#also ignore snake only having three fingers in the second picture i don’t care

[plankos]

otacon sleepwalks

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 3

“You used it.”

> genre : smut, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 4.2k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk and use; explicit language; masturbation (f); ambiguous infidelity; awkward oc; koo being cute but insufferable

previous - next

For about a week and a half, you simply ignore the outrageous box sitting in the centre of your living room.

If you omit to remember what’s inside, it’s just a nice-looking decoration, embellishing your messy coffee table. It’s perfectly fine sitting between the unopened mails and the takeout brochures. You see Jungkook glance at it each time he comes over but he has the decency to not mention it. You might have read a little disappointment but he didn’t share it with you, not wanting to bother you, as you rightfully assumed, and in any case, you’re just doing exactly what you said you would: not use it. 

Then comes a glorious day of resting from work for you, and miraculously it matches your two closest girl friends' schedules and they owe to come over, celebrate a belated Christmas with you. And as you’re quickly tidying up the place, the question of the box being way too present here is raised again. They will ask about it. One will surely open it before you even get to answer.

The box has to go. 

And in your room, hidden in your bedside table where you know no one will peak, it goes. 

When you wake up from the fantastic, long-awaited Christmas celebration, it’s with a terrible headache. Mary, the amateur singer, received a ridiculous karaoke mic and if karaoke is involved, so is alcohol. You didn’t know that but apparently, you can get a severe almost deadly hangover from rosé. Well. Starting this new year already learning new things, how great. 

One thing that’s unchanged for this new year, as it seems, is Jungkook's talent for psychic arts. He somehow knows you need a copious breakfast made with love and by him, and the curious hangover shot only his roommate has the secret recipe of, to cope with being alive this morning. 

“Hello, Sunshine.” Your face feels so bloated and tensed at the same time like it’s made of playdoh and some devilish kid came and punched at it then squished it hard with its chubby mean fingers.

Very unpleasant.

You know you have very little to do with a ray of sunshine at the moment. You're more alike a gremlin or something. Therefore, as a gremlin would, you groan an answer. You catch through the minuscule slits you now own for eyelids a grin from him. It’s not even vexing or upsetting. His lovely, lovely smile is always a blessing. It’s the only thing that makes you not want to head back to bed and just sleep until death ensues. The pretty, pretty thing. With the big bunny front teeth. He is the sunshine. 

“Had fun last night?” He asks, still grinning, once he’s served you and himself two good plates of pancakes. He’s sitting in front of you, in front of this delicious looking good, yet he’s ogling you with a strange insistence. When he starts eating because you take too long to formulate a response, he munches slowly, still staring, instead of stuffing his face and swallow down the whole thing like a starving man, like he usually does. 

“Yeah. They spoiled me.” You say, quietly. You’re confused. You feel uneasy like there’s something you’re not getting. You hate this feeling. Usually, this friendship is filled with inside jokes you can make up exclusively via telepathy. But here you’re missing something, it feels. Or you might just be confused by the headache and possibly somehow still a bit drunk. 

“Oh did they?” The beam is even wider. You frown, nod, decide that it’s too early and your brain too foggy to try and investigate a confusion that might just be the product of your imagination. 

It doesn’t click then. It doesn’t click the next three times he asks you again, with slightly different formulations if, really, you had fun last night. 

He departs an hour later because he has an appointment with a client, as always leaving some of himself for your guilty pleasure and the marking on your eyelids of that curious grin. That curious mischievous grin. With the crooked shape, the white teeth looking menacing like a wolve’s and the eyebrows arched in suggestion.

How come such an attractive look can be so anxiety-inducing? You’re too fidgety, too confused and concerned to focus on anything. Remnants of the conversation rolling back again and again, trying to make sense of things that probably do not necessitate further explaining. 

The whole ordeal made you so nervous, you end up after an hour of trying to go about your day and failing poorly, sitting on your sofa, lotus style, eyes closed and hands turned up to the universe (hoping It might offer you some clearance It would just drop off in your palms). The thing is meditating is hard. Making so your brain would shut the fuck up is hard as hell. And you suck at it. 

Spoiler alert, you don’t reach the state of inner peace and quiet you wished to find. Instead, you make enough silence for your noggins to be more performing and suddenly it hits. Your eyes grow ten times in size, you almost fall from your sit for the shock is violent.

The moron.

You or him, probably both. 

You

I did NOT use it.

You

I put it away because the girls were coming over but I DID NOT USE IT

He simply replies with a winking emoji and you hate him for it. 

You

Jeon Jungkook, ur a dick I said I wouldnt use it EVER and I won’t, have a nice day moron. 

And again, this time, you mean it. You’ve never said anything with this much conviction in these twenty-five years of living.

Why would you now? When you now have experienced what it felt to have him look at you thinking you’ve done it. It felt mortifying without even knowing why. In all the case scenarios you could have come up with, you’ve never imagined that one. You would use it, he would know about it somehow, he wouldn’t be disgusted (it wouldn’t make sense for him to be as he is the one who offered it to you but your brain and soft ego sometimes are annoying like that), he would be amused, maybe content, but he wouldn't make you feel mortified. 

Having him considering you in a sexual position should be... cool, shouldn’t it? If you really like him that much. Maybe you were confused all along and actually, you don’t, you mistook your own feelings. 

Just a quick check of a mental picture you have of him, the fond smile growing just from his pretty face with the pretty everything on it can’t be trusted because, for all you know, everyone smiles this way when they think about him. On the other hand, the swift blush invading your cheeks when you (by accident) linger on parts you really really like about him -like his thighs or the man titties he’s been growing lately- serve to remind you that yes, yes indeed you like him. 

But he’s an asshole.

No matter how much you thought about it (and you thought about it a lot even though you’re ashamed to admit it), you've never consider it to realize, you never and you still don’t believe anything non-platonic would ever happen with him. You’re just made to be friends. The best of friends but still just friends. 

Not even taking a step but simply dipping the tips of your toes in these unknown waters turns out to be terrifying and you're mad at him because he’s putting you in this situation where you feel awfully uneasy. 

It should all remain a very personal, very intimate fantasy: your attraction for him.

He cracked the wall for a second, it felt wrong and terrible but it’s done and over with now.

It’s only you and your thoughts. 

You don’t ever mention it, he doesn’t bring it back up. Soon the season of celebrations and wishes is behind you, the world starts rolling slowly, boringly so with its lots of little annoyances and distractions and you’re not even thinking about it anymore, neither is he. 

You’re stressed out. Work is being a bitch as it does. And because it sucks most of your time and patience, the only quick way to unwind you know comes to play. 

But the hassle is not worth it. Unfortunately this you always need to realize afterwards. After having searched the internet for good masturbatory content for half an hour, working yourself for two hours and then, there’s the safety wee and the freshening up before bed, to wake up the next morning feeling like shit because of course, you sacrificed hours of sleep for an unsatisfactory outcome.

It’s not worth it.

It hasn’t been for months. Even if you’re still more able to take care of yourself and pleasure yourself better than most if not all men you’ve ever been with, something is missing: a man (or maybe just a dick). 

You feel bored and empty (in both senses). Stuck because the more you need to unwind, the more you try, the less you feel better. 

It’s the snake biting its own tail. 

Until a certain pretty blue box, sleeping inside your bedside table, recalls itself to you. It feels like a century had passed since the box arrived in your life, it doesn’t seem as scary as it used to, as stressful. The fact that Jungkook hasn’t mentioned it, might even has himself forgotten about it, help immensely. 

And it is the very moment, you forget to remember about this promise you made to him and yourself, the promise that you would not use it. 

Right about now, not only stressed and annoyed by everything but also horny for no particular reason, this dildo with the box that matches your planner sounds ideal. 

And it is ideal.

Feels like exactly what you needed. The size is not ridiculously big, it’s fairly tiny actually but given you haven’t had sex in a while, it suffices to stretch you out just fine. It’s new and exciting. The texture feels really nice, smooth, slipping perfectly right between your walls. It’s rather long, slightly curved, filling you in deep and teasing the spot that you could never even dream of reaching with your short ass fingers. And in no time (and you actually regret that) you’re on cloud 9, it’s a thought of the Santa that brought this blessing of a gift in your life that sends you there. You feel satisfied, content, fulfilled from the tip of your hair to your toes, smiling like an idiot because damn, that was a good orgasm. 

Right this moment, you feel fine about using the present. About quickly having thought about him too because it’s not that much of a big deal. He won’t know about it. He doesn’t really seem to care about your sex life anymore (which is, ironically, a blessing). Therefore why should there be a problem? Why would there be?

Apparently, you’ve underestimated the crankiness of your attitude for the few weeks that passed before the phenomenal orgasm. 

Apparently, you had been the worst kind of truculent bitch there is, to a level you didn’t even know you could reach (also no one told you!), because when Jungkook meets up with you, maybe after the third or fourth times of having used your lovely new companion, he noticed something has changed. Instantly. 

“What’s going on?” He asks with a bright smile and excited shiny eyes as if he expects you to have great news to share. 

“Nothing special...” Tilting your head to the side, you drag the words out as you try to think about it for a second, wondering if there’s something that needs to be told.

“Really?” He sucks on his banana yoghurt with eyebrows frowned, staring at you as if he’s studying you. Once the thing is empty, he tosses it in a nearby bin, crosses his arms on his chest and glares. He looks like a detective about to interrogate you. He would look intimidating if it were not for his lips, sucked in to gather the last taste of his yoghurt. “You look awfully happy.”

“Do I?” It makes you smile, shrug your shoulders. It doesn’t hit just then. It should be fine. He can’t unravel something that you don’t even have knowledge of, can he? But Jungkook is a little weasel. He loves to know everything.

Especially when it’s about you. 

“You better not be seeing anyone-“ You should wonder where this is coming from, all of a sudden. Instead, you take offence, how dares he?

“What do you mean ‘I better’? I do what-“

“Without telling me? You better not.” He has that shit-eating grin, his signature brat's smile, because he knows you can’t reach over the table to smack him in the head without risking to tip over your drinks or dip your sleeve in soja sauce. 

“Anyway. Nothing's going on.” For a second, a staring contest takes place on this convenience store's terrace. You’re not sure why. He’s daring you for no reason. Until his mouth twitches, wanting to smile and it makes you laugh so he follows along. “Were you not supposed to tell me about your next appointment?” 

“Client Amy, yes!” It shouldn’t make you laugh to hear him name her like that as it’s been his trademark to mention his clients as if they were Pokémon trainers but it does.

You’ve always thought that it’s his very personal way of living this childhood fantasy of existing within the Pokémon universe. His life is full of potential trainers. Most of the time it’s just Client Enter the Name here but sometimes it’s Baker Jin -who’s not actually a baker but a salesman at his neighbourhood’s bakery-, there’s Dancer Hoseok, who’s the main dance partner of his best friend and Roommate Park Jimin. Sometimes he calls you Friend Y/N, it’s frustratingly funny. You hate that you spill at least a nose snort at each and every single one of his stupid jokes. His grin always grows ten times bigger, his eyes twinkle in a lovely way but you know that you are encouraging him. Encouraging him to be fucking annoying, like a little brother who’s just pushing unfunny jokes too far, just keep repeating them because he knows he can get a reaction. “She wants me to tattoo the dragon from Spirited Away on her arm-“

You gasp and he smiles even wider. 

“I know, right? And I was thinking- to give it flow, I would have it- like fly through cherry blossoms.” Attentively, you listen, squinting a bit when he gets technical to try and picture the project you have a hard time making up alone in your mind.

Imagination and creativity have always been his thing. He had you impregnated with it long ago because he is too passionate and too much of a sharer to allow you to keep away from all arts -because you can’t hold a pencil straight without panicking at the idea of having to draw something- which you would have gladly done if it weren't for him. He’s the gifted one. And his drawings, either on paper, screen or skin, have always been a subject of huge admiration for you. You’re a bit ashamed to admit it but you’ve never really touched to anything really artistic. You often don’t really get it. But his stuff does something to you -and not only because you adore him but actually impartially. There’s no finesse, no pertinency, no trait nor emotion you’ve acknowledged and connected to better than the ones he creates. “You know this scene where he’s struggling against the little paper thingies and he’s flying through them and they’re going everywhere, I was thinking that, replace them with cherry blossoms. And there would be little petals like everywhere around it. Sounds cool?”

“It sounds fantastic.” You say honestly. You’re impressed by every single one of his projects. Always surprised, somehow, by the pieces he ends up making. Sometimes scrolling through the Instagram page he uses as a book, where he publishes his most elaborated, most expensive pieces and while recognizing his touch, the delicacy in his traits, the peculiar curls of certain lines, the overall feel to them, there’s always this sort of paradoxical disbelief. How could this kid make these and at the same time, who else but him to have made these?

Cute nose scrunches up. 

“I’ll send you my drawings when I’m done with them.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” He is mimicking you. Same pose with the head nod and the leg cross. Same tone and same expression apart from the discreet light dancing in his eye. “So what’s up? You needed to talk to me about something yesterday, didn’t you?”

It takes a second for you to remember as the drastic change in your mood makes it seem the distressed text you sent him yesterday, right when you left work, was written a whole week ago. You don’t remember very well having felt so stressed and pissed off, pushed to your very limits by useless co-workers, that you felt the urgent need to rant about it all, vent your anger and frustration out to him. He was busy and didn’t answer right away. You got home, find the comfort of your sweater sitting on the warm heater and the glorious stand of your dildo and it all went away, bad mood, headache, grudges. 

Of course, it awakes a wave of shame within you. If you have been able to use it without feeling guilt nor embarrassment on your own, it’s something else to think about it in front of Jungkook. You’ve made sure not to think about this dildo in front of him ever. But here, it’s him recalling it to you without even knowing. 

Whatever, you can pretend that everything’s normal. With a barely natural cough, and the even more suspicious dismissive wave of the hand, you try to kill the conversation, “It was just my coworker getting on my nerves again, it’s whatever.”

Jungkook is watching you soundly. It’s nothing unusual for him. He’s the kind of persons that lean in when they listen to you, you never know how conscious they are of it but it’s like they really mean to make you feel important and heard. Therefore it shouldn’t worry you, he’s just doing his usual thing. 

It still makes you grow increasingly more nervous. 

It is factual that it is never “whatever”. The topic of your stupid dumb bitch of a coworker messing with you has always been a pressing subject you, every now and then, more often than you’d like, needed to ramble about to anyone willing to listen because she tended to make your life a pure living hell. The job sucks in itself but she made it a hundred times worse. And here you are, dismissing it. How suspicious. 

“When you texted me yesterday, I thought it was for something bad.” He starts, frowning and staring deep inside the empty cookie package sitting on the table. “Then I saw you earlier and I thought it was for something really good, because of your face.”

“What’s up with my face?” You try to play it cool. Play it nonchalant and oblivious. If you can’t see the aura of contentment he can visibly observe around you, surely you’ve seen the glow up your skin has encountered since you’ve started using this sex toy. Unexpected benefit of using it that wasn’t even listed on the box, the stress it’s relieved and the pleasure it’s given have just cleared your skin out. Unbelievable but true. And apparently, he noticed. 

“I don’t know. You look really... contented.”

“Contented?”

“Yeah...”

You shrug, looking down, at the crumbs on your side of the table, praying silently that the embarrassment you feel creeping up your face doesn’t show. “I’ve been used to you looking tired and all but you look-“ Like every single once of misery has been fucked out of your system. “Lately, you look... good.” The chosen adjective makes you tilt your head. For so many reasons, you didn’t expect to hear this one and for similar reasons, you don’t understand what he means. Without having you saying aloud anything, he gets your dubious grimace and chuckles, “Rejuvenated, actually.” Even worse.

To simplify in a few words, you used to look like an old decrepit hag and now that you’ve been thoroughly fucked -by yourself technically but still- you look rejuvenated. A word literally no one ever uses in real life.

You detest that he’s probably right. And now, embarrassment is not creeping but actually moving in, with all its stuff and luggage. Hopefully though, again, it doesn’t show on your stupid youthful face. “Are my compliments making you blush?”

Great. 

“You can’t make me blush, moron. And if you think those were compliments then-“ You give him big wide eyes of “well fuck” and of course he laughs at that. 

“Indeed, I can’t make you blush.” He has his serious, investigating type of expression again. You almost expect him to fetch a little notebook out of his pocket and start scribbling observations while asking you more questions. 

“What’s making you blush then?”

“I’m not blushing, it’s just hot.” His eyebrows jump in a rude disagreeing curve. You don’t get why. It can happen, to be hot outside, at the near end of Korea’s winter, while simultaneously having red and painful looking fingers on the verge of congelation desperately seeking warmth in your pockets. 

And maybe because it’s not the first time, he’s getting better at catching the signs, at drawing the lines in between the clues. Your caricatural post-orgasm happy face, your systematic defensiveness whenever the conversation is leading somehow to your sexuality, the blatant tell of shame on your cheeks when there’s nothing else ever that embarrass you in front of him. There’s only the common cause missing and quickly, ignoring completely your attempts at diverting the conversation on something else, a giant light bulb turns on on top of his head. It brings the light of understanding through his eyeballs who suddenly look extra bright. 

“You used it.” For a second, you consider packing up your things and just leave this fucking terrace along with the conversation. But you’re cold as fuck, the way home seems like too much torture to be going through alone.

Why are you like this?

Maybe there’s a vain hope that it will lead to some resolution. Some pleasant resolution. Maybe he won’t talk about it ever again if you just accept to have this conversation without showing the stubborn reluctance you’ve used each time. 

“Yes, I did. So what?” His grin is blinding. It’s one of the very very wide, very very bright ones. So wide it shows all his teeth and it doesn’t even look like the cute bunny smile anymore. It’s the predatory grin. It’s intimidating to solely focus on therefore you chose to pick the corner of his eyes and the top of his nose, all wrinkled up that have anything but intimidation to them. 

“You have no idea how happy that makes me.” You grimace. Indeed. You have no idea because you don’t even fucking understand. 

“You’re a weirdo.”

“I’m just happy you used my dildo.” You scoff and almost choke at both his phrasing and the way he so naturally says the word while you’re outside. There’s no one as dumb as you to sit outside with this weather but still, someone passing by could hear. 

Maybe there’s no deep further explanation to look for. Maybe it’s literally as simple as him getting you a present and him being happy that you found usefulness to it. Like most people. People are saddened sometimes pissed when they flop with presents. Maybe it’s that simple. 

“Don’t say it like that.” He cackles like a witch and you know, that once again he’s just messing with you, knowing exactly what to do or say to tickle your patience. 

“So I can gather it was good?” The worse of the nervous wave has passed. He asks quite nonchalantly. Perhaps it’s your ego wanting that but you hate the idea that you’d find yourself in a situation where he’s clearly more adult than you -even if on so many levels he is. If he can talk about it then you can. Try. You can try. 

“Hm. Was nice.” You kind of sound the way you do when as a teen your mom would ask you about your day and you just didn’t want to answer because of laziness, lack of interest, lack of willingness to share, but that will do. He nods, smiles with his lips tight, rather fondly. 

“How many times did you use it?”

Taking a deep breath, you mumble, shrugging faux casualness, “A few times.” More like a dozen times but he doesn’t need the details, does he? He nods again, still smiling, taking in your answer. 

“Cool.” And he’s satisfied. With the answer and the turns of events as it seems.

There you go, you did it.

You resolved the thing.

Now he can leave you alone with your fantasies and your -not his but your- dildo and there wouldn’t be any further occasion to bring it up. You might be a coward but it’s perfectly fine by you.

Sounds absolutely peachy.

If he chooses to play his part right.

A/N: oh myyy, we’re getting somewhere arn’t we? i really hope you enjoyed this part, let me know your thoughts, scream your frustration, i’m all ears (or eyes). next update will be a double one because the first part is quite short. hoping you’re excited. i wish you a beautiful sunday and a lovely week. take care, lots of lots love.

Tag list: @infernal-alpaca​ @kaepjjangiya​ @channiespup​ @jinsonaz​ @kpopfandomftw​ @ggukkieland​ (sorry love)

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER, PLEASE ASK IN THE COMMENT, THANK YOU :))

[ninzied]

into the woods

based on the prompt: you know that scene in TWD where shane is being all cute and kissing up lori’s stomach? that but make it kastle.

rated m. 3k.

“She should’ve been back by now.”

Frank scours the tree line along their campsite, as if she’ll walk out of there any second. She hadn’t taken much more than a toothbrush with her, only a hand towel and a bottle of water to rinse off. How much longer does she need with those things?

“You worry a lot,” Sarah remarks. She doesn’t look up, measuring out coffee grounds for their pour-over stand. “For someone who’s ‘just friends’ with her.”

“Remind me again why I agreed to this weekend,” Frank says with a scowl.

“I could use a refresher myself,” says David. He’s emerging from their tent, zipping it back up the side before stretching. “From what I recall, Karen’s the one we invited. You’re the one who chose to tag along.”

Frank arches an eyebrow at their surroundings. “Thought my invite was implied.”

David makes a protesting sound. “You don’t have a monopoly on manly activities, you know.” He comes over to Sarah, drops a kiss on her forehead in greeting before taking one of the lawn chairs next to her. “I can camp. I can do camping. I’m a survival guy too, remember?”

“Ignore him,” says Sarah. “He gets grumpy before his morning coffee.” She leans over their fire and removes the kettle of water, which has just started to boil.

“There’s one thing we have in common,” says Frank. He nods his head toward the tent David vacated. “Kids still down for the count?”

“Both of them out like a light,” David confirms. “That ghost story Karen told them last night worked a little too well.”

“Trouble falling asleep?” asks Frank, not unsympathetically. “Or was it nightmares?”

“Leo came up with a sequel, actually,” says David. “Which she insisted on recounting in very vivid detail. None of us really slept after that.” He scrubs a hand tiredly over his eyes, but he’s also grinning a little, like he can’t help but be proud of this fact.

Karen would be proud too, Frank thinks, and pictures the smile he’ll get from her later.

“How about you?” Sarah asks Frank, her tone perfectly, deceptively innocent. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine,” says Frank.

The look Sarah gives her husband is a lot subtler than the one she receives in return.

Frank clears his throat. “You two got something you want to say?”

David shrugs. “Only that it’s a pretty small tent you and Karen are sharing.”

“We made do,” says Frank.

Truth be told, though, David’s not wrong.

Karen had borrowed the tent from Nelson, who, as it turned out, hadn’t gone camping since he was about ten years old. It had been a tight squeeze—that palpable warmth in the thin sheets between them, the soft little sighs Karen let out in her sleep, had all been nothing short of torture to Frank.

But the Liebermans are on a need-to-know basis only.

David is opening his mouth to say something else when Sarah interrupts him. “Here,” she says, “drink this,” and presses a tin of steaming black coffee into his hands.

“Guests first,” says David, but Frank’s already standing.

“I’m good for now,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I’m just gonna go for a walk.” He stoops down, checks for the blade inside of his boot.

“Karen’s a big girl, you know.” David takes a sip of his coffee. “I just don’t see how this is going to win you any points in her book.”

“Oh, let him go,” Sarah chides. “He’s not going to rest easy otherwise.” She calls cheerfully after Frank, “Tell Karen that coffee will be waiting when you guys get back, all right?”

…

If anything, Frank figures he could use the time away from the others.

Last night had been exhausting, with the Liebermans up for about half of it, and then Karen so close yet just out of reach. He’d behaved himself perfectly well, but the ache of all that longing for more hasn’t left him, and so he tries to walk it off instead.

Frank steps into the trees, the morning sun filtering through in soft, muted patches of light. They’re barely into September, but the leaves here have already started to pack themselves down into the ground. It makes his job easier, tracking which way Karen has gone.

She can take care of herself; he knows that. But she knows he’s going to worry. It’s something that they’re working on, meeting each other halfway. Still, Frank reasons that there’s a time and a place for these kinds of concessions, and out here in the woods is not going to be one of them.

Frank has been walking for about ten minutes when he steps into a snug little clearing, and suddenly, she’s there.

“Karen?”

She’s a few yards ahead of him, lounging with her back against the trunk of a large maple. She’s resting her arm on one of its thick, gnarled roots, and she—

She has her nose in a goddamn book.

It’s a small paperback of Agatha Christie. One of those rare finds that she’d unearthed from the half-price bin down the street from Frank’s place. It’s where she’d gotten her inspiration for the ghost story she told them last night.

Frank knows this because she’d read it aloud to him three nights ago. The book hasn’t left her side of the bed, until she packed it for this trip. She must’ve tucked it into her hand towel before leaving their tent earlier.

Karen glances up as he approaches. She doesn’t seem remotely surprised to see him there. In fact, she’s looking at him with a teasing kind of impatience, like he’s kept her waiting, and—

Oh.

Oh.

He’d been planning to steal a kiss or two at most from her before they headed back to camp, but she clearly has more than that on her mind.

Always two steps ahead of him, his girl, and he wonders if that isn’t one of the things he loves most about her.

“Frank,” she greets him, lightly admonishing. She puts the book down. “What took you so long?”

She stands as he strides over to her, a disbelieving smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

“This what I think it is?” he asks her. He palms the sides of her rib cage, walking her slowly backward until he’s pinned her to the tree.

“Mm.” She winds her arms a little slyly around him. “You know solving murder mysteries always gets me in the mood.”

“You mean like last night?” He leans down, capturing her mouth in a kiss. Her hands are already pulling at the hem of his sweatshirt, gliding up his body and tugging the fabric over his head.

“I’ve been dying here, Frank.” Karen gasps out as his mouth moves over her jawline. “I thought they’d never fall asleep.”

“I know. Fuck.” Frank snakes his hands beneath her clothes and under her bra, cupping her breasts with a small but satisfied groan. “Couldn’t take it either. Wanted you so bad.” He remembers the reason for the Liebermans’ insomnia, and the kiss he presses to Karen’s collarbone contains the definite edge of a smile.

“What?”

“Tell you later,” he murmurs, stepping back and pulling her with him. With the toe of his boot, he carefully rearranges his sweatshirt over a stretch of some soft-looking moss.

Karen breathes out a laugh, nudging a kiss to his ear as she asks him, “Exactly how much time do you think we have?”

“Enough,” he says, and lowers her onto his sweatshirt.

He kneels over her, nosing her shirt out of the way as he deposits open-mouthed kisses up her bare stomach. He pauses over her belly button, circling his tongue there. She tenses all over with a sigh of content before shrugging her top off and tossing it to the side.

He licks a trail up her body, feeling the hitch in her breath as he reaches her rib cage. When she clasps his shoulders, he goes willingly, rising and settling himself over her. Their mouths meet, lips parting instantly, deepening the kiss.

“Mm—” Karen moves her hips into his, chasing the friction between them. She’s in a thin pair of leggings, his erection pressed up against the junction of her thighs. He can feel the heat of her, even through his sweatpants, and it only fuels his arousal, has him aching to be inside her right now.

He groans a little, breaking the kiss for a moment. There’s a few breathless seconds of them fumbling with each other’s clothes, of Frank’s vision tunneling out when she reaches down and grasps him.

Christ.

He pumps himself in and out of her hand, bending over to kiss her again. Their tongues slide together, and he swallows the sound of her cry as he slips two fingers down, feeling how wet she is for him.

His mouth falls to her neck, sucking kisses to her pulse point as he replaces her hand with his. He strokes himself before rubbing the full length of his dick up against her, pressing down into her clit with each pass back and forth.

She arches against him with a throaty little sigh. He loves this kind of foreplay with her—the liquid heat of anticipation, the throbbing ache of that sweet almost just on the other side of this moment.

And fuck does he love watching her this way, too. The soft, breathy exhales, the swell of her breasts as she writhes beneath him. The way she bites her lip, and moans.

“Can you come like this?” he asks her, voice roughened with desire. He knows he won’t last long inside her, and he wants her to finish for him at least once.

“Yes.” She’s moving her hips in tandem with his, finding just the angle she likes, the right press and release to send her over the edge into orgasm. “Yes—oh, Frank—yes—mmm—”

She shudders beneath him, her eyes squeezing shut as her mouth falls open in a silent, rapturous oh.

He kisses gently up and down her throat as she descends from her high, slowly relaxing back into him. Frank’s trying to breathe through his own need for release when she threads her fingers through his hair, coaxing his mouth back to hers.

He slides into her slowly, the air between them going shallow as they take a moment to adjust. In some ways, entering her is always going to feel like it’s the very first time, new and yet so familiar. Like the act of loving this woman comes from a place that goes deeper than memory.

Their mouths move together, unhurried, as he pulls out and sinks back in. She clutches his shoulders, pulling him closer. Each thrust of his hips has his body shifting up against hers, and he savors every inch of it, the feel of skin on skin. He cradles an arm around her head, moving his other down to slide a hand up the back of her thigh.

It has him going deeper, and she clenches around him, spine arching back. Fuck. Fuck, she feels incredible, like some kind of fever dream. Her mouth is so very warm on his, their tongues entwined, their kisses splintering apart on a gasp before they’re coming back together.

For these few blissed out moments, this is all that there is. The two of them wrapped into each other, all that soft, pale skin beneath his hands, the little moans she’s letting out as he pounds and pounds into her. It’s rougher than usual, but she only pulls him closer, hooking a leg around his waist and rolling her hips up to meet his.

Heat unfurls down low in his belly, pleasure clenching up his spine. “Karen—fuck, I—” He buries his face into the crook of her neck, trying to hold off for her as long as he can.

She turns into him, mouth finding his ear. “I’m close,” she breathes. “I’m close. It’s okay. Just—ooh—”

She cranes her head back with a soft, keening sound, and he wraps his hand over the side of her neck, kissing up her jawline. He rides her through her second orgasm, and then his own pleasure builds to his breaking point, and he’s coming apart.

Karen’s arms are around him when the strongest waves have subsided, leaving behind the small, lingering shivers. He finally collapses against her, boneless and spent, simply breathing her in for long seconds.

“Fuck.” He brushes his mouth over her shoulder, nudging her bra strap back in place. “That was…” He grunts a little as she turns them onto their side, draping a leg over his waist.

“It was,” she agrees. She looks even softer in the sunlight from this angle, and Frank inches closer, threading his fingers through the golden glow of her hair. “Guess we should head back soon. Before they call an official search party on us.”

“Guess so,” says Frank. He tightens his arms around her, and she snuggles into him, neither of them making any real attempt to move. She gives him a kiss, long, and sweet, and so indescribably tender that he could put down roots into this moment, never let it go.

Finally, with a small sigh of concession, Karen shifts up onto her elbow. She reaches behind him for something, retrieving the bottle she’d brought with her.

She bends down to kiss the crease between his brows, and smiles. “Water?”

…

They walk back to the campsite hand in hand.

Sarah’s cleaning up from breakfast, a thermos of coffee and a full plate of bacon, eggs and toast set aside for them.

“David took the kids down to the lake,” she tells them without turning her head. “They wanted to wait for you, but I told them you’d see them when you got back.”

“’Course,” says Frank, feeling a little pink in the ears. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you stay behind for us.”

“It was no trouble,” Sarah says breezily. Then, still with her back turned to them, she adds, inscrutable, “Better me than David, I will tell you that.”

She’s still stacking some plates, so Frank sneaks a last kiss to Karen’s temple before he releases her, making his way over to some much-needed coffee. He takes a long drag as Karen goes to help Sarah, the two of them falling into easy conversation about Leo, her writing ambitions, how absorbed she’d been around the campfire last night.

He doesn’t interrupt them, except to come over with the plate of food for Karen. Predictably, she reaches for the coffee instead. “I’ll have something in a bit,” she says, “promise,” and he gives her a look, but decides not to press the issue with Sarah standing so shrewdly nearby.

At one point, he glances up from a piece of bacon just as Sarah reaches over, and plucks part of a leaf from Karen’s hair. Sarah lets it go without so much as a comment, simply continuing on wherever they’d left off.

Later, Sarah passes by Frank as they’re getting ready to leave. “I think there are grass stains on the back of your sweater,” she mentions to him, almost conversationally, and he hesitates a moment before grabbing a hoodie to change into.

He pulls out the sandwich he’d made from their breakfast and passes it over to Karen on the walk, in exchange for the thermos of coffee. His hand instinctively finds the small of her back every time a rock or large root juts up into their path, and after Karen’s done eating she takes his hand instead, twining their fingers together.

If Sarah’s feeling smug about it, she doesn’t let it show—much.

Leo tackles them both as soon as they’ve made it to the lake. “Hey, Pete!” Then, as if she can’t hold it in any longer, she brandishes a notebook and says, “Karen, I have the best idea for a story tonight.”

“Honey,” Sarah starts, with an amused kind of warning in her tone.

“Don’t worry, Mom,” says Leo, looking confident. “This one’s not nearly as scary.”

“Tell me,” says Karen, unable to suppress a smile.

Leo starts to tug her away when she pivots back on her heel a little, and says to Frank matter-of-factly, “By the way, you probably don’t want Zach to see you two holding hands.” She looks meaningfully out onto the water, where Zach and their dad are focused enough on their lines not to have noticed them all there yet.

“Leo Lieberman,” Sarah scolds gently as Frank exchanges a bemused look with Karen.

“He’s too young to find out what heartbreak feels like,” says Leo sagely. “Sorry, Mom. I know you told him she’s already been spoken for. But as his big sister, it’s my job to look out for him.”

“Fair enough,” says Karen, giving Sarah a wink. There’s a wistful quality to her smile now, her gaze soft on his when Frank squeezes her hand. She clears her throat, and gestures down at Leo’s notebook. “Now let’s see what we’re working with here.”

…

Their tent isn’t quite big enough to fit them in lengthwise, so they’re turned slightly sideways, Frank spooning her as they drift off to sleep. He’s hard against her rear in the morning, but they both do their best to live with it, Karen pressing a chaste little kiss to the corner of his mouth as they’re getting dressed.

David’s on coffee duty, and Frank lends a hand as Karen folds herself up in a chair and reads to them the morning headlines on her phone.

It’s slow, and quiet, and so easy that Frank almost forgets they’re not home. Karen hums out a thank you when he brings her some coffee, stooping down to brush a kiss to her forehead.

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

And it’s like any other morning, except this one has David staring at them like he can’t decide what has just happened, and just how long it’s been happening for.

“Blanket?” Karen offers, trying not to look too amused, as Frank drags a chair close to hers. She tosses it over them, and he takes her hand before leaning over to steal a sip of her coffee.

“Did you know about this?” David whispers urgently to his wife when she steps out.

“Know about what, honey?” asks Sarah, kissing his cheek as he frowns at her. “Why, did you see something?”

“You mean other than the obvious?” He gestures at Frank, who’s leaning in to whisper something to Karen. In his periphery, a look of recognition is dawning on David’s face with almost comical slowness. “Shit. You’re right. It was really obvious, wasn’t it.”

Sarah pats him on the shoulder. “So, what are we doing for breakfast today?”

And just like any other morning, Frank feels everything outside of this moment fade, his world narrowing to the small, private things—the warmth of Karen’s hand in his, the glances they steal at each other, and the way she bites her lip when she’s trying not to smile.

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Thirty-Eight) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it, ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary sibs. Dom/sub relationship. Sir kink. Impregnation kink. Soft sex. Emotional sex. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, Hotch refers to them as female when saying “good girl”.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 5731

Timeline: A week after part thirty-seven.

The house went quiet as I turned off the kitchen sink after putting all of the dishes in the dishwasher and started it up for the night. Hotch and Jack went upstairs shortly after we finished our movie, with Jack already half asleep. I told Hotch that he should tuck him in while I finished up the dishes before heading upstairs. It only took me a few minutes, and it was a relief to just get a moment after the movie to have to myself.

After drying my hands on the hand towel on the bar just under the sink, I made sure to turn off the light in the kitchen, then sighed as I turned off the lamp in the living room. When everything was closed up for the night, I headed for the stairs and slowly pulled myself up, trying to ignore the yawn that was building in my chest. I was absolutely exhausted after our long night. Between getting home somewhat late from work with Hotch, then making dinner with him and Jack, and watching a movie afterwards, I was wiped. Hotch seemed tired, too, but not to the same extent. But still.

When I finally reached the top of the steps, I let out another sigh and wiped the exhaustion from my face. I promised that I would say goodnight to Jack just after I was done, so I made my way to the left. I snuck up to his room, careful to not let the floorboards creak under me just in case Jack had already fallen asleep by some miracle. As I approached the corner, I heard whispering in the bedroom between Hotch and Jack. We were way past the age where Jack needed a bedtime story each night, so what the hell were they doing? I decided to stay just outside the doorframe to listen in. It wasn’t for the means of eavesdropping, per say… It was just for… well… memories? I don’t know. I just had a feeling I should stay hidden.

Hotch was whispering when I first started listening. “I wanna ask you something, bud. There’s something that I’ve been meaning to ask Y/N for a very long time, but I don’t want to ask them before I get your say in it. Do you have a guess as to what I want to talk to you about?”

“Is Y/N going to be my new mom?” Jack asked.

“Kinda. You know that your mom is always going to be your mom, even if she isn’t with us anymore; right?” Hotch waited a moment for Jack’s silent response before continuing. “But I want Y/N to finally join our family. Like, officially. How do you feel about that?” There was more silence as Jack silently answered. “You’d be okay with that?” More silence. “You’re sure?”

Jack started giggling. “I said, yes, Dad!”

I heard Hotch chuckle quietly. “I just want to make sure.”

My heart skipped a beat in my chest. A memory raced by me, something I forgot I had tucked away in the back of my mind. When I first met Haley, she told me that Jack loved me, and I remembered feeling so relieved because I didn’t want either of them to dislike me. Throughout the time that I knew Haley, she was always good to me. I wanted to do right by her. I wanted her son to grow up knowing that I could never replace her, and I certainly had no intention of doing so. Jack was her blood, and she did so well raising him… I owed it to her to make sure that she was remembered, but that Jack also grew up still loved. I wasn’t his blood, but… honestly, I did feel like his mother, in the oddest of ways.

Hotch was finally getting around to asking me the big question, and I was glad that he waited to ask Jack first. Originally, the plan was that he wanted to propose to me after New York, but when Foyet came into the picture, that dream was put on hold. It didn’t feel right to get engaged when our lives were spiraling, and then we didn’t want to offend Haley’s memory by jumping the gun too soon after her death. Besides, we were all still mourning her loss. What sense did it make to get engaged so soon after something like that?

But it had been about five months since then, and… yeah… it was still a bit soon, maybe; but our lives weren’t guaranteed, and I was sure that Haley only wanted the three of us to just be happy. She loved Hotch and Jack, and she made it clear that she was fine with mine and Hotch’s relationship because it made him happy. If she were still with us, Hotch likely would have asked for her thoughts, too, and there wasn’t a single doubt in my mind that she would tell Hotch to go for it.

“I love you, kiddo,” Hotch whispered. I could practically hear his smile. “And Mom loves you. Y/N loves you. You know that, right?” More silence for a response. “Alright.” I heard him kiss Jack’s forehead. “Get some sleep, my little superhero. We’ll go for a bike ride tomorrow, how about that?” More silence. “Goodnight, bud.”

I realized that I had been standing around for too long, and that I needed to either run down to our bedroom or make it seem like I had just come upstairs in order to not look conspicuous. So, I decided on making it seem like I had just come upstairs by purposefully stepping on a floorboard known to creak, then knocked on Jack’s open bedroom door.

As I stepped into the room, Hotch was pushing himself to his feet to make it look like he had just finished tucking in Jack, nothing else. I smiled at them both, ignoring how well they kept their secret. Like father, like son. Interesting.

“Why are you still up?” I squinted at Jack. He hid his face under his covers to mask his smile. “Nuh uh, let me see you.” I sat on the side of his bed and fought against him to pull the sheets off his face. “There you are,” I said as I “stole” his nose. “You’ll get it back when I get my goodnight hug.”

In an instant, Jack sat up and threw his arms around me. “I love you,” he whispered to me. I held him tight, letting his face nuzzle in the crook of my neck for a few seconds before he got antsy and needed to part from me. As he laid back down, I gave Jack his nose back, and he smiled happily. “Can we go on a bike ride tomorrow?”

It was concerning how good the two of them were at keeping a secret like this from me, and how they didn’t even need to create a plan ahead of time to do it. But I ignored knowing that I had context of their conversation to tell Jack that I thought going on a bike ride tomorrow was a good idea. I kissed him goodnight again. And then once more just for good measure. He started giggling and tried to hide under the covers again, so I gave up.

“I love you, little man.” I reached over to turn off the light on his desk, triggering his automatic night light plugged into the wall across the room. I kissed his forehead again because he had pushed the covers away from his face.

That was when I felt Hotch snake his arms around my torso and pull me off the bed and away from Jack, the three of us laughing. As I stumbled backwards with Hotch holding me steady, I grabbed ahold of the door, and slowly closed it so that the light from the hallway wouldn’t disturb Jack as he tried to sleep. When it was shut, I sighed. I spun around in Hotch’s arms. He was still holding me, and now that I was facing him, I was able to snake my arms around his chest, too. I held onto his shirt since my arms couldn’t fit all the way around him. He kissed my forehead the same way I kept kissing Jack’s.

“I love you,” I whispered to him. I wasn’t sure when or how he would go about making me a real part of the family, and it didn’t really matter to me anymore. Since Foyet put that ring on Haley’s finger, I hadn’t exactly thought about getting engaged—though I would have loved it. As long as Hotch knew that I loved him endlessly, I was content.

The sunlight peeking through the curtains coaxed me awake in the morning. It was Saturday, finally, which meant that we didn’t have to go into work unless it was an emergency—and, honestly, even then, I was sure if Hotch could pull me out of bed. After the late night we had, I was fine with just staying in bed all day, even though we promised Jack that we would go on a bike ride. I was fine right where I was. If I could have, I would have stayed glued to the bed with Hotch for the rest of my life, falling asleep in his arms, and waking up peacefully to the chirping birds and rising sun.

I rolled over after letting out a quiet sigh and stretched away my exhaustion. To my surprise, though, I was met with Hotch resting on his side, his eyes already following mine as I got comfortable. I squinted at him as I put a hand on his face. “Were you watching me?”

“I couldn’t help myself,” he admitted as a smile grew on his face.

My thumb caressed his cheek. “I like it when you look at me like that…”

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.”

“You are.”

My thumb stopped moving for a second before I pulled my whole hand away and I pushed myself to sit upright. “I need to tell you something.” It was eating me up to keep it a secret that I had heard him and Jack talking last night when I shouldn’t have been listening. I needed to get that off my chest.

“I need to say something, too,” he admitted, sitting up. That took me by surprise. What more could he possibly have to say? I figured I’d want to know before admitting that I had practically spied on him and our son. “I love you.” Well, that was no surprise. Why did he have to tell me that? “I... Well...” He laughed at himself. “I’m not even sure how to say this…”

“What is it?” I egged him on, my hand covering his.

“I love you so much.” He had already said that. What was wrong with him? “I have never been more incandescently happy in my life than I’m with you.” Hotch only ever used big words when he was nervous about something and didn’t want to show it.

Oh, god— This was it. I didn’t expect it to happen so soon, but there we were, and I had been so naïve to what was going on. To think that I almost told him everything before he could get a word out. The time had come so soon, catching me off guard. I thought that with Hotch’s constant need to impress me, he would want to shout it from the rooftops, but this… I stared at him and realized how much I loved him. It hit me like a train just how much I loved him. There were hundreds of thousands of words in the English language, yet there weren’t enough to describe how much I loved Aaron Hotchner. People always say that actions speak louder than words, but even then, there wasn’t enough of myself to give to him to express how desperately I loved him and needed him in my life. It felt like I suddenly knew how to breathe and see when I met him. My life had been so grey and dull, but then he started passing my office just to see me and smile in my direction, and my whole world turned upside down before I even realized it. It wasn’t even until the night when I first met Jack that I realized how fervent my love for Aaron was. Before that, I never thought in a million years that I would ever find someone who would understand me and love me zealously. But then he came along, and everything changed. I suddenly wanted to be loved, I wanted to be a part of his family, and I wanted to spend every second of my life by his side. We had our ups, we had our downs, and he had a tendency to scare the shit out of me due to the amount of danger he put himself in at work; but I loved him regardless of what was happening. There wasn’t a moment since meeting him that I didn’t think to myself that he was my everything. I loved every inch and every side of him. There was no doubt in my mind that he was the one. The only one.

All he had to do was ask, and I’d be his.

“You have always been so good with Jack, and even better with me. There aren’t many people who can go through what we’ve been through and still be together; but you have stuck by my side, nevertheless. I didn’t think that it was possible to love someone so much that it could hurt if you weren’t near them… until I met you… and, suddenly, I had to be with you or I would fall apart. I still fall apart whenever I’m not around you. I didn’t think love like that actually existed until I met you. I’ve been trying for so long to ask you this, but every time I thought the moment was coming, something got in the way…” He didn’t want to list them, but I knew what he meant. 

We had talked in New York about getting married, but everyone told us that it was too soon, and I believed them. But then the bombing happened, and I couldn’t have cared less about what everyone else thought. If he would have asked me then and there if I wanted to marry him, I would have dragged him down to the nearest chapel and done it immediately. But when he didn’t ask and things got rough with him not telling me about his health, I had forgotten all about it, but he didn’t. He told me that he went out and bought an engagement ring for me just after we drove back from Cincinnati. He told me while in the hospital after Foyet attacked him that he was going to propose to me as soon as the opportunity presented itself; but Foyet took the ring, and he put it on Haley’s body before Hotch could get the chance to propose. After that, it didn’t feel right to think about marriage for a while. It felt inconsiderate to Haley and the love Hotch had for her to suddenly get engaged just after her death. So, we waited. We waited months… then, suddenly, out of the blue, he asked Jack what he thought about us getting married, and now Hotch was sitting in bed with me, giving a whole speech about our love, and I knew that it had finally come. The waiting and the dancing around the topic had finally come to an end.

I could practically see the end of the aisle as Hotch looked me right in the eyes, taking my hands in his, and asked, “Will you marry me?”

There was no hesitancy in my answer as I smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. A million times, yes.” It felt so cliché, but… Fuck. It was perfect. “Finally,” I teased.

He let out a sigh of relief and grabbed my waist before pulling me close. He smashed his lips against mine with so much force and passion, I could feel my heart leaping out of my chest. Hotch slowly towered over me by pushing himself to his knees. His hands were on my cheeks, his lips pressed to mine until we couldn’t breathe, his eyes screwed shut. I fisted his hair in my hands as he vigilantly pushed me onto my back.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he mumbled against my lips before we could go too far, trying to pull away from me for a moment. Our hands stayed on each other as he leaned away. “What were you going to tell me?”

“Does it matter?” I asked, still smiling. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever stop smiling.

“Tell me,” he insisted.

I twisted some of his hair around my index finger. “I heard you asking Jack about me last night.” Hotch shook his head and hid his face in the crook of my neck, red with embarrassment. “You’re too cute,” I complimented, trying to lift his head back up so that I could stare into his eyes for forever. I kissed him again. “I love you so much.”

He lifted himself up again, this time pulling one hand away from my face so that he could open the drawer of his bedside table and grab something inside. “I started carrying this one around everywhere because…” He hesitated. “Well.” He didn’t have to say it because I knew what he meant. He sat on his knees between my legs and opened the classic black velvet ring box in his hands to reveal an engagement ring. It was a standard single solitaire shaped diamond on a silver band— nothing too flashy, yet still perfect in every way imaginable. Hotch pulled it out of the case and pinched the band between his fingers. “Come here,” he whispered, grabbing my hand. I watched as he slid the ring onto my finger slowly before kissing my hand. “I love you.”

I grabbed his face between my hands, pulling him back up to me. “I love you.” I smashed my lips against his.

Our hips instinctively met simultaneously, grinding against each other desperately to lead to another way for us to say, “I love you.” Hotch laced his fingers with mine and pinned them down next to my head. I moaned when I felt him hardening against me. I kissed him harder. With the escalation between us making our needs known to each other, the two of us didn’t hesitate. Hotch tried pulling his hands away from me so that he could strip off my clothes, but I only let go of his left hand because I wanted to hold his right hand with my left, the ring snug against my finger as a reminder that I was officially going to be his.

There was no way in hell that we were going to have a long engagement. Though we probably should have, we weren’t going to sit around, double guessing ourselves, or just waiting anxiously to finally call each other husband and wife. We loved each other. I didn’t think anyone doubted that. After the rollercoaster of a year we had, it made sense to finally just be in each other’s arms, claiming one another as ours. We deserved that. There was a time when I told myself that I would do whatever it would take to marry Aaron Hotchner. Whether it was a big, white wedding or a small, shotgun wedding, I was going to marry him. That was still true. Though I knew Hotch would want to have some kind of “big” wedding just to tell the whole world: “This person is finally mine, and I want everyone to know it!”, I also knew that there was no way we could pull off something elaborate in such a short time. And in such a short time, I meant a little more than a month.

Yeah. The thought hit me when Hotch used his mouth to pull down my pajama shorts. His teeth grabbed ahold of the waistband, and he slowly started sliding down, utilizing my help that I was offering by bucking my hips upward somewhat. Our three year anniversary was in exactly forty-one days. Three years of calling him mine was quickly approaching, and I wanted that day to be the first time I would call him my husband, too. So, it was either forty-one days from now or 406 days. There was no fucking way I was going to wait that long.

“Fuck me,” I begged, running my free hand through his messy, long, black hair. His breath slowly trailed up my left thigh, making its way to my hand before stopping to kiss my ring. “I love you.” He smirked and moved his attention up further to my pajama shirt. “Aaron—” I gasped as he snaked his free hand under my shirt, moving it up torturously slow, and then he pushed the scrunched fabric into my open mouth. I moaned a protest.

“Just let me please you, baby girl.” He nipped at my collarbone, leaving a hickey and making me squeeze his hand. “That was for eavesdropping last night.” I glared at him. Hotch smirked and massaged my thigh with a rough palm. “Don’t make me tie you up when we’re celebrating.”

“Please…” My plea was muffled behind my shirt, but the message was clear enough. I couldn’t wait to marry him, but I also couldn’t wait to have him inside me that morning, and I could tell he felt that same way, too. “Sir, please.”

“Shhh…” he cooed, sliding his middle finger into me slowly without warning. I gasped and arched my back. He pulled my shirt out of my mouth so that he could hear my uncontrollable sounds of pleasure. “Good girl.” He curled his finger. “I love you so much.” I swallowed his words as we kissed passionately. We both moaned. “Say yes again for me. Please.”

“Yes,” I repeated breathlessly. “Yes, I’ll marry you—” I gasped again when his index finger joined his middle finger deep inside of me. “Yes, yes, ye— Fuck.”

“I love you.”

“I love you,” I mumbled while kissing him again.

Hotch smiled against me, then added his ring finger inside of me and pressed his thumb against my clit. I moaned. As he started rubbing fast figure eights around my sensitive clit, I squeezed his hand, feeling my ring move slightly around my finger. I was going to be his. I mean, I was always his, but now I was going to be his wife. Every time the ring shifted or dug into my skin, I was reminded of that. He loved me. He wanted to marry me. We always talked about getting married, yet all it took was another year since New York for him to pluck up the courage to finally ask.

“My fiancé,” I suddenly said.

Hotch froze for a second so that he could sit back and come to terms with what I had just said. I started getting worried that I said something wrong. When I tried to backpedal, Hotch’s smile only grew, and his fingers started fucking in and out of me as fast as he could. “Mine.”

“Yours.”

He squeezed my hand tighter. “Mine,” he growled roughly.

I nodded while throwing my head back into the pillows. I was breathless and speechless now. With his pace and force, I knew that I wasn’t going to last long, especially since he then decided to start hitting my g-spot over and over again for the sole purpose of making me cum as fast and hard as possible. He threatened to tie me up, but really, he just wanted to make me feel good as a reminder that I was his, and nothing was ever going to change that. Cumming around his fingers was the truest way of my body telling him: “I love you”. As my walls clenched around him and my body shook, my free hand fisted around the sheets.

“Thank you, Sir!” I cried out.

“Shhh,” he insisted with a giggle, silencing me with a kiss. When I stopped making noise, he pulled back. My orgasm faded, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. “You have to be quiet.” He curled his fingers in me.

I whimpered again. “I can’t.”

“I’ll gag you.”

“Sorry, Sir,” I apologized quietly. “I need you,” I whispered, bringing my hand from the sheets to his hair. I pulled lightly at the strands. “Please, Sir.” He slowly slid his fingers out of me, letting me adjust to the feeling of being empty.

Hotch brought his fingers to my mouth. “Maybe now you’ll stay quiet.” He pressed his fingers against my tongue gently, making my jaw go slack. “Don’t stop,” he commanded while sitting back so that he could push his pants down using his free hand—but in order to do that, he had to release my hand that had the new engagement ring hugging my finger. As his pants slid to his knees, Hotch pulled his fingers out of my mouth. “Say it again.”

It didn’t matter how many times he needed to hear it, because I would tell him every single time. Yes, a million times, yes. Yes, until I couldn’t breathe. Yes, until it was official. Yes, every day for the rest of my life. I wasn’t going to let him go. After nearly three years of chasing this day around, of promising each other that we would finally have this moment, it had come. I’d say yes for that reason. And, in a month, when we would get married, I would say the words: “I do”, too.

“Look at me,” he said, lifting my chin with his thumb after I did as I was told. My gaze met his. “I love you, Y/N. More than anything in the world.” He hovered over me. “I don’t want to spend another day of my life without you.”

I ran both of my hands down his back, finding the bottom hem of his shirt, then sliding it up until it was at his shoulders, at which point, I needed his help getting it all the way off. Hotch sat up and eagerly tore his shirt off. Within an instant, he was hovering over me again, his thumb back on my chin. We stared at each other for another moment. His erection pressed against my wet slit, sliding up and down slowly. I dug my fingers into his shoulders in order to brace myself, which only earned a slight groan then smirk from Hotch.

“My fiancé,” he whispered to me this time while he slowly entered me. I moaned as he stretched me. No matter how many times he fucked me; no matter how hard he would fuck me; no matter what he did to me, he was always going to fit tight like that. I fucking loved it. I loved him. “Fuck,” he groaned, bottoming out inside of me. Every inch of him pulsed as I adjusted around him, giving us both time to catch our breath and find our bearings. And then he slowly slid out of me. When his tip was teasing my entrance again, he snapped his hips forward without warning, making me jolt and dig my nails into his back. “Fuck—” He was getting too loud now, so I had to make both of us stay quiet by kissing him urgently.

The faster he went, the harder and more desperate his thrusts got. As my legs wrapped around his hips to give him a better angle in order to get every inch of him inside of me, Hotch took my hands off of his back and pinned them over my head to show his dominance once more. For us, this sex was pretty vanilla. I mean, I don’t think the two of us ever had plain, old, missionary, boring, no spice sex. That just wasn’t for us. Even when we were trying to be cliché and disgustingly in love in moments like these, there still had to be a chance for Hotch to physically tell me that I was his, and there was nothing I could do about it. Normally, restraints did the trick. Losing all control so that Hotch could do with me as he pleased was the best way to say to each other that I belonged to him. Most people didn’t understand that. In fact, most people disliked the idea of a woman submitting entirely for a man for his pleasure—but it wasn’t really all about that. Giving myself to him wholly was for my benefit, too. There wasn’t anything Hotch and I did that we didn’t both agree to and like. I knew that I trusted, understood, and loved him enough to know that I wanted to spend the rest of my life like this. Everything from our definition of vanilla to the kinkiest, dirtiest things we had ever done were free reign. And they made me happy.

When I struggled against his hold, Hotch was only encouraged to pin me with more force. “Stop,” he demanded gruffly between kisses. I moaned into his mouth. “Be a good girl and keep your hands there.” When he was sure that I understood his command, he slowly started releasing my wrists, just to test the waters and make sure I wouldn’t be a brat and try to move anyways. I kept still, though. I held my hands together, my fingers fiddling with the engagement ring that felt so foreign. “So good for me.” He moved his hands to my breasts and squeezed them gently, which also happened to help brace him so that he could maintain his power and speed.

“Sir… Please…”

He pinched my nipples as punishment for speaking out of turn. As I thrashed under him, he smirked, and pulled gently at the sensitive nubs. He knew what I wanted. He knew that I needed him to touch my clit to help tip me over the edge, but he wasn’t there yet. He wasn’t ready to have me break for him yet. Whenever we were more “vanilla” like this, he always valued climaxing at the same time as me. When he was buried inside of me, I came when he came. That was the silent rule. That was how it had always been, and that was how it would always be.

I clenched around him to encourage his orgasm. He groaned and fell forward involuntarily. “Baby girl,” he growled into my ear, “if you keep doing that, I’ll—” His breath sputtered when I did it again. “Fuck…” Ignoring his command to hold my hands above my head, I reached out to touch his abs. He removed his hands from my breast. Before I could reach him, Hotch gripped my wrists as hard as he could. “Stop—” he thrusted into me. “Stop being a brat.”

“That’s not fun, though,” I pouted, trying to fight against him.

He squinted at me. Pinning my hands above my head again, he towered over me and fucked into me as hard as he could, only this time, he didn’t stop. He just kept going. No matter how much I fought against him, or squeezed my walls around his length, he didn’t stop. I leaned up to kiss his lips. Giving into that one show of affection, Hotch kissed me back, moaning into my mouth as he got closer.

“Cum in me,” I mumbled between kisses. Really, it was to say, mark me as yours in one extra way. Love me. Fuck me. Make me yours. “Sir, please.” One of his hands gave up on pinning me so that he could start rubbing my clit. The second I felt the stimulation, I arched my back, our stomachs pressing against each other. He was close now. He wasn’t on the brink yet because that tell hadn’t approached yet, but he was making his way there, which was why he was suddenly giving me the pleasure I desperately needed.

“I love you, baby.” He leaned down a little further so that he could start nipping at my neck, leaving an obvious hickey. Yet another way of marking me. The ring, the hickey, his cum—I was his. “Fuck… Shit…” He was breathless now, his thrusts getting increasingly sloppy, the endless curse words falling from his lips like a mindless prayer. There was his tell. That was how I knew he was finally on the brink. So, as my own orgasm started to reach its peak, I clenched around him again. Hotch moved his fingers faster since he couldn’t fuck me at a sustained pace anymore. “Fuck!” He slumped forward as his cock twitched inside of me. “Fuck—”

“I’m gonna—” My hips wriggled around helplessly as I came. I tightened around him, pulsing, clenching and releasing, gushing. Hotch was pressed into me as far as physically possible. He stilled as he came, too. He squeezed my hand to keep him steady as he pushed through the sensitivity of my warmth and softness. I whined when his thumb didn’t move away from me. “Aaron, I can’t…” He understood. He took his thumb away, but he still didn’t pull out of me. His orgasm had passed, every drop of him sitting deep inside of me, his length slowly softening. But he didn’t move. “Aaron.”

“I just want to savor it a little longer…” he whispered into my ear. I felt him start to turn my engagement ring over and over on my finger. “Thank you, baby.”

My free hand found its way to his hair. I tangled my fingers around the long strands. I knew why he was saying thank you, even though he certainly didn’t have to; but I still appreciated it, and I wanted him to know it. “Yes,” I repeated for him. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Hotch chuckled. “Good.” He finally sat up and slid out of me carefully. “I love you.” He brought my hand to his lips, kissing the ring again. “I love you so much.”

I sat up, too. “I love you. My fiancé,” I teased.

---------

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22​ @oceaneblu​ @brithedemonspawn​ @absolutemarveltrash​ @bshelley322​ @rousethemouse​ @sunshinepower17​ @weexinling​ @pettttyyyc​

[sombreboy]

Mused obsession (4)

Written by @sombreboy​​​ as Jungkook & @chimoona​​​​​ as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog​​​​​

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 9k ⇢Ch.warnings: profanity, jealous jk, tattooing, light descriptions of blood/pain, exhibitionist jk oh boy, graphic desc. of piercing jk's cock (I'm no piercer so don't take this literally it's fiction, infections don't exist in this world pls be sanitary.), more intense sexual tension because why not, jk is a total sadomasochist and this you need to remember forever for every damn chapter. xo

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

The next morning Jungkook’s alarm went off early, and he groaned out curses. For once, he didn’t want to wake up. The quality of sleep he’d gotten was a rarity in his life, all thanks to the man laying next to him. Jungkook turns the alarm off before clinging to Jimin, pressing soft kisses on the crook of his neck, wishing he could stay in bed forever.

It isn’t the alarm that rouses Jimin but the motion of Jungkook behind him. Gentle kisses tickle his neck and strong arms hold him close—a kind comforting touch he hasn’t felt since his ex. He turns to face the man, pressing his parted mouth to his, still groggy with sleep. “Good morning,” he coos, brushing his plump lips down Jungkook’s flushed neck before resting in the indent of his collar.  He slept well enough, but the unfamiliar setting caused him to wake a couple times throughout the night. Even then, Jungkook’s warmth and protective hold coaxed him back to sleep. “What day is it?” He wonders out loud, not ready to sit up and check for himself. The mixture of liquor from the night before doesn’t help his focus in the slightest, feeling slightly hungover and lethargic. “Have you seen my phone?” He dreads the many messages he probably has from his manager, or even Tae.

Jungkook hums, ignoring every single question being thrown at him. He just wants to hold Jimin forever. But eventually, he reaches over to the nightstand where he’s placed the elder’s phone and hands it over, then cuddles up close to get a look at the screen as well. He’s extremely curious after all—does anybody miss Jimin? How easy would it possibly be to just...keep him?

No, that’s too early. Things take time.

“I don’t know, but there’s breakfast ready whenever you’re hungry...” Jungkook murmurs with a raspy morning voice.

“Mm, sounds good…” Just as Jimin suspected, ten messages and four phone calls. Most are from his manager, a couple from Taehyung apologizing, and one from… interesting. Jimin flicks off the covers from his side of the bed and wriggles out of Jungkook’s arms, regrettably.  “Breakfast sounds great,” he picks his robe from the floor and wraps it around himself in a hurry, “I just need to make a few phone calls.” He leans onto the bed and gives the younger a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll make it quick, promise.”

Before Jungkook has a chance to reply, Jimin steps out onto the attached balcony and closes the door behind him. First thing’s first, he definitely needs to let his manager know he’s not dead in a ditch. However, more importantly, he’s dying to know why his ex messaged him out of the blue after so many months of silence. He’s a vague man. The only thing his text said was “Proud.”

Jungkook’s lip twitches as he watches the blonde close the balcony door in a hurry. What is so important? He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit curious...and frustrated. He doesn’t like secrets, even if Jimin doesn’t owe him anything... technically . Jungkook wants to know, and he will, eventually. The photographer lays low, gets out of bed to puts on a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. He grabs his own phone and sits back down, scrolling through social media... Jimin’s show was a hit, trending, both photos and praise, on the news. Of course, there were the photos of Jungkook, smiling as he was enjoying the show—which also drew a whole lot more attention towards the blonde, as if making Jeon Jungkook smile was an achievement. Jungkook scoffs, but nonetheless happy about the many pictures available of Jimin, saving several to his phone as he continuously glances over at the balcony.

Who is he calling… Kook cranes his neck to try and decipher Jimin’s facial expressions, but can’t quite make it out...

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. No, Jeon didn’t kidnap me and hide me in his basement. No—GOD, what kind of man do you think I am? Yeah…yeah…okay, thanks for covering. It went really well? Trending? Goood…okay, yeah, thanks for calling. Sorry to worry you…bye.” Jimin checks in with his manager. They’re annoying as hell but they mean well. He shoots Tae a quick text, telling him to sleep it off.  Then Jimin flicks through his contact list until his thumb hovers over the one name he didn’t think he’d ever call again—Seung-Ho.  The man started as a lifestyle influencer, wearing Lululemon shorts at Machu Picchu or casually eating the latest novelty hipster food with a bright smile on his face. Now he’s the brand ambassador and face of Jimin’s biggest competitor.

“Jimin, baby…,” he coos over the receiver. “I’m so proud…”

Inside, Jungkook grows restless, bouncing his leg with clasped hands as he stares at Jimin through the glass door. Who is he talking to? Why is it taking so damn long? Why did he hover over the screen for several seconds before pressing the call button? He didn’t want to wait any longer—who is more important than Jungkook? Normally, the younger is extremely patient in every other aspect of his life, but when it comes to Jimin giving somebody else his attention, it runs out quick. He gets up to saunter over to the balcony door, carefully sliding it open to eavesdrop.

“Seung-ie—“ Jimin catches himself, “Seung-Ho.” He rolls his face in his palm. It’s too early in the morning to have this conversation with the ghost of his past. Regardless, he’s very curious to know why he reached out after all this time. “Why did you text me? To say you’re proud?” He can’t help but smile a little when the man on the other line praises his clothing collection. Apparently Seung was in the audience the whole time, absolutely loved Jimin’s little speech, and even took note of how well the model looked on stage under all the glowing lights. He laughs, recalling the last time he took Jimin out on a date—how he spilled slushie all over his pure white button up and they had to make an emergency stop at Neiman Marcus for a spare.

“I miss you, Mochi,” he says lowly from the other side, deep and seductive. “When can I see you again?”

Seung-ie?… Seung-Ho. Why does the name sound familiar?  Jungkook rolls his tongue against the fleshy inside of his cheek, listening for merely a minute before he decides it’s enough. He announces his presence by snaking his arms around Jimin’s waist, placing his chin in the crook of the elders neck, placing soft kisses against it.

Mine…

Kook leans in to whisper into Jimin’s ear, “I’m hungry…”

It distracts Jimin’s train of thought to have Jungkook kissing his sensitive neck. One ounce of attention from the man and he is absolute putty.

“Who was that?” Jimin hears Seung-Ho chime from the other end.

“I’ve got to go, but thank you for coming to the show,” Jimin replies, wrapping up the call. He presses the end button and turns in Jungkook’s arms to face him. He looks annoyed to say the least, but he doesn’t blame him, he would be too. “Just a stupid ex,” Jimin whispers before melding his lips to the other man’s. “Let’s eat…”

 Jungkook grasps and guides Jimin’s chin between his long, tattooed fingers to face him. “Why’d they call you?” He’s no longer subtle with his concern, the mere mention of an ex causes his eyebrows to furrow. “They bothering you?” He continues, his fingers tightening ever slightly around the blondes chin, his face so close that their lips graze together with every word spoken. His other hand remains wrapped around Jimin’s waist, keeping their bodies tightly pressed together, as if the elder would disappear if he didn’t hold him.

Jimin rolls his eyes and tries to shake off the goosebumps still prickling from Seung-Ho’s compliments. “He’s probably bored,” he covers, still not entirely sure why the man reached out. He said he was proud, but why should Jimin care what he thinks? As Jungkook’s hold tightens, Jimin feels the need to be honest, as if the truth is being squeezed from him. “He liked the show. Wants to see me again, but...,” he squeezes Jungkook back, “I’m far too busy.”

“Too bad for him.” Jungkook mutters, a small smile tugging at his lips as he feels Jimin’s reassuring squeeze. He feels his stomach rumble, looping his fingers between Jimin’s as he pulls the elder with him inside towards the dining hall.  If the blonde isn’t already constantly reminded by the wealth the young photographer possesses, this would be one of many reminders. A large table filled with all kinds of breakfast delicacies greet them, way too much for one, two or even three people. This might as well be a buffet for a party. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so...I got everything.” Kook shrugs, as if this isn’t his everyday life anyway, zeroing his eyes in on the fridge filled with his favorite beverage.

Jimin never has to leave. Every little thing that could possibly accommodate his needs is right here in the photographer’s house. “There’s so much to choose from...” Jimin’s hunger increases the longer he looks. He doesn’t even feed himself most of what’s available, but he almost feels like he’s on vacation, so he grabs a pastry and quickly devours it before the guilt sinks in. The flakey, sugary taste is sweeter than sweet as it hits his lips. “Here…” he lifts the danish to Jungkook’s mouth and coaxes him to take a bite without a second thought. The instinctual domestic nature is less and less jarring the longer he stays.

Jungkook’s eyes widen a tad bit in surprise at the sudden gesture, but quickly grasps Jimin’s wrist to guide the pastry to his mouth, chomping off a large piece. His eyes flutter shut with a quiet hum in content—his adoration for sweets so strong that one would wonder how the hell he has the physique he does. “You’re a man of taste,” he chuckles, bringing the straw of his drink to his lips to wash the pastry down. He could definitely get used to having Jimin here, seeing the elders' reactions to his everyday life, so adorable. Having somebody here is a nice change. Sharing this with him is all Jungkook starts to crave. “Try the fruit. Get me some grapes.”

The grapes grabbed Jimin’s attention right away—so ripe and juicy. He lifts a vine from the table and plucks off a single grape, popping it into his mouth and biting down with a satisfying crunch. A light moan tickles his throat, unable to contain how much he enjoys every bit of this.  “Want one?” He plucks another grape and grasps it between his teeth, bringing it up to Jungkook’s lips to feed him directly.

With a smile, Jungkook leans in to bite the exposed half of the grape and within the same movement, grasps Jimin’s waist to push their hips together. “Want you ,” he shamelessly admits, digging his long fingers into the blonde’s sides, tipping his head forward to press a soft kiss on his plush lips. Jimin is already acting more and more in the manners that Jungkook wants; so sweet and almost domestic, like they’re actually together. He really likes it...and in his own mind, they might as well be. He has no eyes for anybody else since he saw the blonde step into his photo session.

Jimin’s hold tightens, digging to be grounded in reality while his mind floats somewhere else. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, feeling so clingy and lustful since the second Jungkook called him “baby.” “N-need you,” he says quietly. His eyes fall away from the other man as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He isn’t sure what exactly he needs, but every little facet of his time with the photographer is so overwhelmingly euphoric he can’t imagine being apart.

One of Jungkook’s hands moves up the elders body until he reaches his neck, carefully sliding down the robe on one side to expose his small shoulder. “Yeah?” He nuzzles his nose into Jimin’s neck. Fuck, he smells so nice... A deep inhale follows, unable to resist the urge to brush his lips against Jimin’s soft skin. This man is the human embodiment of a drug.

“Yeah,” Jimin replies, weak in the knees. He pushes his robe down further for Jungkook to feel and breathe in any part he desires. He does the same to the other man, tugging the robe loose until it hangs slack around his back. He kisses his way up his built arm, paying close attention to the tattoos that decorate his skin.  “Didn’t expect you to have so many,” Jimin notes with lips pressed lightly to a dark tattoo engraved in his shoulder. “I’ve always wanted more. Love the way they look.”

“Want a tattoo?” Jungkook muses. The mere thought clashes in his mind. Jimin’s skin is precious , not just any tattoo would be good enough. He sighs at the sensation of the elders lips and knows exactly who he’d choose to fulfill his wishes, if he wanted. There’s nobody he’d ever trust more than his personal tattoo artist, Kim Namjoon. He’d lie if he said he wasn’t anticipating the sounds the blonde would make as soon as the needles graze his tender skin... “What would you get?”

Jimin lifts the hem of his robe, exposing his naked thigh. “It would need to be special. Maybe something small. I’m thinking here...” he motions to the taut muscle, pure and unmarked. Jimin surveys Jungkook’s expression as he rubs a thumb over the flesh, “Wouldn’t it look pretty here, Jeon?” Clearly the younger appreciates body markings. It’s only fair his input is taken into consideration. He is, after all, the one who unknowingly influenced Jimin to finally do it.

Jungkook crouches down in front of him, allowing his slender, inked fingers to smooth down Jimin’s thigh until he reaches the part that’s meant for the tattoo. He takes a short moment to just admire the firm, untouched skin before gazing up at the blonde. “It would look gorgeous...I have the perfect person for the job. Maybe after today’s fitting?” He tilts his head in question, wondering if the model would truly be up for it. If Jimin mentions he wants something, Jungkook can’t get it out of his mind until he has it. Was it a small comment in the heat of the moment?

For Jimin, it’s so easy to just say yes when Jungkook asks a question. His wide bambi eyes sparkle with intrigue, and who is Jimin to strip that joy from him?

“Yes,” he answers, a little hesitant. He was just playing around to get a rise out of the younger man, but the idea of getting permanently marked while Jungkook watches is even more exhilarating. “But after the fitting. I need to be in top shape if I’m going to get down on my knees and measure you properly.”

Jungkook’s expression lights up—a yes is definitely what he wanted to hear. He knows he’ll have to set the plan in motion, because Jimin wants it.

“That I agree with,” Jungkook coyly replies with a crooked eyebrow. The playful spark in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed as he leans in to kiss the blonde’s thigh. He plants a soft peck before standing up to cup Jimin’s cheeks. “Have you eaten enough? We should get ready.”

Jimin quickly devours another danish before his body tells him not to, living just a little longer in the fantasy world Jungkook created. It really is too good here, and with the other man adoring every facet of his being, it’s very hard to leave. Leaving Jungkook to finish his breakfast, Jimin finds his way to the nearest shower and instantly gravitates to the shampoo Jungkook lathered him with the night before. It’s a comforting smell that is now regrettably faint on his skin from a deep sleep. He hurries to coat himself in it, head to toe, blissing in the cloud of humidified scent blooming under the warm cascade of heat. After a short while, he steps out, feeling like a new man, ready to give Jungkook the suit of his dreams and repay him for everything.

Jungkook doesn’t bother with a shower, but simply gets dressed and waits. He runs his hand through his messy locks. The ruffled look adds to his childish yet not so innocent charm, juxtaposed against his black dress shirt that fits his firm physique, paired with black jeans. It’s a casual look, yet his adorning jewelry showcases that he is anything but ordinary, with many shiny rings and an expensive necklace that rests at the base of his neck.  While waiting for Jimin, Jungkook lays down on his couch and contacts Namjoon to make sure he’s available and ready after the fitting. He’s giddy to surprise Jimin with the news... later .

All the while, Jimin wrapped back into his robe and padded down to Jungkook’s studio in hopes of retrieving his clothes, however, he found them neatly folded on a decorative console table just outside. The studio door was shut and locked tight, which he found slightly odd for a mere photography studio. Regardless, he was sure Jungkook had his reasons. He changed into his clothes from the night before and finessed his hair into a presentable style with a bit of product he found laying around. It’s not best practice in the world of fashion to be seen in public wearing the same thing twice, but he made an exception for the day.

Eventually, Jungkook grew bored and decided to go find the blonde roaming around his house, only to find all ready in yesterday's outfit. Cute.

“Ready to go? Car’s waiting outside for us.” He reaches out with grabby hands for Jimin, waiting for him to get the hint; to run to him. The younger wishes for the domestic feeling to never go away, and he was curious how the blonde would act among other people.

Luckily for Jungkook, Jimin got the hint right away and walked towards him quickly, still taking the time to admire his fit as he approached. Today is going to be difficult— how can he build upon perfection? It’s hard not to implode by how cute Jungkook is, looking the way he does, so effortless and cool; truly a muse fit for the occasion. “Ready,” Jimin nods, smiling widely and snuggling into Jungkook’s arms to enjoy a few last moments in this fantasyland before transitioning back to Park Jimin, the supermodel and fashion aficionado.

Jungkook cups the blonde’s cheek and guides his face to look up at him—a last close up look before their one-on-one dynamic would be broken, momentarily. His butterfly truly has a duality to him that is admirable, however the way the elder can easily crumble for him is incredible.

“Okay, let’s go.” He flashes his signature toothy smile and turns to guide them to the waiting car. His arm tightly grips Jimin’s waist until he has to let go to hold the door open for him.

~

Preparations were made on Jimin’s part during the ride. It seems his assistant is used to last-minute bookings since he started his Be Your Light collection. Last-minute tailorings for industry events and spontaneous all-nighters when inspiration struck. For this occasion, he requested that all the materials be ready for him to use alone—No assistants. The attention would be purely put on Jungkook. Just like the photographer’s preferred work style, Jimin wanted no distractions.

It was go-time the second they arrived—Jimin’s assistant guided the two men into a secluded wing of his studio where a myriad of patterns, leathers and fabrics were laid out.

“This is perfect, thank you,” Jimin nods his approval and flashes a sparkling smile, then begins to pull together his measuring tools. “Jeon, please, take a look around and tell me if anything catches your eye.”

Jungkook begins to stroll around the different materials to work with, fingers smoothing over the fabrics tentatively.  His eyes keep looking back and forth between the black silk and leather. He always tended to like darker, edgier themes, but the soft and shiny material is so comfortable to touch. Jungkook grasps it in his hand and holds it up for Jimin to see with a lopsided and challenging smirk on his lips.

“Could you make me something with this?”

“There’s a lot I can do with that.”

Jimin strolls up to feel the smooth silk beneath his fingertips. Leather would have been a fine choice for its stability and durability, but he likes a challenge. “Black silk,” he notes, plucking the swatch from Jungkook’s hands to inspect it further, “it can be very complimentary to your skin tone.” He rubs his thumb over the rise and fall of the fabric’s exterior—a faint textured brocade, so unique and fitting for the man—dark, yet subdued. “If I tailor it just right, it can hold your shape or flow loose, if you choose.” His designer mind flicks on and he plots the form internally. “What kind of event do you plan to attend in a silk suit, Jeon?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jungkook shrugs, a smile mixed between sheepish and coy replacing his challenging smirk. His eyes follow Jimin’s delicate fingers as they smoothe over the fabrics, already wishing they were on him instead. Growing impatient, he jumps a bit in his position. “I want the silk, make it fitted…” He muses for a moment. “And a low front?”

“A low front, huh?” Jimin glides a hand down the front of Jungkook’s shirt and tugs a little to reveal his defined collarbones. “A very wise choice,” he smirks, releasing the shirt with a snap, “take this off, I’ll need to get close to your body for the tightest fit.” He takes a couple steps back to give Jungkook space, itching to rid the shirt and everything else. However, this is a big opportunity to make something neoteric and special. The process will be the greatest test of his patience.

“Everything?” Jungkook coyly replies as he pulls his shirt over his head, shamelessly exposing his upper body to Jimin. He kind of likes this side of Jimin. No, scrap that–he really likes it. The photographer is rarely ever told what to do, and the elders' confidence and passion for his work is just adding to the younger's growing infatuation.

Jimin bites his lip at the question. “Eager, aren’t we?” His fingers fall to Jungkook’s waist, gliding across his exposed hips and down to his belt buckle. “No, Jeon, just the shirt for now.” He gives the buckle a light tap and then steps behind the photographer, releasing a soft sigh at the smooth expanse of flesh he’s blessed to dress any way he likes. “We’ll start with the top and work our way down. Now stay nice and relaxed, I want to make sure the measurements are precise.”

Jungkook’s coy pout matches the mischief in his eyes as he glances over his shoulder at the blonde. “Yes, Mr. Park.” He turns his head back to look straight forward, letting his arms dangle loosely on his sides. “Take your time with me.” Jungkook really dragged out the way he said the elders last name, as if they weren’t already past the point of formalities.

Jimin takes his time to touch and measure Jungkook’s torso until he has every inch of muscle definition saved to memory. The younger’s enthusiasm encourages him to work with full concentration as he daydreams about the low neckline and how he’ll form it. However, he’s easily snapped from his thoughts whenever he is referred to as “Mr. Park,” like he’s never been called the name before. When it rolls off of Jungkook’s tongue, it’s no longer a name given at birth but a name given to tease. He drapes the measuring tape around the back of his neck and pauses, taking one last second to admire all of Jungkook’s tattoos, fully exposed just for him. What a predicament he’s gotten himself into. He doesn’t want to rush the process, but once the pants come off, he may need to pick up the pace.

“Now the pants, Jeon,” Jimin instructs with the firmest tone he can muster, “take them off for me.”

Jungkook cocks a playful eyebrow at the elder male, letting his hands work his belt to slowly unbuckle it. “You’re so cute when you’re bossy.” He unzips and peels his pants down, letting them fall and pool by his feet before stepping out of them, standing in nothing but his boxers. It’s new, being the one to follow orders. But, the way Jimin tries so hard to remain professional is the best part. So the photographer plays along, curious as to how long the blonde can hold his mask before it crumbles.

Jimin continues to act like he doesn’t want to take advantage of Jungkook’s vulnerable state, which is even harder than it looks.

“I’m always cute,” he responds just a little too late and winks at the younger man. He doesn’t know what he’s saying at this point. His brain switches to autopilot once Jungkook’s thick thighs become visible. All he can think to do is take a deep breath, bend to his knees and measure.  Measure, measure. He jots down his findings on a small notepad to keep his hands busy. The process is almost complete—just one more measurement and Jungkook can get dressed. Jimin places his palms on Jungkook’s inner thigh to hold the measuring tape in place for the inseam.  “Hold still,” he asks quietly, feeling small and meek under the younger man’s gaze, “I’m almost done.” His hand soothes over the expanse of his exposed flesh, lingering a little longer than professionally advised.

Jungkook firmly places his hands on his hips as he gazes down at the blonde from above. His potent stare along with the confidence practically oozing off of him is sure to make just about anybody nervous. However, it is Jimin that he wants to bring to his knees, and conveniently enough, he already is. Before Jimin could properly measure his inner thigh, Jungkook playfully reaches his hand down to brush the blonde locks away from Jimin’s face, then runs his long fingers through it, giving a light tug before withdrawing.

“Done?”

Jimin shudders from the tug at his roots, causing his muscles to tense from the pleasure and proximity of the man above. He can’t resist the effect Jungkook’s beautiful hands have on him, especially when they’re carded through his soft hair, caressing him any way they please. “Almost done,” he says in a low tone, aching to deflect attention from the growing tent in his pants. “But if you keep distracting me, we’ll be here all day.” He glides his hand higher up the younger man’s inner thigh until it touches the hemline of his briefs. “Would you like that, Jeon?”

“Is that a question or a proposition?” Jungkook’s light smirk doesn’t go unnoticed. His hand doesn’t leave the blonde’s curls as he twirls the light ends between his fingers. God, did he love to tease the model, who’s eyes seem to dilate with lust as they gaze up at him with innocence. But Jungkook knows by now that he is far from the angel he initially presented himself as.

Jimin replies with a smirk of his own, dragging his small fingertips down the younger’s inner thigh to take the last measurement. He purposefully brushes the back of his hand against the bulge in Jungkook’s briefs and teases him through the fabric for just a second, then withdraws completely as if nothing happened. “I’ll pass my notes to my assistant so she can begin the preliminary steps—shouldn’t take long.” He stands to his feet and steps so close to Jungkook that their bodies nearly touch. “You did great, Jeon. You can get dressed now.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose in a small, toothy smile. The blonde really tried to play him at his own game. Well, if that’s what he wants... He nods lightly before turning around to bend over and pick his clothes up, slowly putting the fabrics on one by one without a word. Maybe Jimin expected a different reaction, but Jungkook wanted the blonde pining rather than simply giving him what he wanted.  As he is fully dressed, he turns back to face Jimin and reaches out to caress his cheek with the back of his hand. “I'm thrilled to see what you come up with… Now, are we done for today?”

“That’s a wrap,” Jimin nods, internally cursing himself for encouraging Jungkook to dress so quickly. Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to show some affection now that the measurements are recorded.  He melts into Jungkook’s caress and curls his arm around the small of his waist to guide him to the door. He peeks up at the taller man beneath his blonde fringe, feeling more relaxed now that he doesn’t have to focus on drafting the suit.

“So, about this tattoo...”

Jungkook’s face lights up at the mention. “Yes! Do you wanna go now?” He is a tad bit over excited about the fact, as he’s made sure that Namjoon was ready to clear his schedule the very second he made the call.  Kook wraps his arm around Jimin’s shoulder to pull him close as they head towards the waiting car. He may have asked, but his mind is already made up—Jimin is getting that tattoo.

“I’m a little nervous,” Jimin confesses, grasping the car door handle and hesitantly tugging it open, “It’s been a while.” He slides into his seat and gets comfortable next to Jungkook. He’s a little out of his element, but he trusts the man, surprisingly enough. He can’t pinpoint why, but he finds solace in his touch—a sense of calm that makes him feel like he could tackle anything. “I don’t even know what I’m going to get,” he laughs, “Shit, Jeon, what did you talk me into?”

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook’s eyes fall on Jimin as he says so, repeating the same words he once said back at their first photoshoot. Without a response, he gives a vague wave of his hand and the chauffeur begins to drive. He places his hand on Jimin’s thigh and let’s it rest there, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.

It’s not just Jungkook’s words or his touch that pulls Jimin closer—it’s the undivided attention, and his tranquil gaze. Every now and then, Jimin swears he can see the man’s soul in his dark irises. They’re so receptive and kind, but piercing and cool, all at once.

“I trust you,” he speaks above a whisper. Just as he did at their first photo shoot, Jimin places his full and complete trust in Jungkook’s hands. He’s a proven visionary—not only a renowned artist but a man with true vision. If he wants this permanent marking to have the greatest meaning, he’ll leave the final decision up to Jeon Jungkook. That moment in the glass room changed Jimin—seeing his faults fall between the cracks of those mirrored shards, scattered across the floor. He owes this to him. Everything that’s come from that moment has only made Jimin stronger—a better version of himself. “I want you to choose what I get.”

‘‘Really?’‘ Jungkook’s doe eyes widen before they squint in a smile. Small wrinkles appear in the corners of his eyes, adorning his skin. He feels butterflies erupting in his chest at the way Jimin willfully gives his trust. He seems entirely head over heels, and that’s exactly what he wants. Jungkook cranes his neck to close the last bit of distance between their lips in a sweet kiss. He pulls back just enough to stare at how Jimin gazes back in awe, only to lean forward and place another kiss on his plush lips...and another, and another. It’s like a drug. Lips, intoxicating, the way they envelope his with loving care.

Jimin presses back firmly to Jungkook and unbuckles his seatbelt to get closer. There’s far too much pent-up energy and nerves in his body to resist. He moves his hand to the back of the younger man’s neck and guides the kiss. He pulls him deeper, gliding his velvety tongue along Jungkooks, crawling into his lap and straddling him face-to-face.  “Really,” he breathes against his hot lips, “Want you to mark me, sir.”

Jungkook can tell that Jimin’s words have double meaning, which causes him to smile.  The plush of his bottom lip grazes the blonde’s. “It’s a promise, butterfly,” he whispers smoothly as his hands settle in a firm grip on Jimin’s hip bones, squeezing lightly to feel the soft flesh push out between his fingers. Jimin always seemed so fragile when he was like this, yet the innocence in his eyes is nowhere to be seen when he’s slowly becoming corrupted by Jungkook’s various temptations.

Jimin soaks in the feeling of Jungkook’s hands on his hips and allows them to hold him close for the duration of the ride. He wants them to hold him everywhere at once, but unfortunately, Jeon Jungkook isn’t Vishnu with four arms. However, at least in Jimin’s mind, he is god-like. Is it odd for him to think so highly of a man he’s known for less than a week? Life moves quickly in the world of fashion—working partnerships are just another part of it. In the words of Heidi Klum, “one day you’re in, and the next, you’re out.” At this point, he’ll do anything to stay in.

The model cards his fingers through Jungkook’s soft hair as he slides off his lap, giving him a small peck on the lips before settling back into his seat. The car pulls up to the curb of the shop; Jimin instantly feels his tingly heartbeat in the tips of fingers as they wrap around the door handle.  A moment of pause, then... “Lets get it,” he breathes out in a wisp of a laugh.

Jungkook smiles as he leans over Jimin to place his long fingers on top of the blonde’s, unlocking the door with him to push it open. As they head inside, the bell to the shop chimes.

“Jungkookie!” They’re met with a dimpled smile greeting them across the room, pen in-hand, working on a sketch. The man stands up to approach the two and gives Jungkook a hug before doing the same to Jimin.

He surely isn’t shy.  

“Is this Jimin? I’m Namjoon.” He takes a step back to observe the blonde, shooting a quick glance at Jungkook that basically says ‘nice.’

Jimin straightens his posture to give the best impression as it seems this man is not only the one about to stick needles in his flesh, but also a good friend of Jungkook’s. As he’s quickly gathered, it’s a rare occasion to meet anyone Jungkook would call a friend. Jimin can only imagine what he makes of his relationship with the photographer. Namjoon’s dark-lined eyes hold firm on Jimin’s, almost softening to put him at ease. “Park Jimin,” the model smiles, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Namjoon smiles back, his prominent dimples on display. He heads towards his desk to pick up the sketch he was working on, beckoning for the others to come closer, “Check this out.”

Jungkook steps beside Namjoon to take a look. “Perfect,” He coos, doe eyes observing the beautiful flower that Joon had sketched on the paper.

“Great,” Namjoon smiles wider, showing Jimin the sketch. It's a delicate drawing of red petals from the sage flower—the meaning behind it being ‘Forever mine,’ which is sketched in a short note at the foot of the page for reference. Joon already knew this is what Jungkook wanted for this one—always something floral, and always different meanings behind them. This one is the most meaningful one he’s ever done...and not just one more flower to be added to Jungkook’s collection on his arms.

Even on the paper, the red petals seem to burn off the page. It’s as if they’re begging to escape the confines of 2D and become immortalised forever, sunk permanently into Jimin’s flesh. He’s lost for words as he scans every detail even though he’s already set on having it on him for life.

“It really is perfect,” he smiles at the cheery dimpled man. He turns to Jungkook and is pleased to see he’s equally enthralled with the finished product. “You’ve chosen well, Jeon.” He drops his hand down onto his own hip until it lands high on his thigh. “Are we still thinking here, or…somewhere else?”

Jungkook’s eyes rake down Jimin’s body in thought for a long moment until they land on his upper thigh. It seems like the perfect spot, and watching the process will be the most enticing part of it all.

“Right here is perfect,” He agrees, placing his hand on top of Jimin’s to apply light pressure onto the firm muscle.

“Splendid,” Namjoon nods before gesturing towards the large, comfortable chair in the room. “Please remove your pants and have a seat.”

Joon heads over to his chair and rolls it over to his desk to gather necessities while waiting for the blonde to get ready.

Mind over matter—Jimin slides his pants down quickly like he would at any runway show. In a situation like this, modesty flies right out the window. In a matter of minutes he’ll be poked raw while Jungkook watches, and the thought alone makes him hastily take his seat in front of the artist, eager to begin.

“Jungkook?” Jimin asks, looking up at the tall man while he towers over him protectively, “You’ll stay here, right? You won’t leave?” His hand itches to hold his as he hears Namjoon whir the machine a couple times to prep the needles.

“I’ll be here every second,” Jungkook promises with a small nod, reaching to brush away Jimin’s fringe from his forehead before grabbing a chair to take a seat next to him, “I chose the piece after all.”

Namjoon smiles to himself at the sweet exchange, noting just how well Jungkook has Jimin wrapped around his finger. It almost reminds him of how he himself used to feel the same way, once upon a time. “Alright, take deep breaths and don’t move. Let me know if you need to take a break,” Namjoon says as he scoots closer in his chair to place the stencil on Jimin’s upper thigh. He observes the placement before giving Jungkook a questioning look, rather than giving the decision to Jimin. Once Kook confirms with an approving nod, Joon gets to work, whirring the machine as he draws the first line. Both men glance at Jimin between strokes, attentive to see his reaction.

The stinging sensation of pulsing needles on Jimin’s soft flesh is not foreign, yet they feel sharper this time around. Deeper. Joon does not have a light-handed approach, likely as a stylistic choice for bold line work, but it makes the fine hairs at the back of Jimin’s neck stand on end. The artist’s attention to detail reminds him of the perfectionist in himself. He acted similarly when he sketched his clothing designs for the BYL collection, so he respects the process. He grits his teeth and bares through the pain. He can feel Jungkook’s gaze land heavy on his thigh as the needles stitch into his skin and embed vibrant ink. The younger man’s investment in this spontaneous decision is enchanting. The design he chose is brilliant and thoughtful. Jimin wonders if he’s devoted this much of his undivided attention to anyone else besides himself. Surely a man of his prestige has better things to do than this with him .

Nonetheless, Jimin pushes his insecurity aside and places his hand on Jungkook’s thigh for assurance.

Jungkook observes every stroke of Namjoon’s wrist with deep focus to make sure there is not a single mistake done to Jimin’s precious skin. He’s more invested in this moment than he has been with anybody else. Luckily, he knows he can trust Namjoon to do a job that is nothing but absolutely perfect. Watching Jimin’s skin slowly gain lines and colors with a design he chose...it’s a feeling unmatched by any other. ... Well , possibly matched by the way Jimin is obviously struggling to keep a straight face. The light twitches in his plush lips are so endearing. Jungkook grabs Jimin’s small hand and gently strokes his knuckles with his thumb, holding it like that the entire time.

Then, after what feels like forever, the buzzing of the machine finally comes to an end. Namjoon places the needle gun back on the desk before cleaning Jimin’s thigh off, inching forward to inspect the finished result. “Alright, we’re all done. Take a look by the mirror over there if you want a proper view.” Joon directs his words towards Jimin, but his eyes flicker to Jungkook’s.

Standing on his feet is a raw task, but Jimin does it with a brave face, placing weight on the leg until it feels comfortable enough to walk on. The mirror doesn’t do the piece justice—up-close it is perfectly placed on his toned thigh and brilliantly shaded. He ghosts his fingers over the fresh ink, hovering just above, slightly bewildered that it’s a part of him forever.  He turns to Namjoon and nods his approval, then looks to Jungkook, trying to assess his reaction. From what he could tell, then man is just as pleased, maybe even more. It is his design concept, after all, and he should be proud. Jimin rests his hand at his side but can still feel Jungkook’s hand—thumb working in soothing circles. It makes him wonder if perhaps he’s relaxed enough to take the pain as well.

“While we’re here,” Jimin says confidently, feeling the dopamine pulse in his rosy numb flesh, “are you getting one too?”

“I am, actually.” Jungkook's small smirk tugs at his lips as he remains still, eyes still admiring the work on Jimin's thigh. Forever would he be marked with the piece that he had chosen. And now he’s about to get one of his own.  Kook guides Jimin to have the seat next to him as he gets himself ready, extending his arm to expose the ink-free piece of his skin on his lower arm. Meanwhile, Joon prepared another set of needles. He rolls up to the youngest to place his stencil, raising his eyebrows in a silent question of 'Good?'   With an approving nod from Jungkook, the familiar buzzing sound of the machine echoes once more. Joon marks Jungkook with a similar design as the one on Jimin's thigh; however, slightly different. While Jimin's is a work of red petals, Jungkook's is the flower itself, with petals falling off of it. As with every other piece Namjoon had done on the photographer in the past, he marks Jungkook's flower tattoo with a barely visible number. It’s a sly way of tracking each time the man has brought someone in to tattoo themselves for him. Why? Who knows. It is a mystery only known to the man himself.

Jimin notes the small number as Namjoon etches it onto Jungkook, not even sure if it is a number he’s seeing or just another part of the blooming bud. The photographer’s silken skin beads with fresh droplets of blood, obstructing his view of the design. He doesn’t even wince when the hairpin needles pierce his skin over and over, like he’s done it so many times it’s as casual as a monthly haircut.  Jungkook is a seasoned professional in Jimin’s eyes. He admires the painless way he endures Namjoon’s heavy-handed pricking in what he assumes to be a sensitive part of the body to mark. He can’t pretend he isn’t shocked the photographer had the foresight to plan matching tattoos, and was too bold to assume Jimin would want it. But Jeon Jungkook's bold decisions are what attracted Jimin to him in the first place.

“You’re doing well,” Jimin assures, soothing his hand over the wide expanse of Jungkook’s back. “You’re doing really well...”

Just as the tattoo begins to form into a coherent piece of art, Jimin’s pocket vibrates. He pulls his phone free and stares down at the notifications, quickly hiding it at his side once he realizes who messaged him.

Jungkook smiles at the sweet words coming from the elder, but it fades just as quickly when he notices the slight tilt of Jimin's phone screen to keep it just out of his vision. Kook can't help the curiosity that gradually morphs to swirling annoyance in his gut. He just can't help it—he hates secrets when they’re kept from him. Could it be the same person Jimin was on the phone with earlier? The younger isn't oblivious, and he really wishes this wouldn't cause any trouble. But before he can comment on the split second, the phone is shoved back into Jimin's pocket, and Namjoon chimes that he's finished.

“Alright, we're done here,” Namjoon clicks his tongue and wipes Jungkook's arm clean, observing the masterpiece with his squinted eyes. He rolls his chair out and stretches his back until his spine pops. “Good, Jungkookie?”

“Perfect.” Jungkook approves as he gets up off his chair, looking down at the new piece of art on his skin. A mark just for Jimin. He displays it for the blonde, a crooked eyebrow following with his toothy grin, “Now we match.”

Jimin tries to muffle the sound of incoming text messages as they continue to vibrate in his pocket. If it isn’t Seung-Ho, it’s surely his manager on behalf of Seung-Ho. The man is persistent when he wants Jimin’s attention—but why does it have to be now? Jimin doesn’t have the nerve to check his phone, especially not when Jungkook proudly displays his fresh ink.

“It’s—” Jimin leans closer, grasping the man’s bicep to steady his body. He squints to take in every little detail, down to the faint number etched at the center of the design—but is it a number? It very well could be, but what does it mean? Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, so Jimin pushes his curiosity aside and examines the rest of the tattoo. “Not to be biased, but I think It’s the most beautiful flower.” The delicate way the red petals seem to fall down from Jungkook’s arm and onto Jimin’s thigh is wholly picturesque. Jimin would be lying if he said it didn’t excite him, knowing the two of them will share this for the rest of their lives. If anything, let it serve as a reminder of their working partnership and the bond they shared shooting Jimin’s first solo collection. Give it time and perhaps the tattoos will increase in value. It’s not even a day old and it’s already Jimin’s new favorite piece of art. He lightly taps his tender thigh and savors the sting, flicking his eyes between both tattoos until they are melded in his mind as one. “It’s been a long day, Jeon,” he winces, tapping his tender flesh a little too roughly. “Ready to head out?”

Jungkook shakes his head with a mischievous, toothy grin growing on his face. “Not yet, I have one more thing.” He speaks as he stares at Namjoon, who suddenly seems to shrink where he stands despite being the tallest of them all.

“Are you sure? It'll hurt.” Joon asked with his eyebrows raised high, feeling the itch in his fingers. He really wants to do it, but he also wants to make sure this was truly what the younger desires. He does hope for a ‘yes’ though. There is nothing else he wants right now than to feel and see Jungkook, even if it's in a professional setting.

“Yes, I've planned this for a while now.” Jungkook's hands travel to the hem of his pants, tugging at the waistline as his grin grows wolfish, “And I want it right now.”

“O-okay...” Namjoon's voice strains, his heart practically bursting within his rib cage with excitement. He loves tattooing, but if there is anything he loves more, it’s body piercing. There is just something about the adrenaline he feels rushing down his spine when he feels the needles easily penetrate through flesh, to be adorned by a piece of jewelry. Joon would be lying if he said it didn't make his face heat up a bit.

“Alright, take a seat,” Namjoon clears his throat, sitting back down on his rolling chair and patting the client seat.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to pull his pants down along with his underwear, shameless and confident in his body as he sits down, half laying in the seat, eyes fixed on Jimin's. He notes how the blonde's eyes immediately find exactly what Kook expects.

“Don't stare so intensely, I'll get excited,” Kook teases Jimin, then flickers his gaze down to meet Namjoon's, who is also seemingly swallowing tightly to keep his professional mask on.

This is too much fun.

“A-are you—” Jimin’s voice weakens as Namjoon grasps Jungkook’s flaccid length and lines up a small barbell at the tip, measuring for size. He very clearly is, no doubt about it. If he was confident going into the tattoo, Jungkook is beyond confident going into this. Jimin wants to ask permission to watch, but can tell right away that it’s Jungkook’s full intention that he do so. He really does like to put on a good show, and, well, Jimin is captivated.

Namjoon finds the perfect piece of jewellery and sets it aside to ready the needle. It’s much larger than Jimin would have imagined—it looks hallowed throughout and incredibly sharp. It’s difficult to understand why in this moment, but Jimin feels his skin heat with arousal at the mere thought of seeing Jungkook’s tip gleam with a pretty stud through it. He takes a seat beside him, aching to be as close as possible. He crosses his legs, already feeling his cock stiffen at the sight. Jungkook seems to be affected as well, gradually growing thicker, unabashedly, right in front of his audience of two.

Jimin nips his plushy bottom lip and focuses his curious eyes on Namjoon’s hand as he grasps the hardening cock, ready to pierce. “Be still,” Jimin warns, nearly salivating at the sight. “I want it to be perfect.”

“Namjoon knows what he's doing, it'll be nothing but perfect,” Jungkook sighs out his words when Joon's warm fingers wrap around his length, already half hard from having two sets of eyes immersed in him, and him only. “Right, Joonie?”

“Right…”' Namjoon whispers through his teeth, his eyebrows tightly knit together in focus. It’s not easy to keep himself collected when Jungkook's cock is literally within his grasp. It’s heavy, and the all too familiar feeling of it makes his gut stir. “Just take a deep breath and don't move,” he warns as he brings the needle closer. His other hand keeps a firm grip around Kook's length, twitching once Joon's fingers tighten around it.

“Just do it before I get too hard…” Jungkook groans quietly. In all honesty, the photographer doesn’t care if he’s rock solid while getting pierced, he’s too much of a glutton for pain to mind it. Maybe he'd even prefer it that way. To say this is arousing would be an understatement.

Namjoon doesn't need to say anything else, and finally presses the needle through the flesh. For other professionals, this might've been too slow, but for the two of them, this was just the perfect torture. The needle is so sharp it practically melts through Jungkook's cock, and it has Namjoon foaming at the mouth when he hears Jungkook's audible moan echo in the studio.

“Fuck, hyung!” Jungkook curses through gritted teeth. His hand instinctively reaches out to grab Namjoon by his hair, tugging harshly. “All the way through, keep going.”

Namjoon's lower lip is tightly clamped between his teeth as he holds back the vibrating groan in his chest, finishing what he started as he finally pushes the needle through entirely; the bloody sharp tip of the needle sticking out on the other side. It’s gorgeous.

Jimin’s body feels hot and electric as the pain of his tattoo dissipates and is replaced with pure exhilaration. He watches every movement with wide blown-out pupils. His mouth is impossibly parched, he can’t will himself to swallow out of fear he might blink and miss a millisecond.

Namjoon loops the barbell through the hallowed tip of the needle and threads it through as the needle glides free of Jungkook’s stiffening length. It’s set aside, freeing a small bead of blood to trail down his shaft.

Jimin tears a fresh sheet of paper towel from a neighboring roll and dabs the wound gently. The younger man’s reddened tip swells under his touch and only spurs Jimin on to dab with excess—more than what’s needed, but selfish and satisfying for his own pleasure. He nips his bottom lip roughly until he’s sure he might draw blood of his own, then looks up at Jungkook with nothing but urgent need, silently begging to leave straight away. Jimins needy look doesn't go unnoticed by the younger, giving the blonde a reassuring wink.

“You did well hyung.” Jungkook leans in to press a light kiss on Namjoons forehead before he stands up, observing the little addition on his length. The pain is delicious, stinging and amplifying the throbbing pulse rushing from his heart to his cock.

Yeah, he needs to put it to use...there was no way around it.

Jungkook pulls his underwear and pants on, nonchalantly clasping the button on his jeans before he beckons Jimin to follow him like a puppy. “We will be back when I want some additions to my butterfly.” Jungkook grins at Joon, knowing the man knows exactly what he means, and that he'd have to be prepared. Soon.

The bell chimes loudly as Jungkook holds the door open for Jimin, giving Namjoon one last silent look before he walks out.

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[maandags]

can i have something with draco malfoy and plants

the Forbidden Forest is quiet this time of night.

granted, the Forbidden Forest is quiet pretty much always, which is mainly due to the fact that it’s — surprisingly — forbidden for students to roam and wander. for good reason, too; the man-eating spiders and the morally questionable centaurs that, among others, make up its population aren’t known to be particularly friendly towards Hogwart’s students.

this, like all the warnings your friends have bombarded you with to try and keep you from entering the Forest, did not deter you in the slightest. in fact, it just made you want to explore its woods more. and so that’s why, at twelve whole years of age, you first set foot in the Forbidden Forest. now, you only went maybe 50 feet into the Forest that first time, giggling to yourself, adrenaline coursing through your veins, hand gripping your wand — looking over your shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure the school grounds weren’t out of sight — but it was enough to give you a taste, show you the smallest of flickers of the life brewing deep inside the forest, and it left you addicted straight away.

now, four years later, your little excursions to the Forest are never more than a few days apart. you know its paths, know its flora and fauna, know every square inch of it like the back of your hand. you’re not scared anymore of going.

nevertheless, the first few steps are always a thrill. it’s the tangible change in atmosphere, the soft bed of grass beneath your feet making way for a layer of dead leaves and branches and rocks where the tiniest of creatures wriggle about. it’s not fully dark yet, so you walk slower than you usually would, allowing yourself to look around and try and recognise as many plants and beasts as possible. (another reason why you didn’t really want to stop your visits to the forest: your Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures marks have never been higher.)

after an hour or so, as you trudge deeper into the forest, the surroundings start to grow more visibly magical in nature. trees look blurred when you try to look at them directly. big leaves shift unnaturally in completely still air. sparkly birds let out trills that sound a little too human. a swarm of small, yellow-and-blue songbirds fly over. one of them swoops down and lands briefly on your outstretched arm, and you pet it, resisting the urge to bury your fingers in the fluffy plumage, knowing full well that instead of flesh and bones these birds are made of some sort of bluish-black goop that a) smells absolutely rank, b) along with sticky and very quick-hardening seems to be vaguely acidic in nature and c) is a major bitch to wash out of clothing.

the bird flies at your side for a while, trilling in response to your soft whistles, the tip of its wing tickling your cheek every other minute. you spot a few pixies, who respond to your cheery wave with a string of hoots and screeches, a cluster of three-feet-tall mushrooms pulsing with a harsh pink light, and a slow-moving cloud of gold mist, which you give a wide berth, holding your breath for good measure.

then an arrow whizzes past your ear, and your hand flies up with a gasp. your fingers come away red with blood.

you spin on your heel, hand pressed up to the side of your head, and narrow your eyes at the centaur standing ten feet away from you. ”haha, Brin. very funny.”

he levels an unimpressed stare at you. ”you know you’re not supposed to be here, Y/N.”

”you’ve been telling me that for four years now.”

”and you’ve been ignoring it for four years.”

”indeed I have.” you spin around, yanking the arrow from the tree it landed in. ”can I keep this?”

Brin glares at you. you roll your eyes but hand the arrow back to him. ”you’re no fun. that arrow has my blood on it, I should be legally allowed to keep it.”

Brin shakes his head, turning around and starting to walk back the way he’d (supposedly) come. ”I can’t even begin to explain how flawed that logic is.”

you snicker, hurrying after him. Brin might be a little stuck up, but he’s also one of the few friends you have in the Forest, and even then you don’t see him that much. ”so. how’ve things been here?”

Brin briefly glances up at the sky, and you immediately regret asking, already steeling yourself for an incomprehensible monologue about stars and the positions of planets and whatnot. if you were better in at astronomy, you probably would have been able to understand some of it, but you’re shit at astronomy, so it’s mostly gibberish to you.

but all Brin says is, ”things are stirring.”

you raise a brow. ”things?”

”are stirring, yes.”

”stirring.”

”yes.”

”the things.”

he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. ”I really don’t know what more you want from me, Y/N.”

you look back up at him, unflinching. ”literally anything else. ‘things are stirring’ is all I got out of you, and that’s not much to go on.”

Brin sighs, short and sharp. ”I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. forget about it. it’s not something you should concern yourself with.”

you pretend to gag. ”you sound like Bane.”

Brin opens his mouth, about to object, but stops dead, narrowing his eyes and throwing out an arm to stop you. his tail swishes from side to side and he stands still, head cocked, listening intently.

for all your joking around, you immediately shut your mouth, the tension gripping Brin all of a sudden leaking into your body as well. it’s all fun and games until a centaur gets genuinely nervous, and in those situations it’s best to watch the aforementioned centaur and do what they do. your hand slowly creeps towards your robe’s breast pocket, where your wand is stored, but you don’t pull it out yet.

Brin’s eyes flick to you, irritation flashing in them. ”someone’s here.”

you pause, not sure if this is an inconvenience or a Bad Thing. ”um. elaborate, please?”

Brin takes a deep breath. ”one of yours.”

as if on cue, the silence is split by a blood-curdling scream.

your head snaps towards where the sound came from, but it’s too dark and too far away to see. ”shit,” you mutter under your breath, before summoning a globule of light to hover in front of you and taking off in the direction of the scream.

one of you. did that mean another human? a wizard? a Hogwarts student? but no, it couldn’t be — no Hogwarts student would be insane enough to venture this far into the Forbidden Forest this late into the night.

as you follow the strangled cries of panic and yelps of pain, you start to get a dim visual of what happened, and you curse again.

Devil’s Snare. the little shits are everywhere, their roots creeping along the forest floor and waiting for any living thing to stumble across them. you’ve since learned to look out for them, jump over them and walk just fast enough to avoid getting entangled, having had a few close calls yourself.

this Snare is a particularly nasty one. old, gauging by its height and the thickness of the vines sprouting from its core. strong. fucking hell. you stop just out of reach, sending a few more globules of light to surround it as to get a better view of what the exact fuck is going on.

the person is almost completely covered in vines at this point. struggling, crying out in fear and pain, gasping for breath. the vines, of course, only tangle further around his body. after a bit of heated internal debate, you begrudgingly admit that if you’re going to help this guy, you’ll need to get closer. so you do, careful not to get too close just yet. the light you’d sent up is not enough to make the Snare let go of its prey, but it is enough to (mostly) prevent any stray vines from grabbing hold of your ankles.

”stay still!” you shout, kicking a vine away and shooting three more lights to hover around the trapped guy.

he does not stay still. in fact, he doesn’t look like he heard you at all.

in the meantime, the smaller vines have taken more of an interest in you as you approach, and you growl, muttering a spell under your breath. a straight blade of white-hot flame sprouts from your wand, and as you calmly swing it in a wide arc, the light and the heat makes the plant recoil. as you pick your way through the branches and vines, getting ever closer to the guy, whose struggling is starting to get weaker, you cup your hands around your mouth, almost singing your eyebrows with your sword of fire in the process, and repeat, ”STAY FUCKING STILL!”

”what?”

”STAY STILL. I can’t help you unless you stay still!”

a faint groan sounds, and the figure stops struggling for a split second, but the vines tighten around him and out of reflex his arms shoot out, trying to fight the pressure off his chest.

”oh my god, I cannot believe I’m doing this,” you pant, closing the rest of the distance between you with a couple big leaps, landing smack in the middle of the biggest and nastiest vines, and that’s when you discover that the biggest and nastiest vines also have spikes, because the vine that immediately wraps around your calf digs its spikes into your flesh and you cry out.

a hand flails in front of your face. you grab the wrist to which it is attached. a plan forms in your mind — a crazy plan, an insane plan that just might be the death of both you and the unknown guy. but it’s the plan you have, and thus the plan you’re going with.

with your fiery blade you cut through a few of the vines that cross the guy’s chest — and then you put your wand away, extinguishing the fire and quickly stuffing your wand in your breast pocket.

”what are you doing?” he asks, and that’s when it clicks. the indignant tone he still manages to have even though he’s being crushed to death; the curl of his lip you can’t make out in the fray but can picture perfectly in your head.

you reel back, though it’s not as dramatic as you’d have liked it to be, because a thick vine has already snaked across your back (but that’s okay, that’s part of the plan, it’s okay, it’s fine) and you only manage to be pushed back into his chest with an oof.

you wrangle free, pulling back just enough to be able to make out his face. ”Malfoy?”

recognition flashes in his eyes — nothing more than two specks in the darkness — and he says quietly, ”Y/N.”

”fucking — ow —” spikes dig into the back of your thigh — ”the fuck are you doing here?”

”I think we have other things to worry about right now,” he says faintly, grunting as he’s pushed closer to you.

you scrunch up your nose but concede, promising yourself that you’ll question him later — if you even get out of this alive. ”if I die right now, Malfoy — for you — I will come back to life so I can murder you myself.”

he purses his lips, but nods, as if to say, ”that’s fair.” it is. it is fair. little shit.

you take a breath, steeling yourself, then dive down into the tangle of writhing vines at your feet, ignoring Malfoy’s shout of your name above you.

this is where it gets gross, and where you might lose a hand. one hand comes up to your chest and yanks out your wand, and the other searches beneath you — vines, vines, spikes (ow), more vines, a single leaf, and then, finally, the disgustingly soggy pulsing heart of the plant. you give a triumphant ”AHA!” then stick your wand into the core with a squelch that makes you gag, pull out your hand and shout the sword of fire spell. the flaming blade cuts through the heart. the vines shudder — convulse — and then go limp, and you shrug them off, staggering away, gagging, tripping twice before falling against a tree and retching, a hand pressed against your stomach, taking deep breaths, trying to blink the black spots away.

as soon as you feel like you can shout without throwing up, you march up to Malfoy, who looks about as good as you feel, tear out your wand and stick it under his chin and yell, ”WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”

you expect him to yell back. that’s how the two of you have always functioned: you shout something, he yells something back. he yells something, you shout back.

but he doesn’t. he just stands there, looking deflated and shaky and frankly on the verge of tears. ”thank you, Y/N.”

it catches you off-guard. you pretend it doesn’t. Malfoy never thanks anyone. ”no, fuck you. answer my goddamn question. what are you doing here?”

”I was following you, all right? I know you’ve been going into the Forest for ages, and I wanted to know what you got up to. that’s it.”

you scoff. ”right. you were just following me. that’s not creepy at all.”

”listen, Y/N. I don’t know what else you want from me.” he sounds tired and defeated and it makes you angry, because it’s so Not Malfoy that it’s unsettling, and the last thing you need right now is ‘unsettling’.

you throw your hands up into the air and start stomping away. ”I don’t know! I don’t fucking know. just — ugh!” you kick a dead tree stump, out of which comes charging a single fat gnome, waving a small stick and shouting an incomprehensible string of what are without a doubt profanities you’ve never even heard of.

”Y/N.”

”what?!”

”you’re bleeding.”

you stop walking, dropping your face in your hands and bursting into tears.

ten seconds. that’s all you allow yourself. ten seconds until you’ve got to get yourself together; ten seconds to scream and cry and sob your heart out. ten seconds, and then you take a deep, deep breath, wipe your cheeks and say, ”right,” and start walking again.

for a moment you don’t hear anything, and you think Malfoy is going to stay behind — but then he sighs and jogs a few steps to catch up to you. you walk in silence for a long time. the only words you say is when you quietly warn him not to step too close to a certain rock, or not to touch a certain flower.

when you absent-mindedly pull a leaf off a green plant and press it to your nose, inhaling deeply, he looks to you in alarm. you roll your eyes. ”it’s mint.” you inhale again, letting your eyes flit closed. ”it’s comforting.”

a little bit later, and there’s a faint rustling to your right. Malfoy sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth; you rub a tired hand to your eyes. ”I was almost thinking you’d just left.”

Brin purses his lips, picking you up and wordlessly depositing you onto his back. you let your head drop against his back. ”thank you, Brin.”

”I would have helped you.”

”I had it under control.”

”I know.” he extends a hand towards Malfoy, who looks at it for a split second, then his gaze flits to you; you give a small nod, and a half second later he’s sat behind you, hands carefully resting on your hips.

”you…” your voice falters. ”you don’t have to do this, you know. Bane… and Magorian… surely they don’t approve of this.”

”they won’t know,” Brin says quietly. the forest around you slowly shifts back into a more peaceful atmosphere. the songbirds return. moonlight starts to filter through the foliage, and you take a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been needing.

a few hundred feet before the edge of the Forest, Brin stops. ”this is as far as I go.”

Malfoy slides off his back, then holds a hand for you to take, and you do, because you’re tired and wobbly and unsure whether your legs will hold your weight.

”thank you,” Malfoy says. you cast him a sideways glance. that’s the second time he’s thanked someone tonight, which is two times more than you thought he was capable of.

you nod curtly. Brin bows his head, then levels his gaze at you. ”I hope I don’t see you again, Y/N.”

you give him a lopsided grin. ”no promises.” and for the first time, something like a smile peeks through the centaur’s serious facade.

the last trek back onto school grounds is uneventful, bar the fact that the adrenaline has now completely worn off, and you start to feel sore all over, and you realise that your left leg — calf and thigh — is indeed bleeding. a lot. you have scratches on your arms and a nasty one on your cheek as well, and you’re covered in muck and grey slime. you probably look like something straight out of a Muggle zombie apocalypse film.

”you know the forest well,” Malfoy says as you step out of it.

you’re too tired to argue. ”yeah,” you reply simply. ”I love it.”

”you’ll be going back?” there’s a slightly incredulous hint to his voice, like he doesn’t quite believe it himself — you almost died. how could you possibly want to go back to such a place?

but the truth is that you do. you do want to go back. because the forest has been more of a home to you than Hogwarts has ever been. because you love its trees and its bushes and its weird magic plants and its pixies and centaurs and birds of enchantment. you love everything about it. even the near-death experiences. that’s what makes it fun.

”I will,” you say. ”I will be going back, Malfoy.” it sounds a little too much like a challenge. it sounds like you’re saying; try and stop me. I dare you.

he merely nods. he’s taken out his wand and cast a simple light spell, and the glowing tip of the wand sways as he walks. in the light, his eyes reflect gold. ”good.”

your eyebrows shoot up with the speed of a thousand Firebolts. ”excuse me?”

he grins; a boyish, sharp grin, that makes your stomach do a very irrelevant flip. ”I would have been disappointed if you didn’t.”

[hopelikethemoon]

Past Connections (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Past Connections Rating: PG-13 Length: 2100 Warnings: Mild Angst  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in March 1998. Summary: The second article hits the newstands. 

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale  @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl  @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps

PAST CONNECTIONS SPEAK OUT IN DEA SCANDAL 

Following the bombshell report The Post released in the March 2nd issue, the DEA came forward with allegedly incriminating documentation purporting a pattern of unsanctioned expenditures, where Javier Peña had filed expense forms on evenings spent with Colombian hookers. 

During our investigative reporting, The Post was able to connect with three of the women who had been paid by Peña, using DEA funds, during his time with the DEA in Colombia. 

Elena Ramierz, who was willing to go on record using her own name, was forthcoming with information concerning her time with Peña. 

“I would not be where I am today, had I not crossed paths with Javi. He was willing to sponsor my immigration request — without asking for anything in return. Javier Peña is one of the only men I worked with who was a genuinely good man. He cared about all of the girls at the brothels and would look out for us. I cannot, however, say the same about other men who abused the systems the DEA willingly put into place.”

When pressed further, Ramirez went into detail painting a picture of the systemic abuses that were encouraged by the DEA, including but not limited to brutalizing sex workers, non-consensual contact, and intentional situations that led to physical and mental harm. These claims were largely substantiated by the other two women who were willing to speak with The Post. 

“He hated what he had to do to get information for the DEA. You could see the weight on his shoulders. Despite the brutal situation he was in, he was always kind and gentle with me and the other girls. Whatever picture the DEA is trying to paint him out to be, it’s to hide their own misdeeds.”

At the request of the DEA, The Post also made contact with Lorraine Jackson (neé Davis) who was the former ex-fiancé of Peña. Jackson, who hails from Laredo, Texas, provided details about the nature of her relationship with Peña nearly thirty years ago. Despite the DEA’s insistence that Jackson’s testimony would be detrimental to Peña and Morley’s case against DEA, her statement was to the contrary. 

“Look,” Mrs. Jackson stated, “Javier left me at the altar when we were kids. I was angry for a long time. A long time. Even after I got married and started a family with a truly wonderful man. I was still wounded by what Javier did, but it all worked out for the best. I can’t even imagine what life would’ve been like if he’d shown up. Have you met his daughters? They adore him. He’s a good man, despite what happened between us.”

Mrs. Jackson continued, “When the DEA approached me about our relationship, I let my hurt feelings get the best of me. He made a lot of mistakes when he was younger — but didn’t we all? He left, went to college and came back to work for the Sheriff’s Office. He’d closed himself off and frankly, he was an ass. I don’t pretend to know what happened in Colombia, I wasn’t part of his life then, but I could see he had changed when he came home. The DEA wants to paint him out to be a villain in all of this and that’s just not the case.”

The DEA issued a revelatory statement, rebuffing the claims previously printed in The Post. 

There is no doubt that Ms. Morley contributed admirable efforts in the war against Pablo Escobar. As the American people have now seen, her records contain multiple instances where she assisted in the apprehension of multiple associates of Escobar’s. 

Despite her efforts, during her tenure with the DEA in Colombia and Ms. Morley failed to uphold the standards expected of a DEA field agent. One year after her transfer, she entered into a relationship with a CIA liaison who was an active member of a joint task force formed by the two agencies. It became clearly, early on, that she was not capable of maintaining a professional work environment. 

In 1992, when Ms. Morley revealed that she was pregnant, she was immediately placed on desk duty. During a meeting with her direct chain of command, Ms. Morley intentionally concealed the identity of her child’s father. When questioned about Mr. Peña, she blatantly denied that she had any sexual contact with her partner. The following year, when Ms. Morley and Mr. Peña provided the DEA with the truth, we were forced to terminate her employment for her misconduct. 

While The Post may attempt to twist this situation into a gender-based discrimination case, it is abundantly clear that both Ms. Morley and Mr. Peña engaged in unethical practices unbefitting of federal agents. 

The Post reached out to CIA Agent, Lance Collier, who Ms. Morley was in a relationship from June 1988 to June 1989, clarified that their relationship had been approved by his director prior to its beginning. 

Collier was willing to go on record with a statement of his own, “Annie was one of the hardest working agents I’ve ever worked with. During meetings, I repeatedly witnessed her being ignored and silenced by her superiors. They would ultimately use her knowledge under the guise of their own, intentionally undermining her abilities. On numerous occasions, I was also present for meetings where Javier Peña and Steve Murphy would go to bat for their partner. Annie was well aware of the risk and complications related to being a woman in a male dominated field, and despite that she persisted. I have seen men who acted as bad agents against our government still be venerated, so why are they still punishing her for becoming a mother?”

The Post is dedicated to the continued investigation of this scandal. 

 ————

 “You’re brooding.” You told Javier as you shut off the stove and grabbed a trivet to sit the pot of wild rice off the burner. 

Javier huffed, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the kitchen counter across from you. “I’m not brooding.” He rubbed at the back of his neck before he pushed away from the counter and moved to grab two plates out of the cabinet. “The timing was just less than ideal.” 

“I know.” You grabbed an oven mitt and pulled out the pan of chicken patties, sitting it on the stovetop. “I wish Vickers had told us how thorough Valerie was going to be in her statement to the paper.” 

“It was fucking mortifying, baby. I don’t know how I’m gonna make it through exams next week. Think it’s too late to make it a paper?” He questioned, grabbing the buns and mayonnaise out of the fridge. 

“Unfortunately,” You made a face as you shut off the oven and moved to grab a paper plate to cut the tomato on. “It’ll blow over.” 

“Not nearly soon enough,” He shook his head. “You know how much I hate looking back on that shit and now everyone knows my business.” 

“It was a risk we were both willing to take,” You reminded him. “Say the word and we pull the plug.” 

“I’m not pulling the fucking plug, baby. I’m just saying — did my class really need to know about my exploits with hookers in Colombia? I get that it’s tantalizing, but she pushed it too far.” 

“Even Elena didn’t realize how far it would go,” You sat the knife down and wiped off your hands on a dishtowel, turning to approach him. “I’m sure the DEA thought they could put a wedge between us — like I didn't know what you got up to.” 

“You talked to Elena today?”

You nodded, “I called to thank her. Her word would’ve been enough I think, but having two ‘Jane Smiths’ reaffirm what she was saying? There’s so much bullshit going on, in the pursuit of stopping drugs that has to end. We both know how they abuse those women.” You reached up and brushed your fingers over his cheek, leaning up on your toes to kiss him. 

He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you towards him. “Think they’ll try to track down Matias next?” 

You let out an incredulous laugh at that, “God, I don’t even know what happened to him.” You admitted, “I doubt they’d be able to track him down.” He had been a sweet young man you’d spent a handful of evenings with in the pursuit of intel nearly a decade ago. “It’s not like you don’t know.” 

Javier dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and nodded slowly, “It’s just fucking bullshit. Even if it exonerated us.” He sighed heavily, “I should’ve cancelled class. Standing up there trying to keep on topic — knowing they’ve just read an article with three women who I’ve fucked.”

“Technically five.” You pointed, clarifying when he arched a brow.  “Elena, Valerie, and Mia, Lorraine, and myself.” 

He made a face, feigning disgust before he released you. “I hadn’t realized the DEA would be so determined to punch below the belt.”

“Because bribing Monica to say you’d fucked her was above the belt?” You pointed out as you moved to grab two buns out of the bag, throwing them on the plates and using a spatula to pick up the chicken patties and place them on each bun. 

“Alright, alright. You’re making valid points.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “One day the girls are going to see these articles.” 

“Then we’ll explain to them that sex workers deserve more praise and credit than they’re currently afforded.” You stated simply, “And that there’s nothing wrong about being sexually active — like we were, before we got together.” You shrugged. 

“You wanna have that conversation with them?”

You shrugged, licking your thumb clean after you got mayonnaise on it, “Sure. It doesn’t bother me.” 

Javier pinched at the bridge of his nose for a moment before he started plating up his chicken sandwich, “You got cheese?”

“Hang on,” You headed for the fridge, pulling the door open and rummaging around in the deli drawer. “Swiss or cheddar?”

“Do we have any of the pepperjack left?”

You hummed as you pulled open a drawer below, grabbing the bag of pepperjack cheese. “You’re in luck. I hid it the last time Nadia was here.” You tossed it onto the counter beside him, “That girl loves cheese.” 

“Monica wasn’t in class today,” Javier stated, throwing two pieces of cheese onto his chicken patty before topping it off with the bun, “Did you hear from her today? I meant to call but got pulled into meetings.” 

“I called her this morning at work,” You told him as you stowed the mayo back in the fridge. “She’s still pretty skittish after everything that happened.” You explained, smiling when you returned to your plate and Javier had scooped up a spoonful of wild rice for you. “Thanks, babe.” 

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “Anytime.” Javier gave your ass a playful swat before he headed for the kitchen table. “She’s got office hours with me tomorrow.” 

“I wouldn’t make a big deal about it,” You cautioned him as you sat down across from him at the table. “Honestly, she seemed fine. She just wanted to skip today.” You took a bite of your sandwich, before washing it down with a swig of beer. “I can’t wait for all of this to be over with.” 

“You and me both, baby.” Javier retorted, covering his mouth with his fist as he spoke with his mouth full. “I want them to fucking pay for their bullshit and let us get on with our lives.” 

You nodded your head slowly, “Everyone at the P.D. has been so supportive. They’re far from perfect, but they at least recognize what the DEA’s been doing is morally and ethically wrong.” 

Javier rocked his jaw slowly as he stared at you across the table, “You still thinking about quitting?”

“All the time,” You admitted with a shrug. “I just want to get through this first. The DEA’s been such a dark shadow for so many years.” 

“Once this is over, I feel like we’ll be able to really live.” 

“Right?” You agreed with a grin, “Connie thinks we should go on vacation.” 

“As soon as this semester’s over.” 

You leaned across the table and took his hand into yours, giving it three short squeezes. “There’s a part of me that is stupidly excited about my name finally being attached to yours in the record books. And Steve’s, of course. It’s bizarre to see our lives laid out in the newspaper, but at the same time — I love it.” 

“Me too, baby.” Javier grinned at you, “It means no more hiding.” 

[vroomian]

Hello can I ask what heavy on your heart, heavy on your mind is please?

that was the overwatch oc i never finished. it was going to be a non-binary person who woke up in the body of a child without any family. they spent their life with a bunch of omnics in a city dump until something went wrong and they ended up in overwatch medical care. 

also, reaper was supposed to be their dad. this was set before the fall of overwatch, so reaper was still in blackwatch. 

snippet! (tw for some intentional misgendering on overwatches part in the first scene. they don’t know the ocs preferred pronouns and they can’t tell anyone, due to being unconscious)  

"Congratulations, Gabe." Mercy said, her voice cold enough to cut. "It's a girl."

Gabe looked down at the damning little folder on the table and back up at Angela. "The words you said are all English, but the order didn't make sense. You wanna run that by me again?"

Jack is staring at the two of them, frozen in the middle of standing.

"Our Jane Doe -- the one with the chemical burns over fifty percent of her body? Her blood work finished today. She was a complete unknown, except for one thing. Her parents -- her father, specifically. Daughter of an unknown mother and the soon to be late Gabriel Reyes. Soon to be late, because once Ana hears about this she's going to kill you."

Jack and Gabe looked down at the folder like it was a live snake.

Gabe gingerly pushed it away. "I think there's some mistake."

Jack sat back down with a heavy thump. His mouth opened and nothing came out. The folder got flipped through it slowly; his eyebrows went lower and lower as he read.

Angela sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Reading the medical report was no easier than writing it. "There is no mistake, Gabriel. The blood work--"

"Send it back for a retest. There must be something wrong with the -- machines or something --"

"Gabe! I have tested and retested the damn data! There is no mistake. You have a daughter," Angela planted her hands on the desk and leaned in, blue eyes boring into brown. "You have three hours to freak out. Three. Hours. You understand me? Then when the three hours are up the pain medication will wear off, and you will meet your daughter for the first time. You will be kind to the poor kid. If you disappear, I will not only tell Ana, but I will tell Reinhardt. Do you understand me, Gabriel Reyes?"

Gabe wisely nodded.

Angela straightened up. "Good. Now I have a nap waiting for me." She stabbed her finger at Gabe. "Three. Hours."

The door shuts behind her with an ominous, quiet, click.

Gabe turns to Jack with wide eyes. "What the hell? Why was she so angry?"

Jack pushes the file back to him with tight lips. "Your girl is just like you. A survivor."

Gabe paused. “...I’m not going to like this, am I?”

"Read the file."

Carefully, Gabe pulled the file towards him. The first words sank deeper into his stomach like a fist.

Malnourished -- the constant kind, the king that meant starvation. Nearly blind in one eye, likely from a hard blow to the head. Scared and calloused hands. Three missing teeth. Poorly healed fractures in three places on her right arm, five on her right. None of them had been set by a professional. Chemical burns over half her body. Skin grafts needed. No immunizations from the age of ten onwards. No signs of any sort of parent for the last five.

Gabe swallowed and flipped to the next page. Personal history, unknown. First and last name, unknown. Relatives, unknown. Reports of a girl matching her description living in the scrap heap with the Omnic population.

There is a picture of a dark-eyed girl with dramatic eyebrows and full lips. Worn clothes. Dark skin. Familiar eyes. Chin tilted up, shoulders back, spine straight.

A hard kid.

That's the face of someone who knows that everything they get has to be fought for, who learned at too young an age to stretch every mouthful until it fucking snapped.

It was like looking into a mirror.

Gabe couldn’t look at that face anymore. He flipped it shut and nearly threw it back to Jack. away from him, so he didn't have to look at yet another thing he’s screwed up over.

-

Judah studied the man they claimed to be her father. They could see the resemblance there. The eyes, the shade of skin, the jawline, the posture. It’s possible this man could be related to her, in some fashion. 

It takes more than blood to make family, though.

The blonde doctor hovered on the edge of the room, fooling no one with her efforts to clean a desk.

“Judah.” The man said at last. “That’s the name you gave the nurses, right?”

They nod.

He sighs. “My name is Gabriel Reyes. I’m a member of Overwatch. And, apparently, your father.”

“That must have been a surprise.” They say, for lack of anything better.

“Just a bit.” He said, voice dry.

“I’m a problem,” Judah said, unsurprised. Gabriel Reyes is one of the founders of overwatch. He’s a busy man without any time or resources to waste on some kid that happened to be related to him.

They struggle to sit up in their hospital bed, ignoring the doctor’s sharp warning glance.

Gabriel Reyes lurched forward. “Kid, you need to lay down --”

Judah gives him an annoyed glance -- which the doctor inhales sharply at for some reason. They need their -- ah, there it is. A shiver of relief spreads through them when the small bag is in their hands. Judah doesn't think the doctor or this man would steal it from her, but they can’t be too careful. It’s got most of what they own in it. Not to mention their datapad.

They search through the bag and finally feel the smooth metal of her datapad at the bottom of the junk in their bag. They pull it out and hand it to Reyes.

I have some stuff that I need you to sign before I leave. Just a quick thing, and I’ll be out of your hair. I know we both have better things to do.

Mr. Reyes takes the pad and reads it. Slowly, he looks up. “These are… emancipation papers.”

Judah ignored the way the doctor drops the scalpel she was cleaning and whirls to face the two of them. Why was she even in here? “Right? I’m glad I had them ready. Now we can get this over with and go back to being strangers.”

No muss, no fuss.

It was an idea they’d had a couple years ago. The Judah of this world had a mother, so they must have had a second genetic donator. That person clearly had no desire to be a part of Judah’s life, so they prepared the paperwork to make it official one day when they had nothing better to do. Just in case they ran into the man sometimes.

Mr. Reyes stares at Judah. 

[knybits]

THE HATING GAME — 2

PAIRINGS —

↳ kochou shinobu x reader

SUMMARY —

↳ Geniuses within the same field yet rivals within each other’s eyes, your colleagues wonder when the sexual tension will break so that you two will become the department’s powerhouse couple so that they can enter you two into the couples contest against the other departments. Some things might have to be done by force.

WARNINGS —

↳ cursing, alcohol, smut  

[ Navigation ] 

—

Shinobu Kochou absolutely loathes you. 

And she doesn’t have a reason why. 

So because of this, she keeps her nicely painted lips curved upwards when she sees you. And when you pass her without a single glance, the words “fucking asshole” cross her twisted mind.

Neatly combed hair and glasses perched on your nose during lecture is (F/n) (L/n). The smell of coffee and always being surrounded by a group of friends is (F/n) (L/n). You’re the spare bit of warmth during a dead winter and you act like you work harder and are better than everyone else. 

That attitude is something she can’t stand, but you pull it off so well that your friends believe that you’re some genius and hang off your every word. 

But when Shinobu pulls up in skinny jeans and a frilly white crop top, red heels to pull the outfit together, and she sees you dancing without a care in the world, something inside her snaps. She’s glad that she talked to Mitsuri over call before going, else she would have never decided to go to the club and celebrate (celebrate what she doesn’t know.)

She quickly tips a shot down her throat, relishing in the burning satisfaction, before patting her cheeks and strutting onto the dance floor.  When someone makes a move to grab her wrist she bats them off, a dangerous look in her eyes. 

“What’s wrong sweetcheeks!” They yell over the music, advancing on the petite woman. Shinobu takes a step back before bumping into someone, hearing your slurred voice right in her ear. Shinobu quickly apologizes under her breath before backing up even more and swaying her hips into your lap. 

Surprisingly enough, you’re quick to respond, hands cupping her waist and she allows herself to press her back against your chest. Sure, the stranger is looking at her as if he doesn’t believe her, but she feels safe in your chest (as ironic as that may seem, considering how you’re both grinding up against each other.)

The man makes another step towards Shinobu and she clicks her tongue in distaste. As a final move to tell him to back the fuck off, Shinobu takes your hand to grope her breast. The man looks surprised, and she sticks her tongue out at him before mouthing “I have a partner, you prick.” 

That’s enough to finally steer him away, and he rolls his eyes obnoxiously before walking over to the bar and surveying anyone else that might catch his eye. Shinobu yelps in surprise when fingers loop her waistband, spinning her around to face your flushed face. She can’t help but look at your lips, a fire fighting within her. 

Are you even aware of what you’re doing? A year and a half of ignoring each other, but do you really even hate her? Or was your silence a sign of shyness? 

Does she even hate you? 

“Fuck it,” she thinks the minute you open your pretty mouth to ask for consent, her her arms slide around your neck. 

She can taste the alcohol in your mouth, tongue exploring as she hums with delight. But something in her feels empty as she realizes you’re intoxicated. She pushes on, fingers dancing under your shirt and feeling the warm skin underneath. She can’t help but gasp when you move your hand to grip her ass, and your tongue immediately dominates. 

Shinobu hates how easily she let you have your way. Her hate is weak, but in your arms she’s weaker. 

It’s no secret that your tongue is what gets her screaming the loudest. Shinobu remembers the whole night in vivid detail. She couldn’t help but gasp your name over and over while she was strapped to the chair, big doe eyes blindfolded from the rest of the world. 

You were aggressive when you rammed her up the wall, mouth biting and sucking at her neck and jaw while you mercilessly thrust your fingers into her very wet pussy. She remembers how she whimpered and begged your name to fuck her harder, faster, deeper, and the second she came onto your fingers you called her a “good girl,” and that drove her wild. 

And now Shinobu is sore and confused. Every inch of her body throbs while you snore lightly by her side. You barely have any marks on your body and she’s pissed that she’ll have to wear some heavy makeup for a while. 

To be honest, Shinobu could go for another round with you right now. Morning sex hits differently to her, and now that you’ve most likely slept off the alcohol you’d be sober enough to know what you’re doing. But there’s the chance that now that you know what you’re doing, you’ll run out of her apartment without a second thought. 

She hates how you make her feel. Just yesterday she hated your guts for acting like royalty, for ignoring her “hello” with a roll of your eyes. And now you’re in her bed, the smell of sex so strong it makes her head spin. 

Her perfectly manicure nails skim over your skin, and she finds herself writing the kanji character for ‘hate’ before you stir. Shinobu is quick to draw her hand back, and she’s amused with how slow you are to figure out where you are. 

Finally, you turn your head to face her, but the look on your face screams “regret.” And now Shinobu has her answer. Despite the twisted carnage that rages within her, she smiles. 

“Good morning, (F/n). Did you sleep well?” 

– 

“Hi (F/n)! It’s Araceli. Shinobu said she would take you back to her apartment since you were too shitfaced, so I hope you’re okay! I went home with Michael tonight so you don’t have to worry about me. Send me a text when you can, and I’ll see you in the lab!” The voicemail ends as you enter your apartment, body and mind exhausted. 

The second you crash land onto your bed you grab a nearby pillow before yelling into it. 

Because god damn you fucked up. 

Not only did you have drunk sex with the one person you hate, you also said something completely dickish as you walked out the door. 

“This was a mistake,” were your last words as you shut the door to Shinobu’s apartment. You didn’t get to see her face throughout the whole 10 minutes of shame, adamant about putting your clothes on with your back facing her, and she didn’t say anything the whole time. She just let you leave. 

The clock ticks away as you grovel on your bed, head pounding while flashes of last night whiz through your head. You should've known it was Shinobu. 

The same purple eyes, the same petite figure (she’s 4’11” and the shortest in the department, hell yeah you know her general figure size,) the same high pitched voice that screamed your name- 

You groan in annoyance, hands raking through your hair before you decide to run a hot shower to burn away any trace of the witch from your body. 

When you finally walk into the lab all eyes turn to you. With eyebrows raised you decide to just make your way to your usual station, waving and greeting everyone a good morning. Maybe they’re looking at you because you finally found the time to go home and take a shower? 

The most you do in terms of keeping up appearances is taming your hair to the best of your abilities, so maybe they can tell that you aren’t wearing the same clothes from the last three days.

Once you’re at your station you see the stupid “department couples” poster sitting there again, and everyone shies away from your razor sharp glare as you survey every potential perpetrator. 

You pick the poster up to crumple it and throw it away when you see a picture of Shinobu and you shittily photo shopped together with stupid hearts around you two. That’s when you scream in frustration and everyone jumps. 

Araceli spots you the minute she walks in and she rushes over with some water, seeing as how drained you are. When you’re about to thank her, lo and behold the witch herself waltzes into class. 

You almost spit up your water when you see how she’s walking, stiff and with a small limp, and you almost feel guilty. Araceli gives you an odd look, and you try to wave her off. But Shinobu- that snake- sits herself beside Rama one station away from you and Araceli. 

Rama looks at her quizzically, considering they don’t talk too often, but he shrugs to himself and goes back to texting his physics major boyfriend. 

You’re trying to mind your business (sans Araceli because she’s taking her sweet time wiggling her eyebrows at you and glancing between you and Shinobu. Her words: that sexual tension is thicc. If only she knew.) and conduct your experiments, but once Rama finishes his conversation with his boyfriend, he and Shinobu start some small talk. 

Shinobu gives you a quick look when she asks Rama if he went to the club last night and you pale considerably. 

“Oh, I spent the night in with my boyfriend,” Rama smiles politely before continuing. “Is that why you’re a little stiff today? Too much dancing?” He laughs to himself and Shinobu gives him a close eyed smile. 

“Things were just super hot and heavy last night!” 

Araceli’s eyes widen and she stares at you with her jaw dropped. You snap at her to keep working, but you can’t help but stop working too. In fact, everyone else in the room goes dead silent, and you pray that Shinobu will keep her damn mouth shut. 

“Wha-“ 

“I take this night yoga class, you know!” Que a sigh of relief from you. 

“I’m super flexible,” she boasts before adding in. “I can spread my legs quite wide!” You fumble with your test tubes, mind flashing to a few events from last night. 

Araceli begins to laugh silently at your red face and you nearly throw her out of the window. When you turn to secretly glare at Shinobu you find that despite the fact that she’s facing Rama, her eyes are pinned onto you. A malicious smile makes its way onto her face when she knows that she has your attention. 

“And then right after, I have a pole dancing class to keep me fit.” 

Rama laughs, “Oh really? Sounds fun!” 

“It is! But yesterday I was dumb and I jumped onto the pole and uhh……. rammed my…” She looks down and onlookers flush red. “So I’m quite sore today!” 

There’s the sound of shattering glass from another station (not your own, but you’re damn near close to breaking the Erwin Meyer flask in your hand.) Now, Shinobu’s just trying to rile you up. 

And it’s working. 

Also, you hate to think it but THANK G O D HE’S GAY. 

“Ow, well that sounds rough…”

“If I could, I would take the classes on different days, but there aren’t many classes available so my hands are tied.” 

Everyone in the lab startles when you slam your hands onto the counter, stool screeching against tile as you stand from your seat. 

There’s a look of victory in Shinobu’s eyes and your stomach twists with rage because she’s such a bitch. She relishes in the dark look in your eyes, your tense shoulders and the way you make your way up to her. 

“Can I help you, (F/n)?” She asks innocently, and you feel something in you snap. Everyone holds their breath when you whip a hand out, gripping the lapels of her lab coat and bringing your face down to her’s. 

Shinobu shivers when you leans in close to her ear and murmur under your breath, “How about you stop being such a dirty whore, be a good girl, and meet me behind the building, hm?” 

You smirk when you see how she shifts in her seat and crosses her legs, and you shove your hands into your lab coat pockets, walking out of the lab with a shocked puppy in tow. 

—

[ Next Chapter ]

[sunsetovergatlon]

ALRIGHT, day 2 #nobellweek high-school AU.

Did this stay Nobell? Maybe not. Does it have Nobell? Absolutely. Does it have Osby? Also yes.

Wc: 4,771 (oops)

Dancing Next to You

A football game was the last place Nova wanted to be tonight. It wasn’t even a home game. The fans here were loud, the stands were packed, and our team was full of jerks who thought it was fun to break girls hearts. Why did people care so much about football where there were good sports like MMA and rugby out there? 

Yet, here she was. At the football game. Asking herself why she had let Oscar drag her all the way out here. 

The two were sitting near the front of the middle set of bleachers which just so happened to be right in front of the cheer squad. Nova rested her elbow on her knee and put her head on her propped fist.

“Dude, lighten up! What’s your problem? We got asked here by Ruby and all you have done is mope,” Oscar said lightly hitting Nova in the leg with his cane.

“Correction, you got invited by Ruby and dragged me along too.”

“Well, sorry for trying to make you have a good time!”

“I have plenty of good times!” Nova shot back straightening back up.

At that moment the team, unbeknownst to Nova, did something good because the stands erupted with noise as everyone clammored to their feet and started cheering. Well, everyone but Nova.

She looked over at the scoreboard and saw the second quarter had just started and decided it would be as good a time as any to go grab a snack. Oscar would be getting hungry soon and she knew that he would rather be hangry than miss one second of watching Ruby, but Nova did not want to deal with a hangry Oscar tonight. 

So she stood up and tapped Oscar on the shoulder, 

“I’m going to get something to eat. How many things of Nachos do you want?”

“Three,” Oscar said ducking his head around to be sure he got a good view of Ruby.

“Right, four, got it,” Nova said on the brink of a smile.

Oscar beamed up at her, “you know me so well!”

Nova rolled her eyes and then pulled up her hood, making the trek through the crowds down to the sidewalk. A few people bumped into Nova as she tried to snake her way around loiterers close to the field, but she just ignored them and kept walking.

The less people that recognized her, the better.

After a few minutes of walking Nova made it to the snack bar. The line was short and she ended up being only the third person in line. As she walked up to the window Nova noticed a few of the workers staring at her and whispering.

She furrowed her brows and tried her best to ignore them, but she could feel her cheeks turning pink anyway.

“Can I help you?” Nova had been so focused on the two guys in the back she hadn’t even noticed the girl waiting to take her order. She tried to smile, but it looked more like a lopsided grin. The girl behind the counter did not seem impressed.

“Um, I’ll have five orders of nacos, two large cokes, a water, and a bag of skittles, actually make that three bags of skittles.”

The girl aggressively punched something into the register and looked back up, her cold brown eyes and pointed expression boring holes into Nova. Still, she couldn’t help but notice how the girls golden dreadlocks lit up her flawless dark complexion. Even in the horrible stadium lights.

“Twenty dollars is your total. Cash or card,” the cashier spat through clenched teeth.

“Oh, cash,” Nova responded flustered. Why was this girl being so rude and arrogant? Nova had never met her before ever and yet she was acting like somehow Nova had insulted her ancestors by robbing their graves or something.

Nova stepped off to the side to wait for her order and saw that now all the other girls in the booth were stealing glances in her direction and whispering and a few people in the line had started to take notice too.

Part of Nova had hoped that no one would recognize her, but she knew that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. She wiped her mouth and cheeks just to be sure they were not actually just laughing at her for having something stuck on her face and then pulled her hood down further to cover as much of her as possible while walking toward the fence by the field. Nova didn’t understand how the game worked, nor did she care, but it was the only thing to look at.

“Nova? Nova Artino is that you!”

She internally groaned a little at the thought of having to talk to a fan right now, but slowly Nova turned to the side to see a tall boy with chocolate skin and a giant grin on his face bounding toward her. To Nova’s relief she instantly recognized him as Adrian Everhart, adopted son of two of the biggest names in tech and one of Nova’s favorite people. The two had been close friends since preschool when their respective guardians had them in the same ‘robotics for tots’ program.

“Adrian!” Nova said before she paused a moment, realizing something was different, “you’re wearing a t-shirt!” Nova had always known Adrian to wear long sleeve button downs to cover his tattoos, but now he was just in a plain grey t-shirt. It looked good on him. Like really good. It took the edge off his ever intimidating look and made him look younger maybe? Nova hadn’t ever really noticed before, but he was really handsome

“Yeah I am!” he laughed, running his fingers over one of the forearm tattoos he had.

“You look great,” Nova said smiling and looking at Adrian’s smile that was just wide enough you could see his dimples, “you have no idea how good it is to see a friendly face, but, if you don’t mind my asking, why are you here?” 

He kept right on smiling, “I’m just here to help run the snack bar, otherwise I would be home. Oh! And one of my best friends from here at school got roped into being in the marching band show this year, so i’m excited to see that!” He bounced a little in excitement before stopping and lightly punching Nova in the arm, “the real question is what are you doing here? You hate crowds.”

    “Oscar dragged me against my will. That’s really cool about,” Nova was cut off by her name being shouted over the noise of the game. 

    “NOVA ARTINO! Your order is ready!”

Nova looked back over at the snack bar and saw that all of the people in the area had turned their gaze in her direction, except the one girl at the register who was still in a huff.

    “Oh yeah, I forgot you are kind of a celebrity now aren’t you?” Adrian laughed. Nova did not.

    “I don’t think that I should be,” she quietly spat over her shoulder as she gingerly walked over to grab her food and run away. Being in the spotlight always made Nova uncomfortable so she tended to deny and ignore it, but a gaggle of douches staring at her and bystanders not so secretly snapping pictures for their stories definitely made that really hard. Nova tried to not make eye contact with any of them as she slid her tray of food and drinks off the counter, but foolishly forgot they could still talk to her even if she didn’t look at them. And they did.

    “So, Nova! What are you doing here?” the girl by the drinks piped up as she was just about to slip away into the crowd back to Adrian.

    “Oh, um, watching the game,” Nova said with a quick smile and tried to turn around and run to a part of the stadium that her name had not been yelled for all to hear.

     “Wait! Here, take this too!” A boy leaned out of the window to hand Nova a hot dog.

    “Oh thanks, that’s really sweet, but I can’t, I didn’t,” but before she could even reject the offer the girl from the register stormed over pulling the boy inside. 

    “Narcissa, she has to pay for that.”

    “Well, I’ll pay for it for her.”

    “Why would you do that! She’s an arrogant jerk that hasn’t done anything for you!”

    “Have you seen her work? Just existing is doing something for me!”

The two of them kept arguing and Nova took the opportunity to slip away without causing any more of a scene. Plus the one girl was being really rude and she didn’t feel like dealing with hate comments at the moment.

Nova made her way back over to Adrian who was still waiting by the fence around the field.

    “If you got some time, you could come back to the stands with me. I need to get these nachos to Oscar and I’m not sure if I can handle any more of his pining after Ruby by myself,” Nova said as she slid into the open spot next to Adrian. 

    “Oscar really dragged you here to watch Rubt with him?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah, he’s got it really bad,” Nova responded in a nonchalant tone. 

“Well, I guess I don’t have anything else to do!” Adrian smiled as they turned and walked back towards the seats.

    They made it back to Oscar in the stands without any more incidents of recognition and settled in for the rest of the game. Apparently Adrian had worked setup and the first quarter and so he was off for the night, but wanted to stay to help clean up after anyway because that’s the kind of person he was. Oscar finally peeled his eyes off Ruby long enough to notice Nova was back with Adrian and Nachos in tow.

    “If I wasn’t so in love with someone else right now, I could kiss you,” Oscar jested as he grabbed the tray from Nova’s hands. She just rolled her eyes and settled herself between Oscar and Adrian.

After a while of munching on nachos and skittles Nova pulled out her phone to check and had about 500 new notifications. No doubt new pictures she had been tagged in and a bunch of new messages from people in the area. With a sigh Nova shoved her phone back in its pocket pocket and turned her attention back to my recently acquired snack. 

 Nova had just taken a bite of the glorious golden gooey goodness when Oscar elbowed her in the ribs,

“We would love to come, right Nova?” he said, glaring at her for not paying attention to their conversation.

“Come where?” Nova spit out through my mouthful of nachos.

“To the 5th quarter tonight at Narcissa’s house! When do we ever get to hang out, no pressure? Plus Oscar could invite Ruby too,” Adrian said staring at Nova with the biggest puppy dog eyes she had ever seen a teenage boy manage to conjure up. Oscar was staring at her with the ‘if you say no I will kill you’ look, and between the two of them it didn’t seem like going home after the game was in the cards this time.

“Yeah I guess we can go for a bit.”

Not one fiber of Nova’s being wanted to go anywhere near a party at Narcissa’s house, who she assumed was the boy who had tried to give her the hot dog earlier, but Nova was a push over. So now she was stuck.

Half-time was finally upon them and Nova was actually interested to see the marching band show. Adrian said that his friend from school was in it which meant that Nova might actually get to see something worthwhile tonight and the trip wouldn’t be a total waste after all!

The band got busy setting the pit and then scurrying to their places around the field. They were actually in a really good spot to see, which made it easy for Nova to find where the colorguard was standing and the other dancers with them. The costumes were well designed with shimmering colors to catch the eye and had great freedom of movement. Then Nova noticed who was actually in the costumes, the guy and one of the girls Nova had never met, but the third she recognized as the girl from the cash register. The girl who had stared daggers into Nova’s very soul. 

She could barely hear Oscar and Adrian chatting as she zeroed in on the girl. Noticing things that she had not earlier when all Nova could focus on was her big dark brown eyes. She had her blond dreadlocks pulled back in a bun and beautiful dark skin tone. Her curves were deep and her hips rounded perfectly.

As soon as the show started Nova couldn’t take her eyes off of the girl. The way she moved was effortless and beautiful. She had so much passion for her craft in every little moment; from jaw dropping tricks to the way she moved her hand to continue a line. It was mesmerizing. 

As the show moved forward there was a partner routine with her and the guy who was there and it almost made Nova laugh. He moved like an elephant compared to her and when he did any sort of lift or trick there was no sign of anything but exhaustion on his face. Despite how awful he was, it still made something bubble up inside Nova every time he touched the other girl. She deserved a better partner.

They moved on from that awful romance section finally and shortly the program came to a close. Once the girl had cleared the field Nova blinked a few times and looked over at Oscar and Adrian who were both staring right at her.

“Um, can I help you?” she questioned at their wide-eyed faces.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Oscar asked her point blank. He had always been rather blunt, but it was still rude.

“What do you mean? My face is fine! Unless my blue eyes magically turned brown. Which is unlikely,” Nova shot back.

“Nova, you were glued to the field that entire time with your mouth open,” Adrian clarified for me.

“Oh, I, um, well,” she really didn’t have any idea what to say, which wasn’t a new thing, but she was beyond flustered at the moment.

“Yeah, your face is bright red my dude, did you like something you saw out there?” Oscar wiggled his eyebrows at Nova and her heart dropped into her feet.t.

“Of course I did! I love watching… um, dancing.” Nova’s lie was not particularly convincing and they all knew it, but thankfully neither of them questioned her anymore. 

The next two quarters came and went and Nova could hear Adrian and Oscar chatting away beside her the entire time.

After most of the crowds left, Adrian went to help with clean-up telling us to meet him at the back gate in half an hour so we could all walk over together, Oscar went down to invite Ruby and Nova was alone. Technically she could have gone with either of them, but a little bit of quiet would be good for her. Nova had to get that girl out of her head and then move on with her life.

Her plans were far less successful than she had hoped and the more she tried to forget the girl and her perfect performance the less Nova actually forgot her. Finally Oscar came back with Ruby tagging along behind him and Nova couldn’t have been happier for the distraction.

“Hey Ruby! Great job out there tonight! Way to cheer us to victory,” Nova said, standing to give the black and white haired girl a hug.

“Thanks Nova! And thanks for coming too. I know Oscar dragged you, but it was still nice of you to show up,” Ruby replied with a smile.

“Well enough standing around here! We have a party to get to!” Oscar practically yelled at the two of them.

Nova took a moment to look down at her watch and realized it was three minutes till they were supposed to be meeting Adrian.

“Come on, we are gonna be late,” Nova grumbled as she started to walk.

They met up with Adrian soon after and all walked over to Narcissa’s house together which was a total of ten steps behind the field. There was already music blaring and the back gate was open so it was pretty hard to miss.

This was not Nova’s cup of tea. In fact she would have much rather been at home in the quiet winding down for the night with a computer on her lap and a hot cup of tea in her hands. Nothing could soothe the soul like hot tea. Unfortunately for her there was no tea and no quiet in sight.

Adrian led the way through the crowded house to the less crowded kitchen where there were drinks and snacks scattered about. Nova wasn’t hungry and she didn’t drink, but also didn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb so she grabbed a cup and filled it up with water while everyone else was busy pouring their own drinks. Oscar and Ruby both went for some sort of beer Nova wasn’t familiar with and giggled together while they started their first round. Adrian went the classy route and poured some cheep wine into a red solo cup

They all bounded off into the distance to play beer pong or something of the sort and Nova stayed planted in the kitchen. People came and went, most too far gone already to recognize her thankfully. That was until Narcissa turned up. 

"Nova? Is that you?" She squeaked in unbelief. 

"In the flesh," Nova grumbled back, shoving her hands in my pockets. Narcissa’s eyes lit up like the fourth of July and she scurred closer.

"I'm your biggest fan! I can't believe you are actually here! In my house! At my party!" 

"Yep. Here I am," Nova said and smiled. Her Aunty Honey would never let her out ever again if she let down a fan and so Nova had learned to fake it rather well.

"Wow. I need a drink this can't be happening," and with that Narcissa shuffled off in a stunned stooper, filling up her cup on the way out. What an odd girl.

After she left, a very drunk Oscar and Ruby and an only slightly tipsy Adrian came stumbling back. Oscar had one arm hugging Ruby’s waist tight against his side and the other dragging his cane as if it was made of lead.

“Hey Nova, wanna come dance with us?” Adrian asked.

“Yeah, that actually sounds really nice,” Nova murmured as she pulled off her hoodie. The four of them went back towards the backyard and honestly Nova was a little excited. She loved dancing. The way the music washed over a person and you could just move with it. No steps, no errors, no rules. Just you and the music. 

They made it back outside and realized it was almost pitch black now that the floodlights on the field had been switched off. Nova could see general movement and the ground, but that was about it. Something about it made her stomach tighten with excitement, the thrill of dancing in the dark. No one was watching. No one even could watch.

As soon as a new song started so did Nova. The beat was so strong she could feel it in her chest and she lost herself to the movement. Two songs, maybe three, passed and Nova was in her own world until she bumped into someone. Little did she know then that nothing would ever be the same after this moment. Nova had no idea who it was, but right then it didn’t matter. They were dancing.

They moved in perfect harmony with body pressed to body. It felt like a lifetime flashed through Nova’s mind; nothing else mattered but the two of them. Her hands snaked under Nova’s shirt and she didn't even try to stop it. Every time she touched Nova’s skin it sent electricity up and down her entire body and drove even more passion into their shared ecstasy. Nova longed to find her lips and press them against her own, but she held herself back finding contentment in the other girls soft skin under her fingertips. The other girl did not find the same contentment. Before Nova could even tell what was happening, she felt warm lips on her own and the world felt like it stopped. Electricity passed through them as they fought for power, hungered for more, and it was driving Nova crazy.

The ability to let go of the pressure of being Nova Artino and dive into this feeling of pure freedom and raw lust was… exhilarating. She had completely forgotten about her frustration of having to come to this party in the first place when a voice called from the back door, “Hey Y’all! Time for truth or dare in the living room!” 

The trance she had been in was quickly broken as the music was suddenly turned down and the back porch light was flipped on. Nova froze as she saw for the first time her partner. It was her. Like her.

Nova’s heart skipped a beat as the girl’s hands dropped from their place on Nova’s hips. The look of pure hatred that she had given Nova earlier plastered itself back onto her face. 

“It’s you?” the girl spat, backing away from Nova.

“Yes?” Nova squeaked back, not sure what to do. 

“You… you stay away from me! Everyone else may have forgotten what your family did, but I won’t. I will never forget the destruction of innocent lives. I. Hate. You. Never touch me again.” and with that the other girl turned on her heels and marched into the house. 

Nova stood there dumbfounded. Unable to make her legs move. Did that girl really blame Nova for her uncle’s mistakes? Were there still people who were hurting over his actions? He was gone now… forever, and yet his actions still haunted Nova, trapping her in an inescapable bubble.

“Nova?” she heard Adrian’s voice call from the back door, “are you okay?” 

She looked up to see his face wrought with confusion, but all she could think to say did not answer his question at all.

“What’s that girl with the golden dreadlocks name?”

“Danna,” he said with a confused tone, “Danna Bell.”

“Oh,” Nova whispered as she sank to the ground. 

“Okay, enough of this,” Adrian declared as he walked over and sat next to her, “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

Nova couldn’t bring herself to repeat what Danna had said to her. Not yet. Not here. So instead she just slumped over onto Adrian’s chest, staring blankly into the night. Nova had thought that she was strong enough to take the hate comments by now, but for some reason they stung even more coming from Danna. Nova had felt electric when they were together. Her Aunt Honey had always told her that ‘the flame burns the one who holds onto it as it reaches the end of its life and then there is nothing left but you, alone, burnt, standing in a pile of ashes’ but Nova had never really understood what that meant until then. Her mind flashed with memories of the night that only served to deepen her wounds. So she hadn’t been in love with Danna or anything, they had not even spoken really before, but they had still shared a moment of passion and that made the words cut Nova even deeper.

Nova realized that since Adrian had sat down he hadn’t said anything else. He didn’t push her, or hurry her, or move her, Adrian just sat there with Nova in her hurt. They must have stayed there for at least an before Nova finally found the gumption to whisper the words she had been holding onto, “I danced with Danna all night, but as soon as the lights turned on she blindsided me with blame for what my uncle did and left.”

Nova felt Adrian’s steady breathing catch as she finally managed to get the words out. She knew how angry people who still looked down on Nova for her uncle’s choices made him, and yet it still lit a little spark of joy in her. He had been there for her through everything and never backed down from telling someone to shove off when they accosted her. From when the truth came out about her uncle and her world came crashing down, to when she finally rebuilt everything her father had worked so hard to create and the world looked at in her awe.

“Well then Danna is an idiot,” Adrian replied frankly before taking a deep breath and continuing, “Nova, you are the strongest, smartest, most resilient person I have ever known. Anyone who can’t see past your family’s mistakes is a fool missing out on someone who could change their life forever. I know you know how I feel about all of that, but you still deserve so much more than that. You are incredible Nova and anyone who passes up the opportunity to see that is a fool.”

At that, Nova sat up and stared at her best friend. He had never said anything like that to her before. 

“Do you mean that?” she asked quietly, thanking the stars that it was still dark enough outside to cover her blush.

“Of course I do,” Adrian said lifting a hand and brushing a stray hair from Nova’s face, “you are the most important person to me and anyone who hurts you is an enemy of mine.” Her heart started to beat faster as he moved closer. Had Adrian always been this handsome? Had his lips always looked this inviting? 

As they got close enough for their foreheads to touch Nova paused, looking into Adrians deep brown eyes for a moment before closing the gap between their lips. In that moment Nova felt like she was home. This kiss was gentle and knowing. It was a lifetime of memories tied up in a breathless moment. Adrian’s lips were soft and careful, soaking up her fears and letting her melt into the comfort of this intimate closeness. She felt his hand wrap around her waist as she draped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her. She wanted more of him. Of the safety that his arms around her body gave and of the slowly rising heat between them, but to her surprise Adrian pulled back.

“Is something wrong?” Nova questioned, a little fearful of what his answer might be. 

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Adrian smiled at her, “I just don’t know if now is the right time.”

Nova rocked back onto her heels and really took in Adrian’s face. He was right. Nova was taking advantage of him to make herself feel better and they both knew it.

“Oh, yeah, maybe you’re right,” Nova said before they dropped into an awkward silence. They sat just staring at each other for an unbearably long time before Adrian broke the silence.

“I think we should probably get the other two and go. It’s late and you have had a long evening. I’ll grab our things and Oscar and Ruby and we can head out.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Nova responded as Adrian stood up and cast one more look at her before walking inside.

Nova felt like she had been steamrolled and then hung on a clothesline to dry. The difference between the moment she had shared with Danna and the one with Adrian was almost impossible to believe. One was so impersonal and filled with lust, while the other was deeply knowing and built on trust. Nova felt somehow both ripped apart and sewn back together simultaneously. She knew it was going to be a rough path for her from here on out considering her relationship with Adrian could never go back to how it was before... and yet that was okay with her. She knew that he was the right choice. Adrian had always been the one. She had wanted more from him tonight and felt completely comfortable and safe with him, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn’t shake the feeling of Danna’s hands on her skin.

[talesmaniac89]

Choices - Sam - Front Door

New to Choices? Start Here

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome and whether it’s a Dean x Reader or Sam x Reader. Go to the intro to start your story now!

Triggers: Swearing, hostage situation, pain, worry

Choice:  [You chose to go in through the front]

Y/N = Your Name 

---

Glancing at the massive mansion you weighed your options. Sure, you could probably sneak around the back easier than Sam. But the front door was also most likely to draw the witches’ attention. You were smaller than the boys, you stood a better chance at dodging whatever they threw at you while the boys made their way through the house. 

Sam was faster than you too. With his long legs he’d make it around the back way before you ever could. Which meant you’d get all three hunters into the house quicker. Making the hunt tip in your favour instead of the two against two it’d be while you made your way around following the tree line. 

Yeah… The front door was your best bet at keeping the two men in your life safe. 

“I’ll take the front door,” You said as you steeled yourself for the hunt and Sam’s surely soon to follow overprotective rebuttal. Choosing to focus on rechecking your revolver for the thousandth time, you kept your eyes away from Sam’s squared jaw and the way you could follow the worried words he swallowed back down with a bob of his adam's apple. 

“No (Y/N), I’ll take…” His normally light eyes were darker where he watched the front door, as if an army of monsters were waiting for you on the other side of the white wood. His big hand shook from strain as he clenched his own gun at his side. The worry rolling off him in waves and wrapping around you like warm, soft cotton. 

“No can do big man. You’ll make it ‘round the back much faster than me, and we need all hands on deck. Stat,” You shot back with a tired sigh. You didn’t have time to stand around there and argue. Your body was buzzing with unused adrenaline, your muscles tensing and relaxing with the need for action now that you were so close to finishing the hunt.

“(Y/N)...” Sam’s voice was low and rough, the early hints of a whispered argument you didn’t have time to listen to. You didn’t need to hear his many reasons, or whatever excuses he’d tried to cook up. 

There was no way you were putting him, or his brother, in harm's way by sitting the hunt out. No matter what Sam was planning to say to stop you from walking through that front door. And you sure as hell weren’t going to walk around the back and leave the two of them alone in there for God knows how long with the size of the house as big as it was. 

Still, you kept your eyes on your weapon, on the door, on Dean… Anywhere but Sam. Knowing that those damned puppy dog eyes could always make your stubborn strength crumble. You weren’t going to leave him. Ever. Even if you couldn’t tell him how you felt. Choosing to just hastily slip your heart into his big palm and hide it up his sleeve instead. 

You not going in there... Hell, to you that meant deserting him. Even if he saw it as a way of keeping you safe from the many imagined shadows in his mind. If Sam’s fears were the monsters in his closet, then you would be the flashlight and soothing lullabies that he never got as a child. The warm hand to hold that assured him he could still rely on others, that people wouldn’t just up and leave.

You were not going to run from the front-lines. You weren’t letting him fight your battles for you as if you were some sheltered princess hiding behind the walls his fears had shaped him into. You’d promised yourself to never abandon the Winchesters, and that’s exactly why you had to go in the front door. You had to hunt with them. 

“Don’t Sam. I’ll… We’ll meet up inside, ok?” Biting back the promises you wanted to give him, if only to soothe his worry, you straightened and walked past him instead. Eyes locked on the white wood of the front door as you fought the urge to brush up against his sleeve and check in on the heart you’d safely tucked away under the flannel. 

“I just… Please be safe, alright?” Sam’s hand was wrapped softly around your small wrist as he stopped you in your step. Big, calloused fingers brushing against the sensitive skin above your pulse point, as if he was reassuring himself that you were still alive even as you stood right next to him. The small, gentle gesture made you catch your breath as you struggled to keep your voice strong and confident. Turning with a smile you let your own forced bright words chase the last of the shadows from worried eyes. 

“Of course, I’ll kick ass in there, then we’ll go home, together,” You promised as you carefully removed your wrist from his shaky hold. The small circles his index finger has traced on the soft skin above your pulse etched into the very core of you as you forced yourself to refocus on the door. On the hunt. 

In the not-so-immortal words of Elmer Fudd; it was time to hunt some rabbits… Or, well, witches. But who the fuck cared? Whatever was hiding in the McMansion ahead of you, it was as good as dead now that the Winchester’s and you had shown up to play.

Keeping your steps light and your eyes on the wooden door you tried to ignore the feel of Sam’s eyes burning into you. The warmth of worried eyes dragged up your spine the same way you’d imagined big hands do time and time again. He should be moving, not watching you run towards the door. But you couldn’t turn around to signal for him to get going. Not when you knew he was standing there, looking afraid and alone with dimming sunshine eyes that would make you want to run back to him.

And so, you kept moving, keeping your eyes on the heaviness of wood ahead instead of the soft heartrending protective worry behind you. Worry you knew wouldn’t fade until you met up again inside the house. Until he was certain you wouldn’t leave him in that achingly permanent way that each new vicious monster tried to make a reality. The way you were unfortunately likely to leave him at some point in the future. Since your lives didn’t really hold the promise of forever. 

For now, you just had to rely on the heart in his sleeve to keep the hunter company. To keep Sam safe until you could have his back again. 

--- 

The front door was locked. 

Of course it was. Nothing could ever be easy. Why couldn’t just one monster, just once, make your lives a bit easier by rolling out the red carpet and lining up in front of you? A little roll-call of big and bad for you to check off, one bullet at a time. 

Luckily, a locked door had never stopped you. So, just as you felt the warm worry of Sam’s eyes leave you to start moving around to the back of the house, you slid down to crouch in front of the door. Resting on the balls of your feet, you momentarily holstered your gun to dig out the small lock picking kit you always kept on you. 

As the scouts said; always be prepared. And though you might not have had the girl scout, cookie sales type of childhood, you were damned sure to be prepared for any situation. Weapons and other little lethal toys included. 

The lock was pretty basic. For a mansion that just screamed ‘rob me’, the owners had felt quite secure in their seclusion. Relying only on a standard single cylinder deadbolt lock. Opening the door itself was child's play. Even if the short inconvenience had your body itching for action. 

As soon as you heard the satisfying click of metal sliding against metal you pocketed your kit again. Your hand finding your revolver at your side as you carefully stood back up and let your eyes glance behind you to find both boys gone. Dean would be just reaching his door by now, and Sam still had a bit left to move around the freakishly large house. 

Keeping the gun pointed at the door you took a small careful breath and rolled tense shoulders. It was show time. You’d go in, kick some Copperfield wannabe’s ass and find the boys again. Just like you always did. 

---

If the outside of the house had seemed large and overly luxurious, the inside screamed new money and tried too hard at being bourgeois. From the first step in on the heavy carpeted hallway to the over the top winding staircase to the second floor, the little you’d already seen of the place seemed like someone had tried to copy it right out of some over the top romance novel. 

You nearly expected seeing Scarlett O'Hara glide down the stairs and invite you in for some sweet tea and drama. Instead you were stuck with the Scarlet Witch, and not the cool, kick-ass superhero version. Yours were a little less Wanda and a hell of a lot more Wicked Witch of the West. 

Sighing, you weighed your possible options. Other than the stairs the hallway split into two nearly identical rows of rooms that seemed to go on for forever. One snaking away under the stairway and out of sight, while the other continued down towards what you guessed was the back of the house, where Sam would be coming in. 

You could take that hallway, down past the smiling faces of the former owners and hex bag recipients. Happy in the bliss of picture-perfect lives and unaware the gory fate that awaited them. That’s the way your heart wanted you to take. To get to Sam’s side as quickly as possible. But you knew it would be a waste of precious seconds. You needed the whole house checked. Not just that one hallway. Both boys would end up there and easily cover that length of smiling portraits between them. 

Tearing your eyes off the quick and easy way to get back to Sam you let your eyes glide over to what was hiding under the stairs. That was most likely the way Dean would head down once he reached the front of the house. The hallway looked darker than the others. And your best friend would always shield the rest of you by taking the most dangerous tasks on himself. 

Which left you with the winding wuthering heights of staircases. Swallowing down a couple of creative swear words you aimed your gun slightly higher, keeping your eyes peeled for movement on top of the stairs. You had to go up there. It was the right choice to make. But that didn’t mean your heart didn’t sting like a son of a bitch at the thought of leaving the two men to deal with the downstairs area. 

You couldn’t let yourself dwell on it. You’d meet up with them afterwards. It was fine. 

Two witches. It shouldn’t take long. And then you’d be back by their side, watching their back as they watched yours. But first, you needed to find the two monster squatters and exterminate them. 

Keeping your eyes and gun raised, you stepped onto the stupidly wide steps of the stairs. Taking them one at a time as you paced your quiet breaths with soft, careful steps against the carpeted stairs. Damn it, this place really had to be hell to clean. Not only was it massive, but with this much carpet around, a bucket of suds and hot water just wasn’t going to cut it. 

At least your steps were swallowed by the thick carpet below your heavy steel toed boots. Which made it much easier for you to move relatively quickly up the unnecessary amount of steps in the lazy slope of the staircase. Allowing you to reach the top and scan the new endless hallways that came into view after just one strained minute. 

Fuck.

Of course there’d just be more hallways, more smiling faces in pretty picture frames. Well, you had no choice but to start looking. One door at the time as you rolled your shoulders and steadied your gun, one finger resting on the trigger guard as you chose a hallway at random and stepped towards the first of many doors. 

--- 

Damn it, how many rooms did one couple need? They had more guest rooms than you had enemies, and that was saying something. As there wasn’t a shortage of people who wanted to kill you. 

Your muscles were screaming at you from where they’d been forced to tense and relax every time you carefully pushed a new door open, only to be met with another empty room. Or, in one case a linen closet that was twice the size of your room back in the Men of Letters bunker. 

Freaking unfair. 

Yet, you kept walking, slow and steady, towards the end of the hallway. Checking one room at the time and keeping an eye on the still unchecked rooms as you strained to hear any sign of a scuffle from downstairs.

It was so quiet... Screw the damned cliché, but it was right. It was too quiet. Two of the best hunters you knew were searching downstairs. You should have heard something by now. Anything. Yet, even as you stopped moving and held your breath to listen, there was nothing. No sound of a fight, or gunshots from downstairs. Where were the damned witches hiding? 

Of course, the silence was a good sign. The Winchester brothers were still safe. You had to believe that, even as the pressure cooker of worry and what ifs boiled deep in your gut. The two men in your life were somewhere in the big mansion. And your legs ached from where you had to force yourself to continue your search without going to look for them. 

Every part of your body wanted to screw the logical hunter 101 ingrained in your mind after years in the business to find them, to find Sam, back downstairs. But you knew you had a job to do, and you were damned good at your job. ‘Employee of the month’-good. You needed to stick to the plan, to go slow and steady, not the frantic steps of overprotective love and worried hearts. 

Sam had your heart. You’d slipped him that a long, long time ago. For now, you had to rely on your mind, on your instincts and your training. You’d be back by his side soon enough. But for now, you had to stifle your fears, and move on with the search. Like a good little soldier.

The Winchesters were the best in the business.

You loved Dean like a brother, and your best friend could take care of himself. Sam too, you knew that he could. Sam Winchester was the strongest man you’d ever had the pleasure of stumbling headfirst into unrequited love with. Broken and reshaped so many times by an unforgiving world until the pressure had made him a diamond, all sharp and beautiful, as he reflected the harsh reality of the Winchester family business through sunshine eyes and gave the world a rainbow in return.

Breathing out through pursed lips, you forced your thoughts to return to the hunt as you shifted your hold on the gun. Fingers tightening around it as you kept your eyes on the remaining few doors of the hallway. A small, barely there sound drawing your eye from the door you’d been eyeing and down to the end of the hall. Bingo.

Smirking to yourself, you ignored the last few doors and strode quietly towards the final door. Someone was in there, and it sure as hell wasn’t one of the brothers. 

Moving your finger off the trigger guard. You reached out to turn the handle of the door, only to find the chrome turn in your hand without any movement from your careful fingers. Taking a step back, you readied yourself to see what was hiding behind door number… Hell, you hadn’t bothered counting. 

Coming face to face with wide blue eyes as the witch pulled the wooden door open and froze in her steps from the gun aimed right between them. Allowing yourself a quick victorious grin you nodded at your gun as your eyes stayed on the Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Bitch in front of you. Speaking up before she could spout some bullshit about guns not being able to kill her. 

God, you were just so sick and tired of the same stupid back and forth that all the monsters seemed to have to go through when you fought them. Like you were some sort of greenhorn that didn’t know your vamps from your wendigos.

“Witch killing bullets, don’t fucking move,” 

Of course, the witch parted painted lips. 

Still intent on forcing you through the little high school play of empty threats or promises of pain that you’d had to sit through one too many times. Yet, before she could start saying whatever prompt the monster playbook told her to say, she was forced quiet by a gunshot from downstairs. 

The loud explosion of sound shook your concentration for just one small second. As you glanced down the hallway towards the stairs. Worry heavy in your stomach. But that was all it took. The witch was just that fraction of a heartbeat faster than you as she sent you flying sideways into the wall, your head connecting with the smiling picture frames and your gun dropping to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. 

Fuck.

Your bleary mind barely had the time to even formulate the single swear word as darkness swallowed your vision. The edge of a frame had connected with your temple. There was no way you could keep yourself from slipping temporarily away from the real world. Your last thought as you faded into nothingness against the pounding pain in your head was Sam. 

A weak prayer for his safety on your lips as you crumpled to the floor. 

---

You hadn’t been out for long. You knew that much. The still fresh pounding in your head that had brought you back and the coppery taste of blood on your tongue was still in the early stages as you forced your eyes to open again. 

But it had been long enough for the witch to pull you back into the bedroom she had been busy leaving and tie you to a wooden chair in the middle of the white walled room. The leather belt tied around your wrists burning against the skin and erasing the soft touch left above your pulse point by Sam as you tried to loosen it. 

“Oh, look who’s up!” The woman in front of you was impeccably dressed, but that didn’t make her any less slimy to you as she softly clapped manicured hands together like a giddy child with a new toy. Her vicious attempt at teasing mismatched with the classic black dress that ended at her knees and matching heels that were leaving dents in the room’s heavy carpet. 

“Bite me, bitch,” You spat back as you tugged against the restraints. No good, you couldn’t even make the leather biting into your wrists give a little. If you were proud of your girl scout preparedness, then she was the one with the eagle scout rank. She’d tied your arms up good. Though she’d left your feet alone, you noted, which at least gave you some chance. 

She clearly had plans for you as she sauntered closer. Maybe she was going to hex you, or hurt you. But she sure as hell didn’t look like she was getting ready to kill you. No, you were playing the role of hostage. A little bait to get the Winchesters to come running and keep them from hurting her. 

Damn it. 

You knew better than to be inattentive when facing a monster. But the gunshot had come out of nowhere, and after spending so long in absolute silence, it had rattled your mind and broken your focus. 

Setting your angry eyes into the witch in front of you, you caught the glint of steel behind her where your revolver had been thrown haphazardly on the bed. If only you could get loose then she’d be toast in a second. But the leather was tied tight enough that you could nearly taste it mixing with the blood in your mouth from the cut on your lip. 

You had to think. You didn’t have many options. You could scream. Call for help and wait for the cavalry to come to your rescue. Sam and Dean were smart, they’d know what your scream meant, and they’d come running in prepared, instead of whatever trap the witch hoped to prepare. But it wasn’t a perfect solution. Someone could still get hurt. Sam could still get hurt. 

Or, you could keep fighting. Keep being the good little soldier and use whatever you could to get out of the chair and knock the Eastwick wannabe in front of you down a few pegs. 

It wasn’t much of a choice at all. But you had to choose and choose fast.

---

Make your choice below to move the story along:

What do you do?

[Try to get loose] or [Scream for help]

---

Confused or New to Choices? Start Here Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where you pick your Winchester brother and go on a hunt for one of 8 different endings in total. Four for Sam and four for Dean (2 happy and 2 bad endings per brother). Go to the intro to start your story!

---

[biaswreckingfics]

No Exit: Part 17

Author: biaswreckingyourlifefics

Genre: Mafia Au - Warnings? Everything that happens in a mafia au (but TW implied sexual assault)

Word Count: 3.6k

Previous Chapter  |  Next Chapter

Suho's POV

Suho looked over the documents in his hand as his men quietly waited for him. Everything was falling into place beautifully, and he'd have you back at the compound soon.

"All we need now is for Jongdae to tell us where they are. Once we have the location, we move," Suho dropped the papers onto the desk and looked up at his men. "Let's run through everything one more time. We can't afford any screw-ups. Sehun?"

"We've got enough weapons and explosives to demolish three city blocks. When everything starts, team one will set up the explosives, while teams two and three join us in the entrance."

It sounded good in theory, but Suho was worried about one team. "Chanyeol's team knows their positions and roles?"

Sehun nods while he leans back into his chair. "I've debriefed them on everything, and they know to fall under my rank while Chanyeol is unavailable."

"Perfect. Yixing?"

"Medical is fully stocked, and we have plenty of extras in case this goes upside down."

Baekhyun jumped in as soon as Yixing had finished. "Yixing will stay back behind the final team for coverage, and I'll enter with the second to last team and begin triage."

Suho nods, pleased with his men and their thoroughness. He was proud of how far everyone in the group had come since they first joined. He knew they were capable of accomplishing their mission, but Suho was worried about their numbers. They all were in command of their own teams, but he only had a rough estimate of how many Baem members there were, and estimates got you killed in this line of duty, so he had to be prepared.

"Minseok, have you been in touch with our allies?"

"I've reached out to three of them, but only one is available."

He stilled, not liking that answer. "And why is that?"

"The dragons have their own meetings taking place this week, so they're spread out thin, and the WDT has negotiations with the Baem and doesn't want to take sides."

"Well, they just did. Record that, and we'll deal with them after." At Minseok's nod, he continues. "So, who has decided to join us?"

"Bangtan."

The name caused the men to smile, and Suho himself was quite delighted. Bangtan was one of the other top groups in their world. They also have been one of EXO's closest allies for years. Whenever either group needed help, the other always stood by their side, so Suho should've known exactly who it was.

However, Minseok's next words had a smile growing even on Suho's face.

"They're not just sending their men... They're coming themselves."

"Oh, fuck. Yes." Jongin happily says, causing Suho to immediately turn to him and point.

"Do not use this as a time for your and Jimin's competition."

"Once Y/N is safe, we're definitely going to use this for our competition," Jongin tells him, completely ignoring Suho and causing him to sigh.

He knew there was no way around it. Every time Jongin and Jimin got together, they were hellions. Their competition to see who can make more kill shots was well known throughout the mafia world. There would be no stopping them.

"As long as she's safe first."

Jongin salutes him with his fingers. "Aye aye, boss."

At that moment, Jongdae bursts into the room looking winded. At his entrance, all of the men stand up.

"You got the location?" Suho asks him urgently.

Jongdae shakes his head and says, "No, but you all need to come see this."

Without another word, he turns and quickly walks back down the hallway. Suho immediately takes off after him, with the rest of the men following suit.

As they approached the front door, Jongdae pulls out his gun and clicks the safety off, causing the rest of the men to go on high alert. Everyone pulled out their weapons as Jongdae slowly opened the door.

What they saw was a man slowly walking up the driveway.

"Who is that?" Suho quietly asks.

"I couldn't tell from the cameras, but something is wrong. He's walking like a zombie."

The men file out of the house and form a line. With their weapons drawn, they waited for the man to get closer.

As he approached, Suho was able to get a better look at him, and it became clear as day that the man had been beaten to high hell, which is what was causing his zombie-like appearance.

Movement from his right causes Suho to look over. He watches as Sehun suddenly takes a step forward, his eyes widening in recognition.

"That's Minho, one of Chanyeol's men."

A few of the men relax once they realize it's an EXO member, but Suho was still weary as Sehun slowly approached him.

"Jongin, Kyungsoo, go with him."

They follow Sehun as he slowly walks over to the man. He was close enough that Suho could now see blood dripping from his mouth, and he instantly knew this was a dead man.

Almost as if on cue, Minho drops down into the grass face first. Sehun ran the rest of the way, causing the men to swear, and Yixing and Baekhyun immediately stepped forward to go help.

"Not yet."

Suho forced them to stay back. For all they knew, someone could've planted a bomb on him, or this could all be a trap. His eyes scanned the yard and driveway for movement.

Jongdae, who must've been reading his thoughts, says, "They dropped him off down the road. Nobody followed him."

Suho tensely observed his men as they looked Minho over, and once he heard one of them yell "clear", he relaxed. He watched the men as they stopped and stared at the body. Each man's eyes were glued to the same thing, but it was impossible to tell what from their distance. When Jongin slowly knelt down and began pulling at Minho's back, Suho got a very bad feeling.

"What is it?" He calls out.

None of the men answered him, but Kyungsoo did look over at Suho with a hesitant expression on his face, before joining Sehun and Jongin in studying whatever Jongin held in his hand.

The aura of the three men changed from caution to rage within seconds, and Suho's feet were moving before he even knew it.

Once he reached the men, Jongin held out what looked like a picture to him. Reaching for it, he turns the picture over, and his heart stops. It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to his torso.

It was a picture of you. Your face and body were beaten and bloody. Your shirt was torn down, exposing your chest, and you were all tied up. You looked exhausted, scared, and pissed off, and for the first time, Suho let his heart go out to you.

He not only heard the outrage from his men as they walked up behind him and examined the picture, but he could feel it also. It was like there was a change in the electricity in the air. A deadly storm was coming, and EXO were going to be the harbingers.

"We need to move. Now." Sehun voices what all of the men were thinking.

"This is a taunt for you, Suho. They nailed that picture into Minho's back. They want to get a rise out of you." Kyungsoo tells him.

"Well, they just did." He replies, crumpling up the picture. "Jongdae, go through the satellite feeds and look for recent activity. If you see the leaders together at any of their buildings, flag it. Jongin, call Bangtan and let them know it's on. Also, call WDT and let them know they have one more chance to join us. If they don't, tell them they're next."

He turns toward their home and begins the trek back inside, his men following him in more ways than one.

"Suit up, boys. It's time to go to war."

A half an hour later, the men were strapped up and ready for hell. Jongdae had found the only building of the Baem's where all four of their leaders had spent a suspicious amount of time at, and Suho knew that was where you were being held.

Everyone was divided into teams, and each of their units knew their positions. They were all only waiting for Suho's command.

"Our allies?" He turns to ask Jongin before giving the orders.

"Bangtan is on their way. They know their job is to get Y/N since the Baem won't be expecting them. Our friends in the WDT have reluctantly sent over some of their men, and they're in place waiting."

"Perfect. Let's go skin some snakes."

Y/N's POV

You knew time had passed, but it was impossible to tell how much. In the beginning, you were keeping track of the guard shifts, but after a while, you had given up.

The Baem seemed so sure that EXO would be coming for you, but what if they weren't? It's not like Suho knew you were his sister. The only person that you had told about your brother was Baekhyun. Had he been able to connect the pieces? Or was he too distraught after Chanyeol was...

You shake your head, trying to clear it of thoughts of what were probably Chanyeol's last minutes. He died trying to save you, and it ended up being in vain...

You lean forward and let out a sob, accidentally pulling at your arm that they had broken a couple of days ago, when two voices suddenly catch your attention.

"We shouldn't do this."

"Who's going to stop us..? No one."

You helplessly watch as two of the goons walk in. You had seen them before and recognized the one from the previous times his eyes had crept over your body. The man had always given you bad vibes, and his outer appearance didn't help the situation.

The second man seemed timider and obviously just a follower of the first idiot as he continued to prove by standing over in the corner, instead of coming over by you.

You cautiously watched the gross man as he neared you. His eyes glued to your still exposed chest.

"Besides J, I know she wants this as much as I do." He tells his friend in the corner.

Frozen, you watch as he approaches you, but once his hand goes down to his pants and undoes his zipper, your frozen state disappears.

Ignoring the aches and pains, you begin struggling against your bonds, not caring if you broke your other arm in the process, as long as you were able to free yourself, but you knew you were shit out of luck. Your only hope of defending yourself was to use your teeth and bite the crap out of him if he came near your mouth.

A loud smack to your face stills you for only a moment, but it was long enough for him to grab you by your hair and hold your head still, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"Don't fight it, princess. I hear it hurts more that way."

Before he could do anything else, the three of you hear pounding footsteps coming your way. The man in front of you quickly lets you go and zips himself back up before the door flies open.

"Boss - "

"Shut up. Code black, do you hear me? Code black."

A lot happened after that. The two goons demeanors completely change. and they take off running down the hall, while the leader ran up to you and pulled a knife. Before you could process what was happening, he sliced through your ropes and yanked you up by your broken arm.

It hurt. Badly. It felt like your arm was being pulled out of your socket and sawed-off at the same time, but your body tried to follow your arm. The feeling in your legs was gone, making it almost impossible for you to stand, but you didn't have a choice because the leader was half dragging you down the hallway.

"What's happening?" You ask, but he shuts you down.

"Just shut the fuck up and move."

As you limp to keep up with him, the feeling in your legs returns, and you're able to gain enough stability that you were no longer being dragged behind him.

He pulls you up a flight of stairs into the warehouse above where you were being held, and the sight that greets you was an absolute bloodbath.

Chaos reigned all around you as you tried to take it all in. Bodies littered the floor, while loud gunshots exploded off the walls. There were men... everywhere. Some shooting at each other, others fighting with weapons or hands, and a few trying to pull their injured into hiding spots.

The shock had worn off the second the leader began pushing you toward what you assumed was an exit.

This was it. This was going to be your only opportunity to escape, and you were going to take it.

Immediately, you begin to fight back, shoving at his hands and kicking him wherever you could reach.

Anger flashed in his eyes as he tried to regain control of you, "You little bitch."

You quickly scan the area for a weapon, as you deliver one swift kick to his shin, but only see wooden pallets with boxes on them, nothing you could swing at him.

The leader straightens back up and attempts to reach for you again, but before he can get to you, a fist connects with his face, and he almost loses his balance.

Two men you had never seen before jump on the leader and begin to fight with him.

A hand falls down onto your shoulder, causing you to jump and whip around. You meet the eyes of another unfamiliar man and begin to back away, causing him to raise his hands in the air. His slightly chubby cheeks and full mouth caused him to look way too innocent to be involved in all of this.

"It's okay... I'm here to help you."

"Who are you?" You immediately ask.

"My name is Jimin. I'm a friend of Jongin's. We came to help them."

Your eyes widen, and you turn to frantically search the warehouse for EXO. The closer you look, you begin spotting familiar faces. Off on the other side of the warehouse, you spot Jongin and D.O. fighting back-to-back.

You hear your name shouted from the left and look over to see Sehun knocking someone down about 30 feet from you.

"Go with them!"

A part of you wanted to tell him no, to stay and help them fight, but you knew you would just be a distraction, so you nod at him and turn to Jimin.

Another man had joined him, and he gave you a small smile, causing your eyes to notice a small scar on his cheek and his strong jawline. You watch as he shrugs off his jacket and hands it to you.

"We really need to get you out of here."

Grabbing his jacket, you quickly cover yourself up and allow the two men to gently grab you and guide you through the building. Jimin was, thankfully, very careful with your broken arm as he held onto you.

While they led you toward the exit, other men cleared a path for them, guarding them against both forward and surprise attacks.

The taller one senses your hesitation and leans down to tell you, "They're with us."

You nod and watch as they effortlessly pick men off left and right, showcasing their impressive skills.

Right before you get to the exit, you glance back into the chaos. The guys were still in there. Fighting with the Baem, and that was when it fully hit you. They came for you. They didn't leave you behind. They cared enough to fight this battle for you...

The two men usher you out of the warehouse into the first fresh air you've breathed in... you didn't even know... You had no idea how long you were held captive in that dark room.

Ironically enough, the sun was brightly shining in the sky, causing you to squint. Compared to the darkness in the warehouse and the storm of the battle inside, it was almost too much for you.

At that moment, you noticed the men guiding you toward a black van, and a part of you slows down and lets the panic inside your chest build.

"You're safe, Y/N. We're going to take you back to EXO's safe house." Jimin tries to reassure you, but his words caused you to worry in a different way.

The fact that they were leaving and not going back in to help the boys wasn't sitting right with you.

"What about EXO? Aren't you going to help them?"

"They're going to meet us there. As for the fight, Suho wanted us to focus solely on getting you back."

A tall man tells you as he walks in front of you. Something about his actions made it obvious he was their leader, and if what they were saying was true, you had no choice but to trust them.

Once you reach the van, the men all pile in around you. The second man who helped you, the one who gave you his jacket, helped you again when you were getting into the van.

Curious, you turned to him once he sat down and said, "Thank you..."

"Jungkook."

"Thank you, Jungkook, and Jimin, and ...the rest of you."

Without turning around, someone from the front tells you, "You can save the thanks until after we get you back with EXO."

Nodding to yourself, you stay silent as the van pulls away and heads out to the road. It was quiet, except for their movements. The men, clearly still running on adrenaline, couldn't sit still. Someone was always moving something. A foot, fingers, something.

"So... who are you guys?"

A man from the row in front of you turns toward you with a big, boxy smile.

"Bangtan. Have you heard of us?"

Something in the back of your mind wiggled. There was a familiarity to the name, but you couldn't place why.

"Maybe... it sounds familiar."

"We've been friends with EXO for years. Actually, there was this one time when Jongin and Jimin - "

"Shut up." Jimin interrupts him.

You turn to Jimin, a connection finally being made in your mind. Jongin had told you plenty of stories about him and Jimin and the crazy shit they did.

"You're Jimin!"

He looked over at you in surprise. "You've heard of me?"

"Oh yeah. You and a boy named Taehyung - "

As the name left your mouth, the man with the boxy smile slowly turned around, his face morphing into a clear "uh oh".

"I'm guessing that's you, isn't it?"

He turns back to you again and smiles, "Guilty."

Before you could respond, a loud explosion comes from behind you and rocks the van. Whoever was driving slowed the van as the rest of you quickly turned in your seats to see what happened.

A giant, black cloud of smoke poured into the sky, and you knew right away it was the warehouse. Your heart plummeted into your stomach. Your friends were in there. Your brother was in there. There was no way they could've all gotten out! They were in mid-fight when you left!

Immediately, you start pushing at Jungkook and Jimin trying to get one of them to move so you could get out of the van, but they both quickly grabbed your arms and got you under control.

You felt the van start to move again, and you tried to fight harder.

"What are you doing?! We have to go back!"

"That wasn't the plan we made with Suho." The leader tells you.

You stare up at him in disbelief as all of the men slowly look at the ground or out their windows.

"You have to be joking! Aren't they your friends? How can you just leave them behind?"

You felt wetness spill down your cheeks and knew you were crying, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You turn towards Jimin and try to get him to look at you.

"Jongin is in there!"

His jaw tenses as he continues to look down at his lap but says nothing.

One of the other men turns back to look at you with a cold stare. "You need to calm down. You think this is easy for us?! We're fighters, and those are our friends, but we don't know what happened. For all we know, EXO was the one who blew the place up. They had other help there beside us, and if it wasn't EXO who did it, then we need to get out of here now. So, I need you to take a deep breath and attempt to calm yourself down."

You try to listen to him and take a breath, but you couldn't stop your mind from wandering. What if they weren't the ones who set off that explosion? What if they didn't make it out?

Tagging: @nothingbutadeadesceane @kaykaystay17 @cina-bunn @atwoodscott @sehunnies-hunnie96 @meryljill-111192 @spiltkpop @azul23blue @exosnoona29 @heartshapedenchiladas @lovebuginlove @nogenderxx @bowdownbitchies-love

[sweetness47]

Chocolate Almonds

Pairing AU Alpha! Cas x Omega! Reader

@castielspnbingo​ – amnesia

@spnabobingo​ – chocolate/coconut/almond

@spngenrebingo​ – Castiel

WARNINGS: MATURE 18+ READERS ONLY!!! Smut, abo themes, knotting, heat, rut, amnesia, angst, fluff

Word count: 1925

It was a horrible weakness, her one Achilles heel, and she always kicked herself for it. Especially when she did midnight runs to the local convenience store. She swore that one day, chocolate covered almonds would be the death of her.

She never heard anything behind her, walking to the beat of her play list, munching on the sweet crunchy chocolate delights. When the hand snaked around her face, cupping her mouth so she couldn’t scream, then another strong arm grabbed her around her waist, dragging her to the nearby alley, where the promise of something horrible awaited.

She managed to get one scream out when he threw her to the ground, but the assailant slammed her head hard against a dumpster, ceasing any more rescue thoughts.

But luck was on her side.

Castiel was walking home from the bar. He was just a regular guy, sort of. A self made millionaire. But he never fell into the rich snob category. Cas was a kind, gentle soul, one that was always willing to get his hands dirty for a good cause.

He heard the scream but only one. He listened, his hearing picking up movement by the dumpster in the alley. Quietly, he went toward the commotion, his gut instincts telling him to check the noise out.

The assailant was surprised as he was viciously pulled from his victim, and flung into a nearby puddle. He looked over at Cas, sizing him up for a takedown. Cas was faster, stronger, subduing his opponent in seconds, then calling the cops to pick him up.

The young woman was unconscious, half naked, but still covered. The bastard who attacked her hadn’t been able to finish what he started, which was good, but she needed care. The gash on the right side of her temple was bleeding and needed to be cleaned and bandaged. Gently, he picked her up and took her to his apartment not two blocks away. He was careful to cover her first, his jacket placed modestly over her ripped blouse. Within 15 minutes, he was crossing the threshold to his penthouse suite, guest in tow.

After she didn’t wake the first time, he phoned his friend Dean, a paramedic, to come and take a look at her. Dean would be able to assess if she needed to go to the hospital. Cas had cleaned the wound and bandaged it, but it had been over 12 hours. After examining the woman, checking her vitals, taking a look at the cut, Dean reassured Cas she was ok. Her body was resting, which was good for her. He told his friend that if she didn’t wake by day three, then he should bring her in, and have her assessed for brain injury.

Ever the gentleman, Cas grabbed a blanket and put it over his guest, and left her a note, and a change of clothes, in case she woke while he slept.

His sense of smell woke him around 7am, the tantalizing aroma of bacon and eggs too good to ignore. He frowned though, momentarily forgetting that he wasn’t alone in the suite. Then he remembered the night before last, the woman he’d saved, an Omega. Getting up, he donned jeans and a tee, ran his fingers through his charcoal black hair.

~~

YN woke up in momentary panic, wondering where she was. Her head was fuzzy, and it hurt like hell. Gingerly she put her fingers to the bandage, wincing as she came in contact with the still fresh cut. She studied her torn clothes, then the blanket and the living room. That’s when she saw the fresh clothes and the note.

Picking up the piece of paper, she read the words:

Hello,

I don’t want you to be scared. I rescued you from the alley two nights ago and brought you to my home. I cleaned and bandaged your wound, and left you some fresh clothes to change in to. They aren’t women’s clothes, but they should do for now.

Please feel free to use the shower located across from the couch where you woke. Also, please help yourself to the food in my kitchen. There’s also coffee in the cupboard and creamer in the fridge. If you need anything just knock on my door. My room is the one at the end of the hall behind where you slept.

Castiel James Novak

She smiled to herself. This man risked his safety to save her? Flashes of a man dragging her to the alley tore through her head. She rubbed her temples gently, mindful of the gash. She wondered if somewhere he kept Tylenol or Advil, cuz she had one massive migraine.

She did find Tylenol, took two, then looked at what the kitchen offered in the way of breakfast. She found bacon, eggs, bread. Perfect. She found a frying pan and spatula, and set to work.

About 20 minutes into her cooking, a rather dashing man walked into the living area, his dark hair freshly slept on, and she had to contain a giggle. It added to the handsome part though. In fact, this man could fall in a large puddle of mud, and still come out looking like an Adonis.

“Morning.” His voice was like honey.

“Hi.” She said, blushing. “I made enough food for two, if you want. I hope that’s ok.”

He nodded. “I did give you permission to eat. So yes, that’s fine. And thank you for the food. it smells delicious.”

She motioned to the dining table, where plates and cutlery had already been set out. She brought over the bacon and scooped some scrambled eggs on to his plate, then onto her own. A plate of toast sat beside the bacon, prompting Cas to grab two pieces, as well as three strips of bacon.

Coffee had also been brewed, and a steaming cup sat by his plate. He brought the hot mug to his lips and sipped. “The coffee’s perfect. Even I can’t get it that good. What’s your secret?”

YN frowned. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I can’t remember my name, the events of last night are hazy, and yet I can cook and make amazing coffee.”

He chuckled at the last part. “I second that. I might have to hire you to make me coffee, and food if this breakfast is any indication as to your kitchen skills.”

It was her turn to giggle. “I might have to take that offer if I can’t remember who I am.”

He got up and moved to the table by the couch. “Your purse remained untouched from what I could gather. It hadn’t been opened. Perhaps this will help.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

She took the black leather bag, and right away noticed the phone with the ear plugs in. She opened the zipper and found her wallet and ID. “Hmmmm, YFN YLN.”

He was intrigued. “YN. It’s suits you. Does it have an address?” she nodded. “Once we finish breakfast, I’ll drive you home if you want.”

They finished eating and cleaned the dishes. Cas grabbed some socks and a jacket, and grabbed a sweater for YN, who’s jacket was filthy from the attempted assault.

The drive wasn’t far, and they arrived at her home within a few minutes. He got out and opened the door for her. A decent sized two story bungalow greeted them, the outside clean and in good repair. The inside was just as stunning, rich dark wood floors, contrasted with a white sofa and loveseat, a very impressive kitchen, bigger than his, and three bedrooms. He had to admit to being somewhat jealous as he toured the home.

“Nice place.” He commented.

“I’m having a hard time believing it’s mine, or that I live alone. This is way too big.” YN walked around, looking at pictures of family she didn’t remember. On the dining table sat a bowl of chocolate covered almonds, and YN absently picked a handful up and began munching on them.

He watched her. “Chocolate Almonds? I remember seeing them scattered around the area where I found you.”

She looked down at the sweet treats, pursing her lips. “I think they are weakness of mine. They are my comfort go to food.”

His deep throaty chuckle had the Omega in her wet with need. And he was starting to smell like Chocolate covered almonds.

God, she was going into heat? With an Alpha nearby she’d only just met, who smelled divine? Shit.

It was at that moment Castiel noticed the stronger scent emanating from YN, and the Alpha in him stirred. She reminded him of a summer breeze, of a field of wild flowers and a hint of honey. She was starting a heat, and she smelled like heaven.

Fan fucking tastic.

Not that they found each other unattractive, but the having only just met made the next sentence somewhat awkward. YN spoke first. “My heat, I’ve never had this kind of reaction around an Alpha before. Your scent, it’s intoxicating. It’s exactly like my favorite candy.” She said, gesturing toward the chocolates.

Cas had the decency to blush. “I’ve never smelled anything so delicious, and especially not from an Omega.”

He growled, reaching for her, and YN didn’t resist, pulling him as he pulled her, their lips teasing, kissing, teeth biting, nibbling. She led him to her room, their bodies crashing together on the bed, hands tearing at each other’s clothing.

“Alpha!” she pleaded.

His response was to shed what remained of his clothes and hers, his hand exploring her body, caressing the soft flesh between her thighs. His fingers dipped inside her heat, moving slowly, and YN moaned, bucking her hips, silent pleading for more. Cas continued thrusting his digits into her, and she could feel the tightening in her abdomen, the build of one hell of an orgasm. It crashed into her like a tidal wave, hard and with enough force to stop a locomotive. She screamed his name, coating his fingers with her juices.

Cas lined up the tip of his hard cock with her hole, rubbing along the slit to gather some of those juices for lubrication. Then he pushed in, one hard thrust to break through the barrier, then stilled, allowing the shock to subside.

When he moved, YN climaxed once again, the pleasure increasing as he pressed forward. The pain had been minimal, and was now forgotten, drowned out by this Alpha. Another wave of erotic pleasure shot through her, two more times in fact, before Cas slowed his movements, feeling his knot swell, then crying out as he spilled ropes of cum inside her, filling her with his seed.

She shook with another orgasm as Cas nuzzled her scent gland, then sank his fangs deep, claiming her as his. She felt her head explode as the venom hit her bloodstream, forcing her memory to surface, remembering everything up to the moment the man had knocked her out.

Cas propped himself on his elbows. “Are you alright?”

She winced. “Yeah, fine now. I got my memory back. It must have been triggered by the amazing orgasms.”

He laughed. “Well, obviously they were healing orgasms. You should have at least 10 per day to keep in good health.”

Both Alpha and Omega broke out in hysterical laughter as they snuggled in the bed together.

@legion1993​

[fictionxo]

Catfished - Bloo (M)

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Overstimulation

Word Count: 2,188

Synopsis: You accidently meet the man you've been talking to on a dating app, only to find out he had his pictures taken and used without his knowledge.

(A/N: I got the prompt from yoonohprompts and here is the prompt I used! :D Came across it and it was too good not to write! But since I already have a Jaehyun story coming, I changed the character! Please enjoy! Also for future Mkit Rain scenarios, I NO LONGER write for Owen because, just because.

P.S: Gif is mine 💕 Please read even if you don't know Bloo! I really like this one! You can imagine whoever instead! ^^ Feedback is ALSO welcomed!)

~~~

You briefly glance up at the dark sky as another puff of smoke leaves his mouth, this time with a little annoyance behind it as his eyes scan the large smart phone, again, sifting through the many pictures of himself. Seeing him in person though, he looks more like a bad boy than on his pictures. Much more, hardened, in person.

"Listen sweets," he hands your phone back to you, "Those pictures are me. But I'm not on that tinder shit. That profile is fake."

A smoke filled chuckle brushes past his plump lips as he flicks the shortened cigarette to the ground, before pulling out another clean and untouched cigarette from behind his ear, and lighting it behind the cover of one of his hands.

"This...really isn't you..? I've been talking to some fake man who stole your pictures..?"

He stands, ignoring your baffled expression and raises his brows lightly at you. The boy you've been talking to for the past three months, is not the boy you've been talking to the past three months. A heavy feeling settles in your chest as you stare up at the familiar, yet unfamiliar face.

He turns, walking away from you as if this whole situation doesn't faze him. You stare back at your phone, at the false account before heading to the 'settings' menu, and pressing the large red 'delete account' button. After confirming, the app gives you a generic goodbye message, as generic as the fake account.

There you stand, staring at the ground, baffled at how much time and energy you put into the fake person. In short, you feel simply defeated. Finding love has always been hard for you, and right when you think you've found the right guy, he's not who he says he is. But hey, be careful who you meet online right?

"Hey."

You glance up at the demanding voice, to be greeted by the boy who just walked away. You stare absentmindedly at his annoyed expression, watching it soften oh so slightly at your tired eyes.

"Look. It's fucked up you were strung along by someone pretending to be me. I feel a little bad about it." He releases a final puff of smoke, pinching the lit end of the cigarette with his fingertips to extinguish it.

"Let me walk you home at least. It's late, and only creeps are out now."

You ponder his offer, wondering why he didn't just leave when he had the chance. It's not like he owes you anything for someone else taking his pictures.

Either way, you smile pathetically, still saddened by what happened, and agree to let him walk you home. A little company from an attractive, yet slightly thuggish looking man can't be all that bad.

The walk is quiet and a little awkward, as you suspected it would be. But thankfully he breaks the silence.

"I'm Daniel by the way. But call me Bloo."

"Bloo? Like the color? Interesting." You chuckle a little.

You introduce yourself in return and he nods, whispering your name, more to himself so he doesn't forget. Bloo asks you to tell him more about the fake profile, and what you and the person talked about usually. As you tell him, he laughs deeply at a few things, responding with "I'd never say that!"

The entire walk is spent with talk about your interactions with the fake Bloo, and what the real Bloo would have said in certain situations. In short you've learned the real Bloo to be a bit of a cocky asshole who has been in far too many fights, and someone who has a love for Hennessy. The conversation ends with you saying you found the fake very attractive, and how his personality was perfect. To which Bloo responds;

"Thanks. I know I'm attractive. As for the personality, fake Bloo has me beat baby." Before laughing it off. A sound you've already grown fond of.

"We're here." You state, walking up to the door of your apartment.

"Alright sweets, it's been-"

"Do you want to come in?" You blurt out a little faster than your brain could comprehend.

You panic slightly at your sudden confidence and unlock the door, pushing it open and briskly walking in before he could answer.

You head to your small kitchen and aggressively toss your things on the dining table. The front door closes and you hear it lock seconds after, the sound itself making your heart race. Refusing to turn and face him just yet thanks to your nerves, you open your fridge quickly and grab two water bottles.

Turning to face him, you see him scanning your home with a small smirk on his face before he focuses back on you. With an outstretched hand, Bloo takes the water bottle from you, thanking you as you lean against the counter, but adding in a funny remark about how he'd be happier if it was alchohol. Another awkward silence.

You take this time to stare him down while his eyes scan your place again. He's wearing black skinny jeans, dark blue expensive looking shoes, a grey shirt under a jean jacket matching his shoes. His hair is pushed back, with sunglasses sitting atop his head. His fingers are littered with silver rings of varying sizes, and you take notice of a cross styled tattoo on his left hand.

Bloo bites the silver piercing in his lower lip, causing your eyes to travel back to his face. You meet his mischievous gaze in return.

"You know, my eyes are up here. Though if you want to see it, I can always just show you." He chuckles, briefly motioning to his crotch.

An involuntary laugh leaves your lips, earning an eyebrow raise from Bloo.

"You wouldn't dare!" You choke out between giggles, sure he wouldn't flash some stranger.

To your dismay, or pleasure, Bloo scoffs and immediately tosses his jacket to the floor, lifts up his shirt a bit, and starts to undo his belt buckle in a haste to prove you wrong. Little mutters fall from his lips such as; "She thinks I won't?" "I'll show her," while he struggles to undo his pants.

"I was kidding!!" You spin around immediately, face flushed, and heart beating, with sweaty palms gripping the counter for support.

You'd be a lie if you said the idea of, seeing him, didn't spark a flame in your stomach. Bloo is a very attractive man by your standards, and you've always had a thing for bad boys. Plus, it's been a while since you've last had sex, so the idea seems even more inviting.

Bloo's hands snake past your waist, and grip the counter, trapping you against his firm body.

"You know, if you don't want to see it," his husky voice sounds against your neck. "You can always feel it."

Bloo presses his now erected penis into your back side, grinding upwards just a little.

"If you tell me to stop, I will. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a woman abuser. No need to be when I'm a stud."

His cocky nature would turn you off, if you weren't so damn turned on. Without thinking, you press your ass against his cock, moaning quietly at the aching feeling between your legs.

Taking that as a yes, Bloo pins your upper body down against the counter, with your cheek resting on the cool surface. You hear his pants hit the floor, before his hands roughly grip your pants and yank them down along with your panties.

Bloo takes hold of the back of your neck, securing you against the counter as he brings his free hand to your lips.

"Open." He commands.

You do as your told, taking in a few of Bloo's fingers.

"Suck." The dominance in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

After giving you a few seconds to suck on his fingers, he pulls them free from your lips and quickly uses his spit coated fingers to rub your pussy fully.

"You're already so wet for me. What a horny girl." A breathy chuckle passes his lips as he removes his fingers.

Bloo gives himself a few good strokes before pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance. He pushes himself in slowly, stretching you completely to fit around his thickness.

"F-fuck.." You whisper out, nails scratching at the slick counter.

With a snap of his hips, he shoves into you fully, letting out a coarse moan.

"So fucking tight..how long has it been for you babe?"

"Too..fucking..long.." You gasp out, trying to adjust to his cock.

"Well, if you want someone soft, you can find a nerd. I fuck to fuck baby girl. I fuck hard."

Before you can respond, he pulls out almost all the way and snaps back into you. A light scream leaves your mouth as Bloo picks up the pace.

His grip on your neck tightens, while his free hand pushes your shirt up more before holding your hip for support.

His cock reaches deep inside of you, an uncomfortable feeling, but most welcome. With his faster pace, your pelvis starts banging against the counters edge.

"Ahh Bloo! I- fuck!"

A whine escapes your lips before moans pour out like a mantra. The sound of skin smacking skin, and loud squelch sounds from your juices soaking his cock, fill the entire room.

Bloo raises the hand from your hip, and smacks it down hard against your ass cheek, making it ripple at the impact. Your body lurches backwards from instinct, pressing harder onto his pulsing cock as a scream leaves your mouth.

"I fucking love hearing your cries pretty girl."

Bloo removes the hand pining your head down, and pulls your body upwards against his. You reach behind you and grip his upper thigh for support.

Bloo fucks upwards into you, this new position hitting you deeper than you could imagine. But within seconds, Bloo pulls out of you abruptly and you feel his stickiness hit your bare ass, followed by your name slipping off his tongue like a forbidden word.

You turn breathlessly to face him. Right as you do, Bloo pulls his shirt above his head and tosses it to the side before he pushes you against the counter once again, getting on his knees and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You take a quick note of the tattoos littering his upper body, especially a moon tattoo on his chest.

His tongue darts out against your wetness. A new wave of sensation washes over you and one of your hands fly to his hair, gripping it tightly while he fucks you with his tongue. He licks straight from the bottom to the top a few times before swirling his tongue in circles around your labia, avoiding your clit. He drags his tongue down, and presses it roughly inside of you before repeating his movements.

"Bloo..ah fuck! Fuck..so good!"

Your words come out broken, while you start to shake and attempt to close your legs around his head, prompting Bloo to take it to the next level by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking like his life depends on it. That within itself sends you overboard, cumming on his magical tongue with his real name flying out of your mouth.

Refusing to stop there, Bloo continues his assault on your sensitive clit despite your pushing against his head and the many cries of overstimulation falling from your lips. The sound of him sucking almost outdoes your cries.

"P-please! Daniel I- I can't!"

A tear rolls down your cheek from the overwhelming please and he finally stops, smirking at you as you side down the counter, butt hitting the cold floor and your cum dripping out of you.

Bloo let's you catch your breath, smiling while he watches your body spasm every few seconds. To his surprise, you're the first one to speak;

"You're so fucking good. Now I see why you're so cocky.."

"Exactly. Who wouldn't be cocky when they're as good as me in bed." A loud laugh sounds from him, making you laugh with him.

A peaceful silence falls between you two. Your eyes stay connected as you both smile at one anothers fucked out states.

"Your tattoos are pretty Bloo." You say, scanning his upper body.

He only glances at the ones on his arm before nodding in agreement.

"Hey, if you let me stay the night, and then let me take you out to lunch tomorrow, I'll tell you all about my tatts." He smirks at you, so full of himself.

You scoff at him before rolling your eyes. Right as you prepare to answer he speaks up;

"Then we can go to my place and after you meet my cat, I'll eat you out again."

"Deal!" You chime.

"Desperate for me already huh? I might be the worst thing for you pretty girl."

He leans forward and places a chaste kiss to your lips.

"And I might be the best thing for you, pretty boy."

"Somehow, I don't doubt that (y/n)."

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune Book 2 Chapter 5-Marebito (Part 1)

In this chapter: the Kazemai gang heads to an inn for their summer training camp, and coincidentally meets a certain school with a certain drama-starting guy there.

I made a note about this for the last chapter, but a marebito is a supernatural being from afar that visits villages bearing gifts and good fortune. Maybe I should have changed the title to “aliens” lol

Also the line break is gone???? wtf tumblr

Glossary here

List of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Yakisugi is a traditional Japanese method of wood preservation. Lots of old traditional buildings have walls made in this way.

2. Beanbags, or otedama, are used in the game of the same name where they are tossed and juggled, similar to jacks (according to Wikipedia). The coin shaped pieces, or ohajiki, are used in a traditional children’s game that’s similar to marbles.

3. They are mentioned in the first book, but the Raiki Shagi and Shahoukun are two very important kyudo texts that convey the values and technique of kyudo.

4. Yadokoro refers to where the arrow lands, which can be used to determine how and at what angle your arrows landed. Steady shots mean that the yadokoros of the two arrows are close together and not in disarray.

5. A kouyou kasane no tenouchi literally means “red-leaves-piling-up tenouchi” . It’s a type of grip that’s used for shamen uchiokoshi apparently? For this grip, your little finger gets as close to the thumb as possible and the other three fingers are inserted into the gap between them.

6. Uwaoshi is where the left hand (the gripping hand) is bent pushing the bow from above. This is an incorrect method in some schools.

7. An oobanare is a large release of the left and right hands.

8. Hosha is a general term for kyudo that takes place on the ground, not horseback. The Ogasawara-ryuu hosha tradition shoots in shoumen style.

9. The hagiito is the lower feather binding. Fun fact: one of my translations is the second result if you search up “hagiito kyudo”

10. Tezutsu fireworks is a type of traditional hand-held firework where a bamboo tube filled with gunpowder can shoot sparks and fire up to five meters high. You can see pictures here

11. A black snake firework is a type of firework that doesn’t create sparks or sound, instead emitting ash that looks like snakes. Read about them on Wikipedia

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Previous | Next

They were now in summer vacation, and the Kazemai High School Kyudo Club was holding their summer training camp.

The eight club members, plus Tommy-sensei and Masa-san for a total of ten people, rode the minibus prepared by the inn and got off in front of there. The old fashioned Japanese-style building was impressive with yakisugi walls (1) and a steep roof, and the reception desk was decorated with tops, beanbags and coin-shaped glass pieces that invited nostalgia. (2)

Nanao took two beanbags.

"I feel like you can summon a zashiki-warashi with these."

"Are you still bringing that up?"

Kaito squinted. There were a lot of furry balls nestling up to him at his feet, and since they cried out to be stroked, he was beaten by their persistence and lifted a cat up.

"You guys really are everywhere."

"Well you are a cat seducer, after all."

"Am not. They approach me themselves."

"That's what a seducer says. Right, kitty?"

When Nanao reached out for the cat Kaito was holding, its hair stood on end. Apparently he was being treated as a natural enemy. Nanao surrendered and left the place.

In the lobby, there was a girl from another school who was carrying a lot of luggage by herself. She stumbled many times due to getting obstructed by the walls. Nanao was also carrying luggage, but he was unable to just watch and ran up to her.

"Are you okay? I'll help."

"Oh, I'm so sorry about this. I overestimated myself and carried too many things."

Seeing this, Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo murmured amongst themselves.

"Kisaragi-kun is such a quick worker."

"But, I know from practicing together in club activities that he is not only nice to girls."

"Yeah, that's right."

Kaito put the cat on the floor and took the luggage that Nanao was halfway in carrying.

Minato, Seiya, and Ryouhei carried everyone's equipment and headed for the kyudojo behind the inn.

As soon as they went in, Minato exclaimed, "Whoa, what is this place?"

"It’s pretty rare, isn't it? But I think beginners would turn it down." Seiya, who was in charge of looking for a place to hold the training camp, said proudly.

The yamichi was not a lawn, but a pond abundantly filled with water. The sight of plants such as cattails and arrowheads growing thickly, and golden-ringed dragonflies flitting over them could make one mistake this place for a Japanese-style garden.

"When we miss here, would our arrows fall into the pond?"

"It'll be fine, none of us do hakiya anymore, right? And this place is big enough for ten people to shoot together, so it'll be split into two shajos and we'll be using it jointly with another school."

"Which school?"

"I asked when I made the reservations, but it's a school that I've never heard of."

From behind them, there came the voice of someone. "Whoa, what is this place?" They said the exact same words as Minato did. Minato looked back and saw a boy with large eyes.

"Nikaidou-senpai..."

"Oh my, why are Minato-chan and Seiya-chan here?"

"Could it be, Nikaidou-senpai, that you're having your training camp here?"

"That's right. We'll be looking forward to working with you guys."

"We will also be looking forward to working with you."

The corner of Nikaidou's mouth lifted, as though he remembered something.

"Could it be that the guy who started talking to the girls from my school in the lobby is your friend?"

"Yes, he is."

"That's what I thought. He's a good boy like the two of you, after all."

Minato whispered to Seiya.

"What's happening?"

"The school that I heard might have cancelled. Got it, Minato? Just ignore Nikaidou-senpai. You can't react to him."

"Got it."

Knowingly or unknowingly perceiving the tricky atmosphere between Minato, Seiya, and Nikaidou, Ryouhei cheerfully greeted him.

"Hi! You were the one who helped me pick up what I dropped at the last tournament, right? Thanks for that!"

"Don't mention it," Nikaidou answered.

"I'm Yamanouchi from Kazemai High School. I'll be in your care. Huh? That person over there caught a summer cold? I'll give you my grandma's secret wonder medicine I always have with me!"

Because he was aiming his words directly at the mask-wearing Aragaki, Fuwa let out a muffled laugh. Aragaki, of course, made no comment.

As Fuwa pressed his cheeks, which were about to loosen into a smile, he commented for Aragaki.

"Oh, thanks for your concern. He didn't catch a cold, so we appreciate the thought."

"Really? Oh, I saw that huge bow at the last tournament! So cool! Can I touch it?"

Ootaguro held out his bow with a smile.

"The height (urazori) is incredible! I can't believe that they sell giant bows like this!"

"It’ll have to be a custom order, but you can buy one. I inherited mine from my grandpa."

"What, your grandpa can shoot with this giant bow?"

"When he was young. It took a long time for me to be able to draw this bow. It's my treasure."

"Whoa, your treasure? That's really cool."

"Right?"

The two, who were as frank and straightforward as children, got completely excited about the topic of the large bow.

Behind them, Higuchi was moving at his own pace. He walked slowly, and when he reached the edge of the shajo, he murmured "Heave-ho" and squatted down. He yawned while gazing at the pond. In this excessively tranquil state, the flow of time seemed to slow down around only him.

Nikaidou probably thought that they were wasting time. He quickly moved to the second shajo. Minato and Seiya also pulled themselves together and resumed preparations.

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After they made their preparations, the members of Kazemai High School and Tsujimine High School faced each other. Tommy-sensei made his greetings after Tsujimine’s sensei.

“It must be fate that we are meeting our opponents from the regional tournament here. I hope you will all make use of this fate without fail. Be plenty careful about accidents and injuries, and hydrate frequently so you will not be exhausted by the summer heat. I look forward to seeing everyone’s progress.”

Under Seiya’s leadership, they chanted the “Raiki Shagi” and “Shahoukun” (3) in unison and performed their warm-up exercises. After that, they were divided by their schools. Kazemai was in the first shajo. Overworking was forbidden, but those who could shoot one hundred times in a day aimed for two hundred times. The reason they chose to do joint practice with another school was because of Tommy-sensei’s intention to have them get used to a place with a large number of people, since they usually shot in an environment with not a lot of people.

For a while, at the beginning of shooting, Minato was more unused to the fact that the yamichi was a pond rather than the practice with students from another school. The golden-ringed dragonflies flying by the waterside zoomed towards the shajo, colliding into the fluorescent lights and making clicking sounds. His mind went to the plants and water surface, and he fell into the feeling that he was about to release an arrow into the pond.

Masa-san went around to watch each person’s shooting. Kaito was showing off his steady shots (yadokoro). (4)

“You’re able to make your bow turn completely nowadays, I see.”

“Thank you very much.”

Nanao asked him a question.

“Masa-san, I can also make my bow turn recently, but right after I release my arrow, my bow slips down, and I’m holding the yazuridou instead of the grip.”

“Since the bow turns in your hand, it’s normal for it to fall by about a finger, but why do you think it fell down so much?”

“Ummm, why?”

“Everyone, pay attention to Nanao’s tenouchi.”

As Minato watched Nanao’s shooting, he noticed something.

“Is it when his hand suddenly opens for just a moment at hanare?”

“Yeah, I saw that too,” Kaito said, backing up Minato’s diagnosis.

Masa-san spoke.

“Exactly. There are people who want to make their bow turn and do it on purpose, but there are also many who do it unconsciously. The bow slipping down so much is because of the left hand opening for an instant and the tension of the little finger being weak.”

“I see. Now I understand why you put so much emphasis on the left pinky, Masa-san.”

“Although, there is actually also a shooting method that places a lot of importance on the actions of the middle finger. What I’ll be doing now is the difficult method of gripping the bow with my middle finger, and then at hanare, remove my middle finger while at the same time tensing my fourth and little fingers. Now, let go for a minute and watch.”

Masa-san took the bow and arrow in his hand and parted the bow, then let go of the arrow.

For a moment, the bow tended towards his back.

At the same time the arrow was released, the bow also left Masa-san’s hand and was blown towards his back. For a moment, Minato and the others had no idea what happened, and stood stock still.

The arrow reached the target. Startled by the loud sound of the bow falling, the Tsujimine members looked over towards them, but Masa-san merely picked up the bow like nothing happened.

“In an anecdote of Awa-hanshi and his disciple, he once threw his bow along with his arrow and scarred the floor of the dojo. Apparently, everyone except for the archers thought he went mad when they heard it, but it was probably his process for training his tenouchi, for the sake of creating a sharp hanare. The body is used completely differently for the ‘mistake’ of dropping his bow on the spot and the bow jumping out of your hand from a sharp hanare.”

Ryouhei’s eyes were sparkling.

“That’s so cool! I want to see it one more time! Can I do it too?”

“This is a Honda-ryuu technique that I learned by myself, so I’m still not at a level where I can teach it to people. Everyone, you first aim to not separate your left thumbs and middle fingers so that you won’t drop your bows.”

Minato sighed at the shooting technique he was seeing for the first time.

He read about Awa-hanshi in books, but because they never wrote about what kind of intentions or the kind of methods he went by, he always felt some doubt. The essential parts were not conveyed with only the outcome or a summary. No doubt the true value lied in the process, in the individual episodes.

After they finished shooting four arrows, Ryouhei and Nanao went to retrieve the arrows. They finished collecting the arrows for the first and second shajos and put all of them in the arrow box.

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Meanwhile, Nikaidou was straining his ears to listen.

There were many differences between shoumen uchiokoshi and shamen uchiokoshi. As a matter of fact, during middle school, Nikaidou shot in shoumen for club activities and shamen when he was with his uncle Shigeyuki, so that caused confusion for him.

Nikaidou’s current way of shooting involved gripping his bow with a kouyou kasane tenouchi (5), creating an uwaoshi. (6) At kai, he shifted his thumb, made a grinding noise with his yugake as he untied it, and then at zanshin his bow fell forward and it became an oobanare. (7)

This was the first he was hearing about a practice method where one threw away one’s bow,

Kazemai’s coach might be very interesting…

He thought, and compared him with his own advisor. As one would expect, he did show his face at the kyudojo today, but it looked as though he had almost no interest in the states of the club members or anything like that. At first, he had been chatting with Kazemai’s advisor, but now he had already vanished. He might have shut himself in his room and went to sleep.

Nikaidou clicked his tongue.

He didn’t mind if he wasn’t able to coach them in shooting, but he wished he could pose as an advisor at least. The motivation of the members could be raised just by him saying something to them. Zealous and extreme instruction could have harmful effects, but a club could not be established without an advisor. Their advisor’s favorite saying was, “I’m a teacher and being the advisor for a club is volunteer work, so this is work without pay,” basically telling them not to ask him for too much. That was probably a sound argument.

As a result, Nikaidou took the place of the advisor. He had the longest kyudo career in the Tsujimine High School Kyudo Club.

For beginners, they wouldn’t know anything like the differences between the shooting postures of A and B. After a while, they could see the things that stood out, but didn’t know how to fix them. Identifying the root cause of distortions and slackening required a wealth of knowledge and a high amount of experience. To speak to others of something is to expose one’s own true ability and humanity, as well as an act that carries responsibility along with it. By all rights, one should not speak thoughtlessly.

Since Tsujimine wore shoes in their schoolyard as they shot, they were not used to bracing their legs in tabi. Nikaidou saw to it that his fellow members would learn that sensation of the soles of their feet at this training camp.

After some rounds, Nikaidou and Fuwa went to retrieve the arrows. They carefully wiped clean the arrows with dirt on them.

“I wonder what school that Kazemai coach belongs to.”

“His master was from the Ogasawara-ryuu hosha tradition (8), but he himself doesn’t belong to any school, apparently. He was taught by teachers from all kinds of schools and mixed it all together. His current master is the advisor, Morioka-sensei. He’s a sixth-dan kyoushi, I heard.”

“That old man teacher is a sixth-dan kyoushi…?”

Nikaidou felt anger.

In spite of being a weak, puny school with few members, how was it that they even had a coach besides having an advisor? Furthermore, there was a good balance between having a skilled master and a young person. He knew it was an irrational anger for the other person, but why was only Minato so blessed?

I feel so envious, so jealous. I don’t want to see that guy.

“By the way, Fuwa, how do you know all that?”

“When we were checking in, I heard the innkeeper questioning that coach.”

“Amazing. I’m so impressed by your ability to gather information, Fuwa.”

“Well, excuse me for having long ears.”

Nikaidou at that moment had intended on his remark being praise, not sarcasm.

“Hey, Fuwa, you get what I’ve been telling you? Are the things you’re hearing from Uncle Shigeyuki being conveyed properly to you guys?”

“Hmm? They are.”

“It’s not like I myself understand them perfectly, so I feel like I’m telling it all wrong. Also, don’t you hate being spoken in such a sloppy way by a guy the same age as you? And from the perspectives of Aragaki-senpai and the others, I’m an underclassman.”

“If a stranger suddenly told you something like, ‘Your shooting form is not good. It is wrong,’ you might think, ‘Who the hell’s this asshole, makes me sick,’ but I kinda feel like Higuchi-senpai and Aragaki-senpai are waiting for words from you?”

“Both of them react so dully, I really don’t get what they’re thinking.”

Fuwa was wondering what the true meaning behind his words was. Didn’t Nikaidou saying so much after such a long time meant that taking the place of the advisor was becoming a burden for him?

It was the fear of making decisions.

The anxiety of wondering whether or not it was really okay like this, of wondering if this was wrong.

“Even if you did something wrong, you can just correct it, right? It’s not like it’s a serious case that involves the life or death of people. What are you trying so hard for? It’s not like you at all.”

“It’s not like me?”

“Generally, you can’t convey exactly the taste of an apple to someone who hasn’t eaten an apple before, and so when they can eat one, they’ll know, ‘This is an apple.’ You trying to explain and convey everything is ridiculous from the start. Trust the other person a little and leave it to them.”

“Yeah, sure, you’re as wise as ever, Fuwa.”

“What a pain in the ass. To sum it up, I have no complaints or requests for you.”

As Nikaidou was talking with Fuwa, his anger subsided a little. Even if their advisor was absent and they didn’t have a kyudojo, they had an uncle named Shigeyuki, so they were still saved. In the first place, the Tsujimine High School Kyudo Club had many eccentrics in it, and it wasn’t in their natures to be intimate friends with one another.

However, there were no doubt relationships of mutual trust.

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The setting sun shone over the kyudojo, and practice ended. Tommy-sensei and the others left first, and the Kazemai and Tsujimine girls moved to the changing room together.

When the male members finished changing into their regular clothes, Higuchi idly whispered to Nikaidou about something.

“Your arrow is missing?”

“Yeah, I was looking for it earlier but…”

It was guessed from the sight of Higuchi still in his kyudo uniform that he had been searching for them for a long time. In the past, there was an incident where an upperclassman had made fun of his extremely slow pace and hid his arrow. Nikaidou remembered that and felt angry.

Since they checked all of Tsujimine’s quivers and didn’t find it, they asked Kazemai to check theirs as well. Upon doing that, the arrow was discovered in Ryouhei’s quiver.

Ryouhei bowed his head to Higuchi.

“I’m so sorry. I took your arrow. I will pay more attention from now on.”

“It’s fine--, it’s nothing—.“

Ryouhei’s arrows were longer than other people’s, so he hadn’t noticed Higuchi’s arrow buried among his bundle of arrows at all. The reason for that was him shirking off the work of counting his arrows.

Nikaidou stepped in front of Higuchi.

“That’s not right, Higuchi-senpai. If this was the last day, he might have took your arrow back with him, you know? There are people who would bring it home by mistake and neglect to go and return it because it was too much work for them.”

“No, in that case I would properly go and return it. I’m truly sorry.”

“You’re Yamanouchi-kun, right? You were also very interested in our Ootaguro’s bow, eh? If it’s a high-grade bow, there are likely also people who would bring it back with them on purpose, right? I think you’re different, though.”

Nikaidou’s tone was sharp. His irritation was obvious to everyone.

Nanao stepped between them.

“He found it right away, so can you forgive him for that much at least? People retrieving the wrong arrows happens a lot, right? In the past, I’d been mistaken for a girl and taken away with someone. The patterns of the feathers and the colors of the hagiito (9) were exactly alike.”

Nikaidou got even more displeased at Nanao’s interference.

“You’re the kid who carried our girls’ luggage, huh? Even though the high school generals are right around the corner, you have the time to hit on girls from other schools. As expected, schools with blessed environments are different. Even though since being able to use a kyudojo in itself is so precious to guys like us, we don’t want to waste even a second. I really am so jealous I can’t stand it. Right?”

“What? I don’t think I was really hitting on anyone.”

“Oh…is that so?”

Seiya stopped Minato from arguing against Nikaidou. If he defended them poorly, then it would be adding fuel to the fire.

However, Kaito couldn’t take it anymore. He walked right up to Nikaidou and thrust his nose into his face.

“I’ve been listenin’ for a while, but how do you keep going on and on about bullshit? He said it wasn’t on purpose and apologized, ain’t he? And, Nanao wasn’t hitting on anyone back there.”

“What’s with you? Why are you so tanned? Are you, like, a helper from the soccer club or something? You must be having such a hard time, what with being teammates with the airhead and the playboy and all.”

“What did ya say!”

Right when Kaito grabbed Nikaidou by his collar, there was a clattering sound.

A pair of glasses with bent frames was rolling on the floor. They were Seiya’s. He had been trying to stop Kaito and got his glasses hit by Kaito’s raised hand.

Seiya was pressing his hand to his eyes. His hidden mole became exposed.

“Ah… Seiya, I’m sorry.”

“—Kaito, pick them up.”

The place became completely frozen.

Seiya’s moment-freezing gun wasn’t only activated when he said lame jokes. Rather, it was stronger when he was angry. Kaito hurriedly went to pick up the blown away glasses. Nikaidou also seemed to have recovered himself with the sound of the glasses falling to the floor.

Seiya issued instructions without a moment’s delay.

“Nanao and Ryouhei will close the shutters. Minato will go and check that the doors to the equipment storehouse and the arrow retrieval path are locked. We will be doing the final locking up, so everyone from Tsujimine, please go on ahead and leave before us.”

Fuwa had been watching on the sidelines until then, but he judged that it would be better to go with Seiya’s plan.

“Are you okay without your glasses?”

“I have contacts, so there is no problem.”

“I see. Well then, we shall be leaving first. Good work today. Nikaidou, we’re going.”

“Good work today.”

After they could no longer see Nikaidou and the others, Seiya beckoned Kaito over. Leaving cleanup to Minato and the rest, the two headed back to their room first.

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The room the five boys were lodged in was a Japanese style room about twelve tatami mats wide, with a single low table placed in the center of the room. When the window was opened, the laughter of children blew in along with the refreshing wind of the plateau.

Kaito sat in seiza in front of Seiya, looking small.

“You know what I want to say, right? If you raised your hand at Nikaidou-senpai, you’d be doing exactly what he wants.”

“I’m sorry, Seiya. I’ll pay for your glasses.”

This scene was exactly like a child being scolded by his parent for making mischief.

Seiya narrowed his naked eyes.

“I was thinking about changing my glasses soon anyways, so it’s not a big deal. But wearing contacts for a long time is tiring.”

“I’m sorry, that was really inexcusable of me.”

“Kaito, I’m thirsty.”

Kaito poured barley tea into a cup and presented it to him.

“I really want my shoulders rubbed. That place between my shoulder blades got way too stiff.”

“Yes.”

“I wish someone would fill out the accommodation survey for me.”

“Yes.”

Giving a sidelong glance at Kaito, who turned towards the table and eagerly filled out the form, Seiya suppressed a laugh. An excessively obedient Kaito was hilarious to see, and he couldn’t help but mess with him. He felt that he truly understood Nanao’s state of mind.

Should I forgive him soon?

Seiya thought, and left Kaito in the room.

Seiya returned with a tray of watermelon slices. He remembered that it was a complementary service of the inn, and that they said, “Please tell us if you need some.”

He placed the tray on the table and sat down. Since he can’t see well without glasses, he brought his face closer to his target objects.

The curtains were swaying.

Soon, there came the quiet breathing of someone asleep beside him.

While Seiya left his seat for a little bit, Kaito had laid down and fallen asleep.

He must have been so tired that even when Seiya brought his face right up to his, he showed absolutely no signs of waking. His sleeping face was like that of an angel. One wouldn’t think that this is the very same boy who normally pointlessly intimidated his surroundings.

“Kacchan, huh…” Seiya murmured.

Well, even he can feel sleepy. Even though he always, always protects Nanao with all his strength. Kaito says I’m overprotective, but he shouldn’t talk.

Seiya leaned against the window where the wind blew through.

He listened to the quiet sound of sleep breathing until Minato and the others returned to the room.

After a short time, Kaito was awoken by Nanao.

“Kacchan, wake up. We left some watermelon for you.”

“…’kay. Huh, where’s Seiya?”

“He went to the baths. We’ll go too after you eat.”

Kaito bit into a watermelon slice.

After they finished bathing and eating dinner, the Kazemai ten gathered at the open space before the inn.

Seiya lit a candle for ignition and handed out hand-held fireworks to everyone.

Minato lit his firework at once, and a long firework, like the head of a zebra grass, sprouted out. The crackling sparklers and the tezutsu fireworks (10) were both staples for home use. Tommy-sensei was saying how nostalgic this all was while gazing at a black snake firework. (11) Kaito drew figure-eights with the flame of his firework, and Nanao and Ryouhei were running around while holding their fireworks.

Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo called to the two of them.

“You guys, you’ll fall if you run!”

“We’ll be fine!”

Seiya handed more fireworks to Kaito.

“Thanks. Don’t just watch us, join in.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t use the candle to light his firework, but ignited it by directly accepting the fire of the firework in Kaito’s hand.

“It’d be nice if a zashiki-warashi shows up.”

“I told you to stop talking about that.”

“Kaito, could it be that you’re scared?”

“Hell no!”

Seiya chuckled.

When there were no more hand-held fireworks, Masa-san lit a bunch of ground fireworks. The fountains of flame brightly illuminated everyone’s faces. Then, parachutes were launched from them with a popping sound. Ryouhei was the first to pick one up and held it up high, and Nanao performed a hip-hop dance.

And so, the lively fireworks display continued late into the night.

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

It happened after they all went to bed. A shadow crept into the sleeping room.

The shadow roamed inside the room without making even a footstep, and when it found its target person, it stopped near their pillow. It peered into their face, then slowly climbed on top of it. Kaito tried to cry out about the weight on his chest, but couldn’t do it for some reason.

Suddenly, Nanao woke up feeling something unusual. Looking next to him, he saw a cat curled up sleeping on top of Kaito. Because the room’s door was kept open, it freely came in.

Nanao whispered, “…You sure are sneaky. Even though you’re always so cold to me.”

He thought about driving it away, but it was the middle of the night. It was inexcusable to wake everyone up with by making a racket. Leaving the cat where it was, Nanao also used Kaito as a pillow and fell asleep again.

Kaito was the one who was misfortunate. Because he did not wake up from sleep while feeling a weight on his body, he could not move as though he was suffering from sleep paralysis.

The one who was woken up with Kaito’s groans was Seiya. When he narrowed his eyes and checked out the situation using the moonlight, the cat and Nanao, using Kaito as their pillow, were sleeping like logs.

Seiya sighed.

Good grief, there’s on helping it. This is the punishment for waking me up in the middle of the night after all—.

Seiya moved the cat and Nanao, who were on top of Kaito, out of the way, and took out a certain something from his bag. And then, he went back to sleep.

The next morning. Minato and Ryouhei, who were the first to wake up, desperately suppressed their laughter.

——There are “cat whiskers” drawn on Onogi’s face!?

Is this the prank of a zashiki-warashi?

Seiya and Nanao were still sleeping.

Kaito, while thinking that Minato and Ryouhei were acting strange, went to the washroom, got in front of the mirror and screamed.

---

Previous | Next

[trash-by-trash]

A Snake (Finally) Falls Asleep

A/N: Writing? On this blog?? It’s more likely than you think. (I happened to finish this on Remy’s birthday, so Happy Birthday Our Kween, just killed two birds with one stone :^)

Ships/Pairings: (Pre)Platonic/Romantic Roceit (You decide!!)

Word Count: 3,171 ;^)

Warnings: Sympathetic deceit, negative thoughts

Everything about Deceit’s life was a lie. Literally, seeing as they were the personification of lies, every lie Thomas had told, was going to tell, and other random lies that had sprouted here and there. He even spoke in lies when he was very nervous, or angry, or upset, or anything, for heaven's sake! Unless of course...he acted like someone else.

Being Deceit was annoying, to say the least, and none of the “light sides,” or so Roman had dubbed them, really liked him. He wasn’t good enough for them, but he was more similar to them than they thought. He liked baking sweets, even if they failed horrendously, he still...semi-enjoyed them. Due to the cold of his room, he had his own hoodie, which he tried to make using scraps of fabric he managed to find. It...didn’t turn out well, but it kept him warm. Sometimes.

He enjoyed reading, he really did, but books were something he couldn’t make, and it's not like the light sides had many books littered around. All he had was a few children's picture books from when Thomas was a kid. Dee picked one of the small paperback books from his nightstand. It was called Don’t Let the Pigeon Ride the Bus [A/N: ;) ], and it had a very simple story, but Dee had grown up loving it. It was one of the few books he managed to get, and he read it before he went to bed. Sometimes he managed to sleep easily, other times he hardly sleeps, other times he sleeps too much. He really didn’t have a schedule.

What Deceit had in common with the side that created them all, and probably regretted creating HIM, was theatre. He actually really liked theatre, he liked acting, he loved the feeling of being someone else. To take on a different character, to become them. He had gotten pretty good at it if his impersonation of Patton had anything to say about it. He regretted that occasion a lot because he messed up. Really, really bad. He shouldn’t have revealed himself, and now he has to take on the lying, awkward, rude persona that is Deceit. I mean, yes, it was himself, but he didn’t mean to hurt anyone or make anyone upset. He was just really, really bad at communicating, so his jokes came across as...mean.

When Dee was especially tired of being his snake-faced self, he resided to working on his story. It wasn’t much really, just a normal person in a group of friends. He worked on the character, he had pinpointed every single detail about them, he had several stories where they hung out, got into shenanigans, the whole cheesy teen movie deal. After all, he had a lot of time to do it.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, he found he inserted himself into the main character, or rather, inserted who he wished he was. He wished he didn’t have to lie. He wished the others didn't hate him and his stupid snake face. Dee brushed his fingers over his scales, gloves scattered somewhere in his room. He felt each stupid scale, the edges leading into another one until they stopped at his neck.

Robin, the main character of his story, did not have scales. In fact, Robin was a normal person. They had a normal face, with eyes that had normal pupils, and did not have to wear an excessive amount of clothes to hide their scales. Their hair was soft and didn’t have knots, it wasn’t a frizzy mess. They also had friends, good friends, that didn’t hate him or pretended to like him. And when Robin wasn’t a boy, when Robin was an enby, they didn’t mind it. Robin felt comfortable enough to tell them because they knew they’d be accepted.

Hot tears fell down Dee’s face as he held up his drawing of Robin. Sometimes Dee didn’t feel like a boy either, but really, who was there to tell that, too? He didn’t have anyone to talk to except his own thoughts. He wanted to talk to someone, he wanted to be told that he was valid whether he was a boy or not, and that he was loved. Deceit rubbed his eyes, wincing from the pain of rubbing accidentally rubbing against his scales as well. He got up from the floor, grabbed his not-really-a hoodie, and did his best to try and sleep, telling himself that out there, there was someone who loved him. Out there, there was someone who cares about him.

But he can tell a lie when he sees one.

Deceit sunk into the mindscape, or rather, the version of it for the “dark” sides. They didn’t like to be called a dark side, but they knew they were one nonetheless. They walked over the darkly lit kitchen, opening the fridge slowly so that no one would hear them. They didn’t know what time it was, and frankly didn’t care, but they didn’t want to wake anyone up. They searched through the few things there, grabbed a cheese stick, and sat in the corner, next to the couch, where no one could see them, to eat it. Suddenly, they heard someone come into the room. They pulled their knees up to their chest, trying to make themselves as small as possible so they wouldn’t be noticed.

“Alright, gurl, we both know you’re here and in the need of some dire “Sleep time,” so I came to the rescue. I’m such a gentleman.” Remy announced, Starbucks in hand, looking under the table, in the hallway, kitchen; anywhere someone would hide. Dee held their breath, quickly sinking out into their room.

Dee opened their eyes to find themselves in the corner of his bedroom. He slowly crawled up onto his bed, looking for his book, something to calm him down from the scare of Remy finding him. Remy did that sometimes, but usually only with the “light” sides. They would pop up, scare them, and convince them to take a break from whatever and just sleep. It was weird for it to happen to Deceit.

They looked through the clutter in their room, looking for their book, when they felt a warm wave pop into the room. Crap.

“Gurl, why are you ignoring me?” Remy said, walking over to where Dee was, crouched on the floor, looking through a pile of misshapen, honestly looking terrified. “What's wrong, hon? Cat got your tongue?” He laughed, pulling his shades up to make eye contact with the jittery snake. “It's alright, you don’t gotta talk. Whatcha lookin’ for?”

Dee looked down at the pile. First off. Why was Remy in his room? Second of all, how on EARTH would they describe that they were looking for their book. From there, why would Remy even help? Remy wasn’t a side but still passed through Thomas’ mindscape from time to time to make sure the man got some sleep every once in a while. His visits were contained to the light sides mindscape.

“Well, you’re looking for somethin’, Dee, so, like the awesome person I am, I’m gonna help you find it,” Remy said, taking off his shades, looking through the pile. He glanced at Deceit every now and then to see if he could notice a reaction. Really, right now Dee was very confused and surprised at being given a nickname. Remy noticed that there was no response from Deceit, so the thing must have not been in the pile.

“Hm, not here then. C’mon, gurl, let's go look in the other piles.” Remy extended his hand towards Dee, who cautiously took it and got up. They searched through three other piles until they finally found the book. It was under a fabric that Deceit had, as well as a couple of unfinished crochet projects. Dee held it up, standing and sitting on the bed. Remy got up and sat next to them.

“Favorite book?” Deceit nodded, running their fingers over the cover. Remy watched silently, glancing from the book cover to Dee. They looked up, making eye contact with the personification of sleep.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” Dee blinked, surprised, slowly nodding. Remy smiled softly at them, shifting onto the bed, patting down next to them for Deceit to sit. Dee hesitantly crawled across the bed to sit next to Remy. “Get comfy, queen, ‘cause I’m a bomb storyteller.” Waiting until Dee cuddled up next to him, Remy started reading the picture book.

Deceit wouldn’t admit it, but Remy indeed was a good storyteller, adding his attitude and comments in every once in a while, making it a pleasant experience. Dee didn’t really know if they should trust Remy, but being read to wasn’t something terribly bad, especially since the other was radiating heat. Dee snuggled up closer to him, feeling their eyes shut slowly. That was the magic of Sleep, huh? Sort of a Midas touch.

Dee dozed off slowly, totally because they didn’t have a choice due to Remy’s ability, and not because it was nice to sleep knowing someone may protect you from the night terrors. Remy closed the book and set it aside. He looked down at Deceit, who was sound asleep. His work here was done. He smiled gently and put his sunglasses back on. Creeping slowly off the bed, he “sunk out”; if you could call it that. After all, he’s not exactly a side.

Remy stood in the dark sides kitchen (of sorts), and decided that he may as well get some tea while he’s at it. He started to heat up the water and searched the kitchen for any mugs. He found one that had a nice little rainbow on it...accompanied with the words life is hell. How sweet.

He filled the mug with hot water and dropped his tea bag in it. As he waited for it to become legitimate tea, he started to get lost in his thoughts, lost in this thing we call the void…

Remy was strolling down the hall, in the search for the restroom to tidy his makeup up a bit. He was about to check a door when he heard sobs coming from down the hall. He tried to ignore them, opening the door: not a restroom. Again, the sobs continued. Remy tried to ignore them, he really did, but the sounds of the weeping coming from behind the door were nerve-wracking, even for Sleep.

He leaned against the door to listen to what was happening. He could hear the sobs, and a distant voice saying some...honestly awful things. Then, all of a sudden, the voice was saying brighter things, words of love and affection, but without a change of the angry tone. It seemed to cause the sounds of the side crying to increase. Remy opened the door a smudge: it was Deceit. Crap.

Now, as much as Remy helped the light sides, because they were “the main ones” and it affected Thomas more, he wasn't really sure that his job included helping the dark sides sleep. Yet, he couldn't stand this feeling to help Deceit after seeing him all...shattered like that. He looked so tired; not just from not sleeping enough. Remy didn't really know what to do but...he decided to ignore his gut and walked quietly to the dark sides “living room.” More of a dead room, honestly, it was quite drab.

It wasn't his job to take care of the dark sides. They were bad, and that's final. Then again...Remy sighed. It's not like he wasn't a total jerk sometimes, heck, the light sides were too. And though, yes, Dee was on a different scale…(A/N: oh puns) it wasn't really right to leave him alone, was it? Remy felt someone enter the room, and when he turned to see who it was, he simply knew what he had to do.

Remy grabbed the mug and leaned against the counter, pondering the events of earlier. Dee wasn't that bad. They were actually adorable, in a way. Remy smiled. Deceit was sleeping soundly now. Mission complete.

He placed the mug into the sink, threw away the tea bag until he was off on his merry way. Except...it turns out Dee was not sleeping soundly.

“Sssleep? Are you there?” The snake-faced side walked into the kitchen, cheeks with clear tear tracks, hair messy, eyes frantic- searching. They shivered and walked around until they made eye contact with Sleep. “What are you-? Nevermind, it's sssstupid, sssorry to bother you…” They stammered, crying, turning around to exit the kitchen.

Remy pressed his lips tight together. On one hand, he could leave, he had the chance. He could just forget this didn't happen and have better tasting tea in the light sides mindscape. But...he didn't really give Dee a “good night sleep,” did he? That was kind of the point.

“Deceit, wait.” Dee turned to glance at Remy, not facing him directly but stopped nonetheless. “What aren't you in bed, sleeping?” He wanted to add “you look tired as hell,” but that didn't seem appropriate for the situation.

Dee sucked in a breath. “I...I was scared brave...”

Remy winced. Oh. “Dee...I'm sorry, I thought you'd be able to sleep on your own, I shouldn't have assumed-” Dee held up their hand.

“Sss’kay.” They said, ready to shuffle away from the conversation before it got awkward (at least more than already) and they made Remy upset (or more upset. They could never do anything right, could they?). Their mind was already racing, and they were really cold, so they may as well go back. They were already walking away (again) before they felt a hand on their shoulder. Dee immediately pulled away, spooked and surprised by it.

Remy pulled his hand back, not wanting to make Deceit feel uncomfortable. They stood there for an awkward twenty seconds, just kind of staring and blinking until Remy finally spoke up.

“Deceit. I'm sorry I left. It's my job as Sleep to make sure you actually were able to do so. If you'd like, I can still help you fall asleep.” Remy said in a serious tone.

“...if I'm not bothering you, I'd be grateful unappreciative for you to help me sleep,” Dee responded quietly. Sleep nodded, and Deceit turned back to go to their room.

“Dee, where are you going?” Remy asked, puzzled. Dee turned around, for what felt like the millionth time, a pang of fear striking through them. Oh gosh, they messed up, didn't they? “Your room is way too cold, I don’t know why I thought you sleep in there, I’m sorry. We can go to the mindscape. It's much warmer and has actual blankets.”

Dee stared at Remy with wide eyes, muttering, “..they don’t like me, I won’t be allowed in.” Remy gave them a sympathetic look. “Deceit, they won’t kick you out. I’ll make sure of it.” They took in a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll go.”

Remy and Deceit were in the mindscape and awkwardly sat in the beanbags in the corner. Remy quietly sipped his tea and internally sweating bullets. He took a long sip, glancing at Dee from the corner of his eye.

“So, how’s life been recently? Mine has been so bland, I seriously have nothing to do half the time. You?” Remy smiled softly at Dee, trying to make the atmosphere more amiable. Deceit looked over at Sleep, blinking slowly, and then looked down to face the floor.

Dee muttered out his answer, “I don’t do much, I guess…I read a little, I, um, I like to sew a little. I’ve tried baking before, but it didn’t turn out that well, but I’m still learning. Sorry, I’m kind of boring.”

“Nah, you do more than I do. Baking is pretty cool, though it's freaking hard to get it right. I would burn water if I tried.” He laughed and turned to completely faced Deceit. “I tried to make a cheese sandwich once and ended up with a crispy melted lump of bread. That’s why I stick to Patton’s cooking, and Virgil isn’t that bad at it either, despite being an absolutely nervous-wreck.” Sleep chuckled to himself but realized Dee wasn’t laughing with him. “Something wrong, Dee?”

They glanced at Remy with a nervous look on their face. “They..they really don’t like me. Especially not Roman, he hates me the most. Virgil...he…” Dee stopped mid-sentence. They looked back at Remy and gave him an awkward smile. “Sorry.” Remy returned it with a sympathetic look.

“It’s fine. I understand, when people don’t...are you alright?” Dee had their knees up to their head and had their face hidden. He awkwardly put his hand on their shoulder. “Hey, it's alright.” Dee immediately tried to shrug off his hand, panicking even more, tears streaming down their face, breath rapid.

“Sorry...I’m sorry, I just, I got spooked, I’m so sorry, I just, I-” They started muttering unintelligible words, trembling. Remy didn’t really know what to say or do, so he awkwardly tried to console them, but wasn’t really succeeding. It took a while for Dee to calm down, around ten minutes. They took in a deep breath, and wipe their eyes. “Sorry, Remy, I freaked out. I understand if you want me to leave.” He looked at the distraught side, feeling sympathy for them.

“It's alright, Deceit. It’s not your fault, and it's not mine, at least I hope.” He gave Dee a bright smile. Remy sighed and extended his hand to give Dee the option to hold it or not. They hesitated but held his hand. “You alright now? It's okay if you aren’t.” The look in Remy’s eyes was so sincere, but Dee couldn’t help but distrust it. He hated them, he hated their guts, it's impossible for anyone not to. They were so lost in their thought they didn’t even realize when they leaned into Remy and they started hugging. They didn’t realize when they started crying again, or when the other started stroking their hair, not letting go of their hand. One thing they did realize was when Remy started whispering his best attempt at words of comfort.

“It's going to be okay, alright? I have no idea what your problems are, and I don’t know how to help, but I’m here, alright?” He mumbled, pulling Dee closer. The words made them feel...safe, honestly. Deceit pulled back for a bit, staring Remy in the eye. He had pulled his shades up at some point, he wasn’t sure when. Maybe this whole time he didn’t have them on, and he just didn’t notice. It didn’t matter.

“Thanks. I’m really, really grateful. That isn’t a lie.” They hugged Remy again, feeling a state of relaxation wash over him. Remy pulled Deceit closer as they fell asleep. He sighed contentedly.

“You really are an adorable dork, Dee.”

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