#and in this universe (for some reason) the sweet voice files are in there

[nereidprinc3ss]

promiscuous

in which spencer reid doesn't like that flirty!reader is going on a date. he makes that known. (bandages universe)

flangst, 18+ for discussions of sex warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, mentions of going to a bar/going for drinks, very suppressed mutual pining, jealousy from Spencer, reader implied to engage in casual sex, reader calls themself a slut somewhat disparagingly but like as a joke, it all gets resolved, he is very sweet, he rambles when he's nervous a/n: oh God I love them so much they are like so in love and they literally have no idea at all because they're so dumb... but WE can tell.. turning point for them

“Penelope wanted me to confirm that you guys are coming to drinks with us tonight?”

It’s something of a standing tradition for the BAU on the last Friday of every month, and usually you’d agree, but tonight, you have other plans. 

“Raincheck for me,” you say, sliding some files into your bag which you do not plan on reviewing. “I have a thing.”

“What thing do you have on a Friday night?” Morgan asks skeptically. You don’t bother looking at him as you hide a smile. 

“A date, Morgan. You jealous?”

“You’re going on a date?”

You’d nearly forgotten Spencer was in the room until he spoke—he’s been in one of those quiet moods of his where he sort of floats around everyone else and makes himself insubstantial. As you cast him a sidelong glance, trying to figure out his tone of voice, you see he’s frowning. Nearly grimacing. His brows are drawn so tight you’re worried he’ll give himself a headache. 

“Uh, yeah. I am.” Suddenly, your parade feels a little rained on. 

“With who?”

You pause, looking back down at your desk with a new frown of your own and shaking your head as if you could clear it that way. “Just… some guy from OT.”

“Dalton?”

Ding ding ding. Somehow he got it right on the first guess, and for some reason, you wish he hadn’t. You don’t want Spencer knowing who you’re going on a date with. It feels wrong. 

“Does it matter?” You evade, shoving your things with a little more force into your bag. 

“Well Dalton is an idiot, so I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you’d go out with him.”

“And if it’s not Dalton?”

“Then I’d tell you all the guys in OT are idiots and you shouldn’t waste your time on any of them.”

“Alright—” Morgan passes between your desks, placing a friendly hand on your back as he does. “I’m gonna let you two hash this out by yourselves.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised, unsmiling, that means, go easy on the kid. It makes you feel terribly guilty. And more than a little defensive. 

“Night,” you call halfheartedly. He only waves as the glass doors swing shut behind him, leaving you and boy genius alone in the bull pen.

Silence falls, cloistering you as you finish packing up together. It seems to magnify the buzz of the overheads. You notice him intentionally lingering, and you sling your bag over your shoulder with a sigh. 

“Okay,” you say, turning to face him with your whole body. He seems uncomfortable with that, but you’re not letting this go. “What is this? Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. “I just think—”

“Yeah. You’ve made your thoughts abundantly clear. I don’t know why you’re judging me for going on a date.”

“I’m not judging you! I just think you deserve better than a guy who looks like he… snorts protein powder for every meal and has less capacity for intelligent conversation than a mealworm.”

“Okay. Do you have someone in mind?”

The words come out a little sharper than you’d meant for them to. A little louder. Spencer looks like a scolded puppy as he swallows. 

“Not specifically. Just—someone more like you.”

He just doesn’t get it. You fold your jacket over your arm. 

“Yeah, well, until someone more like me comes along and asks me out, Dalton is the best I’ve got. I know he’s not my soulmate, Reid. But he asked me to drinks, and I said yes.”

The room is mostly dark. Only a few fluorescents remain on to cast Spencer in an almost clinical glow against a dark grey background. You’ve been here before. It feels like an interrogation. An environment where you’re practically begging for the truth without saying please, but there’s only room for measured dishonesty. 

Spencer speaks under his breath, fiddling with the strap of his own bag. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“What do you want me to do?” It’s an exasperated, confrontational sigh. Your arms raise and fall heavily back to your sides. Another long grey hallway of silence that leads nowhere. When it becomes clear he doesn’t have the answer, or he’s not comfortable sharing, you straighten. “I’ll see you Monday, Reid.”

Your spirits are completely dampened as you trudge to the elevators. What once seemed like an exciting opportunity now only serves as a depressing reminder that you’re wasting your time with a man who isn’t what you want. Maybe you should just call the whole thing off. 

“Wait,” Spencer calls, half-jogging to catch the open elevator. His bag bobs with every step, pens and things jingling around inside. It’s endearing, even though you’re upset with him. Your arms remain stubbornly crossed, but he makes it anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your mood.”

You laugh dryly. “Yeah, well…”

“It’s just that…” he sniffs and looks down, hair falling in front of his face. He really is sweet, even when he’s kind of a dick. He’s full of so much sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with it all. “I know how you are—you’re special, and funny, and intelligent, and, and Dalton—all those qualities are wasted on him. He looks at you and he just sees a pretty face. It may sound trite, but… he doesn’t deserve you.”

You sigh again, heart squeezing. The glowing light on the panel of floor numbers flickers. “I know your heart is in the right place, alright? But it’s not about who deserves me or who doesn’t. I’m not a prize. I’m a person, and people like to feel wanted. Sometimes, it’s just—it’s about who’s there, and who likes me enough to say it to my face. Sometimes that’s all I need, and I know you didn’t mean it like this, but when you say he doesn’t deserve me, it really seems like you’re not considering what I might want at all. Maybe Dalton is what I want.”

God—this elevator ride is like, comedically long. 

“Is he what you want?”

At least he has the bravery to ask. 

You glance over at Spencer, washed out bloodless and looking like he’s prepared to flinch, like he doesn’t know if he’s ready for the answer. The doors ding and slide open, and stale air whooshes from the chrome compartment into the lobby like a held breath finally exhaled. You swallow. 

“I don’t know why it matters to you.”

“Because you’re my friend and I want to see you happy,” he insists, trailing after you as you speed walk through the lobby. Every click of your heeled boots echos. 

“Then shouldn’t you be supporting me?”

“I’m not going to support you in making the wrong choice.”

The conversation spills out into the bitter-cold parking lot. You turn around to face him. 

“Respectfully, you have no idea what’s right or wrong for me. I don’t like whatever this is,” you say, gesturing with a finger between the two of you, as if the conflict were a tangible thing—a phone line hanging between your hearts. “I don’t know if it’s, like, jealousy, or some misplaced feeling of possessiveness, or protectiveness, or—”

“It’s not like that!” He splutters. 

“Okay—so what is it like? If you want to see me happy, why don’t you support me in pursuing the things that make me happy? And if that’s meaningless sex with some guy from operational tech, so be it! You are not in a position to give your two cents on who I sleep with!”

“I wasn’t trying to—I wasn’t even thinking about—about sex! I don’t care who you sleep with!”

He’s turning increasingly pink. 

“Fine. But if you weren’t thinking about sex, if you thought I was under any illusion that Dalton was going to be my fucking Prince Charming then clearly you’re not equipped to have this conversation. I know he’s an idiot. I’m not looking for my soulmate—thank you, though, for reminding me that it’s completely fucking pointless to even pretend. I love you, Spencer, but grow up. And stay out of my business.”

And with that, you’re turning on your heel and marching toward your car. Spencer calls your name—once. Twice. The wind lashes against your bare arms and stings your eyes as you fumble with your keys. 

It’s just the wind. 

Nothing else. 

-

Maybe you’re simply not meant for love. 

It’s a narcissistic thought in the sense that everyone has it at some point in their lives—everyone falls victim to the delusion that they are so uniquely wretched, so singularly incapable of being understood by another person. It’s the universal illusion of solitude. And you’d thought yourself above it for a long time. In college, there was fling after fling. Your bed was never empty if you didn’t want it to be. In your young adult life, you have other priorities—but you rarely have to be alone. 

Now, though, as you sit on a rickety metal stool deep in the bowels of the Bureau’s records room, banished to sort through files in search of one that had been mishandled during a cold case and is now supposedly relevant again, (although you’re not sure it actually exists) you’re pondering the nature of those connections you’d been so sure your life was full of. Were they all artificial? Designed by you subconsciously to manufacture a sense of complacent satisfaction? To stave off the aching, gnawing loneliness in your gut that you’re only now becoming aware of and has been eating you away in bigger and bigger bites since Friday night?

Morgan was supposed to be just as arm-deep into a box of dusty manila folders as you are now, but he talked his way out of it, and you’re sitting in an awkward twenty-minute-long-so-far silence with Spencer. Which isn’t helping anything. 

The tension comes and goes like the moon pulling the tides. It’s like you can sense it wafting off of each other—you feel it in the prickle on the back of your neck and the buzz in your stomach when he’s about to say something, and you glance over, and he’s already looking at you with his lips parted, and then he doesn’t say anything after all, and the silence reinforces itself. 

It gets frustrating. 

Not to mention this task is equal parts mind numbing and infuriating. Maybe Hotch just hates you. 

Eventually Spencer clears his throat, and you welcome the distraction. 

“What year are you on?”

You give him a long look which he doesn’t reciprocate, because you want to say, really? But eventually you pick up the edge of the box you’re sifting through and double check. 

“Uh… June 1979 through August 1979.”

He nods matter-of-facts. “They should be making us wear gloves.”

Your incoming tangent spidey senses are tingling. It’s not exactly an opportune time, but it’s better than silence. 

Plus—you’re pretty sure this is his idea of a peace offering. 

“Why’s that?” You mutter, flicking through yellowed papers. 

“Wood pulp paper contains an alum-rosin mixture to minimize ink bleeding, but in the presence of moisture such as that introduced in trace amounts by our fingertips it generates a diluted sulfuric acid solution. They didn’t start adding alkaline buffers into paper until 1986, and the cellulose chains that comprise the structure of the paper inevitably shorten and break down over time, so we’re actively degrading these documents by touching them without gloves.”

“Did you say sulfuric acid?”

“I said a diluted sulfuric acid solution,” he clarifies, utterly missing the point of your question as he so often does in that disarmingly endearing way of his. “Sorry, by the way.”

You look up from a photo of bloodied bell-bottom jeans. He’s caught you by surprise. 

“For what?”

“For—”

He struggles with the words—you watch his lips form a few silent ones before he gives up on the nonchalant act and sets his file on his lap. He can’t seem to tear his eyes from it, but you don’t mind. 

“For everything on Friday. I… I know it was none of my business. I sometimes struggle with… keeping my thoughts to myself. Especially when it concerns someone I care about. But I wasn’t judging you, I swear. What you said about—about sex, I—” he sighs, obviously frustrated with himself, and pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes. “That’s not where my mind was at, at all. Whatever you… do, or don’t do, is none of my business. Obviously. You don’t need me to tell you that. You don’t need me to tell you anything. I just really wanted to clarify that I wasn’t shaming you or judging you for—”

“Spencer,” you say gently, cutting him off and reeling him in before he can dig any deeper. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He glows under the canned lighting, a soft aura of white blurring the edges of him. The stale room buzzes. It’s otherwise quiet down here. Peaceful, almost. 

From anyone else, you might consider it overstepping. 

You wouldn’t have been willing to forgive them in the first place. 

But it’s not anyone else. 

“Thank you, for apologizing. I really appreciate it.”

He glances up at you, sort of hunched—always trying to make himself smaller than whatever force created him had intended. The deep brown of his eyes is melted and swirling and sweet and nervous. He’s not naturally good at these interpersonal things, but he’s always trying. He’s always pushing himself for you.

Do you ask too much? 

Do you offer enough in return?

Struck by sudden insecurity, you look away. Go back to your files. 

Perhaps you made a mountain out of a molehill and told him to climb it. 

“I mean, I am kind of a slut. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so,” you laugh airily. “Maybe it was a good reality check.”

A trailing silence. An air conditioner kicks on. 

“What? That’s not—that’s not at all what I was trying to say.”

“Spencer, it’s fine.”

His stool squeaks as he sits up straighter. 

“No, I really want you to understand. Even if I cared or thought about how many people you might sleep with—which I don’t—and even if I determined that you were… sexually promiscuous, I wouldn’t assign a moral value to that judgement. Sexual promiscuity is observed all the time in the animal kingdom, it’s biologically sound and justified and in less misogynistic cultures where bonds forged between humans weren’t socioeconomic arrangements dependent on women being viewed as commodities first and foremost, it’s completely unremarkable. But I haven’t made that determination. All I know is that… you’re you. And that’s all that’s ever going to matter to me.”

Silence falls. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. 

How does he so casually show you more kindness than anyone else has ever managed to show you in your life?

Spencer takes pity on you. 

“And… we’ve talked entirely too much about something that’s none of my business today.”

It’s wry and earns a chuckle from you. Even Spencer manages a chagrined smile. That same strand of hair falls loose as he looks down. Light bounces from his self-effacing smirk. 

You fiddle absentmindedly with the fraying corner of a folder, and you’re about to open your mouth, about to speak into the sparkling cloud that the easy laughter and the melted tension has left in its wake, and tell him how much you appreciate him and how kind he truly is and undoubtedly whatever you say will be made more beautiful because of it—because of the affection you have for each other—and then you stop, eyes catching on the case file between your fingers. You frown. 

“Wait—what’s the case number we’re looking for?”

“91 18 00063 7.”

You hold the file up, eyes alight. 

“I found it.”

Spencer frowns and takes it without asking. You watch as he reviews the number in tiny black typeface along the top of the document. His brow scrunches in disbelief. 

“I genuinely didn’t think we were ever going to find it,” he murmurs after leading through the photos and glances back up at you. “We had thirty years of boxes to look through and you found it in under an hour. You’re like magic.”

It’s impossible not to smile. You feel all warm and sparkly as you snatch it back from him and stand, straightening your jacket. 

“Will you tell that to Hotch?”

“I… will tell anyone who will listen,” he assures you, and you’re confident he’s following as you make your way through the maze of stacks. “Are we not gonna clean up our mess?”

“There are people who will take care of that later.”

“Yeah. Like me. During my lunch break.”

“Don’t worry. You’re going to be well rewarded for your efforts today.”

“What does that mean?” He mumbles, and you can practically hear his blush. 

You smile to yourself. 

Still got it. 

for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!

[loop-lover-central]

At least one(1) person asked for it. SO-

We'll start with some stuff from the isat spoiler Q&A

Let's get started!

-There is only one canonical straight shot timeline that technically erases the prologue from existence. When looping back the previous timeline is completely overwritten, like saving over your save file in a game! It's all gone! Despite this, when you start a new game you're making an entirely new Siffrin to torment. So at least you're not making the same Siffrin go through hell again and again! *sweeps Loop under rug* Don't look at that. Don't worry about them. They're fine.

-While wish craft and other craft types are described to have a smell, time craft does not! I mean, what would time craft even smell like anyway? Clocks???

-Mirabelle's time freeze immunity will wear off eventually!

-Loop could actually be still comfortable with He/They. While the time loops did put them through it, the They/Them was mostly for anonymity. But there WAS some sort of identity shift. So you can and should have fun with Loop pronouns. Do it! Do it!!!

-Despite the island being forgotten, it's still physically there the entire game and before that! So it being lost is purely anti-memetic fuckery. It is just censored out by the universe.

-Loop and Siffrin sitting quietly together was originally a bug where ID5 accidentally softlocked Siffrin and trapped him at the tree. They thought it was a sweet moment of respite and implemented it.

Let's Switch it up! Reddit AMA

-There was originally a love triangle between proto Mira, Isa, and Sif before Mirabelle was made aroace. It probably would have ended in an OT3/polycule situation. So QPR MiraIsaSif truthers out there, enjoy this one.

-The idea of Loop being Siffrin came about during saap's developement. Originally the guide for isat was going to be one of ID5's ocs.

-Change God knows everything about meta because they are a God. Loop only gets a smidgen of meta knowledge, however.

-Loop's ability to see what Siffrin is up to works the same way their calls work! The farther Siffrin is, the harder it is. So Loop calls stop working past snack break 3, and Loop can barely see past the King.

-Isabeau wouldn't play video games. He touches grass.

-Siffrin was subconsciously inspired by Snufkin, from The Moomins. So we wouldn't have Siffrin as he is if everyone wasn't rabid over Moomins a few years back.

-Sadnesses ARE are a constant in the world of isat. They only become more common and poweful during times of great duress, like war or Insane False Monarchs with timey wimey powers

-The doppleganger wish in the selfcest book happened "a long time ago" and is only a child's tale now.

-Odile's name is her given name. Kinda. (No elaboration on what the fuck THAT means.)

-Siffrin only got memory issues after leaving home. They were not a forgetful child.

-At one point before they had names, Isabeau was just called "dude".

-While only called scrawny in game, Adrienne calls Siffrin "deathly thin". Metabolism monarch out here. (Probably all the casual wish craft.)

-The reason the party stops reacting to Sif's poking is just because it's tragic and makes things worse for him. That's it. The universe just hates him.

-Everyone but Odile would like rollercoasters.

-Just... this. This is so funny. Also Loop being the final boss while Siffrin is the secret final boss... Also Loop confirmed deity looking!!!

-"comic!siffrin is a whole different siffrin than game!siffrins sadly. rip to them. still stuck in time" WAY TO FUCK ME UP ON A MONDAY? Comicfrin is still stuck in time.

-The characters have official voice claims but not a single one is serious except for the King's. Mira sounds like Animal crossing isabelle(isa.belle. hm.). Bonnie sound like a inkling from splatoon (ID5 specifically used the female inkling as example). Odile sounds old. Isabeau quantum mechanically sounds flamboyantly gay or like All Might from MHA. Loop sounds like stock glitter sound fx. No Siffrin voice claim. Siffrin has video game protagonist voices which means they sound like whatever you want.

-Loop's glow is comparable to a lamp. Not enough to hurt the eyes.

Siffrin and Friends Q&A time!!(Beware these are SEMI-CANON)

-Siffrin isn't really a trap master. They're just fast enough to activate and dodge the traps.

-Odile doesn't like fennel.

-Fave flowers! Bonnie=Sunflowers, Odile=Orchids, Mira=Lavender, Isa=Roses, Siffrin=None, dubiously answered with dandelions however.

-Sif is a night owl, Bon and Mira are early birds, and Odile and Isa are average.

-Siffrin and Odile have probably eaten crabs and would tempt Bonnie with their sinful ways of consuming crustaceans.

-Odile has been traveling for about 2 years.

-Odile knows how to play a shamisen. It's one of her favorite instruments as well.

-When prompted with competition Loop and Siffrin stare each other down like "kids about to throw hands".

-Loop would like to eat a pastry if they could. GIVE THEM YOUR BAKED GOODS NOW!

-Kill the King day is a Tuesday.

And finally random trivia I found while sniffing through the wiki!

-Salty broths actual cure 6 cooldown, instead of 2 like the dialogue implies.

-Chateau means castle. The cursing of castle castle...

-The Change God face with six eyes and a cat-like mouth is inspired by ID5's oc Eye Gal

-The only time tears can freeze Siffrin with no warning is in saap. By using the second Star Crest to clear one of the rows of Tears, you can just walk into the second row and freeze.

-The dev's older notes mention specific shades being used for hair dyes but they're never mentioned in-game because of the an unadded event.

-In ACT 2, there's a small chance Siffrin says "Heheh… Bonk." when activating the switch for the rock trap

-Saap Bonnie thinks nuts are gross according to some unused dialogue, but enjoys raisins.

-During early development in saap tears were originally intended to be spike traps. A left over sprite of Siffrin being impaled does exist, including minor blood spurt. This was probably changed because it was a little too gruesome, ID5 definitely tried to reel in the darker concepts and has stated they went too dark sometimes.

-Loop turning back into Siffrin was considered long enough for them to get an entire animated walking sprite.

[uchizana]

SPARK

synopsis: in a whirlwind romance, a seemingly perfect relationship is shattered when jealousy rears its head, revealing minjeong’s unsettling obsessions and igniting a battle for sanity between love and darkness.

pairing: toxic girlfriend! minjeong x girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s): fire (uhm yeah...), jealousy, manipulation, toxic relationship, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, victimhood, violence. (let me know if I missed something!!)

word count: 7,2k (i had to rewrite it because my docs hates me and for some reason deleted the file where i had the original work... anyways this version is very similar.)

aespa masterlist.

your relationship with minjeong was complicated.

at first, the world appeared pastel and soft, built on hues of affection and endless laughter. 

you remember the early days clearly — she was the kind of girlfriend who would take you out on dates every weekend,how she would surprise you with breathtaking bouquets, each more vibrant than the last. there were daisies, peonies, and delicate lilies, transforming corners of your home into a floral wonderland. your place started to resemble a botanical garden, petals spilling into every corner, their sweet scents blending with the memories of her laughter.

minjeong had a gift for warmth; there were times when she gazed at you as if you were a novel she could read forever, showering you with compliments that seemed to ebb and flow like the tides; “you look so beautiful today,” she would say, even on days when you hadn’t left the house or merely tied it into a messy bun. she would compliment you even when you forgot to fix your hair or wore an old hoodie. 

her sweet, simple gestures spoke volumes—kissing you on the knuckles, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, and watching you intently when you spoke like you were the only thing in the universe that mattered. sometimes, she’d slip her hands into your pockets while you two held hands, wanting to keep your fingers warm when you forgot your gloves in winter. everything felt right, perfect.

but then, like a sudden storm cloud obscuring a clear sky, everything shifted. the first crack in your fairy tale surfaced when life’s mundane obligations got in the way of love.  one fateful weekend, you had to make a choice — a subject looming over your head like a dark shadow. with an important exam creeping ever closer, you found yourself compelled to cancel your much-anticipated date night with her. the guilt settled heavily in your stomach as you dialed her number, knowing how much she’d been looking forward to it.

“hey minjeong, i’m really sorry…” you started, your palms sweaty around the phone. “i can’t make it this weekend. i need to study. it’s this exam, and—”

nerves consume you, leaving you speechless. there was a long pause on the line. you could practically hear the wheels turning in her mind.

“it’s okay,” she finally said, her voice tight. “don’t worry about it,” her voice chimed back, light yet edged with something you couldn’t pinpoint. “good luck with your studies.” 

there was an unsettling dissonance lurked beneath the surface, leading you to believe she was fighting back something more than disappointment.

“i'm really sorry, baby. i promise i'll make it up to you as soon as possible.” you assure her, feeling the guilt eating away at you and making you feel bad, even when you weren't doing anything wrong other than putting your studies first.

“i told you not to worry about it. i understand, it seems that right now your studies are more important than your girlfriend, i get it.”

you didn’t miss the subtleties in her tone; the tension that suggested she was biting back words that didn’t fit into her kind demeanor.

“anyways, i'll hang up right now. i'll leave you to study in peace.”

however, judging by her tone of voice, you’d swear she was tapping the inside of her cheek with her tongue to keep from blurting out what she was really thinking.

of course, that’s how it was. you used that weekend to study, but there were a couple of changes along the way. you ended up meeting at a friend’s house to study. she told you that she had knowledge of the subject since her sister was studying the same subjects at university and spent nights and nights studying, so inevitably your friend ended up listening to her sister study, whether she wanted to or not, memorizing more knowledge than she anticipated.

you were focused on studying, hair tied in a messy bun, books and notebooks scattered all over the table, along with pencils and empty coffee cups. your friend thought it was kind of funny to see you so focused on studying when most of the time you never studied for tests or even put a pencil down in class, so she had no better idea than to take a photo when you weren’t looking.

you were deep in the grasp of equations and theories when your friend, in a mischievous moment, snapped a photo of you. you had been so absorbed that you hadn’t sensed her reach for her phone.

as she clicked the shutter, the light captured you: hair a mess, scribbles sprawled across your notebook, a look of fierce concentration. unbeknownst to you, that seemingly harmless moment cascaded into something monumental. your friend, having the joys of social media at her fingertips, instantly uploaded it to her instagram stories, a lighthearted snapshot of you crushing it at studying.

minjeong was home, idly watching television, when her phone buzzed, instantly receiving the notification that your friend had made a post seconds ago. why she had notifications from your friends activated and how she managed to get updates in real-time? well, that was a secret better left unsaid. you knew that she followed your friends closely, but you never thought much of it. that was her way of staying connected, of knowing what you were up to, as if weaving a delicate thread between you, even from afar. but this thread snapped when she clicked on the notification.

within moments, minjeong sat frozen in her living room, her heart racing. she glanced at the photo on her phone: you, hair piled haphazardly, surrounded by crumpled papers and empty coffee cups, looking like you were about to conquer an academic mountain. but it wasn’t only that. in the background, through the window, she could see your friend's house, ryujin’s house. the instant flash of jealousy sparked inside her—a gut-wrenching twist of envy that she fought to suppress.

the blossoming rage was immediate and insatiable. she nearly smashed her phone against the wall, leaving it to dangle dangerously from her fingertips, all shatters and anger. seconds felt like hours as her mind raced, spiraling through anger and betrayal with dizzying speed. 

her hand trembled, tightening around the phone as she scanned the comments already popping up, friends praising your focus, others playfully teasing you. each word only fueled the fire in her chest. the image replayed in her mind, vivid and cruel, making her heart race. what had she allowed to slip while you studied with another girl—so effortlessly immersed in the comfort of your friendship while she was left behind?

minjeong felt a sudden jolt of irritation surge through her. the kind that ignited flames of a insane jealousy. the realization that you were spending time with someone else, not just anyone, but with someone who was so visibly present in your life. someone who had now become a part of this moment you were sharing without her. it felt like betrayal—the photos intended to capture your essence instead felt like reminders of her absence.

what did it mean that you were there, alone with her? had you been telling her the truth this whole time about studying together? or had you grown tired of her and her little quirks? it felt like betrayal, visceral and raw. how did her sister's extra study sessions become her own?

in a rise of frustration, she silenced her phone, the sound echoing like a decision reverberating through her thoughts. she tossed it onto the couch and stood there, still as a statue. the warmth of the living room seemed to suffocate her, and her mind whirled with conflicting emotions. without thinking, she grabbed her jacket from where it hung and impulsively marched out of her apartment, slamming the door behind her—her heart racing as the chill of the evening air surrounded her.

where are you going? the question echoed in her mind as she stepped onto the city streets, her breath misting before her in the winter chill. she didn’t know where to go; the cold wind cut through her, much like the realization of what she felt inside. she was filled with confusion, anger, and hurt, questions swirling around her like the fallen leaves.

what if you didn’t want her anymore? what if this was just the beginning of something spiraling out of control? the images of you studying with someone else, laughing and flirting, ignited feelings she hadn’t felt in a long time.

maybe she was overreacting? the right words swirled out of reach, tangled in the threads of her heart. she played back memories—each sweet moment together battling with the icy reality of this new picture, this betrayal. she questioned every second they had spent together, every revelation she had quietly harbored about her feelings for you. you—who were supposed to be her source of happiness, now felt like a threat, a source of pain.

your walk back home is peaceful. the cold breeze of early winter kisses your face, sending tiny shivers down your spine. luckily, you have your coat on, its fabric a comforting barrier against the chill wrapping around the city. 

the faint glow of street lamps illuminated the sidewalk, their lights flickering like distant stars against a darkening sky. the scent of fallen leaves mingles with the faint aroma of smoke from distant chimneys, creating a vivid tapestry of autumn giving way to winter. you found comfort in the rhythm of your footsteps, each echo resonating against the chill of the night air.

as you reached the entrance of the building where you lived, you noticed a profound silence enveloping the space. the usual sounds—the laughter of neighbors, the creaking of doors, the faint hum of life—are conspicuously absent.

normally, you would hear the hum of distant conversations, the clatter of heels on the tile floors, or the soft notes of music drifting from neighbors' open doors. but tonight, the only sound was the faint rustle of your coat as you shuffled inside.

a strange feeling settled over your shoulders, as if the air itself was holding its breath, the kind that prickles at the base of your neck, whispering that something isn't quite right and making you sense that something was amiss. 

you pause for a moment, scanning the darkened hallway, but sigh and shake it off. it’s late, after all; perhaps everyone is tucked away, hibernating in their cozy nests.

you pressed the button for the elevator, the ding echoing through the stillness. as it ascended, an unsettling sense of unease crept in. you can’t even hear the faint sounds of other apartments—the muffled TV shows, the soft laughter, and the rhythmic background of city life. even the elevator seemed to hold its breath, devoid of the usual creaks and groans. you wondered if everyone around you had decided to vanish, leaving you as the sole inhabitant of this quiet realm.

the ascent felt slower than usual, the stillness heightened by the lack of familiar sounds. the soft whir of the machinery felt almost alien in this quiet atmosphere. just when you start to feel anxious, the elevator dings, announcing your arrival at your floor, but you feel unnerved, looking forward to the ordinary chaos of your apartment.

stepping out onto your floor, you adjusted your scarf and made your way down the hallway. rummaging through your bag for your keys, your thoughts wandered to what you’d studied at ryujin’s place earlier. it had been a late session, fueled by coffee and late-night snacks, and a part of you regretted not sending a text to let Minjeong know.

just as you were about to lose yourself in that thought, you felt a sudden grip on your wrist. startled, your heart raced as the hallway light flickered on, illuminating the figure of minjeong standing there, her expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“where have you been?” minjeong’s voice pierced the silence, echoing off the walls. her expression was layered with concern and something deeper—something that sent a shiver down your spine. in an instant, the hallway light flickered on, casting a warm glow that seemed almost foreign amidst the encroaching shadows.

you turned, wide-eyed, the knot in your stomach tightening. “minjeong? what are you doing here? it’s late.”

she narrowed her eyes, and the tension in the air thickened. “i could ask you the same thing. why were you out so late?”

you took a breath, felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through you. “i told you i would use this weekend to prepare for my exam, remember? ryujin offered to help me study.” you explained, exasperated. “i forgot to tell you that i was going to her house to study, i’m sorry. but we had a big exam coming up.” you could feel the frustration bubbling beneath your skin, but you tried to keep your voice calm.

minjeong’s frown deepened, her arms crossing over her chest. you could see the gears of her mind shifting, grappling with what you’d just said. yes, she knew you were with ryujin, but verbalizing it seemed to ignite something within her, bringing out the demon of jealousy.

“just studying?” she pressed, her tone laced with skepticism. “how late were you planning on staying?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished. “you could’ve at least texted me, you know. i was worried!”

you raised your hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to keep your voice even. “i’m really sorry; i lost track of time. but you know ryujin is just a friend. we were going over notes, that’s all!”

her voice trailed off, eyes narrowing as jealousy crept into her words. “you’re always with her.”

“it’s just study stuff, minjeong!” you insisted, somewhat defensively. “you know you’re the one i care about.”

her fingers dug into your wrist as she leaned closer, her face betraying a tempest of emotions. “i can’t help it! i just— i don’t like this feeling!”

“feeling what?” you replied, bewildered. the tension crackling between you was palpable, each word finding its mark like arrows in a target as you both circled each other like wary opponents. “i’ll always choose you, minjeong. i just really needed to study.”

huffily, she crosses her arms, her fingers pressing her coat into her skin as if it were a shield. “it’s not about studying! it’s about you being inconsiderate. you could’ve called,” she huffs dramatically.

you feel a wave of frustration surge through you, but you brace yourself against it. “minjeong, you didn’t have to worry. i’m safe, and besides, i didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” your attempt at reason is met with a silence that hangs heavy in the air, tension crackling between you like static.

“safe?” she scoffs incredulously, her eyes narrowing. “you’re out with some girl at her place! i don’t want to sound controlling, but why would you put yourself in that situation without telling me? you could at least consider my feelings.”

“minjeong…” you feel the energy drain from your voice. the conversation is taking an unexpected turn. she knows you well enough to trust you, doesn’t she? you reach out to touch her arm, but she flinches away, retreating into her own anxieties.

“just let me into the apartment,” you plead, desperate to talk this out in private. something inside you hopes that they won’t spiral further into an explosive confession of jealousy and insecurities.

yet she shakes her head resolutely. “not until you explain why i should trust you when you’re out with another girl,” she insists, the fight in her voice wavering but ultimately holding firm.

after much hesitation, you manage to soothe the atmosphere. “i have no feelings for ryujin. our relationship is just a friendship. you're the one i love.”

eventually, after tired back-and-forth, she mutters, “... fine. i’m sorry for overreacting, but i just can’t help worrying… it’s not like anyone really talks to me about these things.” her voice softens, and you recognize that vulnerability; she’s slipping into her victim role again.

you try holding her gaze, searching for the truth behind her words. “it’s okay; i get it. just try to trust me a little more, alright?”

ninjeong smiles hesitantly, but the shadows of her doubts linger in her eyes like a storm cloud threatening to break. you unlock the door and let her into your apartment, unsure of what the night will unfold. the warmth of the living space is inviting, but the tension of the moment casts a longer shadow than you anticipated.

unbeknownst to you, this moment was just the beginning of something that had rooted itself deep in your relationship with minjeong—a well-meaning storm, brewed from jealousy and care, that would spiral and churn in ways neither of you could predict. as she brushes past you into the living room, you reluctantly realize what lies ahead may be more challenging than you’d hoped for.

the argument felt small at first, a mere bump in the road of your otherwise blissful relationship with minjeong. but as the days wore on, it became apparent that the little fight had unlocked something within her, something dark and volatile. the initial infraction—her jealousy over a casual conversation you had with a mutual friend—had spiraled into an endless cycle of blame and resentment.

you still recall the way her eyes had narrowed as she listened, her lips pressed into a tight line. that soft laugh you loved so much had been replaced by a chilling silence. what used to be playfully teasing turned into a gaze that bore down on you, probing, analyzing, judging; it felt like the weight of her disappointment was crushing your chest. once sweet and affectionate, she transformed into someone you hardly recognized—her demeanor twisted, like a pretty piece of art slowly warping into a grotesque figure and you wondered if you even recognized the girl you had fallen in love with.

you found it hard to breathe the first time she turned that silence on you after the argument. sitting across from each other at a cafe, the usual warmth in her gaze had vanished, replaced by an unsettling intensity. you looked everywhere but into her eyes, tracing patterns in the wooden table with your fingers. you could feel her stare, piercing and relentless.

“do you think she likes you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with an edge that made your stomach churn.

“who?” you notice that minjeong's gaze is no longer meeting yours, but is directed elsewhere across the room. you follow her gaze, and you understand what she means; a few tables away is your friend yizhuo, having breakfast and chatting with a friend of hers.

you exhaled slowly, hoping calm would drown the anxiety rising in your chest.

“don’t play coy,” she snapped, her voice suddenly sharp. “you know exactly who i’m talking about. is it really that hard to be honest with me?”

the argument blossomed, each word a petal of bitterness, eventually curling into a thorny reality. you didn’t understand where all this jealousy came from, nor did you grasp why her feelings conveyed so much potency. minjeong used to be the gentle spirit, the one who found beauty in everything—even in the world of people. now, she was the tempest, and you were ensnared within it.

but that wasn’t the end; it was merely the first act in an ongoing tragedy. the discussions didn’t stop. they became a staple of your daily life, an unwanted rhythm that resonated through your days. one friday night, a group of friends decided to gather at a local bar. laughter echoed through the walls, familiar warmth wrapped around you like an old blanket, but not for minjeong.

"are you even listening to me?" she snapped one evening during the dinner with her friends, her voice slicing through the laughter surrounding you like a knife. you had been chatting and catching up with your friends, oblivious to the thundercloud brewing in her mind.

"of course, i am," you replied earnestly, but the damage was done. the disapproval etched across her face was enough to ruin the mood. moments later, she dragged you outside under the pretense of needing air, her grip on your arm like steel.

"what's wrong with you? you've been ignoring me ever since we got here.” she demanded, her voice low but frigid.

you sighed, your heart racing. "it was just a conversation. i didn't mean to upset you."

"you should know better," she hissed, her eyes flashing. “you and your friends always do this. you want to hurt me, don't you?”

the phrase was confusing; what in the world made her think you would ever want to hurt her? yet every rational thought fell away, and you found yourself backpedaling, desperate to soothe the storm brewing within her.

“minjeong, please. i value you and our time together. you know that,” you pleaded.

she just gives you one last look, walking back into the bar, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

you should have known she wouldn’t be willing to play nice. midway through the first round of drinks, you saw it—the familiar grimace twisting her features as she watched you engage in conversation with jimin, a longtime friend. you felt minjeong’s eyes digging into you like daggers, even as a lighthearted joke made jimin laugh. the sweet sound cut you off—no more jokes, no more laughter. as the night progressed and the alcohol flowed, minjeong's attitude simmered, eventually boiling over.

“can we leave?” she demanded, standing abruptly. Ignoring the pile of half-finished drinks and clinking glasses, she grabbed your wrist, her grip hard enough to bruise. you glanced around, trying to gauge the group's reactions, but most were busy enjoying the night. you caught jimin's concerned look—a silent plea for you to stay, but minjeong wouldn’t hear it.

“minjeong, can we just relax for a moment?” you attempted to reason with her, but the storm was too loud, and the chaos was all-consuming.

“no!” she yelled, the intensity of it drawing eyes toward your table. your heart sank; a familiar humiliation washed over you. together, you walked out into the harsh night, the cool air doing little to calm your rising anxiety.

“what the hell was that about?” you asked, your voice strained.

“why were you flirting with her? you were practically hanging off her every word!” minjeong's dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with an unhinged fury. it terrified you. ot wasn't the minjeong you fell in love with, but rather a version twisted by insecurities you couldn’t massage away.

“i wasn’t flirting!” you insisted. “you’re being unreasonable. everybody was just having fun!”

“fun for you, maybe,” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “i suppose it’s fun to watch you toy with someone else’s feelings.”

each syllable that slipped from her lips cut deeper than the last, practically shredding at your shared history. you tried to calm her down, stammering words of reassurance, but her only response was a silence so deafening it echoed.

from that point on, things escalated to new heights, a spiraling mess of fights that felt more reminiscent of a battle than the love you had once shared. just a few days later, at a small diner down the street, the situation hit a new low. as the waitress placed the tray on the table, you turned just in time to see her chuckling at something, probably because she thought it was adorable how you misread the name of your coffee when ordering earlier—a routine occurrence that had never bothered minjeong before. perhaps it was the way you returned the smile, or the lingering moment that stretched too long, but something snapped inside her.

the laughter was innocent; the exchange friendly. yet, to minjeong, it was tantamount to treachery.

“let’s go,” she said suddenly, her voice flat.

“what? but we just sat down!” you exclaimed, confusion mixing with exasperation. you detected the faintest tremble in her lips, a prelude to a full-blown tantrum.

“... did you say "but"? seriously?” she questioned, fury painting her voice. you barely had a chance to register the words before minjeong swept her arm across the table, sending the coffee cup crashing to the floor, splattering the waitress and staining the ground with bitterness.

“i’m so sorry!” you blurted, mortification flooding through you as you scrambled to your feet. the waitress stood stunned, and in that moment, your heart shattered into pieces. you apologized repeatedly while trying to help clean the mess, feeling Minjeong’s simmering rage heat the air around you.

“let’s just go,” she demanded, her eyes burning with fury as if challenging you to argue. but deep down, you were terrified of what she might do next. 

she stormed out, leaving you behind to pay for a meal that hadn’t touched your lips but felt heavier than any weight you had ever lifted. you left a generous tip, hoping to at least make amends for minjeong’s volatile behavior, but shame mixed with the taste of your muffled indignation as you left the café.

as you stepped out into the chilly evening air, the weight of it all crashed down on you. you briefly glanced back into the diner to catch a glimpse of minjeong. she stood there, a silhouette against the light, arms crossed, focused on something entirely beyond you. the realization crashed into you like a swift wave—you were lost in a relationship that had morphed into something toxic, a cycle of blame, punishment, and endless misunderstanding.

days of fighting would follow, each one leaving you increasingly drained. you learned to navigate carefully around her feelings, tiptoeing through conversations, wrestling with the fear of provoking another outburst. apologizing became a daily ritual, but it was a fool’s game, as though you were playing chess with a master who already knew all your moves.

nothing you did seemed to satisfy her, and every time you tried to stand your ground, she would employ that give-and-take tactic, leaving you scrambling to retrieve whatever ounce of affection you could salvage.

"you never understand what i need from you!" she'd cry, casting you a withering glare designed to pierce your heart.

you started dreading the moments you once cherished: evenings spent binge-watching shows, the casual strolls in the park, the intimate whispers shared in candle-lit corners of your favorite café. they all became tainted by her increasing paranoia and fury. in those moments, you didn’t catch a glimpse of the girl you fell for; instead, you stared back at a stranger who seemed to lose herself deeper in a well of insecurity with each fight.

what could you say to her to bridge the widening chasm? you wondered quietly if calling her out would work. but it always ended the same.

even in the stillness of your home, you could feel the shadows of her disappointment lurking. sometimes, as you lay in bed, you swore you could hear their whispers, taunting you to spur another confrontation. a ghost of the life you’d built together haunted your dreams, resurfacing in disorienting fragments where laughter hid behind walls built from distrust and rage.

to think, this all started with a simple argument. you sometimes daydreamed of how different your life could be without this turmoil, wondering nervously what life would look like if you weren't continuously tiptoeing around the storm that now defined your relationship with minjeong.

but in the end, naive hope lingered, refusing to extinguish despite the tempest that raged around you. you wanted to believe that one day, she would look at you with warmth restored, rather than that silent judgment that twisted her from within. you held on—because even through the tumult and the strife, there were threads of love that still remained, fragile and uncertain as they wove your lives together, if just for the moment.

the engine hums softly, a white noise glazed over with tension, as you sit in the passenger seat of minjeong’s car. the world outside the window is an endless parade of trees, stretching far enough to feel infinite, but you can’t look away from the gnawing uncertainty that festers in your chest. the conversation that should have been had weeks ago hovers between you, palpable and toxic. as the cityscape fades into desolation, the weight of your relationship stretches thin, hanging by a thread.

you take a deep breath, your chest constricting as you prepare yourself for what you know must be said. conversations about love and loss echo in your mind, gnawing at your resolve. when minjeong’s hand rests on your thigh, a gesture once sweet and comforting, it now feels nearly suffocating. the warmth dissipates under the coolness of your apprehension.

“minjeong, can we talk?” you finally utter, your voice catching slightly in your throat, sounding smaller than you intended.

“what’s up?” she replies, her gaze fixed on the road ahead, though her grip tightens around the wheel.

you hesitate, glancing out the side window at the rushing landscape, the deep green blurring past. “it’s just… i don’t feel that spark anymore,” you say, the words feeling like stones tumbling down a cliff. instantly, the air thickens with disbelief, and you can’t bear to meet her eyes, now glinting with uncertainty in the rearview mirror.

“what do you mean you don’t feel the spark?” she questions with an edge of panic, her tone shifting from casual to razor-sharp, slicing through the tension thickening in the car.

the argument spirals from there, each of you grappling for the upper hand, your voices rising dangerously. you can barely process the words spilling from your mouth as you try to articulate your truth. her eyes flicker with hurt and rage, and you can almost feel the hair on your arms standing on end, bristling under the weight of her indignation.

“there’s something fundamentally broken between us, minjeong! i don’t know who we are anymore!” you’re shouting now, and a rush of adrenaline floods your body.

“i can’t believe you think this is all my fault!” she fires back, her knuckles white against the steering wheel. the car swerves slightly, and you dig your heels into the ground, a jolt of panic coursing through you as the pavement blurs into a double line.

“just focus on driving!” you shout, but it’s too late. you hear her breath hitch, the silence that follows layered thick with unshed tears and suppressed rage. “minjeong, please—”

suddenly, without warning, she jerks the wheel to the side, bringing the car to a sudden stop on the desolate roadside. dust swirls around in the golden glow of late afternoon, the world stilled around you, as if holding its breath along with you.

“what did you just say?” she repeats, her voice trembling with disbelief. her expression morphs, the initial hurt twisting into something darker, and even more frightening.

the air thickens, and you realize you’ve stepped too far. you don’t even recognize the fury in her eyes as she unbuckles her seatbelt and throws the door open, storming out into the open air. your heart races as her figure becomes small against the vastness of the road.

“minjeong, wait!” you call after her, moving to open your own door, only to find you’re locked inside. panic sets in as the automatic locks click ominously, sealing you in with your spiraling thoughts. you pound your fists against the window, frustration clawing at you.

“minjeong!” you shout, trying to wrangle her attention, your voice quaking. she stumbles into your peripheral vision, her back toward you, shoulders taut. then, in an instant, she disappears. heart pounding, you swivel around, confusion spilling into fear.

that’s when you see it. the unmistakable sheen of liquid splattering against the windshield, an eerie reflection of your horror mirrored in the glass. the smell is pungent, and your heart drops as you grasp what is happening.

“minjeong, don’t!” you scream, desperation clawing at your throat, but she doesn't seem to hear you. she is lost to whatever abyss has consumed her; the girl you once knew has vanished.

the gasoline coats the car, pooling in strange little rivulets that trace the car’s contours as minjeong stands in front of you, lost in a trance. a match flickers in her fingers, its flame dancing dangerously close to your cloud of panic. she holds it delicately, her expression unreadable—caught between rage and an eerie calm.

“watch,” she whispers, her voice almost saccharine, but there’s an undertone that sends chills racing through you. “this will bring the spark back, i promise.”

in one quick motion, she tosses the match into the pool of gasoline. time slows; the world compresses into a singular moment of fate sealing itself. 

your heart pounds against your ribs as the flames erupt, turning the world outside into a hellish kaleidoscope of oranges and reds. minjeong’s eyes glimmer with a wildness, a furious passion that you had long thought was reserved for love. it was intoxicating, but now it feels more like poison. the air around you thickens with fumes, panic rising in your throat as you grasp the reality of your situation. she’s gone off the deep end, and you’re trapped inside her fiery cage.

you slam on the windows with both fists, the sound muffled and desperate. “minjeong! open the door!” your voice is panicked, twisting into a shout that echoes through the confines of the vehicle. at first, she appears unfazed, a haunting smirk dancing on her lips. the atmosphere is electric—dangerous and exhilarating—yet your thoughts betray you, reminding you of the dull ache that has settled between you like an invisible rift.

your heart races as the flames erupt, engulfing the car and devouring the serenity that had once swirled between you and minjeong. the acrid scent of smoke fills the small space, mingling with the gasoline that blankets every surface. you pound on the glass, your fists an echo of disbelief and desperation, but minjeong just stares at you, a wild light in her eyes—a far cry from the sweet girl you once held in your arms.

as the flames lick at the trunk and crawl toward the driver’s seat, the heat creeps in, threatening to suffocate you. but more than the heat, it is the sight of her, standing there like a goddess of vengeance, that haunts your mind. where did the girl you love go? the girl who would curl up on the couch with you, giggling at inside jokes, the one who held your hand tightly on late nights?

“minjeong! stop!” your voice is hoarse, but the urgency rings clear. fear gnaws at you, and instinct pushes you to escape. you claw at the doors, your fingers dancing over the locks, but they don't budge. locked. the word loops in your mind, almost too much to bear.

she takes a step back, hitting the pause button on the chaos she has ignited. with trembling hands, you watch her, searching for a glimmer of recognition in her features, something that would remind you of the girl who laughed at your silly jokes and filled your weekends with warmth. Instead, you see a stranger, one who stands poised at the edge of insanity, her smile a grotesque mask on her face.

“did you really think you could just push me aside so easily?” she sneers, the smile twisting into something ugly. “you think you can just extinguish what we had—what i feel?”

you open your mouth to respond, but your breath catches as the fire flickers and dances, threatening to reach through the windshield. the world outside is muted now, as though the encroaching flames siphon away all sound. “minjeong, i care about you! i didn’t mean it like that!” you lean forward, the moisture in your eyes blurring the edges of her silhouette.

“care about me?” she echoes mockingly, the words dripping like venom. “it’s too late for that!” Her laughter rings hollow, shrill against the ominous crackling of fire.

and suddenly, she lunges forward, banging on the glass with the same frantic fervor that fills your chest. “you don’t see it, do you? this is the spark! you killed it! you have no idea what you’ve lost!”

hot tears mingle with the smoke that begins to creep in. panic swells; you lean back against the seat, the metal frame hot against your skin. “please, minjeong! we can talk about this! We can fix it!”

but the light in her eyes dims further, replaced by an overlay of anguish. “fix it?” she whispers, so soft it barely pierces the roar of the flames. “you think you can put a band-aid on this? you’ve already broken what we had. you’ve turned your back on me.”

in that moment, it’s clear that every moment together, every late night and laughter shared, has unraveled into nothingness. you remember the smiles, the moments of tenderness, the nights spent plotting futures together. but now, those echoes fade into oblivion, shattered by this haunting betrayal you never intended.

as the flames crack and wax, throwing shadows across her glassy visage, you strain against the seatbelt, desperate, panicking at the thought of losing her—losing everything you once held dear. “im sorry!” an apology that feels paltry escapes your lips, barely serving to bridge the chasm that has formed between you.

and with a strength you couldn’t comprehend, she tears down the remainder of the emotional barriers between sanity and chaos. as you edge closer, weighed down by the fear that wraps around your throat like a vice, she crumbles. the match she holds wavers, and you catch a glimpse of your minjeong again—a fleeting shadow, a flashing whisper of the girl who loved you fiercely.

you can’t let her go back to this. “listen to me, please! i never wanted to hurt you! i—”

you try to think of ways to escape, but the navy blue interior surrounds you like the jaws of a beast, each lock holding you in place as if the car itself is complicit in this tragedy. “stop this, please!” you scream, voice breaking on the last word. “i didn’t mean it like that! we can talk!”

her gaze flickers, a brief moment of uncertainty flashing in her eyes. it almost seems she is weighing her options, wondering if the anger she feels is worth the girl standing inside the car. you find yourself holding your breath. 

but it’s too late. the flame dances gracefully from her fingertips, and she lets it go, a careless act that sends shockwaves of fear through you. time slows as you watch it fall, the world narrowing to the small, flickering flame that lands on the gasoline-soaked surface of the car. it ignites with an eager roar, consuming the air around you in an instant.

you recoil, bracing yourself against the back of the seat as the fire spreads, heat prickling your skin. the stench of burning gasoline fills your lungs, and the choking smoke twists and turns, curling toward you like a dark hand that wants to pull you into its depths.

“why?” you gasp, your voice a thin wisp of disbelief. is this truly the person you once adored, the one you held under the glow of a streetlight and whispered your dreams to? as the flames grow taller, licking hungrily at the roof, you realize just how far you have drifted from the joyous heights of your early love.

“why?” she mimics, voice eerily calm amidst the chaos of the roaring flames. “because you wanted the spark? you’ve taken everything! sweet moments, tender touches—they were all because of your idea of love! this is what it looks like when you strip away the façade!”

y ou take a deep breath and lean forward, desperate to connect with her again, to reach through the haze of madness and remind her of all that was good between you. “minjeong, please! this isn’t you! let’s just talk—”

your words hang suspended in the air, but she remains unmoved. you can see the resolve etched into her features, a tragic conviction that seems to make her larger than life even in the midst of this crisis. you brace for the worst, your heart thundering in your chest. her face, once the definition of warmth, is now a tempest of rage, pain, and heartbreak.

the very essence of your relationship burns behind her eyes, and there, in that harrowing moment, you fear you’re witnessing the end of everything you’d built together. “you wanted the spark, didn't you?” she shouts, voice cracking under pressure, blending anger and sorrow. “you think you’re just going to walk away from this? no more empty promises!”

you feel it then—the crushing weight of reality crashing down on you. you are two people who have lost sight of why you fell in love in the first place. you have become strangers anchored by memories, and it hurts just as much to acknowledge it as it does to see the fire grow around you.

“minjeong, please!” your eyes burn from the smoke, but there’s a flicker of something within you—an ember of hope. “we can fix this! i didn’t mean to hurt you! i still care about you, i—”

but all she hears is betrayal wrapped in weakness. “you care?” she laughs bitterly, wiping away a tear that trails down her cheek, mingling with the sweat of her panic. “is this what caring looks like?”

moments stretch on as you process her anguish; the flames haven’t just engulfed the vehicle, but they’re consuming the last bits of clarity in the conversation. she takes a step back from the car, eyes wide, the wildness giving way to uncertainty.

desperation drives you as you shout, “minjeong! open the door! we can talk!” you slam your palm against the windows, creating a rhythmic pattern of thuds, shouts blending into chaos.

she watches you through the flames now, the mad gleam returning to her eyes. “talk? do you really think we can talk? this is us now! this is what we were!” the flames illuminate her, making her look almost otherworldly, distorting the very features you once adored.

she watches you, and for a flicker of eternity, it feels like she might relent. the fire licks at the edges of the foam seats, and you can see the panic setting in her eyes, too, now. “you think it’s over?” minjeong asks, her voice barely rising above the roar of the heat. “it’s just beginning!”

she gives you one last look, then turns on her heel, walking away from the car, away from you, running away from the chaos she started.

and in that heartbeat, the flicker from her gaze changes—it morphs into a realization. the spark of love flares within her eyes, a tiny flame that could either save you or plunge you into darkness. what will it be, you wonder?

but will it reach you before the flames burn everything to ash? time is slipping, and you’re left battling a love you once cherished, now clawing at it with words that barely feel like enough.

as the heat intensifies and the situation ticks dangerously close to a breaking point, you wonder if love, once passionate, can be rekindled, or if it is destined to blaze out in a storm of fury and flames. would it matter if you escape if the love is lost in the inferno?

[moon-river-me]

hey i saw you're open to requests!

What about a hotch x reader fic where he's reunited with an old friend on a case and he gets all flirty and flustered? No angst, happy ending if poss 👀

Aaron Hotchner x lawyer!reader

sfw, reuniting, fem reader <3 no haley or jack mentioned and no specific season

Eyes meet across the room. Warmth fills his gut. He knows those eyes, he memorized those eyes, he loved those eyes.

“Aaron?” your voice still sounded the same, like honey and warmth, like the soft and lulling pitter patter of rain on a spring’s night. Just how he remembered.

You made a B-line for him, at a determined speed. That’s another thing he remembered about you, so determined. Throughout all of law school you both would compete, for anything and everything, you almost always won.

“It’s really you, huh?” looking at him with so much admiration he needed to break the contact. “So, what’s a hotshot FBI agent doing here? Come back to beat the score.” You jest, hitting his elbow with your own. The score was something sacred back in your university days. It was a tally between you two, one that would update every time one of you got a higher grade, an award, a commendation, or stayed sober the longest, the last one was always biased. He fondly remembered nights of drunken giggles and takeout while watching badly written court tv shows on your thrifted couch.

“Oh no, those days are long gone. Any more tequila and my liver will go into failure.” A ghost of a smile paints his lips.

“I still get flashbacks after a mere whiff of the thing.” Your laughing sounding more of an amused snort, not caring who saw you. That was something Aaron always loved  liked about you, not once in the entire time he knew you did you ever care about how others viewed you. You were so uniquely you that he truly believes if another you appeared one day, the earth would stop spinning.

Emily and Morgan walked up behind him; he could see their smirks through the back of his head. “Hotch, I didn’t take you for a tequila connoisseur,” Derek was in view now, offering his hand to you, “Derek Morgan.”

“y/n l/n,” you state as you shake, “and you should have seen him in our second year of law, god I thought I was going to have to drag him to emergent care some nights.” Your words were embarrassing, but your eyes were filled to the brim with joyfulness, you make eye contact once again and it is as if the world stops. “But of course I was no better so I would be a hypocrite to say anymore.” You grin, your lip getting a slight tug from your teeth. Aaron felt himself blush as his brain began to create images of that lip, and those teeth, and that smile, and oh those beautiful eyes.

You noticed the change in his demeanor, you always had. Except this time, your eyes twinkled in victory. “So, what do you guys need?” you turn you head towards Emily, although your gaze is stuck like honey to Aarons eyes.

“We were told that you were the prosecutor for the case we are working on. We came to discuss some things about the trial.”

“Oh of course, let me just grab the file. One second.” You turned to walk to your office; it was just principle that Aaron followed you, no other reason.  “Come on agent Hotchner, the file isn’t going to find itself, I need your expert profiling skills to uncover it.” You laugh as you reach your office. Aaron looked at his very amused coworkers and felt the flush of his cheeks get 2 shades darker.

“I don’t know who she is or if they have a history, but he followed her like a dog.” Morgan states, a belly laugh following as he finishes his senses.

Emily observed you through the glass, your head thrown back in laughter, and Hotch’s eyes staring at you with something that could only describe as a child on Christmas morning.

“He is whipped.”

A/N

short and sweet but trust me I will start doing longer ones.

requests are still open, please give feedback.

ik it's not the best but I hope you like it.

[eleni-cherie]

a thief's origin✨ || bts • kth - chapter 1.1

"you're afraid I won't wait." "I'm afraid you will."

a criminal and a doctor should be as different as the sun and the moon - but unexpected things happened every day. like him finding his safe haven in her.

© 2024 | eleni_cherie

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers s2f2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

14th February

Barcelona, Spain

Cassandra never had a reason to pay attention to any holidays or celebrations which didn't concern her. Valentine's Day being one of them. She was so used not to pay attention to it or not think too deeply about all the commercials, that when she spotted a package at her return from work, her first thought was that it was for her next door neighbour. Mistakenly placed at her doormat instead. Only when reading her name in a familiar messy handwriting, she realised it was for her. Excitement filling every fibre of her as she carried it to her living room.

Inside, the package contained a blue rose along with a velvet box and a card.

"For my favourite sweet tooth :) 

Wished I could be there.

- Love, T"

Giggling softly, she opened her locket. Eyes lingering on his photo smiling back at her. She made a mental note to text him later, letting him know it'd arrived before proceeding with opening the box. Finding it filled to the brim with different kinds of chocolate. Her eyes instantly lit up and she tried one. And another. And another. Happily humming and smiling to herself while losing count of how many pieces she ate that evening.

For the first time, she cared about this day.

»»»

28 // 4th year - assistant physician

13th June

interpol branch office Madrid, Spain

"So Miss -"

"Cassandra is enough."

The interpol agent arched a brow at her before laughing under his breath.

"Sure, Cassandra then," he nodded with a bright grin, "I'm agent Kim Seokjin. These are agents Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jungkook." He gestured to his colleagues.

"Should I get a lawyer?" she asked. Her tone flat and nonchalant.

"Do you need one?" the other Kim shot with a curious brow to which she straightened again. Her inner tension returning.

"I haven't done anything illegal, if that's what you imply."

The tall man gave her a dimpled smile at that, holding some kind of irony which only hightened her suspicion. "Good. You know why we wanted to talk to you then?"

With a quick shrug of her shoulders, she sat back in her uncomfortable chair. "I can think of a reason or two.."

"Or three?" Namjoon countered, making her fold her lips.

"Or three."

"Very well then," Seokjin nodded, taking the lead back in the questioning, "Makes it easier for us, right, JK?"

Her eyes followed his gaze that was directed to the young colleague who had remained quiet all this time, currently busy browsing through a file. Hearing his nickname, however, he stirred and looked up like a deer caught in headlights. "Huh? Uh, yeah, yes." His round eyes found hers and she mimicked them.

Her tense shoulders relaxed at their subtle but warm demeanor. Frankly, she couldn't imagine those three in intimidating situations despite their profession. Perhaps that was their secrete though, lulling suspects into comfort to get them spilling all their secrets. So Cassandra stayed on guard, not falling for their friendly eyes. Even if many years had passed, she did recognise Seokjin and Namjoon from that night back in Cologne after all. Despite not catching any glimpse of their faces, she was certain from their tall statures and voices that it'd been them at the reception the night she'd met Taehyung and the guys. 

"So-" agent Jeon - or otherwise known as 'JK' - cleared his throat, "You know you're here for your connections to Park Jimin and his gang."

The young physician sighed, gathering an attitude of calm. "Yeah, wasn't hard to guess since my only other illegal activity would be downloading mp3's as a teenager. And I doubt interpol cares about that."

At this Seokjin bursted out laughing, being genuinely amused by her put-on confidence. He could tell she was nervous, of course she was. Everyone who wasn't used to getting interrogated by police let alone interpol, would be - whether innocent or guilty. However, he definitely had to give her credit for not only acting confident, like many others did as well, but also being comedic while doing so.

"You're right, we don't," he grinned then, folding his hands in front of him on the cold table top, "We'd much rather want to know what exactly is going on between you and the guys."

Her brows rose. "What do you mean?"

Namjoon flashed her a sarcastic grin. "I think you know what he means."

"No, please enlighten me," she retorted instead with her most innocent smile.

Seokjin scoffed, nudging Jungkook then. "Yah, we got a sneaky one here."

The younger agent only hummed with a light scowl, visibly less entertained by Cassandra acting dumb than his older colleagues.

The file in front of him contained photos collected from around the world over the years. While majority were grainy and shot from further away with less quality, taken by some cheap security cameras of neighbouring buildings or traffic cameras, one was clearly showing Cassandra and Taehyung together. And considering the gunman and / or his accomplices had been identified on majority of the others, it wasn't unreasonable to assume the photos with the shorter feminine figure that wasn't Arabella Valentine, was her. Perhaps not in all situations, but at some at least.

"You and Kim Taehyung.. He spends an awful lot time with you," Seokjin pointed out then. But Cassandra remained unimpressed.

"Oh really, is that so?"

Jungkook frowned beside him. "You're together, aren't you?"

The two older agents shot him a surprised glance at his unexpected conclusion.

"And if so?" she deadpanned, feeling their eyes shifting to her now. It felt like watching a tennis match.

"You know he's a criminal."

"His friend is a thief and he helps him."

"That still makes him a criminal though."

Cassandra, however, remained quite unfazed by that, much to Jungkook's lasting irritation. 

"I'm not willing to discuss my personal or love life with you," she countered then. A bit of an edge in her voice and Seokjin felt the need to quickly step in before they upset her and she closed off completely.

"That's understandable and we don't want that either," he assured her with a cheery smile, "We're just here to do our job, you know? Our job is to catch these guys and to do so, we also need to gather information and follow every clue. And, unfortunately, that involves having to talk to you as a person so close them."

Folding her lips, she nodded. She knew she had to remain calm and collected in order not to mess anything up and get her boyfriend in any trouble. So she swallowed down her ego.

"I understand," she slowly said.

"Look," Namjoon spoke up then, trying a more diplomatic stance, "We get it. They're not crude jackasses like other offenders. We know that ourselves. And certainly, they're not as bad as drug dealers or commit atrocious crimes. But, they're armed criminals, nonetheless. The number of crimes go from robbery on a grand scale, to identity theft, to unauthorised hacking, to-" His listing of criminal records was abruptly interrupted by the pen he was holding, slipping from his fingers due to his animated hand gestures. Flying across the table to which Cassandra flinched in fright, causing her knee to hit the table. And she winced in pain. 

"Oh, no - Sorry, I'm sorry," he was fast to reach out with an apologetic look, only to hit his elbow against the table and wince as well. Both sitting there groaning in unison. She surely hadn't expected to meet someone as clumsy as her there.

"It's alright. Co-continue," she assured eventually, the short pain having subdued by now. 

And Namjoon cleared his throat with burning cheeks, pretending as nothing had happened and continued. "Like.. like I said, they've committed numerous crimes all over the world. As well-behaved and genteel they might be to you, they need to face consequences for their actions."

Jungkook stared at him in complete awe and Cassandra was certain they all agreed with him. Catching Seokjin also adding a quick nod.

She was the only unimpressed one.

"I genuinely don't believe I could be of much help though," she simply countered, seeing them perk up and facing the person of interest in front of them again. "See, Tae would never tell me any details of their heists or any plans. Purposely so for, I guess, situations like this one right now. He -" She abruptly paused, realising that mentioning her not even knowing when he'd visit her next would be too much information. They might not even know that he kept visiting her regularly. "He really doesn't tell me anything," she finished instead, not to raise any suspicion of her cut off sentence, "So if you hoped for any insider info, I must disappoint you."

Three pairs of bewildered eyes stared back at her and she purposely held their gazes to ensure they would believe her. She wasn't lying after all, it was facts but she couldn't risk her nervousness making her look like a storyteller. Because in a sense, she was guilty after all. 

And if she wasn't guilty of committing a crime, she was guilty of loving a criminal at least.

"So you don't know where exactly they're located right now or what their next coup is," Jungkook confirmed, even more taken aback when seeing her shake her head. His lips shaping a small 'o' when mumbling something inaudible and taking notes before raising another suspecting brow at her. "And you're not lying?" he pressed, just to be sure.

"Nope," she confidently said, "You can search my apartment or wire me to a polygraph or whatever. I don't know anything about what they're up to."

"That's fine," Seokjin ensured, looking way more perky than Jungkook or Namjoon. Latter hiding his pensiveness behind his folded hands. "Never had Taehyung for a big secrets-spiller anyway. Although.. quite disappointing that he won't even tell you, his girlfriend, where in the world he is right now. Isn't it?" He paused for dramatic effects, eyebrows furrowing in fake empathy. "Must be.. sad, I imagine. Are you never worried?" 

Her jaw clenched unintentionally. She instantly knew what the lead agent was trying to do and she wouldn't let him succeed. "N-no." Dammit, she stuttered. She swallowed, her voice becoming firmer. "No. It's okay, he only does it to keep me safe."

He nodded and his lips pressed into a straight line, pondering. "Is he though?"

Taken aback by his rhetorical question, she blinked. Unsure of what he was implying. "What do you mean?"

"Oh nothing, nothing. Forget it," he only waved her off and Cassandra felt validating in her gut-feeling of not underestimating their friendly nature because right now, she could feel their interrogative glares piercing through her soul.

After a dragged out moment of silence, Seokjin averted his eyes from hers to take out a note and Cassandra unintentionally exhaled in relief. "Could you perhaps do us a favour then?" He eyed her briefly before scribbling down on the note with a shiny pen.

"If you want me to rat them out, no."

"Hmpf, please," he said dismissingly with an offended huff, "I'd never try such cheap tricks." He held the piece of paper out for her then, a wide smile returning to his attractive features, "I just want you to hand this to Taehyung the next time you see him. That's all."

Her eyes narrowed at his request, eyeing the note for a second before accepting it and shoving it into her bag.

"You're free to go."

After hesitating for a moment, she eventually stood up. Bidding goodbye to the three agents and walked out.

A tired sigh left Seokjin's lips then when facing Namjoon. "I believe her, she doesn't know. None of them is the type to drag an innocent person into it by letting them know too much."

Namjoon hummed. He might've been eyeing the position for department manager of special victims, but after spending years chasing after those thieves alongside Seokjin and Jungkook's predecessor, Hoseok, it had become a personal matter in some sense. 

"Perhaps, but he already got her more involved than he should have."

"Mh, let's hope we'll be the only ones she'll meet from this part of his life."

"Aish," Jungkook exclaimed then when abruptly snapping the file shut, catching their attention, "But we know she must've been involved more, don't we? Even if we can't proof anything besides that she knows Taehyung."

"Yah, Jungkookie, don't be mad." Seokjin nudged his younger colleague who was pulling a harried face. "Just keep an eye on her from now on. Okay?"

To this, Jungkook's face instantly found its colour back. Giving his supervisor a confident nod. "Will do."

»»»

Cassandra wasn't naive, she always knew there was a risk when being around people like Taehyung. Even if he tried his best to shield her from his world, she knew something like that interrogation would inevitably happen sooner or later. Still, she wanted to believe she'd managed going through with it quite gracefully. As gracefully as she was able to for an unexperienced person.

Leaving the airconditioned interpol offices and entering the afternoon heat, she made her way towards the bus stop. Ensuring to walk down the street as casual and nonchalant as possible, while occasionally looking behing her in case someone was following. She couldn't let her guard down just because she left.

The bus ride didn't last long before she got off and took a look around again. The streets were empty except for two teenagers sitting at a kerbside outside of a convenience store. The sun standing high, the concrete burning. When deaming the coast clear, she walked straight to the car with the tinted windows parked away under an oak three. Sliding into the passenger's seat, she dragged out a breath when feeling the soothing coolness inside. A smirk spreading onto her lips then at the sight of the mop of honey-coloured waves beside her.

"This long hair suits you." Her delicate fingers lightly tugged at the strands at the back of his neck then and leaned in, pecking Taehyung's cheek. She'd only seen him with blond hair once, years back, but it was a different shade back then - cool ash-blond, if she remembered correctly. Quite different from the warm brown-blond that adored his head now. "Makes you look quite dangerous and wild."

His lips parted with an amused scoff. "Am I not dangerous and wild enough for being a criminal?" And the way his almond eyes went round made her stifle a laugh.

"Mh, maybe a little," she smiled and planted another peck on his cheek before sitting back. Recalling the piece of paper Seokjin gave her then, he observed her rummaging it out of her handbag.

"What's this?" Arching a brow when she held it out for him, he took it from her grip and began reading it carefully. His fingers unintentionally crumbling its edges. He didn't even notice how his jaw briefly clenched, before loosening again as he mused over the handwriting with a hum.

It was a riddle clearly meant for Jimin.

With a sigh, he folded the note and stoved it into his pocket. He sat there in silence then, causing Cassandra to wonder why he wouldn't drive off. She could tell by the way his bottom lip was slightly pulled out and his brows set in a mild frown that something was occupying his mind. And she was about to inquire when his lips eventually parted.

"Cas, what are we doing?"

His voice was unusually hoarse. His throat felt dry. 

"What do you mean?" she asked confused.

Heaving a sigh, he locked gazes with her. "You just came back from an interpol interrogation. Because of me," he began, shaking his head. And she started to understand what he meant. "Tae-" 

"I should've known you'd get on their radar sooner or later," he interrupted her, his palm hitting the steering wheel in sudden frustration, "I should've known.. No matter how hard I try to keep you away from it all, it'd never be enough." 

The last sentence breaking by his cracking voice and Cassandra couldn't help but swallow. She hated how he blamed himself. Always blaming himself. She touched the heart-shaped pendant around her neck, a habit she'd picked up over the months, before her hand embraced his. And she intervined their fingers, squeezing it.

"I'm not naive," she quietly began, her voice gaining confidence then,"I knew what I was getting myself into when letting you into my life. And I don't regret it."

The ghost of a smile crossed his lips when he glanced at her fierce eyes, only to shake his head. "Not yet," he breathed then with a sad smile.

However, Cassandra only scoffed. "Why would I? And as long as I don't do anything illegal myself, they can't do anything anyway. Because as far as I know, it's not against the law to be in love with a thief."

The corner of his lip twisted into a cheeky smirk. "In love, huh?"

Her eyes widened for a moment before laughing. "Don't act like you didn't know."

"I just like hearing you say it." His fingers squeezed her hand back and he placed them both in his lap. Looking at them quietly while deliberating before speaking up again. "But you forget you helped us. Helping a criminal is against the law just as much as breaking it yourself is."

Cassandra contemplated his words. It was true, she hadn't thought about her assistance in some cases. And Jungkook had implied something like that. She sat up straighter. "But if they could prove that, they'd have said or done something by now, right? And if it comes to the worst, I could still say you coerced me and I didn't have a choice. They can't prove me otherwise." 

She was grinning smugly and Taehyung laughed under his breath, stunned by her unshakable and almost cocky faith and confidence. It seemed like her guilty plessure of being a fan of the crime genre was paying off, she'd picked up a thing or two. Still, he wasn't convinced it was indeed so easily. He decided to know better and not argue with her about it though. At least not now.

"You know I love you, Cas. That's why I'm worried and regretting getting you in this situation."

"I know," she eventually sighed, "But you need to accept that it was also my decision. You didn't force me to be with you. I'm here because I want to."

"And I don't get why, " he mumbled. Brown irises wandering out at the sunlit buildings. He knew he didn't deserve someone like Cassandra in any way, she was way too good for his sorry self. And he knew bubbles were meant to burst sooner or later.

An annoyed groan left her lips and she frowned at him. "I told you to stop that. I'm not a saint. And you're not a demon."

He smiled. "You're an angel to me, though."

She huffed and looked away, masking her blushing cheeks. "S-still," she mumbled bashfully.

"But even if my profession wasn't the problem, I'm not a great boyfriend anyway.."

At this she shot him a puzzled glare. "How so?"

"I mean.." he swallowed. "I'm never there when you need me, am I? I'm all around the globe. You could've someone better, someone who can always be there for you. You'd deserve that."

He felt her fingers clutching more around his hand, nails digging harshly into his skin before unclenching. "You are there for me though, despite travelling the word you're always there for me." Her hand let go and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "And I don't want anyone else but you. So why do you make everything we have sound bad and meaningless now?" 

Her sudden change of tone startled him and he looked at her with wide eyes. "Cas-"

"No, I won't just sit here and let you talk about yourself or our relationship like this." She was clearly upset now. "It hurts me hearing you say all this, don't you get it? It sounds like you're questioning my judgement. Like I was a naive kid."

"You're the smartest person I know, you know that," he said calmly, "I just fear.. your love for me might blind you."

She pressed her jaw together. Cassandra was too agitated to even form any more coherent sentences in her mind. Seconds passed before she calmed herself enough not to snap at him. "Look," she began slowly, "If you're willing to just throw everything between us away because of a simple questioning - then fine. Go ahead. But stop saying you'd be doing it for my sake. I can make my own decisions."

Silence settled between them once again. Taehyung was unsure what to counter to her words.

Part of him, the rational one, warned him not to become the one blinded by love and reminded him that he was just endangering her. That interpol might not be a threat right now, but they could turn into one later, along with other things. The part which always kept telling him that a criminal and a doctor could simply never work out on the long run, got louder. They were both just deluding themselves.

However, the other part in him, the selfish part, agreed with her. Of course he'd never want to lose her. He was too madly in love with her to imagine a life without her. And he knew if Seokjin had anything against her, they wouldn't have waited for so long and already arrested her. No, they didn't need to be concerned about interpol. For now at least. Maybe she was right, maybe he was just looking for excuses because he was scared. Even though, if he was scared, it was for her.

He knew, though, that she was stubborn. More than anything else. No one could force her into doing something she didn't want to. She always stood her ground, which was one of the things he loved about her. She'd always call him out, whether it was him being a coward or him patronising her.

"You're right," he eventually said then and leaned towards her. Gently capturing her chin between his thumb and index finger, urging her to look at him. "You're more than capable of making decisions yourself. And I trust your decisions, I always do. So if.. if you're certain -"

"I am," she said. And Taehyung nodded when seeing the determination and certainty in her lovely brown eyes. 

He wanted to believe her. He needed to believe her. He wasn't ready yet. His selfish side wasn't ready to give up on her or their relationship. She was the only good thing in his life besides his friends and he wanted to cling to her as much as he could.

"If you are, then so am I."

»»»

next chapter: 1.2 here

Don't forget to like, comment & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

taglist: @lilanyxta @naoolammao345 @memna234 @tetehion @myblacklilame

[yellowhollyhock]

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

Raph is starting to feel like he's got this new place figured out, but nobody can get too comfortable with whatever connected their worlds tk begin with continuing to escalate

Donnie tapped furiously at his keyboard, eyes alight with a manic energy accentuated by inflated bags and empty pizza boxes falling at random behind him.

Raph stumbled as a rug appeared beneath his feet.

Donnie shot out of his seat. "Entry points are much more concentrated in space than time. Seems to only flow in one direction so far."

He moved about the room, unblinking, picking up objects at random to examine. He stepped on a plastic bag, went cross-eyed examining a bead bracelet. He ran his hands across the couch. Raph decided to intervene when he started crawling in circles around it, sliding his fingers under and even sniffing between cushions.

"How many hours did you sleep?"

Donnie didn't even look up. "Ridiculous question. I'm an adult."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Because it just does," he replied simply, firmly.

Raph placed a hand over his face, holding in a frustrated sigh.

"Mikey said if you started acting funny I have to send you to bed."

Donnie looked up sharply with a stern frown. "Mikey--!"

He stopped, reconsidering his approach. "Mikey isn't here," he reasoned slyly, "We don't have to do what he says."

Raph crossed his arms. Donnie remained unmoved, expression calm, shoulders relaxed. He didn't break eye contact.

"Okay, fine," he changed tactics, "I'll wake up Raphael."

Donnie snorted, unimpressed. "Good luck with that."

Raph scowled heavily. Donnie paid him no mind.

He could always get under Leo's skin, but this wasn't Leo. Heck, this wasn't even the Donnie he was used to. He needed a different approach.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to channel his inner Mikey.

"You just seem tired," he mumbled, making his voice as pouty as he could manage.

"Yep," Donnie crouched back down and reached under the couch, lifting it slightly with his other arm. "And I will continue to be tired until we can figure out what is causing," he paused, eyes widening triumphantly as he pulled his arm out, holding up what he'd found, "this!"

It was a giant pen, almost as long as Donnie's arm, and for some reason had a bunny head on the end. Raph blinked. Donnie frowned.

"Actually, this might've already been there," he admitted.

"What if I just--" Raph stopped short, unable to think up any leverage. It was harder than he'd thought to channel Mikey. Maybe he could channel Donnie--his Donnie, that is. "What if I won't stop poking you until you get some sleep?"

Donnie's eyes crinkled in fond amusement. "It would be kind of difficult to fall asleep with you poking me."

"I'll break the TV," Raph threatened, balling his fists and getting into position.

Obviously he wouldn't actually break the TV, but Donnie didn't know him well enough to call his bluff. Probably.

"You're sweet," Donnie immediately proved him wrong, still infuriatingly calm. "But I honestly don't think I can sleep with--"

There was a loud crash as something fell on top of the TV, embedding itself into the screen.

"This going on," he sighed wearily.

It looked like a metal arm, from the car Don had fixed up. It felt like so long ago he was in that car with his brothers, chasing after Shredder with the hope to stop him from breaking out of jail in the first place.

Raph gestured at the mess in front of them. "Look, if that ain't a message from the universe--"

"It is not a message from the universe," Donnie said firmly, "But you have a point. I don't know what I'm doing and a nap might help."

"So breaking the TV worked," Raph observed, filing the information away for future use.

Donnie gave a short huff of laughter. "Brute force wins this round, bucko. I would say try not to get sucked into an alternate reality while I'm gone, but at this point maybe that would work in our favor."

Raph nodded once, ignoring a nervous lump in his throat. "Yeah. Things can't really get much weirder."

"Oh, I can think of some ways they could and probably will," Donnie said ominously.

With that, he disappeared into his room.

Raph paced for a bit, half-hoping he could simply pass through this dimension and finally finish his walk to the dojo.

That wasn't going anywhere fast, so he settled onto the couch, trying to get comfortable. Mikey wouldn't be home for a few more hours. Raphael wouldn't be up to spend a few minutes with them and then sneak out for still an hour after that.

He was starting to feel more at home here. The ceilings were high, his family was welcoming and warm. He still missed his own brothers and his own couch and his own high ceilings, but at least he didn't feel on edge all the time anymore.

"Where is Donatello?"

Raph startled, twisting to face Master Splinter. He was usually meditating at this time of day, and he hardly ever spoke so sharply. "He's not in his room?"

A grim frown made Raph's heart sink. "You are certain that's where he last was?"

Raph's shot up from his seat, heart sinking to the floor.

"He went to bed a few minutes ago."

"He is gone."

"Is there another place he might sleep?"

"I have checked all the rooms. He seems to have disappeared."

"What's going on?" Raphael asked, drawn into the living room by the raised voices.

Splinter's face hardened as he came to a decision. "We must leave, immediately. Raphael, call your brother."

"But--"

"Now!"

Everything was moving too fast; Master Splinter was ushering them out the door. One of the couch cushions disappeared. Skittles were pouring onto the kitchen table.

And Donnie was gone.

"I called Casey," Raphael announced as he snatched up a duffel bag and dropped his phone inside, "Mikey's meeting us at his place."

Raph didn't move. "What about Donnie?"

His words brought a heavy silence; Splinter and Raphael both shrunk under the weight of what they were about to do. But Splinter quickly got hold of himself, ears upright again, face firmly forwards.

"We will make a plan when we are all together."

"I'll stay back," Raph insisted, "If it takes the whole lair, maybe I'll end up back home."

"Or in some other random dimension," Raphael argued.

"We must stay together," Splinter said firmly.

"But this ain't staying together!"

"Look kid," Raphael whirled to face him, expression stern, "We got a responsibility, to you, to your family--heck, if Donnie found out you got lost on our watch--"

"He ain't finding anything out if we ditch him here!"

"What do you mean ditch him?" Raphael was losing patience. "He's not here!"

"Enough!" Splinter brought his staff down to silence them and command their attention. "We will stay together!"

They both stared at him, dumbfounded. Not by what he'd said, but by the scene they found behind him.

Instead of the staircase and the exit, they saw a crowd of humans, dressed in sweatpants and tank tops, who had turned when Splinter shouted.

But Raph barely even noticed the humans.

At the front of the room, demonstrating a yoga pose, was a mutant turtle, with a blue mask and an 'L' on his belt.

[momojedi]

Across the Stars maxir | pt. 11 an ocxoc fanfic - star wars/clone wars/bad batch universe

A/N: a short one but a sweet one!

Summary: Malakai opens up.

CW: mentions of order 66

WC: 1,3k

spotify playlist | masterpost

The stars outside the cockpit window stretched into endless streaks, hyperspace painting the view in luminous blue. Inside, the mood was tense but contemplative. Hunter sat in the pilot’s chair, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded together as he stared ahead. Wrecker leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed tightly, jaw working as though chewing through what they’d just escaped. Tech, hunched his datapad, barely blinked as his fingers tapped rapid commands across the screen. Then he stopped. His eyes locked on the data he’d just pulled.

"I found something," he said, voice flat but edged with curiosity. "Took some digging through incomplete Jedi Archives and buried Imperial reports, but… the name Malakai was an alias. His real name was Maxir Terren." Hunter’s eyes flicked to him. "You’re sure?" "Positive." Tech turned the screen so the others could see. A faded holorecord flickered to life. A younger version of Malakai, freckles dusting his cheek and a bright smile dancing on his lips. He was clad in golden robes, a white mask hanging from his belt and a tall staff-lightsaber gripped at his side. The file labeled him as a Temple Guard. Underneath, a line in Aurebesh read: Knighted. Defender of the Core. Presumed K.I.A.

Wrecker furrowed his brow. "Temple guard? What’s that supposed to mean?" "They were an order of Jedi who protected the Jedi Temple and its archives," Hunter replied, his tone quieter now. He glanced toward the cockpit door, where the hum of hyperspace filled the silence. "It explains the saber." Tech nodded. "Double-bladed yellow is standard for that rank. But it also means… he survived the purge. Went into hiding. Changed everything; name, appearance, identity markers. No wonder the Empire's tracking him." "And no wonder he wore that armour," Wrecker added.

The cockpit door slid open behind them. Echo stepped in, shoulders tense but composed. "He’s stable," he said without preamble. "Took a hit bad enough to crack three ribs and tear through muscle. Lost a lot of blood. He’ll need rest and time - plenty of both. Omega hasn’t left his side." Hunter nodded slowly. "She’s got a big heart." "She’s also the reason he’s alive right now," Echo added, folding his arms. "He wouldn’t let go of the helmet. Was panicking, half out of it. But she got through to him." Silence fell again, heavier this time. Wrecker rubbed the back of his neck. "So… he’s a Jedi. That mean he’s one of them? The hunted ones?"

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. "He’s not a threat. Not to us." "He’s scared," Echo said quietly. "That fear, the way he froze when we tried to help him - it wasn’t from arrogance. It was trauma. Months of hiding and running." Tech tapped the screen again, minimising the file. "We should be prepared regardless. If the Empire knows he’s alive - and they do now - they won’t stop coming."

Finally, Hunter stood and walked toward the viewport, the hyperspace glow casting harsh shadows across his face. "Then we protect him. Like we protect each other."

The hum of the Marauder’s engines was softer in the hull, almost a lullaby beneath the dimmed cabin lights. Rain no longer pelted the ship, but the memory of it clung. Omega sat cross-legged beside the bunk, chin resting on her knees, eyes locked on the sleeping figure stretched out before her. Malakai, Maxir, lay bundled in a thermal blanket, armour stacked nearby, his chest rising and falling with shallow, laboured breaths. The bruises had darkened across his cheek and jaw, and his curls, now dry, clung gently to his forehead. His face had softened in unconsciousness, the tension unwound at last, revealing someone who looked far younger than the man she’d imagined. Carefully, Omega reached over and gently adjusted the blanket over his shoulder. "You’re safe now," she whispered, unsure if he could hear her. "Really safe."

He didn’t stir. Her eyes flicked to the helmet resting on the crate beside her. It looked heavier now, as if it held the weight of all the things left unsaid. "I know you were scared," she murmured. "I was too. But you don’t have to be, not anymore." A sound, barely more than a breath, escaped his throat. A weak shift. His hand twitched. Omega straightened, leaning closer. Malakai’s eyes cracked open, unfocused and dazed. He blinked slowly, brows knitting in confusion.

"Hey," Omega said, voice a hush of warmth. "It’s alright. You’re okay." He groaned faintly, lips parting. "Where…?" "On the Marauder," she answered gently. "You’re with us." He winced, turning slightly on his side. "Didn’t… make it," he rasped, blinking sluggishly. "He… knew me…" "But he didn’t take you," Omega said quickly, firm and sure. "We got you back. You’re safe now."

Malakai’s eyes welled slightly, and he looked away, jaw tight. "I was supposed to disappear. Find him and disappear. That was the plan." Omega reached out and took his hand in both of hers. "Maybe it was," she said, her voice low, steady. "But not anymore. You didn’t disappear. You survived. Now you’ve got us. And we'll help you find him."

His glassy gaze met hers. And for a moment, he didn’t look like a fugitive or a fighter. He just looked like a boy who was finally being seen. "…Thank you," he breathed.

Omega smiled through the sting in her eyes. "Anytime."

The cockpit door hissed open as the others stepped through, the comfortable silence now joined by the soft thuds of boots on metal. Omega looked up from where she sat beside Malakai and gave the others a small, quiet nod. Malakai was sitting up now, blanket still draped over his shoulders, face pale and eyes wary but clearer.

Hunter crossed his arms, gaze sharp but not unkind. "We need answers," he said simply. "Who is Tonvar really?" Malakai didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers absently rubbing over the edge of the blanket as if grounding himself. "His name is Hyron Tonvar," he said finally, voice low and rough. "He was a Jedi Knight. He… we…" He hesitated. Omega gave him a gentle nudge, her hand still resting against his arm. Malakai exhaled slowly. "We loved each other," he murmured, his voice so low it barely rose above the hum of the ship. "The Order didn't allow it… so we kept it hidden." His hand trembled slightly where it rested atop the blanket, but he didn’t pull away. "When the Temple fell, I thought I lost him. I thought he was gone." A crack laced through his words, raw and unguarded, but he forced himself onward. "Months later, I started hearing things. Rumors, scraps buried in transmission logs, names hidden in Imperial files. Just enough to know he was alive." He closed his eyes, a pained breath escaping him. "I had to find him. I had to be sure he survived."

Tech stepped forward, datapad in hand. "And now we know he did." He tapped the screen. "File confirms he was captured post-Order 66 and listed as ‘converted.’ Status: ‘successful.’" A heavy silence fell. The word hung in the air like a curse. "Converted," Echo echoed grimly, exchanging a glance with Hunter. Tech’s voice was careful, but clinical. "The terminology is consistent with Imperial classification for individuals who were… repurposed. Reprogrammed. It’s likely-" "Don’t," Malakai cut in sharply, eyes flashing as he looked up. "Don’t say it." Tech hesitated. "Malakai-" "No." Malakai snapped, voice raw with emotion. "You weren’t there. You don’t know him. He wouldn’t... he wouldn’t fall. Not like that."

Wrecker shifted awkwardly, glancing at the others. Omega reached over, placing her hand over Malakai’s again. "But… what if he didn’t have a choice?" she said softly. Malakai didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, and he turned away, staring hard out the viewport into the blue blur of hyperspace. No one said anything for a long time. Hunter finally spoke, quiet but firm. "We’ll find out the truth. Together."

[halfmillionreasons]

Half a Million Reasons Episode 5: Come on Down! Apple Podcasts

Jennifer Hale's obsession with The Price Is Right keeps the Hickory Bend Police Department running on a strange rhythm, until a call about a body at Foxfire River snaps her out of her game show trance.

Transcript:

Jennifer Hale had a near-religious devotion to The Price Is Right. Every morning, she’d pop a blank VHS into her recorder, its buttons sticky with remnants of years-old cola, and tape entire episodes as if were a ritual. She even whispered a little prayer that no emergency broadcast alert would interrupt the showcase showdown. 

The precinct had long stopped questioning the parade of video cassettes she lugged in daily. She’d slip them into the VCR in the lobby, and the black-and-white television, its screen more static than picture, would hum to life with the sound of Bob Barker's velvet voice. The TV, perched precariously on a corner shelf, seemed to channel the show like a ghostly broadcast from another dimension, where spinning wheels and neon numbers ruled the world.

Visitors would step into the lobby and pause, caught off guard by the sight of Barker’s grayscale grin and the echoey chant of “Come on down!” Her coworkers had started placing bets on which contestant would overbid, their wagers kept in a cigar box behind Jennifer’s desk. Jennifer, ever the ringleader, ran the game with all the fervor of a back-alley bookie. 

If the mailman showed up mid-episode, he had to wait until after the Showcase Showdown to deliver the envelopes. When the copier jammed, it jammed to the rhythm of the Cliff Hangers yodeler. And when the precinct’s goldfish died, some contestant’s final spin of the wheel seemed to slow for the occasion, whether out of sympathy or sheer coincidence, no one could say.

Jennifer was somewhere in her thirties, though nobody could say for sure, not even Jennifer. She claimed her birth certificate had been lost in a flood. She’d never left town. College had been a whispered dream, the kind that drifted away when her guidance counselor suggested she focus on more practical goals. High school had been a narrow escape, and her diploma still sat curled in its original mailing tube somewhere under her bed.

Her hair was a curly, sun-bleached blonde, the kind of curls that seemed to grow wilder with each humid Carolina summer. She had a curvy frame, a testament to her deep and abiding love for sweet tea and homemade pie, and a voice as soft as a church hymn, though her words, when she bothered to raise them above a whisper, had the sharp bite of a snapped wishbone. Folks around town often said her voice could soothe a snakebite, but only if the snake was willing. 

For the past decade, Jennifer had been a permanent fixture behind the front desk at the Hickory Bend Police Department. She sat beneath a cloud of moth-eaten ceiling tiles and the constant hum of flickering fluorescent lights. The desk, ancient and scarred, had formed a symbiotic relationship with her; the laminate surface had a Jennifer-shaped groove where her elbows rested, and the phone cord had long been twisted into a braid by her absentminded fingers. She managed the phones, shuffled paperwork, and filed complaints, most of which she marked as “pending” and filed directly into the trash. 

The officers treated her like part of the decor, a friendly ghost haunting the front lobby. She knew everyone's secrets, from Sheriff Hollis’ Thursday-night poker games to Deputy Crawford’s questionable use of the evidence locker. Jennifer had a ledger, somewhere in the drawers of her desk, where she kept track of things that might come in handy, favors, lies, and little bits of leverage, each written in her delicate, looping script.

When newcomers wandered into the station, they'd find her perched on her squeaky office chair, eyes half-lidded, mouth wrapped around a red lollipop like it held the secrets of the universe. She'd greet them with a slow, syrupy smile and a voice that made even the hardest of criminals pause. There was an unsettling calm about her, like the quiet before a tornado. 

Some folks in Hickory Bend swore she’d always been there, like the clock tower or the old cemetery, a part of the town’s fabric. Others claimed she’d only shown up one day, sitting at that desk, lollipop and all, and the old receptionist, Martha something-or-other, was never seen again. Jennifer just shrugged when asked about it, her angelic voice curling around the words, “Bless your heart,” which everyone in town knew was Southern for “Try me.” 

But no matter how much time passed, no one could quite recall if Jennifer was hired, inherited, or if she’d simply manifested out of the town’s collective need for a soft voice and a sharp memory. And nobody dared ask, not while Bob Barker’s disembodied voice echoed through the lobby, narrating the eternal game of guessing the price of life’s strange little prizes.

The dispatch phone rang, its harsh, mechanical trill slicing through the humid stillness of the Hickory Bend Police Department. Jennifer blinked, her blue eyes refocusing as if she’d just been pulled up from the bottom of a deep, dark lake. The glassy-eyed stare that had held her captive for the last ten minutes dissolved, and she exhaled softly, as if grateful to be back on solid ground.

Her hand moved lazily to the phone, her manicured nails clicking against the plastic receiver. She didn’t rush. She never did. If the call was urgent, well, it would still be urgent in a few more seconds. Jennifer believed in letting life marinate, like a slow-cooked brisket. The world could wait. It always had.

“Good morning, Hickory Bend Police Department,” she drawled, her voice like butter on hot cornbread. “This is Jennifer. How can I help y’all today?”

Probably another lost dog. Or a cat stuck somewhere it didn’t belong. Maybe Margaret Wheeler calling in again about the suspicious van that was just the mail truck.  

But the voice on the other end. It was too fast. Too frantic. The kind of voice that clawed its way out of the throat, raw and ragged, like it had been running through a nightmare and hadn’t quite woken up. 

Jennifer’s stomach tightened, a knot of cold, hard wire twisting in her gut. Her eyes flicked to the clock. It was almost eight. Too early for trouble, even in Hickory Bend. Trouble usually slept in around here, rolling out of bed only when the sun was high. 

“…Excuse me?” Her voice was sharper now, a blade pulled from a velvet sheath. She was still Jennifer Hale, still the sweet drawl and the soft curls, but the syrup had drained from her voice, leaving it thin and sharp, like old glass.

The voice kept going. Words piling on top of each other, tumbling over themselves like drunks in a bar fight. She couldn’t make sense of it, something about a body, something about Foxfire River. Static swallowed syllables whole, chewing up the story and spitting it back out in jagged bits. 

“Hold on,” she said, slicing through the chaos. She could hear her own breath in her ears, fast and tight, a metronome for panic. “Please hold.” 

She slammed the receiver down, the plastic rattling in its cradle. The sound echoed through the empty bullpen, a gunshot in the stillness. She hadn’t meant to hit it so hard, but the moment was already slipping out of her control, and she hated that. Hated the way her hand trembled when she pressed the intercom button to Sheriff Rusty Hollis’s office. 

Static. No answer. Just the low hum of the ancient wiring in the walls, whispering in a language only the building understood. Her pulse jumped, her heartbeat knocking against her ribs like it wanted out. 

Jennifer shot to her feet, her chair skidding backward, wobbling on its ancient wheels before settling into a slouch. She moved fast, too fast, her heels stabbing the tile with every step. The bullpen was a maze of empty desks and half-hearted filing cabinets, the remnants of a department that had seen better days, if such days had ever existed. 

She weaved through the mess, her eyes locked on the only closed door in the room. The door to Rusty’s private bathroom. The door he only shut when he didn’t want to be disturbed, which was most of the time. She banged her fist against it, the sound dull and flat. 

“Rusty, you in there?” Her voice worn down by a fresh wave of dread. She could feel it curling around her ankles, a rising tide. 

At first. Silence. 

Then, from behind the door, muffled and sour. 

“Jesus, Jen, I’m taking a shit.” 

Her shoulders sagged, relief and annoyance tangling together. She slapped her palm against the door, a soft, scolding thud. “Rusty, this is important. Something’s wrong.”

“Something’s always wrong.” His voice had the consistency of day-old coffee, bitter and lukewarm. There was a rustle of toilet paper, a grunt, and then the squeak of the lock. The door swung open an inch, and one bloodshot eye peered through the gap, watery and suspicious. 

“What kinda wrong?” he asked. 

“The kind that makes the phone ring before eight,” she said. “The kind that makes my skin crawl.” 

Rusty groaned, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and unpleasant. “Fine. Give me a second.” 

Jennifer stepped back, her hands still tight, knuckles white. She turned, her eyes finding the phone on her desk. The line was still open. The little red light blinked, a heartbeat in plastic. Whatever waited on the other end of that line was still there, tangled up in static, waiting for someone to pick up and listen. 

“You’ve gotta hurry,” she snapped.  

A pause.  

Then Rusty, sounding suspicious. “Why?”  

Jennifer swallowed, breath still uneven.  

“It’s Beau Harley,” she said.  

Silence.  

Longer this time.  

Then, the toilet flushed.

Rusty emerged a moment later, buttoning his pants, yanking his shirt into his waistband with the grace of a man who had long given up on tucking anything in properly. He patted his belly. Soft, familiar, unbothered.

“Beau Harley?” he muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “I thought that kid was away at college.”  

Jennifer stared at him. “It’s winter break, Rusty.”  

He grunted. “Alright. So what does he want?”  

She hesitated. Not long. But long enough.  

“Something happened,” she said, voice lower now. “They found something.”  

Rusty squinted. “What do you mean ‘something’?”  

Jennifer inhaled sharply. “A body, Rusty.”  

That got him.  

He stopped mid-tuck, froze solid. His hands hovered awkwardly at his waist like his brain had momentarily abandoned all motor function.  

“A body?”  

“Yes, a body,” she snapped. “A human body. Dead. Expired. No longer breathing. A body.”  

Rusty blinked. “Send him to my office.”  

“He’s on the phone, Rusty,” Jennifer snapped back.  

“Jesus.” Rusty sighed. His hand moved through his thinning hair, a tired gesture that only made him look older, more worn-down. He had the demeanor of a man whose best days were not only behind him but had probably been stolen from him by a slow, insidious rot. “Alright, transfer it to my office, then.”  

Jennifer gave a stiff nod. “Right away.”  

She turned, her heel biting into the cracked linoleum, and bolted toward her desk. Her heels clicked, each step a punctuation mark, a staccato rhythm to the low hum of the overhead lights. 

She almost made it. Almost.  

Her foot caught the edge of a trash can, the kind with a broken pedal and a lid that never quite fit. The metal clanged against the floor, a sound too loud, almost deafening. Trash spilled everywhere. Styrofoam coffee cups, crumpled receipts, used tissues,  and a rogue ketchup packet burst underfoot, bleeding red onto the pale tiles.  

Jennifer stuttered to a stop, her body twisting halfway, arms twitching at her sides like a marionette with tangled strings. Instinct screamed at her to fix it, to crouch down and gather the mess. Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms, as if she could hold the whole world together if she just clenched hard enough.  

“Jen.” Rusty’s voice cut through the tension in her brain, a low, irritated huff. “The call.”  

She shot him a look, a flash of blue eyes and a tight, strained smile that suggested her patience was a thin thread, frayed and ready to snap. Then she looked at the trash, the mess sprawled across the floor like the guts of some small, plastic creature. Her mind raced, torn between the need to clean up the disaster and the reality of the phone call, Beau Harley’s voice still waiting on the other end of the line. 

The call won.  

Jennifer stood back up and ran, her shoes skidding slightly on the tiles, a smear of red ketchup following her path. She sprinted down the hallway, breath short, chest tight with something halfway between fear and adrenaline. The phone was still off the hook, its plastic cord coiled on the desk like a snake, the red light blinking in a slow, accusatory rhythm.  

She snatched up the receiver, her voice slipping into the honeyed drawl that had gotten her out of more trouble than she cared to admit. “I’m back. Transferring you to Sheriff Hollis now.”  

Her fingers flew over the buttons, the old switchboard wheezing to life. She forced the call through to Rusty’s office, then leaned against the desk, her hand still wrapped tight around the phone, knuckles white. Her pulse thudded in her ears, a drumbeat to the unsettling quiet of the lobby.  

Behind her, the trash can lay on its side, the remnants of its insides slowly spreading out like a crime scene. The ketchup stain had already started to congeal, a dark, sticky patch against the white tile. It looked like blood. It looked like a warning. 

Jennifer closed her eyes, just for a second, and breathed. When she opened them again, the room was the same, but something about it felt different, like the edges of reality had been sanded down to points. She let go of the phone, the plastic warm and damp from her grip, and straightened up. She knew it was going to be a busy morning. Hell, things will be twisted for the next few days. Maybe weeks?

She would deal with the mess she created later.  

If there was a later.

[writer59january13]

Grim reaper forever guaranteed eternal plentiful harvest

the following written for no particular rhyme nor reason quite aware the exit (stage door left) allows, enables, to provide every season with a bumper crop of dead souls.

many mortals beseechingly lift up their hands in supplication and inquire omnipotent omniscient force

and ask why

since the dawn of civilization

humans dream up schemes to try

and sidestep unavoidable death, whereby each person in the macroscopic scheme of things lives infinitesimal time – say the lifecycle of a mayfly as compared/contrasted with birth of the universe, yet noone can defy

unstoppable process of senescence and reincarnation into other matter.

no rival can outwit death the latest craze constituting immortality cryogenics will be tried for the rich and famous unlike one garden variety married man a common joker biden his time mortality of all will level

ever since origin of species Homo sapiens took self pride whence began the march of time

human beings sought futile efforts to sell their soul

to the devil who never lied

for lame excuse being brought into this tangled webbed wide world with invisible twine

impossible to outwit death

no matter how far one tries to run and hide

wrenched to underworld of Hades forced across river Styx foul breath

from decomposition per billions of homo sapiens that died.

intrepid souls stymied with infinite jest

by devising laughable escape regarding these lovely bones and flesh to divest from nada one knotted loophole

tied by supreme hands and very best

no nonsense, but to acquire every singular soul

financially straightened budget necessitates yours truly without undo extravagance fussed on me, a pragmatist

to stockpile skull and cross bones, which eventually turn to dust

enriching cadre from those who trod across boulevard of broken dream

capitalizing on those blessed with booming fortune before going bust

joining rank and file of countless anonymous graveyards silently scream

the massed voices who felt the fate of uninvited curse

once living in the green day of glory

before their existence rent asunder taken under by driverless hearse

and subsequent devilish quarry

further contributing to the complex edifice seen only by the dead

patrolled by Lucifer for those who believe

against atheism and diet of worms extremely well fed

those lives lost and once whose kin did grieve

from sorrowful plight departing with sweet sorrows rife with natural fear of corporeal cessation whether prematurely or at some ripe old age

pitting impatient burgomaster stealer of life

whereby surviving kith pay homage on specific date of calendar page

aware that netherland awaits without bugles nor fife.

[gothic-mothic]

Oh, what’s this? Two posts in one day? Rare I know, but it’s for the birthday boy over here

[221bshrlocked]

OMG MAGGIE PLS

I’ve been in such a Marcus pike mood lately and that lil piece OH BOY what I’d give to have this man. Srsly universe pls give me a Marcus Pike to come take care of me I am NOT OKAY

Dude I don't know why but there must be something in the air because holy fucking I've been in the same mood too. Marcus Pike has been living rent-free in my head for weeks now and I just...ok. Picture this-

NSFW below cut. Detailed descriptions of male receiving oral.

You sigh for god knows what time today as you walk out of the shower and dry your hair. Had you known that every wrong thing would happen from the minute your alarm rang, you would have called in sick to work and stayed in your bed all day long. As you slip into your shorts and tanktop, you hope that Marcus already cooked dinner and was either waiting for you to dig in or making you a plate as he finished whatever work he brought home with him.

Grabbing your hairbrush, you shut the lights of the bathroom off and make your way to the living room. A familiar delicious scent hits your nostrils and makes you thank the heavens that Marcus was unintentionally making your day a whole lot easier. You step out of the darkened hallway and make your way to the dining room, about to sit down and inhale the plate he prepared for you when you come to a halt at the sight that greets you from the living room.

You're not sure what makes your breathing grow erratic, if it was the way Marcus was lounging around and flipping through some paperwork, or the fact that he was wearing those goddamn grey sweatpants and, from the looks of it, nothing underneath. You're planted in your spot, refusing to move so much as an inch out of fear of missing on admiring the clueless sexiness that was Marcus Pike.

Gone is your need to devour your food, the hunger in the pit of your stomach replaced with a different type of craving the longer you stare at Marcus as he leans back into the couch and carefully reads through the pages. The hairbrush in your hand slips onto the table a little louder than you intend, grabbing Marcus' attention and making him look up at you halfway through reading a sentence.

"Oh hey baby, dinner is ready and get up and pour you some wine in a sec." He smiles at you and returns his focus on the file in his hands. For a second, you want to thank him and tell him that you owe him big time for already knowing how to help you, but then you trail your eyes down his physique and you think more to yourself.

He can still help some more...

Without saying anything, you walk towards him and throw away the towel over your head as you come around the couch and stand near Marcus. He looks up for a second but does a double take when he sees you bite into one of your scrunchies and leave it hanging in between your teeth as you gather your hair high above your head.

"Baby?" He asks with confusion and worry, and you want to laugh at him for thinking that he could ever do anything wrong to you. Just his presence was enough to calm your nerves and make you forget about every single worry of the day. But you say nothing and make quick work of your hair before you kneel in front of him.

If Marcus was confused before, he's even more lost now, but you notice a shift in the way he looks at you, as if his mind was trying to force him to catch onto what you were about to do to him. He parts his lips to ask you what's wrong when you shove the flyaway hairs out of your face and move closer to him, not bothering to offer any response as you shove his thighs open and push the files out of his hands.

"What- sweetheart, is everything okay? C-can I help you?" The normally sweet, gruff voice you've grown so used to during your intimate moments is gone, replaced with a shy, hopeful tone that, for some odd reason, turns you on even more. You hold his gaze as you step closer to him until you're touching his thighs and legs, and when you see that you have his undivided attention, you trail your hands across his upper thighs and rest them at the edge of his sweatpants.

"I've had a really shitty day Marcus, and honestly, I just want to suck your dick." A part of you knows this isn't enough of an explanation, and you're proven correct when he tilts his head to the side like a lost puppy and looks down at your fingers as they slowly play with the fabric covering him from you.

"You- but shouldn't I be the one to...baby, let me make you feel good. I don't need this, but I know you do so let me-"

"No, just...Marcus, please. I don't really care about myself right now, which sounds weird I know, but I just- god, please. Let me suck your cock. In all honesty, I didn't realize that this is exactly what I needed to wind down until I came out here and saw you in these sweatpants that frankly, leave nothing to the imagination." You don't pull his clothes down, afraid that his rejection was because he didn't want you touch him now and not because he was worried about you.

"Please, I mean it. I need to feel you in my mouth baby, I- I want to lick you and suck on your balls and hear you moan for me and tell me how good I'm making you feel. Please? Let me go down on you Marcus, wanna watch you come undone at my touch. Fuck- I really want to taste you right now, wanna hear you tell me I'm your good girl...don't care about anything else, just you...Let me- let me make you feel good." You lean down and kiss up his thighs, never once breaking eye contact as you kiss the tent slowly forming on his sweatpants. You can tell Marcus is having a difficult time deciding whether he should talk this out or just let you do whatever you want because his hand reaches for you and holds your cheeks, thumb touching your parted lips lightly as he licks his own.

"I- but I want to make you feel good." He whispers down to you, holding your other hand in his palms before he raises it and kisses your wrist lightly. Your heart skips a beat at the soft gesture but you're determined to do this, for both of your sakes.

"Pleasuring you makes me happy, and believe me, I'm going to enjoy every second of this. Perhaps not as much as you but I'll come real close." You slip away from his touch and lean down to kiss his palm, silently asking him again if you could remove his pants and pleasure him. Marcus takes one long, hard look at you, turning his attention from one eye to the other before he nods softly and raises his hips high enough for you to slip them away. You don't waste a second as you tug his sweatpants down his legs, biting into your lower lip when you see that he really wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Fuck, the way you're looking at me right now baby, so fucking sexy. Go on sweetheart, take what you want. 'm all yours, do whatever you want with me." Marcus moans as he rests his back against the couch again, and he barely has a second to wrap his head around what's happening before you're leaning down and spitting on his cock. You giggle when he throws his head back and swears beneath his breath at the filthy action, and you drag your nails up his thighs to relish the feeling of having this much power over him.

"God Marcus, you look so fucking good like this. And you're all mine baby, mine to please and kiss and touch however I want." You whisper to him as you slowly trail your fingers down the protruding vein on the underside of his cock. He's only sporting a semi but you know that he only needs to feel your mouth for a minute or two for him to grow as hard as his fucking gun.

"Shit...shit- you really want me this much baby?" He asks, and you swear you hear a hint of inquisitiveness in his voice, like he didn't believe that you truly wanted to go down on him for your own pleasure.

"Marcus, I can't begin to tell you how lucky I am to have you all to myself." You tell him as you kneel lower and rest your arms on top of his thighs. Marcus bites into his cheek when you let drool fall on the tip of his cock slowly, mesmerized by how shameless you were being with him. You can see how much he's enjoying having your undivided attention and you smile at him as you part your lips and take the head angry red tip in between your lips. He moans your name along with a few expletives when he feels your wrap your mouth around his length, one hand shooting to your hair instantly when you continue to relax your throat and take him down as far as you can. He grabs your arm with the other hand and you hum in approval when he digs his fingers into your skin, leaving bruises to remind you of his need to feel you everywhere. The deeper you take him, the more difficult it is for Marcus to stop himself from bucking his hips into your mouth and fucking up into you.

"Fuck fuck baby you’re- slow down...slow down sweetheart, take your time and- and just...oh fuck. You're gonna make me cum already baby...ah shit.” Marcus grunts as soon as you wrap your hands around the base of his cock, and before he can ask you to give him a few minutes to calm down, he watches as you pull off his cock and let your drool roll down his length without care. His chest rises and falls rapidly as you keep your gaze on him and lick down the throbbing veins.

“Good girl, good fucking girl...you look so pretty baby, mouth full of my cock. I- I fucking love you- ah shit, that’s it sweetheart. Keep going, keep making a mess of me. Take whatever you want from me, it’s all yours...’m all yours.” He whispers down at you and huffs deeply when you turn your head and lick a long strip up and down his dick. His hips move against you slightly when he looks down and sees one hand loosen. He wants to beg you to keep going, to push him over the edge already until he’s whimpering and moaning your name. But then you trail your fingers down and cup his balls in your soft hands and he all but loses his mind at the feather-light sensations coursing through his veins.

You take notice of the way he shivers at the simplest of touches and you smile in pride when his hold tightens around you even further. He’s silently begging you to have mercy on him and you don’t waste another second, waiting until he throws his head back to get a hold of himself right before dipping down and sucking on his balls. Marcus almost flies off of the couch when he feels your teeth graze and tease his ballsack. Forcing himself to raise his head and look down at you again, Marcus hisses through gritted teeth when you let go of him for a second to kiss across the wet skin at the base of his dick.

“Fuck ff-fuck baby you- you don’t have t-” You open your mouth and lick aggressively at his throbbing sack, relishing the heat his skin radiates the harder you suck and spit on him. You could tell Marcus didn’t expect you to be so enthusiastic and you eye his hands before looking at him to let him know that he can grab you wherever he wants. When he doesn’t get the hint right away, you let go of his cock for a second and drag his hand to your hair, not bothering to show him how to hold you as you return your touch the weeping crown of his dick. He’s leaking precum down his length and you shut your eyes to enjoy the subtle, salty taste seeping into your taste buds. You try to hold every inch of him but now that he was as hard as a rock, you knew you wouldn’t be able to reach every bit of his length. So you opt for the next best thing; pulling away from him, you lick your lips as you take the bulbous head into your lips and softly pass your tongue over the slit while you cup his balls and massage them as expertly as you dragged your other palm down his dick. You try to look at him but you know that you wouldn’t be pleasing him as much if you changed your tactic so you opt to increase your pace, not caring for the mess you were making of him and yourself as you drooled all over him and your hands.

He’s a moaning mess above you, hand tugging harshly on your hair to have more control over your movements while he forced himself to keep still so he didn’t hurt you. He wants to tell you that he’s never felt this good before, that he would never dream of letting anyone else touch him the way you do. But he can’t get a word out past his lips, not when you were showing him how much you craved tasting him on your tongue. He’s embarrassingly close but he doesn’t care that this is probably the quickest you’ve ever pushed him over the edge. Letting go completely, Marcus falls back and lets go of your hair, fisting his hands tightly into the couch seat as he bangs his head against the soft cushions behind him while you tease his sensitive and aching cock with your teeth and your nails and your tongue. He tries to hold off as much as he can, wanting to make this somewhat pleasurable to you as well. You told him you enjoyed going down on him immensely and he didn’t want this to end so quickly,

But then you relax your muscles and take him down even further in your throat, and Marcus all but loses it. He can feel the back of your mouth hitting the tip of his cock over and over again, and as soon as you squeeze him tightly with that crazy move you learned to do the more you sucked on him, Marcus screams in ecstasy and falls into bliss, shooting hot spurts of cum down your throat even after you pulled off of him to taste him on your tongue. He knows he probably doesn’t taste too good but he looks down to watch as you smiled at him while rolling his hard dick around your mouth to fill your lips with his essence. He’s breathing heavily but forgets how to think when you pull off of him and swipe your tongue around your mouth to show him his seed, and just as he tries to lean down and kiss you, you pull away and make a show of swallowing him down. Marcus swears beneath his breath, and wipes his face to get himself in check. He doesn’t know what to say or do, and he hopes that you tell him what you want next because he can’t rely too much on his brain right now.

Thankfully, you read his mind in an instant and stand up from where you were kneeling, helping him drag his sweatpants up his thighs and around his hips again.

“Fuck, thank you baby, I really needed that. Felt so good having the weight of your dick on my tongue.” You say casually as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and grab the towel from beside him, dabbing your face quickly before walking around to the kitchen table. Marcus wants to ask you what else you want from him but you turn around quickly and shut him up with a quick peck on the lips.

“I’m going to eat really quickly and then you’re going to fuck me until I forget everything that happened today. That sound good to you, Agent Pike?” You wink at him when you see the blush radiating across his face seep down his neck.

“Fuck yeah, whatever you saw sweetheart. I’m all yours.”

“I do like the sound of that...but I would rather the whole neighborhood hear that I’m yours as well. So drink some cold water and get ready to make me scream.”

Marcus would never tell you this but he thinks for a second that, if this is what happened after you had a rough day, he wouldn’t be too opposed to bothering you every once in a while if it meant he’d get to fuck you all night long.

[bucksfucks]

𝙁𝘽𝙍𝙊 ; 𝗯𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆 𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀 [𝟳/𝟭𝟭]

summary┃bucky’s past comes back with a vengeance and you’re determined to get the answers you’ve been searching for. 

pairing┃roommate!bucky x f!reader

word count┃2,682 words

warnings┃bucky’s past is revealed, character mentions; [sam wilson, natasha romanoff, tony stark], pet name [kid (platonic), sweets & baby], threats made against bucky + reader, trust-issues, mention of hit-men, brief mention of death, phone sex, praise kink, masturbation, mention of toys, slight angst, soft ending — 18+ ONLY • MINORS DNI

notes┃there is A LOT of plot here but also some filthy goodness and a sprinkle of angst <<3

SERIES MASTERLIST

     Ex-wife.

    Bucky’s words echoed in your ears as he didn’t dare to look at you.

    His ex-wife was threatening you.

    And he didn’t think to mention her? Ever?

    “Can I please explain?” Bucky croaked finally, voice sounding broken as you shrugged your shoulders — in a state of shock.

    That was all he needed before he recounted his previous relationship with the woman who was now sending you threatening emails.

    Married young, too young and too fast and it ended up blowing up in their faces.

    Well, clearly she hadn’t gotten over it.

    “I thought I lost her,” he explains. “I thought that moving halfway across the country would be enough.”

    You finally looked up to meet his eyes, glossy, sad and terrified as you sniffled.

    “There’s a reason only Tasha calls me James.”

    It broke your heart hearing that, the way his head hung low and he nearly winced at the sound of his own goddamn name.

    But you didn’t know who to trust anymore.

    Bucky always glossed over how he, Sam, and Nat knew each other — telling you that they were old friends that go back.

    How far back?

    You needed to know, but clearly you weren’t about to get answers from him.

    “Buck,” he stopped you, taking a step closer as his eyes begged and pleaded you not to finish your sentence. 

    “I can’t,” he shook his head, “I need some time.” 

    You couldn’t bring yourself to say those words that would shatter both of your world’s. But you had no idea what the hell you had gotten yourself into and you needed answers. 

    And you knew exactly who to go to for them. 

    “I understand,” Bucky sighed. “I’ll stay at Sam’s for some time, okay?” 

    You could only nod your head, watching him walk past you and into his door. 

    Then he shut it, something he never did because his door was always open for you. No matter what you needed and no matter what time of day it was. 

    It felt...wrong. 

    But you couldn’t dwell on it, grabbing your keys, phone, and whatever other important things you could think of being you nearly bolted out of the front     door. 

    You plugged your headphones into your phone, hitting shuffle and descending down into the subway. 

    The entire ride made you anxious, slowly approaching your stop and you were way out of place in this crowd. 

    People rushed by you in expensive suits and what you could only guess were the infamous red-soled shoes that were worth close to your monthly rent, if not more. 

    You cringed, thinking of the man you were about to see in his stupidly tall office building that you had to crane your neck at an uncomfortable angle just     to get a look at. 

    The elevator could not have taken longer, tapping your foot impatiently as you rode up to what felt like the heavens before the doors opened to revel smooth wooden doors that reach from the ceiling to the floor. 

    You were so close, before you were stopped. 

    “Ma’am, I’m sorry, you can’t be here right now.” A man’s voice stopped you, dressed in a security guard uniform and oh, this was so him. 

    “I know him,” you said, intent on seeing the man probably sitting behind those large doors. 

    “I’m sorry, I can’t let you do th—”

    “It’s okay, Marv. I know her,” his voice came not from behind the doors, but from the long hallway to your left. 

    The security guard, Marv, nodded his head as he looked at you once more before retreating back to where he was leaning against one of the walls. 

    “This is a surprise,” you rolled your eyes, “Tony, please. I don’t wanna hear it.” 

    He walked over to you, embracing you in a hug, “oh c’mon, I’ve missed you, Kid.” 

    You shook your head, “I haven’t been a kid in years,” you tried to remind him, but it was Tony, he wasn’t going to listen as he just laughed it off and welcomed you into his office. 

    It was much different from last time, all new furniture and appliances, but nothing lasted more than a year with Tony. 

    Tony was an old friend, sort of.

    He was an old friend of your father’s, something like an uncle, but also like your older brother. 

    So just one giant pain in your ass.

    “So,” Tony sighed. “What trouble did you get into this time, Kid?”

    You told Tony everything. 

    From being roommates with Bucky to the way he asked you to be his fake girlfriend to Sam’s wedding and all the way to the situation you were in now. Confronted by his ex-wife without any idea of what she was going to do. 

    Tony had that look on his face. The one where he was going to tell you that you were crazy. 

    “I don’t know how you manage to get yourself into these situations,” he chuckled, hand clamping over your shoulder as he walked around his desk and typed something into his computer. 

    “Last name is,” he looked at you. “Barnes.” 

    He nodded his head, typing away at his computer again before he stopped. 

    There was a brief moment of silence, Tony hiding behind the computer screen before he stood up and walked back around the desk, “I’m gonna need some time.”

    You understood, shaking your head. You were asking Tony to hack into any known database and collect as much data on Bucky as you could. It was wrong, but you just needed to know who you were dealing with. 

    “Thank you, Tony. I-I really appreciate it.” You weren’t good when it came to...well, the heartfelt side of things but luckily neither was Tony. 

    “Don’t get sappy on me now, Kid. You know it makes me sick,” he joked playfully, smile on his lips as you stood up to give him a half hug. 

    “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” He promised before you walked out of the too-tall building with far more questions than you came with. 

    It was a waiting game that you didn’t want to play, but you didn’t have a choice. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

    It seemed like your relationship with Bucky was doomed from the start. 

    Friends to lovers rarely, if ever, works out in anyone’s favour. 

    The fake dating trope you could handle, pushing your feelings aside to help Bucky win a bet didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world. You had a great time, great fucking sex, and a trip out of it. 

    Then Steve wouldn’t leave the picture. Going as far as coming to the wedding as Natasha’s boyfriend to spite you not realizing that you and Bucky had gotten married. 

    Married. 

    You and Bucky were married. Bonded in a whole other way and now, his ex-wife was out for you and him. 

    Maybe this was a sign from the universe, a big red fucking flag telling you that it wasn’t worth it and yet...you couldn’t let go. 

    The apartment felt empty without Bucky, his bedroom left the way it was in the morning with your favourite sweater of his laid out on the covers and a little post-it note on top of it. 

    You never could really decipher Bucky’s handwriting. It was absolute chicken scratch as you picked it up and managed to make out in case you get cold scribbled onto it. 

    It was an easy decision to pull it over your head and drown yourself in the scent of Bucky’s cologne as you fiddled with the small gold band you now wore around your neck as a necklace. 

    You didn’t want anyone other than Bucky. There was no in the world who understood you better. Who knew how to make you laugh when you were having a bad day. 

    Everything led you right back to Bucky. 

    So when your phone rang from the other side of the couch, you were secretly hoping it was Bucky. 

    Instead, Tony’s name flashed and your heart sank into your stomach as you quickly hit answer and held the phone up to your ear. 

    “You’re not gonna like this, Kid.” Tony’s voice flowed through the speakers as you took a shaky breath in and braced yourself for what Tony was about to tell you. 

    “He did a damn good job at erasing his history, but you can’t erase all of it,” Tony chuckled as you rolled your eyes, “quit stalling.”

    He sighed, “the Howling Commandos was an organization tasked with,” he paused, “tasked with collecting intel and making sure that information never got released to the public.” 

    This time, it was your turn to fall silent. 

    “Like, spies?” You asked and Tony hummed, “sort of.” 

    “They had spies, agents, hit-men.” 

    No. You shook your head, no. 

    “James Buchanan Barnes was their highest ranking hit-man. Him, along with Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanova worked as a team. A spy, agent, hit-man trio.” 

    You had to shake yourself out of spiralling, what you needed was everything Tony could possible tell you. 

    “Anything on his ex-wife?” You then asked and heard shuffling on the other line, “not much. Mary Barnes, but I doubt that’s her real name, was part of a training initiative the Howling Commandos were testing.” 

    You bit your lip, at least you had a name, even if it wasn’t her real name. 

    “By that point it looks like James—” 

    “Bucky. His name is Bucky.” 

    Tony cleared his throat after a moment’s silence, “Bucky looks like he had disappeared. Blipped off of the face of the Earth. There’s nothing in his file after 2014.” 

    That makes sense. Bucky was perhaps the most old-fashioned man you knew, only upgrading from his flip-phone just a few years ago. He barely knew how to unlock it, though. 

    “Sam and Natasha went on to live normal lives, Kid. I’m sure that’s all Bucky wants.” Tony tries to assure you and you laugh, “you sound like my dad.” 

    He laughed on the other line, “oh gross.” 

    “Thanks for everything, Tony.” You said, “you know what number to call in case you’re in trouble.” 

    With that, you both hung up, tossing your phone away from you to digest everything you’d just been told. You knew you had to talk to Bucky, but you didn’t know when. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

    “So you’re tellin’ me,” Sam was confused. “That this is the same Mary that tried to get you killed?” 

    Bucky rolled his eyes, taking another swing of his beer as he rounded Sam’s kitchen island. 

    “That’s the one, you know, the undercover agent working for Strucker.” Bucky scowled at the name. 

    He was angry, beyond angry at the fact that his past was creeping up on him despite how far he had gone to erase it. 

    “But why now? Why come after you now?” Sam poses the question that even Bucky doesn’t have an answer to. So he just shrugs his shoulders and finishes off his beer. 

    “Unfinished business.” 

    They stand in silence for a little while longer, listening to the old ticking clock hanging on the wall before Sam takes a step towards Bucky. 

    “Whatever you need, you know that Tasha and I are here for you, right?” He whispers and Bucky feels the warmth blooming in his chest as he gives him a half-smile. 

    “Yeah,” he nods his head, “thanks, man.” 

    Sam knows that Bucky was never really good at the sappy shit, so he doesn’t force it. Instead, he offers him another beer, bottle necks clinking as Bucky’s thoughts race. 

    He was worried. 

    Not about himself, but about you. 

    And you were worried about Bucky, curling up in his bed as you sighed and tossed and turned. There was no way you’d be able to fall asleep alone tonight. And hugging his pillow just wasn’t enough. 

    So you grabbed your phone, hitting his name and waiting for the ringing to sound before he picked up — tired and groggy.

    “We need to talk.” You didn’t give him a chance to greet you. He sighed on the other line, but hummed in agreement, “tomorrow?”

    You hummed in response to his question, the sound of his voice soothing as you played with the sheets of his bed.

    “I miss you, Sweets.” Bucky whispered, your breathing hitching at how low and raspy his voice really was.

    “I miss you too, Bucky.” You admitted, shifting as you got comfortable on the pile of pillows against your head.

    There was a moment of silence before Bucky spoke again.

    “You know what ‘m really missin’ right now?” His words sent a shiver down your spine as you shakily inhaled, “what?”

    Bucky sighed, reminiscent of how he sighs when he runs his hands all over your body. 

    “I miss that sweet cunt of yours.” Bucky purrs, you know he’s smirking, possibly even dragging his tongue across his bottom lip as he closes his eyes to imagine you under him. 

    You’re at a loss for words, feeling your panties grow damp, core aching and you’re going to have to touch yourself soon. But that’s all part of Bucky’s plan, you think. 

    “Here I am, all alone, with my hand wrapped ‘round my cock,” he whispers, but you can hear him stroking himself. 

    “And all I can think ‘bout is that way your tight little pussy grips me and milks my fuckin’ dick, baby.” Bucky was always so good with his words, knowing exactly what to say to make you melt. 

    And it was working, because you were a squirming mess in his bed. 

    “Well,” you could tell he was smirking by his tone, “what’re ya waitin’ for, Sweets. Go on, touch yourself. I wanna hear you work your clit.” 

    Your hand flew under your panties, being given the permission only made it sweeter as your fingers came in contact with your soaking folds. The sensitive bundle of nerves needed desperate attention as you slowly circled it. 

    “Good girl, that’s my girl.” Bucky praised, continuing to work himself. 

    “God,” he hissed, “can’t wait to have you all to myself again. Bury myself deep, maybe even have you sit on my cock as you beg me to do somethin’.” 

    You worked yourself a little faster, applying some more pressure as you let out a whine at his words. 

    “Add two fingers, Sweets. I know how much you love bein’ stretched,” Bucky chuckled deeply, “been thinkin’ of gettin’ you a mould of my fuckin’ dick for when ‘m not home.” 

    Oh my God. Oh my God that shouldn’t be so fucking hot so why does it make your walls flutter and breathing uneven as you have to stop yourself from actually fucking cumming. 

    He chuckles again, “yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

    You can’t verbally respond, too focused on the tight coil in your abdomen that’s ready to snap. 

    “I know you’re close, can hear it in how fuckin’ desperate you sound,” he pants, “so why don’t you make a mess all over my clean sheets.” 

    You gasp, how did he know, but you don’t get to dwell on it for much longer than a moment because your orgasm rips through you and leaves you panting Bucky’s name. 

    Both of your breaths are uneven and ragged through the phone’s speakers, bed springs creaking on Bucky’s side as he hums. 

    “If only you could see the miss I made for you, Sweets,” you shuddered at his words, closing your eyes to relish in the moment. 

    “Now get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” His tone has changed, entirely sweet and caring as you grab the phone to bring him closer to you. 

    “Okay,” you reply, another lick of silence before you hear Bucky going to end the call but you stop him. 

    “I love you, Bucky.” You quickly blubber out and it feels good to finally say those words because there’s no more denying how you really feel about him. 

    “I love you too, Sweets.” 

    It’s a bittersweet ending to the phone call, thoughts and emotions running wild as you’re forced to remind yourself that Bucky has a lot of explaining to do. 

[leossmoonn]

Harmony

masterlist

pairing - spencer reid x fem!reader soulmate au

type - fluff

note - got this idea from this prompt list! :). “Sharing songs - being able to share songs with their soulmate in their heads”. italics are flashback memories 

summary - someone has been playing classical music in your head since you were 13 years old. you only realise it’s one of your co-workers when he starts to hear rock music in his head and in the hotel room next to him

warnings / includes - mild language, lil make out scene lol, case details, spencer catching you dancing

————

*gif isn’t mine* (his jawline 😻😻😻)

“Oh, dammit, not again!” You groaned. You put your hands over your ears and rolled around in bed, trying to get the music out of your head. “Why now, ugh!” 

The sweet sounds of the piano filled your ears at once, waking you up at four in the morning. You sat up in your bed, leaning over to the bedside table to turn on your lamp. The music got louder as you got up, slipping on a sweatshirt as it was chilly in the nighttime. You went over to your desk, taking out your notebook and a pen, flipping it open. You turned on your computer and fired up the search engine. 

“Let’s see what song you’re playin’ today,” you sighed.

You looked at your previous notes, trying to see if any of the notes described the song that was playing. It sounded like it was written by Frédéric Chopin. You searched his music up, going through each song you haven’t taken notes on before writing them down. 

“Ah, feeling a little angsty, hm? Wonder what’s going on in your life,” you muttered as you wrote down the name of the piece. 

That song you had written down was Chopin: Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp Minor, Op. Posth. It was the song that your supposed soulmate was listening to. You had been writing down the songs they were listening to since you were 13-years-old. You had two notebooks full of songs and notes about how your soulmate may be feeling, and which song they played the most. You had a third notebook you had that was only a third ways full, and which you kept at work. 

You used to take it everywhere you went, but since you moved to Virginia, it seemed as though your timezones finally lined up. Or they stopped being a night owl. So you just kept the notebook at work, where you were most of the time. 

You worked as an agent with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. You had just gotten the job only six month ago. Everyone on the team had already been working together for five years, so it was quite intimidating being the new kid, but everyone was so welcoming and you fit in right away. You developed close friendships with all the members, even Hotch who acted totally emotionless all the time. Well… you weren’t really close friends with one person. 

Doctor Spencer Reid was his name. He was one of the most handsome man you had ever seen. Definitely the smartest, kindest, and even most funny. You two hadn’t had a chance to talk a lot, though. For some reason, it was as if the universe was keeping you apart. You two were always assigned different roles in cases, going with every other member but each other to interview witnesses or stay at the police station. You both didn't even sit near each other on the jet. You were always chatting with JJ or Derek and Spencer was either playing chess with Emily or reading or sleeping. 

When you two did talk, though, it was always filled with laughter and non-stop conversation. You two just clicked. It was amazing. You had never gotten along with someone as well as him before. And as cliché as it might sound, you also had a crush on him. You couldn’t help it. He was just perfect in everything he did and in how he looked. And now here you were, sitting at your desk, staring at him when you really should be doing paperwork. 

“So, you gonna admire those files or keep admiring pretty boy?” 

Derek’s voice brought you out of your deep thoughts, making you jump as you turned your head toward him. 

“Wha-What?” You stammered. “Don’t act all clueless. You know what I was talking about,” he smirked, taking a seat onto your desk. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. “I was just… trying to remember what one of the witnesses were saying.”

“Hm, and staring at Reid will help how…?” “He’s a really smart person and I hope to gain some inspiration while staring at him. You know, if soulmates are real in this world, then maybe being able to share our thoughts telepathically is, too,” you shrugged. 

“That’s cute,” Derek grinned, standing up. “Anyways, we have a meeting with Strauss in a fifteen.”

“Oh, God,” you groaned. “I know. Make sure you at least have a third of the paperwork done or she’ll be up your ass,” he said. 

“Oh, well, maybe I won’t do my paperwork then,” you snorted. 

Derek laughed with you, nudging your shoulder and leaving to go back to his desk. You sighed and took out your iPod, putting in your earbuds and turning on some Aretha Franklin to help you work. 

Across the room, Spencer was looking at a few old case files from the 70′s. He often did this to pass time and to try and see if he could pick up some tricks from old FBI agents. As he looked over the pictures of mutilated bodies, Aretha Franklin’s belting voice filled his ears. 

“Oh, no,” he whined. 

“What’s wrong, Spence?” JJ asked, turning around in her chair.

“Someone is playing music again,” he frowned. “Oh, bummer,” she frowned. “What’re they playing now?”

“Aretha Franklin’s “Respect”. Great song, but a little distracting when you’re trying to do work,” he answered. 

“You only say that because you listen to classical music,” JJ smirked. 

“Well, yeah, but it’s also scientifically proven that —” 

“Why don’t you just put on some Mozart or something to cancel it out?” JJ suggested. 

“Well, I don’t know,” he shrugged, tucking his long, curly hair behind his ears. He twitched his nose, looking back down at the case file as if he never complained at all. 

JJ furrowed her brows, wheeling her chair closer to his desk. 

“You like the music they play, don’t you?”

“Wh-What? No,” he laughed. JJ grinned, “That’s so cute, Spence. You know, it’s not a bad thing to like R&B music instead of classical. It kind of breaks the little nerd-stereotype you have.”

“Like you have the country girl-stereotype, but you actually like mainstream pop music,” Spencer raised his brows. 

“I thought we said no profiling,” JJ poked his hand with her pen. 

“This is just what I’ve gathered from being your friend,” he shrugged. “Hm, I wonder what you would gather from actually profiling me then. But, anyways, I just think it’s nice how you like their type of music. It’ll make being together easier for sure,” she smiled. 

“I hope so,” he chuckled sadly. 

JJ gave him a sympathetic smile, putting her hand on his comfortingly. “You’ll find them, Spence. They’re out there, and probably closer than you think.”

“Thanks,” he smiled up at her. 

————

“Oh, sorry,” you chuckled as you bumped into Spencer. Your coffee spilled over the rim and onto Spencer’s khakis. “Oh, God. Now I am really sorry,” you chuckled. 

You set your coffee down, unravelling the paper towels and going to pat Spencer’s pants. You dropped down to your knees, wiping the stain off his pants, stopping once you realised the position you were in in front of the whole office. You looked up at Spencer who was looking everywhere but you. It was times like these where you wished you thought before acting. 

You got up immediately, throwing the dirty towels away. 

“I’m so sorry that was um… weird,” you laughed awkwardly. 

Spencer looked to you, his lips breaking into a smile. “No worries. I appreciate you trying to help. I don’t know why I just stood there. I guess I was just… shocked.”

“Understandable,” you chuckled. “Um, anyways, I can pay to get those cleaned if you need.”

“No, it’s okay. I can get it out at home. You just pre-soak the stain in a solution made up of a one fourth quart of warm water, a half of teaspoon of washing detergent, and one tablespoon of white vinegar for fifteen minutes. Then you just rinse it with warm water.”

You listened to him with wide, star-struck eyes. You were leaning against the counter, hanging onto every single word that came out of his mouth. 

“Wow,” you chuckled. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“I read,” he shrugged with a smug smile on his face. “Fair explanation. Anyways, what did Strauss say to you?” You asked. 

“Honestly, not too much. She just kind of stared at me and then said “Good job, but leave the paperwork for the other members of the team.”,” he quoted.

“No! You are saving us so much time. Please, don’t follow her instructions,” you begged teasingly. 

Spencer chuckled, “I’ll see how long I can get away it.” 

“Thanks, you’re doing God’s work,” you winked. Spencer gave you a smile, running his fingers through his hair and putting them over his ears as he felt them start to get hot. Your wink got his heart racing, even more than it already was.

“Well, I am a the genius of the group,” he chuckled. 

“And cocky today. Who boosted your ego?” You raised a brow. “Just woke up on the right side of the bed today. I guess,” he shrugged with a breathy laugh. 

“Well, that’s all good. Let me tell you, I am so tired. This is my like, fifth cup of coffee today,” you tapped your cup. 

“You know, you can actually overdose on coffee,” Spencer said. 

“Now that I did know. But you know, I’ve been drinking a lot of water, too, so it kind of cancels it out, right?” You guessed. 

“Not really, but you’re keeping hydrated, so that’s a plus.” 

“Ah, damn. Well, I’ve been drinking coffee since I was ten, and I’m not dead yet.”  

“Is that why you’re so short?” Emily joined into the conversation. 

You scoffed, turning to her. “I am regular height, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, in those heels you are,” Emily smirked. “What is it with everyone bullying me today!” You whined. 

“I think your height is perfect,” Spencer remarked. 

You turned your head back to him slowly, feeling heat rise up to your face. You sent him a thankful, shy smile.

“I think yours is, too. Tall men are always, uh, attractive,” you breathed out.

“Thanks,” Spencer looked down at his shoes, smiling up at you shyly. 

“Ugh, get a room!” Rossi exclaimed while walking over. 

You and Spencer looked at each other, then back at your shoes. 

“I swear, if you two aren't soulmates, then there is something wrong with this world,” Rossi chuckled while pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Thanks, Dave,” you laughed, picking up your mug and taking a big gulp of coffee. 

“I wish we had like, tattoos or something for our soulmate. The whole song-sharing is ridiculous,” Emily said. “Yeah, I agree. You know, my soulmate used to wake me up in the middle of the night playing Beethoven and Chopin,” you sighed. 

Spencer perked up at your words, leaning into the space you two shared. “O-Oh, really?”

“Yep. It was super annoying,” you chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t think that it would be that bad. That’s classical music. Music that’s calming and you can probably fall asleep to easily,” Emily shrugged. 

“Oh, it’s not calming when it’s like, blasting in your ears for two hours straight,” you snickered. 

“Well, my soulmate likes rock and R&B music,” Spencer spoke. You turned to him, brows raising. “Oh, that’s fun. I bet it was a shock to you, huh?”

His little comment made your heart fill with hope. Could he be your soulmate? Could he be the one? He could. He was the only person you really knew who liked classical music. But the chances of your co-worker being your soulmate was one in a million. Plus, he didn’t say anything when you mentioned your soulmate liking classical music. Maybe it was just a funny coincidence.  “A little,” he admitted. “But I kind of like it. I mean, I kind of have to. I’ll be listening to it the rest of my life if I don’t find them.”

“You’ll find your soulmate soon, Spence,” you smiled at him. “Thanks, Y/n, you too,” he returned the smile. 

You two locked eyes, feeling a gravitational pull between each other. You began to lean in slowly, the tips of your fingers touching. Emily and Rossi stared at you two, not believing you two were that clueless. But they didn’t say anything. They just hoped you two would figure it out before you two died. 

“Hey, we have a case,” Hotch interrupted. 

You and Spencer jumped apart, looking at the chief and going to the debriefing room. After thirty minutes of discussing, you all got ready to board the jet. For some strange reason, the universe decided to play nice and seat you and Spencer together. You weren’t complaining, of course. He was probably the best person to sit by in a plane or a car. He was quiet and minded his own business. He gave you plenty of personal space - maybe a little too much - and not to mention, but he smelled so good. Like pumpkins, coffee, and mint with a hint of vanilla. It was so soothing to you and it almost put you to sleep every time you sat next to him. 

“Unsub has to be a woman,” JJ said. “Well, we’ve profiled that women only take babies and young children, not teenagers,” Derek argued. 

“Yeah, but there are more babies stolen than teenagers. Maybe she took the teenagers to help with the children,” JJ suggested. 

“I agree with JJ. There’s no signs that point to it being a man. No bodies have shown up, none of the dead parents have had sexual contact. The unsub only kills the parents then takes the kids,” you stated. 

“Well, she left one set of parents alive,” Rossi said. “Wonder why,” you muttered, looking through the case files. 

“Maybe the unsub knows them,” Spencer guessed. “But then why steal their  children?” JJ asked. 

“Jealousy?” Hotch guessed. “Overused motive,” you muttered. 

Just then, the sweet tones of Mozart’s music fills your ears. You snapped your head up, looking at everyone on the jet, then to Spencer. You frowned in disappointment as he wasn’t wearing any headphones and no music was coming from his side. You huffed in annoyance, slouching back in your seat. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Emily asked. 

“My soulmate is playing music now,” you answered. 

Spencer furrowed his brows, “What music?”

“I think it’s Mozart,” you sighed. “And God, it’s so loud. It’s echoing and going in rounds.” 

Spencer scrambled in his seat, taking out his iPod that was in his pocket. His jaw dropped as he realised he must have pressed play when he sat down accidentally. He paused the music, setting the iPod in his messenger bag. 

“Oh, it just stopped. Huh,” you said. “Maybe they just were showing someone the music they like,” Derek said.  “Yeah, what a likely scenario,” you chuckled. 

Spencer kept his mouth shut as he stared at the case files, pretending to read, but he was really thinking about what had just happened. It couldn’t be just a coincidence. But it could be. He was a man of statistics and facts. Yet, he lived in a world where soulmates existed. He just didn’t want to get his hopes up. He looked to you, his heart leaping out of his chest as he saw you laughing and smiling. Maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence…

————

“Jesus, this guy is good,” you sighed, running your hands over your face in distress. 

“Looks like another night in Chicago,” Emily sighed. “Do you guys want to get something for dinner?” Derek asked.  “No, I think I’m gonna turn in for the night,” you said. You stood up from the desk, grabbing your coat and purse. 

“Yeah, me, too,” Spencer said. “Alright. You two lovebirds have fun. But not too much fun,” Derek winked. 

You rolled your eyes in response, Spencer’s face turning pink at Derek’s words. You two bid the team goodbye as they went out to eat. Spencer and you drove to the hotel, the day’s work wearing down on you both. 

“You going to sleep?” You asked. “Maybe. You?” Spencer asked. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, unlocking your door. 

“Goodnight, sleep well,” Spencer smiled. “Thanks. You, too,” you returned the smile, going into the room. 

Spencer sighed as he unlocked the door to his hotel. He got ready for bed, brushing his teeth and brushing his hair back so hopefully it wouldn’t be that messy in the morning. He got in bed, turning off all the lights but the lamp that was next to his bed. He opened up his novel, beginning to read it to wind down.  He was thirty pages in when AC/DC entered his brain. He sighed in frustration, trying to block it out, but of course he couldn’t. He set his book down, getting up and trying to see if he could jog around the room to get tired so he would just pass out and not have to listen to the music. 

As he jogged closer to the bathroom, it was almost as if the music was echoing. He stopped in his tracks, trying to listen in. The music had never echoed before, even when he was in a room with good acoustics. He went into the bathroom, the music starting to go in rounds. 

“What the hell?” He muttered. 

He went outside of his room, walking around to see if the echo and rounds would stop. As he walked the opposite way from his room, the echoing stopped and the music returned to its normal state. He walked back to his room, the music suddenly echoing again. So he walked the other way, the echoing and rounds getting significantly worse. He gasped softly, turning the knob to your room, the door surprisingly opening. 

His eyes widened as he saw you with your hairbrush in your hand, swinging your head around to AC/DC and jumping around. You had your back towards him, but once you turned around and saw Spencer, you stopped immediately. You dropped your brush, running to your laptop and shutting it. The music stopped playing in your room and in Spencer’s head. And he knew it wasn’t just a coincidence. 

“Wha-What’re you doing here, Spence?” You breathed out. “You should really lock your door,” he chuckled. 

“Oh,” you chuckled, embarrassed. “Um, sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry if I was too loud. I like to dance before I go to bed. It gets me tir —” 

“I think you’re my soulmate,” he blurted out. 

Your eyes grew to the size of saucers and Spencer shut his mouth immediately. 

“What do you mean?” You asked slowly. 

“Uh… Well, it’s your music. It started playing in my head. The exact same song. And when I got closer to your room, it started to echo and get super loud,” he explained. 

You looked at him, your brain putting all the pieces together at once. 

“Did the song also start doing rounds?” You asked. “Y-Yeah, how did you know?” Spencer asked. 

“Because that’s exactly what happened to me on the jet. B-But you weren’t playing music, so —”

“No, I uh, was. Accidentally. I think my butt pressed the play button when I sat down,” he explained sheepishly. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked, moving closer to him. 

“I don’t know. I guess I was just scared I would be wrong,” he shrugged. 

You smiled at him, taking his hands in yours. He gulped visibly, his heart pounding against his ribcage violently at the sudden contact. You brought him closer to you, being able to feel each other’s breaths on your lips. You ran your fingers through his hair, twirling his curls in-between your fingers. You looked into his hazel eyes, your chest filling with a sense of completion. 

“So, you’re the one that has been waking me up in the middle of night when I was a teenager, huh?” You smirked.

Spencer laughed, “I guess so. Sorry about that.” “No worries. I um, I actually spent that time writing down notes of the song and your maybe-emotions,” you admitted. 

“Wow. That’s really cool. When I heard your songs, I spent the time growing accustomed to them.” 

“Oh, really? I didn’t think you could like any other music,” you teased. “Well, I guess I’m full of surprises,” Spencer grinned. 

“Yeah, you really are,” you muttered as you pressed your lips onto his. 

You both moaned as your lips met. You two had been waiting for this moment since you two learned about soulmates, and now that you finally had it, it was the most amazing feeling ever. His scent filled your nose, intoxicating you and making you melt against him. His hands slipped around your waist slowly, feeling it out. Your heart skipped beats as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your hands ran themselves through his hair, tugging on his as you pressed yourself impossibly closer to him. Spencer groaned softly at the sensation, not realising how much he would’ve actually like it. You slipped your tongue into his mouth as it opened, tasing him, your stomach filling with butterflies as you did so. He tasted of peppermint and coffee. The perfect combination.

As you two kissed, each of you taking shallow breaths in between, the team was just coming back from dinner. They walked past your hotel room, doing a double take at the two of you. They all awed quietly, their hearts happy to see that you two had finally figured it out. 

“I better take a photo for Penelope,” Derek muttered, taking out his phone. 

“That is so creepy!” Emily slapped his arm. 

“Yeah, well, being able to share songs with your soulmate subconsciously is creepy,” he remarked, snapping a few pictures and sending them to Penelope. 

“Derek, I think you’ll be sleeping in Emily and Y/n’s room tonight,” Rossi smirked. 

“For those two dummies, I’ll do anything.”

————

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Undercover | Mob!Steve Rogers

I saw this post  by @rosierose-e​ and got inspired to write this mob! Steve Rogers smut. All mistakes are my own. 

ALSO THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS! Love you all and appreciate the support immensely! Thank you :) 

Warning: Smut!!! NSFW choking, cockwarming, swearing

Part Two

Word Count: 5k

You squinted as you looked at yourself in the mirror. The weight of the false lashes a foreign feeling on your eyes. You felt like a clown. This was not you at all. You wore the basics: some foundation, concealer, blush, mascara and if you were really feeling fancy a lip gloss. But nothing heavy. One, your skin was unforgiving and if you went heavier than the BB cream you used you would have pimples for days. Two, in your line of work heavy makeup just wasn’t ideal. 

“Wow, you look amazing.” You looked up in the mirror to see the rookie Peter Parker getting into the van behind you. Peter was sweet, a little naive, but a good agent nonetheless. He had joined the force about three months ago and Director Fury had insisted he learn from the best, so now he was your partner for the remainder of the year. 

“Thanks, Pete.” You sighed as you straightened up, pulling the hem of the skin tight black dress down only to have it bunch up again. “I feel ridiculous.” 

“Well you don’t look it.” He handed you a cup of coffee and you took it with a grateful smile. You needed all the caffeine you could get tonight. 

Tonight you were going undercover at the notorious Red White and Blue Gala hosted by none other than notorious mob boss Steve Rogers. It was his lame attempt and pretending to be an upstanding citizen but hosting an event in honor of the men and women in service. A good cause but for a bad reason. It was rumored that more than just helpful charity happened at this event. 

 You and the rest of your team had been tailing Rogers for close to two years. Trying to get anything to tie the bastard down to all the crimes you knew his organization was behind. But he was good at his job. Leaving no trace evidence that could link any of the nefarious acts back to him. 

He was a cocky son of a bitch and you wanted to be the one to nail him. 

Peter glanced down at the watch on his wrist before clapping his hands together. “Almost showtime, partner.” 

You felt your hands get clammy as the nerves started to wrack your body. You had done undercover work before in the last seven years you’ve been a part of the force but there was something different about this one. Something more dangerous. Steve Rogers was a dangerous man. 

You turned back to the mirror and fixed your hair and makeup one last time before letting out a long breath. You again tried to pull down the hem of the dress but with no avail. You wanted badly to be mad at the catering company that you had been able to infiltrate but you knew that this was probably the work of Rogers. Sick bastard. 

You slipped on the four inch heels they gave you and you nearly stumbled into Peter as you tried to take a step. Heels. Another thing not usually worn in your line of business. 

“Okay, this is a listening device.” Peter explained as he pinned a small but beautiful butterfly pin on your right breast. You couldn’t help but chuckle as his hands fumbled as he accidentally grazed over where your nipple would be. “Sorry.” 

“It’s a boob, Parker. It’s fine.” Peter just nodded before finishing pinning it. 

“Anyway,” he continued. “It’ll be recording everything that we need and coming right back here to my feed in the van. It’s small enough that it won’t get detected by any scanners. Unfortunately we won’t be able to communicate but if you say ‘pineapple’ we’ll come in and get you out.” 

“Pineapple.” You said more to yourself than to Peter. 

“Pineapple. And I mean, Y/N. Anything starts to get fishy you get out of there. Roger’s is ruthless.” 

“I know.” You patted his shoulder. “Thanks for looking out for me, rook.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He pushed you out the van. “Kick ass, partner.” 

You gave him a small salute before turning around and following another group of girls dressed just like you into the expansive mansion in front of you. 

You tried not to be too awestruck as you took in the structure of the building. It looked like something out of an old mystery novel. The entire place was dark. Dark wood and dark furniture. The lights all a dimmed tan light that fed into the mysterious atmosphere. Your eyes darted to the artwork that littered the wall, all depictions of a fall from grace. 

Is that how you see yourself, Rogers? A fallen angel? 

“Hey!” You snapped back to attention as a frantic voice called over to you. “What the hell are you doing? Get to the kitchen.” 

You bit your tongue as you glared at the rude man before following the rest of the women into the kitchen. 

Dressed all like you, there were probably about twenty other women there. All of them easily could have been supermodels. The rude man pushed you towards a group of about three of them who were all balancing drinks on a tray. 

“Grab one and go.” The man, Stan you gathered from his nametag, said before turning to another group of women. You picked up a tray and prayed to all powers in the universe that the combination of full glasses of wine and these heels didn’t cause you to completely embarrass yourself. 

The ballroom was huge. You suddenly felt very small as you wandered around the room, offering drinks to some of New York’s most high profile residents. You kept your eyes peeled for the familiar mob boss. Your heart rate sped up as you noticed him across the room, chatting with a beautiful woman. You watched as he leaned down and whispered something to her, causing her to blush before playfully pushing his shoulder. He just smirked before turning his attention to the man on the other side of him-Clint Barton, completely ignoring her now, but she still stayed by his side watching his every move. 

Pathetic. 

You had to get to him. Get him alone and get him talking. But how? 

“Well aren’t you the prettiest thing in the room.” You felt yourself stiffen as a pair of hands wandered down your back and rested on your hip. The smell of expensive cologne attacking your senses. 

Slowly you turned around to find James “Bucky” Barnes looking at you like a predator to its prey. Bucky, was Steve’s right hand man. His best friend. He was handsome. Dark hair, even darker blue eyes and a smirk, that if he was anyone else, would have your panties melted off before you could even blink. You glanced down at the infamous metal arm that was hidden underneath an expensive suit jacket, but his hand flexed slightly as he noticed you looking at it. 

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You forced out. “Can I offer you a drink?” You pushed the tray between the two of you in offering and also creating more space. 

“No, I’m all set, doll.” He raised his glass of scotch. “Just wanted to talk to a pretty thing like you.” 

“There are plenty of other beautiful women here.” You said, your voice slightly cold. You hoped he would get the hint. 

“None quite like you.” He smirked and you fought everything in you to roll your eyes. 

“Does that line actually work?” 

Bucky took a step back at your bluntness. You see out of the corner of your eye, Rogers and Barton start to head towards the door. You had to make a move, because if he left to go do business he might not come back down for a while. 

“It was nice talking to you, Mr. Barnes.” You quickly moved past him, ignoring his short “wait”. You rushed, but not too obviously, towards where Steve was heading. If you went fast enough you could cut him off. You felt your heart drop to your stomach as you tripped over your heels, the tray in your hand shooting forward and the glasses of red wine landing square on Steve Rogers’ suit. 

“What the fuck?” The room went silent at his angry outburst. You stumbled as you tried to stand up, but were immediately hoisted up when his large hands wrapped around the tops of your arms. 

“I’m so sorry, sir.” You sputtered. For a moment you forgot where you were. Why you were here. His blue eyes, dark with fury, scanned your face as he held your arms. You had never really taken a good look at him. All pictures in his file weren’t anything special or high definition. But now, seeing him up close? You were beginning to understand the woman from earlier giddiness. 

He was beautiful. 

You bit your lip as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. You suddenly felt very aware of your body and the fact that he hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. 

“Go.” He pushed you towards the door he had been walking to with Barton. You walked through the door with shaky legs as you heard him mutter something to Barton before following you. 

“Sir, I’m so-” 

“Shut up.” He growled as he stepped through the door, the heavy wood slamming shut behind him. “Walk.” 

You hesitated. You didn’t know where he wanted you to walk to. Grumbling, Steve once again pushed you forward and you just started walking down the hallway. As you walked down you noticed a door that was slightly ajar. You glanced in while walking past and took note of the firearms and drugs that were very obviously there.

“Keep. Walking.” Steve’s voice was harsh in your ear before you heard him slam the door shut. 

“Yes, sir.” you muttered. 

The two of you continued to walk until you made it to the room at the end of the hall. Tentatively you opened it, waiting for any different direction, but Steve remained silent behind you so you continued. 

The room was...different. It was very different from the dark vibe of the rest of the house. There was a large bay window to your left that overlooked the back of the house that homed a large garden and pool. The walls were painted a soft beige and the furniture a lighter wood than the rest of the house. Even the bed was covered in a white duvet that looked like a cloud just waiting to be jumped on. It was homey. It was nice. 

“Mr. Rogers-” 

“Who do you work for?” He demanded, shutting the door. 

You froze. You tried hard to make sure your face didn’t give away anything as he stared you down. You didn’t let your gaze falter as he stalked closer to you. 

“Lee’s Catering.” You answered earnestly. 

“Bullshit.” He was now only a foot away from you. His broad shoulders heaving as he raked you up and down. “I know every single girl that works for Stan. I’ve never seen you before. So answer me again and honestly this time. Who the fuck do you work for?” 

“So he’s not allowed to hire new girls?” You snapped, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. 

Fuck. 

“Watch your tone with me, sweetheart. You’re on very thin ice right now.” He closed the final gap between the two of you and you gasped when his hand went around your throat, but not tightening enough to cut off any oxygen. 

“That old bat isn’t allowed to hire anyone that I haven’t vetted.” He hissed in your ear. You shuttered as the vibrato of his voice sent shivers straight down to your core. 

“Please.” Your voice came out in a whisper as your eyes pleaded with him. 

Steve opened his mouth but nothing came out, his nose brushed along the curve of your neck and you sucked in a breath as his mouth latched onto the sensitive spot underneath your jaw. 

“Strip.” He commanded, pushing you back causing you to fall onto the bed. 

“What?” 

“Take off your fucking clothes so I can see if you’re wired.” He snapped. You slowly pulled at the hem of your dress before drawing it up your body and over your head. Before you could fully get it off he stopped you. Your heart stopped as he reached over to the butterfly pin and pulled it off the dress. You watched in horror as he walked to his door, opening it and calling out to someone at the end of the hall. 

“Yeah boss?” You tried to see him, but Steve’s frame was blocking the small opening in the door. 

“Take this and run a test. Let me know if it’s bugged.” He demanded before closing the door. When he turned around he raised an expectant eyebrow at you letting you know you still had to take off the dress. You resumed your actions and turned your face away when his eyes flared at the matching set of red lingerie you had on underneath. 

“See? No wires.” You whispered. 

Steve didn’t say anything as he stalked towards you, rolling up the sleeves to the dress shirt he had on. Your body flushed as he leaned over you, his strong arms resting on either side of your chest. Slowly, he moved on hand to the strap of your bra before lowering it down off your shoulder. His thumb brushed over your pebbling nipple and you wanted to smack the smirk that formed on his face straight off. 

“I better double check you’re not hiding anything anywhere.” He muttered before pulling the cup of your bra down, exposing your left breast. You shuttered as his thumb brushed over it again, this time with no barrier. His mouth was hot as wrapped his lips around the bud, causing you to let out an unwilling moan. Your hips bucked up as his tongue expertly ran over your nipple. His deftly unclipped your bra and moved his mouth to your other breast and continued the same assault. His hands moved down to your hips to steady them from bucking against his growing member. 

“Hmm, looks like we’re clear up here.” He chuckled as his lips moved up to your jaw before capturing your mouth with his. 

The kiss was fiery and embarrassingly so sent a wave of pleasure down to your aching core. You moaned into the kiss as you ran your fingers through his hair, giving it a tight tug. Steve growled at your movements as he fully leaned into you now, his muscular thighs trapping yours on the bed. 

You ran your tongue along his bottom lip before slipping it in to find his own. You nearly came as Steve moaned into your mouth, his hands tightening on you and pulling you up to meet his rutting hips. Using all your strength you spun the two of you around, your mouths still connected, so you were now straddling his pelvis. You pulled away from the kiss and sat up. 

Steve slowly opened his eyes, his pupils blown in desire as he looked up at you through hooded eyes. You began to unbutton his wine stained shirt, running your hands over his porcelain skin when it was fully opened. You traced your fingers over the tattoos that littered his abs and ribs. You took pleasure in the fact that Steve would shiver with every pass of your fingertip. 

“I’m sorry about the stain, Mr. Rogers.” You said innocently, leaning down, your breasts pushed together as they rested on his now bare chest. 

“You should be, princess.” His voice was deep. You let out a small yelp as one of his hands gave a harsh slap to your ass. “This is an expensive shirt. And don’t even get me started on the trousers.” 

You hummed in understanding as you gave tiny kisses across his jaw and neck, taking time to suck on the skin around his collarbone. Your hands wandered down his body till they came in contact with the trousers in question. Slowly you sat up, running your hands over the stain on his pants but your eyes never leaving his. 

“I hope you can get the stain out.” You licked your lips as you moved your body down his own until your face was directly by his crotch and the stain. You sucked on the stain near his cock and smiled when his member jumped in his briefs. You slowly pulled down his pants until he was just in his underwear, his cock trying so hard to break free from it’s confines. 

Steve groaned as you finally freed his aching member. You gave the tip a little kitten lick as you looked up at him. He was now resting his weight on his arms as he leaned back and watched you in absolute wonder. You brushed your thumb across the tip, dragging the precum that had gathered there down the rest of his shaft. Your mouth watered at the thought of having him in your mouth. But you wanted to torture him a bit more. 

You ran your tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock, while your hand squeezed lightly at the base. You wrapped your lips around the tip, your tongue playing with the slit there before pulling back with a pop. 

“Mhmm, tasty.” You continued treating him like your own personal lollipop, but never fully enveloping his dick in your mouth. 

“Sweetheart, either fucking suck it like I know you can or I’ll shove it down your fucking throat.” Steve wrapped your hair into a makeshift ponytail and forced your head up. “Got it?” 

You didn’t respond, instead you finally took him into your mouth. You pushed past your gag reflex and took him all the way in until your nose brushed against the hairs on his naval. 

“Oh fuck.” Steve’s voice praised as he started moving his hips, fucking his cock down the back of your throat. 

Your eyes watered as you let him use your throat as his own little fuck toy. You reached between your legs trying to relieve the tension that was building there. You moaned around his cock as your fingers toyed with your clit. 

“Shit, I wanna come in that fucking pussy.” He moaned as he pulled you off the floor and threw you back on the bed. You laid back, your fingers moving back to your clit as you watched him fully take off his clothes. He watched you with interest as you moved your lace panties to the side and slid a finger up your slit, gathering your juices before gently rubbing your clit again. He ran his hands up your legs before grabbing your hand and stopping your actions. 

“This,” He patted harshly against your pussy and you moaned at the sensation. “Is mine. Don’t touch, unless I tell you to.” 

“Yes, sir.” You moaned as his fingers replaced yours. Your back arched as he dipped one finger into your hole. 

“Fuck, baby. When was the last time somebody fucked this little cunt? You’re so fucking tight, baby.” He moaned, watching as your pussy greedily closed around his finger. 

“You’re gonna feel so good around my cock, sweetheart.” Steve’s eyes met yours and for a moment he looked like a man that you might actually want to be with. His cold exterior was gone and replaced with a man who was just as lustfully lost as you were. 

“I want your cock now. Please.” you cried out as he slipped another finger in. Your body bucking as he curled his fingers up hitting that spot that so few had been able to get to with you. 

“Yeah? My little slut wants daddy’s cock to fill her up?” He leaned over you, capturing your lips again. You moaned into his mouth at his words. You never admitted it to anyone but you always had a little bit of a daddy kink. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly as waves of pleasure crashed over you. 

“Please, daddy.” You whimpered against his lips as your hips bucked against his. “Please fuck me.” 

Steve chuckled darkly, kissing you quickly again, before ripping your panties clean off your body. You didn’t even care that he just ruined the most expensive pair of underwear you owned. You just needed his cock in you now. 

You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him lineup his cock with your dripping hole, slowly pushing the head into your tight channel. You both let out moans as he bottomed out. He fell forward, his forehead resting against yours. You whined as you tried to move your hips against his but he just forced them down with his hands. 

“Steve!” You all but screamed. “Please.” 

“Patience, baby.” He said through gritted teeth. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight. Squeezing daddy’s cock so good. I just need a minute.” 

You let out a humph as you continued to buck your hips against his. 

“What the fuck did I just say?” He growled, he leaned up and wrapped his hand around your throat. “Don’t be a fucking brat.” 

You opened your mouth to apologize but it was overtaken as you let out a yelp as he pulled himself out before slamming his cock back into you. You threw your head back as he fucked into you relentlessly, his hand tightening around your throat. You were in a state of euphoria as his cock dragged in and out of your walls. 

“Oh my god.” You mewl as he continues to completely destroy your pussy. Before you could process what’s happening, Steve flips you over so your face is pushed into the fluffy comforter. He pulls your hips back so your ass is in the air and he easily slides back into you. 

“Tight little cunt fucking loves my cock.” You cry out as his hand delivers a slap against your ass before moving to your hips and pushing you back onto his dick. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as the tip of his cock hits your g-spot. 

“Daddy!” You call out. Steve leans over and pulls you up by your neck, causing your back to be flush with his front as he fucks up into you. His other hand moves down to play with your clit. 

“Are you gonna come baby girl? I feel your pussy milking my cock. You wanna come?” He growls in your ear. “Huh? You wanna come all over my cock?” 

“Yes! Oh god, yes!” 

“I’m so close, princess.” He drops his head into the crook of your neck. “Come on, baby. Squeeze my cock, make daddy come with you.” 

You feel that familiar feeling in your tummy as your orgasm approaches. 

“Shit.” You breathe out as your orgasm gets closer and closer. Steve’s fingers move faster against your clit. You cry out as your orgasm finally crashes over you. Steve lets out a groan as you feel his cock twitch inside of you, his cum shooting inside your walls. 

“You feel so good.” He breathes as his orgasm dies down. You hum in agreement but you’re too tired to say anything else. You close your eyes as you feel Steve lower your both to the bed. You whimper as he pulls out of you. 

“I’ll be right back.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you just give him a nod. You’re completely incoherent. Totally fucked out. He’s gone for a couple minutes and you hear the water in the bathroom running before he comes back. With your eyes closed you don’t see how he pauses at the side of bed, appreciating the curves of your body as you curled yourself under one of his many blankets. 

You whine as you feel him move the blanket before running a washcloth between your legs. “Steve?” 

“Yes, princess?” You hate that your stomach flutters at the nickname. 

“Don’t leave.” You mutter, closing your eyes once more. 

Steve doesn’t respond for a second and at first you think that he’s going to leave but then you feel the bed dip and a strong arm pulling you close. You smile to yourself as your hand lands on top of his. 

“Get some rest.” He whispers in your ear. 

“Mmkay.” you hum and you don’t know if it’s your imagination or not but you swore you felt Steve smile against your skin. 

You wake with a jolt. You glance at the clock and curse silently. You’ve been asleep for two hours. You turn over and see Steve still there, his eyes closed and his breathing steady. You find yourself staring at his long eyelashes and how they rest gently along the tops of his cheek. He doesn’t look like a scary mob boss here. He looks human. He looks peaceful. 

“I can feel you staring.” Steve opens one eye and gives you a small smile. “Like what you see?” 

You gasp as he grabs you and has you straddle his hips. You rest your hands easily on his chest and stare down at him, smirking as you feel his cock start to stir. 

“Hmmm, I love these.” His hands reach up and twist at your nipples causing you to bite back a moan. 

“Steve…” 

“And your pussy is so responsive to me, princess. It’s like it was made for me.” He rubs his thumb across your clit. “I can feel how wet you are again.” 

“Well you’re playing with my clit. Of course I’m gonna get wet.” You retort. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at you. “You really think being sassy is in your best interest?” 

You roll your eyes but don’t respond. Steve grumbles before lifting you up a bit and impaling you on his now hard cock. 

“Fuck!” You slap his chest and Steve chuckles. Nonetheless you start rocking your hips against his. 

“Nuh uh,” Steve tuts. He holds your hips still. “You’re just gonna sit here like this. Keep me nice and warm.” 

“Steveeee.” You whine, lowering your head to his chest. 

“Don’t be such a brat then.” He growls. You raise your head to look at him and even though his words are tough, his eyes are soft. And for a moment your taken back. “So sit still for daddy.” 

You groan but stay still. Steve runs his fingers up and down your back, tracing patterns along your skin and you hum in appreciation. Your peaceful moment is upended though when his phone rings on the nightstand next to him. 

“Rogers.” He answers quickly. You stay quiet as you hear the voice on the other end of the line talk about the product movement. You smirk to yourself as Steve begins to discuss logistics, completely ignoring your presence. 

“I’m a little busy, Stark.” Tony Stark? As in Mayor of the city Tony Stark? He was in on this too. “I’ll call you back.” Steve threw his phone back on the nightstand and brought your face up to his to pull you into a searing kiss. 

“Please, daddy?” You say against his lips. You start rocking your hips again and this time, Steve doesn’t stop you. 

You're a moaning mess as Steve’s hips snap up yours, your orgasm fast approaching. 

“Gonna cum already?” 

“Yes, yes! Oh god, I’m so close!” You breathe as he quickens his pace. 

“Cum, baby girl. Make a mess on daddy.” He groans, his head tipping back. 

“Steve!” You choke out as your body spasms with pleasure. Steve comes quickly after you and you shutter as you feel his seed leaking out of your worn out hole. 

You lay your head down on his chest again and try to gather your thoughts. You need to get out of here. 

“I should go.” You whisper, sitting up. Steve’s cock is still inside you and you almost don’t want to leave because you feel so full. 

“I wanna see you again.” He runs his fingers across your cheek. The sense of power you feel seeing the country’s biggest mob boss underneath you, drunk on your sex is overwhelming. You love the feeling. 

“You will. Soon.” You lean down and give him a deep kiss. “I promise.” You peck his lips once more before gathering your clothes from the floor. 

Slipping on your shoes you give him one last wink before hurrying out the door and down the hall. You manage to find a way to the kitchen without having to walk through the rest of the party and you sneak out behind a delivery man who brought in a ridiculously large ice sculpture. 

Once you're outside you take your heels off and run towards the van down the street. You hurriedly knock on the back, checking your surroundings to make sure no one sees you. Peter opens the door and he looks like he’s seen a ghost when he sees you. 

“Y/N!” He pulls you into the van. “Oh my god, I was getting worried. When we heard him say that he wanted to check the pin I had to turn off the devices so they wouldn’t get traced. And then you didn’t come out. But Fury said that you would be fine but man, I was so nervous and-”

“Parker, shut up and hand me a piece of paper.” You clapped your hands together, pulling him out of his ramble. Peter nodded and handed you a pen and paper watching intently as you started writing down everything you overheard on the phone call. 

“What is this?” 

“Rogers is working with Stark and they're moving some sort of product tomorrow.” You said proudly.

“How did you...this is huge!” 

“My Ma always said that there are two ways to get to a man. One is through his stomach and the other is in his pants.” You shrugged. 

“And I’m guessing you didn’t make him a grilled cheese sandwich.” Peter makes a face. 

“Not exactly.” You laugh. “Now let’s go. We gotta get this to Fury.” 

Part 2

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

love letter, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Jeon Jungkook gets love letters shoved in his mailbox and under his apartment door all the damn time. You, too, get love letters shoved in your mailbox and under your door. All the time. It could be a sweet gesture, but this is the twenty-first century. Love letters aren't all they're cracked up to be. 

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; short graphic descriptions of sex acts; smut (fem reader, a very intense make-out session including some wild tongue and too much saliva, nipple play, a bit of m-receiving oral, cowgirl, handjob); non-idol!BTS – technically university, blond, softsub!Jungkook x working, softdom!reader; slightly desperate and needy JK

yes, yes, it’s MTV Unplugged ‘Telepathy’JK

--

"I'm so tired of people thinking they have a chance with me."

Was the exasperated declaration as you backed up into your apartment, only to turn around and witness Jeon Jungkook dumping a waterfall of colorful envelopes from his giant black backpack onto your hardwood floor. 

"At least remove your shoes before you start flaunting how hot you are," you replied dryly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes as he kicked off his large white sneakers. "Look at this shit! It's relentless! It's annoying! I just want to live my life!"

You vaguely recalled Jungkook being excited about his first love letter upon reaching university, and then the second, the third... and now you were staring at pile number five hundred on your doormat. "I don't know, put a sign on your door? 'Please stop, the answer is no?'"

Jungkook winced. "I can't do that. How many hearts am I going to break?"

"Uh, I dunno, you already broke half the campus by existing in general."

He bonked you on the head lightly with his denim jacket sleeve. "I have not. I've only slept with a couple people and that was supposed to be no strings attached."

You shrugged. "People can't understand that. Especially women."

He puffed his cheeks and stepped over the pile. You noticed the small stickers and nice handwriting on the colorful pastel paper. You almost felt bad, seeing all the effort put into them.

"At least they're cute. I only get torn notebook pages with scribbles."

"Stop lying. You get girls' letters too," Jungkook grumbled. "Can I borrow your computer? One of my professors assigned an online quiz and the internet at my place is down, again."

"You gotta move," you commented, kneeling down to collect the mess Jungkook made. You noticed Jungkook flit his eyes about before throwing up his hands and bending down to help you. 

"I'm trying to get out of the lease, but I have a couple more months left," he complained childishly.

"What about your other friends? Can't you go bother them?"

Jungkook frowned, sticking out his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath winked at you. "You hate me now or something?"

You laughed, standing up with a stacked pile of confessions to Jeon Jungkook. "No, I'm just curious as to why you always come here."

He shoved the rest in your arms, his pile slightly messier than yours. "You live the closest and you're usually home. Plus, you have two computers."

"A laptop and a desktop," you corrected. "Don't you have a laptop?"

"It's easier to borrow yours."

"Lazy."

Jungkook ignored your remark and ticked his silvery-blond head further into the apartment. "Can I borrow it or not?"

You laughed. "Of course. Laptop's on the bed."

He turned and followed the hallway to your bedroom. "Same password?" he yelled, not looking back.

"Obviously."

"Why is it my birth date?" he shouted.

"Because, one, no one will guess it, and, two, you're a dumbass and always forget it."

"I do not!"

"How many times did you ask when the password was Klingon?"

"I don't know your nerdy shit!"

"Do your fucking assignment," you belted down the hall. 

Jungkook stuck his head out of your bedroom door and scrunched his nose to make a hideous face at you, holding your gunmetal-colored laptop. You rolled your eyes as he disappeared again. This crackhead. You let out a sigh, walking past the acrylic painting of a blue sky with pink-purple clouds hanging in your living room, flicking through at all the letters addressed to Jungkook.

Surprisingly, you knew what he felt like. With you, it started with inviting one guy over to your place, sucking his dick, and then suddenly a letter appeared. Well, letter was putting it nicely. Dirty napkin with words scrawled with smeared ballpoint pen shoved under your door, explicitly asking for more. Then another, wanting it. Then another, begging for it. You ignored them. At some point, you invited a girl over, ate her out, and then the colorful envelopes started appearing, with cute stickers and neat handwriting.

Mmmhmm.

Why did Jungkook bring them here anyway? To brag? For you to peruse? You spread them out them on your coffee table and tore one open. Read it. Simple confession of love, no name. You were kind of jealous. Jungkook always got nicer ones than you did. Something about being a sexually uninhibited woman seemed to translate to others that you were down to fuck anyone, anytime, anything. You tossed the letter aside, ripped open a folded card closed with lilac tape. Another, 'I love you, please go out with me', no name. Toss. And you opened another one, reading out loud. 

"I want to cram all one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters of you into me?”

Uh.

Huh.

Still no name.

Cute peach stationery though. 

Was it a euphemism? Symbolic? Thinly veiled code? Hm. In any case, this was more along the lines of shamelessness you encountered yourself. 

By all conventions, Jeon Jungkook was attractive as fuck. Pretty pink lips, big brown eyes, manly sharp jawline. He kept his hair on the longer side, around ear length, now silvery-blond compared to the usual black. You heard he dyed it a couple times, but now it had since faded to the original blond.

Oh, yeah, also he had nice hands and a body to die for. 

You could see why Jungkook got all these love letters. You? Well, similar reasons, except less muscles. Also, yours weren't really love letters. More like vulgar remarks on the backs of grubby receipts. 

Probably just as heartfelt.

The only reason you knew of Jungkook was because you were friends with one of his close friends. Alright, maybe you sucked his friend's dick. More than once. But anyway, not the point. The point was that the topic of love letters came up one night when everyone was hanging out and you voiced your predicament. It was the summer before Jungkook entered university. He had burst out laughing, thinking it was a hilarious situation.

"Haha, that would never happen to me!"

Jokes on you, Jungkook, karma's a bitch. 

You thought about moving, but the location was close to your work and the internet service was great here. At least you always recycled the paper. What were you supposed to do? Keep an album of Starbucks napkins of people asking if your tongue was good or not?

You opened another envelope addressed to 'sweet, adorable Jungkookie'.

Their words, not yours. 

"Shove your dick down my throat and make me gag? Smiley face?"

Well, that's a contrast. 

Jungkook didn't start contacting you on his own until the letters started coming and then they didn’t stop coming, flooding his mailbox and underneath his door, overwhelming and confusing him. He didn't think he would get much attention, although perhaps it might be your fault, since you seemed to have set the precedence for this type of thing at this particular university. There was at least one person in every year that got this treatment, and it all started with one dirty napkin with smeared ink. Rumor caught on and then bam! It became a thing. 

So, yeah. 

Maybe kind of your fault.

You shouldn't have told so many people about that napkin. 

You fished out a pizza receipt from the pile, inspecting it. You couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then you noticed it had Jungkook's phone number and an order of three pizzas. Not a confession, just trash from Jungkook's backpack. Did he really eat three pizzas? Hopefully not by himself and in one sitting. You noticed the timestamp. Mmm, three in the morning. Okay. Maybe he did eat three pizzas by himself in one sitting. 

You filed through the rest, removing trash from the recyclable paper. Paused when you found a scrap of paper that said, "Put your dick in my ass." You recognized this curvy, narrow handwriting, slightly heavy-handed. Same person wrote you the same note this week. 

This was why you didn't take the messages too seriously.

You saw a particularly thick purple envelope and picked it up, tearing it open. It was several pages, with tiny, crammed handwriting on paper with cute bunnies on it. Several pages detailing straight up porn with Jungkook as the leading role. 

You almost burst out laughing. 

Who the fuck would write this?

And send it to him?

Not you, that's for fucking sure. 

Still, it wasn't the worst thing you've ever read. Had some spelling mistakes and poor grammar. Instant turn-off. Needed a good proofread. You settled onto your brown leather couch, highly entertained as you read it. Then you actually burst out laughing, because said person wanted Jungkook to lift them and fuck them at the same time and that kinda shit just wasn't possible. You would know, because you’ve tried. It sounded good, but in practice, the dick ended up falling out pretty quickly if the pussy was any sort of wet.

If you weren’t wet, then, eh, not sure why you're fucking. 

"What is so fucking funny?" Jungkook grumbled, poking his head around the corner, still holding your laptop. 

You held up the sheets of bunny-printed paper, still laughing. "Someone sent you their written erotica and you're the star!"

Jungkook grimaced. "Oh yeah, that person. They write something new every week. It's weird." He frowned. "I try to take it out so you don't have to read that shit. I must have missed it."

"It's hilarious," you chuckled. "You should publish them into a book."

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook sighed, putting your laptop on the coffee table and snatching the pages from you. "I throw them away like everything else."

"Did you finish your assignment?" you chortled, leaning over to look at the laptop screen. Submission successful. "80%?! When you could easily cheat?"

"I read a question wrong," Jungkook whined, balling up the paper and throwing it down. "Ack."

You looked up at him and he was looking upset at the pile on the table. 

"What's wrong?"

"What if one of them is real?" 

"Huh?"

"I mean... I just throw them away now. But what if one of them is real?" Jungkook wondered out loud. 

You shrugged. "Does it matter? They'll tell you in person if it's that important."

Jungkook tilted his head at you doubtfully. "Will they?"

You sat back into your couch, with your legs wide open. You were wearing sleek black leggings and a cropped pink sweatshirt. Not the most ladylike pose, but you didn't really care. You gestured to the stack of letters on your wooden coffee table. 

"They should. If they actually like you and it's not a joke, then they should tell you in person and accept that they might be rejected."

Jungkook frowned and slumped down next to you. His light-wash denim jacket made a loud floof as his ass hit the brown leather cushions. The wash of his jeans matched his jacket. He wore a white graphic t-shirt under. It looked vintage, but it probably wasn’t. 

"What if they're nervous?" he questioned, twisting his pink lips around.

"So what? Everyone's nervous. We all live in a perpetual state of terror."

Jungkook rolled his eyes. 

You leaned forward and plucked a sky-blue memo note from the table, reading it out loud. "I love you. Marry me." You held it out to him. "See? You get nice ones. I get, ‘choke me like you hate me’ and 'shove your tongue into my asshole, please'. Rarely do I get is that please at the end," you finished with a dry laugh. You looked up to see Jungkook staring back at you. Your laugh died a little seeing his serious expression. 

"Yes."

You blinked at him. "What?"

Jungkook ticked his chin to the note, then shifted his eyes to you.

You pointed to the memo sheet and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't write this."

"I did."

He was so serious that you couldn't laugh. You just blinked at him rapidly and turned your head to look at the sky-blue memo sheet, finally recognizing the clean, block-like handwriting and spotting the bottom right corner. English letters. A J and a K fused together, the way Jungkook usually signed his paintings.

You dropped the note like it was on fire.

Jerked your head up, not to him, but to the painting across from you in the living room, the one with the blue sky and pink-purple clouds, with a tiny JK signature in black at the bottom right corner. The painting you asked Jungkook to make you a while back. 

"You paint, right? I want something calm for my living room. I bought a canvas, so about this size. It's that cool?"

Jungkook had squinted his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I could draw a pretty big dick on it."

"This is for my living room, dumbass. And I said I wanted something calm."

"A flaccid dick then."

You turned your head back to Jungkook of now, who was wringing his hands on his thighs, wiping off his palms. He noticed you watching him and puffed one cheek before letting out a big sigh. 

"I was... gonna leave it on your laptop," Jungkook mumbled, flapping a hand to the sky-blue note. "But I couldn't find it in my backpack, and then I realized one of the pockets was open, the one where I keep receipts... anyway I had put the note there, so I came out to see if it was in the pile... yup, there it is."

He sucked in his cheek and fell back against the leather sofa.

"Was a joke."

Jungkook's voice sounded hollow. Empty. 

"... Ah." You tucked the tip of your tongue in your cheek.

"Not the greatest joke," he added flatly.

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. "Jokes that are insincere are bad jokes."

The black words glared back up at you, contrasting the pale azure paper. You picked up the memo sheet again. Turned to face him, holding it up next to Jungkook's head of silvery-blond hair. He pursed his lips and looked away from you, jaw clenched in nervousness. 

"Just say it."

He puffed one cheek again. "It was a joke."

"Then why are you saying it in past tense?"

His brown orbs shifted from side to side before Jungkook tried to bolt out of his seat, only for you to slam a hand down on his shoulder and throw a leg over him, straddling his lap before pinning the note to his chest. He yelped sharply and looked up at you with huge, shaking irises. 

In all your time knowing him, you never tried to sleep with Jungkook.

Never. 

You jabbed the note into his white shirt and he gave you a terrified squeak in response. 

You scrutinized his face, jaw slack, eyes wide, blond curls framing his chiseled cheekbones. One of your eyebrows raised, your voice calm and unfazed.

"Say it."

"You say it," Jungkook finally shot back, furrowing his brows, biting on his lip and mustering up the most indignant look he could produce at this very second. You didn’t react. He seemed to have forgotten you did, in fact, say it, although perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he meant.

You never tried to fuck Jungkook because he didn’t treat you as anything more than his primary source of internet when his own was down. Ah, and also his outlet for complaining about his love letter problem. And then there was that other little wrinkle, the unwritten societal rule one of sucking a guy's dick you're still friends with - don't suck his friends' dicks. Surefire way to fuck up a friendship, especially if the dude’s ego was fragile.

Jungkook’s friend was dating someone else now though. His ego couldn’t be that fragile.

You leaned forward and Jungkook's annoyed gaze faltered. He gulped and tried to shrink into your brown leather couch, as if he could somehow disappear under you.

"I love you," you stated clearly and firmly. You glanced at the slightly crumpled piece of blue paper before your eyes flickered back to his face. "Marry me."

Hah, the thing about rules with you was...

Fuck 'em.

Not actually. 

Eh, not the point.

"Really?" Jungkook squeaked, voice cracking slightly.

Ah, right, the other reason you never tried to sex up Jungkook because he was a little bit of an idiot around you. But maybe this sky-blue note detailed the reason for it. 

"Say it," you repeated crossly, poking him in the pecs. "Stop avoiding it."

You observed Jungkook swallow hard again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You furrowed your brows, tipping your head down so that your forehead was hovering over his, eyebrow cocked, gazing into trembling brown orbs. Why was he taking so long? He wrote the damn words. Were they really just a joke? Hmph, why were you even trying then?

That’s how everyone was.

Not putting any stock or thought into their fucking words.

You lifted your finger but Jungkook’s right hand, the one with tiny tattoos, suddenly darted in your view, grabbing your hand back and jamming your finger onto his chest again. His heartbeat raced under your fingertip, thud-thud-thud, rapid bass accenting the moment. Electrifying it.

“Don’t.”

Whisper so faint you frowned and closed even more distance between you two, picking up the scent of vanilla fabric softener and lush cotton. A little different than you, who used a blackberry and spiced vanilla perfume.

“I like this,” Jungkook breathed under you, chewing his lip anxiously. You could feel his warm breath tickling your lips and chin with how close you were. You could count his individual eyebrow hairs, even though the eyebrow product he used.

“I… really like this.”

He let go of your hand.

Now you raised both eyebrows.

You slowly uncurled your middle finger, landing it on his chest next to the index. You felt him shiver a little, lips parting. Straightened your ring finger, planting it down. His lashes lowered a little, brown orbs on your face, watching your reaction to him. You could count the moles on his face. The one on his nose. The one on his cheek. The one under his lower lip. The one on his neck. Your pinky slid onto his chest. A wispy moan left his lips, eyelids fluttering, blond strands floating around his head with the little rise and fall of his heavy, tense exhale.

Why is it your birth date?

Take a wild guess, dumbass.

Your fingers abruptly dug into his white t-shirt, crumpling the note and scrunching the graphic up in your fist. He inhaled sharply, head tipping back and lips nearing yours, a whine escaping his throat. You quirked an eyebrow, drawing back slightly, taking in the rich depth of his tan skin, the sensual line of his neck, up to his angular chin and his dangling silver earrings. All of it. His hands immediately came up to grab your wrist and forearm, ensuring you and himself that you wouldn’t let go, the tendons in your flexed wrist right against his large palm.

“Say it, Jungkook,” you demanded. “Say those words with your pretty pink tongue hanging out your mouth for me.”

You watched him obey immediately, tongue sliding out and touching his lower lip, brown eyes framed by his long lashes and hazy with lust.

“I love you,” Jungkook breathed, a little gargled with his tongue out. “Fucking marry me, please.”

Ah, you couldn't help it. 

You smirked.

"What about all your admirers?" you murmured, twisting your fingers in his shirt, digging your nails into his chest. "You'll break all those poor hearts you’re worried about."

Those dark brown eyes told you they didn't give a single fuck. 

"What about you?" he countered, closing his mouth a little to speak more clearly.

"Me?"

The definition of trouble?

Well, if you looked that up in a dictionary, there would definitely be a picture of you. 

Jungkook’s lips parted once more, keen to submit to your wickedness, pink tongue slipping out again, shiny and glistening with saliva. Breathing shallowly, rubbing your wrist with his thumb, encouraging you to keep going. 

Your lips curved into a treacherous smile.

"I'll break all the hearts to get to yours, Jungkook."

And then you licked his tongue. 

A low moan bubbled from Jungkook's chest, his eyes rolling back and his hips bucking up, desperate for friction as the tip of your wet muscle glided over his warm softness, your spit dripping down his throat, listening to his moans turn into messy garbles of your name, begging you, pleading you, more, more, kiss me, please, and you hooked your tongue around his, gently nudging his jaw with your other hand. Knuckle to chin, tilting your head as your lips closed onto Jungkook's. 

It was not a neat kiss.

There was spit running down his chin, dripping onto his neck and your skin, your lips roughly working his, tongues intertwined and making even more of a mess, you sucking forcefully to earn pained, delicious whines. Jungkook was far too turned on to attempt to glamorize it, cries a jumbled mess under your greedy mouth, but none of that mattered. The moment was sensual and dark, bodies speaking to each other through dopamine and adrenaline. Your hand released his shirt, breaking his grip, switching to burrowing your fingers into his soft blond hair and running your nails over his scalp, leaving lines of prickling pain to enhance your kiss. 

"F-Fuck, oh fuck, yes..."

Your teeth caught his tongue, pulling back and forcing his head to follow. Jungkook made a pained noise, trapped in your embrace, whining as you took him to the brink. You released him swiftly and he snapped backward, blinking hard, trying to reorient himself, but it was impossible, your lips crashing down again, thrusting your tongue into his mouth aggressively, one eye open to witness his fucked-out state, pupils unfocused, long lashes quivering, moaning into your mouth and you inhaling it all, literally taking his breath away. 

It started out with a kiss. 

How did it end up like this?

It was only a kiss. 

It was only a kiss. 

You dropped your lower half onto his crotch and Jungkook gasped, breaking the kiss, strings of spit breaking between you two. You smirked wickedly as you felt his hardness trying to escape its clothing jail, his large hands already on your thighs and hips, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric of your leggings, rocking you into him, desperately trying to get some stimulation.

"Please," he croaked, panting for breath, pulling himself up to sitting position, so easy and smooth, fuck, so sexy, and now Jungkook was in your face, pleas on the tip of his tongue pouring out, tempting you, wanting it. 

"Please, wanna be yours so fucking bad, seeing all those fucking letters and notes you get, and it pisses me off, it's me, I want it to be me, I want to be yours and I'm telling you to your face." 

Whisper achingly hot, deep voice soaked with longing, staring into your eyes with those shaking brown orbs, spinning with emotion like an unstable top, barely enough torque holding it in place and all it took was another spin to encourage it or a gust of rejection to topple it over. 

"And you don't even care about mine, you think they're fucking funny, fuck, I can't stand it, let it be me, please..."

His hands running up your sides, grazing against your breasts, and now his hands were in your hair and yours were in his, bringing your face close, the crumpled sky-blue note right between your joined crotches, forgotten, witnessing the agonizing lust wound tightly in this embrace. 

"Let it be me," Jungkook begged.

You licked your lips slowly, scarcely swiping against his. He shuddered, leaning into it, taking whatever crumbs you gave. His long fingers tensed in your hair, yours buried in the dark roots of his. 

"You'll have to skip the marriage bit for now," you teased lightly. "I don't think my parents will appreciate you slapping down papers before you finish school."

Jungkook snickered, tucking his tongue in his cheek roguishly. "Can't they understand I have to snatch this ass as soon as possible to make people back off?"

Your hands slipped down to his jaw, fitting it in your palms, his silvery-blond stands wrapped around your fingertips. "They'll back off my door once they hear you screaming my name." 

You leaned in, but Jungkook stopped you, brown orbs glittering with mischief to get in one more quip. 

"I doubt it," he purred. 

Yeah. 

Jungkook was right. 

Ah, well. 

You seized his face and kissed him again, fuck, such malleable lips just pleading to be bitten by you, gazing up his nose and to his beautiful eyes, his soft skin in your hands, clenching his jaw under your power, letting you have it, letting you control it and him. You felt him scramble and throw his denim jacket off, dumping it onto your couch to cup your cheeks with his hands, sighing in satisfaction as you inhaled him. Your tongue lazily traced the outskirts of his lips, hearing the rattle of his beaded bracelets by your ears, amused, knowing they were his good luck charms. 

"They bring good luck," he had answered when you saw them for the first time.

You remembered tilting your head at the wooden beads on his slim wrists. "You trying to get your dick sucked or something?"

He had broken out in a loud guffaw. Nudged you with his elbow, cheeky smile on his lips. 

"Never gonna say no to getting my dick sucked."

"Mhm, cool, where's my painting of the flaccid dick?"

From then on, you noticed he wore the same wooden, beaded bracelets every time he came to your apartment.

Hmm. 

Now, your hands falling from his face, yanking his shirt from his pants, annoyed it was getting caught, and then Jungkook fitted his hands around your ass and lifted you easily, breaking the kiss, a moment for you to bear witness to his arms flexing – holy fuck, that’s sexy – right one covered in tattoos. Images and script, with one catching your eye, a string of words running up the inside of his upper arm. One you recognized because you had those words written on your bedroom wall, on a canvas hanging above your bed. A canvas you made, background a chaotic mess of varying dark red brushstrokes, the black script in the center, written by your hand. 

The exact black script with your flourishes and ticks, now tattooed on the inside of his right arm. 

Your eyes drifted to Jungkook's face and his naughty smirk, pleased to be found out. Your lips formed the sentence slowly, in awe of his audacity.

"The devil knows my name."

the devil knows my name. 

Hung above your bed, where all manner of marvelous sinful acts were performed. 

Jungkook grinned deviously. "I saw it. I wanted it on me."

Wanted it on him. 

Oh, fuck. 

Did he know? Could he guess?

"Who's the devil?" you whispered, smile widening, matching his. 

Jungkook reached down, yanking his t-shirt out of his jeans and pulling it up and over his head, revealing the body he sculpted himself, tan skin taut over hard muscle, toned and...

"You're the devil, of course," he snickered. 

Yours. 

"Ding dong daeng," you sing-songed.

How many people have been on your bed, head pulled back by your hand, blinking hard, trying to read the words on your wall through waves of forced ecstasy? Gasping them out, ending with a question, inquiring for an answer.

The devil knows my name?

And you, leaning forward, haunting whisper in their ears, yes, she does, before pushing their face down into the sheets.

"All those love letters not good enough for you, Jungkook?" you breathed, running your hands over his bare chest, spreading your fingers, letting your exhale out through your teeth. His eyes on you, torso trembling, hairs raising, feeling your nails dance up, up, raking over his collarbones and neck, leaving little pink lines of intensity.

"They're not you," he whispered. His hands brushing over yours, outlining your fingers, eyes darkening as you pushed him back into your sofa, lowering your head. "You, the one they talk about..." Your lips on his hot skin, kissing softly, tongue so slight that it made him whimper. "You, the one they look for..." His voice, deep and rumbling, vibrating your lips, pitching as you bit and sucked, leaving small hickeys. "You, the one whose bed I sit on, wondering who else has been there, wondering why it's not me, when I make myself available to you, so easy to prey on, but you let me be..." Your lips closing around his dark brown nipple, scraping your teeth against it, making him squirm and look down at you, you and your self-satisfied, ravenous smirk. 

"I let you read them," Jungkook whimpered, blond strands curled around his cheeks, chest shuddering at your nail flicking his other nipple while your mouth worked the other. "Let you see everything they want to do to me and you still didn't know."

You chuckled darkly. "What's there to know?" you mused, sticking your tongue out and pressing it against the now hard pink-tinged nub, receiving small whines of pleasure as your reward. "It's obvious what you wanted. I was right in front of you. All you had to do was say something."

Jungkook frowned as you sat up, tongue in cheek, half-grinning.

"Look at you."

You crossed your arms and pulled your pink cropped sweatshirt up and over your head, dropping it to the floor. Casually running a hand through the top of your hair to pull it away from your face, gazing down at shirtless Jungkook covered in your red bites, cocking your head with a smirk. He raised an eyebrow, eyes roaming over your figure and the curve of your breasts molded to smooth black satin. 

"You look like you eat hearts for breakfast," he murmured, admiration in his tone.

The side of your lips quirked further upwards.

"And yet you wanna love me."

Jungkook grinned. "I don't want to. I already do."

And then he was the one to pull you to him, kissing you hungrily, you immediately turning it into your favor, your pace, his tongue commanded by yours as he unhooked your bra, moaning into your mouth, rubbing your exposed nipples with his palms, unable to do much as you pushed him into the couch again, guiding his tongue down with your teeth and running the tip of yours over his wet muscle once more, trickling saliva into his throat and onto his chin and neck, messy and lewd. 

"The devil knows your name," you sighed into his mouth, feeling him knead your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hard nipples, tendrils of pleasure making your skin tingle. "And now the devil takes what she wants."

You saw the sides of his lips curve upwards as you backed up to strip the rest of your clothes, amused at Jungkook eagerly following suit and unbuttoning his jeans.

"Can't wait to flaunt how hot you are?" you laughed, reaching down to the shelf under the side table where a ceramic R2-D2 cookie jar sat.

"Do you think I'm hot?" Jungkook haughtily accused before gawking at your waist to ass ratio, his hands slowing, pants stopped to his knees in his distraction.

You gently took off the head of R2-D2 and plucked a condom from it. Some guy told you once that you couldn't like Star Trek and Star Wars at the same time and you told him to shut the fuck up as you slapped his nuts. He begged you to do it again. You fondly patted R2-D2's head after you fitted it back.

You straightened to see Jungkook on your couch with his hard dick on display.

You looked him dead in the eye. "You think I'd let you borrow my laptop if I thought you were ugly?"

Jungkook broke out of his trance and shrugged, finally yanking his calves – holy shit, his calves and thighs were muscular as fuck – out of his jeans, underwear and socks gone with them.

"Maybe you pitied my grades."

"I'd just pay for you to go to the library and fuck off, dumbass," you muttered, pushing his hands aside and ripping the condom open, drinking in the delicious sight of his throbbing red cock dripping pre-cum, his balls just waiting for – fuck it, you got down on your knees and wrapped your tongue around his length, Jungkook sputtering and gasping at your suddenness. Fuck, he smelled and tasted fucking good, clean and velvety to your lips enclosing around the head and sliding down, using one hand to scoop up his balls. Made eye contact with him again.

Jungkook breathed your name hesitantly.

Your tongue slid out of your lips and you jammed his cock all the way down your throat, slathering his balls wetly with your whisking tongue, circling around one and then the other, long expansive strokes that went past the girth of his cock, your pink tongue visible to him. Jungkook's pupils blew wide with shock, moans catching in his throat, whole body shivering, trying desperately not to look away even through you could tell he wanted to throw himself into your sofa and fucking lose it.

"Oooooooh, fuck, that's amazing.... Holy shit, your tongue is everything...."

You chuckled and pulled your head back, satisfied with his reaction. He seemed slightly disappointed until you rolled down the condom, cracking your neck.

"I think I've given enough." You stood up, getting back on top of him and his glorious thighs. "Time for you to be taken."

Jungkook smirked.

You smirked wider and more wickedly.

The sky-blue memo was crumpled into a ball, fallen to your hardwood floor.

Held him with two fingers, ugh, the weight of his cock, fuck yes, and those beautiful dark chocolate eyes, Jungkook, you dumbass, cursing that he didn't tell you sooner so that you could watch him groan and throw his head back like he was right now, gasping at your tightness, your name torn from his throat as you took in every centimeter of him, every pulsing vein and contour of his wonderful cock, stupid Jungkook and his attractive self not using his damn words so you could ride him like you were right now, setting up a fast, bruising pace. Your fingers dug into the back of the couch as you bucked your hips into his violently, keeping yourself tight because you were so fucking wet, fuck, so wet for Jeon Jungkook and his idiotic self, asking for internet to do his school assignments and not asking for his dick to be used as your fucking joystick. 

Dumbass.

"Oh fuck," Jungkook gasped. "Oh, fuck, you're so wet and tight, shit, shit, shit..."

"Tell me something I haven't heard before," you chuckled, only half-meaning it, waving your entire body to deliver a particularly hard smack to his crotch, Jungkook whimpering under you, his hands flying to your upper arms and clutching them, trying to hold on to your wildness.

"Holy fuck, you have some hard biceps," he blurted out, startled at the prominent muscle.

Well, you haven't heard that one before.

"Guess that's what happens when you jack off a lot of dick," you mused nonchalantly.

You ticked your head to Jungkook's arms – delicious – and he frowned at you, opening his mouth to protest and you cut him off by shoving two fingers into his lips, pressing them down into the wet warmth, grinning maniacally as you watched him struggle with your fingers rubbing his tongue and his cock getting assaulted by you aggressively slamming your hips down and clamping around his stiffness, tighter, faster, whines of your name in his throat, head falling back onto the couch with a flump. You were careful not to push your fingers too far. 

Getting vomited on wasn't really on your sexual activities bingo card.

Jungkook was, however, drooling down his chin and neck, and you pulled back to grab his shoulder with your wet hand – oh, fuck, his shoulder, what a lovely shape – and Jungkook wheezed for breath, you ignoring it as you focused all your energy on fucking the life out of him, dirty squelches and smacks of hips on hips, staring down at his abs and v-line, all his hard work at the gym on display, his hands still on your upper arms as he raised his hips to meet yours, needily moaning for you to destroy him with your pace.

Damn, maybe you would have sent him a love letter if you had seen him naked at least once.

"A-Ask me to cum for you," Jungkook finally got out, voice hoarse from breathing so hard for so long.

"You're going to anyway," you taunted.

"Want you to ask," he whined, almost pouting. "Tell me to do it."

You gazed into his eyes, into those brown irises overtaken by black pupils, him a top spinning by your hand, your plaything commanded by your body, pussy clenching around his twitching cock, spurred on from his pleading tone, giving him a devious and wicked grin, speaking to his swollen lips, the devil knows your name, Jungkook, and him moaning back, fuck yes she does, so close, so fucking close, unashamedly barreling towards your release, power in your veins and under you, his muscles rippling as he fucked you back, amplifying every thrust.

"Jungkook."

"Y-Yes?"

"Say it."

Brown eyes locked with yours.

"I love you. Marry me."

You smirked.

"Cum for me."

A half-second and then you let go, letting the feeling rush in and envelop you, the moment held back to torture him, and now you felt it all, already at the tipping point, strained moan as your orgasm crashed into you, shudders all over and falling, sitting all the way down in his lap to experience the throbbing ache of your core giving out and spilling onto his cock and balls in rapid bursts, viscous and sweet. The scent of sex mixing with blackberry and spiced vanilla, his length jerking inside you, and only then did you hear Jungkook crying out your name over and over, the roar in your ears fading out to his shivering moans, hands sliding up and down your arms, eyes closing and lost in the pleasure of your pussy squeezing out his cum. His touch travelling down to your waist, pulling you to him.

Messy, soft kisses, your name and curses mixed together.

"It's me, right?"

You smiled into his mouth that was still asking questions.

"Please let it be me. You'll let me love you for real, right?"

Pushing your hair back, his sweaty blond locks sticking to your face.

"Because I already do, can't stop, won't stop–"

"Yeah, Jungkook, funnily enough I figured that from the first kiss already," you chuckled, running your fingers through his ash blond hair and pulling his head back lightly, seeing him pout, the mole underneath his lower lip peeking out.

"But..."

"Hm?"

His voice suddenly small, vulnerable, his semi-hard dick still inside you.

"Do you love me?"

You lifted a brow. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" You grabbed his arm and pressed your nail into his tattoo of your words, drawing a pink scratch under them, making him gasp. "How can I not love you? Fuck, that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen, my handwriting tattooed onto you. Yes, I love you, Jungkook."

Jungkook's jaw dropped.

This fool is still shocked after all this?

You reached down and held the condom down as you lifted yourself off, yanking him to his feet, pushing Jungkook to your coffee table, right in front of the pile of letters with his name all over them. You picked up your laptop and pushed it onto his chest, forcing him to hold it, him still confused, mildly stunned, not knowing what the fuck was happening.

Then you made him half-straddle your coffee table and yanked off the condom.

"Um–"

Grabbed his cock and started furiously jacking him off.

"Oh, f-fuck!"'

And then he realized what you were doing, the sheer wrongness of it, getting harder and harder with every second, throbbing in your hand.

"You're just like them," you chuckled through exerted breath.

Faster, rougher, tighter, Jungkook clutching your laptop, his larger frame leaning against yours, head thrown back so far that his blond hair was brushing your shoulder, moaning lustfully as he thrusted his hips into your grip. White pooled onto the purple-red tip of his abused cock, far too sensitive to be jacked off this hard right after orgasm, but Jungkook begged you not to stop, streams of residual cum running down your slicked fingers.

"Always looking for your fix from the addiction that's me," you whispered into his ear, laced with an authoritative growl. 

You saw Jungkook's head lower out of your periphery, eyes opening, staring at the colorful envelopes with his name printed on them, the cute stickers and neat handwriting, panting your name, tendons and veins standing out on his neck, sweat beading on his tan skin. 

A low, dangerous chuckle rising in his throat. 

"There's a difference between them and me."

You felt his cock twitch in your hand, ridiculously hard at what you two were about to do. 

"They're not going to get their fix."

Jungkook shuddered against you, jerking his hips forward, thick white strings splattering all over the pastel paper as you watched, fascinated, the scent of his cum saturating the air and the envelopes, drops soaking and smearing the carefully written ink, time wasted and defiled. 

"I am," he moaned, twisting his body on your arms, leaning down to kiss you hungrily as you squeezed his cock, draining it all out, all over your coffee table and coating your hand, stained with Jeon Jungkook's love letter to you. 

--

masterpost

[jihyuncompass]

A Birthday Visit

Well well well would you look at that. My very first Tears of Themis fic is for Marius’s birthday who could have guessed (anyone who knows me) Happy Birthday Marius, I can’t wait to see you again <3

For future reference, this fic was written for Marius’s 2021 birthday. As of yet Tears of Themis has not been released for the English audiences. I have played the beta but there is a chance Marius will be a little out of character as a result of the timing. 

Summary: You visit Marius’s work to celebrate his birthday with him, even if he’s a little busy 

Marius x MC

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: N/A

----------------------------------------

The PAX building was an intimidating one. That thought always came into your mind when you approached it. While the Law Firm was also one of the large skyscrapers that made up the Stellis skyline, the PAX building was taller, and quite the intimidating addition to said skyline. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d been here, far from it, but it was rare for you to go into PAX for a non professional reason, or without being explicitly invited by Marius. You looked up at the building, even without meaning to your eyes focused on the window you knew belonged to Marius’s office. There was a good chance he was in there right now. 

Adjusting your bag over your shoulder you walked through the doors and into the bustling first floor.  

You walked through the groups of professionally dressed employees standing to chat idly, or summarize the recent meetings they had. Or stop to enjoy their coffee for a little while before getting back to work. 

“Welcome to the PAX group.” One of the receptionists started as you walked to the desk. “How can I help you today?” You cleared your throat, speaking as eloquently as you can. 

“Hello, I’m here to see Mr. Von Hagen? I’m a friend.” You said to the receptionist. She raised an eyebrow and looked up at you. Scrutinizing your appearance.  

“I’m sorry, Mr. Von Hagen doesn’t see anyone without a meeting.” You pressed your lips together, 

“I can promise you he’s a good friend of mine, it’s his birthday and-” 

“I’m sorry I have no way to verify that you are who you say you are.” The receptionist said. You reviewed your options in your head, clearly she wasn't going to let you go up there on the promise of being a friend. 

After a moment of brainstorming an idea came to you, digging through your bag you showed the receptionist your work ID badge, listing you as a lawyer for the Themis Law Firm. 

“I’m also Mr. Von Hagen’s personal lawyer, he knows who I am.” The receptionist squinted at the ID, hesitant of it’s quality and authenticity. After typing at her computer briefly she sighed and relented. 

“Aright, I do see your name here. I’ll let you up there and I’ll give a call to Mr. Von Hagen’s assistant to let them know you’re here.” You thanked her and hurried to the elevator. The first challenge was dealt with, now it was just time to go through with the rest of the plan.  

You piled into the elevator with a group of suited men heading to what you assumed were their own desks and offices throughout the building, but you’d be one of the only people going as far up, to nearly the top floor where Marius’s office would be found. 

The elevator was nearly empty by the time you made it up, only a few people exiting with you. 

One of Marius’s assistants was waiting for you on the other side of the elevator. They greeted you as you approached them. 

“Good afternoon.” They said. “I’m afraid to say that Mr. Von Hagen has been stuck in meetings all day so I’m not sure if he’ll be able to see you.” 

You pressed your lips together, you should have asked him in advance, he was usually busier than he always let on. 

“Well I just have a couple things I want to show him, I’m happy to wait for when he has a spare moment.” The assistant seemed unsure but shrugged. 

“Very well, I’ll take you to his office, you can wait there. I’ll let him know that you’re there.” You followed the assistant down the long hallway to the office at the end, the largest by far, belonging to Marius. 

The assistant closed the door behind you, the office was neat and tidy as it always was. Although it was Marius’s office, you were always a little disappointed by just how little of Marius seemed to be in the office. The sleek professional furniture, the carefully organized files, cup full of standard ballpoint pens didn’t seem like Marius. The rebellious, creative and playful Marius you knew well and had grown to adore. 

Sitting on the couch in his office you decided to make use of your time by setting the present you’d gotten him out on the table, along with the small cake box. With your job and caseload you hadn’t had the time to make a particularly fancy or intricate cake. But something small the two of you could easily share.  

You hummed to yourself gently as you got everything set up. Your eyes focused on the work in front of you. So much so you didn’t even notice as the office doors opened while your back was turned. 

“So.” A voice said from behind you. The sudden noise startled you, making you jump. Quickly turning around you were face to face with Marius. Dressed with a full suit, although he had that playful gaze he kept around you. Seeing him, your shoulders relaxed, and a smile crossed your face. “I heard you wanted to see me.” 

“I hoped I could catch you for a minute for your birthday.” You explained to him. “I should have asked about your schedule, I wouldn’t have come if I knew you were so busy.” Marius shook his head. 

“Nah I’m glad you’re here. It’s a perfect surprise.” Marius looked past you and to the table behind you where everything was set up. His eyes lighting up with that almost childlike excitement he got. However that excitement was quickly clouded. 

You frowned. “You don’t have a lot of time huh?”

Marius hesitated to answer you. “I don’t have a lot of time, I have a meeting in a half hour.” 

As you looked from Marius to the table you straighten your back and beamed at him. “Well then let’s make this a fun half hour! Enjoy the time we have.” With this the playfulness returned. The Marius you loved to see. 

Sitting beside one another, you made quick work of slicing the cake into two even slices for the two of you. 

“I’m afraid it’s nothing fancy.” You said. “But I have no doubt it tastes good and that’s what matters, doesn't it?” 

“Did you make it?” Marius asked, a brow raised curiously. 

“I did, I’m not a baker though so be warned.” Marius picked up the fork, picking up the perfect bite of cake to get both the cake and the frosting on top. Watching him closely you made note of his reaction. “What do you think?”

Marius nodded. “It’s good, I think I would even say I’m impressed.” You relaxed against the couch. 

“I’m glad you like it.” You said. “I was worried it wasn’t going to be very good.” You took a bite to taste it yourself, the sweetness of the cake hitting your tongue immediately. You’d had better cakes, but still you couldn’t deny the little part of you that was proud of what you’d made. 

Not wanting to waste your time you quickly leaned forward to push some presents closer. This seemed to grab Marius’s attention away from the cake in his hand. He set it down to pick up one of the gifts, looking over the basic wrapping paper. 

“Go ahead.” You encouraged. “Open it up! Take a look.”  Marius stared with the smallest one, quickly tearing off the paper without much thought. He pulled out two tickets, reading the tiny text on them. “They’re for an upcoming art exhibition I read about online, I thought it’d be fun to go together. I don’t know nearly as much about art as you do but maybe you could teach me some stuff.” 

Marius smirked. “I guess I could spare some of my expansive art knowledge to impart some on you.” 

Holding back from rolling your eyes instead you gave him your best genuine smile. “I would love that. I’d love to learn from you.” Marius seemed pleased by this, as evidenced by the redness that quickly started growing on his face. Looking back at the gift he tried to get himself back under control. 

Similar to the first gift Marius tore the wrapping paper off the second one. This one, a hand held sketchbook, bound nicely with a leather cover, his initials MVH put onto the front. A small note you’d written scribbled onto the first page. 

“This is-”

“Well, you’re always working so hard here, or studying hard at university, and I know you would probably much prefer to be in your studio painting. So, that’s a little sketchbook, one you can carry anywhere.” Flipping through the pages, Marius’s expression turned soft, warm, happy, not holding that playful spark. “I know you probably could afford any notebook in the world, but this one is customized just for you, not another one of these exists just like it.” 

The softness in his face stayed even when he looked up at you, even when he looked down again. 

“Thank you, for this.” He held it carefully in his hands, as if he was afraid of damaging it too soon. Before he could even put pencil to paper for the first time. There were still a couple gifts left, but you let him linger on that one. Trying to memorize every single second in your mind. 

The rest of the gifts were more basic things, special sweets, some art supplies you’d seen when you passed by the art store on your way home. Despite how basic many of these smaller gifts were, he never seemed ungrateful, and equally happy to see each one. 

All the presents unwrapped, and cake nearly finished you both sat together happily. Looking at Marius with the initial excitement wearing off you started to see the exhaustion peeking through. The heaviness in his eyes, the way his shoulders were stiff yet slumped. He looked tired, worn out already. 

“Your assistant said you’ve been in meetings all day?” 

Marius rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, PAX has a big thing coming up. I’ve been in meetings since eight. This is the first break I’ve had all day.” As he spoke he loosened his tie, letting it release some of the tension in his shoulders and neck. 

“You look exhausted.” You said. He sighed and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Have you been resting?” 

Marius’s eyes opened again. “I was at my studio late last night. But I’m fine.” 

You looked more concerned, you doubted he was really resting enough. With everything he did, there was no possible way he was letting himself take breaks. Even on his birthday he seemed to be working full steam ahead. 

“Marius, why don’t you lay down for a bit? Let yourself rest?” Marius looked over at you, as if he was trying to think through it, crunching the numbers in his head. Gently touching his shoulder you turned him to face you, his eyes raised to look at your face. You loosened up his tie some more and unbuttoned the top button on his dress shirt to let him relax. 

 “Come on.” You said in a soft voice. “Rest for a little bit.” 

He considered this for a little while longer. Then let long a long sigh, he let himself lean forward enough to rest his forehead against your shoulder. Reaching up you rubbed his back, gently massaging to let him relax against you. 

“I can’t rest for long.” Marius muttered. “There’s that meeting-”

“Something is better than nothing.” You reminded him. “How about you lie down? You can rest with me until your meeting.” He was still for a little while longer, then lifted his head long enough to move. 

Marius’s head was laying in your lap. You gently played with his hair, running your fingers through the strands. Marius’s eyes slipped closed, his breaths long and even. 

“My meeting-” 

“I’ll get you up when it’s time. Rest right now.” You told him. He sighed and let himself fully rest. 

“Thank you.” He muttered. 

“Happy birthday Marius.” You whispered to him. Watching him rest, you couldn’t help but smile. This moment was going to be over sooner than later, soon he’d have to get up and get himself cleaned up, he’d go to that meeting, and then the next one and the next one until he could call it a day. He’ll probably go to his studio again, even if he’s exhausted. He’ll try and get some rest, but eventually he’ll get up and start it all again. 

But right now he’s with you and resting. Enjoying the short break he could afford. Maybe not the best birthday one could have, but one that was more than happy.