his throat, his nerves rising. “Actually um, I wanted to try something different today.” He says quietly. 

It’s your turn to be shocked now. “No way! Like what?” 

“Well, we’re doing this whole ‘back to our roots’ thing, and that’s kind of what Josh did with his hair when he changed it all those months ago, and my hair used to be a lot shorter, like before I knew you, so um, maybe like that?” Jake stammers.

You don’t want to allude to how excited you are to actually give him a real haircut that he desperately needs, so you calmly ask him if he has any photos while you run your fingers through his hair.

Jake is distracted by the feeling of your fingers running through his waves. He fumbles, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and his hands are shaking a little from nerves as he pulls up his Instagram. Your heart aches for him as you notice how nervous he is. “See this from like 6 or 7 years ago? Maybe like that?” He says as he holds his phone up.

You peer at his screen to see his hair hitting a little below his shoulders in a poofy one length style. It was very cute on him for sure, but with your skill, you knew you could give him a style that would be more interesting and fit his personality well. 

“Hmm,” you hum as you run your fingers through his hair again, noticing that it seemed to soothe Jake a little, “that would definitely be good for the health of your hair, you’ve got a lot of damage going on. But maybe we could take this idea and give you the grown up rockstar version with some layers? Maybe take it shorter than these photos but still around your shoulders? That would be super fun. Does that sound okay to you?” 

He gives you a soft smile despite his nerves. He’s unsure what’s making him more nervous right now, the idea of cutting his hair short or being around you. “Whatever you think would look best.” He softly tells you. 

You can tell he’s a little unsure of such a big change. You wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind the chair and look at him in the mirror. He’s blushing again as you make eye contact. “This is going to be so cute on you, Jake! I’m so excited.” You say with a big smile and he gives you another small one in return as he nods. 

You stand up straight and push his long hair to one side as you grab the cape and fasten it around his neck. You notice goosebumps rising where your fingers brush his skin and you smirk a little. “Let’s get you washed up,” you tell him as you turn to walk over to the shampoo bowls. He stands up and Josh gives him an encouraging pat on the back as he walks by.

Jake sits down and is rigid as a board. You place your fingers on his shoulders and try to get him to lean back. “Relax Jake, this is going to turn out so good.” You tell him. He sighs as he tries to settle in. “I know, I trust you, I just hate getting my haircut and this is a pretty big change.” 

You start to wash his hair and notice his eyes close as you work your fingers into his scalp. “I’m proud of you, though. It can be scary changing something about yourself. You’re being brave.” You encourage him and he smiles with his eyes closed. “Thank you.” He says softly and you look down at him fondly as you finish washing his hair. 

Walking back over to your station, he sits down gingerly as if the chair is going to swallow him up and eat him whole.

You grab his shoulders carefully and lean him back so he’s sitting against the back of the chair. “I promise I’ll take good care of you.” You tell him quietly, so only he can hear, and he runs a hand over his face. “I know, you’re the only one I’d ever trust to do something like this for me.” He admits shyly.

It’s your turn to blush and you break eye contact as you focus on detangling his wet hair. Jake notices the color flushing your cheeks and he smiles. 

Josh is observing both of you silently and sends his brother a text when you walk to the back to grab different products for Jake’s hair.

Josh: Are you seeing the way she’s looking at you? And talking to you? And touching you? If you don’t ask her out today, you’re an idiot.

Jake: Really? Are you sure?

Josh: YES. This is painful. Make a move once we are ready to leave. 

You come back and Jake hastily closes his messages as you continue combing his hair. You section the sides out and pin them up and section and pin up most of the back of his hair, too. A small section is left hanging down his back. 

Jake is beginning to squirm as you get closer and closer to starting his haircut. “Are you ready?” You ask him, seeing his nervous movements in the chair. You want to make sure he really wants this as it’s such a big change, especially for him. “We can do something less drastic, or just a little trim if you want.” 

“No, I’m ready, I’m good.” He tells you. 

You nod and tilt his head down a little. Your comb is brought to where his neck and shoulders meet and you bring the scissors up. You glance down and see a good 6-7 inches of hair about to be cut off. “Okay,” you say, “I’m going to get started.” Jake doesn’t dare move his head, but moves his hand out from under the cape to give you a thumbs up silently. It’s such a Jake gesture that you almost laugh a little.

You close the scissors around his hair and watch the long locks fall to the ground. You continue snipping the rest of the section short, more and more of Jake’s hair falling.

You let down the next section and comb it out. “It’s looking good so far, Jake.” You say and Josh agrees. Jake gives you a nervous, close-lipped smile in the mirror that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So, what can you tell me about the new album?” You ask Jake, trying to get him to talk about something that you know he’s excited about. You continue combing and snipping and the gentle tugs and sounds of your shears cutting what feels like most of his hair off is distracting to Jake.

“Well, um, we finished it a few weeks ago.” He starts. You give an interested hum and he continues. “It’s, it’s interesting really because we recorded the entire album live together instead of each of us recording parts separately like a lot of musicians do.”

You stop cutting and look at him. “That’s so cool!” You say genuinely and he blushes again and rubs his chin. “Yeah, we are a live band at our core for sure so it made sense.” He mumbles.

“Well, I can’t wait to hear it.” You say as you finish cutting the back to just barely hit his shoulders and unclip the sides. His long hair tumbles down his chest for the last time. You pull the last of his long hair to the back and begin to cut it to just skim his shoulders as well. His hair is now definitely a few inches shorter than the photos he showed you, but you had a vision for how you wanted his hair to turn out and you knew he would love it when it was all done. 

You finish cutting and ask him if he wants to see what’s been done so far. “Still needs layers, but it’s looking so great Jake, I think you’re really going to like it.” You tell him and Josh stands up to see how Jake’s hair ended up behind his shoulders.

“Looking good, brother.” He says encouragingly.

“Yeah, go ahead and show me the damage.” Jake chuckles nervously.

You grip the ends of his hair and with little effort, push it in front of his shoulders. He gasps as he sees how short his hair is. “Oh wow, this is different,” he says as he takes in the change in his appearance, “it looks a lot healthier.” You rub his shoulder reassuringly and notice the blunt ends of his hair tickling the back of your hand.

“It was pretty damaged Jake, but this is already looking amazing on you.” You tell him truthfully and he nods. He runs his hands through his hair and smiles as he feels how soft and healthy the ends feel. “I like this a lot,” he muses, “feels a lot like ‘me.’”

“I’m glad you think so, I agree.” you say as you begin combing his hair out again. You begin cutting a face frame and lots of layers, trimming more and more of his hair. After several more minutes of cutting and hair filling up Jake’s lap, you’re satisfied with his shaggy bob. You run wave product through his hair with your fingers and his eyes flutter shut involuntarily. 

“This takes two seconds to put in your hair, but it will help your waves pop and not be frizzy.” You tell him and his eyes open and he nods. You diffuse his hair and mess it up a little with your fingers once it’s dry. You’re in love with how his hair turned out, seeing how it accentuates his gorgeous face.

“What do you think?” You ask and he grins as you take the cape off and he messes with his hair himself. He pushes his wavy hair behind his ears and the face framing pieces fall forward and your heart does a flip, seeing how cute he looks. “I love it,” he tells you with a big smile on his face, “I never would have asked for this myself but you did amazing, as always.” 

“Aww, thanks Jakey.” You tease as he stands up and turns to his brother. “What do you think, Josh?”

“I think you may surpass me as the most handsome member of the band, maybe.” Josh answers with a toothy grin. “Looks great.”

Jake grabs his sunglasses and puts them on his shirt as you walk them to the front and they pay.

“Great seeing you both, as always. Don’t be strangers!” You say as you go to hug them both goodbye. Jake hangs on for a second longer than he should for a friendly hug and he clears his throat as he realizes this and steps back. Jake and Josh make eye contact and Josh swiftly says his goodbyes and steps out with the excuse that he has to make a phone call. 

Jake turns to you, his nerves seemingly returning as he looks into your eyes and runs a hand through his hair, noticing there’s a lot less for his fingers to pull through. 

“So, I was thinking, um, I know we’ve invited you out before to hang out and stuff and you’ve always said no but, I-I was wondering if maybe you’d want to come by our office and I could show you some of our new music?” He asks timidly and you feel butterflies erupt in your chest. 

“You want to show me your new music?!” You ask him, shocked.

He nods and smiles. “I would love to. You’ve always been one of our biggest supporters since we moved out here.”

You take a deep breath, knowing you’re about to break your own rules, but something in the back of your brain is telling you that it’ll be so worth it for the sweet man standing before you. “That’s so cool of you to offer Jake, I would love to.”

The biggest smile breaks out across his face, his dimple popping and everything. He can’t believe you’ve agreed to spend some time with him, especially alone. “Are you free Saturday? Or Sunday? Or any day really, I could make anything work. Even today, later, anything-.”

You chuckle as you cut off his rambling. “I don’t work on the weekends, is Saturday okay?” 

He nods enthusiastically and you hand him your phone with the contacts page pulled up. “Give me your number and I’ll text you.” You say with a soft smile and he looks at you sweetly as he takes your phone.

“Wow, I finally get your number after over three years? I don’t have to DM you on Instagram to talk anymore?” He says with a joking tone and you giggle. He hands you your phone back and you slide it into your pocket without looking.

“Let’s plan on Saturday morning, 10:00?” He asks. There’s something behind his eyes that looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. 

“Perfect,” you say, “I can’t wait.”

“Me too.” he grins. “Thanks again for making me look good today.”

Feeling brave, you reach up to ruffle his hair and tuck some behind his ear before pulling him into another hug. He’s so flustered by that and it takes him a second before he wraps his arms around you. 

“No problem, rockstar.” You say as you unwrap your arms from around him. His cheeks are bright red as you pull back. 

“S-see you Saturday,” he manages to get out and you wave as he turns to leave. 

Once he’s gone, you pull your phone out and see he added an emoji next to his name in your contacts. You smile, seeing he picked the red guitar emoji to follow his name.

Maybe, some rules are meant to be broken.

[friedchickenluver]

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [moronsexual] ࿐ྂ

note: this isn’t an actual fic , this is just some thought yk . BUT GUESS WHO JOINING JJK FANDOM BABEHHH .

warning(s): very smutty with some vulgar or offensive content, heavy degradation, dumbification, reader is a SLUT/gojo is also a SLUT, reader drinks up dick like it’s air babes , reader is also pregnant .

gojo loves dumb, bimbo, hoes, which is what he knows is not good for him. his type, idiotic girls with hot bodies. ones that’ll have the swell of her ass hanging out her bottoms, her breasts practically falling out of her top for the whole show. bonus points if she only had but a sliver of a real personality and look like all could muster up in that head of hers is sex. it was like he had a fetish for the dumb, his dick would jump in his pants at the thought of having his way some bimbo tramp who seemed like she’d been ran through so much, the good sense in her was beat straight out of her used pussy.

she could talk in one of those high pitched, annoying ass voices, all pretty and pink just like her pussy happens to be.

Gojo likes her, him being the player he is, he just want something to bag a good fuck from. getou could only ever gently shake his head at his friend’s…exotic taste in women. ladies like that would only pass off some nasty infection that he’d have to deal with; nonetheless, he just didn’t care. take for example this one woman he caught at the corner pharmacy, buying a plan b with a slight pain in her walk. she had thick eyelashes that basically flooded over her eyes, her nails were done up really long and dressed in various jewelry and trinkets.

her belly stuck out from her slim body, aside from her ass that sat prettily below her back. he was staring extra hard, he had to remind himself it’d be rude as hell to just glare in her direction unannounced. but why the hell would she be buying a plan b if she was already pregnant? he wouldn’t know, all he caught was how fine this bitch looked in her jet black bussdown she had laid down perfectly. she limped out the entrance of the store after handing the cashier a couple of crinkled up dollars, watching how her ass just switched around effortlessly like she was asking for that shit.

she looked ran through as fuck, looked like she ain’t really know the first name of whoever the hell creampied in her guts like that. but that was nothing to worry about, because he was now going to finesse his way in her next. so he attempted to catch her outside of the store before she’d gotten in her car to crack a few jokes, say some slick shit, and get her number.

she was smiling and of course cheesing like a child being given candy, giggling and batting her lashes at him. it was pretty evident that she was digging him, so that led to him eventually getting her number before she ran off.

when the two hooked up at some hotel, it was more than just something. she could do a lot for a 5 month pregnant woman, he was damn near scared her water might’ve broken while they fucked that night. he’d have her choked face down into the soft material of the bed pillows, continuously beating down into her full stomach. it was his fifth time cumming all inside of her warm insides, holding her arms pinned down on her back tightly while his dick pivoted down in the middle of her worked pussy.

god, she was so fucking loose it didn’t make sense, her walls were so easy to slip into that it felt like four other men had already have their way with her. it’s pitiful the way she screamed so childishly high-pitched, it made him want to just break that dumb bitch in half. he let go of her hands to yank at her hair, letting a loud sob go out into the atmosphere of the room. gojo had to slap her good to calm her screaming down to not concern any surrounding people on the floor.

they switched positions, allowing her to get on top with her ass facing his view. he stood up with his lower half off of the bed being held up by his feet and letting her hold his ankles as she thrashed herself down onto his dick. her juices would splash with each thrust, flying so far, droplets would smack down on his face when she would meet back up with his hips.

ugh, she was so fucking nasty letting him just ruin her makeup with his finish, slapping and just relishing his dick all over her helpless face. only a slut would wrap those slender fingers over the base of his shaft while her pussy would swallow up the tip, lips sucking him up and relishing the sheen of her arousal over him.

“so full.” she complained like a bratty ass girl, pressing down on one of his veins with her wet thumb. as if he couldn’t literally tell, he just gave her ass a good slap.

“hush and take it, you sorry ass bitch.”

she turned over so her pink clit could face him directly, gripping onto the headboard, planting her feet into the mattress, she plowed her damn self on him like a desperate cunt. her sex looked messed up and sort of abused, everything about her just screamed ��use me’! her ass would spank down to burn red marks into his pale contrasting skin, playing her cunt around his own length and rolling her hips as she squatted back down on it completely.

the woman’s mouth was left agape, a thin trail of saliva hinting down her jaw from gojo trapping her head to lay against the headboard unhealthy wrong. stray tears burned down her face being pushed to her damn limit and choking out the cum he drilled back inside of her. the raven colored wig now glued to her face from the accumulation of rampant snot, sweat, and drool.

the sound of her hips subtly popping from every thrust from the man restraining her down landed in her, causing those reddish eyes to just loll back in silent gratification.

“I bet you fucking like when someone fucks you like you mean nothing but sex huh?”

oh but the degrading comments only made the heat between her legs grow even fucking hotter, and he could definitely tell with the way her pussy talked back to him while he moved.

“fucking slut, you already let someone else put a baby in you. And here you are looking for more damn sex.”

their mixed arousal dipped down from between their connection, and along and around their legs and the bed below. gojo could barely keep up with the way she squeeze down on him, wordlessly daring him to fuck you even fuller and plug up that warm entrance. she felt so gooey inside it was so vivid the way they desperately rutted against each other, her belly started doing turns and spins from the sound of skin crackling down on one another. snaking a larger hand over her smooth neck, he yanked her up to let a wad of spit to land in the back of her mouth, big, stupid, doe eyes glittered up at him almost pleadingly…

her body now reduced down to a convulsing mess on the bed before him, she panted laboriously with her naked stomach still bulging in stark contrast from the rest of her form. the opening of her cunt left slackened, repeatedly gaping from exhaustion. and as it closed back up once more, it pushed out her hot cum that just fought out against the ring of worn down muscles. still faintly making noises in through her mouth, the aftershocks of sex continued the circulate in her veins.

so dumb, so fucking dumb.

[thefreakymunson]

Bestie the iii x vessel x reader got me 😫🥲 i need more sweet moments with either them separate or together PLEAAASEEE 😭

You got it!!

Request a Sleep Token fic here

You often wondered how you got so lucky.  Most people struggled to find true love in their lives, and you had found it with two men who loved you, and each other, desperately.  However, in that same breath, you were wondering how you even got into the position you were in currently, which was funny enough.

The outside festival didn’t have the commodities that a venue would.  No.  There were no backstage dressing rooms where the guys could bathe the black paint off of them.  They were stuck with having to be hosed down behind the bus as to not ruin the bathroom interior.  Maybe you were having too much fun with it, being the one in control of the hose itself, spraying and squirting the band members as they quickly washed themselves clean, complaining about the frigid temperature of the water itself.

“I swear to god,” Vessel said as his teeth chattered, “I’m going to build a time machine, go back in time, and beat my own ass for having this idea.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrugged nonchalantly, “I’m having fun.”

That got you two death glares from the two tallest of the group before Vessel glanced at iii and before you knew it, you were being tossed over iii’s shoulder as Vessel playfully jerked the hose from your hand and began spraying you all over.

“Vessel, stop!” You shrieked, trying your hardest to get away from iii but he just locked his arm around you tighter.

“What’s that?” Vessel said mockingly, “I can’t hear you, I’m having fun.”

You kicked with all you could muster, the laughter spilling from your mouth as you fought against them but it was no use.  They were too strong and too fast, so you gave in and admitted your defeat.  Vessel eventually turned off the faucet and just as you were being sat back down on your feet, iii was brushing your now soaking hair back away from your face, exposing the eyeliner running down your cheeks.  Your makeup was ruined and so was your hair, but it wasn’t the first, or last, time the two things got ruined by the two laughing giants in front of you.

“That was mean,” you said, wringing your shirt out as you glared up at Vessel himself who was pushing his hair away from his face as well. 

“That was payback, my love.”  Vessel smirked before he bent down and pressed a kiss to your lips, “Now let’s go change before we catch our death.”

“It’s ninety degress out, Ves.”  iii laughed, “Sounding like a old grandma.”

“You heard me,” Vessel grinned lopsidedly at him, which only meant one thing.  The three of you were not getting on that bus to just change into regular – dry – clothing. 

By the time the festival was over and everyone had eaten dinner, you were exhausted.  Thankfully tonight was a no travel night and you three were able to get a hotel room which meant a good hot shower and an actual bed to sleep beside the both of them on.   

When you walked out of the steamy bathroom, you were greeted by the sight of your boyfriends lounging on the couch, both in their pajamas.  iii’s head was laid in Vessel’s lap, fingers being carded through blonde hair.  They both smiled when you walked in and held the blanket up for you to crawl under.

You were immediately wrapped in four long arms, pulling you into them.  You weren’t leaving for a little while by the looks of it, not that you minded one bit.  It was your favorite way to end a day, surrounded by the two men you loved the most. 

“Sweet girl,”  Vessel’s voice was quiet, an arm snaking around your waist as you looked up at him sleepily.  It was late, and while they were still riding the high of just coming off of stage, you were exhausted from the day’s events.  They had coaxed you into watching some movie – a horror based off of the woman’s shrill screams and the impending doom music.

The three of you had been clogging up the couch in the hotel for the past hour.  iii’s head was in Vessel’s lap while you were tucked safely under Vessel’s right shoulder,  your legs tangled up with iii’s arms as his fingers gently scratched at the back of your calf. 

“Mmm?”  You muttered sleepily, blinking away the bleariness of your vision. 

The festival circuit was hard and hot.  Long days of helping out with the merch table or whatever the band needed left you nearly dehydrated and exhausted, but it was so worth it to be able to spend time with your boys. 

“You need to rest,” Vessel said, turning to look down at you.  The concern in his voice alerted iii who also turned to look up at you.

“Yeah, you worked hard today.”  iii chimed in, “Go to bed, sleepy.”

“No,” you shook your head, “I’m not even tired.  I’m okay.  I’m comfortable.”

Vessel and iii shared a look that you didn’t see as you curled up tighter in the blanket that was draped over you.  Whatever movie that was playing had become an afterthought minutes after the ‘play’ button had been pressed and you had sneakily dosed off pressed into Vessel’s chest.  He must’ve realized you were half asleep soon because you were pulled tighter against him, feeling him press his warm lips against your forehead, before he slid a bit further down on the couch, pulling both you and iii further into him.

“You want to go to bed now?” Vessel whispered, his fingers gently rubbing up and down your back, only to earn a sleep filled whimper from you.

“I think she’s out,” iii laughed, his tiredness tugging on his own voice.

“Mmm, yeah.  Me too.  Guess we’re stuck here.”

“It’s a good place to be stuck,” iii said as he tangled his fingers tighter into Vessel’s hand.

[dexrm]

kare no hime | 彼の姫

This story will contain mature themes.  Read at your own risk.

Previous chapter

Next chapter 

-

Sukuna wasn’t happy after you left Uraume, but was unbothered when you said you were with Toji Zenin.  While travelling to your new residence north of Kyoto, Sukuna is ambushed with a curse technique that will forever change him.

Chapter five - Tsuku

“I was kidnapped and escaped, Sukuna,” you explain.  “It’s not my fault I was cornered, is it?” you tried to make your voice sound convincing.  Even if it was true, you felt as if your tongue made you sound like a liar.

“Who was that man?” Sukuna asked, toneless.  “Why did you go to him instead of trying to find me?”

You blink.  

“He saved me,” a brief sentence came from your mouth.  

“We should thank him next time,” his voice gave a sense of uneasiness.  You look up.  There he was, not glaring at you, but the path Toji left.  Your sister always blabbered about if a man doesn’t like another one of your man friends, he feels something much more for you.  

Sukuna and Toji both abandoned you at your worst.  Or actually, it’s more of Toji.  You were the one taken away from Sukuna.  Sukuna had a strange aura around him constantly.  You’ve seen his laughter rom slaughtering humans, but never an authentic one from him being humoured that doesn’t involve violence.  

You admire his ambition.  You really did.

Sukuna then walks away from you, gesturing his finger.

“Are we going home?” you ask, catching up.

Sukuna stops to give you an annoyed stare.

“We will not go back to Hida for a while,” he said.  “I will take you to our new residence.”

You nod.

-

No one ever told you your new residence was deep in the woods.  But you had to sit silently with Sukuna, whom was in deep thought again.  Moment by moment, he got one of his tattoos back.  It was like he was growing back into a monster.  

“Are you in love with that man?” Sukuna asked out of a sudden.

“No,” you reply steadily.  “Why?”

“Don’t women like those hero stories and fall in love with those men?” Sukuna laughed.  “So you don’t?”

“No.” your heart tightened.

Sukuna went back to his silence.

While he was in his own world, your entire body trembled.  Not out of fear, but your heart pounded this time.  You could sense your stomach twisting and stretching.  It felt hot.

“I need to get out,” Sukuna commanded, and Uraume immediately stopped.

You peek out the window.  The wooden wagon stood in the middle of nowhere, and Sukuna was just standing.  But not regularly standing.  Like he was waiting for prey to come to him.

Suddenly, the wagon flew up as you fall on the side.  Your head aches in pain, as another horrendous blow of a piece of wood hit your arm.  You couldn’t move, at least not now.  With the excruciating hit on the side of your forehead, you couldn’t even think.  

“Master Sukuna!” Uraume’s alarmed, not composed voice made you shiver as bits of tears flowed down your face.  You find a broken hole, and shuffle your body to peek.

Sukuna was on the dirt ground.

He didn’t respond to Uraume’s calls and pushes.

You put your hand over your mouth at the sight.

Beside Uraume were four other tall men you didn’t recognize.  They all wore dark blue robes or black kimonos, and one of them even had a disoriented head.

“Now, let us get Uraume,” a man with long black hair said in a calm tone.  

“Are we gonna just leave Sukuna there?” the disoriented head hissed.

“This path has been unused for years, they’re the first to go this way,” he sighed.  “I doubt even a wood cutter will come across here to save the now fallen King of Curses.”

He whispered to the man.

“Plus, you need me to defeat Uraume, remember?”

The other man glared, but nodded.

You looked back at Uraume.  They attempted to touch Sukuna’s body, but knew they had no chance.  Their only choice now was to run.  The other men chased after her.

You slowly sit up, head still dizzy and pounding.  Opening the now half destroyed window, you crawled out.

Sukuna laid there, unconscious.

You quickly ran to Sukuna, stumbling over him.

“Wake up please,” you cry.  You had no where to go now.  “Ryomen Sukuna, our deal isn’t over yet, wake up,” in the first in of your life, you used an immense amount of force to shake someone.  “Wake up!” you say in his ear.

For once in your life, you wish you weren’t free from him.

“Where am I?” his voice cracked.

You look at his face again.  He was blinking.

“You were attacked,” you explain.  “Are you hurt?”

“I was attacked?” his confused voice made your brain stop.  “I don’t remember being attacked.”

The worst of the worst came true.

“Do you remember your name?” you ask, cautious.

“N-no,” he said, sitting up now.  “Do I know you?”

“No,” your eyes were now red.  “We’re strangers.” the word made you want to vomit.  Before, Sukuna and you were strangers.  It was an undeniable fact.  But you wanted to understand more of his thoughts, his past.  He truly was a human monster, back then at least.

You stand up to leave Sukuna alone.

“Where are you going?” his voice made your heart heavy.

Your deal was now over with him.  You’re free.

A sudden punch in your chest hit you.  You cough up blood, lots of blood.  Each cough were like needles entering your lungs, slowly sinking into them.  Your head pounded faster, each breathe you took in made living feel like hell.

Coming to realization, you couldn’t break the rules.  Even if Sukuna has no memory of what happened, a vow was a vow.

Walking to the wagon, you pull out your bag.  You turn around to lift Sukuna up.

“We need to leave here, now,” you command.  “It’s not safe, people will come back to attack us.”

“Is there a village near by?” he asked.  

“We’ll find one,” you say.  

Walking the opposite direction, Sukuna follows you, but catches up to walk beside you.  You walk even faster, and he catches up easily.  

“I’ll lead the way,” he asserted.

“You don’t even remember how you came here,” you say with a stern tone.  

“I don’t care,” he laughed, walking.

-

The journey to find a village of any kind was long, exhausting, and made you furious.  This Sukuna wasn’t as calculating, he was open about his mistakes.  He would reach a dead end of trees, turn back, and repeat.

But the two of you saw smoke coming from a distant hill.

“Finally,” you gasp.

“What should my name be?” Sukuna stops.  You freeze at the question.  The name Ryomen Sukuna would give the bad men an idea of where he was.  

“I’ll name you,” you think.  “Tsuku?”

“That works,” Sukuna replied.  “Ugly name though.”

Although he was in no place to say that, you tolerated his comment.

Squinting, you spot a woman wearing slightly loose purple robe.  You walk closer, to see she was collecting herbs.

“Hello?” you yell.  The woman turns around, startled.

From the long grass, she pulls out an axe.  She walks, closer and closer to where you and Sukuna stood.  She then drops the axe.

“Yes?” she finally replied.

“Apologies if we startled you, we wanted to seek refuge from a nearby village.  We were recently just robbed most of our valuables,” you say.  

“Oh, I’ll lead you there,” the lady quietly said.  “I’m sorry if I looked as if I was about to attack you, there have been rumours of a beast in this forest.”

While following the lady, you glance at Sukuna.  One more tattoo added on the back of his neck.  He obviously was unaware of it though.

The village was relatively smaller than the one you lived in the Hida province.  But most houses still weren’t made from straw.  The lady’s robe was silk and new, probably from the wealthier part of the village.  She led you and Sukuna to her small but nicely furnished house.  Compared to Sukuna’s old residence, the smaller house was not minimalist at all.  There were flowers, plants, and decor anywhere you went.

You two finally sat on mats in the supposed guest room.

“My name is Aoi.  Tell me, where are your families?  What do you do for a living?” the woman pours green tea into cups.

“I don’t have a family,” you say.  “And he..  recently hit his head.  He can’t remember anything.”

This Sukuna didn’t glare at the woman with a deadly stare, but he drank his tea like a normal person.  But his gaze was still lifeless.

“I see,” the woman stopped to think.  “I have enough resources to house you both, but you two must contribute to the household, or else my husband will get mad.” she said with a vague smile.  She looked at you.  “Young lady, what is your name?”

You take a deep breathe.

“Fushiguro is my family name,” you reply.

“You will help with cooking, washing the clothes, and caring for my children.  Their both four,” she stood up.  “What about this man?”

“Tsuku,” Sukuna immediately said in an annoyed tone.  It was like he knew you were going to speak for him.

“You will aide my husband in his work then, I don’t know what he exactly does, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate extra help.”

Sukuna nods.

“You two will sleep in this room, and stay until you find a new place to live,” Aoi said.  “You will all start working tomorrow.”

The moment Aoi left the tiny room, you open the window.  It the sun was practically down, but you can see the red and orange hues at the bottom of the sky.  Sukuna sat down the thin mat we were supposed to sleep on.

“If you were just a stranger, how come a broken wagon was right beside us?” his voice was rather condescending, but not as much as before when he didn’t randomly forget everything.  Jujutsu or not, you didn’t understand.  But the other men clearly did something to Sukuna.

“I was travelling,” you confidently lie, sitting down on the bed next to him.  Your head still heavily ached from the fall, but you could feel the injury somewhere on the side of your head, your hair covering some of the blood.  But asking the lady to treat it was too much to ask for.  “I was robbed most of my things, and then I saw you lying on the ground.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow.  It was something he never did at all before.  The old Sukuna seemed to know the answers to everything.

“Thank you for saving me, Fushiguro,” he said.  Hearing Sukuna thank you was the last thing you expected, but you reminded yourself he wasn’t the same person.  

“I wouldn’t leave anyone like that in the middle of the forest,” you say, putting a blanket over yourself.  “Do you remember nothing from your life?”

“No,” Sukuna’s gaze leaned towards the window.  “I remember nothing at all,” he then turns to look at you.  “Are you injured?”

“No, why?” you tried not to stutter.

“I smell blood,” Sukuna claims.  

“I slightly hit my head,” you quickly shut his claims.

“Get it treated,” he lies down.  

You didn’t lie down.  You stared at Sukuna, wondering how different he was.  You weren’t quite sure what to do next.  But food, shelter, and safety wasn’t a problem now.  You didn’t know if you should leave Sukuna here and find your family, or take him with you.  But you couldn’t.  Your deal with him wasn’t over, but he doesn’t even remember the deal.  

Sukuna turned around to catch your eye.

“I don’t like it when people stare,” he said, turning back.

-

The cold midnight air woke you up.  Although the room was originally warm, it felt like the middle of winter.  The room was so dark you could barely see in front of you without overthinking about those creatures.  That purple blob who kidnapped you.

There was a slight knock on the window.  You back off a little.

“It’s me, Fushiguro,” a casual voice said.

Toji.

The window creaked opened, to reveal the muscular build and black robe.  It really was Toji Zenin.  His smug face.  Scar.  It was really him.

“T-toji?” your voice cracked.  “Why are you here?  How did you find me?”

“I’ll always know where you are,” he climbed in.

“Are you here to take me back?” a slightly trembling you asked.

Toji walked closer to you.  This time, his face was much more warm and approaching.  It was Toji.  But didn’t feel like Toji.  He looked at you in the eye.

“We are married, what do you mean?” he said.  “I’m just taking my lost wife home.”

“You abandoned me,” you lash out, but not aggressive enough to irritate him.

“Stop throwing tantrums,” he gently laughed.

Before you could react, a pair of giant hands flew to Toji’s neck, pinning him against the wall.  A monstrous height and body rose from the darkness.

Sukuna in his beast form.

His glowing red eyes stared into Toji’s.  A cunning smile rose from his face.

“Stop!” you shriek, rushing to slap Sukuna’s hands.  It was no use.  No matter how much you cried, you couldn’t stop Sukuna.  Toji was getting bluer by second, and you knew his ending.

“Toji!” you cried.

-

A gentle slap on the stomach, made you sit up from your cries.  You were still in that same room.  It wasn’t dark.  The moonlight was bright enough for you to see Sukuna leaning towards your face.

“Get off!” you crawl away from him.

“You were having a nightmare,” he said, unbothered.

“I was?” your voice sounded more paranoid then ever.  “Did you choke someone?”

“No,” he said, backing away.  “Were you dreaming of me hurting you?”

“Nono,” you say.  “I dreamed of someone I know hurting a friend.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he says.  He looked slightly scary, but genuine.  “I wouldn’t hurt someone who was my saviour.”

“How do you know I don’t have intentions to use you?” you joke, slightly happy on the inside.  

“Because,” he leaned forward, head towering over you.  “A vulnerable young lady with nothing, helping an unconscious man on the streets.  Tears in her eyes.  You did that out of mercy and kindness.”

“I guess you could say that,” you weren’t sure if you really did that out of kindness, or because of the consequences of breaking the binding vow.  

“There aren’t much people like you out there nowadays,” Sukuna suddenly scowls.  “A lot of them are selfish bastards.”

“How do you know if you lost your memory?” you started getting more comfortable.

“I remember seeing a child with an ugly, disfigured face being beat to death by some wealthy lords,” his gaze sharpened with disgust.  “I don’t know when or where.”

“There isn’t much you can do,” you say, leaning against the wall.  Sukuna doesn’t.  He sits on your mattress, legs half crossed, hand on his face.  “As long as hierarchy of any kind exist, people will belittle others, humiliate them.

“Of course it can be changed,” he snapped.  “If all humans were disfigured and sad, we’d be equal.  No one can laugh at you for looking and behaving strange,” Sukuna explained in a serious manner.

You cover your mouth to laugh.

“Most people would say if all people were healthy and kind to one another, we’d all be equal.  Your approach is interesting,” you shuffle closer to him.  Placing a hand on his shoulder.  

“Nonsense,” he replied.  “Illness will happen as long as mankind stay on this earth,” he glanced at you for a few seconds, then turning away.  “A perfect world is not realistically achievable, but an imperfect, grief ridden one will only make everyone appreciate what they have.”

You start to imagine a world where no one had a beautiful face.  Where everyone was ill, disfigured, and poor.  Where everyone was in grief.  It would be a disaster.

But it was true.  No one can compare themselves to others, or ask for more.  

“And how will you change mankind?” you ask.

“We have work tomorrow, let’s get some sleep.”

“Goodnight,” you say, before your head hits the mat once again.

[secretlywritingstories]

In another life you still would’ve turned my head | phan one shot

Summary: Dan comes across old black and white photos of two queer men messing around, one playing with the other's hair, just like he did in a recent video with Phil. He gets caught up in the emotions that he would have fallen in love with Phil in any universe. He crawls into Phil's lap and tells him exactly that.

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: 2023!phan, established relationship, queer love, couch cuddles

Inspired by Timeless by Taylor Swift and Phil’s video on Twitter

Read on AO3 or below

‘Cause I believe we were supposed to find this

So even in a different life

You would still have been mine

We would’ve been timeless

Dan didn’t really scroll tumblr that often anymore, but he opened the tab sometimes when the mood stuck him. The current mood was laptop time after dinner, sitting in their pyjamas in the living room, just existing next to each other, doing their own little thing.

He’s barely scrolled for more than a minute or two when he’d scrolled carelessly past a post but something made him scroll back up and take a second look. He scrolled up and then let his fingers just hover over the mousepad to look at it. It felt like something snagged in his chest, and knocked the air out of his lungs.

It was four photos of four old photos. Four old black and white photos featuring featuring two young men laid out nicely on a table and captured with a phone camera. Not exactly unusual but there was something about the vibes of the photos, how the two men leaned into each other, one holding the other by his hair, and it was so strikingly familiar that it makes something in Dan’s chest ache.

He scrolled down a little more to see the caption and his eyes felt as they tremble as he read.

found these in the attic, it said 1944 on the back. mum said that one of the men was my grandfather’s older brother James. she didn’t know the other man. i don’t know much about James, but i do know that he never married or had children. but it looks like he still had love. seeing these warmed my queer little heart.

Dan clicked to enlarge the photos, and he felt like he wasn’t really breathing as the took the first one in. It looked like the two had been set up for a proper photoshoot but they got distracted. Both were wearing big smiles, grinning at each other like there was no one else in the world.

In the next one, one of them was rolling their eyes in fondness while the other had his head thrown back laughing. Dan felt like he could almost hear it, loud laughter ringing in his own ears.

He clicked onwards, and now one of the guys had stood up and his hands in the other’s hair, it looked like he was gently carding his fingers through the strands. The man still sitting down was looking up at the other man, all of his focus on him, while the other seemed to be talking, not caring that the camera was pointed at them and they probably should have been trying to sit still.

And then the last one. It was arguably the worst of the photos, one of the men mostly blurry because he was actively being shoved off to the side, but it was without a doubt Dan’s favourite of the four. The man might mostly be blurry, but you could still make out a small smile on his lips. The man who’d shoved at him looked so satisfied with himself.

It was radiating love, practically palpable in the air, and Dan felt like he couldn’t breathe without inhaling it. Without it settling in his lungs, heavy and important.

It was not entirely without reason that these photos hit so hard today of all days. He saw something else in photos, something reflected back at him. Just yesterday him and Phil had filmed a video asking for suggestions of what hairstyle Phil should try next.

It had been utterly impulsive and so fun. Phil had just casually mentioned that he wanted to try a new hairstyle, and Dan hadn’t hesitated to involve himself. He cared a whole lot about Phil’s hair after all.

He’d seen it in all of its stages and he would love it in all of its stages, even the crappy square hair from when they were young. Still, he was excited to see Phil switch it up, and try something new. It was hard for Phil to pluck up the courage for it, and therefore Dan knew he needed a gentle shove to actually do something about it.

The video had been just that. Something to hold him accountable, so he would do what he wanted to do.

Phil had grown tired of the quiff, of having to style it and he wanted to try something new. Dan could have helped with research, or they could have talked to their hairdresser, but why not turn to their community when they’d eat up something like this? And the fact that Dan had been in the video, shoving Phil around and messing with his hair had just been a bonus.

It didn’t feel quite as daunting to post something like that anymore. For a while the two of them had distanced themselves from sharing stuff like that, in the years following their coming out. Things were different than before when they were in a glass closet. Before they had said that their relationship was real, even if both of them had been adamant about wanting to keep it private.

This was a tiny peek into their life, a moment captured and shared just because they could.

Just like these two men back in 1944. They’d clearly deemed the photographs important enough to print and keep, even if they seemed to have been left behind in an attic in the end. It was so silly and fun and Dan couldn’t help but agree with the person who’d posted them. It made his heart warm too.

He stayed on the last photo, the blurry shove, and he opened another tab for Twitter to search up Phil and find the video from yesterday. He moved the cursor near the end where he knew he’d given Phil a playful shove.

He pressed play, hearing Phil lift his head from the other end of the sofa at the sound, and Dan watched how in the video a small smile played on Phil’s lips just as he was shoved to the side. Dan clicked back to the other tab and watched the photo again. The identical expressions felt like it hollowed out something inside of him, and then filled him with warmth.

It could have been them. In another life, in another time, that could have been him and Phil. The photos were taken during World War II and two young men found the time to laugh, and play around. If they two of them had met then, Dan was sure that Phil still would have captured his attention.

He’d have dreamed of having a moment like that with him. Just like he loved that they could have moments like this now. After everything they’d been through. After all the talk about soulmates and finding each other in every universe… it had always been kind of a joke with a grain of truth. A part of Dan deep down that wanted to believe Phil in his adamant conviction that they were meant to find each other. Always.

“Dan?” Phil asked, voice softly curious.

Dan knew his face was probably trying to process his complicated feelings. He wasn’t quite sure how to sort them out, how to put all of this into words that made sense. He couldn’t really.

Seeing photos of queer people existing throughout history always got him, but this felt even more poignant when he could see the two of them reflected in the touches and the smiles. The photos could literally have been stills from the video Phil had posted. 79 years apart and yet it felt like the same story.

Dan was projecting, heavily, but he didn’t care. He pushed his laptop away from him, setting it on the table and turned towards Phil, who’d been watching him. There was something curious in Phil’s eyes, and he quirked an eyebrow up in a silent question.

They were so used to communicating with each other, and Phil would probably understand what Dan meant even if he only got a few words out. But right now, it felt like all of the words were stuck in his throat. It wasn’t often that he didn’t have anything to say.

He could run his mouth on practically any topic. He was a chronic rambler but right now, it felt like it had all dried up. How was he meant to explain that he loved Phil so much that he saw the two of them in other people’s past too? In another time, he could imagine that it would have been the them sharing laughter and messing around.

How could he explain that he would have fallen in love with Phil no matter where or when they would have met? And how loving him felt endless and timeless?

Phil put his laptop on the coffee table right next to Dan’s, and Dan hadn’t even realised that he wanted crawl over but he could feel it now, the innate pull to be in Phil’s arms. His body was moving before he’d really decided to do it. It had always been pretty good at navigating itself when it came to Phil.

Phil was like a magnetic field, and it was so very easy to let himself get pulled into it.

The two of them were cuddly and touchy. They’d always been so, even if they had periods where they were more careful because of cameras being around. Still, it wasn’t quite usual for Dan to climb into Phil’s lap and just latch onto him unprompted.

His knees dug into the sofa cushions on either side of Phil, and he buried his face in Phil’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin and thinking whether those two lovers had ever pressed close to each other like this.

Maybe they weren’t queer. Maybe Dan was just reading into it, just like the person who’d posted the photos, but something in his heart sung that love recognised love. There was a reason he saw himself and Phil in those photos.

When he’d been younger, he’d sometimes been mad that he couldn’t quite keep the love out of his eyes when he was around Phil. How it radiated out of the both of them and made them vulnerable to speculation that they hadn’t been ready to face.

That he hadn’t been ready to face.

Everything had been subtext, hidden glances, and then so much love away from prying eyes.

Perhaps the two guys in the photos had never been allowed to be seen for what they were, but it didn’t diminish what Dan could see between them. He was happy that things were different for him and Phil. That they got to exist as themselves. Dan was still working on feeling pride in his identity, but he had no doubt in his love for Phil.

It was the easiest thing in his life.

A given.

Dan Howell breathes, and loves Phil Lester.

Phil’s hands came to rub up and down Dan’s back, and he didn’t complain that he suddenly had most of Dan’s weight just dumped into his lap. He welcomed it, even if Dan was just being emo about a couple of photos.

While he didn’t ask verbally, Dan could hear the questions that Phil didn’t asked. He wondered what had set Dan off like this, even if he would be able to pick up on the fact that it wasn’t really a bad thing. Just emotional.

“Saw some photos,” Dan mumbled against Phil’s neck. “Queers from the 40’s. Goofing around, one playing with the other’s hair.”

The sentences came out fragmented, kind of sharp existing his mouth.

Phil hummed in understanding. “I see.”

Dan knew he did, but now that he was talking, he couldn’t quite stop himself from continuing. It was suddenly very important to him that Phil knew where his head had been at. Dan knew Phil only would be delighted that Dan was seeing them in reflected in other queers through history. He’d have called it fate.

“It could have been us,” Dan said, voice almost a whisper, but he didn’t need to speak very loudly when Phil was this close. When they were touching, embracing and breathing the same air. “I would have loved you even then.”

He meant every word. Even with war and homophobia worse than now, he’d have chosen to fall for Phil. He would have chosen to risk everything and pursue him, just like he’d done in this life when he’d started to reach out as just a fan on Twitter.

More than a decade has passed and yet he could still remember every beat his heart had skipped when he realised that they were becoming something more. When they’d become actual friends, rapidly evolving to best friends, falling in love and deciding that they wanted to share their lives forever.

He thought of all of their different boxes of memories, of how they clung onto all of their history. The story of them.

“Even in another life, you would still have been mine,” Phil agreed, squeezing Dan tighter to his chest. “Can you show me?”

Dan flung his hand in direction of his laptop and felt how Phil shifted both of them forward so that he could pull the laptop closer to take a look. He put it down on the sofa next to them, and Dan heard him click through the photos.

He closed his eyes and relaxed in Phil’s embrace, quite content not to move right now, even if he did want to see Phil’s reaction. He could feel part of it, with their chests pushed together like this, Dan swore he could feel Phil’s heart kick up and go a little faster.

“They’re beautiful,” Phil whispered, earnestly and then because he couldn’t help himself, he added: “Hot too.”

Dan had been so lost in big emotions that he hadn’t expected Phil to say something like that. It startled a laugh out of him, and he almost managed to knock both himself and Phil off the sofa.

“Oi! You’ve got your own hot guy right here!” Dan protested, voice light and airy as he continued to laugh between his words. He put more of his weight onto Phil like he could crush him. Remind himself that he got to be with Phil like this. All tangled up in each other.

He didn’t actually care that Phil found other men attractive. Phil seemed to have a pendant for running into hot men everywhere, and Dan mostly found it ridiculously funny how Phil malfunctioned around them. For fun, he would play up his jealousy or poke fun at Phil with it.

He knew that the love they shared, and how their attraction to each other was much deeper than just physical hotness. Dan knew that Phil would always come back home to him, no matter how many super attractive dudes he might encounter. 

“I do,” Phil said, moving to squeeze Dan’s ass unabashedly.

Dan opened his mouth to chastise Phil for fun, but he couldn’t get a word out before his lips were captured in a kiss. He could have pulled away to continue the banter, but he found that he’d much rather melt into the kiss.

Get lost in his timeless love with the one man that he’d search low and high for in any world and in any time. He knew that love would always mean leaning into Phil’s side and getting lost in his eyes.

It was joking around after Dan got emotional about old queers that could have been them. It was knowing exactly how to kiss each other after all of these years. It was how they would always choose each other.

Before meeting Phil, Dan had dared to dream of love and romance, but he could never have imagined what they’d find together. They always had a whole hoard of cardboard boxes with memories, and the collection would only grow and grow. 

Dan couldn’t imagine a life where he wouldn’t find Phil. They were going to be timeless. He was sure of it.

[ask-de-writer]

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THE FISHERMAN'S LEG (Part 15 of 20)

A sequel to Dee 1/2 Demon

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

16914 words (work in progress)

© 2023 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Fan art, stories, music, cosplay and other fan activity is actively encouraged.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

New to the story? Read from the beginning HERE.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Minami, Ichuru's body in his arms, began to stride determinedly along the street toward the Shop of Repairs. Tanira was about to try stopping him but Magistrate Lim prevented her with a silent raised hand.

Brow knitted in puzzlement she backed away. Bobbing his head in a bow while walking, he whispered to her, “He is greatly distraught. Folk who are so upset often reveal more than they intend. He has already let me have one thing that he has never let out before this.”

Minara overheard and quietly took Takahara aside to explain.

Nodding thoughtfully, she followed along.

Minami stopped just outside the door of the Shop of Repairs and cried out, “Murderers! You must restore life to my son! You have to undo your evil act!”

Dee looked up from her anvil where she was working on a set of kitchen knives. Her clear inner eyelids slid up over her golden, snake like eyes. She simply shook her head, her usually slowly undulating flame orange hair slowed.

“That is something that no mortal being can do, Minami,” she hesitated before adding, “san. He has been drowned and dead for hours. Only necromancy could bring him back and that is unlawful Sorcery.”

“So is murder! That gives you no trouble at all, does it Monster? I have seen you and your six evil witches do it with my own eyes!”

Patsu made a comic stare about the Shop, shading her eyes with a hand. “We seem to be a bit short of evil witches here. Mind explaining where the others are?”

Satsuna set aside the leather wet weather boot that she was repairing to step up close and take a look at Ichuru's body. Her face pinched in puzzlement, she asked, “Why was he not wearing his floats? When he fell in while playing the straps made marks in his clothes that would last until they were dried out. There are no strap marks on these clothes.”

Minami gave no bow at all as he snapped, “He needed no floats! All that he had to do was stay in the boat to be safe! Your evil magics toppled him into the sea to drown!”

Miko had put aside the calligraphy that she had been working on and stepped close, shaking her head. “Minami san, that makes no sense at all. Even if it were true, which it is not, you had what? Four or five men besides yourself in the boat, of whom at least four could swim. Even without his floats, any of you could have easily extended a pole, like a boat hook for him to grasp. Failing that, a swimmer could have gone in and pulled him out.

“Why would you ignore him at all? When any child is in any boat, you must pay attention to them. It is a basic safety precaution.”

Before Minami could retort, Magistrat Lim intervened. Bowing politely, he stated firmly, “This has gone far enough. My good Constables, Canra san and Horichi san will take Ichuru to the Temple of Two Trees to be prepared for cremation.

“You, Minami san, and you young ladies of the Shop of Repairs must all come with me to the Tribunal. There we shall hold a proper Inquiry into this distressing situation that has resulted in the death of Ichuru san.”

The whole lot trooped up Sabo's tidy streets to the Tribunal. After all had taken their places, kneeling before the Magistrate, he laid his sword across the black lacquered table that he knelt behind.

He signaled with his hand, saying, “Miko san, I wish you to keep the record of this Inquiry.”

She took her place, taking from a drawer in her table the inkstone, brushes, Tribunal Chop and paper needed for the record.

Dipping her brush in a small cup of water, she wiped it on the inkstone and sat ready. “What shall I write?”

The Magistrate replied, “Seal the upper right corner of each page and title it INQUIRY INTO THE DEATH BY DROWNING OF ICHURU SAN, aged ten years.”

He composed himself carefully and went on, “These are known facts. More may be found later but we must begin with what is known and proved. First, Minami san, sentenced to a moon at labor on the Roads of this Province, escaped after only two weeks of his sentence. Second, Minami san engaged crewmen who were used in the theft of the boat Sea Lion.”

Minami started to object but remembered in time to raise a finger and bow. “The Sea Lion is my boat! I cannot steal what is mine!”

Magistrate Lim quietly raised his hand. “You owe a great deal of money to your crew. They took out the Lein on it. The Tribunal holds the ownership and the crew has full rights as owners until the whole of the Lein is paid. Only then will you own the Sea Lion again. The taking of it without the permission of her proper crew is theft.”

Exasperated, he inquired of Miko, “Did you get all of that?”

She bowed politely and replied, “Every word and who said it.”

“Good. Thirdly, Minami san abducted Icchuru san from his home and the custody of his mother.”

He interrupted himself to explain, “The Order of Protection served to you, forbids approach to the house, Fish Market or the persons of Tanira san and Ichuru san. The violation of that order makes taking him an abduction.”

The Magistrate took an exasperated breath and added, “Fourth, entering the Fish Market and taking Ichuru's floats and his toy boat. It is known that he would not enter a boat without wearing the floats.

“Fifth, you took the Sea Lion to the fishing grounds.

“Sixth, his floats were found neatly folded and dry when you returned. His clothes showed no sign of the float straps and were deeply soaked. Two of the men with you were also soaked.

“Seventh, and last for now, you accused Dee san and her friends of murdering him.

“His body was sent to the Temple of Two Trees to be examined for any sign of witchcraft or Sorcery before being prepared for cremation. High Priest Nandi san will do that and we shall have his report in person soon.”

To be Continued

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[cast-you-dxwn]

Purge

“Contubernia 1-3 in position.”

The two small groups of angels had split in half, four legionaries on either side of the door that led into a no doubt small and cramped basement space. For that reason, each held only their short sword in one hand, the other resting upon the shoulder of the legionary in front of him the breaching stack.

Michael himself stood before the door, his own gladius tightly gripped, his nose wrinkled. He could hear the chanting beyond the thin particle board, could smell the blood and viscera, could hear the laughter mixed with song like, alluring giggling.

He knew his men could too. It was why each had tension tightening their musculature, why their knuckles where white upon their swords and their comrades shoulders, why the eyes of each burned with holy wrath.

Each knew what they would find inside. Each was eager for blood.

“Breach.” The word was muttered with a flick of his wrist, and the door splintered, exploding inwards to a chorus of confused and pained screams. The pieces of the door made fine shrapnel, but even throughout, that giggling only grew louder.

That, too, would fall silent soon. Tertius and Galavon, the two at the front of each stack, pulled small cylindrical objects from their belts. Bare metal, with only the image of a small cross etched into it. Pins were pulled, and both were tossed in. There was a flash, a deafening bang, and then a low and menacing hiss. The giggling stopped then, petering off into a hacking cough, then into low, distressed noises that gave way to shrieking screams. The sound of something burning alive.

“Engage.”

The legionaries thundered down the steps, and Michael followed closely. It was a short staircase, and they came upon their targets swiftly. They were still blind, deaf, choking on the fog of holy water that filled the room.

Most propped themselves up against the walls, or retched upon the floor, or clung weakly to the blood-soaked altar in the center of the room.

Tertius fell upon the first immediately, an empty hand tangling in the man’s hair, pulling him from the floor, his head back, a single well-practiced swipe of his blade cleaving the cultists head from his shoulders. The others similarly set about their purge, calmly and methodically relieving the profaned mortals of their heads, of their bellies, blood and offal spilling onto the concrete.

Galavons mighty arm hewed a woman in half with a single swing, her torso not meeting the floor before he had moved on to the next, simply pressing his hand into his chest until his entire being crackled and smoked, withering into ash as though incinerated by unseen flame.

For his part, Michael stepped to the altar, whereupon lay another corpse, not made by their hands. A young man, perhaps barely into his twenties, his already pale skin a bloodless pallor, his ribcage broken open in a bloody bouquet of gore. His heart had been removed, and laid upon the alter just beside his head.

But that was not where Michael’s attention was called. Deep grey eyes fell upon the twisted, disgustingly beautiful form that was curled upon the cold stone floor. It’s skin was splotched, wrinkled, turning from its normal purple color into a crisped black as it batted in futility at the fog that surrounded it, as though it could fan away the holy water that settled on its skin.

Its respiratory tract would already be beyond destroyed, the only sounds the demon could make, high-pitched whistling noises all that escaped its mouth as it hugged its knees to its chest. Writhing. Suffering.

All of this for a succubus.

Michael gave it little more thought, his blade falling in a clean arc. It weakly raised an arm, attempting to fend off the blow, but the angelic steel cleaved through its radius and ulna without resistance, meeting its neck, the pitiful noises it made cut mercifully short. Dimly, it occurred to him that he could have allowed it to suffer. To burn away into nothing as the holy water ate it alive.

He exhaled, as the demons corpse withered, blackened, and fell away to ash before dissipating into nothingness. Recalled the words he so often repeated to Lute.

Killing, when done righteously, is a chore like any other.

[bellveela]

When it came to Harry himself, he never really thought he would go through all of this – wishes, changes, darkness. But fate had other plans when he laid eyes on the most enchanting woman he had ever seen in person at the grocery store – Fleur Weasley.

Fleur was tall, incredibly athletic, and slightly older than Harry, approaching her thirties. Her face had a deliberately polished look, much like women working in aesthetic-related fields. Her silhouette resembled that of a dancer, slender, narrow, and graceful, but Harry knew she was a professional cheerleader in a Quidditch team. Her hair cascaded in long, shimmering platinum waves, and her posture was impeccable, the result of years of slow, painstaking training to sculpt her muscles to perfection for public display. Her waist was the smallest Harry had ever seen on a woman in real life, maybe even in pictures. She was dressed in tight black yoga pants adorned with shiny silver stripes, a tied white shirt emphasizing her incredible abs and beautiful bust, and a short leather jacket that spectacularly accentuated her curves. In high, delicate heels, she literally stood head and shoulders above other women in the store, and her beauty and wealth made her a metaphorical giant.

Harry had just arrived at the store after meeting a strange, masked stranger. Thoughts of an empty fridge at home prompted him to fill his stomach before making any serious decisions about altering reality with the Death Stone. Did Harry contemplate Fleur Weasley as he headed back home? After all, the stranger had promised him that all his wishes, no matter how likely or unlikely, were his to enjoy.

Yes, Harry did indeed think about the woman who had been the object of his obsession and infatuation throughout his adult life. He had meticulously organized a catalog of thousands of her photos and could sketch her strikingly beautiful face from memory, although he would never capture her true magnificence.

But in reality, being with her because of wishes somehow felt cheap, his adult brain told him. When fantasy becomes reality, it often turns into a nightmare. How many women fantasize about being with horrible, toxic, domineering men? They would rather have a heart attack than fulfill those fantasies – that's why they remain fantasies.

Harry began to consider that perhaps it would be better if he wished for a reasonable stock portfolio or a well-paying career built on mastery of skills, that sort of thing. Of course, this very adult, rational decision-making process fell apart at the sight of the first beautiful woman he saw, the object of years of obsessive desire.

Can he be blamed for it? How often can one encounter a truly beautiful woman? Not just an attractive woman – no offense to them, there are plenty of those. But this woman – she wasn't just attractive; she was beautiful. There's a difference; that's why sculptors spend years trying to capture aesthetic perfection and end up with something abstract rather than exact. True beauty is ethereal, fleeting. It's difficult, if not impossible, to quantify. But you can see it in the way a truly wonderful woman turns her head, adjusts her blouse, or reaches for a box of pasta...

Harry realized he was staring at Fleur, just as he had been doing for years in her photos. She put down the box of pasta and grabbed another. After a moment, she noticed him gazing, and her reaction was nonchalant; she was used to it, he was sure.

Perhaps it was precisely this lack of a reaction that filled Harry with the greatest desire to act. She wasn't repulsed, frightened, or intrigued. He was nothing to her, less than a threat, even a curiosity. She didn't respect the desire that dwelled within him, the longing that had filled him for years at the sight of her incredible figure. "I wish she would flirt with me," Harry said softly, clutching the small, black stone tightly in his hand. It was the size and shape of four quarters stacked on top of each other, smooth and strangely cold – until suddenly it wasn't. It became hot in his hand, almost scalding, like a shower that was pleasantly almost too warm.

But nothing happened. She continued on, her magnificent form swaying from side to side.

Every wish has its price, and you have to specify it. That's what the stranger had told Harry. Your soul, your life, or the soul or life of others. It worked in pieces, she explained. The bigger the wish, the bigger the piece.

And, well, here was the peculiar part.

With the stone in hand, Harry Potter could somehow sense the size of the piece it would take. It wasn't large – a fraction of a fraction of a fraction. Arousing a woman enough to make her flirt didn't seem like too great a challenge for a stone that could change reality.

Harry had no intention of sacrificing any part of his soul, and certainly didn't want to take others' lives. So, only one choice remained. And it seemed to be just a few weeks.

"My life," Harry said. "I'll pay the price..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. He felt something leave him, a distant emptiness that vanished into the shadows on the wings of the breeze, something only he could feel.

It was a mistake, Harry immediately realized. It was foolish, inappropriate. What was he thinking? Just so a pretty woman would notice him.

Then Fleur stopped, turned, and smiled at him.

It was the sexiest smile he had ever seen. Aware, inviting, and filled with desire. Totally worth it.

They introduced themselves and engaged in a short conversation. Harry was wrong all along. From a distance, she wasn't beautiful; she was flawless. Up close, she was even hotter than he had imagined after years of staring at her high-resolution photos. And now she was smiling at him, touching his hand and arm, playing with her hair.

"It's so funny that we bumped into each other right here," she laughed, and her voice was lightly dusted with the beauty of her French homeland. "I can't believe we're almost neighbors!"

It was highly likely that people living nearby would shop at the same grocery store, but Harry didn't want to spoil her mood. Perhaps – just perhaps – he had decided to live in the area, hoping for a chance encounter where he would see her in person.

Maybe.

It might sound like he was some sort of crazy stalker, and maybe he was. But before gaining the ability to wish his way around the planet, he didn't plan to escalate matters beyond living near her (which sounded wrong when put that way).

A conversation with her would almost certainly shatter this fantasy. She was the wife of a Quidditch star (even if he was an adulterous jerk), and Harry was a pudgy rune researcher.

Why would he ever want to see such disdain on her face if he tried to talk to her? He had witnessed how she could mock other cheerleaders on her team or men at loud parties whom she found uninteresting. He would do anything to avoid her looking at him that way. It would be heart-wrenching, undoing years of study, attention, and affection.

Besides, they weren't neighbors. She lived in the most exclusive part of the magical neighborhood. Harry lived one street over, in a run-down apartment complex surrounded by people who lived in fear that the wealthy residents would decide they didn't want inexpensive housing nearby, leading to evictions and the demolition of the complex. It had happened before – poverty didn't pay off in this city.

Her wealth was evident – a diamond bracelet on her elegant, slender wrists, pearl earrings and rings adorning most of her fingers. She wore designer yoga leggings from some ultra-luxury boutique in New York, and her leather jacket seemed to cost more than six months' worth of Harry's income as a reasonably employed curse breaker.

"What do you do?" Harry asked, trying to sound suave. It seemed like a cool and appropriate thing to ask an attractive woman, right? What they do for a living? Harry wanted to know.

"Oh, I'm a cheerleader," she smiled, once again grabbing Harry Potter's biceps before giggling. "Well, a coach for athletes? I'm a coach for the Queens. Have you heard of them?" Harry struggled to hold back his laughter and settled for a barely controlled chuckle.

Damn, did Harry know the Queens? He had followed Fleur's entire career since she turned eighteen.

Hell, he probably would have known about them even if he weren't pathetically fixated on Fleur. The only thing the stupid magical society invested in was their Quidditch team, and they poured all their money into it, as evidenced by Fleur's outfit.

They named their cheerleader team the Queens, probably because someone thought it was super clever. Each of the Queens was insanely hot, and every few months, one of them would get into trouble for causing too many fights at the local nightclub. The latest troublemaker was their newest recruit, Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle.

"Oh, wow," Harry said, unable to tear his gaze away from her undulating, perfect breasts encased in a tight bra. He tried to think of what a cool character in a movie might say. "I thought you had to be... you know, older to be a coach."

She smiled and playfully nudged his arm. "Flatterer." It was awkward, obvious flattery, but also quite sincere. If Harry didn't know better, he wouldn't guess that Fleur could be a maximum of twenty-nine years old. Maybe even twenty-five. Her skin was radiant, flawless, seemingly devoid of pores. Harry felt embarrassingly hard, his erection pressing against his jeans, attempting to join the conversation.

"Listen," Harry said, taking a risk. It was the bravest thing he had ever done, and he commuted to work every day in a forty-year-old car on a four-lane highway.

"You know, I'm the most attractive guy you've ever seen, right?"

She shivered slightly, and Harry stood at full attention. He couldn't believe he had made such a perfect creature moan in that way.

Her voice lost its flirtatious facade and became very low. Her eyes were lowered. "...yes. Yes."

"What do you want to do about it?"

She bit her lip, those plump, soft lips that Harry wanted to sink into. "So many things, Harry. But..."

"But what?" Harry asked, leaning in, wanting to hear her thoughts.

She lifted her left hand, showing several rings adorning her fingers. Her fingers were long, soft, and hypnotically delicate. One of them was her wedding ring, but Harry honestly couldn't tell. All of them were ice. He knew her husband was obscenely wealthy thanks to his Quidditch contract.

Harry hoped, perhaps foolishly, that his attractiveness would sway her loyalty to her marriage. Honestly, it was admirable that it hadn't happened yet, especially considering her cheating husband. Her unwavering principles in the face of magical debauchery made him desire her even more.

He longed for her principled lips wrapped around his cock, her unwavering loyalty to someone new. "Right," Harry said. 

"Of course."

"But," she continued, catching her breath, "it means... I don't know how to put it." Her hands slid over his, intensifying the desire that engulfed him. She drew his hand to her body. "I really wouldn't want to worry about that right now."

"I wouldn't either," Harry said, and his words slipped out without much thought. Damn.

And there it was again in his mind – the sense of different prices, the amount each would take. It wasn't entirely visual; it was hard to explain. You know how when you pick up a can of soda once, you know how heavy it will be in your hand every time? It was like that.

"My life," Harry thought. "I'll pay..."

Continue reading this chapter

[messers-moony]

King and Queen | S.B

Paring: Sirius Black X Fem!Potter!Reader, James Potter X Fem!Twin!Reader

Summary: James goes through a lot during his time at Hogwarts but his sister is always by his side.

Inspiration: Click

A/N: If this comes off insensitive to anyone please let me know and I will remove this.

James Potter was a handful. From the minute he was born, he had this gleam in his hazel eyes that raged and burned with trouble. His twin, Y/n Potter, was almost the opposite. The soft smile that laid on her features and the glitter of calamity in her eyes. Euphemia and Fleamont were in for a lot the minute their twins were born. 

Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder is most comparative to having a web browser up with one too many tabs. James had always been unable to focus and was naturally messy. Truth be told, he thought it was normal, just as everyone else did. It wasn’t until his second year at Hogwarts did he realize something was genuinely wrong with him. 

Remus told him that he had this muggle thing called “dyslexia,” which was a difficulty in interpreting words, letters, and other symbols. However, it never affected his overall intelligence because everyone knew that Remus Lupin was indeed and wholly brilliant. It got James wondering, did his inability to focus, be organized, and hyperactivity have a deeper meaning?

His twin - Y/n - was quite the opposite. She made quick friends with Remus, Sirius, and Peter, who were close friends of her twin. Y/n was top of their class, creating a friendly competition with Remus, but she was always able to focus. Often she would hyper-focus, which would leave her working for over five hours at a time without realizing it. In those times, James would have to snap her out of it. 

Over the summer, James expressed his concerns to his parents. He was talking about how this could be a real issue he’s facing using Remus’ dyslexia as an example. Eventually, they gave in, letting James go to a muggle doctor. James had to fill out a questionnaire that would come back with his results in one week. That week was probably the longest week of his life. Nonetheless, his test results had come back positive. 

Fleamont and Euphemia would be lying if they were surprised. After hearing about the disorder, it was almost the definition of their eldest son. Fortunately for James, the muggles had come up with a cure - no, not a cure - dammit, what was it again?

Impede the symptoms! That’s what those muggle pills do. James was required to take two pills a day, one in the morning and once at night. Y/n was in charge of making sure he did so because - more times than he’d like to admit - he would forget everything if it wasn’t for Y/n. 

In third year, James was as energetic as ever while getting on the Hogwarts Express, “Aren’t you excited, Y/n?!”

She chuckled, “Yes, but Merlin, you don’t need to literally jump with joy.”

“But I’m excited!”

“I know that.”

They made their way to the compartment that held Remus, who was reading a book. James sat in front of him while Y/n took her seat beside Remus, “‘Ello Remus.”

“Hey, Potter pair.”

Y/n sighed, and James groaned, “That nickname needs to go away.”

“I quite like it.” Remus stated smugly, “Suits you both.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Y/n accused falsely, “It means that wherever one of you are, the other isn’t that far behind.” Remus replied. 

James had zoned out already, and Y/n snapped in his face, “Take your pills?” 

“Forgot.” James muttered guiltily, “Oh Godric.” She whispered. 

“Pills?”

“James went to a muggle doctor this summer.”

Remus quirked an eyebrow, “Did you now?”

“Got diagnosed with ADHD.” James informed, and Remus looked amiss, “Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of that.” Remus said, and James smiled sheepishly, “I feel kinda odd, like out of place.”

“Why?”

“Dunno, just, why can't I be normal?”

“You are normal, James.” Y/n reassured, “And anyone who says differently obviously doesn’t care about you.”

The compartment door slammed open, “Who doesn’t care about who?”

Remus snorted, “Ever the dramatics, huh, mate?”

“‘Course.” Sirius flopped down beside James, “It comes with my charm and devilishly good looks.”

“Ah, yes.” Y/n said, chuckling, “Don’t you see how I’m swooning for you?”

The back of her palm was against her forehead, “Come off it.” James swatted at her and then elbowed Sirius, “Better not make my sister swoon.”

Sirius chuckled and shrugged, “Can’t help it. I’m just that irresistible.”

The four of them laughed at Sirius’ dramatics and continued talking about the new term. Remus and Y/n were talking about books they couldn’t wait to read. Remus was even kind enough to gift her some muggle books he bought over the summer holiday. Sirius and James bickered about what pranks to do this year, along with which ones were better. 

Third-year was fun. It was a year of flooding corridors, turning Slytherin robes red and blasting music in the common room after a Gryffindor victory. James was a brilliant Quidditch Chaser, and Y/n was a fantastic Seeker. Nothing was quite like the Potter pair. Something about them was just unforgettable. 

Maybe that’s why Sirius was so fond of her. Something about the Potters made people around them smile on the hardest of days. They made sure that every moment was a night to remember. Every memory was worth reliving. So adventurous, so reckless, yet so kind and loving. 

By the time fifth year rolled around, Sirius Orion Black had fallen off a cliff into a lake called love. Sirius completely submerged himself in love for Y/n Potter. The younger twin by just 20 minutes, but something about her was so divine. Was it her silk and glittering h/c hair? No - maybe it was her gleaming e/c eyes. Perhaps it was for her strive for adventure and extreme kindness. 

Nonetheless, Sirius fell hard.

And who better to tell than James Potter himself?

Causally - as usual - Sirius opened the door to the Marauders dorm. It was empty aside from the brunet boy with glasses on the bridge of his nose. His hazel eyes were focused on a textbook - Potions textbook - maybe it was to impress Lily. Sirius couldn’t care less, so he pulled the chair out in front of the desk and sat before James. 

“Mate, I need your help.”

“Running from Filch?”

“No. Something- Something worse.”

“Something worse?” The textbook shut loudly.

Sirius nodded, “Way worse.”

“Alright then, come into my office.” James teased, and Sirius grinned. 

It was silent, “I’m in love with your sister.”

James sputtered, “Excuse me?”

“I’m in love with Y/n.”

“No, no.” James waved his hand horizontally, “I heard you.”

“Then what else would you like me to say?” Sirius asked. 

“Literally anything else.”

“Sorry, mate.” Sirius muttered, “I- I really didn’t mean to.”

James chuckled and wiped his hand across his face, “I suppose you can’t really stop love, huh?”

“You really can’t.” Sirius agreed, “I tried. I promise I tried.”

“It’s not that big of a deal late.” James assured, and Sirius looked at him with wide eyes, “I trust you just-“

“Just?”

“I’m worried about her.” James completed, “I- I worry about her every night.”

Sirius softened, “It’s like you with Regulus-“ James continued before Sirius could interject, “And don’t pretend. Your silencing charms are bloody terrible.”

“I know you still care for Regulus, you worry about him every night, and I do the same for Y/n, except my silencing charms are better.” James teased sightly, “I trust you, Sirius. You’re the brother I never got but always wanted. You know, the brother I can play Quidditch with, rough around with, the brother who’s just as sneaky and mischievous as I.”

“But Y/n is still my blood. She's my twin, my best friend, my partner in crime. She was the mind behind my pranks before Remus.” James elaborated and then smirked, “Remus and Y/n make a great team, ya’ know?”

“They are quite brilliant.”

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, take care of her?” James looked like the eleven-year-old boy again, “Don’t make her a fling and don’t make this temporary.”

“Y/n is a strong woman, and she isn’t for weak men. I’ll be honest,” James chuckled, “She doesn’t need a man. She doesn’t even really need me. I need her more than she needs me. Regardless, take care of her. She deserves a man worthy of her. Someone that’ll get her ice cream at 4 a.m. because she’s craving it. Someone that’ll go on sporadic trips with her. Someone that’ll understand that after a hard day, all she wants is a book and coffee.”

Sirius was appalled; he’d never seen James look so passionate, “Growing up, mum always told me to be a gentleman. I know it may not seem like it sometimes, but she always raised me as one. To hold a door for them, push and push in their chairs for them, give them my jacket even if I’ll freeze.” 

“Those kinda things. Dad said I should practice on Y/n, and I did. From then, Y/n always got treated like a queen, and she deserves no less. I won't lie, my parents treat me like a king too, and I don’t want any less either.” James explained, “Be the king that’s worthy of my sister.”

“That’s all I ask of you.”

Sirius nodded, “I’d be honored to serve her as my queen.”

“And if you show her no less, she’ll spit you out like chewing gum.”

He shuttered, “I hate how accurate that phrase is.”

James laughed, “I know her more than you think.”

By sixth year they were dating. Sirius would be lying if he wasn’t eternally shitting himself when Y/n said yes to going to Hogsmeade with him, alone, as a date. In fact, James almost wanted to throw him a party for finally not being a little bitch and asking out his sister. This party consisted of a bottle of firewhiskey and chocolate because that’s all that was in the boy's dormitory. But a party nonetheless. 

When Lily rejected James for the last time before graduation, he was utterly heartbroken. He’d spent and dedicated seven years of his life to this gorgeous woman. Despite all his efforts and all his charms, she still wasn’t interested. James tried. He really tried. He wanted Lily so bad. His heart broke when she said her final words of goodbye.

“I’m sorry, Potter. Maybe in another life, just not this one.”

Tears had ebbed at the corner of his eyes as he made his way back into the castle from the Black Lake. In the common room, where he felt like he had just got dowsed in water. James made his way to the girl's dormitory. His hand curled into a fist and knocked lightly on the wooden door. Shuffling was heard from the other side, and the door finally opened, revealing his sister. 

Without warning, James crashed into her arms, forcing his nose in the crook of her neck, “Woah.”

“Are you okay, James?”

His body shook with sobs as he shook his head no, “It’s okay. Let’s go lay down, okay?”

Gently she led him to her bed. He curled up beneath the navy blue comforter and placed his head on the silk pillow sheets. If he tried hard enough, he could forget the way Lily’s hair smelt today or the way her green eyes glistened in the sun. Now engulfed in his sister's scent, trying to remove every feeling for Lily possible, he dug his nose deeper into the comforter. 

Y/n sat beside him, her back to the headboard, and ran her fingers through James’ already untied hair, “What's got you so worked up?”

“It’s done.”

“What’s done?”

“L- Lily and I.” James choked, “She- She really doesn’t want me.”

A new wave of tears overcame him, and Y/n continued to try and soothe him, “Well, she’s a tosser.”

James narrowed his eyes, “James, you know I love her. She's my best friend, but if she can’t see what’s right in front of her, then she’s an idiot.”

“Can I- Can I stay here tonight?” He asked hesitantly.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay at your dorm?” Y/n questioned, “Because you know who sleeps here.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Till the end.”

After a couple of minutes, Y/n and James made their way down the steps to the boy's side. They walked up more steps and finally made it to the boy's dormitory. James collapsed on his bed in the left corner of the room, and Sirius perked up at seeing his girlfriend enter the room. 

“Whatcha doin’ here, love?”

“Staying with my brother.”

Sirius nodded and stood up to hug her, gently pecking her forehead, “If you guys need anything, let me know, ‘kay?”

“Thanks, Siri.” 

Gently Y/n pulled back the maroon curtain and sat down beside him again. James reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. Something they used to do as kids. When a thunderstorm would go by, James would always seek sanctuary in his sister's comfort. 

He fell asleep that night, knowing he was safe, loved, and knew that someone cared about him. Even if Lily didn’t love him, at least someone else did. He had his boys, and he had his sister. Right now, that’s all he needed beside him: Screw Lily and her idiot decision skills. Y/n was right; she was a complete tosser. 

When Hogwarts was over, James and Y/n got a flat together. Sirius, Remus, and Peter got one only a floor above. Realistically this wasn’t the plan. James always planned to buy a house with Lily, but he was still healing, and after everything going on, it was vital for him to hold his sister close to him.

Euphemia and Fleamont barely lived to see their children graduate. Not too long afterward had died due to the horrid dragon pocks. It devastated both twins and Sirius. While Sirius wasn’t their true child, he very well could’ve. Euphemia noticed Sirius’s lingering stares on Y/n and the loopy smile that graced his features.

She was the one who got Sirius to man up. She was the one who gave him advice. She was the one who told him what books were her favorite, which chocolate she liked the best, her favorite quills. Euphemia was one of the main components in getting Sirius to date her daughter, and when it finally happened, the parents couldn’t have been happier.

James’ ADHD still remained even in his adulthood, making regular everyday tasks much harder and twice as long. Most of the time, the pills were able to help him complete those tasks. But sometimes, when Y/n wasn’t there to remind him, he would miss his days. When Y/n got home from work, she had barely taken off her shoes to see the apartment spotless.

It was a pleasant surprise, but James was never really one to clean, not that she really minded, but the apartment didn’t have a speck of dust on it. Hesitantly she put her keys on the island along with her bag.

“James!”

“Yes, Y/n?”

He appeared in the kitchen where Y/n was, “Um, did you clean the apartment?”

“Yes, I did!” James nodded enthusiastically.

Y/n sighed and gave her brother a sweet smile, “What did you not do today?”

“So, you know how you told me to go to the pharmacy?”

“Mhm.” Y/n nodded, “Indeed I do.”

“Well, they were out of my meds.” James informed, “I have to wait a week.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“On the bright side!” James was already causing her a headache, “It’s gonna be a fantastic week! I’ve got so many things planned for us! We’re gonna go-“

James continued to ramble as Y/n grabbed her keys, bag and slipped back on her shoes, “I’m going to Sirius’!”

“Thought you were my sister.” James faked pouting, and Y/n smiled, “I love you, but you’re crazy.”

“I love you too!” He yelled as she closed the door.