#about letting the crew just handle loose objects

[luncheon-aspic]

Hmmm.... One of the things I was most nervous about with this move was having to prepare for the landlord to inspect the house. Now he's told me that I can just leave the key in the mailbox when I move. This is what I've done with other places before (probably more often than not). He knows that I have hoarderish issues and more of a financial cushion than most. Is it worth getting back $0 of $250ish for the peace of mind of just being able to sweep everything that's left into boxes and bags and split? I have like two days left and I'm almost in tears because of paralyzing executive dysfunction over what should take like three hours. -_-

[vlad-theimplier]

WIP Wednesday: Custos Custodium

In which Jensen and the Task Force take on Sheppard in Dubai. I rearranged some lines to give a bit of characterization to anyone but Jensen and MacReady (who have plenty), and to make the tactical briefing a little meatier. Apparently, one of the divergence points between our world and the world of Deus Ex is that 10mm caught on over 9mm, but we know NATO exists and still prefers its familiar cartridges.

Anyway, Jensen does actually like some of his coworkers. Read all about it at https://archiveofourown.org/works/55686901/chapters/141357007

“Listen up, all of you!” Miller said in commanding tones. “We’ve finally got a lead on this man, an arms dealer goes by Sheppard.”

Jensen’s eyes widened behind his shades as the name registered with him. This was the bastard who’d escaped their grasp in Detroit—he damn well wasn’t getting away this time. John “Sheppard” Trent, 42, looked the way he remembered from Detroit, anonymous but mean. And as if Jensen needed another bone to pick with the man, Miller added a nugget of new intel: “He’s ex-Belltower. One of the Special Forces commanders who disappeared during the Incident.”

“And he’s come out of hiding?” MacReady asked. “That cannot be good.”

“It’s not. He’s selling weapons and military-grade augments to terrorists.” Miller swiped at the screen to reveal an Indian man with swept-back hair, stubble, and a haunted look around the eyes. “This is Arun Singh, the undercover agent who lured Sheppard out of his hole. Best UC Interpol’s got. For three years he’s worked to get us in tight with the Jinn, an Iraqi smuggling cartel that’s infected the Eastern Hemisphere like a plague. Last week, our arms dealer sent a message to the Jinn, offering to sell them a shit-load of black-market merchandise dirt cheap. They told Singh to handle the buy.”

A woman’s voice came over comms in a German accent, overriding MacReady’s scoff. “They’re not going to like it when Interpol disrupts their party. Is Singh’s cover really that good?” Dietrich, Jensen realized, looking at the screen. And she was worried about the right things.

“It is right now,” Miller answered. “We need to keep it that way.” He swiped again at the screen to show a sprawling but incomplete edifice, jutting out of the sea in graceful curves of steel and white concrete marred by tarps and scaffolding. An inset proclaimed it the “Desert Jewel.” “This is where the deal’s going down: a half-finished high-rise hotel that’s been abandoned ever since the incident. It is not a pretty picture inside.”

“Let me guess.” MacReady, of course. Mouthy bastard. “Most of the laborers were augmented with heavy-duty industrial rigs. So when the Incident hit and they all went schizo, things got gruesome real fast.” He stared at Jensen. Jensen stared back, curling his lip deliberately.

Miller nodded. “And no one except for some homeless junkies has been inside the place ever since.”

“So what’s the plan, Director?” Jensen asked.

“Singh’s meeting Sheppard on the ground floor, inside the hotel’s main atrium. He’s sent the bulk of his Jinn crew to the penthouse levels to secure a vantage point. I want MacReady’s team to take up positions overlooking the atrium and make the arrest. Dietrich, put the SAW and the marksmen on this little artificial island section here, across the lagoon from the atrium, where you can suppress and snipe as needed. Frost, you’re in reserve, up on the roof just back from the atrium. Rig ropes for descent. Jensen, you’re going in solo from the penthouse.”

Suited him fine. “My objectives?”

“Keep the Jinn from joining the party. As far as we can tell, only one route connects the atrium to the penthouse level—a halfway-decent elevator shaft here.” Miller swiped again, and a wireframe schematic popped up insertion points and the elevator in question. “I want you to block access to it.”

“Fine. Just cut me loose. If anyone spots me… I assume non-lethal is preferred? Doubt I’ll have time to cuff ’em, but Singh’s cover will be stronger if he’s not the only one still breathing when this is done.”

Miller nodded approvingly, but MacReady couldn’t resist a jab. “And if anything does happen to him, you’ll be the one telling his wife. After you get out of the hospital, of course.”

Jensen ignored him. So did Miller. “One last thing,” he said. “Singh told us the Jinn are using some kind of portable wi-fi device to boost communications. It could pick up anything he sends our way. He’s got a better chance of maintaining cover if you disable it, but if it comes to it, your number one priority is keeping the Jinn out of that atrium.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Good. Any questions?”

Lieutenant Frost chimed in. “Sir. Director. Why is this our op? Not that I mind—we’re all itching to mix it up—but Station Muscat is practically next-door.”

“Muscat’s resources are occupied elsewhere. We were the closest station with the manpower for an op this size. We did get the intel on this mission at the very last minute, no fault of Singh’s, so we’re all scrambling a little. Sheppard has stayed ahead of the Task Force for so long by pulling exactly this kind of stunt, on the rare occasions he shows his face at all. It’s our job to make sure it doesn’t work this time.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Frost took the answer as the gentle reprimand it was meant to be, and Jensen once again admired Miller’s leadership acumen. There were no further questions. The agents and soldiers turned to the briefing screens and reviewed the scant intelligence they’d received, or busied themselves checking their weapons and armor, as the trio of VTOLs sped onwards.

According to the map, they were coming in over the Persian Gulf a few hours later when Miller spoke up once more: “Ears here.” He checked the screen to make sure the other two teams were looking. “A new wrinkle has arisen to keep us on our toes. Sandstorm coming up out of the southwest, straight from the desert. It’ll be barreling down our asses—we can’t afford to make mistakes. Our pilots will keep us up-to-date on the storm’s progress. The window’s tight, but all signs indicate the deal is on. As you were.”

Silence descended once more. The indicators for their birds crept towards Dubai. Around Jensen, the agents began rechecking their rifles and donning their helmets. He gave his own weapons a perfunctory once-over, then rolled his shoulders and wrists. He crossed his left arm over his chest, running his blades out at the wrist and elbow, slow, then lightning fast. The myomer and servos whined quietly, just audible over the rush of wind and engine.

MacReady leaned forward. “Not gonna go all wonky on us now, Hanzer, are ya?”

“Why? You want to put a control chip in me? Don’t worry, I’m in spec.” Jensen locked eyes with him and bent his right hand almost to his right shoulder. His blade flicked out halfway, the tip coming to rest against his temple without even dimpling the flesh. Then, slowly, he pointed the blade at MacReady, giving him a chance to flinch or hold up a hand, to show fear.

“But if I do lose it, I guarantee you’ll never see it coming.” And he snicked the blade out to its full extension against the shoulder of MacReady’s combat vest. The alloy rang quietly on the ceramic plates, but MacReady didn’t move. Every eye turned to look at them, including Miller’s. Jensen withdrew the blade.

“Agent Jensen! Am I gonna have a problem with you on this op?”

“Nossir. MacReady just had some questions about my capabilities.” He met Miller’s gaze through his shades, deferential but uncowed, letting the double meaning hang in the air.

“Good. Because you’re our only Aug, and our only infiltration specialist. I intend to make good use of you.” That last was delivered as much to MacReady as to him, Jensen thought.

Miller resumed reassembling his rifle, ramming home a magazine of 7.62 NATO. Jensen grimaced. He supposed the AIC didn’t plan on getting tied down in a firefight, and Dietrich’s heavy gunner could always share, but it bothered him that their commander might find himself running dry in a pinch. At least the sidearm he wore was a ten-mil like everyone else’s. Not that Jensen had an augmented leg to stand on: no one else on the op—hell, probably no other agent in the hemisphere—carried a forty-five, but he could jam nine-mil into the Destrier in a pinch. Still, if they’d had time to actually plan this mission, they could’ve optimized logistics a little better. Or at all.

Chikane broke in on his maundering. “Time to put away your happy thoughts, gentlemen. We’re approaching the target.” The team was one-third women; Agent Montañez—Carmen—rolled her eyes. Jensen met them and twitched his hand by his crotch in a subtle jerk-off gesture. She hid a smirk behind her gloved hand.

Fortunately, Miller missed the byplay this time. “You’re up first, Jensen. Let’s do this.”

The pilot opened the team circuit as Jensen stood. “Strike-One, Strike-Two, this is Strike Leader. Engage hush drives and descend to angels one-five.” The VTOL quieted, slowed, and dropped in the sky. Jensen rode the change in altitude effortlessly. He thought about telling Chikane he flew like someone’s grandmother, but Malik wasn’t there to laugh.

The cargo ramp descended, and the jump lights came on red. Jensen rolled his shoulders. They were low—less than two thousand feet, for sure. He’d told Miller about the Icarus, of course, but he might have played up his skydiving “experience” a little. Well, too late now. Green lights and a tone. He stepped forward and leapt into the sky.

[mightyflamethrower]

Rep. Tim Burchett (R-TN) knows a thing or two about UFOs. After all, he sits on a House committee investigating UFO sightings and he’s attended some closed-door briefings. He hears things that you don’t hear.

And like any member of Congress, he loves to talk.The lawmaker appeared on the podcast “Event Horizon” last week and had some startling things to say. Here they are, below:

“We’ve been dealing [with government coverups] since 1947, probably since about 1897 in what was the Aurora Texas ‘UFO crash.'”

“They [the craft] can travel light years or at the speeds that we’ve seen defy physics as we know it.”

“They can fly underwater and don’t show a heat trail.”

They could “turn us into a charcoal briquette.”

“We are out of our league. … We couldn’t fight them off what we wanted to. That’s why I don’t think they’re a threat to us, or they would already have been.”

Well, at least that last one is good news.

Burchett said it’s time the government just comes clean and tells America what it knows.

“We don’t need to fund anybody anymore. Let’s just turn loose the reports, quit with the redacted reports that look like Swiss cheese with everything whited out or blacked out, and just give us all the information and let the American public decide,” he said on the Event Horizon podcast.

“We can handle it. Stop with the arrogance. Stop with the corruption. Let’s get it all out there,” Burchett said.

Back in March, Burchett claimed that UFO technology — that is, technology he believes the U.S. has captured — is possibly “being reverse-engineered right now” but we “don’t understand” how it functions. He maintains that the U.S. has “recovered a craft at some point, and possible beings.”

Burchett’s comments follow testimony on covert UFO programs from senior military and intelligence whistleblowers beyond David Charles Grusch.

Grusch said last month that he gave Congress reams of classified information about covert U.S. government programs that he says are now in possession of an intact craft of “non-human origin.”

Grusch, 36, is a decorated former combat officer in Afghanistan and a veteran of the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA) and the National Reconnaissance Office. He was the reconnaissance office’s representative to the Unidentified Aerial Phenomena Task Force from 2019-2021. And then from late 2021 to July 2022, he was the NGA’s co-lead for UAP analysis and its representative to the task force.

The UAP expert said the information was illegally withheld from Congress, and he “filed a complaint alleging that he suffered illegal retaliation for his confidential disclosures,” The Debrief reported.

“Grusch said the recoveries of partial fragments through and up to intact vehicles have been made for decades through the present day by the government, its allies, and defense contractors. Analysis has determined that the objects retrieved are ‘of exotic origin (non-human intelligence, whether extraterrestrial or unknown origin) based on the vehicle morphologies and material science testing and the possession of unique atomic arrangements and radiological signatures,’ he said,” The Debrief reported.

Rep. Matt Gaetz (R-FL), who reportedly attended a classified UAP briefing on a military base in Florida on February 21, has also revealed a small bit of information he has received.

“I have seen evidence of craft that I am not familiar with any of our allies or adversaries or even our country possessing. I’ve seen that craft taken by air crews who have gotten quite close to it and we’ve got a lot more questions about why this information isn’t more broadly available to the American people,” Gaetz told Newsmax last week.

So, they’re here. Or these lawmakers just like to hear themselves talk.

[o-blivia]

I posted 63,088 times in 2022

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#i feel like all the replies i've been getting are people just wanting me to say the only solution is to burn the government down

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

WIP - Signal in the Void by Olivia Black

-….. …——..-.. ….. ……-.-.-.- .—..-..-.. -.——-..- ..-…-.. ..- ..—..

This shift always seemed to drag. Most of the crew of the Yang Toa was tucked up in their bunks, but Scully had drawn the short straw and was manning the nav. Not that there was much she needed to do. The coordinates for Ganymede Station were locked in, and the shit was running on auto. She was only there to deal with anything unexpected, which meant she was struggling to stay awake as she babysat a console.  The data cable plugged into her cortical implant fed her a constant drip of status updates — all green — from various ship systems. It used to be an AI with a full personality load out would handle the feed and keep pilots alert, but not anymore with all the new regulations making it prohibitively expensive to maintain an AI ethically. Most companies had made the choice to dismantle their AIs, including her own. Scully had never quite adapted to the change, still expecting to hear a startlingly cheerful voice murmuring in the back of her mind. Not that it was going to be an issue for long. This was her last run before transferring to an administrative posting with the company. Admin was its own kind of monotonous, but at least she’d be having dinner with her family every night.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder, jerking her out of her thoughts. The shrill whine that flooded her kind of brain signalling she’d pulled the data cable loose at her abrupt movement made her shudder and twitch. She scrambled to fix it, momentarily distracted from the interloper on her bridge.

“Sorry,” Hamdi said sheepishly. “Thought you heard me coming up.”

“And I thought you had first shift. Shouldn’t you be sawing wood, right now?”

“Sawing — what does that even mean?” He said, nonplussed as he levered himself into the copilot’s chair.

“Dunno. It’s something my grandmother always said about grandpa. Apparently he snored.” Scully side-eyed him with a smirk.

“I do not snore.”

“Did you think it was coincidence you got that cabin to yourself?”

“Lies and slander. And here I was thinking I’d keep you company on your last duty shift.”

“Wow. Are you getting sentimental on me?” Scully mocked, even if some part of her warmed at the thought. She was trying not to think about it, but she was going to miss the ragtag bunch she’s been running transport with for the last few years.

“Maybe I’m here to talk you into staying. You’re the only other person on this boat ho knows how to cook anything halfway decent.”

“And deprive my family of my ‘halfway decent’ cooking?” She asked as she lazily flicked open the tab in her visual overlay for the ship’s scanner readout. There shouldn’t be anything on it; they’ve run this route dozens of times, and never carry high value cargo, which was why they were a slow transit rig.

Instead of a clear field, there was a blinking red dot indicating an unknown object moving at high speed.

“Hold on,” she said, cutting off Hamdi’s reply. “I’ve got something on scanners.”

“Pull it up.” Hamdi made the switch from jovial to in command on a dime. Scully was already sending the live feed to the central display as the main computer kicked off a shipwide alert. The objects projected trajectory was now overlaid on the feed.

“Shit, that’s coming straight for us. Still to far out for an ID.” Scully regretted her earlier boredom.

“How long until it’s in visual range?” Hamdi asked from where he was busy pooring over the secondary console.

“Less than a minute.”

“Holy hell, it’s moving fast.” He toggled the intercom to the engine room. “I hope you people are awake down there. We’ve got trouble brewing.”

“We saw the alert. FTL’s spooling up. Shouldn’t be more than a minute.” The night shift engine lead’s voice rang clean through the bridge.

“Good. Scully —“

“Already plotting emergency jump. Hopefully we won’t need it.” She was bent over the console, her overlay adding helpful notation as the VI double checked her calculations.

“Entering visual range,” Hamdi announced as a new window popped open with the visual feed from sensors. Scully paused her hurried typing to gawk at the slender, oblong pod.

“What is that?” All thoughts of plotting the jump fled her mind as she tried to puzzle out this thing that looked like it belonged in a direct-to-stream vid.

“A seeker missile,” Hamdi replied, his normally dusky skin was an unhealthy palor. “I’m launching counter measures. Get those jump vectors plugged in already. The decoy buoys will only keep it off us for a few seconds, if we’re lucky. We need to be out of here before it has a chance to scan us.”

“Those things are real?” Scully’s fingers are flying over the haptic keyboard. “I thought they were bedtime stories they tell baby pilots to keep ‘em up at night.”

“Unfortunately for us, they’re very real. Decoy payload is away. Contact in five.”

“Vector’s are in; compu’s running the final check. Shipwide alert is sent.”

See the full post

19 notes - Posted November 26, 2022

#4

Shoutout to the person who waded through thousands of my posts to find one where I denounce the anti vaxx movement, and call me a pharma shill, while also spectacularly missing the point. It was a fantastic thing to see for thing when I woke up.

Trust me, my life would be a lot better if I got paid $1000 every time I said that vaccines have a centuries long track record of working, but sadly those checks haven't shown up in the mail.

I still don't get how I'm the unreasonable one for saying that autism is not worse than condemning hundreds of thousands of children to being killed, disabled or disfigured by preventable diseases... Like, no one who's attacked me for saying that will even address it. They just say I'm wrong about the side effects, but say those side effects are real, I'd still take them over an infant mortality rate so high that it takes twenty years of the statistic for average life spans. Just saying.

20 notes - Posted February 4, 2022

#3

Soft Hiatus

Just a heads-up; I've got a bunch of stuff in my life that I need to be focusing on instead of spending way too much time fighting with The Hellsite to keep my queue even moderately full.

I don't want to leave altogether, so the compromise I've struck with myself is that I'll be posting much less, and only be actively around on Sundays to fill up my queue.

Hopefully, I'll be able to come back as actively as I used to be, and maybe even have more writing to share. In the meantime, keep being swell :)

41 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

#2

What do you get for the woman who has everything?

The best gifts are the ones that show a person that you pay attention and see them for who they are.

67 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

This is gonna be a Stray blog for the next couple weeks. don't care.

193 notes - Posted July 20, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[webscarlet]

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[stargazingthenightaway]

See Something You Like? Part 1

Pairing: Rebels Rex x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warning: NSFW 18+ Sexual tension, dirty thoughts, praise kink, size kink, Oral (female receiving) unwanted attention (not from main character) Dom!Rex

A/N: So I’ve decided to write a few, but what I thought would be a one shot has turned into this monster, so I’ve decided to break it down. Not sure how long it’ll be, but I get the feeling it’ll be at least 3 parts. This is inspired by @samrubio art especially her Rex pieces, go check it out! Also, if I missed any warning tags, let me know :)

It was a rarity for the firing range to be this empty. Usually it was crammed to the walls with training drills for new recruits, post mission vent sessions with the faceless targets or if you were unlucky, the cocky fly-boys trying to one-up each other, seeing who had the better ‘blaster’. If you were really unlucky, instead of leaving, their attention would turn to whoever they thought would enjoy their company, which consisted of what barely passed as a conversation before leading to the real objective, servicing the dangly bit between their legs. Their limp pick up line “I’ve got another blaster you can handle sweet cheeks” was in just as much need of an overhaul as their piloting skills. Sadly, you’ve been on the receiving end of these lack-lustre ‘invitations’ far too often and are quick to shut them down. It’s become so repetitive you can time it to the second when they make their appearance. All these boys are the same, give them a flight suit, a ship and they think they’re the Maker’s gift to the galaxy. 

‘They’re just so immature’ you think to yourself, a scowl on your face. Your last rebuffed fly-boy hasn’t gotten the memo that you’re not interested and continues to pester you. As if you’d want to spend 30 seconds listening to a dying bantha grunt into your ear, fumbling to get himself off and counting down until you’re smothered in dissatisfaction. Hard. Pass.

The only reason you have some peace is because they’re out on a mission, but you will take the reprieve. It’s a joy to have an opportunity to fit in some blaster practice without an audience. While you weren’t the worst shot in the rebellion, you certainly weren’t the best, but with enough practice you hope you’ll be placed on some off-planet missions. 

Sliding into an empty booth, you pick up one of the safety helmets, placing it on your head and type in one of the easier simulation codes on the keypad on the side of the wall. As the program calibrates, you remove the blaster from its holster on your thigh, flicking off the safety and settling into your stance. Breathe in, breathe out, shoot. This mantra helps get a rhythm going and soon you’re oblivious to everything around you except your target. The steady stream of blaster fire rings out, mixed with the sounds of high tings for each successful hit and clunky thunks with each miss. It’s pleasing to note that with each round there are more tings than there are thunks. Soon you’re drifting off with the repetitive movements, your thoughts going through your encounters with him.

Captain Rex, member of the Ghost crew and key participant of the rebellion. A legend in his own right. You had first seen him in passing, bringing up some data pads needed for a debrief and you just happened to look in his direction as you were leaving, and stars did you look. He was thick everywhere. His armour did nothing to hide his size as your gaze travelled from his barrel chest, to his thick waist, finally ending at his powerful thighs. Rex has the kind of body that makes you want to rub yourself all over him like a nexu in heat. As he spoke with Agent Fulcrum, Rex crossed his arms over his chest, pulling his shirt tight over his biceps, and your mouth watered. You were so busy ogling that Rex had finished his conversation and looked over your way.

Seeing you staring he gives you a small smirk and a wink before mouthing “see something you like?” You swear he flexed his arms a bit as he did that.

The smirk on his face grows as you feel your face heat up, hightailing it out of the debriefing room and making your way back to your office. It’s quite a while before your blush goes away, and more than one person asks if you’re feeling well. 

The next time you saw him was a bit more hands-on and it still makes you clench your thighs together when you recall this particular memory. You’d been paired as sparring partners, and if you thought Rex looked good in his armour, he was downright edible stripped down to a simple training shirt and grey sweatpants. The shirt stretched in all the right places and the pants were loose enough to provide movement where it was needed, but just snug enough to tease you about what he was packing.

You were so distracted that he easily put you on your back, repeatedly. Each time he knocked you over his thighs would bracket your own, your hands pinned by your head and the rest of his body caging you in. How in the Sith hells were you supposed to concentrate if this was exactly where you wanted to be! You clawed at whatever self-restraint you still possessed to not rub up against him, but maker he made it difficult. 

After the final throw Rex settled on your thighs and smirked down at you “What’s the matter mesh’la?” He took in your flushed cheeks, “You seem distracted, I didn’t think you’d take everything I gave you so easily.” 

Your face was on fire, your brain traitorously giving you ideas of what else you’d take from him, and how well you’d enjoy it.

“Surely you can get me on my back.” You eyes snapped up to his, “all you need to do is use your hips and thrust.”

Fuck.

You felt yourself get wet as a throb built up between your legs from just his voice alone. You needed to finish whatever this had become so you could finish your own needs, preferably in the privacy of your own bunk. With a strength that surprised even you, you took Rex’s advice to thrust your hips up, bracing you leg to provide enough leverage to push him over. The look of surprise on his face that you took his words to heart was something you would never forget. 

As you settled over his waist, his hands came up to your sides, sliding down to rest on your hips, keeping you in place. 

“Knew you could do it” His surprise had turned into a beatific smile, looking up at you as his hands squeezed your hips. “Good girl.”

The triumphant words die on your lips as you look down at him and see exactly how you’re positioned. Your hands are braced on his chest and your thighs have splayed out to the sides to fit over his waist. There is a pleasant ache along your inner thighs from the stretch. If anyone saw the suggestive scene of the pair of you right now, the gossip hotline would be buzzing for months. You made a motion to move but Rex’s hands keep you snug against himself. His thumbs had made their way under the edge of your shirt and traced light circles over your skin. Arousal flooded your veins and you felt your slick starting to soak your panties. 

You look back up to Rex’s face and he tightens his grip “See something you like mesh’la?”

Before you could answer the door burst open, causing the two of you to startle, zoning back in to the present. Chatter filled the room as Wolffe and Gregor brought in the next group of ‘shinies’ for sparring practice. The bubble of intimacy had burst and you hurriedly got off Rex, babbling some thanks about the advice before bolting out of the room. That was six weeks ago, the Ghost having left on a mission, taking Rex with them.

The buzzer in your booth goes off, signalling the end of the simulation. You’re not ready to head back to the responsibilities of intelligence just yet, so you up the intensity of another exercise and when you’re happy with your rhythm, let your thoughts turn back to Rex. 

He’d become the prominent figure in all your fantasies. Before that, neither your toys or your hands would work to get you off, leaving you frustrated and horny. In a fit of desperation you thought back to your spar, but instead of sitting on Rex’s waist you were sitting on his face.

You imagined how his arms would wrap around your thighs, muscles flexing to make sure you stay exactly where he wants you to, and that’s on his tongue. Moans fill the room as he slowly eats you out, long licks up your folds to harsh sucks on your clit. The vibrations from his groans sending you spiralling to the edge, only for him to back off when you’re so close, leaving you sobbing and trembling with need. He’d leave little nibbles and bites along your inner thighs as he waits for the trembling to stop, and his beard, fuck. Rex would nuzzle the side of his face along your legs, leaving more marks that you were his. Letting you know that he was the only one that could give you the satisfaction you craved. You’d squirm, just to feel him tighten his hold, knowing that he controlled your pleasure. 

“Look at me,” he’d growl before licking up your slit, drinking you down, “want you to keep your eyes on me when you cum on my tongue.” This sends another rush of slick from your core, the feeling in your belly coiled tight, waiting to snap. You yelp as there’s a sharp bite to your thigh.

“You like it when I tell you to watch” Rex grins from between your thighs, and you can see the evidence of your arousal glistening on his beard. Stars that is hot. There is a feral look in his golden eyes “Next time I’ll make sure to fuck you in front of a mirror, show you how wet you get for me.”

Your needy whine of approval turns into a lascivious moan as Rex plunges his tongue into your heat, rapidly bringing your orgasm back to the edge, but this time he doesn’t stop. His tongue speeds up, alternating between fluttering around your opening and pushing in as far as he can, nose pressed into your clit. All too soon you’re flying over the edge into sweet oblivion.

With a choked scream you cum, legs clamped tight around Rex’s head, his arms pulling you closer as his tongue working furiously to collect everything that you give him. He groans in delight and that sets off another small orgasm which has you seeing white. When you finally come down from your high you look back down at Rex, a blissed out expression on your face. 

Rex has to practically lift you off him, moving you down so that you’re straddling his waist and conveniently nestling his cock between your folds, and that’s another part of him you’re all too eager to get to know. 

As you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, Rex puts a hand around the back of your neck, pulling your closer. You don’t need to be force sensitive to feel how smug he is, it’s written all over his face and the possessive arm draped around your waist. 

He nuzzles your nose when you’re close enough, before whispering two devastating words “Good girl.”

A blaring sound yanks you out of your daydream, and you realize that you’ve stopped shooting at the targets. The noise is the warning alarm that the simulation will shut off after 30 more seconds of inactivity. What it is is an inconvenience. You slam the pause button a little more forcefully than you need to, too riled up from your own fantasy simulation. It seems to have worked a little too well, judging by ache between your legs. 

Putting the safety back on your blaster, you drop it onto the shelf in front of the booth opening. Thinking back, there was something in Rex’s eyes as he called you “good girl”  that you can’t quite put your finger on. Discovering that you enjoyed being praised was one thing, but it seemed that Rex was holding something back, something that had to do with that phrase. Not knowing what it was set you on edge, that it could be something about you and that feeling didn’t sit well. 

There was just something about him that makes you crave his attention, wanting to please him so he’d call you “good girl” again. You shiver as you think about how he looked between your thighs, how wide you had to stretch to fit him between you legs. 

You groan to yourself, knowing you’re well and truly gone on this man, and that you’d let him do whatever he wanted, just as long as you could be his good girl. You lean forward against the small shelf, burying your head in your arms.

“Fuuuuck me.” 

“Am I interrupting something, mesh’la?”

To be continued

[dragonsarecool]

Whumptober Day 3 - Gun to Temple

Three: Gun to Temple

A/N: Set during 'Cigars of the Pharaoh'. My take on one of my favourite early Tintin scenes.

They hadn't meant to discover anything. Honestly.

But from Snowy's point of view, a giant green tarp with misshapen objects poking through it was just begging to be investigated. And besides, it was now harbouring a nasty black cat that he was eager to chase. He'd dived off the middle of the ladder in his excitement, barking furiously as he charged underneath the mysterious tarp.

From Tintin's point of view, however, every second they spend on board only made him more nervous, and he was eager to explore the ship and leave before anyone noticed his presence.

"Snowy! Come here at once!" Tintin called. He jumped down the final rungs of the ladder and made a beeline for his beloved dog." Snowy, I love you dearly, but for once in your life can you NOT chase a cat?"

He was about to grab Snowy's leg when his toes suddenly struck something hard. Biting back a curse at the pain, he noticed a metallic leg of some kind sticking out from the bottom of the tarp. He squatted in front of the gap in the tarp, running his fingers along the leg. "Now that's odd…"

A swift pull on the material elicited a gasp from the young man. He definitely wasn't expecting to find any weapons on board, let alone two fully-automatic machine guns. They looked fairly new as well, with their silver coating gleaming in the dim light of the hold. Most of the time I usually find drugs!

"Great snakes!" Tintin breathed. "What on Earth are these doing here?"

Despite his instinct telling him to leave and pretend he never saw anything, Tintin's eyes were drawn to a nearby crate labeled 'Umbrellas'. "I'll bet there's more than just umbrellas in this…"

He grunted as he forced the crate open, his fingernails digging into the dry timber as it unlatched with a loud creak. At first he was surprised to find the box containing exactly what was on the label, but another glint beneath the handles piqued his curiosity. He eagerly shoved the weather utensils aside, his eyebrows raising at the sight of a respectable collection of rifles. "Que diable?…"

The young man made up his mind. He quickly set to work on unfastening the lids of a crate marked as 'Fragile', and was not disappointed to find another box full of automatic weapons. He cautiously grasped the barrel of a brand new automatic shotgun, the steel cold beneath his fingertips.

"This innocent little ship's been doing some gun-running," Tintin murmured.

"Interesting, eh?"

Tintin jumped violently, his newly-acquired weapon clattering on the ground. He spun around to find the captain of the Dhow leaning in the doorway of the hold, a hand gun pointed directly at his chest. Gone was the friendly man who had greeted him on deck hours prior, and told of how he'd rescued him from becoming a victim of the Red Sea. Now all Tintin could see was a criminal.

Tintin swallowed. "…I-"

"I watched you come aboard," The captain snarled, nodding his head to someone behind Tintin. "Congratulations! I never guessed you were a policeman."

Tintin barely had time to react before he felt his arms being roughly pulled behind him, the familiar texture of coarse rope swiftly wrapped around his wrists. He was too baffled by what the captain had said to speak at first. "Me? A policeman? But I-"

"Captain! Danger!" One of the crew members called from above. "Captain! Come quick!"

The captain gave an angry sigh. "Alright, keep yer hair on! I'm coming!" He nodded at the crew member who'd restrained Tintin. "I'm just cleaning up some loose ends!"

Tintin grunted as he was slammed onto the floor, struggling as he was rolled onto his back. He tried to hide the panic in his voice as his ankles were quickly bound together. "Y-You can't keep me here-"

A sudden gunshot interrupted the younger man; he squeezed his eyes shut and startled as much as he could in his bonds. It was a heart-stopping moment before he realised the captain had fired a bullet directly next to him, as he slowly opened his eyes to observe the new hole in the deck beside his feet.

"You say I can't keep you here, hmm?" The captain suddenly lunged forward, stomping his foot directly on Tintin's stomach. The younger man heave at the sudden assault; nausea threatened to bubble in his throat, and he fought to keep himself from gagging. At least he didn't go for my ribs, I suppose…

Kneeling next to Tintin, the captain rammed the barrel of his gun directly into the reporter's forehead. Tintin found he couldn't suppress a whimper as his eyes were drawn to the trigger, where the captain's finger seemed to be loitering. Despite having been shot at multiple times since he started in the journalism industry, having one pressed on the skin above one's brow was a new and petrifying experience. Tintin had the vague thought that he was still very inexperienced in these sorts of situations, and therefore he was allowed to be scared. And surely he won't shoot me on his own boat…my blood would stain this wood far too easily-

"If you've given me away, boy, just remember this," The captain's eyes narrowed, sending chills down Tintin's spine. He pressed his weapon even harder into Tintin's forehead before slowly withdrawing the barrel and secured the firearm in his pocket. "My boat is mined, and I'll blow 'er sky high before I'll surrender!"

Still attempting to regain the confidence to speak, Tintin couldn't offer a retort as the captain climbed back to the deck above, slamming the door to the hold. The darkness quickly settled in, though all Tintin could focus on was the spot on his temple where potential death had been only seconds prior.

"Why do I always get myself into these situations?" Tintin sighed despondently. He hoisted himself upright, ignoring the pain that rippled through his torso, and began experimenting with the knots binding his hands. "And no telling where Snowy went either…"

A sudden yap lead Tintin to turn his head, where his face broke into a smile at the sight of his beloved dog, who had taken up temporary residence behind a crate. "Snowy! Quick, get me out of this!'

With an affirmative bark, Snowy sprinted over to his master and began to chew at the ropes binding Tintin's hands. The young man sat impatiently, instantly ripping his wrists apart when he felt the restraints fall away. Giving Snowy a quick pat, he yanked the ropes off of his torso and began to untie his ankles.

Loud thumps and shouting suddenly rumbled through the deck above, sending Snowy into another growling fit. Tintin thought he could make out the curses of the captain, which were being screamed in some language he couldn't understand, and fumbled with the knots as he heard the sound of angry footsteps coming down a flight of stairs. If that's the captain, I'm definitely done for…

The young man had just thrown aside the rope binding his ankles when the door on the other side of the hold was thrown open, revealing Thompson and Thomson. The detectives startled upon seeing Tintin, nearly dropping their canes in surprise.

"Aha, Tintin!" Thompson cried, producing a handgun from his pocket.

"We meet again!" Thomson chimed, also producing a weapon.

"Drug-smuggling-"

"Gun-running-"

"Inciting to rebellion; you really are in trouble this time!" Thompson gave a triumphant smirk.

Despite this being the second time in ten minutes that guns had been pointed directly at his head, Tintin couldn't help find it amusing. These detectives are beyond hopeless - maybe I can use that to my advantage…

"Alright then, get up! Put your hands up!" Thomson snapped. "We don't have all day."

"In trouble, you say?" Tintin fought to keep a smirk away from his face. He subtlety glanced above him as he rose, noticing he was directly underneath a lightbulb. A plan began to form in his head, and he nodded at the detectives. "All right, I'll put my hands up…"

His hands were hardly above his head when his finger squeezed the trigger, killing the lightbulb above him.

And he ran.

A/N: Que diable = what the hell

[dreaming-of-assclass]

Group 4 Adult hc’s please 😭 they’re all precious! Thank you for loving Group 4

YES OMG! I love this! And you’re so right 😭 They are so precious and I adore them 💜

WAIT. I wasn’t sure if you meant individual hc’s or ones of them all together 😭 If I messed this up, lmk and I’ll do new hc’s!!

Karma Akabane

He’s a distinguished bureaucrat by day, a compete fucking disaster by night

No who am I kidding

He brings chaos no matter what time

Lives to drive his co-workers insane, even if he gets along with them. It’s just a habit of him being around anyone lmao

His apartment is really expensive and nice...except it’s also a fucking mess.

See when he was a kid and lived alone, there was still a maid around. He didn’t live like a slob.

But as an adult with no supervision whatsoever....well, he kinda lets loose. A lot.

Drops his $500 suits right onto his floor, has piles of clothing around, his official government papers are laying everywhere, like Karma, isn’t that illegal??? Lmao

Invites his co-workers out for drinks, or he happily goes along if someone else invites him. Actually makes more of an effort to be social as an adult, surprisingly.

Irritates Terasaka whenever he gets to see him...which is fairly often hehe

Also likes to barge into Group 4’s lives...literally. Like he’ll randomly show up to Nagisa’s classroom, sneak onto Kayano’s film set, invite himself into the nursing home Kanzaki is at and befriend elderly people, etc.

No matter what though, you can’t change Karma lmao. He will go to ridiculous and edgy methods in his job, even snoop on government officials outside of work

You DO NOT want him as an enemy. If any politician crosses him, Terasaka tears up on their behalf. “Just try to survive, man.” “Uh, what?” “You’ll see.”

Competent adult rating: 5/10

Manami Okuda

It’s not surprising of course, but she’s totally dedicated to her work and research. Her loved ones have to remind her to take breaks often.

Her apartment is generally tidy because she’s barely there.

Her work desk space on the other hand...is hella messy lol. She tends to throw papers around in the middle of stuff, and there are a few old food containers or takeout boxes from late night work.

She likes to tie her hair up in a braided bun often, to keep it out of the way. That’s mandatory for lab work anyways.

Dresses in a lot of casual but comfy attire, like blouses, jeans, skirts and boots, etc.

Gets along well with her colleagues, but she still has that habit of being a little reserved. Like she won’t jump right into hanging out with them, only if she’s invited to.

Her communication skills have improved so much omg, let’s all be proud of her <3

She has a pet chameleon!! It’s name is Rutherford, after the chemist lol

Tomohito Sugino

He actually lives by the strictest guidelines out of all of them

Since he’s a professional athlete, he really has to take care of his body and maintain his physique.

So like...a diet focusing on proteins, vitamins, nutrients, lean meats, vegetables, etc. All that good stuff.

And he works out twice a day. Once in the morning, he goes out for a jog as cardio. Then in the evening, he’ll do a more strength-based workout for his core and biceps.

As usual, he is very social and makes friends super easily UwU. When he’s not focusing on work (this is rare) he likes to make plans with people often.

Can’t handle being alone for too long

Gets confused/annoyed by finance matters a lot lmao. Hates filing taxes and doing paperwork, treats it like a chore rather a necessity for adulting

He has a really popular Instagram page actually, given that he’s a well-known baseball player. He posts mostly selfies, pics with friends, workout mirror selfie’s lmao, and of course pics of his dog

She’s a golden Labrador named Kimi, and he adores her so much. She’s a puppy still but she’s very active and loving.

He becomes a really popular meme for his very tired facial expression during a particularly rough game. Sugino takes great pride in this lmao

Credit to @assclass-dump for this amazing idea: Sugino being like Tony Hawke, and literally no one recognizes him outside of his baseball uniform lmaooooo. I love that.

Kaede Kayano

She has her shit together...for the most part

Kayano’s fame as an actress only grows more and more as she gets older. She has a ton of awesome big roles, even internationally.

This is canon: she does her own stunts and she always amazes the entire crew, especially if her co-star is new to meeting her and had no idea.

Kayano tends to not always take care of herself that well though. She exercises and maintains a strong physique daily, but her meals tend to consist of like...a flimsy salad and a pudding cup and that’s it.

Her apartment is pretty taken care of for the most part, especially when she’s filming and only comes back for sleep.

On her off-months though, best believe this girl tries to chill at home for as much as she can lol. She needs that well-deserved rest.

Kayano visits Aguri’s grave once every month. She brings her favorite flowers and gives kind of a life update on everything. She cries every time.

During her lowest moments, she’ll open up the yearbook that Korosensei left for her. She’ll read all his encouraging notes, laugh at the goofy memories they made...

She stays in contact with Kanzaki and Sugino the most. It’s harder with Karma and Okuda who have very demanding jobs too...and Nagisa who is hyper-focused on teaching

Gets involved in a couple dating scandals and such because the media is bored and nosy. But she shuts that shit down so fast and ruthlessly.

Yukiko Kanzaki

Adulting definitely comes the easiest for her, out of all of them

At the residence care facility she works at, she’s known for being the chillest and prettiest nurse

Bonds with most of her patients very easily. She especially has a sweet spot for elderly women, since they remind her of her beloved grandmother

She also had learned to be more open and comfortable with expressing herself. Unlike her junior high self, she isn’t envied or disliked or treated as an idol.

She actively communicates with her co-workers and has become better at making connections.

In true Kanzaki fashion, she absolutely will speak out if an injustice happens near her, and this sadly can be common in elderly care homes.

She doesn’t tolerate mistreatment at all. She voices her concerns and objections in her usual classy way, but if nothing changes, she’ll be persistent and more aggressive.

Kanzaki lives in a fairly modest apartment not too far from work. She walks every morning to get fresh air and enjoy being outside. She also stops by a cafe for breakfast and brings something for a co-worker she’s especially close to.

Even though her family could afford to get something way nicer and more expensive, Kanzaki insisted they don’t. She wants to work hard and achieve things through effort.

Besides she’s always been curious about a more humble lifestyle. She finds that she actually enjoys it immensely.

Nagisa Shiota

Hey hey hey, it’s our favorite new teacher <3

Seriously Nagisa is super dedicated to his job. He spends a good portion of his free time making more plans and ideas for future lessons.

He’s also just...such a spectacular teacher.

No matter how difficult his students may be, he never treats them like they’re problems. He always gives them a lot of kindness and respect, which sadly they don’t get a lot from others.

Disciplines in a really good way, like he’ll correct them but won’t sound condescending. He doesn’t sugarcoat, he’ll be honest but absolutely will give new chances.

Also can be totally fun and goofy if the time calls for it. Doesn’t want his students to ever fear him or feel like he’s unapproachable.

Makes learning to be fun and creative, also connects with each student one-on-one for sure.

He lives in a super tiny apartment. That teacher salary bro 😔

Takes a train everyday for a short commute to get to work.

His apartment also is prone to being littered around with a bunch of teaching stuff until he gets to organizing it.

Is generally very liked by his colleagues! Some of them don’t really agree with his teaching style and think he’s too lenient, Nagisa doesn’t pay them mind.

Can cook really well but is prone to buying convenience store meals often, because of his schedule.

Keeps a photo of 3-E on his nightstand.

[madlymiho]

Today we’re celebrating the wonderful and amazing birthday of the sweetest artist around, I’m talking about my dear dear @elliemehl​ 💗!

Darling, you have been such a dear friend to me, and I’m so happy I met you! You did something incredible for my own birthday, so I couldn’t miss the occasion to spoil you a little bit in return! 🙈

Please never change, you’re such a golden-heart, I’m lucky to have you around! Happy birthday!

words: 4734

warning: NSFW!

Tensions on the Polar Tang (read after the cut)

It’s not the first time he feels wide awake at night, piercing grey eyes gazing at the ceiling with a certain tiredness, unable to find some sleep, even in such a quiet place than his own ship. Perhaps it’s because he has been working for hours today, and that his mind is clouded with information which definitely wouldn’t disappear before he would reach the lands of his dreams, or maybe it’s an entire different reason he’s not able to face. Something stuck in his head, like a broken record, always playing the same particular music. You kissed. It has been such an intense yet short moment that sometimes he’s not entirely sure if it was real in the first place. It felt like a suspended moment he wasn’t ready to live, the two of you finally surrendering to that silly game you’re both thoroughly practicing since you have met. Months of teasing, comments and comebacks, all of this ending up in your soft lips crashing on his when he circled your nape to pull you closer, just enough for him to remember their taste, before you both took your distances. You never really talked about what happened that night, but Law blames the booze and your hormones for such a desperate moment. He’s a captain after all, he has his own duty, and you’re only just a temporary guest among the crew. The very fact you’re sleeping in the room next door shouldn’t upset him like this, not especially when he’s experiencing a cruel lack of sleep for years, his bad habits creating some tensions within his heart family. Yet, he feels like there’s something untold between the two of you; a childish emotion he’s unable to face because it would admit that his heart has another function than pumping his blood to his brain. He, the captain with one of the most violence and coldest reputation, couldn’t let someone in. The last time he did that ended up pretty nastily, his precious organ scratched so deeply that he didn’t want to bond with anyone after that. It’s a risk he doesn’t know if he wants to take it, and all those questions are harassing him at night when the object of his obsession is spending some time on the submarine.

“Tsst, you’re a jerk.” Law curses himself while he stretches his legs, slender fingers massaging his temples for a moment.

He lets loose another sigh, profound this one, before he eventually decides that sleeping would be optional, one more time. He’s used to these kinds of short nights anyway, it wouldn’t ruin his schedule, at least that’s what he hopes for. Now back on his feet, he doesn’t even bother to put something to cover his chest, his jogging pants dangerously sliding down his thighs, only maintained by the little knots he made just under his V spot, saving him from losing them for good. After all, there are almost only men on the Polar Tang, and if Ikkaku is up, she’s not the kind of woman to get upset because her captain is wandering half-naked on his ship. Tired, but definitely awake, Law eventually leaves his cabin, sliding both of his hands in his jogging pants pockets, hesitating for a moment when he passes by your door. Perhaps you’re also in the same agony? Would it be truly dangerous to knock on your door and finally surrender to the urge of your complicated passion? Even if the siren call is more than tempting, Law doesn’t oblige, step by step getting away from the temptation, as he’s heading to the kitchen to eventually grab a snack, if Bepo didn’t have one of his numerous night munchies, otherwise, he’s already certain that he wouldn’t find any leftover in the fridge.

As he’s getting closer from the kitchen hall, he notices a soft light emanating under the doorway, as he doesn’t make a move for a moment. It’s not unusual that someone is awake at this time of the night, but none of his crewmates would have bothered to close the door. Almost sure that he’s about to bust you there, Law firmly grips the handle of the door, opening it without a single hesitation, despite his squeezed heart within his chest. Indeed, he has been right ; you’re there, reading a book you’ve probably brought yourself onboard, since none of his crewmates is  interested in collecting them in the first place. Or perhaps it belongs to Ikkaku, one more time? She’s a surprising woman for sure, however Law could bet all his money that she has nothing but mechanical or engine readings to offer.

“Sleep troubles?” He whispers, pushing on the door to offer you the sought-after privacy you were looking for. “A book on this ship, that’s a rarity.”

You lift you stare up, trying your best to muffle all those emotions dancing wildly in your guts, as you heard him entering in the first place. You didn’t want him to see that obvious look on your face, but despite your preparation, Law always managed to catch you off guard.

“Actually, I stole this one on your shelves,” you answer with a soft smile, lidding your eyes for a second. “I thought it was written in another language for a while, it’s unreadable.”

It only brings a frown on Law’s face, while he steps closer, one hand in his jogging pockets, dangerously pulling down those comfort pants he’s wearing, the other one grabbing the book to have a look on the cover. He smirks, and throws you one of his teasing stares you have a very hard time to handle.

“Anatomy and the study of the body.” He reads loudly, slender and tattooed fingers lingering on the relief of the cover. “I didn’t know you want to become a doctor,” he pauses, and pushes the book back in front of you. “Or maybe you’re looking for a way to study bodies a bit more? Looking for a partner, miss Eileen?”

Ah, bastard. You know he’s always up to tease but you’re never truly ready for his taunt. You roll your eyes impatiently, and dismiss him with a wave of your hands. It only increases the smug smile on Law’s features, because he knows you always have such a hard time to handle his comments and comebacks. However, he’s also certain you’ll eventually come up with something; your body language is already betraying your need to shut his bratty mouth.

“Don’t get cocky; I have the perfect partner if I want to, he already agreed to help.” you eventually raise your stare up, closing the book with an impatient gesture, while you’re getting back on your feet.

Law raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms around his chest, already thrilled to discover what you’re going to throw to his face.

“Is that so?” He asks with his eternal sensual tone, another step closer bringing the both of you almost glued together. However, he believes you’re too stubborn to actually back down and take a step backward. Ah, you sure know how to play this game too… “And who’s that partner? So far, I’ve always seen you alone. Are you hiding someone on the sub?”

“Bepo.” You abruptly snap. “I have a certain interest in… fluffy gigantic bear. Impossible to find someone matching that kind of body.”

Law wants to snort and laugh, but he manages to keep an utterly serious face, as he tilts his head just slightly, his golden earring gleaming under the light of the kitchen.

“The only body interest Bepo has is to find a way to develop his already more than concerning excess weight. Unless you’re trying to match a polar bear density and his goal to nap for three months during winter times, I guess you’ve stolen the wrong book. However, if you’re really serious about this, should I put a lock on the fridge for you too?” He tuts you, and notices the massive effort you’re making not to burst into a powerful laughter. He peers down at the plate full of biscuits you probably picked for your night munchies while studying, his smirk growing wider on his mischievous features. “Oh, that explains a lot. You’ve already started.”

You immediately look at him with your best pouting face, slamming your fist right into his bare shoulder. Of course, he could have easily eluded the punch, but he believes he deserved it.

“What are you trying to say, you zombie doctor?” You growl, but you can’t help but have this floating smile appearing at the corner of your lips.

“I’m just saying…,” he takes another step forward, his warmth breath ghosting your features, his fingers softly skimming the hand closed on his anatomy book. He can’t miss your flinch, nor your artery suddenly palpating to his proximity. “That if you want to make things right…,” his thumb rubs the top of your hand, his piercing grey eyes focused on yours. You gulp. He smirks like a demon would do. “You should increase your stealing skills and actually pick the good book.”

And as his face feels dangerously close to yours, Law uses it as the perfect distraction to retrieve the book you stole. He knows it’s really unfair to play with your emotions like this, and your lust, but he has to control himself in the first place. You kissed, but it doesn’t mean he should surrender to his own desires, even if he terribly wants to have a reminder of the taste of your skin. He wishes that his hands could explore your body, whispering how perfect you look for him, but he can’t. He doesn’t allow himself to cross that barrier, and he believes it could be one of the worst ideas. You both have this incredible attraction, something deep and burning, setting on fire every inch of your souls, yet you couldn’t accept your common desire. You couldn’t ruin whatever you’re sharing right now.

“It’s time for you to sleep.” Law decides, a sudden sadness crossing his usual teasing irises. “It’s not reasonable to be awake right now.”

Before you can eventually protest, he raises his right hand and creates his room around you, the walls of the sphere enveloping the kitchen, but also the corridors and the rooms of the Polar Tang, a bit further away. In a blink, you’re standing in front of your bed, frustrated and unable to understand why he suddenly changed his mind. You are certain he wanted to kiss you like the other night…

“I’m sorry Eileen.” Law whispers while he’s now alone in the kitchen, the room gently cracking before it would disappear for good.

He hides the biscuits in the larder, because he can’t let Bepo find something if he ever wakes up hungry in the middle of the night. He believes it’s also time for him to have his own rest. While he turns around to reach the door, he quickly has to take a step backwards, watching you rushing in one more time, a deep frown on your eyes, and visible anger spreaded on your features. He sighs, and crosses his arms around his chest, somehow silently scolding you for never listening to him. Well he knows it’s quite unfair to room someone away in their cabin in the first place, but he’s still the boss on his ship, and he believes as a doctor, he already knows what’s the best for you.

“Didn’t I tell you to go to bed?” Law snaps, the corner of his lips unable to hide that little grimace of irritation. He doesn’t like when his authority is challenged like this, or perhaps he loves it, but feels slightly guilty to sense those emotions. “Go to your room.”

You take a step forward, raising your eyes to prove that you’re not in the mood to follow his orders, fingers immediately gripping the corner of the anatomy book he keeps against his chest.

“No, I’m not tired. I want to read, and you have absolutely no power nor any reason to tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

Cocky. He can’t help but smirk to the sentence, pleased to see that you’re still this wild fire he can’t tame, but also amused with your pouting features. Even though he tightens his grip on the book, and takes himself a step forward, until you have no choice but to plaster your back against the door.

“I’m still the captain here. I gave you an order.” He states with a severe voice, before he eventually throws the book away, ignoring the fact that it might damage it. He notices your visible confusion, his smirk growing on his features. “What am I supposed to do with a guest who can’t behave?”

You cock your head, strands of your brown hair skimming your shoulders, while your hazel eyes gleam with a certain challenge.

“You’ve answered the question yourself, captain.” You whisper, finding yourself having a hard time to breath properly, the proximity increasing your heartbeat. “I’m your guest, not your crew mate. You can’t treat me like them…”

He presses the palm of his hand against the cool door, his body moving closer, as he traps you there, and forbids you to escape his presence.

“I should treat you differently, then?” His voice is nothing but a long snarl, deep and sensual, sending so many goosebumps down your spine that you’re unable to answer for a minute. “That’s what you want? Something… Different?”

You can’t help but nod to the question, your eyes betraying that desperation, your stomach falling in the depths of your guts, as he comes closer and closer. His palm against the wall eventually falls on your cheek, the pad of his thumb describing the slowest caress you have ever experienced. You breath in and out harshly, anticipating the next movement even if it’s hard to tell what Law has in mind. In addition, for him, the game feels terribly intense, his own excitement almost unbearable. He wants to remember the taste on your lips. To have them printed on his flesh and bask on their scent. He doesn’t feel parted anymore, driven by lust and despair, unable to repress those emotions he has been fighting for so long. Not now that you’re looking at him this way. Not now that he feels the same agony nailing you there, in front of him.

“Guests like you are such a pain in the ass.” Law growls, before he eventually crushes his lips on yours, softly at first, almost too slowly. But soon enough, the desperation wins over reason, the sensuality of his kiss turning into something more intense, needy, and messy.

His slender fingers begin to explore your hair, fondling its softness, playing with your brownish locks, while his mouth doesn’t stop for a second. He doesn’t allow you to catch some fresh air, he doesn’t allow you to think. There, plastered against the kitchen’s door, you’re at his mercy, trapped under his claws. He slams your body harder against the entrance of the cafeteria, both of his hands now cupping your jaw, while he deepens the kiss. He opens his mouth, the tip of his tongue gently entering your cavity, yours immediately meeting his to share the most passionate dance. Both of your breathing are heavy, uncontrollable, a raging fire you both can’t contain anymore.

“Fuck…” Law snarls, while he parts his lips just slightly, not enough for you to escape from their eternal caress over yours. “I don’t want to stop.”

His plea sounds desperate, but you certainly share the emotion. You’ve kissed once. You have already been there together, but it has never been like this. You have been able to stop before things would get complicated. You have been able to find a way to control your emotions, and your desires. Yet now, it seems that you’re both unable to find a way to stop the wheel. You clench your fingers on his arm, pulling him closer, Law obliging, his body leaned with yours as both of his hands follow the curve of your back, only to fall in your rear and grope it.

“Don’t stop, please.” You mumble, your lips brushing his, your hazel irises focused on his. “I don’t want to stop either.”

He hesitates. Should he deny that eternal lust you’re both sharing? Should he act like the man or the captain? Duty over passion? Usually his heart would have been clear about the answer… Though Law can’t lie; he’s a man of many flaws. If he believes he should listen to that little voice in the back on his head, his fingers are already acting differently, palping the curves hidden under your jeans, eager to explore this unknown and unconquered territory, turning your sweet little person into his. He hums longly, his own mind on fire, trying to figure out his own feelings. But while he’s focused on this complicated task, he flinches when he senses the palm of your hand exploring his chest, following the muscles and the dark lines of his tattoo. He can’t be reasonable all the time, after all. A pirate isn’t reasonable. A pirate takes what he wants, and when he craves it.

“Yeah, fuck that.” He answers to his own torment, slamming your body back against the door, pinning both of your hands above your head, his mouth devouring yours in the most unconventional way. There, he can finally unleash what he has always been afraid to explore, his tongue meeting yours instantly, sharing the same passionate dance repeatedly, until you would suffocate and beg for more and some fresh air at the same time. He eventually abandons your pinned hands, one arm rolled around your waist, as he makes you spin, clumsily for sure, but enough for him to find the kitchen table. He helps you jump on it, making sure that you’re all settled and comfortable, at least, in the heat of the moment.

“Here?” You mumble between two kisses, swept in another world, while you can definitely feel the smile growing on his lips.

He grips the bottom of your top and lifts it over your head, while both of his hands finally fall onto your thighs, pulling you at the edge of the table.

“You can’t be picky.” He says with the same warm and tempting tone, his mouth exploring the crook of your neck, fingers eagerly working to unbuckle your pants. “Are you playing the prudish girl with me now?”

You hum loudly to the sensation of his digits on your warm skin, the heat of your body irradiating the entire room, as you wiggle on your legs to help him undress you.

“What if someone comes in?” You warn him, but Law immediately bites your neck, sensually teasing the area with his sharp teeth. “L…Law, I’m serious…”

He knows you’re perfectly serious and wary, yet he doesn’t have time, nor the motivation, to find another spot. Perhaps you could have settled for a more comfortable place, but right now, you’re both surrendering to the lust of the moment, and there’s no time to be afraid. You’re both taking a risk like this, but it’s something he’s more than willing to commit.

“Then, be loud enough to make them understand they really shouldn’t come in.” Law smirks devilishly, as he slides his fingers right into your already damp panties. “That’s what I thought; you really don’t want to go anywhere yourself, do you?”

As he talks, he begins to brush that more than sensitive and needy area of yours, coating his slender digits with your natural wetness, spreading it over your lips and clit, his grey eyes focused on your face, just to be certain that he’s doing an amazing job. He can’t believe he has been depriving himself from this sight, your parted lips and frown beautifully indicating that you wouldn’t survive such a temptation tonight. Too bad, Law thinks, because you’ve definitely signed for the entire show now, and the very thought sends even more blood down into his groin. Without any rush, as his golden stare is focused on your features, he begins to add more pressure down there, his lips finding their way back to yours, stealing another passionate kiss, his own cold heartbeat awakened after so many years. Lust is uncontrollable at this point, his expert fingers increasing their pace, until soft moans and harsh whispers would be swallowed in his throat. You move your hips to follow the rhythm, unable to remain calm and patient now that you have him this way. And surely, he doesn’t wish for you to behave either, devouring you right here with his mouth, fingers skillfully providing you waves of pleasure. 

“Law…” You let loose desperately, as he increases the pace of his knuckles one more time, eager to see at what point you would break and ask for more. 

He smirks against your skin, sensually finding that sensitive spot there, in the crook of your neck, his teeth peppering the area with the most dangerous nibbles. You find yourself bucking your hips to have more, a greedy monster unable to stop, at the edge of having the most powerful orgasm of your life. Perhaps Law felt it, because as soon as you begin to moan harder, he withdraws his fingers, abandoning your needy flower, as he looks at you with a certain satisfaction. Gently, he brings his coated digits to his mouth, shamelessly tasting you, before he eventually presses his palm over your shoulders and invites you to lay back onto the table. 

“I guess you’ve earned it.” He growls, pulling  both his jogging pants and underwear down, revealing his hardness, proudly bumping against his abs. “I wanted it for so long, Eileen.” 

Words are escorted by expert movements of his hands, as he places them on your thighs, pulling on them to find the perfect place, his thumbs caressing your thighs up and down. Once he’s sure you’re in the best position, he grabs his manhood to rub it a few times on your wet lips, each time watching you losing your mind ; he definitely believes he can drive you crazy for minutes like this, yet, he’s also aware that you’re both quite needy and impatient right now. With a slow push of his hips, Law penetrates you, inch by inch, a long shiver running down his spine as he can’t believe how incredible you feel right now. You’re tight enough to drive him insane, his fingers clenched on your skin, a discreet plea escaping his lips. You close your eyes, arching your back, before you manage to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand falling to grip the edge of the table. 

“Don’t tease…” You frown, somehow anticipating another of his little games, as you feel your patience disappearing for good. 

However, it’s definitely not in Law’s plans to tease any longer, his hips suddenly bucking so hard that you see the stars for a second. No, really, he doesn’t wish to waste anymore time, somehow understanding that it has been far from being enough. Right there, narrowed walls trapping his cock inside of you, your face expressing nothing but pure bliss, he doesn’t wish to act cowardly. He wants you to be his, and only his. So without any word, hands coming up to caress your waist then breasts, Law thrusts at first with an easy pace, the room slowly filled with the filthy sound of your collading skins. You moan, your fingers looking for his, your eyes unable to look away, watching his grey eyes lidded, and his dark cheeks tainted with redder colors. You love what you see, finding how beautiful he can be one more time ; a demon of lust and passion, taking you right here, after so many months of teasing. 

For a moment, you wonder how many minutes you can resist before begging him to continue what he has started previously, when his fingers were teasing your most sensitive area, waves of pleasure travelling through your veins like the sweetest illness. You wonder if he will ever go back to this, or only fuck you like this, his hips adopting a steady yet controlled pace, each time extracting more groans from your throat. He definitely knows what he’s doing, but god, you want so much more! You want to see how cruel he can be, the sadistic doctor taking care of this entire operation, until you would met under the power of his aura. 

“Harder, please! Fuck! Please, touch me, give me more, Law…!” 

Your words are almost like a scream ; you straighten yourself back up to roll your arms around his neck, your mouth immediately finding his. You want more, you need more. This is the greedy monster speaking within you at this point, and not the controlled woman you can be. You feel the droplets of sweat cascading down your spine, and his own heat enveloping you as a second skin. He chuckles, and slams his hips with a harsher pace, one of his hands coming between the two of you, only to play with your swollen clit. 

“I didn’t know you could be such a glutton, even for sex,” He growls with a sensual voice, his tongue playing with your earlobe, now that you’re all plastered against him. He rolls his thumb over your clit, focused on your reaction. “Come on, don’t you want to be louder than this?” 

Oh, he can’t help but play with you after all, now that his lust is tainted with the desperate need to tease you. You seem completely swept away, and he loves to have you this way. He slows his pace, only to have the privilege to watch his shaft coming and going so gently inside of you, his thumb sometimes coming down to coat more of your wetness. 

“You really wanted me, do you?” He whispers against your skin, gentle kisses dropped in the crook of your neck. “You’re so fucking wet for me. I bet I can make you come over and over again…” 

The sweet promise extracts another plea from your throat, as you move your hips to escort his slow thrusts, teeth digging into the skin of his shoulders. Satisfied to see that you’re not even able to answer, he presses his thumb harder on your clit, suddenly adopting such a quick pace that you can’t help but let loose that promised whimper he has desperately wished to hear. It feels too much! You can’t control yourself anymore, digging your teeth and your nails in his skin, trying your best to muffle those lovely sounds he’s the only one allowed to hear. As you finally reach your own nirvana, Law feels himself quite unable to resist the siren call, your walls clenching his cock so hard, that every of his thrust sends him at the edge of his end. As he kisses you one more time, he eventually follows your lead and cums as well, his growls disappearing in your mouth. After a moment when the both of you ride out your orgasms, he eventually pulls out, and wraps his hands behind your back. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, almost tenderly, hoping you don’t regret what just happened between the two of you. 

“Yes,” you reassure with a firm nod, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “But I’m so sleepy right now…,” 

He smirks and rolls his eyes, creating a room around you both, and holding you tighter than before. He can’t believe you almost made him believe that you weren’t sleepy… Well, for once, he doesn’t wish to scold you anymore. That’s probably for the best, if the two of you can get some sleep at this point. 

“Not in my room…” You mumble one more time, eyes peering up with a certain authority. 

For Law though, you only look like a demanding kitten, not that frightening but terribly cute, and he eventually sighs. 

“I guess for once, I’ll give you the privilege to use the captain’s cabin.” 

As you disappear from the kitchen, the two of you plastered together, Law intimates himself that it can’t be the only night you share together. Right there, with the warmness of your body against him, he begins to realise that you won’t ever be just a guest for him… 

[doctors-star]

Can you stay still for the next 20 min? (If this was meant as a prompt ask 😅)

“Okay - have you got it?”

“Yeah, you can - shift it to the left a bit, yeah - is that right your end?”

“Looks good to me.” Peter leans back very carefully, eyeballing along the length of the beam with half of his face scrunched up in a squint. Alex resists the urge to fidget the cold, heavy wood between his hands; there is a strong likelihood that, in seeking a better grip on the slippery, paper-like bark of the skinny silver birch trunk they are using as a rafter, he will in fact fumble with numb fingers and drop it through their half-built structure. Peter straightens up and grins at him. “Right. Now, you just hold that there, perfectly still, while I drill and fix this end - shouldn’t take too long, anywhere between-” he tilts his hands mock-thoughtfully, “-two minutes and three days. All right?”

Alex sends him a withering look, somewhat weakened by the smile he is valiantly attempting to fight from his face. “You may have twenty minutes, maximum,” he says sternly.

“Why twenty?” Peter asks, casting about him for the auger they’re using to bore holes in the rafters and peg them together. “And - I mean you no offence, mate, but you keep shifting the beam - can you stay still for the next twenty minutes?”

Peter starts to descend his ladder to hunt down the drill and Alex takes pity. “You tucked it in your belt.”

“Ah! And you told me it was a bad idea,” Peter acknowledges with the point of a finger, scrambling back up and fidgeting the large, curling length of very sharp iron out from the small of his back.

Alex tilts his head slightly. “I meant because you might fall on it and die, but yes, fine, also because you have no object permanence and would lose it.”

Peter snorts and aligns the auger carefully over the crossed beams, perpendicular to their length, before beginning to twist the handles that form the T-shape of the drill. They’re down to their loose white shirts, despite the biting cold, what with the hauling and lifting and boring and pegging. Alex can see the muscles across Peter’s shoulders shift and pull under the thin linen.

“Anyway,” he says, dragging his eyes away and fixing them on the birch between his palms. The wood is scarred and knotted by the vagaries of Welsh weather but straight and sturdy; the bark is peeling in tight coils of ghostly parchment. It judders in his hands with every wrench of the auger, so he focusses on simply holding it still. “You can only have twenty minutes, because lunch is at one and that’s in about twenty minutes - whereupon I will abandon this whole project, because I’m hungry.”

Peter huffs a laugh, silver in the winter air. “Oh, right,” he says, as though this is quite reasonable, “I understand. Twenty minutes it is, then - although you’ll have to count it out in your head, what with us being Stuart farmers in rural Wales and therefore not having access to such newfangled things as watches.”

Peter looks at him out of the corner of his eye, biting his lip. Alex assumes a suitably innocent expression in the face of this challenge. “Mm,” he agrees.

“After all, I assume that’s how you know it’s twenty to one - you’ve been counting the minutes since dawn.”

“Oh, no, I can read the time in the sky.” Peter looks sceptically at the thick duvet of cloud overhead - the light has remained the same weak greyness since the sun technically rose, though they’ve not seen it. Alex shuffles the log into one hand, moving his foot up one ladder rung to support its weight on his thigh, and fumbles the other hand in the small leather pouch attached to his belt. He lifts the modern stainless steel watch up to the sky and makes a show of squinting at it against the clouds, and then puts it away. “Twelve forty-five,” he says decisively, slowly creasing into a smile when Peter abandons the auger to put his face in his hands and laugh.

“The director’ll have your head for that,” Peter points out, amused, as he goes back to the drill with a fond shake of his head.

Alex shrugs. He can, it turns out, do without most modern conveniences: he’s become used to candlelight and going to bed early, he likes the food, he honestly hasn’t thought about television for about three months. They’re allowed enough bits of their old lives to keep them all healthy and sane, like toothpaste and regular phone calls to friends and family, but other than that they’ve been keeping to the period fairly religiously and Alex wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s just - it turns out that, like how an explorer might like to keep a compass on them to know which way is north, Alex likes to know what time it is. Not for any particularly rational reason. There’s just a sort of comfort in knowing where he stands, temporally.

“Should have got you a pocket sundial for Christmas,” Peter says wryly, jimmying the auger back out of the wood with effort.

“A sundial? In Wales?” Alex objects mildly. “Peter, be serious.”

“Hah. Well, Stuart Welshmen managed somehow,” Peter points out, trotting swiftly down the ladder and fishing about in a basket for a peg long enough to pin the beam to the apex.

Before Alex can respond, there is a call from the farmhouse, and Ruth is waving at them as she picks her way through the frosted garden towards them. “Hello, boys - oh, this is going up well.”

Peter smiles shyly at her and pats the nearest upright of the latrine. “It’s good, yeah,” he says, turning the peg in his fingers with the other hand. It’s terribly sweet, this nervous adoration Ruth seems to inspire in him when she catches Peter off-guard. Sweet, and slightly embarrassing on Peter’s behalf, and very slightly inspiring of jealousy, as though Alex were five years old and sulky over Ruth stealing his best friend. He doesn’t like to examine that much.

“Slightly roofless,” Alex points out.

Ruth smiles, tilting her head back to look up the ladder at him, and the niggling, uncomfortable envy fades somewhat. “It’s al fresco,” she corrects cheerfully, and he grins. “It’s got walls, anyway, and this looks like your last roof beam, so it’s only slightly roofless.”

“You won’t say that when it rains,” Alex foretells, and she laughs.

“All right. I came out to tell you lunch will be in a minute, so if it’s at a point where you can leave it-”

“I’m letting go of this beam,” Alex tells Peter firmly. “I’m doing it.”

“You said twenty minutes,” Peter corrects, scrambling up the ladder.

“I said until lunch,” he says, steadying the beam carefully so that Peter can jam the peg in and shove at it with the heel of his palm. “It is now lunch, and I am no longer holding this beam for you.”

“Two minutes,” Peter pleads, shoving at the peg and then looking around him, patting his belt and where pockets might be on jeans but definitely are not on breeches. “Where’s the - thank you, Ruth.”

Ruth’s eyes slide sideways to Alex in amusement as she passes Peter a sturdy wooden mallet. She’s always pleasingly entertained by their antics, even if Alex and Peter are being more than slightly unhelpful, and it absolutely encourages them to further bouts of silliness. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says warmly, folding her arms and looking delighted around the edges of a stern expression. Alex basks in her indulgence.

“Alex wouldn’t really abandon me for lunch,” Peter says, deliberately overwrought and self-pitying, as he secures the peg. “He wouldn’t destroy all our hard work just to eat, not after the hours we spent working on it - and the years we’ve been friends, and all the nice things I’ve done for him.” Ruth laughs and Peter, beam now secured, leans on it slightly to look plaintively in Alex’s direction. “You wouldn’t leave me just for food, would you?” he says, with his best puppyish eyes.

Alex looks back at him. He’s given up a lot to be here with Peter for this year - they’ve not been out of uni that long, all things considered, and are definitely in that stage of academia in which a person is supposed to work extremely hard and get all the funding available to become very specialised and useful - essentially, they are not supposed to be going on a year’s sabbatical to wrestle pigs and plough fields and become bizarrely knowledgeable about early seventeenth century agriculture, which is something neither of them are aiming to specialise in at all. He has no idea if this is a good career move, or a sure-fire way to never be taken seriously again. On top of that, he’s given up on all the comforts and joys of modern life, and on seeing his friends and family particularly often, and on starting or maintaining relationships with anyone other than Peter and Ruth and the rest of the cast and crew. He had been worried, when he and Peter had been discussing whether or not to go for this opportunity, that he would be constantly miserably cold and lonely - but Peter had promised him good company and all of Peter’s spare layers and blankets, and had reminded him of all of the things they would get the opportunity to do and try, and all the experiences they could have out in the valley that they might never have again. And Alex had allowed himself to be convinced, and had followed Peter onto the farm and into Stuart life. He is yet to have cause to regret it; he has loved it, and Peter and Ruth and all his new friends, to excesses.

He fixes Peter with an unimpressed look. “I would leave you in the mud for an unripe tomato.”

[storysofmyown]

Single Father Lucifer AU, a drabble

Plot: Lucifer and his six children process as they move into their new house and Lucifer’s first meeting with Diavolo.

Note: I honestly don't know if i should call this a drabble, a an actual fic or anything like that. But...its not just the normal listing of headcanons so...enjoy???

The front door opened slowly; Lucifer fumbled with the keys as he took the first step inside the house. The room was quiet, the living room was spacious enough for the seven of them, Lucifer sighed while turning around to instruct the people that were moving their stuff where to put them, when a small child went running inside, making a lot of noise, giving the house a little taste of what it was about to go through for the upcoming years.

"I WANT THE BIGGER ROOM" Mammon screamed as he ran up the stairs to the second floor, ready to claim his room.

"It isn't fair! I have more stuff than him! I SHOULD GET THE BIGGER ROOM!" Leviathan ran after Mammon, his goldfish plushy in his hands as the child almost tripped on his way up stairs.

"Stop running inside the house!"

"We only just got here and those two are already running around." Satan fixed his glasses as he entered the room, positioning himself out of the way and looking at the new place that was going to be their home.Even though he was only 9 years old, he already acted more mature than his eldest brother.

"How tiring." Belphie said mid yawn, holding onto Beel’s shirt as not to fall over, who’s stomach only grumbled even while munching on a cookie.

"Well, I don't care about who gets the biggest room, I just want the prettiest one!" Asmo threw his hands in the air, loosing balance for a second and having to hold onto Lucifer's neck as not to fall, the man in question tightened his grip around his child, before moving out of the way and placing Asmodeus down.

Lucifer groaned, massaging his temples before turning and giving the moving crew instructions. He looked over at the four children standing there before sighing. This was going to be a tiring day.

"Why don't you go with your brothers? I'll be here making sure we brought everything, so why don't you guys go explore the house?" Belphegor and Asmodeus nodded before going upstairs were Levi and Mammon were fighting. Lucifer looked at the remaining children, Satan and Beel, who were looking up at him. "What is it?"

"Do you have the list?" Satan asked, smiling smugly at his father. Lucifer mentally cursed himself. He had forgotten the list back in their old house, now they wouldn't be able check what items had arrived. The man groaned before he heard the child laugh. "I knew you would forget it, here." Satan took a piece of paper out of his back pocket. It was wrinkled and the handwriting was messy, but he could read it. "I figured you might forget it, so I made my own!" Lucifer smiled fondly at the kid, who only went smiled and went upstairs with his other brothers. Beel remained beside Lucifer’s legs.

"Do you want another cookie Beel?"

"Yes! No, wait...I...I wanted to help with the boxes." Lucifer smiled at his child, before pinching his cheeks and nodding.

"Okay, let us see which boxes we can help carry. That way we can finish earlier." Beel nodded slowly. After a few hours of moving and opening boxes, finally they had everything inside. Lucifer paid the crew before making his way upstairs, the children were all huddled up in what he determined was going to be his room so that Mammon and Levi stopped fighting over it.

"Okay kids, who is staying each room? I need to know for when we unpack tomorrow."

"I want the one with the balcony!!!" Asmo chimed in, raising his hand, and jumping up and down in excitement. There were no objections raised, so he nodded, to which a small and happy "Yes!" Was heard.

"There is a room with some shelves, can I have that one? I can store my books in there." Lucifer nodded slowly; Satan gave a small smile before fixing his glasses again. Lucifer needed to remind Simeon to bring them before Monday.

"I want the biggest one then!" Leviathan pouted while hugging Henry, the goldfish, even tighter, bright eyes looking up at Lucifer, who glanced at Mammon to see he was about to protest.

"How about this, Levi, i will get this room since i need more space, and you get the second biggest room and Mammon, “Lucifer glanced at his oldest son. “you get the one next to mine because you are the older, okay?" Mammon grumbled for a moment before nodding.

"Well, since I'm the oldest it's only natural I get a room besides pop's, I'm basically the head of the family!" Mammon grinned while Levi just stuck out his tongue at his brother.

"What about you two? Which rooms will you be staying in?" Lucifer looked at the twins, Belphie had his head resting in Beel’s shoulder.

"We want to be in the same room." Beel spoke up, looking pleadingly at Lucifer, who raised an eyebrow.

"You sure? We have more space in this house, there is no need for you two to share a room anymore-"

"We don't mind." Belphie yawned. "We like sharing a room, right Beel?"Which got a nod from his twin.

"Fine, guess that leaves a room for visit or storage. Lucky us, I guess."

"Dad..."

"Yes Beel?"

"I’m hungry."

"There it is, I was wondering why it has taken so long for you to say it." Satan grinned lightly at his younger brother while Lucifer thought.

"Well, I was planning to go buy some groceries tomorrow. So how about we all go out to eat?" The kids cheered at the proposal, everyone except Levi who groaned at the idea of going out again.

"Didn't we pass a restaurant in our way here?"

"Yes, I believe we did, Asmodeus. Want to check it out?" The children all nodded excitedly.

The next couple of days had been... chaotic. School had yet started, and the kids were immensely bored, which meant they would constantly playing pranks on one another, causing problems, fighting and for Lucifer to lose his mind. He was supposed to start working in 3 days, and he was meant to visit the office that day for a quick tour.

And the way things were, he was sure he was not going to be able to go today at all. While he pondered what he should do, a knock came to the door. Asmo ran towards the door claiming he would answer as Lucifer rose to his feet, only to hear a excited gasp coming from his child. "Uncle Simeon!! Cousin Luke!!!" Asmo exclaimed, and the moment those words left his mouth, it was like the army of children had been summoned to the front door and tackled their uncle to the floor.

After a few exchanges and Simeon hugging the kids, those running with Luke upstairs who already seemed a little annoyed, Lucifer and Simeon sat to talk. A small conversation before Simeon reminded him of his visit.

“But anyway, shouldn't you be at the office right now?” Simeon raised an eyebrow, starring at Lucifer.

“Yes...i was supposed to, but i couldn't just leave the children alone and taking them with me was out of the question.” Lucifer lets out a deep sigh as he closes his eyes for a moment.

“Why do you think I’m here for?” Simeon smiled at the man. “I’ll watch over the kids. Now you go and give the boss a good first impression.” Simeon got up from the couch and proceeded to call the kids and say they will play a game. Lucifer looked at his watch, it was almost four pm, they had agreed to meet at 4:30. If he was fast, then he might just make it in time.

 And so, Lucifer started a race against the clock, after finishing taking a quick shower and putting his clothes on, he bid goodbye to the children before managing to get to the office with five minutes to spare. Lucifer sighed as he parked the car, his portfolio in hand as he thought about what awaited him in this new job. Because of the move and the kids expenses, he needed to find a well paying job thanks to Simeon and Silomon. And apparently the boss, Diavolo, as he told them to call him, was in desperate need for an assistant. So...Lucifer took the opportunity and moved across the country in order to give the kids a new begging...he hoped it was for the best.

Lucifer was in front of the receptionist, Barbatos as the man had presented himself, and now was waiting to be called in. He sat down while he waiting, not long after, a red haired man sat besides him, Lucifer greeted him and was planing to stay silent until the man spoke up.

“You must be here for the assistants job, right?” Lucifer looked at the man, taking in his features, he was good looking and around Lucifer’s age if not a bit older, Lucifer swallowed before nodding.

“Yes, i was informed to be here to meet with the boss in order to get a run down of how the building looked and how we would operate.” The man besides him hummed, a curious smile as he looked at Lucifer. 

“Well, if that's the case, i should probably warn you.” The man looked around, almost as if to make sure he isn't being heard. “Some people say the boss can be a bit...how do I put it... extravagant. Think you can handle that?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow at the man, was he trying to spread rumors? Whatever it was, Lucifer just shook his head.

“Even if that was the case, I wont mind. I’ve heard good things about this place and the boss and i...would like to be part of it.” Lucifer cleared his throat before giving the man a side smirk. “Besides...after dealing with my children all day i bet the boss cant be that bad.” He wasn't sure why he said that, but there was something inviting, almost enticing about the man sitting besides him. Normally he wouldn't give details about his personal life to those around him but he felt at ease with the stranger.

The man only smiled at Lucifer before getting up. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

“But what about-”

“Don’t worry about it, Barbatos will let us know when its time to head back.” The man pointed at Barbatos, who was acting as the current assistant until Lucifer started work next week. The man only nodded with a smile at both Lucifer and the man, and although hesitantly, Lucifer agreed to be shown around.

After walking around for what felt like almost an hour, the strange red haired man had shown Lucifer every corner of the building, all except from one. Lucifer was worried that by now he had been called and was not present but as they were heading to the last room they were to check, Barbatos only smiled at them, which Lucifer took as an indicator that he had not been called yet. So, Lucifer fallowed the taller man into the elevator which not long after came to a halt.

“And to wrap this up, this is the cafeteria. We didn't want for the workers to go hungry all day feeding off vending machines so the order was given to make this room into the workers dinning place.” Lucifer looked around, there were some workers eating and the smell of food made his way to him, reminding him of just how hungry he actually was.

“That’s...actually a good idea.” Lucifer smiled, trying to ignore his own stomach. He should have listened to Beel before leaving the house. without eating anything. He tried to hide it, though, it seemed like he didn't do such a good job for the man chuckled before inviting him to eat. “Oh no, wouldn't want to oppose any trouble. Plus, i really should go up and  wait to be called in.” 

“Awe, cmon on! I'm inviting, and i already told you, Barbatos will let us know.” Lucifer thought about it for a second, and decided to accept the mans invitation.

They sat down on one of the tables after getting something small, Lucifer asked the knowledgeable man more about the company and slowly the conversation turned into more casual talk.

“Wait, wait, wait, so you are telling me you have six children?!” The man looked at Lucifer with wide eyes but an amused smile. “How in the world did you even get any sleep when they were little?” Lucifer would chuckle at this.

“Oh...well i actually didn't get any sleep. But, my youngest is making up for my sleep. He sleeps enough for the entire family.” This would get another laugh from the man, before he glances at his watch, clears his throat and gets up.

“Well, i must say I had a good time meeting you like this. But i must attend some meetings.” The man offered Lucifer a hand, which he gladly shook. 

“Of course- oh, i dot believe i got your name” Lucifer looks at the man.

“Ah right. My name is Diavolo, i am eager to start working with you from this week on, Lucifer.” At the mention of the name Lucifer went pale...that was his new boss. This whole time he had been talking with his new boss and not once did he suspect of it. Diavolo only chuckled at Lucifer’s face. “You should get going. I wouldn't want to keep you from your children that long. Oh! And next time, why don't you invite?” 

With this, the man disappeared. leaving a shocked Lucifer behind feeling embarrassed. After the shock wore off, Lucifer got in his car and drove home, immediately being greeted by his children.

“Daddy!!” Asmodeus jumped on Lucifer, only for the other kids to do the same, making him almost fall.

“Hey, calm down. Let your father at least enter the home.” Simeon laughed, before looking at Lucifer. “So, did you meet the boss?” 

“I...did. Not in the most ideal circumstances but-”

“Oh, i take it he acted like a normal employer  and didn't say who he was until he had to leave?” Simeon smirked.

“You knew he did that? And didnt warn me?” Lucifer glares at Simeon, only for him to laugh.

“he instructed us not to tell anyone. Its his way of getting to know his employees before the whole “work place” relationship takes over.” Lucifer glared once more only to sigh.

“...thank you for looking after the kids.”

“Of course, whenever you need it. We love watching over them!” Simeon starts gathering his things.

“Not at all!” Luke chimes in, he walked in carrying Belphegor who Lucifer proceed to take from the child’s hands.

After Simeon and Luke left, Lucifer was left with his kids. It seemed that Simeon had them play some games for it wasnt yet past nine when all of them were already asleep. Lucifer took them all to their rooms before heading to his. Soon he would start work and the kids school would be opening as well. He really hoped everything went well, for his sake, and his children's as well.

Aighty dears! I hope y’all had enjoyed this...drabble/fic? Whatever, not sure if ill write more like this for this AU but we will see! Also, for those awaiting the scarred chapter 13, i made some progress with it, finally TwT! It is not completed yet but id say half of it its done so...yay! :3 I hope yall liked this, and yknow...stay safe people!!

[mightyflamethrower]

Rep. Tim Burchett (R-TN) knows a thing or two about UFOs. After all, he sits on a House committee investigating UFO sightings and he’s attended some closed-door briefings. He hears things that you don’t hear.

And like any member of Congress, he loves to talk.

The lawmaker appeared on the podcast “Event Horizon” last week and had some startling things to say. Here they are, below:

“We’ve been dealing [with government coverups] since 1947, probably since about 1897 in what was the Aurora Texas ‘UFO crash.'”

“They [the craft] can travel light years or at the speeds that we’ve seen defy physics as we know it.”

“They can fly underwater and don’t show a heat trail.”

They could “turn us into a charcoal briquette.”

“We are out of our league. … We couldn’t fight them off what we wanted to. That’s why I don’t think they’re a threat to us, or they would already have been.”

Well, at least that last one is good news.

Burchett said it’s time the government just comes clean and tells America what it knows.

“We don’t need to fund anybody anymore. Let’s just turn loose the reports, quit with the redacted reports that look like Swiss cheese with everything whited out or blacked out, and just give us all the information and let the American public decide,” he said on the Event Horizon podcast.

“We can handle it. Stop with the arrogance. Stop with the corruption. Let’s get it all out there,” Burchett said.

Back in March, Burchett claimed that UFO technology — that is, technology he believes the U.S. has captured — is possibly “being reverse-engineered right now” but we “don’t understand” how it functions. He maintains that the U.S. has “recovered a craft at some point, and possible beings.”

Burchett’s comments follow testimony on covert UFO programs from senior military and intelligence whistleblowers beyond David Charles Grusch.

Grusch said last month that he gave Congress reams of classified information about covert U.S. government programs that he says are now in possession of an intact craft of “non-human origin.”

Grusch, 36, is a decorated former combat officer in Afghanistan and a veteran of the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency (NGA) and the National Reconnaissance Office. He was the reconnaissance office’s representative to the Unidentified Aerial Phenomena Task Force from 2019-2021. And then from late 2021 to July 2022, he was the NGA’s co-lead for UAP analysis and its representative to the task force.

The UAP expert said the information was illegally withheld from Congress, and he “filed a complaint alleging that he suffered illegal retaliation for his confidential disclosures,” The Debrief reported.

“Grusch said the recoveries of partial fragments through and up to intact vehicles have been made for decades through the present day by the government, its allies, and defense contractors. Analysis has determined that the objects retrieved are ‘of exotic origin (non-human intelligence, whether extraterrestrial or unknown origin) based on the vehicle morphologies and material science testing and the possession of unique atomic arrangements and radiological signatures,’ he said,” The Debrief reported.

Rep. Matt Gaetz (R-FL), who reportedly attended a classified UAP briefing on a military base in Florida on February 21, has also revealed a small bit of information he has received.

“I have seen evidence of craft that I am not familiar with any of our allies or adversaries or even our country possessing. I’ve seen that craft taken by air crews who have gotten quite close to it and we’ve got a lot more questions about why this information isn’t more broadly available to the American people,” Gaetz told Newsmax last week.

So, they’re here. Or these lawmakers just like to hear themselves talk.

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 995: Initial Thoughts

And the count drops to 5 After a long week break One Piece is back to continue the back and forth of the Onigashima Raid, looks like Chapter 1000 may still remain in Act 3 which is...concerning, since Act 4 is meant to be the tragedy parts But for now, we see what 995 has to offer Spoilers for Chapter 995 of course, Support the Official Release Too!

It was a bit strange seeing a chapter cover after the whole Bege story ended XD But Luffy with an owl teacher is fun, and the squirrels

We however start on the outskirts, Big Mom vs Marco, and he’s kinda holding his own. It is worth noting that his fire seems to hurt Prometheus and Zeus looks out of commission still

Marco stating that he ‘doesn’t know his role yet’ is a bit of a worrisome flag, bug I do have an idea

BM does pin Marco down the easy way though, just grab him. Seems that Perospero’s alliance was super short lived - alliances and betrayal going hand in hand

But he gloated too much and Wanda and Carrot jump in in their Su Long forms! Peros is lucky he isn’t blinded, I mean he kinda should be, he has enough scars

‘You crazy furry’ - I don’t care if Viz changes that this is the canon line and hilarious!

BM seems to recognize Carrot though, which continues to bode the question: why didn’t she get a bounty for rinsing a line of a Yonko’s fleet? Franky did less in Enies Lobby and got a bounty

Wanda’s Su Long is kinda expected, but it’s good to see that she wants to avenge Pedro too, despite Peros’ objections. Gotta worry a little though, very easy to lose one of them in a 2v1 situation

Big Mom bouncing is strange though, she’s basically ditching her eldest injured son. What she says is interesting too, she doesn’t have any souls to use against Marco, meaning at this current point she’s somewhat weakened in terms of damage output

Carrot and Wanda are letting Marco make chase though, however the Ice Demons is where I expect him to gravitate towards

The Apoo chase is for the most part turning everyone against him, but in that manner also turning Kaido’s lesser forces against him

Tonfa is a unique choice of weapon for Apoo, maybe the extra joints allow more movement with them, but he should not last long against Drake and Zoro both going at him

Zoro vocally noting that he wants to support Kin’emon is telling, Oda is intentionally keeping Zoro away from Kaido

Drake though having no filter ‘I’ve always hated you’ - like cold blooded

Queen though seems to have eyes on Zoro, but he’s gonna be very rudely awakened if he tries it thinking that he’s merely the ‘3rd best fighter’. His musing about Sanji is interesting though, he doesn’t say Germa or the Evil Army, he says ‘Judge’s Son’ - implied familiarity? Oh lord what if Sanji’s uncle is Queen!? Both are blonde scientific geniuses

Brook being immune to Ice Oni does make a lot of sense, it may also become a key factor in getting to Apoo or Queen but he’s basically now a walking infection that he may be able to use, but Chopper is mulling how the virus works

And doesn’t notice that he’s got it too! Strange he didn’t feel it though huh? There is of course now the worry of ‘Healer Down’ but Chopper can change his shape to limit the spread, this also gives him a chance to self-treat an antidote or just allow a Pineapple to heal him with his healing flames

I do have worry about that Number-shaped shadow on the panel where Brook is saying he’s invincible, it’s got its eyes on Chopper

We finally get over to Usopp and Nami vs Ulti and Pay-Pay...though it’s turned out to just be Usopp vs Ulti and Pay-Pay.

Interestingly, Usopp seems able to handle Ulti from range, but with both it is a struggle. Ulti’s heart though

Unfortunately he seems to be on the end of ‘another’ headbutt. An Alabasta-esque Fatality showing Usopp’s skull very much cracked...surprised he has any bones left in his nose

Ulti turns her eyes to a felled Nami, but we’re shown Beast Pirates fleeing from outside, which should’ve really given away that an ally was coming

Nami definitely doesn’t want to die so pulls the bargaining, but Ulti wants her to retract Luffy’s statement about being Pirate King

PANDAMAN SMILE! Just...wow

I’m a little let down by Usopp though, even if it’s lying to stay alive to be okay with Nami saying that Luffy won’t be Pirate King doesn’t sit well, it feels like it contrasts his Alabasta moment as well when he refused to allow Luffy to be insulted

But Nami won’t say it, she says that he will, so it’s nice that Nami gets that moment too

And here to save Nami is Komachiyo rode in by Tama!

Sweet Child it’s cool that you’re here but this battlefield is not safe for you!

So yeah, really good chapter regarding developments, the picture does continue to become clearer. Big Mom is back on the loose, but without Zeus and Prometheus she is weakened. Marco is becoming aware of the Ice Oni - which Brook and Chopper are infected with but only the latter subject to its damage. Queen looks to eliminate Zoro. Carrot and Wanda are to fight Perospero and Tama has come for support right where Usopp and Nami are facing Ulti and Pay-Pay.

It all leads to interesting routes, of course Zoro vs Queen is a big one but I do see Drake jumping in on that, maybe even Hawkins, Apoo, Brook and/or Who’s Who, he isn’t the most popular of All Stars after all. I do still think Marco will save Chopper and the floor from Ice Oni, Chopper will be able to uncover the key part of it before fully turning, but through that Chopper can get that W over the Plague. I worry about Carrot and Wanda vs Perospero, I think Peros may get some help, he has a whole crew at the bottom of the Waterfall loaded as Chekov’s gun, but with the rest of the Minks falling back from the Dome as well it could be Minks vs Big Mom pirates. I worry most for Wanda because she is another one of Carrot’s close mink friends, she could easily lose a lot from this especially from the clock of Su Long. Seeking vengeance rarely goes the way people expect, I kinda hope that Carrot gets clarity and returns to support Luffy and co, mainly because I am Carrot4Nakama - I doubt she’s got her fill from adventure and she could easily get a bounty post-Wano (I even think her nickname of ‘Moon Rabbit’ would be suitable). While I thought that the title would relate to Shinobu, I did correctly predict Tama rolling up in my Mini-Theory Mashup Wano Edition (Link Here), she is far too much of a pivotal character to be kept away from this, she is a key factor as well. Not only will her arrival kick Usopp and Nami’s protective senses into gear to potentially get the W against Ulti and Pay-Pay (who while I enjoy their dynamic it’s a rough spot when they’re fighting people I like) but she also has influence factors with Luffy and Big Mom. She can be the later kick up the ass for Luffy to remember what he is fighting for but for Big Mom she can be the changing factor, Tama is who drove O-Lin to Udon, whether Big Mom has memories of Tama could in turn prove beneficial for the alliance in having BM turn on Kaido, if she runs in on Nami and Usopp too this could lead to Nami gaining an advantage by reclaiming Zeus.

But yeah, a lot of this was what others are doing aside from the Luffy, Yamato and Scabbards situation, we still are due to see Caribou, Team Law, Team Kid and Hiyori and who that shadowed person is (still think it’s Moria) but we still have 5 more chapters to go fill the big 1000

[whoperlokian-bendingismagic]

New Short Story

Distance is a funny thing. Or rather, perception of distance is a funny thing. Human brains can really truly understand distances of up to about ten miles. Anything longer than that and it’s just math. Driving down a road, if you have 240 miles left and you’re going eighty miles per hour, you have three hours of driving left. You don’t really know what that means, though. It’s just ticking on a clock, and going from landmark to landmark, if there even are landmarks to use. The human mind is always approximating, always recalculating sensory inputs based on past experience It only knows what it’s been designed to know.

Never trust your own mind if you have instruments. Instruments first. If there’s no instruments then don’t trust your two-second gut. Trust your two-minute gut.

I grew up in the Eastern Urban Complex. The night sky was nothingness, a velvety black backdrop to a million lights and and towering buildings stretching up and over.

My parents saved up for a vacation. A proper one outside of the urban complex, not just a trip to a different borough where you didn’t have to do the cooking or cleaning for a week. We went when I was 10. We took a train that had no windows. Passengers who had never lived outside the city experienced agoraphobia and severe confusion. It was better to entertain everybody with screens, caused less panic. The train was luxurious. The chair was comfortable, we were served delicious food by pretty ladies in tidy uniforms and gleaming smiles, their hats perched just so over their immaculate hair.

We took the train out of the city and all the way to the end of the line. If you asked me how many miles we traveled on the train ride, I would have told you about fifty. I looked up how far the trip actually was years later. It was more like seven hundred miles.

Distance is relative. Distance is perception and perception is false. Check your instruments, check them again. If the numbers seem wrong to you check the backups. It’s probably you that’s wrong, though.

As I stepped out of the station, I found the world too big, too open, and I suddenly felt too small. There were people there to help us get acclimated. Focus on ourselves, then let our senses explore this alien experience of openness, of distance, of the desert. We got into a car and were driven out towards the mountains. We couldn’t see the mountains from the train station, but that was what my parents told me. We were driving towards the mountains. I’d never seen mountains in person. I’d looked at pictures in a book, though. I’d heard they were big. When we crested a hill and could suddenly see the mountains, I shrieked. They were coming right up on us and we were going to crash into them.

My parents shushed me, but the driver chuckled and said that was a pretty typical response. Of course, we didn’t crash into the mountains, they were still miles away, and as we got closer, the slopes became gentler, smoother as we got closer, and the road climbed up through a canyon between two peaks. The trees changed. The Eastern Urban Complex has trees in its thousands of pocket parks between buildings, shady trees with broad green leaves that turn golden and orange and red in the fall. The trees here had needles. Very little grew beneath the trees, and the dirt felt more like dust than anything.

We finally got out of the car at a retreat. There were a series of buildings situated around a bigger building. THey were all built out of logs. My mom told me the smaller buildings were called cabins, and the bigger one was called a lodge. I had read about cabins before but didn’t think they looked quite like that.

Perception and reality are often at odds. Instrumentation distills reality into digestible pieces of information we can use to modify our perception to match reality. The instrument says I’ve been “here” for two days, but that feels wrong too. I don’t have any backups to cross-check, though.

 There were other children my age there that I played with, trails to hike, a forest to explore and rocks to climb. I don’t remember a lot of details from my time there. I couldn’t tell you the color of the sheets on the cozy bed. I couldn’t tell you what meals we ate, or the names of the children I played with. There’s a distinct smell, one of dust and pine trees that’s locked in my mind, though, and there’s my first sight of the true night sky. 

My parents let me stay up late, and we would go out and look at the night sky. It was practically littered with stars, big and small. I’d never thought of the sky as an object before. I thought that maybe if I got a good 50-foot ladder, I could climb to the top of that and touch the stars from there.

Examine your thoughts. Why are you thinking what you’re thinking? What’s the basis? Answer these questions honestly to yourself and to others, it can save your life, your crew, and your mission.

That experience planted something deep in me and I strove to find a way to touch the sky. A 50-foot ladder is hard to come by, but if you really want to touch the sky, you need a fusion drive. The best way to get a fusion drive is to join the Naval Scientific Exploration Team, NSET, pronounced “enset” for short. 

I poured myself into my studies. I had never been a slack student, but with a distinct goal in mind I became great. I studied general spaceship engineering and navigation. NSET only takes the best and brightest, so I fought to prove that I was good enough. 

There was an experiment, or demonstration done on every NSET cadet after they were accepted. We were asked a series of “true or false” questions with only a second to answer each one. “An object released in Earth’s atmosphere will fall to the ground”, “Magnets attract opposite poles”, “A ball thrown will approximate a circular trajectory”, Easy, true, true, false.

“The earth revolves around the sun” false. “Orbiting objects experience gravity” false. “The world is flat” true. We all knew the correct answers to those more difficult questions, but without time to think, we grabbed for the convenient, intuitive answer. Answers that are convenient or intuitive are not by definition correct. They are, however, easy to fall prey to, because they fit so neatly into a caveman view of the world. 

Cavemen have never traveled through space, though. Cavemen have never traveled at a million kilometers an hour, or measured distances in light-minutes. Cavemen were never one mistake away from their entire support environment vanishing in a cloud of twisted metal and shattered ceramic. Cavemen never watched their friends desperately fight against nothing and be pulled apart from each other by first order kinematic equations, enacted ignoring losses due to air resistance or friction. At NSET academy, we watched tapes collected from black boxes from early manned explorations deep into the solar system. I can’t sleep sometimes thinking about the panic and terror flooding those people as they were ripped from their venting ship and out into space.

So we had it drilled into our heads that we were unreliable, that trusting our gut could be catastrophic. The first practical exercise in the NSET training program is called “the egg”. It’s a sensory deprivation tank. You feel weightless, with no light, no ambient temperature, no sound. It starts by feeling liberating. The mind is free to wander, to contemplate anything. People outside NSET use sensory deprivation tanks as a meditation aid or a brain-booster, but they get to control when they leave. The Egg isn’t something you pay for, or do to enhance your mind, or leave whenever you want. It’s a test and a demonstration. Some people lose it hard. They get transferred to a different branch of the Navy, or optioned to leave with no shame or dishonor, just getting admitted to NSET is an easy way to join a private spacer corp. NSET isn’t for everybody, and if you can’t handle The Egg, then nobody wants you on their NSET crew.

I didn’t fail The Egg, but I can understand why people do. When all the senses you rely on to provide information don’t have any information to provide, you start losing the more esoteric senses supported by the main five. First, you lose your sense of form as your body dissolves into the nothingness surrounding you. Next, you lose your sense of space entirely, if you don’t have a being, a shape, then how can you know anything to be anywhere? Without space, you lose time. Some people, particularly those living with mental conditions like ADHD or depression can already have a loose grasp of time, but even the most neurotypical hard-ass king of punctuality starts losing their sense of time.

Then, The Egg opens. The light is disorienting, sounds are suddenly back, and you have a shape, a form, a place, there are things happening, which means that time works again. Then comes the question: “How long were you in there?”. Nobody answers that one correctly.

Two days can’t be right. The oxygen and battery indicators haven’t even gone down to 75 percent.

You should not trust your intuition, your internal senses to make decisions for the entire space ship. That is the constant lesson at NSET training. There are tips and mental exercises to help with some of the shortcomings our minds have, but our instruments are always the key. We go back into The Egg on a routine basis, and now that we know what’s coming for us in the prolonged sensory deprivation, we can react. Focus on your breathing, your heartrate, your fingers and toes. Move periodically to pull yourself back into awareness of your body. The heart is not a good clock, but it’s better than no clock. Count your pulse to use it as a rudimentary timepiece. Don’t go with your initial gut feeling. Instead, if everything else is going wrong, think about the information you have available for two minutes and then check your gut. If you’re only given a second to answer, you think the sun goes around the earth, but with two minutes you’ll know that the earth moves around the sun.

Everybody is trained in every function of the ship. There are specializations, but we aren’t running routine trade routes to Mars or microgravity mining operations. NSET’s goals are to travel to the great beyond, past the Oort cloud and set courses to new solar systems. The ships have the latest technology, the best drives, and the best crews.

I’m ostensibly a navigator, helping track progress and plot courses as we travel further than any human ever has. However, if need be, I can pilot the ship, rebuild the reactor, maintain environmental controls and life support, and repair damage to the ship’s hull.

With new drive technology and a different goal in mind, we surpassed the limit of Voyager 1 as the farthest human-made object from earth in just eighteen months. 

The time doesn’t make sense, the O2 and electric readings don’t make sense, checking trajectories. Which way am I headed?

The sun is nothing but the brightest star now, out of millions visible to my naked eye. My repair mission timer is reading three days now. The ship is long gone, I don’t know how I got separated but I did. I’ve been using every trick in the book, but staying out here is almost worse than The Egg. Three days doesn’t make any sense. I had O2 and suit systems batteries good for a five hour repair shift. I started using my heartbeat as a timer, I counted to 3600 beats, an hour, and the gauges haven’t moved, not since I left the ship. 

I’m not cold, but that’s not surprising. The one-second gut reaction is that I should be solid ice by now, but space doesn’t work like that. Heat transfer occurs through three mechanisms: convection, conduction, and radiation. Convection requires a moving fluid, and conduction requires a contact with a surface at a different temperature. The void of space requires neither. The suit is designed to minimize radiation heat loss, so I’m keeping a level temperature, especially now that I’m not exerting myself. I’ll be warm for a long time after I die out here.

I do have to keep myself moving, minimally at least. If I stay still for too long, I can feel myself becoming the universe. My arms and legs melt out from me and start spinning outward and outward. My chest becomes so bright and before I know it I am the universe, I have no form, I have no volume or dimension and I become the galaxy around me, until my suit beeps, or an itch develops on my skin and I snap back into myself, and now the repair mission timer reads four days. Oxygen at 75%, battery at 75%. 

In calculus, when the teacher was repeating subjects to the rest of the class that I already understood, I would contemplate infinity. Calculus deals often with infinity and zero, and I would contemplate just how large infinity was. I would try to fit it into the room with me. Over there, in a corner, there’s a tiny speck. That speck contains all human knowledge. I make it just a little bit larger and add another infinity inside the infinite volume of the room. I add all the functions that have a derivative, the speck grows infinitessimally. I add all the functions for which no symbolic integral exists, the speck grows less. This whole vast room is everything we don’t know and do know and even then it’s merely vast, not infinite. Now I’m experiencing just how wrong I was. Infinity stretches out from me in all directions and I cannot see all of it. The stars slowly rotate around me and maybe if I had a really good fifty-foot ladder I could climb up that and touch them. 

I’m traveling at close to a million kilometers every hour, every 3600 heartbeats, more or less. I may as well be going nowhere. The stars aren’t changing, nothing is changing. I’m only going a million kilometers an hour compared to earth. There are all kinds of things that I’m traveling slower than, or I’m in lockstep with. Motion is relative, distance is relative. I don’t have instruments that can tell me where I’m headed or how quickly, or if anything is coming.

Day five, and I remember that I haven’t had a drink of water since before I left. Two hours before I left I took final hydration, then I peed before getting in the suit because I hate peeing in the suit. I haven’t peed either, I haven’t felt the need. Haven’t taken a shit. Haven’t felt the need.

I flex my fingers and toes. Then I roll my head and smile and frown and squint and stick my tongue out. I say a few words, mostly to practice words.

The word “planet” is ancient greek for “traveler”. Technically, then, everybody on the ship is a planet, the ship itself is a planet, and I’ve somehow become a planet all my own. I’d have to call myself a rocky planet. I have a crust, and underneath that I’m liquid, and all my heat comes from the core of me. I haven’t eaten food in five days, either. No food, no water, oxygen at 75%, battery at 75%.

It took me a while to notice the dark spot in the sky. The void of stars, where there was nothingness. There hadn’t been nothingness there before but now there is. Day five and a half, another star just vanished behind the penumbra. A rogue planet, it must be. I’m traveling so fast compared to earth, I’m probably still going pretty fast compared to this rogue planet as well. I’m on a pretty direct approach with this black nothingness. Not a black hole, there’s no accretion disc, there’s no gravitational lensing, just black. A dark planet just as lost as I am. I wonder if I set foot on it, will it drain all my heat through my feet and leave me a frozen husk in an instant? Will I be alive for long on this?

Strangely, I will be the first NSET crewmate to make physical contact with a planet not of our solar system.

I’m getting closer to the planet, I can feel something happening, a tug leading me to the planet. Two-second gut reaction is that I’m caught in the planet’s gravity. Two-minute gut reaction is that I won’t really feel the gravity until I’ve got something resisting me. I’m in freefall, but without an atmosphere there’s nothing to perceive the pull of gravity.

So why am I feeling this pulling force?

Just under half of my vision is complete void. In my slow spin I can see the stars in half the field of view, and the rest is simply blackness. I don’t have enough light to tell if anything is rushing up on me. I can’t tell how close the ground is now of this pitch-black planet.

Then, impact as my body touches the surface. Not feather-light and gentle, but not so hard it hurts. And then, I sink, and the cold rushes into my suit, and the blackness consumes me and I feel nothing once again.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 3,695 Warnings: Food, Food issues, Injury, Money Issues, Panic, Anxiety, Depression Characters: Roman, Thomas, Virgil Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Angst/Family

Chapter 18

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   Another day off seemed like overkill. So what if his feet weren’t fully healed? He had a pass for gym. He only had to be on his feet for 8 or so minutes an hour other than to and from school. Roman was getting sick of being home doing absolutely nothing. He should be doing chores or homework or something. He was going to be so freaking behind next Monday it would hurt. Roman shifted nervously on the couch in Thomas’s office and put down his book. He’d just been staring at the page for the last minute or two, anyway. Sometimes his thoughts ran away while he was reading and there was no point in fighting it.

   “You need something, Roman?” Thomas asked, not looking away from typing. Roman just grunted in response. He already knew how Thomas felt about this. There was no point in bringing it up again. They argued about it last night and this morning, too. He didn’t need any more recovery time. “Talk to me,” Thomas looked pointedly to Roman.

   “How about laundry, can I do my laundry? I’m basically out of clothes,” Roman asked, leaning back and looking at the ceiling with a huff. Thomas had to know he didn’t like being stuck in here.

   “I noticed. Not that the hot pink isn’t fetching, but I’m pretty certain if it were any shorter it’d be a crop top,” Thomas said a little sourly. Roman flushed and adjusted his jacket tighter over his torso in embarrassment, still minding his bruise. Admittedly, this shirt was pretty old. He usually only wore it under his black hoodie before he grew out of it. It only cost him $2 on clearance, so maybe he should just let this one go. Roman stared at the floor for a moment, considering it. He was wearing it now, so maybe it was still good as a back up shirt. “How about a compromise?” Thomas offered. Roman looked up in confusion to see Thomas raising his eyebrow.

   “What’s that?” Roman asked suspiciously.

   “I’ll let you do your laundry if you let me take transport the clothes themselves and you only handle the washing parts,” Roman groaned in annoyance, but Thomas didn’t stop. “And you tell me your clothes sizes and what you like to wear so we can order you some new clothes online,” Roman groaned louder and carefully crossed his arms. His ribs still hurt like the dickens. “It’s a great compromise,” Thomas said with a small smile, and Roman huffed dramatically.

   “It’s the worst compromise ever, that’s not balanced,” Roman rolled his eyes and flipped his hand dismissively.

   “What’s unbalanced about it?” Thomas asked curiously, tapping the desk.

   “I don’t-” Shit. Roman flushed harder and dropped his head. Another thing he and Thomas argued about. Roman thought Virgil was obstinate, but that was nothing compared to what he’d been putting Thomas and Patton through. Thomas stopped typing and raised an eyebrow again. Virgil was a walk in the park compared to Roman, and Virgil had real problems.

   “You don’t what?” Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow.

   “I don’t think it’s fair,” Roman said, dodging what he really felt with something that sounded nicer.

   “I don’t see anything unfair about it. In fact, I can do your laundry myself and I wouldn’t find it unfair. In my opinion, you shouldn’t do chores when you’re sick or recovering,” Thomas said plainly, but Roman didn’t miss that swift, meaningful look. God damnit. He was superb at this. Maybe that’s what was unfair. Roman didn’t have a response, so he just looked away. “Both parties make compromises, Roman. You have to tell me what you object to so we can negotiate a better agreement,” Thomas added after the lengthy pause.

   “I’m okay with you taking the laundry basket up and down the stairs,” Roman muttered, conceding a point to Thomas. He didn’t want the basket to bump his rib on the stairs, and he could live with that.

   “That’s good to hear. So you don’t want to tell me what kind of clothes you want?” Thomas asked. Roman didn’t reply or look Thomas in the eye. “You’d rather shop in-store? I’m sorry, you’ve got to keep off your feet a little longer. They were bleeding again last night,” Roman motioned down at his feet.

   “I know,” Roman mumbled.

   “So, what’s wrong with shopping online? If we order a size up from the stuff you’re currently wearing we should be okay, and we can return everything that doesn’t fit,” Thomas said. Roman turned his head away. He hated not answering as much as he hated feeling like this. “It’s the money again, isn’t it?” Thomas asked after a moment, realizing the problem after a moment of deliberation.

   “Clothes are just so expensive,” Roman grumbled, looking down to the floor.

   “How about you pick out some things you like from photos, and I’ll order something like it? You’ll never have to see the price,” Thomas offered.

   “There’s still money being spent,” Roman sighed, fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.

   “You will rip out of that t-shirt if you stretch, Roman. You clearly need new clothes,” Thomas motioned to Roman’s shirt.

   “That would be kind of cool if I could. I’m not nearly strong enough,” Roman poked his bicep absentmindedly. He never really managed a lot of muscle mass as much as he’d like to be stronger. When he was a kid, he and Remus must have been strong since they were wrestling and throwing each other at their bed or the couch almost every day. They were the same size and could both lift the other pretty easily back in the day. They threw each other around for fun all the time. But they ate really well as kids, so that possibly helped. He still had fond memories of throwing a Remus who was screeching like a drake and bouncing off a couch cushion and cackling after landing on the floor.

   “So?” Thomas urged him, not letting Roman distract himself from the subject. Roman sighed and sat up straighter. He was happy to get sucked into a nice memory for once. He probably needed clothes.

   “Yeah, okay. Can you just… not order too much?” Roman pleaded, looking to Thomas nervously.

   “How much is too much?” Thomas asked, leaning back and watching Roman keenly.

   “Fifty bucks?” Roman offered meekly.

   “I’d have to find a serious clearance if that’s the case. I can try, but it’s not that realistic,” Thomas frowned and shook his head.

   “… Around sixty bucks?” Roman tried again.

   “We’re not accepting your allowance for clothes, just so I’m clear,” Thomas said, looking a little intense. Fuck. Okay. Roman scratched his head roughly with both hands in stress. “Hey, stop!” Thomas said loudly and Roman froze with his eyes wide. “Take a deep breath for me,” Roman slowly lowered his arms and complied.

   “Sorry,” Roman muttered. He didn’t realize what he was doing until Thomas stopped him.

   “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. Are you okay with under 70 dollars of clothes? Do you think you could keep it together if I stick to that amount?” Thomas asked gently, not sounding pleased.

   “Yeah, probably,” Roman said and sighed, looking straight ahead into the living room despondently.

   “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Can you e-mail me a Pinterest board or something with styles you like?” Thomas requested and turned to his computer for a moment.

   “I’ve never really looked before,” Roman said uncertainly. He always just bought off the clearance rack or took whatever his foster parents chose for him.

   “How about you just tell me things you like in clothes and then I can help you narrow it down?” Thomas asked, motioning the concept with his hands.

   “I’ve distracted you enough from work as it is,” Roman objected, leaning back again.

   “I’m taking a break, like healthy people should do periodically through the day,” Thomas said. Roman wasn’t sure, but he may have gotten roasted? The audacity. It was ridiculous to him that he was taking all this time off when he was the one who fucked up.

   “Okay. Um. Soft material. Not too tight. Stuff that breathes. No shorts,” Roman suggested, listing off things he preferred.

   “Like athletic wear?” Thomas tried to clarify.

   “Sure, as long as it’s not too loose or scratchy. I like room to move in things but I don’t like lots of extra material,” Roman explained, and it felt like he was explaining it poorly. Thomas nodded, though.

   “I think just buying clothes that actually fit will solve that problem. Do you have a shirt cut you like?” Thomas continued questioning.

   “V-neck or low. Not crew, please, I don’t like things touching my neck. Um, fitted, I guess. I like wearing jackets since they keep the school so cold,” Roman said nervously. He didn’t like admitting he had such an easy to take advantage of weakness, but he hoped Thomas wouldn’t utilize it or spread it. If Thomas wasted money on clothes Roman couldn’t stomach putting on he’d feel much worse than he already did.

   “That explains why some of your shirt collars are stretched out,” Thomas muttered under his breath. “What about colors?” Thomas asked, sounding much more interested.

   “Oh, um… Red’s my favourite color, but I’m not particularly against any color that isn’t like puke brown. I like bright tops and dark bottoms, if I had to be specific. Easier to clean,” Roman said.

   “Do you like any clothing styles? Like Virgil enjoys more emo styles and Patton likes to dress preppier?”

   “I’ve never worn anything but generic stuff. But I like something that looks put-together. Not like suit-and-tie fancy, but maybe… I don’t know how to explain it…” Roman trailed off. “Cool, but not in your face about it?”

   “Like you’re maybe a YA protagonist?” Thomas suggested with a small grin.

   “Yeah!” Roman said excitedly. “Like I’m going to save the world or something,” Roman smiled lightly and his brain wandered off for a moment with ideas.

   “Sure, I can work with that. Probably nothing too flashy, right?” Thomas asked, yanking him back to reality quickly. Thomas looked pretty pleased for some reason.

   “No, I don’t need more reasons to be bullied,” Roman said dourly.

   “Noted,” Thomas said warily. “Do you think you could give me a little more leeway on the money? So I can get you a jacket that maybe implies you’re leading a rebellion?” Thomas asked carefully, but the way he described the potential jacket was very tempting.

   “That would be-” Roman started automatically replying with excitement and cut himself off. Wait, shit, money, fuck, no-

   “Drop your hands, Roman,” Thomas said firmly. Roman looked to them, not realizing he’d raised them again, and dropped them to grip the couch, feeling embarrassed.

   “I promise I’ll keep it a reasonable amount, just a little extra money to buy another jacket,” Thomas offered. “If you say no, I won’t buy anything else other than the essentials,” Thomas added, sounding very considerate. Roman swallowed. It would make Thomas happy, right? Roman has been doing nothing but pissing him off for days. Roman doesn’t deserve any of this, but Thomas doesn’t deserve to be pissed off more, either. This trashfire of a situation was conflicting.

   “If… yeah, okay. Another jacket is okay,” Roman conceded quietly, still holding the couch cushions tightly.

   “Hold on a sec, keep gripping those cushions,” Thomas said, getting up from his desk, looking like an idea struck him. Roman looked at him in confusion, and Thomas left the room. He came back a minute later with a pair of thin leather gloves and tossed them at Roman. “If you put those on, I’ll let you play games on the TV,” Thomas said, sounding proud of himself.

   “You’re kidding,” Roman mumbled, picking up the gloves slowly.

   “I’ll feel better,” Thomas said, almost airily. Roman slid them on. “If I had to guess you’re too distracted to read, but that game you were playing the other day is good at keeping your attention. And I don’t want you to accidentally see me shopping and get concerned. We’ll deal with making sure you’re okay when it gets here. I don’t want you obsessing over it,” Thomas said. “I’ll keep an eye on the clock for you, so you can just focus on playing the game,” That would be cool. He still felt like shit about taking all this time off and then Thomas buying him more stuff. But Thomas was right that he didn’t think he could manage to read anymore, and maybe he’d freak out if just watched TV.

   “Can we do that compromise thing? Y’know, again?” Roman asked wearily.

   “What do you propose?” Thomas leaned back in his desk chair.

   “You let me do some homework later, so I can feel better about playing video games when I have so much to do?” Roman requested nervously.

   “Would you be willing to accept help with it? I’ve seen all the chewed up pencils in your room,” Thomas suggested, looking interested in the opportunity.

   “I guess?” Roman agreed, a little confused. Roman was just dumb and nervous. A little help probably wouldn’t change much. They’d probably get sick of trying quickly, like most others. But as long as they didn’t rub in how bad at homework he was, Roman didn’t mind.

   “All right, I’m okay with that,” Thomas held out his arm and helped Roman up off the couch. He didn’t like being babied like this, but his feet hurt. The gash on his right foot didn’t like to stay closed if Roman wasn’t super careful. He must have stepped on a broken beer bottle or something. Thomas helped Roman to the living room and sat down on the couch, letting Roman finish setting things up and sit down on his own. Thomas chucked the afghan at him as the game was loading up, and Roman wrapped it around his shoulders.

   Roman wasn’t sure for how long Thomas watched him, but he did eventually leave back to work in his office with the door open after a trip upstairs for something. Roman appreciated being given the space. He hadn’t gotten much since Wednesday. It was basically just at bed time he was left alone. And he sometimes spiraled at bedtime and probably wouldn’t mind someone there telling him it’d be fine and he didn’t need to run into the night. Not that Roman believed people when they said that, or anything, but he wouldn’t mind it. But being alone was better than Thomas sitting there watching while he waited for Roman to fall asleep or something. And if Roman hurt himself again, Thomas might. He was very on-edge about it. Which Roman couldn’t decide if that was kind of nice of him or annoying? He had been leaning towards annoying, but with the living room to himself and a sword in hand he was much less dissatisfied. He happily quested on in the game and got sucked up into it.

   “Roman?” Thomas tried to get his attention, but Roman was busy fighting off a demon bear and didn’t look.

   “Hm?” Roman made a noise of acknowledgment but barely noticed Thomas’s presence.

   “Roman. I need you to pause it,” Thomas said firmly. Roman huffed and got one more hit in before pausing the game.

   “Yeah?” Roman looked to Thomas, leaning back towards feeling like this was annoying. “I haven’t taken the gloves off or my hands off the controller, I swear,” Roman said, showing Thomas his still glove-clad hands.

   “No, this isn’t about that. Though, that’s comforting to hear. That was the doctor’s office calling. They got back to me with your results. You do have a fracture on your ribs,” Thomas said, sounding a little unsettled. Roman didn't remember hearing the phone ring, but he wasn't surprised at the news. The pain was pretty familiar at this point.

   “Oh. Um, what does that mean?” Roman asked nervously.

   “Well, we’ll need to make a few lifestyle changes. Start taking vitamins with breakfast, sleeping on your back and not your side, and there’s a 6-week checkup. There’s also some exercises you’ll have to do after it’s less painful,” Thomas listed off the things.

   “Um, all right,” Roman swallowed nervously. He rolled a lot in his sleep. He was very aware of this fact because it hurt like a bitch and kept waking him up, lately. The other stuff didn’t sound so bad, but he was scared of fucking up that in particular. He had no qualms with vitamins or exercises, and if Thomas stayed with him at the doctor’s again he could put up with it.

   “I asked, and you can’t run, so you’ll have to hold off on joining that club until you’re cleared for strenuous exercise again. If you want to walk Lita after your feet heal, you’ll also have to actually walk,” Thomas finished. He wasn’t going to join that club anyway, so it wasn’t really a major loss. Causing them even more trouble after the giant mess he made was not happening if Roman could possibly stop it.

   “Oh, well, that’s a bummer. I kinda like going for a run with her,” Roman said, feeling disappointed. He enjoyed sprinting with that little speed demon and watching her little tongue bob while she attempted the break the sound barrier.

   “With some effort, it won’t be that long until you can again. I’ll try to pick up the slack and get faster so she doesn’t get mad,” Thomas chuckled slightly. “The muffins I made earlier are now a safe temperature to eat,” He added offhandedly.

   “You made muffins?” Roman asked curiously. Thomas paused for a moment, considering Roman.

   “I made them while you’re playing. They’re chocolate chip if you want one,” Thomas said offered, looking bemused.

   “I, uh, now that I smell them, they smell amazing,” Roman said kind of sheepishly. The game must have sucked him in hardcore to not smell the chocolate and cinnamon in the air until now.

   “I’ll get you one with some milk,” Thomas said, heading into the kitchen. Thomas came back with the muffin on a little plate and a small glass of milk. Roman looked nervously at Thomas while he took the plate. He had done nothing all day. He didn’t earn anything, especially not treats. But it smelled good, and Thomas watched him expectantly. He didn’t want to push it again. Roman took a bite of the muffin. It was still warm, so the chocolate was melty and wonderful. Roman ate it probably a little too fast and downed his milk.

   “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Thomas chuckled and took Roman’s dishes. “You can go back to playing now. Thanks for taking the news in stride,” Thomas beamed proudly. “Try not to slouch,” Thomas said cheerily and waved as he retreated to the kitchen. Roman took as deep a breath as he could manage without hurting himself, straightened his back, and unpaused the game. He was having trouble focusing on it, though, as hard as he tried.

   It was a great muffin. He did nothing to get such a great muffin. Maybe he could do something later to make himself feel better? Roman leaned back slightly. Thomas waved at him with a small smile as he sat back at his desk. Thomas was definitely, absolutely watching. Thomas was clear he didn’t want Roman to do anything. But that just didn’t sit right with Roman.

   The muffin sat on his stomach oddly, and he felt sick. Roman knew it wasn’t really the muffin, and it frustrated him that he couldn’t even manage to do something like eating without fucking it up. Roman sighed and paused the game again, setting the controller down. He slowly moved to get up. Thomas hopped up and was at his side in a second, and Roman begrudgingly took the help.

   “Are you okay?” Thomas asked. Roman closed his eyes and breathed.

   “Yeah,” Roman said softly. “Bathroom,” Thomas helped Roman over to the downstairs restroom, and he walked in and shut the door behind him. Roman turned on the water and just watched it run for a moment before splashing water on his face. He shut the water off and gripped the countertop, watching water from his face drip into the drain. He suddenly felt exhausted. And standing on his feet hurt. Roman pat his face dry and came back out of the bathroom. Thomas walked back over to him and helped him over to the game controller again.

   “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re looking kind of pale,” Thomas said, looking at Roman with concern.

   “Yeah,” Roman muttered.

   “Yeah, you agree you’re looking pale? Let me help you lie down on the couch instead,” Thomas offered and pivoted.

   “Okay,” Roman whispered. Thomas helped him over to the couch and Roman laid down with no argument. Thomas draped the afghan over him from the floor.

   “I’ll save and quit this for you,” Thomas said and picked up the controller off the floor. “Do you want to watch something? Virgil will be home soon, maybe there’s something you can watch together,” Thomas suggested gently.

   “You don’t have to bother him. I’ll keep the gloves on and stuff,” Roman said quietly. Thomas finished and put the controller up and came over to touch Roman’s forehead with the back of his palm.

   “You’re kind of clammy, Roman,” Thomas said. “Let me get you a thicker blanket,” Thomas turned around quickly and opened up an ottoman against the wall, and he pulled out a large quilt and layered it over the afghan. Roman grabbed the edge and blinked slowly. Roman was just so sick of himself. Thomas passed Roman the remote, but Roman didn’t take it, shaking his head slightly. He just felt so done with everything. His eyes got kind of heavy and Roman exhaled slowly. He didn’t realize he was so tired. Tired of his shit? Tired of himself? Or did he just sleep like shit again? He wasn’t sure. He just knew he hurt, and closing his eyes sounded nice.

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15  @ollyollyoxinfree

the taglist repository:

High school:  @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra  @potatsanderssides

Roman Angst:  @k1ngtok1

Hurt Comfort:  @callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123

Roman-Centric:  @smileyzs  @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd

Fostering AU:  @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll

literally everything sanders sides:  @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun  @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven  @ananonsplace

[ddaenghoney]

chapter two

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): minor intoxication, .

Word count: 5421

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

In the tiny meeting room, you scribble a few notes into a crummy notebook close to the end of untarnished pages. The four other girls are mostly talkative, casual as they look over the two songs found into their group’s use after Jimin’s crew decided against them and to pass on. You care little of the fact, honestly agreeing with the better suitability of the particular songs aligning to this group’s upcoming softer, warmer, early-spring concept.

Their manager exited already, leaving them to utilize the space for lunch while he handled other miscellaneous affairs.

“Ms. Y/N,” Your eyes met the youngest member as she leaned her head closer to the table so you would pay attention to her words. “Are you going to the club later too?” Your eyebrows furrow at the title, wondering why it would not leave no matter how many people you told to remove the formality.

“Doubt it.” You shrug, then tense as the leader of the group makes a shocked gasp, her long black hair whipping as she turns and faces you.

“What? But I wanted to buy you a drink for helping us so much.” She frowns. The expression is joined by the member sitting beside her equally upset. You glance between the two, then the youngest, and the one beside you.

“I,” You pause, thinking of an excuse other than not being interested in seeing Jimin interact with everyone as if he didn’t know you as more than a friend in the company.

“You,” The girl beside you grips on your shoulder, overtaking the sentence, “Could tag along with us.” She smiles meaningfully, and your lips tighten into a line. Frankly you assumed no one would question the absence, seeing as their had yet to be a question to you joining in the nightlife excursion beyond Jimin’s half-hearted inquisition. “Our makeup artist was going to help us get ready here at the company; I bet she’ll do your makeup too, if you want?”

An assistant enters after a knock, arms weighted from two large bags full of food. He sets it down and leaves, waving off the thanks from the members who immediately begin unpackaging.

“It’ll be fun; a lot of new people from the merger are going,” The youngest member explains to you as if creating reasoning for you to agree. She opens the top on a container of freshly cut fruit, and leans it in your direction. You gently shake your head smiling at the offer,

“I don’t know. I haven’t really had a weekend without doing things for work in a while.”

“Even more of a reason!” The leader nods at you with her cheek stuffed with a bite of a large wrap. “Perfect opportunity to let loose and have fun. Besides you’re a writer, I’m sure it’ll be a great way to get inspired, right?”

“I want to get into songwriting too.” The youngest member says across from you. Her other members make dramatic sounds before bumping into each other's' sentences to support her idea, a couple of mutterings here or there about wishing to do the same.

You wonder about it for a moment, trying to recall the amount of songs artists of the company wrote for themselves. You visualize a disparity in the actual self-sufficiency of them all. To the media, it is perceived that the idols contribute greatly, highlighted by the falsified credentials. Really though, most of the production isn’t up to them; across the board you can only think of a few artists or groups who did more of their own work than not. But they are the minor profiles of the company.

Stepping up from your seat, you collect your notebooks into your bag. “I’m going to head out; text me if you guys have any more comments on ideas you want to see in potential comebacks.”

“Wait, you’re not going to eat?” The member sitting beside you gestures her utensil to the food prepared. It wasn’t ordered for you in the first place, and considering how much these girls work on their performance aspect, you didn’t want to take the calories from them.

“No, I ate breakfast late, so it’s fine.” You wave to them as you walk to the door, trying to reply to their goodbyes with some of your own. Happy you avoided the topic of the club, but contemplative of the lingering thoughts building in your head about their desires to try and create songs independently.

They would undoubtedly need to okay from the company for any production to happen, but did the same need to be said of yourself?

“Oh, good timing,” The door shuts behind you as a voice to your left calls out. Turning to the person, you catch your sight instantly on light blonde locks arranged in slight waves on top of Min Yoongi’s head. They were black days before when you bumped into him last. “Can you give me a hand with this?”

You become aware of the box he’s balancing in one hand and the cylindrical container tucked under the other arm. Though the idea of help isn’t foreign, you can’t help but glance past yourself to see if he was talking to someone else. “Uh, yeah sure,” You agree, reaching as he gives you the light, lengthy container. “I’m sorry for bumping into you the other day, by the way.”

“Oh, was that you?” Yoongi asks you as you follow his pace down the hall, the box repositioned in front of his torso now. The words are calm, genuine in the lack of memory. Somehow the fact makes you nibble the side of your tongue while your gaze hardens in consideration towards the back of his head. A pair of headphones are useless around his neck, bumping into the subtle bounce of his hair with each step. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably busy running around this place all day.”

You wonder if Yoongi remembers any other times you had interacted with one another. The very first time he seemed more reclusive than how he is in front of you now. During a tour of the building with his shoes following the CEO and her assistant around, you remember their group intersecting with you and Jimin moments before you left that day. He only said a greeting to you both then, despite the clear desire made by Yerin for more casual conversation to occur between Yoongi, his previous company’s golden face, and Jimin who ranks high in the charts since his debut as well.

“So,” Your mouth opens in the quiet that begins to feel uncomfortable when your memory paints the picture of his evasive hardened expression during that first interaction. An attempt to try and patch up any awkwardness that you got around him came out as you asked with an uncertain tone, “This place nicer than the last building?”

Yoongi doesn’t reply right away, not even with a nonverbal queue. You begin thinking he ignored you, especially because your walk behind him led you with no way to see an expression. With that in mind, you look down at the object he asked you to carry along, contemplating an apology for no reason.

“It’s hard to remember the layout.” Yoongi speaks thoughtfully, and you look back up at him. “I guess that’s just because I’m used to the old place.” His voice drifts with that line, softer and if you let yourself assume you would say he seems downcast. “My studio’s bigger here though.” In a way it sounds like he’s weighing his pros to the cons, only happenstance allowing his statement to be timed as an answer to your inquiry. “Ah, but this place isn’t bad.” A cover-up. Quicker spoken than before and Yoongi glances back towards you as his pace slows slightly. He speaks when you reach his side, “Have you worked here long?”

“I guess almost five years at this point.” You answer absently, curious about the change in his replies along the way. Yoongi nods, looking ahead as he comments,

“Long time. Assistants are treated pretty well here, huh?”

You stop in his tracks as the words flow in your ears. Yoongi continues one, two more steps then pauses as well, turning back to face you. Confusion growing in the furrow of his brows and slightly pouting lip. Your expression is certainly incredulous, and you almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of his perspective. “I’m not an assistant.”

His lips part to speak, but he doesn’t, pondering what about the misunderstanding was causing your face to become visibly frustrated, and your tone to become entirely vexed. Nevertheless, Yoongi faces you properly, bowing his head a little as he speaks, “Ah, I’m sorry. I guess because I always see you with the artists, I thought you were.”

His explanation is fair and you know it. That irritates you the most. Your grip on his item grows more forceful from the frustration, but you sigh to release the senseless anger aiming at his innocent container.

“Then,” Yoongi begins again, though your gaze drifting towards the floor between you both makes him wish he stopped before the next innocent question drifts from his mouth, “Are you dating Jimin-”

“No.” You’re quick to deflate the claim. Yoongi pauses at the rather loud statement that cut into Jimin’s name matching the glare in your eyes when they flick back to him. Your head shakes and you continue walking, “Where’s your studio?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you; I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing. You wouldn’t know, why would you?” You ramble, eyes searching from plaque to plaque as if you also forgot the layout of the company. “I work here, though. I’m not some random person.” You felt a strong desire to yell the fact, or throw the cylinder in your hand if only to release how annoying it is that he, or anyone, has no reason or way to know whom you are.

“Ah, so,” Yoongi’s stuttering slightly as he thinks of something to say that won’t further serve to irritate you, “What do you do here then?” He briefly considers the idea that you are someone incredibly important and perhaps even someone he should not be acting so casually with, but your abrupt groan pushes him against that. If only because you seem genuinely unable to answer him, but Yoongi couldn’t think of a reason why.

The companies merged, you know that, and Yoongi would be under every legal obligation to not blab to the public about your position as a prominent songwriter in the company that is to remain unnamed in every way. However, you don’t want to say it. In your mind every thought wishes he already knows about you, but that is completely unfair considering reality.

“This one’s your studio?” You come across the door with a scribbled paper taped to it reading SUGA. The design clearly short-term, but as long as you could get away from the embarrassment of having to explain your stupidity in how you are involved with the company, you don’t care. “I help in song production.”

Yoongi notices the spite in your statement, but doesn’t comment on the fact as you place his packaged artwork against the wall. The corner of his lip bunches back into his cheek in consideration, but you’re oblivious to his visible discomfort of how he has upset you. He watches you stare at the stage name presented on the door to signify it being his space and wonders why he believes he sees a longing in your eyes.

“Thanks for helping me.” Yoongi says instead of anything else. He doesn’t know you. It’s not his place, and frankly not something he feels the need to bother with. Considering the amount of unloading that remains to make this place feel anything remotely like the last, he would rather the situation end. In any case, he figures that you want him to stop talking about anything regarding you any further.

You only nod losing focus of the room he has earned with a title to prove it as you glimpse back towards Yoongi to offer a small polite smile. You wave your hand and say goodbye, feigning the energy of contentment and hoping none of the envy prickling in your chest pokes through your irises. If it does, Yoongi doesn’t mention it and begins entering into his studio after you walk back from where you came from.

The second time in the same week that you can’t speak properly for yourself and it has your throat teeming with frustration. Maybe Namjoon is right, maybe you should leave once the contract is over. But then what? You’re in the elevator staring at the number listing the floor become lower. If you leave you’re sure to start from the ground up with nothing able to go on your resume other than vague mentions of song production like you mentioned to Yoongi. Sure, you could dress the phrasing and use the five years to make it sound moderately impressive, but why should you?

The glistening tiles you step on in this building that everyone moved into a year and a half ago were purchased through your efforts. The songs that chart, the artists that are gaining acclaim with every passing day, even the mixing on a good number of songs were all thanks to you. SoundWave Entertainment’s drastic rise in success is due to a handful of people, but you’re one of them. The world just didn’t know that.

What would happen if they did?

“You’ll get sued.” Namjoon’s voice is flat through the speaker. You scoff at the fact, blending foundation while trying not to glare at your reflection. “Sorry,” Now sheepish, but unapologetic despite his words. Realistic. “Even if you tell the press afterwards, I don’t think another company would pick you up-”

“Why?” You interrupt actually shocked at him then. You wait for Namjoon to answer while he’s clearly drifted into telling one of his employees something about a reservation for the following week.

“Even if you’re in the right to have everyone know you wrote all of those songs-- produced some entirely too,” Namjoon begins again calmly, though he’s drawing scribbles on the margin of his calendar while he explains his perception. “If you’re the one who talks to the media about it, any other company is going to think you’re unloyal. Also, you’re going to lose your royalties from all the stuff you’ve made because that’s a part of the deal. You can’t say anything.”

There’s silence that follows. Namjoon allows you to have it, knowing his words didn’t set you at ease or uplift you in the slightest. But with you starting the call by telling him you intend to go to the club party this evening, he feels like you shouldn’t go in completely impulsive. Especially with how set against the event you had been up until that phone call.

“Start over completely then, huh?” Rhetorical tone. Sadder too. Namjoon frowns at his desk. “It’s what I get for signing the contract then. I just wanted something to help with college crap, and look where it got me.” He listens to you sigh, tapping the tip of his pen on the square in the calendar for the current day.

“Yerin took advantage of you.” His voice is icy; conviction unwavering for if you try to give yourself anymore blame. “It’s not like you won’t get work elsewhere.” A pause because he knows the idea implies practically starting over just as you said. “Or… You could try getting the contract adjusted when it’s time to renew.”

“What if,” You dip a small brush against a shade of eyeshadow. Your voice is deceptively calm given the severity of your sentence, “She won’t even want to renew?”

“Why?” Now Namjoon is thrown off from your words. He couldn’t remember a story about yourself in the company that could logically warrant dropping you.

“Min Yoongi works there now too.” You pause before beginning to apply the eyeshadow. His repertoire crosses through your mind. “Songwriter, producer,” You scoff, “Plus he’s actually an idol.”

“He’s not going to let them use any of his stuff without credit though.” Namjoon cancels the worry he hears seeping into your voice. “They’ll still want their idols to look self-sufficient and he’s not going to play along with no credit. You know what he’s like.”

Namjoon is referring to the stoic persona pictured in magazines, and the straight-forward answers in interviews. The captionless posts on Instagram, and passively-aggressive tweets. The newly bleached hair that you believe will look just as imposing in paparazzi shots as his previously black style.

You consider the instant apologies Yoongi gave you hours earlier and the thanks. You remember him trying, and failing, to change the topic of conversation into something that would even out your lowering disposition.

“Yeah, I doubt he’d let them walk all over him.” You murmur, recollecting your thoughts to finish your makeup. “It’s just me that didn’t consider the long-term problems in that contract.” You’re laughing cynically while Namjoon audibly huffs on the other side. Slapping the palette shut, you scoot the chair of your desk back and rise. “I’m no doubt going to end up at your place sometime tonight.”

“I’ll let you use the bed instead of Jin then.” Namjoon says already imagining the ear full to be received from Seokjin at the prospect. The bed in question is still in a couch-form across the room from Namjoon. “Call me if anything weird happens, okay?”

“I will.” You leave the phone on your desk, calling loudly as you step away to the closet.

“And,” Namjoon hesitates, biting his lip. The tension doesn’t lessen when you ask him what he wanted. “Don’t let anything about Jimin get you down tonight, if you can avoid it.”

You pull out the dress to wear as Namjoon’s request completes. His tone is utterly soft and you know it comes from the best intentions, but it scrapes your ears to hear it. Namjoon likes Jimin, knows you like Jimin too much, and doesn’t like the relationship you and Jimin have. Believes it won’t work for either of you with how it is. You waver in agreement, but you always tell him it’s nothing to worry about.

“Doubt I’ll even run into him. People to impress and all.” You don’t specify, but Namjoon rightfully assumes you’re referring to Jimin.

Like other parties organized by SoundWave, there’s some chaos going on outside of the club. Under the cold December air, eager partygoers arrange themselves in the queue, groups of friends huddled closer to shield from any brisk air. You imagine by midnight the majority of those unable to get in will have left to other venues, but you unfortunately don’t think the same for the few cameramen set up around the street. They’re hoping for something scandalous as if they forgot the whole event is sponsored by an idol company; it’s ridiculous to assume anything surprising will happen where all the celebrities are aware of their presence.

You pass the queue on the sidewalk, clutch in hand while you hurry from the taxi to indoors where it’ll undoubtedly be warmer than outside. Your name is on the list and you roll your eyes at the fact that this is the extent of where your reputation gets broadcasted. Disregarding any of the questioning voices from those around you, you simply walk inside and let them assume whatever about your identity in relationship to the celebrity world. The coat counter is a small mess of people trying to sign in their items, and you’re grateful that you opted against the outerwear.

“Y/N!” Your eyes don’t have time to survey the colorful, loud room before a familiar voice catches your focus. Seokjin waves at you while exiting from behind the main bar, keeping his clear drink level as he meets you. “You did show up after all, huh?” He halfway hugs you, then begins in the walk back towards the bar, sipping gingerly at his martini.

“You know, I get impulsive when I’m spiteful.” You say jovially, smiling when the words cause him to laugh.

“Like when you dyed your hair because I joked-- very jokingly said I couldn’t imagine you doing it.” He shakes his head when you nod proudly at the memory, though the blue lasted about a month before you needed to go to a hairdresser to fix that mess you made. “What’ll you have? Remember you don’t have to pay for anything while you’re here-- well, don’t get the giant bottles of champagne though, those things are kind of pricey.”

“I’m not trying to dry out your supply, don’t worry.” He gives you a thumbs up and goes to mix you a drink you didn’t specify but as he reaches for the bourbon, you know he remembers your usual anyways. You thank him for the icy drink then very gently clink yours to his and take a long sip. A small burn in the throat that’s mostly warm. “You see anyone interesting so far?”

“I don’t know.” Seokjin shrugs, setting his empty glass down and you watch it quickly be whisked away by a dishwashing employee. “I feel like celebrities start to all look the same when I’m here all the time.” He leans his elbows onto the counter, smirking softly as he speaks, “By the way, I’ve seen quite a few looks in your direction since you walked in. Winning outfit tonight.”

Seokjin’s coy expression grows into amusement when your eyes widen from his words. Your hands shift a bit tighter around your glass as the single piece of ice floats to the top. You glance over your shoulder in wonder, biting back any satisfaction from your expression, but Seokjin knows better. “Hey, quit playing it off; you know you look hot, I saw your instagram story post-”

“Can you not?” You laugh at him and he joins in. Fitting a thanks to a bartender that gave him a new martini, he continues in his laughter while you go on. “So you liked the picture, huh?”

“I sent you the heart emoji face.” He grins, content with your relaxation as you take another drink. You shrug off his words.

“Excuse me,” The familiarly light voice drifts in your senses, as the seat next to yours becomes occupied. Your eyes find Jimin’s as he makes himself comfortable. Dusty rose colored hair styled up out of his face, and his lips are as springlike when he smiles gently at you, then turns his attention to Seokjin. “Can I order a drink?”

“He’s the owner.”

“I’m the owner.” You and Seokjin speak over each other, making him scoff, then continue as Jimin’s obscured hand finds the top of your thigh where your dress ends. A beat in your heart feels heavier. “But yeah, I can get you something. Jimin, right?”

“Yeah, and thanks. Gin and tonic, please.” Jimin speaks respectfully, turning his hand upwards as yours searches for his. Seokjin casts you a glance, noticing your very small shrug, he walks down the bar refraining from laughter. “You came?” He turns on the stool to face you, letting his boot settle on the footrest of your seat beside your heel.

“You can see me can’t you?” Your teasing earns his hand to squeeze your own. The action creates a ripple in your chest, growing larger as Jimin smiles wider.

“Lovely, don’t tease me. I’m just happy you’re here; I didn’t think you’d come.” You nod, but think against telling him about the reasoning behind your change of mind.

“Just thought why not.” You say simply, biting your lip as Seokjin places a drink beside Jimin. Seokjin then points his middle and index fingers to his eyes then towards you as he steps off once more.

“Did I interrupt something potential?” Jimin asks you catching the final bit of the actions. His tone is slightly lower than before, clearly curious above all.

“Friend of mine.” You settle any of his worries, even though there isn’t a defined obligation to do so. Jimin raises an eyebrow, surprised for a moment before eventually nodding,

“Ah, that’s right. Jin is this Seokjin.” He continues to nod, rubbing his neck with his hand sheepishly. You smirk softly and he sees it. “What?”

“Jealous?” Your tone drips with a joking sound, to ensure him that he didn’t need to take you seriously, but a piece of you hopes he would.

“Not jealous,” He says easily, eyes drifting to his untouched drink and you nod. As expected. “Maybe if he made you laugh longer.” You look at him. His expression is contemplative towards his drink. Calm, but something about it feels feigned. Jimin finds your eyes, losing himself for a second in the focus of your own. He scoots towards you, knee grazing yours as his face leans to speak tiny vibrations to your ear, “Why don’t we go to the VIP booths, baby?”

---

The majority of the crowds and dancing occurs on the ground level, while offset by half a story exists the VIP area that privately overlooks the club. Nothing particularly luxurious about it, other than its own set of employees to take orders for drinks. The nights you and Namjoon came with friends, Seokjin allows your group to use one, and you’re used to the tinted glass wall that filters away some of the pulsating music. Jimin mentions some other idols from the company being a part of the group with him that use the table he sits with you at, but also them all being far more interested in partying to be there for any longer than makeup touch-ups or a glass of water.

The knowledge makes the five drinks ingested throughout the next couple of hours hit differently. You know he’s had a similar amount of alcohol, but like you you don’t get affected as vigorously as other people. Nevertheless the lull in your head makes the slow kisses more frequent than other times when you and him were out in public together.

“I like this dress.” Jimin says as his hand runs along your side, feeling the smooth material against his skin and the small fidget of your waist when your grip settles along your hip. A smirk plays along his lips that end up against your neck, languidly pressing ministrations to the skin. “I’m glad you came.”

“I was thinking you didn’t really care if I did.” You admit though you gasp softly, gripping the silk of his top when his mouth travels over a sensitive spot. Jimin hums in thought, feeling your grip tighten from the sensation, then more so when he nibbles at the skin, sucking with the intent to leave it a reminding blotch,

“Of course I want to see you whenever I can.” Jimin says simply, almost a stung timbre in the words, as he pulls away finding your gaze for a passing moment then kissing your lips softly like words aren’t enough for him. You arms stray to wrap around his neck, letting him tug you closer to lengthen the kiss until you’re short of breath. “Did you say that because we haven’t been able to go on a date lately?”

Your chest rises and falls as it takes in air, arms remaining positioned around Jimin while he keeps his grip protective on your waist. Eyes searching through yours with worry cracking through. “No,” You shake your head, pecking his lips gently. “I was just saying something dumb. It’s been a weird week and all.”

“With,” Jimin’s voice stutters while he recalls everything that’s gone on the past week. “It was just the meeting, wasn’t it, baby?” He frowns when your eyes avoid his face to favor a stare towards the table. “Hey,” A hand cups your cheek, coaxing you to look back towards him as concern presents itself, “Lovely, you don’t have to hide things from me. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t.” Flatly said. Jabbing at Jimin’s composure as he feels you metaphorically pulling away from him. “It’s nothing important.”

Nothing you think he’ll want to talk about. Jimin doesn’t like talking about your contract, he’s never let that topic stick around for more than a couple of back and forth sentences. If your growing dissatisfaction with your treatment is something he truly cares about, he would’ve spoken in your favor. You swallow air at the swordlike thought.

“If something’s bothering you-” You both startle as boots clack directly behind you. Shifting from Jimin he lets his hands fall from you when you move away. Turning to look over your shoulder you watch blonde hair walk away from you two, down the stairs towards the main floor. You smile bitterly, finding this whole thing ridiculous as you mumble,

“I have to hide making my songs, and I have to hide being with you.”

“Y/N-”

“We should call it quits for tonight, right?” You look back at Jimin wondering if the stinging in your eyes is visible to him. His expression appears to be at a loss, lips a line, and his hands clenching.

“Why are you bringing all that up?” Your heart drops at the question, and the disconnect from him continues as Jimin appears to grow stoic.

“You asked me if something was wrong, and then you say that?” Your voice feels hot and you sigh hoping it’ll help alleviate pressure in your throat. You remove yourself from the booth thinking he may stop you, but Jimin stays still watching you grab your clutch. “I don’t like how things are right now.”

Despite the vague pronoun, Jimin registers the firmness in your voice, and how you’re visibly upset with more than just his insensitive question. He bites his inner cheek, watching you take the first step away before he’s bolting from the booth to grab your hand.

“Baby,” His pleading tone makes the stinging in your eyes more unbearable. “Please don’t go. Let’s talk-”

“If I tell you I hate my contract what are you going to say?” You don’t look at him when the questions trembles from your lips in frustration that fizzes painfully in your head. “That,” You feel his grip loosen before you’re able to continue, “You’re going to help me change it?”

You hear the lively voices, and a fast-paced song dominating the air, but Jimin behind you remains quiet. Tugging your arm from his grasp takes little effort, like he was ready to let go. Let you leave. Unwilling to answer and put truth in the air.

You want to know why when you turn to face him but Jimin’s expression stops your open mouth from speaking. Like he’s resigned to himself, eyes matching with yours to show hardened seriousness. You step towards him while he follows your movement, looking down at you. He’s successful at hiding from you how much his heart hurts at the sight of your building tears.

“Jimin,” The tremble in your voice stabs into his mind more, a pensive barely there frown the only thing that lets you into his thoughts at all. “Don’t you think I deserve to have my name in the credits?”

His shoulders shrug uncertainly and still not a word. You’re unable to understand why he closes away every time this discussion comes up. Why is he on the side of Yerin to keep things as they are? A bud in your brain feels pulsing at the thorn of implications that question could lead to and it makes you feel desperate for something out of him.

Jimin’s palm finds your waist to stable himself when your hands reach for his top to pull him towards you, lips attaching themselves to one another if only to get him to remember that he cares about you despite whatever ridiculous persona he’s trying to play at. Kissing him makes him responsive and it’s as though he’s letting the hidden emotions out; you feel the longing as he tugs you closer to him so that your body is pressed to his and he’s hugging you.

When your tear connects with his cheek Jimin pulls away, a surprised expression mixing into his longer breaths for air. You let the next few droplets leave your eyes, because he didn’t break the wall gaping between you two. You release your hands from his shirt and walk away.

Jimin lets you.

if you enjoy please, please let me know! i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

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