#but I totally am starting to question the worth of living

[lotte22324]

A Night Out

Summary: This is inspired by Episode 4x9 "Pick-Up“. You guys know what I'm talking about, the one where they are trying to catch a pick-up artist who murders his victims and where that iconic bar scene happens with Spencer and the bartender, with the magic and all :) You are a part of the BAU and are assigned to the same club as Morgan and Reid, to find out if anyone knows the unsub. But Reid‘s miserable attempts at making conversation make you everything but focused on the task at hand. Leading to a confession and also a lil kiss (yk I am a sucker for a first kiss scenario!).

This is just basically fluffy all through, a bit of hurt/comfort :) This is for all the girlies who have kind of low self-esteem cause lets be honest, we all doubt ourselves once in a while. Also, this is most definitely not how in-ear monitoring works, honest to god, this just worked for the plot. So bare with me for potential technical inaccuracies :) TW.: Y/N is self-deprecating

You had flown into Atlanta two days ago, now you were sitting in the precinct with your team in front of a very poorly looking suspect picture.

„No one's gonna recognize this guy,“ you said helplessly.

„If you know him, then you’ll recognize him“ Rossi reassured you but you were still not very convinced.

„No matter, Morgan, Reid and y/l/n, go to Club 'Aqua‘ as normal agents, ask around, if anyone has seen anything important and warn people!“ said Hotch. "Emily, you already know what you have to do, as Morgen already so graciously pointed out earlier, the Pick-Up Artist is attracted to you“.

You felt a little sting after that comment. Even though you didn’t want to be found attractive by that arrogant narcissist, you still felt bad about not being seen the same way as Emily. Ohhh, this was so stupid, why did you care about that? Well, you were still living in a man‘s world where the opinion of men was apparently worth more than of others. It made you feel shame and guilt to think like that but you couldn’t help yourself, you wanted to get noticed by men as well, mostly just one man…but that didn’t matter right now. You glanced over to the man that had been haunting your nights and caught him staring back at you. He offered you an awkward smile but let his head fall as soon as you returned the smile. So that you both didn't notice the blush creeping up both your cheeks.

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Later that evening, you were all at the club, Emily and Jordan looking pretty at their table, while you, Morgan and Reid were questioning and warning visitors. Everyone was wearing a mic and earplugs. You were connected with one another over the in-ear monitoring radio, so you heard what the others were saying as long as you stayed on their frequency. It was kinda distracting but in a dangerous situation, it could save lives. 

Having set the in-ear device on Emilys mic, you heard her and Jordan make fun of the pick-up artist you encountered earlier today. The female club-goers (and also a few male attendees) were eyeing him up and down. You were not convinced how the learned “charme skills” would work on anyone. Who would find a man attractive that belittled you so much? The weird trick with the "the camera really adds 10 pounds, doesn't it?“ just seemed douchey and would be an instant turn-off for you. You liked a gentleman, one that didn’t make you feel worth less than him, one with intelligence and maybe a bit of awkwardness. Who doesn’t like an awkward genius, you know? 

Switching through the channels on your in-ear monitoring radio (totally not looking for Spencer's voice), you finally heard his rambling. Your favorite awkward genius was in the middle of explaining the situation to a group of women. After describing the man to them and showing a picture, he started rambling on about the dangers of night clubs: "When you think about the nature of serial crimes, it's amazing that there aren’t more predators in Night Clubs! I mean the excessive amounts of alcohol, countless opportunities for date rape drugs, not to mention surprisingly risky behaviour being persued. Alright, so who wants a flyer?“

Subtle, Spencer. Based on his confused look that you caught on his face, after looking for him in the crowd, nobody wanted one. Someone should have really taught him some social skills before letting him out to a club. You stifled a laugh after that interaction you just witnessed and continued on your path, asking around if anyone knew the unsub. After a few fruitless conversations, you found your way to Morgan and Reid to find out if they had gotten anything useful. 

"So, how’s it going?“ asked Morgan, looking at you and Reid. But before you could give an answer, Spencer already started talking: "not good, I gave the profile to one woman, she asked if I was the unsub. How are you guys doing?“

Your brain stopped for a second, so did your feet. What did Spencer just say? You busted out laughing after his comment, just to get some weird side glances from other people around you.

"Why are you laughing?“ Spencer asked. 

"I don’t know, maybe because your attempts at speaking with pretty women are hilarious?“ you pushed out while holding your belly from laughing too hard. That right there was comedy gold and Spencer didn’t even realize it. Instead, he turned red as a tomato, with a hint of hurt in his eyes and turned away from you, just to meet Morgan's amused look. 

"So, how many phone numbers did you get?“ Spencer asked him.

"None, I'm working a case!“ Both you and Spencer raised your eyebrows in knowing suspicion, not believing a single word that left his lips. 

"Fine, I’ve got four numbers offered but I didn’t take none!“ Morgan defended himself. You start laughing again. This time Morgan shot you a scolding look and you caught yourself again.

"Alright, lemme school you real quick. What you have to do with these ladies, just take control over the conversation. When you’re talking, what makes you feel like an expert?“ 

„Uhh, statistics!“ 

You couldn’t believe his answer. Statistics? For real? Spencer knew so little about striking up a conversation and you were still falling for him, head over heels. Well, he didn’t know that, but still, how did you fall for this man again? At the thought of him talking with an attractive woman in a club about statistics, out of all the topics he could have picked, you lost it again. You started laughing loudly and excused yourself as soon as you saw Morgan's annoyed look. Holding your laugh in, you stepped outside the club as fast as you could. As soon as you were outside, you laughed even more.

"You are aware that we can all hear you, y/n?“ said Emily, suddenly standing next to you outside and you slowly stopped. 

You turned off your mic in response and took out your ear piece, not feeling the need to listen to more of Derek's “flirting lessons” for Spencer.

"I‘m sorry, it was just so fucking funny what Reid said“ you smirked, Emily smirking back. 

"I know, I could barely keep my laughs to myself“ she confessed.

"He really doesn’t understand how normal conversations work, not to mention flirting“ you replied instantly.

"And he’s still got you wrapped around his finger“ she answered dryly, looking at you with an amused look.

"No, he doesn’t!“

"Suuureee, you do understand that even though I promised not to profile you all, I still subconsciously do. I see you stumbling over your words when he asks specifically you a question, I see your flustered face when he looks up from his desk just to look at you, I see your little reaching for his hand whenever something horrible happens. And that all concludes to just one outcome: you, my love, have a big fat crush on our Doctor.“ Emily deduced with a satisfying look on her face. She deduced it completely correctly, obviously, but you were still trying to deny it all. 

"Yeeeahhh, sureee, you got me all figured out, Spencer isn’t even my type, Em!“ you answered a little too quickly, with not enough confidence to fool anyone, especially not a fellow profiler.

Emily's skeptical look, followed by an even more skeptical sound, made you look away from her and fumble with your bag. 

Wait. You looked over to Prentiss' ear, her hair tucked behind it. You saw the wire entangled in her hair, she was still wearing her hidden mic and ear device. Oh no, no, no. Everybody who was on her in-ear monitoring radio just heard her little speech about your peculiar behavior around Reid. Hotchner definitely heard it since he was monitoring us. Reid might have heard that you had a crush on him. Not just a little, but a big, fat crush! Emily saw your panicked look and realized her own mistake too late. 

"Fuck, I didn’t mean to-" she took her ear piece out.

Hurt and panicky, you cut her off, not allowing her to finish her probably half-assed apology: "you just told Hotchner that I like Spencer; you might have even told him. How am I supposed to look at them ever again?“ you asked frantically, turning red, holding your head in your hands the second that you do so. 

"Guys! We might not have gotten any new leads but Spencer got a girls number, he actually flirted with a real woman!“ Morgan bursted out the club's door, smiling brightly and padding Reid proudly on his shoulder. Jordan was following them, clutching her arms, not knowing how cold it would be outside. Spencer walked behind Morgan, looking a little more accomplished than usual. Maybe they didn’t hear Emily's profile? Maybe they were too hyped up about Spencer's flirting abilities.

"Yeah, I,I used magic! And she actually liked it.“ Spencer added coyly, a blush emblazoned on his cheeks. You felt a sting in your heart. Of course, she liked the magic, Spencer was extremely charming when he was talking about the things he liked or did the things he was good at. He had shown you multiple magic tricks already which always made your heart flutter. But now, thinking of magic, your stomach turned. You weren’t the only one being charmed by magic Spencer. Of course you weren’t. You flashed him a smile but couldn't mask the hurt that was shining through your eyes.Him being so excited about another person made you sad. You felt Emily's sorry-look on you and shivered due to the low temperature. Nonetheless, you could not drive in a car with Spencer now. To be honest, you wanted to be as far away as possible from him.

"Uhm, I think, i‘m gonna walk to the hotel, I need to clear my head a little“ you said hastily, starting to walk in the right direction. Everyone looked confused but no one dared to question your choice. It was gonna be a nice 30 minute walk where you could get yourself together before having to face the others again. You might catch a cold but it was worth it. 

"I’ll come with! You shouldn’t be walking the streets alone at night and I also, uhm, still need to get my steps in!“ Spencer hustled over to your side and started to walk with you. Great, amazing, this was exactly what you needed. You slumped your shoulders and pulled your lips into a thin line. 

"Fine“ you answered, quickening your pace, not caring if Reid could keep up. He was the one that you wanted to get away from and now he was walking right beside you. For the next 30 minutes. You could curl up and die at the thought of that.

After walking a few minutes in silence, you started to slow down, admitting defeat that you wouldn’t get rid of him. His breathing slowed down, looking grateful, he never was the sportiest out of all of you. 

"Sooo, what’s her name?“ you asked, uninterested.

"Whose name?“ Spencer seemed confused.

"The girl whose number you got?“ 

"Well, technically, I don’t have her number but she has mine and I told her that she could call me…. I don’t know her name either.“ Spencer answered honestly.

"It doesn’t matter, I am not interested in her anyways, I just wanted to know if Morgan‘s theory of controlling the conversation would be true. And, I guess, he was right. I was in my comfort zone, doing something I liked and she instantly felt attracted to that confidence“ he confessed.

You didn’t answer him, what should you say to that?  Yeaaahhh, I like your confidence too! Whenever you do magic, I also find that super attractive. Oh and by the way, do you wanna go out with me instead of her? And also, when she calls, do you wanna casually give me the phone to tell her that he’s in a happy relationship and that she should back the fuck off? No. You would never say that and also, the other woman has done nothing wrong. Why are you so angry with her? He flirted with her, she simply flirted back, as one does. Being mad at her is senseless, it's better to be mad at Spencer and yourself. I mean, who were you kidding? Spencer Reid would never fall for you, you are so deep in the friendzone, he probably does not even see you as a real woman.

"Did you get any numbers offered to you in the club?“ Spencer asked, pulling you out of your self-pitying thoughts.

"No, I don’t usually get numbers just handed out to me“ you answered sarcastically but truthfully.

"Why not?“ Spencer furrowed his eyebrows.

"Cause, I don’t usually get hit on, you know. People need to get to know me before asking me out, my looks alone simply don’t cut it.“ you admitted, shrugging your shoulders. You turned around the next street corner, blinded by the suddenly very bright street lamps but kept on walking. Spencer grabbed your wrist and made you stop in an instant. 

You turned your head irritated: "What is it?“

"That can’t be true.“

"What can’t be true?“ you asked, still irritated by his grip around your arm but not taking any action against it.

"That people don’t ask you out all the time just when they see you. You’re, You’re beautiful.“

Your face turned a crimson red color and you looked down onto the pavement. 

"Well thank you, Doctor Reid, but you might be the only one who thinks so…“ you said out loud, without thinking about it first. You shook off his hand and kept on walking, wanting to leave this conversation behind you.

"Come on, we do wanna get back at some point, ay?“ you asked him, a smile playing on your lips. Spencer's shocked look turns into a smile as soon as he sees yours. 

"Okay, but just for the record, I am very sure that everyone thinks that you are beautiful, inside and out!“ Spencer reassured his view but you didn't believe him, as always when someone complimented you. 

Walking side by side, you finally decided to change the topic and asked about the last book he read. Instantly, his eyes shined bright and he started rambling on about this book that you’ve never heard about. Although his mouth and his right hand were moving enthusiastically, his hand closest to you stayed on his side. In the next ten minutes, he inched closer and closer to you., at least it seemed like it. With every millimeter that he won, you didn't back away. You wanted him to get closer, god, if you had the choice, he would be as close as humanly possible at all times to you. You let your hands fall out of your coat pockets, dangerously close to his. They graze lightly. He kept on talking about the main character and his complicated love interest. Your hands graze again. You tried to keep calm, listen to his explanation of the story. They touch again, this time longer. You instinctively held out your pinky, your body yearning for his touch. It touched the back of his hand, slowly making its way down. Spencer mirrored your movement, your pinkies finally interlocking. You held your breath, fearing that any change would destroy this fragile image. Both of you kept on walking, he kept on talking.

"Y/n? Are you even listening?“ Spencer asked hesitantly, his voice a little shakier than usual.

"Yeah, sure I am! You were talking about Flavio and his little girlfriend, uhm, Adriana?“ you answered him, completely aware that you were, in fact, not listening to him.

"Arianne. It almost seems like you just wanted to get me talking, so you wouldn’t have to,“ his jawline tensed up but he didn't let go of your pinky.

"I-I, that might have been my plan.“ you defeatedly answered him. But before he could answer you back, you were standing in front of the hotel. 

"There you guys are, finally, I was already afraid that you got lost!“ Morgan said, pushing himself off of the car he was leaning on. You let go in an instant of Spencer's pinky and took a step to the side, not realizing how close you were standing.

"Yeah no, our doctor over here is just not the fastest, even though he has such long legs!“ you laughed, Morgan flashing you a signature smile. 

"Come on, let's get some sleep, tomorrow will probably be a long day again.“ Morgan yawned and started walking towards the entrance of the hotel. Both, you and Reid, followed him and started to walk up to your rooms. Stepping into the elevator, Morgan had to get to the third floor, you and Reid to the fifth. As soon as the elevator dinged on the third, Morgan waved tiredly and wished you both a good night. The ride up was quiet but the tension between you two seemed to thicken. You stepped out of the elevator awkwardly, Spencer following you sheepishly.

"I have to go to the right,“ he said, looking down onto his hands.

"Oh, I have to go left“ you answered, the disappointment in your voice clear, you never were the best at keeping your emotions hidden. 

Spencer looked up at you, opening and closing his mouth, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You gave him a smile: "alright, good night then.“ 

You turned around and started walking towards your room when a sentence dropped from Spencer's lips that made you stop in your tracks.

"Was Emily right?“

You turned around to find him walking towards you, in the opposite direction of his room. You gulped. Your eyes shifted panicky, trying to find the right answer to that question. You could simply lie, say that she was wrong, profilers do get things wrong sometimes. 

But you felt yourself opening your mouth: "yes, Spencer, she was right.“ you looked down onto the floor, your stomach full with knots. 

"But that doesn’t have to change anything between us, you know, I know you don’t like me like that and I will get over this, easily!“ you blabbered. Yeeeeahhhh, sureee, that is gonna be super easy. You don’t believe your own words, knowing the feelings that you have for this man. It’s like nothing you ever felt before, it feels like whenever he looks at you, the world stops for a second. But he doesn’t need to know that, as far as he is concerned, it's just a little work crush.

"What if I don’t want you to get over it?“

The world actually stopped or at least it felt like it again. You drew your eyes up and met his gaze. He looked completely serious, he was not fucking with you right now?

"What do you mean, Spencer?“ you asked hesitantly.

"Well, y/n, as Emily put it so nicely: I have a big, fat crush on you too.“ Spencer timidly smiled at you, ears turning red, stepping closer.

"Or why would you think that I was trying to hold your hand the whole damn way here?“ he confessed, holding his hand out to yours. You followed his movement and took his hand, this time with more clear intention, and interlocked your fingers together. You couldn't fight the smile creeping up your face, neither could he. His other hand moved up and hesitantly touched your cheek. Your eyes shifted up and down, from his brown eyes to his pink lips. He fully stared at your mouth, not concealing his clear want at all, making you chuckle slightly.

"What’s so funny?“ he asked, his voice quiet and distracted.

"You can’t stop staring, can you?“ you blushed, surprised by the boldness of your claim.

"Nope.“ 

And that’s all it took for you to lean over and place your lips on his. For Spencer, it felt like the world was stopping. It was a shy kiss but you both slowly found a rhythm. Your hands found their way to his neck, his hands fell down and started pulling you closer by your hips. After a few moments, you had to stop, trying to catch your breath. The stupid smiles that painted both of your faces made both of you laugh. 

"You know, y/n, I can never stop staring. Whenever I ask you a question, whenever you look up from your desk and especially whenever you hold my hand.“ Spencer confessed, his smile and his words making you blush, for the 100th time tonight. Instead of answering, you simply pulled him into a tight embrace that he happily reciprocated. You sighed heavily, the tension of today falling off, feeling safe in his arms.

[coc0amocha]

🏆 Winner || "That means we can have sexy time now, right?"

Satoru managed to (barely) keep himself during no nut November, and he stayed up all night waiting for it to hit December 1st

Satoru X gn!Reader

Word count: 569

You and Satoru were sleeping together–not like that. Not yet at least. You were enjoying your blissful slumber, sunken and curled up in the sheets with Satoru's strong arms holding you..It was a peaceful night... Until the clock struck twelve.

12:00 am Sun, Dec 1st

Satoru was secretly awake the entire time. Waiting for his least favorite month to finally be over. And the second it did end he leaped into an upright position and started shaking you awake

"Sweeeetsss!! Ohh sweeeetttsss!" He said in a cheerful and singsong-like tone and when you began to stir he reached for his phone and turned it on. When you ever so slightly tilted your head in his direction you were immediately flashbanged by a bright screen, squinting your eyes instinctively

"Look, look look look!!" Satoru cheered as he waved the phone in your face

You began to swat at the phone "I can't see it, Toru. It's too close, too bright, and you're moving way too much." You said groggily

He pulled the phone back a little and gestured to the time dramatically "Looook!"

"It's twelve in the goddamn morning."

"Exactly!"

You pulled the covers back over yourself and turned "You're doing too much. Go back to sleep"

He yanked the covers off you and frowned "I won so I should get a reward."

You turned your head back towards him "Won what?" You questioned as you snatched your blanket back

"No nut November, duh!!! Get with the program, sweets." He rolled his eyes playfully

"It's hard to get with anything at twelve in the morning. Go to sleep" You turned your back towards him, pulling the blanket over yourself again

He crossed his arms and pouted "You can get with this dick at twelve."

"Go to bed, Satoru!!!"

His jaw dropped "You're telling me you're not turned on by my witty and charming way of speaking??? This is totally fucked up. You wanna know what else is fucked up? You not giving me a prize after no fun time for a whole MONTH!! Thirty days!!!! I couldn't even do it by myself. You're cruel!"

"Later." You replied blankly

"I didn't wait for it to hit twelve for nothing."

"Nobody told you to do that."

"My willy did!!" He whined "He's touch starved and deserves to be milked"

"Your...wha.." you trailed off and paused before sighing "Stop talking about your dick like it's a person, Satoru."

"He IS a person!!" He pulled you so you'd lay on your back and look at him "An extremely neglected person and only your touch can fix 30 days worth of trauma!"

"Trauma??" You scoffed

"Yes!! You don't understand the things we went through. We hardly survived! It was like living in the trenches!" He exaggerated

You couldn't help but chuckle a little bit "Not even close."

"You wouldn't know!!!" He said in a whiny tone, his voice going up so many octaves you couldn't take him seriously anymore...Not that you could ever take him seriously.

"Listen. Give me a few more hours of sleep and I'll cure 30 days worth of "his" trauma"

"Fiiinnee!!" He said in exasperation, plopping down on his back "but he's going to be very mad at you until then. His words, not mine."

"Of course, Toru. Your dick said it." You said with a playful roll of your eyes as you wrapped yourself back up in your blanket

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Apologies were in order when Eddie's true whereabouts were revealed, but would a rainy evening bring forgiveness or an even harsher storm? (4.6k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, misunderstanding, anxiety, self-deprication, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, brief touching, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter eight: mind your own business

A simple conversation changed everything.

Admittedly, it was not your conversation, but one you had eavesdropped on. 

You had turned in the final exam for your Experimental Psych class, ruminating over any possible wrong answers as soon as your paper touched the pile on your professor’s desk. Did you get an abnormal amount of Cs in the multiple-choice section? Were your short answers detailed enough?

And then you overheard two guys talking in the hall, one sounding like he’d just chain-smoked a carton of cigarettes. 

“Dude, what the fuck happened to your voice?”

“Lost it at a concert the other night. Totally worth it, though.”

“What concert?”

“Death’s Echo.”

You froze, hoping your sudden stop didn’t draw any attention to you. Death’s Echo had a concert? Where was it? Is that where Eddie was on Monday night?

Potential exam mistakes forgotten, you strode over to the guys on a quest for information. “Excuse me.” Your lips curved into your best customer service smile. “Did you say you saw Death’s Echo?”

The hoarse-voiced one nodded. “Yeah, why? You like them?” His eyes narrowed in assessment; you clearly didn’t embody his expectations of a punk music fan. A fair enough judgment, because you certainly weren’t. 

“Where did they play?” You pressed, ignoring his question. 

“Webster Hall,” he coughed, and his buddy laughed at his apparent pain. “You listen to them?”

“Yup,” you lied easily, not wanting to stick around and have him find out why a “fan” didn’t even know about a local gig. “Um, feel better!” You hurried out of the building, head spinning with this newfound knowledge. 

Webster Hall. It was just over an hour to get there, which meant that the concert must have started late; a practice not unheard of for more up-and-coming bands. The prime time slots went to the headliners who brought in the most money. 

If Eddie had gone to the concert on Monday, why wouldn’t he tell you? Did he think you’d be angry? Disappointed?

Or maybe he just didn’t want you to know he was blowing off work for a concert, you reasoned, and your opinion beyond that is irrelevant. 

Should you ask him about it tonight? Could you? He might hole himself up in his room, ignoring your knocks and only coming out after your shift.

Maybe that was for the best. 

His harsh words from last night continued rattling around your brain, barely taking a reprieve during the test. Honestly, you were grateful you wrote down actual psychological terminology instead of I am a total hypocrite over and over until self-deprecation filled the pages. 

Tomorrow was your last official day of your undergraduate career, your own personal deadline for confessing the truth to your parents, and yet you were no closer to being ready than you were when you first made that silent promise. 

The problem spun a web woven from neurons and synapses, its delicate threads slowly taking over your mind and catching the most daunting tasks. 

NYU Essay revisions Graduation The motel Eisen’s Eddie

Too much. It was all too much, but you couldn’t shake them from their entrapment. You wanted to squeeze your eyes shut and only open them once everything had been resolved. 

You had a fleeting thought of boarding the bus and remaining seated as it rolled past the motel, leaving it all behind and reclaiming your sanity. Running away was always an option, in theory; realistically, you would be overwrought with guilt before the bus made it to the next stop. 

What you’d once considered loyalty was now stained with splotches of cowardice. 

Maybe one day, you would be able to see yourself the way you wanted to be seen: as a trailblazer, a go-getter, a woman in pursuit of her dreams. 

Today was not that day. 

Rain streamed down from the clouds in thick sheets as though compensating for the week’s idle threats of stormy weather. It pelted against the motel’s windows like a steady drumbeat that wouldn’t be drowned out by your clock radio cranked up to its maximum volume. 

Darkness loomed in the night sky, heavier than usual. Wind accompanied the rain, jostling the power lines and making the lights flicker. 

If the electricity went out tonight…

You couldn’t finish that thought, not when the front door swung open to reveal Eddie, drenched from head to toe. His curls clung to his forehead, his cheeks, the back and sides of his neck; his chest heaved beneath a faded Black Sabbath t-shirt that was saturated with rainwater. 

He stood in the doorway for a moment, unmoving and catching his breath. 

This was your chance to apologize. To admit what you know—what you might know. The timing of the Death’s Echo concert could have been a coincidence, but your intuition told you it wasn’t. 

Another awkward smile that didn’t reach his eyes, a tentative “hey,” and he was trudging past you without attempting to stop.

Opportunity went as quickly as it came. Every word you had planned had been scrambled like a tornado swept through your brain and left gibberish-laden debris. 

The version of you that had confidently confronted him about smoking pot a few weeks ago would have scoffed at the way you failed to utter a simple apology. But this was much more complex. 

Eddie’s forgiveness—if he forgave you—was only half of the battle. His blatantly false accusations about your work ethic had cut too deep to ignore. 

Did he really think that little of you? Or was that his own defensiveness rearing its ugly head and taking over?

Then came a cry from down the hall.

“Of fuckin’ course!” Eddie boomed loud enough to be heard beyond his closed door. “Goddammit!”

You abandoned the desk, grabbing your essay papers and bolting to his room. He was at the window, violently pushing down on the pane, but it remained open. The shirt he’d been wearing earlier laid right next to the door as though he’d peeled it off as soon as he stepped into the room. 

Your eyes landed on the dusting of hair that was now plastered to his pecs, another effect from the weather, the soft brown tendrils partially obscured by his demon head tattoo. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d seen him bare-chested. The night he had arrived, he answered your knock in only his Calvin Klein boxers. He was wearing Fruit of the Loom tonight, the elastic waistband exposed from the weight of his rain-sodden jeans. 

Heat burned in your belly, a sensation you hadn’t experienced in a long while. 

“Little help?” Eddie grunted impatiently, and you nodded, tossing the essay onto his nightstand among a sea of his own handwritten papers. 

Had he caught you staring? 

He moved over, bringing both of his hands to the right side so you could press both of yours to the left. The combined force was enough to smack it closed, the resulting burst of wind sending the papers airborne. They floated to the ground, paragraph-laden parachutes, but all you could focus on was the patch of carpet beneath you. It was completely soaked, visibly darker where the rain had seeped in, and it squelched under your sneakers.

“I’ll grab towels.” You started towards the door, pausing to scoop up a sheet of looseleaf that had landed near your feet. It was obviously Eddie’s; his was not as meticulously curated as yours, full of scratch-outs and barely legible, but the words you could make out were enough to pique your interest.

Want what I can’t have

She’s got me mixed fucked mixed up

You couldn’t read any more of it without him noticing, and you certainly did not want to get caught snooping after upsetting him, so you placed it on the bed as casually as you could.

There were extra towels stored in the supply closet, and you jogged back to the lobby, mentally calculating how many you’d need to sop up the mess. Taking as many as you could carry, you perched your chin atop the oversized pile and lumbered into Eddie’s room, dropping them to the ground. 

To your dismay, he had put on a new shirt, but it did nothing to temper your thoughts of running your fingertips over his inked skin. 

The air was now rife with the scent of burning tobacco, the cigarette between Eddie’s lips already smoked halfway to the filter.

“Thanks.” It was muffled and gruff, hardly an olive branch, but it was enough to tug the corners of your mouth in a tepid smile.

You wanted to stay, wanted to ask about what he had been writing, but Eddie snatched up your essay papers from where they’d scattered before you could ask. He shoved them towards you, leaving the edges creased where they crinkled under his grip. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t vandalize them,” he sneered. A gray cloud whorled from his lips as he spoke, but it didn’t hide his sarcastic grin. 

You steeled your gaze and forced yourself to look just above the glowing ember and into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” You let your apology float downwards, watching for any indication of a softening expression, but he remained tense. 

“You didn’t even bother asking where I was,” he spit. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, less abrasive this time. “I assumed...because you were so mean to Ben…” Any further explanation felt too much like an excuse, so you left the sentence unfinished.

Eddie’s chest deflated slightly, his bravado extinguished. He’d been expecting a fight, you realized. 

You refused to give him one. 

“Were you at Webster Hall?” Your voice deliberately turned up at the end, careful to pose it as a question rather than a declaration. Certainly not as an accusation. 

Eddie flinched, his forefinger and thumb quickly pinching his cigarette to keep it from falling. “What?”

“Monday night,” you said. You pushed your right foot into the mound of towels, hit with a sudden bout of antsiness. “Was your errand seeing Death’s Echo play at Webster Hall?”

He said nothing, just looked at you. Really looked at you, assessing whether or not you deserved to know the truth. 

The admission came out gradually, as if it was being met with resistance, pulled from a place so deep he had forgotten its existence. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?”

Eddie took another drag from his cigarette. He held the smoke in his lungs until forced out with a cough. “Wanted to hear how they sounded with their new, ah, frontman.”

Lower lip tucked snugly beneath your front teeth, you nodded. “And how did they sound?”

“Great. Really fuckin’ great.” His wry smile held more sadness than amusement. “Better than when I was with them.”

Your heart lurched. Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand, giving it just a little squeeze before letting go. “I know that’s not true,” you said. “I heard you playing on Sunday, and you’re good, Eddie. Not just anyone could pull off playing Metallica without an amp, but you did.” 

You wished he could see himself from your perspective, see the man whose talent was too vast for a dingy subway station, whose music deserved to be heard by sold-out crowds at The Garden.

Eddie didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree, either. His face remained neutral, and given the circumstances, you considered that a win.

“I can work tonight. Hang the new wallpaper.” A lightning-speed subject change, but you were becoming accustomed to seamlessly shifting tracks to follow his train of thought. “I’ll be back out as soon as I finish this.” He lifted the cigarette to his mouth again and you nodded, closing the door behind you.

Part of you expected him not to return. If his brain worked like yours, he would overthink the conversation, replaying it over and over until he’d wrung out all the positives and left it saturated with the negatives. He’d opt to stay in his room and smoke out his pack, leaving the wallpaper job unfinished. But you heard the door hinge creak and his footsteps pattering into the lobby.

One thousand words flooded your brain to form myriad sentences, from a joking long time, no see to a much more serious who were you writing about?

Ben thought Eddie had feelings for you, ones that stretched past the platonic confines. But he’d only met him once, briefly. He didn’t really know him. 

Want what I can’t have She’s got me mixed up

Did you really know him?

Eddie had an endless list of things he couldn’t have, which often was the case for people facing poverty. As for the girl who had him mixed up, you couldn’t narrow that down, either. The only women you’d seen him interact with were Phyllis (an unlikely muse, but it wouldn’t be the most bizarre case of unrequited love you’d ever heard of), your mom (again, not likely), and you. 

There was no doubt you had him mixed up. Maybe even fucked up, as he’d written and crossed out. But had you had enough of an effect on him to warrant poetry or song lyrics–

Song lyrics.

It all clicked into place: The band; more specifically, the drummer who happened to be his ex-girlfriend. He’d gone to see them play. He could have spoken to her, and maybe realized that a spark was still present. A real spark, not whatever pathetic flicker you might have felt that night when he’d held your hand as you removed wallpaper, or when you’d exchanged gentle touches after his unfortunate wasp’s nest encounter, or when he’d loomed over you in the subway car and a delicate dip in your belly made itself known.

You decided that this explanation, the one in which you had little to no involvement, held the most logic. His inspiration was his past love–potentially his current love–and your argument was a mere distraction from a much more complicated situation.

A natural silence fell over the lobby, a healing balm over the wound you’d taken turns picking at and reopening. It was the perfect setting to finish editing your essay, and yet you found the task impossible. Any threatening grammatical errors paled in comparison to the slight movements of Eddie’s back muscles, visible through his white cotton shirt as he smoothed down the wallpaper panels. 

The pronounced flex of his tricep as he drove the paper cutter above the moldings with utter precision. 

The soft grunt that escaped his lips as he pressed on his thighs to stand up and admire his handiwork. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been staring at him before the slamming front door snapped you out of it. 

“L-Looks good,” you managed, throat suddenly bone-dry. 

Eddie crossed his arms, took a small step back, and nodded. Wide brown eyes scoured the wall for any uneven edges or unglued seams, his lips pursed in concentration. “Not my best work but, uh, it’ll do.” He smirked at you, then jutted his chin to your left.

A middle-age man stood beside the desk, rainwater dripping off of the slope of his nose. He held an umbrella, turned inside out and rendered useless by the wind. 

“Sign out front says ‘vacancy.’” He grumbled and swiped at his bushy eyebrows, revealing a sliver of beer gut when he raised his arm. “Just need a room for the night.”

“Mhm, of course.” You found your footing with a polite smile and collected the stranger’s money, just as you always had, just as you were supposed to. Because you were at work, and that was your job–not watching Eddie hang wallpaper.

As you scanned the wall behind you for a key, a warm whisper tickled your ear, breath tinged with a smoky aroma. A shiver reflexively wiggled down your spine as Eddie spoke, your body unused to this level of proximity.

“Put him away from my room. He looks like a snorer.”

You tucked your lips into your mouth to stifle your laughter. Eddie was right; you weren’t quite sure what it was about the man, but he did look like he snored. Loudly. 

You meant to look over your paper after your shift, but sleep was too seductive to resist. Just one more day, one more final exam, and then you were done. At least until August. 

Summer stretched before you, and though you would still be spending nights behind the desk, your days were wide open. 

Days that might be spent alongside Eddie. 

There was no formal apology from him last night, a fact that nagged at you throughout the bus ride to school and prevented you from looking past the first page of your essay. That, and the burdens of shame both you and Eddie carried: yours from the blatantly wrong accusation, his from…what, exactly? Why was he embarrassed to tell you where he’d been?

The wound was still too raw last night to press on it, to ask further questions; instead, you kept the conversation light and airy. The only foray into dangerous territory came from Eddie himself when he asked about the vandalism at Eisen’s. You couldn’t answer fast enough before clumsily pivoting the discussion to the warming weather.

And maybe it was your inner people pleaser that craved reconciliation, needed it to unfurl and bloom like a budding rose, that lowered your guard and bade you to talk with him. But people-pleasing didn’t explain the warmth that crept through your body, lazily winding through your veins, when he laughed at your jokes.

That laugh–the gentle nose scrunch it evoked, the lightheartedness it exuded, how it chiseled away at the remaining iciness between you. It was all you thought about that night, your heart relaxing as the friendship was no longer in limbo. 

But when you got to class and flipped through your essay one last time, that newfound homeostasis meant nothing. Yes, there were ten pages present and ready to be stapled, but unless your conclusion focused on angsty song lyrics, you were missing the final page.

Dread’s chill pricked at you, followed by an overbearing wash of heat. The granola bar you’d scarfed down threatened to make a reappearance. 

Stupid. How could I have been so careless? All I had to do was check before I left home, but I was too busy thinking about Eddie to do the bare minimum.

It was a bad dream; you’d wake up and find yourself in bed with your full essay safely stored in your bag. All you had to do was wake up and page ten would be a continuation of psychological development in infancy. 

Your eyes opened hopefully, but you were still in the classroom, and the page still beared Eddie’s sloppy scrawl:

I’m the castle She’s the queen Can’t be a king I’m too obscene

The lyrics a few lines down stopped mid-sentence:

Crushed beneath a broken dream Failed to launch now I

You were wasting precious time. If you left now, you could probably make it home and back before the professor left. You’d have to fork over the money for a dollar cab and forgo your afternoon coffee, but it was a sacrifice you needed to make. 

Stupid stupid stupid—

Your name being called drew you from your pit of self-loathing. It wasn’t Nora; the voice was too masculine and too far away for it to come from beside you. 

It was someone with the same name. Just a coincidence. 

And then you heard it again. Loud enough so it echoed down the hall, but not frantic. And yet your heart fluttered in your chest. 

Eddie. 

There was no way; he couldn’t be—

You squeezed past Nora and thundered towards the door, trying to quell your hopes before they rose too high. 

But there he stood, sweat pasting his hair to his forehead. His chest heaved beneath a white cotton undershirt that was tight around the biceps. Deep brown eyes lit up when he spotted you in the doorway, his lips curving in a triumphant smile. 

“I have your paper!” Sure enough, your conclusion paragraph was clenched in his calloused hand.

You could have cried with relief. Fueled by gratefulness and residual adrenaline, you flung your arms around him. Your hands found his back muscles; at first tensed, almost reflexively, but quickly relaxed. The paper crinkling between your torsos jarred you out of the moment, and you took a step back before he could return the gesture—if he even would have. 

“Sorry, I…” Words suddenly evaded you, eviscerated by the musky scent of his deodorant. He didn’t appear to be uncomfortable, all soft doe eyes and lazy grins from his unlikely heroism, but…still. Your relationship now teetered between employee and friend, and you couldn’t afford to knock it off-balance. “How did you get here so fast? And how did you find me?”

Eddie exhaled a chuckle. “Took a cab. And when I got here, I asked every other person where the psychology classes were.”

“You walked from where the dollar cab dropped you off?” How many blocks was that? No wonder he was sweating. 

His cheeks, already flushed from exertion, tinged a deeper shade of pink. “N-No, I, um…it was a regular cab.”

Sheer disbelief widened your eyes. He must have dipped into his meager savings to shell out the money for an actual cab, putting him even farther behind in his journey home. 

“I…” There were one thousand ways to finish your sentence. 

I can pay you back. 

I can’t believe you did this for me. 

I am so sorry I ever doubted your character. 

I wish we’d hugged just a moment longer. 

You finally settled on a string of words that required no courage at all, just a genuine thankful smile. “I have your lyrics. Let me turn in my paper and I’ll grab them for you.”

Eddie’s timid expression shifted into one of amusement. “Shit, yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Was wondering where those went.”

Opportunity splayed out in front of you, tempting you to ask him about the woman who had him mixed up. Every cell in your body ached to know if she was the same queen he’d placed on a royal pedestal, unattainable despite his valiant efforts. 

Was it fear or politeness that held your tongue? You weren’t supposed to see the lyrics in the first place; how could you justify your questions? Sorry I read your innermost thoughts without permission, but could I pick your brain about them?

Any doubts about your intentions were confirmed when he took the page from you, cocked his head, and asked: “What’d you think?”

There it was. Your opening. You could see it, practically touch it, your fingertips brushing the chance to admit that the songs’ mysterious inspiration gnawed at you—

But then he might ask why you wanted to know. And, quite honestly, you lacked the energy to figure it out for yourself. The desire was too strong to be nosiness, too personal to be gossip. 

Not to mention the inexplicable sourness that burned your esophagus when you’d considered the high probability that he’d written them about his ex-girlfriend. 

“Really good,” you managed. “I can’t wait for the finished product.”

Coward. 

“Me, too,” he agreed with a laugh. “I’m sure the folks at the train station are dying to hear it.”

“The rats’ll give you a standing ovation.”

He snickered. “My biggest fans.” 

A hand squeezing yours prevented you from getting lost in the slight dimple that appeared when he smiled. Nora now stood beside you, expression innocuous to Eddie or any other man, but her dark brown eyes silently asked, are you okay?

I’m fine, you replied with a squeeze of your own, grateful for someone who swooped in seeing you with a man she didn’t know.

“Nora, this is Eddie,” you introduced her. “He’s–he’s my friend who’s been helping us out around the motel. Eddie, this is Nora, best friend and study buddy extraordinaire.”

“Ahh, Wallpaper Boy.” Nora furrowed a brow. “You go to school here?”

Eddie cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. “No, I…she left her paper, so…” He trailed off as though embarrassed by his chivalry. 

“So now she can graduate!” Nora wrapped you in an embrace so tight that you briefly worried about your shoulder dislocating. She leaned in knowingly, her tone teasing with an air of seriousness. “And keep me company at the ceremony, right?”

You rolled your eyes, acutely aware that Eddie was watching the entire interaction. The last thing you wanted was attention drawn to the fact that you weren’t attending graduation. “Maybe,” was all you said, and Nora left it at that.

There was an awkward beat before anyone spoke again, and it was Eddie who eventually filled the silence. “Heading home now?” He asked you, already starting towards the building’s doors. 

“No, I’m going to Eisen’s. I promised Ben that I’d help clean the graffiti.” You braced yourself for a volatile reaction, or at least something akin to annoyance, but his response was more surprising than any snarky remark. 

“I’ll come with.”

Cocking a disbelieving brow, you did your best to keep your tone free of judgment. You were waiting for the gotcha, but you couldn’t let him know that. “Seriously?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, why not? I’ve got the day free, and I have some…expertise in graffiti removal.” He relented with a shrug when you and Nora exchanged curious glances, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “My trailer got hit a time or twelve back in the day. The tragic life of a Satan-worshiping freak, y’know?”

“But I bet the vandalizers were upstanding citizens.”

“Keys to the city and everything.” Eddie stuck out his hand, palm up, and you could see the details etched into his pale skin. Calluses decorated the pads of his fingers; you’d assumed they were mostly from guitar playing, but now you could add physical labor to their origins. He looked down at his hand, then back at you. “Shall we?”

Your own hands were suddenly slick with anxious perspiration, like a middle school student on her first-ever date. Even that juvenile scenario held more significance than this—two friends scrubbing down a hardware store was a far cry from the Sandra Brown romance novels you secretly devoured in high school. 

And yet, you felt it—that soft electricity that crackled through your whorls of fingerprints when you slid your palm against his, the jolt of energy as he tugged you forward and laced his fingers with yours. If he noticed the nervousness that embarrassing seeped from your pores, he didn’t mention it. 

Nora, ever astute, excused herself with a story about not wanting to miss the bus, but not before whispering in your ear, “he’s cute.” An approval that would almost certainly be followed up with a phone call later to discuss the fine details of the afternoon’s escapades. 

There are no ‘escapades,’ you reminded yourself. You’re removing graffiti, not embarking on a Parisian vacation. 

Eddie led the way until he reached the building’s doors, blinking as his eyes once again adjusted to the sunlight. “I, uh, I have no idea where we’re going.”

You laughed at his candor. “Follow me.”

It was an opportunity to break the grasp, to unleash the anxiety that threatened to cleave you and Eddie back into two separate pieces. He was dangerous because he was temporary; if you allowed him in even farther than you already had—beyond the confines of friendship—his inevitable departure would destroy you. 

Let go. Let go. Let. Go. 

And yet you kept holding on, adjusting only to take the lead. Eddie’s thumb brushed against yours, pausing just at the knuckle to press down in subtle acknowledgment. 

Hi. 

You pressed back with an accompanying smile. 

Hi. 

This time when you reached the subway station, you both jumped the turnstile. 

--

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[anonymous-dentist]

Or: Prince Roier Hires a Faerie to Help With His Divorce (he hasn't gotten married yet)

For day two of @smallchaoscryptid's Spiderbit Week - Fae/Kiss

-

Once upon a time...

Roier picks his way through the foliage with a grimace. His feet hurt, twigs keep smacking into his face, bugs keep flying into his mouth. This sucks, but it'll all be worth it.

Thunder rolls above, and rain starts pouring down without a second's warning.

...It'll all be worth it.

He's due back at the castle by morning, but, honestly, he'd kinda rather die than go back. If the wolves eat him, so be it!

Grumbling, he pulls his hood up over his head, and he continues onward. If he freezes to death out here, so be it!

He's not planning on going back to the castle alive, anyway.

Legend has it that, deep in the haunted forest surrounding the Kingdom of Quesadilla, there lives a man-eating witch capable of tearing a man's soul from his body before he can so much as breathe in her general direction. Nobody knows this witch's name, but everybody knows that she's totally fucked up: if she isn't eating people, she's eating bears, and her magic is said to be as destructive as the eruption that created the universe.

Roier needs to meet her now.

So he continues trudging through the woods. The lantern in his hand is fighting to stay lit, and his boots are filled with enough water to drown a rat with, but he's fine. He's going to die miserable, but he's fine.

There's a flash of lightning bright enough to blind him, and then there's a crash of thunder loud enough to make him jump and nearly drop his lantern. When his vision returns, the tree in front of him is toppled to the side, leaving only a charred and smoking stump behind.

And then there's the cat.

Roier, frankly, stares. Because... what?

It's a cute cat, at least: brown with black stripes almost like a tiger's and blue eyes so bright that they almost seem to glow in the night. It sits on the stump with its tail curled around its paws, very polite, 10/10 cat.

Hesitantly, Roier approaches. He holds the lantern up to the cat, tilts his head, smiles.

"You're so cute," he coos, bending down to pet the cat between its little ears. "What are you doing out here, eh?"

The cat yawns, and then it huffs, "I could ask you the same question."

Roier screams and recoils and drops his lantern. It goes out, but the forest doesn't grow any dimmer because the cat is fucking glowing now, okay. Okay!

The cat rolls its eyes, tail twitching. "Okay, ouch. I'm not that scary."

"You're a talking cat," Roier breathes. "What the fuck?"

"What, you were expecting the witch?"

A pause.

Then:

"Oh, come on!"

Roier finally collects himself, brushing the water off of his cloak and adjusting his hood and picking up his lantern.

The cat stands and starts pacing the stump in a small, annoyed circle.

"The witch isn't even real," it complains. "She never was! Witches aren't real!"

Roier frowns. "Fuck you, man, my best friend is a witch."

"They aren't. Witches aren't real. Magicians are real, but witches-"

"You are literally a talking cat."

"I am a faerie," the cat corrects, sounding almost pained as it does so. "Faeries are real. Witches are fake. It's all anti-faerie propaganda created by the Federation-"

"By the what?"

The cat flicks his tail at Roier; Roier's mouth shuts, and, to his alarm, he finds that he can't open it again no matter how hard he tries.

The cat angrily swipes a leaf off of the stump. Unfortunately, it is really cute as it does so.

But then it starts complaining again, and Roier decides that this annoying fucking faerie cat isn't that cute after all.

"I haven't eaten anybody in centuries!" the cat shouts. "Fucking Cucurucho..."

Roier's eyes widen.

He waves at the cat until the cat does its magic thing again and allows him to talk.

First, Roier sucks in a deep breath through his mouth. That was uncomfortable.

Then, he says, "I know Cucurucho. I'm supposed to marry him in three days."

The cat's eyes narrow. Its shadow beneath it seems to grow; it tinges itself red like a pool of water with blood in it, wow. That's almost cool.

"That's why I'm here," Roier explains. "I need the witch to kill me so I don't have to marry him."

The cat sits.

"I see," it says. "Unfortunately, the witch isn't real."

"Suuuure, but you are." Roier sneaks closer. "Can't you just-" He opens his hands and wiggles his fingers. "-magic me dead?"

The cat stares at Roier's fingers. "Um. No. Faeries can't kill."

Roier deflates. "Ugh."

With a frustrated groan, he sits on the stump next to the cat. The cat grumbles, but it doesn't, like, magic him onto the ground, so that's kinda nice of it.

"But," the cat says, slowly as if questioning itself as it speaks, "I can get you to kill for me."

Oh. Now there's a thought. But...

Roier looks to the side at the cat. "I've tried. I'm pretty sure he's immortal, man."

"You haven't tried killing him with faerie magic. Now, come here."

The cat hops off of the stump and pads into the forest. After a moment, Roier follows.

They walk until they reach a hollowed-out tree. Then, the cat hops into the tree and mutters to itself as it looks for something.

Eventually, the cat pokes its head out of the tree with an opaque brown bottle held in its mouth.

Roier takes the bottle and turns it over in his hands.

"This," the cat says, "is extract of unicorn. Mix this in with Cucurucho's food, and he'll be dead by the end of the night."

Roier's mouth twitches. It'll happen, just like that? Just like that? Decades of oppression over just. Like. That?

"Okaaayyy," Roier drawls. He looks back up at the cat with a small smile. "Thank you."

The cat responds by clambering out of the tree and lounging on a branch hanging by Roier's face.

"No, thank you," the cat insists. "You'll be doing us both a favor if you manage to kill that asshole."

"If this kills him, you'll be a hero."

"Oh, I'm no hero. I'm just..." (The cat grins with far too many teeth in its mouth.) "...an invested party."

Well, the cat is probably evil. But that's fine. So is Cucurucho, and two wrongs make a right, right?

-

Well, wrong! Because Cucurucho isn't fucking dead.

Roier stomps back to the tree stump with the faerie's empty unicorn piss whatever bottle in hand. He doesn't have a lantern this time because, frankly, he really isn't intent on returning to the castle this time. If he trips over a root and dies, so be it!

The cat is nowhere to be seen. Of course, the bastard.

"Gatinho!" Roier calls. He cups both hands around his mouth and spins in a circle and continues shouting, "Gatinho! Where the fuck are you! Come here!"

No response.

Frustrated, Roier chucks the bottle to the ground and plops onto the stump. He puts his head in his hands and groans.

"I am going to fucking die," he moans. "I can't go home, I need to die, what the fuck."

A twig snaps. A presence ghosts over his shoulder, what feels like fingers grazing his tunic. But, when he snaps his head up and turns around, all he sees is the cat sitting behind him.

Roier's eyes narrow. "You."

"Me," the cat agrees. "Did it work? Is he dead? Please tell me he's dead. He's dead, right?"

"No! He isn't! He thought that unicorn shit was edible glitter! Now he wants it at the wedding!"

The cat blinks. "Huh."

"Yeah, 'huh'." Roier huffs and turns back around and hides his face again. "Fuck you, man. You said it would kill him."

"It should've. He's a demon, right?"

"How should I know? He's a fucking bear wizard thing."

"Okay, again, wizards aren't real, magicians are. But you're marrying him, right? How do you not know what species he is?"

"It's not like I'm getting a choice in the matter," Roier spits. He glares into the palms of his hands, shoulders shaking with barely-concealed rage. "Either I marry him or he destroys the kingdom."

There's a pregnant pause as the cat takes this information in. Fair, honestly. Roier hadn't exactly told him that he's a prince. Wasn't important, still isn't important. Doesn't matter if he's a prince if he's being sold off to marry a goddamn bear like he's a common animal.

It's for the good of the kingdom, Foolish had said. He and Vegetta have always liked Cucurucho despite Cucurucho being a legendary fucking creep. It's either you or Leo.

And Roier isn't the one that's meant to take the throne after his parents die.

"Can't you just kill me?" Roier asks. He waves a hand in a random direction. "Just make a tree fall on me or something. It'll be an accident, it's fine, your faerie cops won't know."

"Um, no," the cat says. "That's fucked up."

"Don't you eat people? How the fuck do you eat people without killing them?"

"Who says I killed them before eating them?"

Ah. Sounds about right.

...Kinda cool, to be honest. Imagining a tiny little kitty cat rip a grown dude apart like he's a slice of bread. Almost funny in a way.

Roier jumps as something brushes the hair out of his face.

He jerks his head upright and glares down at the cat, now sitting delicately in front of him.

"I have an idea," the cat tells him. "Follow me."

As they walk back to the hollow tree, the cat asks, "Does Cucurucho still have that freaky mechanical sword?"

Roier thinks. "Maybe? I don't know, he kinda just sits and stares at people. Sometimes he chases the servants around with a sword? Dunno if it's mechanical, though..."

"Well, any sword will work. Hold on."

The cat leaps into the tree and comes out with a new bottle, this one clear.

Roier takes the bottle and swishes it around. The liquid inside looks like oil, okay...

"This is dragon's blood," the cat explains. "It's corrosive to the touch, so be careful. Tell him that it's a special polish for his sword. It should eat his skin to the bone and kill him dead."

"Huh," Roier says, suddenly much more careful with the bottle. He gently slides it into his pocket, makes sure it's secure between a bag of coins and his headband. "Okay. Cool."

"This should work," the cat says. "But I'll try and think of something else for if it doesn't."

"Yeah, well, it'd better work," Roier huffs. "I'm getting married in two days. Then the gods only know what he's gonna do with me."

"Trust me, we'll figure it out."

"Trust you? Aren't you some kind of evil faerie cat?"

The cat looks offended. "Excuse you, I'm barely evil anymore. All I do is read these days. Do you know how many books I have at my house? More than Cucurucho, that's for sure."

"You have a house?"

The cat visibly bristles. "Of course I have a house. What, do you think I'm homeless?"

"You are a cat."

"Not all the time!"

Oh, that's interesting. Roier can almost imagine what the cat looks like in a human form, but the idea escapes him at the last second.

"Whatever," Roier sighs. "Just kill me tomorrow if this doesn't work."

-

Roier doesn't even bother shouting as he storms up to the stump.

He sits, pulls his cloak off, tosses it to his feet, kicks it away. What the fuck!!

He doesn't so much as blink as the cat appears by his side.

"It didn't work?" the cat cries. "Really? That should've worked!"

"Yeah, well, it didn't," Roier huffs. "He wore gloves today. And Cucurucho figured out that I've been sneaking out to see someone at night, so he told my parents that we're going to move to a different castle out in the middle of nowhere. I bet he's going to lock me up, the piece of shit."

The cat's ears lay back on its head. Its eyes narrow, and its lip curls back in a clear snarl.

"I know," Roier agrees. "Fuck this guy for real."

"Fuck him."

"Fuck him!"

Roier smiles just for a second, and he even manages a brief laugh before remembering, right. He's fucking doomed. Right.

Sighing, he slumps to the side until he's tumbling off of the stump and splayed across the ground. He buries his face in the grass and screams.

To his credit, he hardly jumps as a hand firmly settles on his back and rubs it. Small circles, firm hand, big hand, it feels like, wow.

Something- a knee?- presses against Roier's arm firmly. It's grounding in a way. Almost.

"I'm getting married tomorrow," Roier whines. "Just kill me, gatinho. I promise I won't tell anyone."

"I'm not going to kill you, guapito," the cat says. (Roier blushes. Guapito...) Its voice sounds deeper, almost. Louder. More clear. "I can't."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Marry Cucurucho?"

"I won't let that happen."

"Why? Because you want to kill him? Because that hasn't exactly been working so far."

"Because it's super fucked up that he's forcing you to marry him. I don't give a shit about the kingdom, I don't live there. I want him dead, but I'm starting to think that he's unkillable."

The hand moves from Roier's back up to his head. Fingers sift through his hair. Woooow, that feels good. When's the last time Roier got touched this softly? Before Cucurucho arrived?

"I've been thinking," the cat continues. "I've been keeping an eye on Cucurucho for centuries, but he's never tried destroying the kingdom before now. Before you. I think that, if you're gone, then he might leave, too."

Roier cracks an eye open. He doesn't shift his head at all, so he can only just barely make out a hint of cloth. So the cat has clothes when he's a human, that's cool, Roier guesses. Makes him wonder where they came from.

"So... kill me," Roier tells him. "If it'll get him to leave the kingdom alone, kill me."

"I can't do that."

"I'm not next in line for the throne! It's fine! Just push me into the river, I can't swim."

"You can't swim? Really?"

"Well, I can, but I can pretend that I can't!"

"You are so... selfless," the cat says, sounding completely exasperated. "And stupid. No, come with me. I know how we can solve this without killing you."

The hand leaves Roier's head, and then a cold nose is poking at his cheek until he's sitting up and looking the cat right in its little kitty eyes.

"Do you still have cat eyes when you're in another form?" Roier can't help but ask. "That would be really cool."

The cat chuckles. "Maybe. Come on. I have one last thing we can try."

They go to the hollow tree, and Roier waits as the cat scrambles into the tree and surfaces with a necklace clutched in its teeth.

Roier takes the necklace and inspects it. It's a solid gold chain with a little charm that looks like a cat's head. Cute.

"What, is this evil faerie gold that will melt Cucurucho's skin off?" Roier asks.

"No, it's for you," the cat replies. "Wear it tomorrow. When the wedding reaches the climax, take the necklace off and break it."

Roier points at the cat accusingly. "You are going to kill me!"

The cat rolls its eyes. "I'm not. Just... trust me."

Trust the man-eating faerie cat, sure. Right.

Roier sighs, but he puts the necklace on, anyway. It's surprisingly warm around his neck.

The cat almost seems to smile. "You look lovely."

"This thing is going to explode and blow my head off."

"No, you'll see."

And, well. What choice does Roier have but to wait and see?

-

The final wedding preparations go by in an uncomfortable blur.

Leo comes in to hug Roier goodbye. She then punches Roier in the stomach and tells him to write to her once he's at his new house.

Jaiden comes in to help Roier finish getting ready. She's happy about the marriage because she really thinks that Cucurucho is a good person, and Roier can't help but be happy that she's happy.

Foolish comes in to walk Roierto the church. He and Vegetta each take one of Roier's arms, and they walk.

And then Cucurucho is waiting at the church in front of the altar in an all-white suit. His fur is meticulously brushed, his claws are polished, his smile is painted on, he's absolutely grotesque.

Roier hates him.

"Good morning," Cucurucho says as Roier settles in front of the altar.

"It's sunset, you fucking idiot," Roier snaps. He can say what he wants now, right? He's going to die, anyway. The cat is going to kill him.

Cucurucho laughs, and then the ceremony starts.

Roier tunes out most of the goings-on if only to keep himself from breaking down and breaking the necklace before it's time. The cat said to wait until the climax, so Roier's going to wait for the goddamn climax.

He comes back to himself as the cleric asks if anybody in the audience has any objections to the marriage.

This sounds like a fucking climax if Roier's ever heard one.

"Yes," he says. "I object!"

He tears the necklace from around his neck and throws it to the floor. Before anybody can stop him, he slams his heel into the charm.

The entire church erupts into screams as a blinding white light fills it. Magic tears at Roier's skin, biting and pulling. He squeezes his eyes shut, anticipating the end of it all.

But:

"I also object," the cat says.

Two large hands settle on Roier's upper arms, and he's pulled back and against a firm chest.

Roier tilts his head back- not too far, because the cat's human form is shorter than he is, funnily enough- and his eyes widen as he takes in the most beautiful man in the world. Long hair the same color as the cat's coat, scarred face, feathery earrings, cat eyes.

"No," Curucucho snaps. "No!"

"Yes!" the cat- well, not the cat, Roier supposes- shouts. "The prince is mine! He swore himself to me the moment he accepted that necklace, and so he will go back with me to the Faewild and become my husband. You know the rules, bear."

Leo, in the audience, cheers. So does Foolish, who always appreciates a good show.

"Gatinho," Roier hisses.

The faerie shrugs his concerns off. Roier is annoyed about this for exactly three seconds before he gets caught up in the faerie's eyes.

Could be a worse arranged marriage, that's for sure...

A long moment passes, but Cucurucho eventually says a begrudging, "Yes."

"So," the faerie continues, "you will not destroy the kingdom for this. If the prince has already been promised to somebody else, then he never rejected you."

"Yes," Cucurucho sighs.

"You're hot when you're arguing," Roier whispers.

The faerie's cheeks redden, as do the tips of his pointed ears. Cute!

Yeah, no, this arranged marriage will be way better than the last one.

"So!" The faerie turns Roier around so that they're looking at each other properly for the first time eye-to-eye. "You will be coming with me."

"Yeah, okay," Roier agrees. Hell yeah. "Take me, gatinho."

"'Take me'?" Foolish gasps. "Ooooo, this is getting spicy!"

"All you need to do is say my name," the faerie says.

He leans in close and whispers right into Roier's ear, and Roier returns the favor... with a couple of flirtatious remarks thrown in for good measure. Sue him, he's about to get married to a sexy faerie. He's going to make the most of the situation.

"Cellbit," Roier murmurs, and something tickles at his skin. Something... purple. It feels purple. Soft and purple.

"Roier," the faerie replies. He looks positively flustered, aww. He's going to be so fun to tease once they're out of the church.

As the Faewild's magic starts to pick up, Roier can't help but give the faerie a grateful kiss.

The faerie blinks away from the kiss after a moment of some very eager lip-chasing. His face is completely red, and his eyes are wide and unblinking even as the magic around them whips like the wind.

"There's more where that comes from," Roier teases. He puts his arms around the faerie and smiles. "You're marrying me, get used to it. That's just part of the deal."

Because faeries are all about deals, right? Well, Roier's the best deal this guys is ever gonna get.

The faerie swallows, an eager grin teasing at his face.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Alright."

He pulls Roier's head down for another kiss just as the Faewild swallows them whole.

-

(Legends say that there are monsters living in the haunted forest surrounding the Kingdom of Quesadilla. Once monster is a man-spider with glowing red eyes and fangs the length of one's sword. The other is a furry snarling beast of a thing with magic worthy of the most powerful of witches.

Ah, but don't worry, my child, for these monsters don't hunt humans.

No, they hunt bears, and isn't that a good thing for us?)

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #03 死

† breakfast and training †

"His eyes are the kind of dark that makes you forget there was ever light in the world. And you hate that you're starting to notice details about him."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 5.4k

rating: mature

content: training violence, weapons, strong language, sexual tension

☠ author's note ☠

HELLO MY FELLOW SLEEP-DEPRIVED CREATURES. Welcome back to another episode of "Kiki makes questionable life choices and writes fanfiction instead of sleeping"!

Can we talk about how I wrote like three different versions of the gun scene before my perfectionist brain was satisfied? And by satisfied I mean "fine whatever just post it I guess." Don't @ me about gun accuracy, I play Call of Duty sometimes that's research enough (ㆆᴗㆆ)

Also yes, I am absolutely living for the whole "oh no they're training together" trope. Sue me. Or don't, I'm broke. All I have is caffeine and the ability to make my characters suffer. Speaking of which - Jeon in combat mode? chef's kiss My boy is out there being all professional and grumpy while Y/N is just trying her best not to get shot. We love that for them.

PSA: The whole "Cookie" thing was totally self-indulgent and I regret nothing. V is here to cause chaos and honestly? Goals.

Special shoutout to my cat who watched me write this at 3 AM and judged me silently. You're the best beta reader a girl could ask for, even if your only feedback is knocking my coffee over.

See you next Tuesday, you beautiful disasters! Remember: sleep is for the weak and fanfiction is for life.

crawls back into writing cave while mainlining espresso

Kiki

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Mornings in the castle hit different. Through your window, the sky's doing that thing where it can't decide if it's still night or already dawn—all soft blues mixing with hints of gold. Everything's quiet, like the world's holding its breath.

Then your alarm goes off.

"Why did we agree to this again?" Yunjin whines from her bed, fumbling to shut up the annoying buzz. Her pink hair is a mess, splayed across her pillow like cotton candy gone wrong.

"Croissants," you remind her, stretching until your joints pop. "Fresh, buttery, heavenly croissants."

"Not hungry." She burrows deeper into her blanket cocoon. "Too early for hunger. Too early for existing."

You swing your legs off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor. "What happened to yesterday's 'new me, new goals' speech?"

"That was yesterday's Yunjin. Today's Yunjin chooses sleep."

With a snort, you pad over to her bed. It's literally two steps away—your shared room is cozy like that, with just enough space for two singles and matching bedside tables. You give her shoulder a gentle shake.

"And what's tomorrow's Yunjin gonna think about that?"

"Tomorrow's Yunjin's problem," she mumbles, death-gripping her blanket. Smart girl. She knows your next move would've been stealing it.

"Then it's tomorrow's me problem too!" You can't help but laugh, and it finally gets her to peek one eye open.

She lets out the longest, most dramatic sigh. "Fine. Fine. You win."

Your shared laughter is soft, comfortable. It's weird how quickly Yunjin became your person here. Maybe because she's as new to this as you are—no pressure to measure up to badasses like Chaewon or keep your guard up around intimidating figures like V and Jeon.

She joined two months before you did. For her, it meant saying goodbye to having her own room, but she says it was worth the trade-off. Girl's a mess when it comes to sleep schedules, but she keeps your shared space spotless and her determination is s̶c̶a̶r̶y̶ impressive. Like, you've seen her practice seduction techniques until 3 AM, and now here she is, dragging herself up at dawn for... well, croissants and self-improvement.

There's something genuinely good about Yunjin. She's always there—to help, to listen, to just be. Five months in and everyone in Seduction already adores her. Yeah, she's clumsy as hell during physical training, but her mind is sharp. Nothing gets past her—it's like she's got a built-in lie detector.

After yesterday morning's... incident, you're extra grateful for her company.

You both grab your digital cards from your bedside tables—can't go anywhere in this place without them. They're basically your whole identity here, determining which doors open for you and which stay firmly shut.

The castle corridors feel endless this early. Most members are probably still sleeping or doing whatever gang members do at dawn. Your footsteps echo softly as you and Yunjin make your way to the cafeteria, keeping the conversation light.

"Have you had breakfast here before?" you ask, watching her stifle another yawn.

"Once." She nods, her pink ponytail bouncing. "Got up at 10 though. Wasn't worth sacrificing sleep for."

You can't help but smile. "Early breakfast hits different. You'll see."

When you reach the cafeteria, Yunjin taps her digital card against the scanner. The light blinks green, and suddenly your nose is filled with the heavenly smell of fresh pastries. Inside, only a handful of early birds are scattered around the massive space. Makes sense—most people here prefer their beds at this hour.

Your eyes do their usual sweep of the room, casual and practiced. But then something pulls at you, like a magnet finding true north. Your gaze locks with dark, piercing ones.

Jeon.

"Oh, that's Jeon, right?" Yunjin's voice cuts through your thoughts. "Guess he likes mornings too."

You nod, still watching him from the safety of the doorway. Something about the distance makes you feel almost safe. He's got that thing about him—that unmistakable aura of authority that even 6 AM can't dim.

"Damn," Yunjin says after a beat, blunt as ever. "He's hot."

"Let's get food," you mutter, rolling your eyes and heading for the pastry section.

You and Yunjin load up your plates with a bit of everything, especially those famous croissants. Finding a quiet corner, you settle in to enjoy both the food and each other's company, pointedly not thinking about piercing dark eyes or brooding corners.

You try to look casual as your eyes drift back to Jeon for the hundredth time.

He's sitting there, both hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee like it's his lifeline to sanity this early in the morning. The sight of those tattooed fingers curled around plain white ceramic does something to your brain that you'd rather not examine too closely.

"You know, I heard something interesting about him." Yunjin's voice makes you jump. S̶h̶i̶t̶ Great, she caught you staring.

"Oh?" You tilt your head, hoping your voice sounds more curious than guilty.

Yunjin leans in conspiratorially, her pink hair falling forward as she drops her voice to barely above a whisper. It's kind of unnecessary given how far away Jeon is, but there's something about him that makes everyone speak in hushed tones.

"Apparently, he's got this whole... ritual thing going on. Every single morning, without fail, he makes sure he's the first one to get fresh coffee. Like, the first cup from a fresh pot."

Your eyes track back to that cup held between ink-covered fingers. Now that she mentions it, you've never seen him drink anything else in the mornings. The way he's savoring it, eyes closed and expression almost peaceful, makes you think Yunjin might be onto something.

"Every day? He's literally the first one here?" The mental image of Jeon lurking outside the cafeteria doors, waiting for them to unlock, is both hilarious and weirdly endearing.

"From what I've heard. Maybe it's a power move?" Yunjin suggests with a soft laugh. "You know, asserting dominance through caffeine consumption."

The idea of someone as intimidating as Jeon—co-leader of the Assassination Division, member of the Council of 9, literal professional killer—climbing the ranks of one of South Korea's most dangerous gangs just to secure his morning coffee makes something bubble up in your chest.. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing too loud.

"Imagine that being his master plan all along," you snort. "Join gang, become assassination chief, get first dibs on coffee."

You both dissolve into quiet giggles, but the moment shatters when something shifts in the air. It's like thorny vines suddenly wrapping around your lungs, making it hard to breathe. You don't need to look to know who it is.

"Mind if I join the fun?" V's voice slides over your skin like honey laced with poison, playful but with that edge that makes your hair stand on end.

His arms drape over your shoulders without warning, caging you and Yunjin in what should be a friendly gesture but feels more like being trapped. Your muscles tense automatically. There's something about V that keeps you perpetually on edge—like admiring a rose only to remember it's got thorns that could draw blood.

Yunjin manages a wobbly smile, but you can tell she's as unsettled as you are by his sudden appearance. "We were just... talking about coffee."

"Coffee?" V drawls the word like it personally offends him. He pulls back, throwing his arms behind his head in that carelessly graceful way of his, but stays close enough that you can smell cinnamon. "Boring. Now, this new training program? That's something worth discussing."

His eyes glint with mischief, reminding you of a cat playing with its food. "I'm keen to see what you girls bring to the table. Should be... intriguing, don't you think?"

The way he says it makes your skin crawl. There's nothing overtly threatening about his words, but the undercurrent is clear—the Assassination Division isn't known for playing nice, and V seems to view the upcoming cross-training as his personal playground.

"I'm sure it will be enlightening," you say carefully.

V's energy is infectious, but not in a good way. More like a disease you're trying not to catch.

He chuckles, and those thorny vines around your lungs squeeze tighter. "Oh, I'm sure it will be. And don't worry, yours truly will be there to add a little spice to the mix. Can't let things get too dull, can we?"

Before you can respond, his attention snaps to something—or someone—across the cafeteria. With a dismissive wave that somehow manages to feel both elegant and insulting, he strides off as suddenly as he appeared.

You exchange looks with Yunjin, both of you sagging with relief once he's gone. She looks as drained as you feel, like V's presence alone sucked all the energy from the room.

"Well, that was... something," Yunjin says, and you could write a whole essay about everything packed into that single word. Her pink hair is still slightly disheveled from where V's dramatic entrance messed it up.

"That's one way to put it." You try to shake off the phantom feeling of thorny vines around your lungs. V's presence leaves you feeling like you've been through some kind of emotional washing machine—tumbled around and wrung out.

"But oh my god." Yunjin's whole face suddenly lights up like she's remembered something amazing. The whiplash from her mood shift almost gives you vertigo.

"What?" You ask, though part of you already knows where this is going. Yunjin might be shy and perceptive, but she's also a total simp when it comes to pretty faces.

"He is SO handsome?" Her voice rises with genuine awe. "Everyone kept saying he looks like a prince, but I thought they were exaggerating. They were not."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if you were even in the same conversation just now. Sure, V's gorgeous—that's kind of his whole thing. The dangerous beauty, the dripping poison. But after feeling his aura wrap around you like a boa constrictor, 'handsome' isn't exactly the first word that comes to mind.

"Did you miss the whole creepy vibe?" You keep your voice low, even though V's long gone. Some habits die hard in this place. "He talked about the training program like he's planning to turn it into his personal episode of Squid Game. With popcorn."

"Yeah, but like..." Yunjin waves her hand dismissively, "have you seen his face? Those cheekbones? That jawline?"

"The way he's probably plotting our deaths as we speak?" You counter, but you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. Trust Yunjin to focus on the aesthetics while completely ignoring the red flags. It's kind of adorable, in a concerning way.

"Doesn't change the fact that he's eye candy," she says with zero shame, stabbing her fork into her breakfast. "Like, premium, expensive, imported chocolate level of eye candy."

"True," you admit, finally taking a proper bite of your croissant.

And it is true—V's got that whole ethereal beauty thing going on, like a masterpiece painting that happens to be slightly cursed. The kind of face that belongs in museums but also probably comes alive at night to terrorize security guards.

But even as you acknowledge V's obvious appeal, your eyes betray you, drifting back to that other corner of the cafeteria. Back to dark eyes and hurricanes.

Back to Jeon.

It's not like you mean to look.

It just... happens.

Like your gaze has some kind of magnetic programming that keeps pulling it in his direction.

Which is s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ inconvenient because the last thing you need is to get caught staring at one of the most dangerous men in Kkangpae while you've got croissant crumbs on your face.

The rest of your morning slips by without V popping up again to make your skin crawl. You try to focus on getting ready for what's coming, but your mind keeps drifting to the upcoming training.

Working with Jeon and V's division? Yeah, that's not anxiety-inducing at all.

When you step onto the training field outside the castle, the change of scenery hits different. After being cooped up in the gang's concrete maze, the open space and towering trees feel almost surreal. The cold morning air bites at your lungs—a wake-up call you didn't ask for but probably need.

Today's not just another training day. It's your first cross-training with the Assassination Division, and the tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with one of V's knives.

Your stomach does this weird flip-flop thing as you walk towards the gathering crowd. Working with Jeon after... that incident? Not exactly on your bucket list. The memory of your last encounter sits heavy in your chest, making each step feel like you're walking through mud.

The Assassination Division is already there when you arrive, looking like they stepped out of some action movie poster. Some look ready to murder, others look ready for a nap. But it's Jeon who catches your eye—impossible not to, really. It's like the air itself is swirling around him like a storm about to break.

He's got that look on his face—you know the one. All business, no bullshit, could probably kill you with his pinky finger.

No sign of V though.

Makes sense, when you think about it. Those two aren't exactly besties—more like two wolves forced to share the same territory. Their whole approach to killing is different as night and day.

Jeon's all about precision. Clean shots, minimal mess, maximum efficiency. He's the type to plan every detail, calculate every variable. Need someone taken out from two buildings away without anyone even knowing what happened? That's his specialty. The human equivalent of a surgical strike.

V though? He's chaos incarnate. Gets up close and personal with his kills, leaves a message written in blood if he feels like it. He's the guy you call when you want someone dead and don't care how messy it gets. Planning? Fuck planning—V works on pure instinct and improvisation.

The crowd goes quiet as Jeon steps forward. The atmosphere shifts, less like a raging storm now and more like the heavy air before thunder breaks. When he speaks, his voice does that thing where it demands attention without actually raising in volume. And despite everything—despite knowing better—you find yourself leaning in slightly to catch every word.

"Your state of mind is everything in this line of work," he says, dark eyes scanning the crowd like he's reading everyone's potential in real time. "A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death."

The task he lays out seems simple enough: shoot the cardboard target, hit the center, don't mess it up. But as you watch others take their turns, that knot in your stomach keeps getting tighter.

The gun feels wrong in your hand. Not that you haven't held one before—basic training covers that—but this is different. This is him watching, and somehow that makes your palms extra sweaty.

Then your turn's up.

Walking to the mark feels like crossing a minefield, every step measured and tense. Your heart's going so hard you can barely hear anything else.

Focus. You need to focus.

But Jeon's standing right there, making the air thick and hard to breathe. Your finger hovers over the trigger, but doubt creeps in like poison.

The target blurs in and out. You can feel Jeon watching, that heavy gaze picking apart every flaw in your stance. The pressure builds in your chest until you're sure something's gonna snap.

Just a bit longer. You need to be absolutely sure before taking the shot.

It's not like Seduction gets much practice with actual weapons—your arsenal usually involves batting eyelashes and strategic flirting, not bullets and gunpowder. So it's no wonder the gun starts slipping through your sweaty fingers.

You tighten your grip. A surge of determination hits you like a shot of adrenaline. Come on. It's just cardboard. You've handled way worse situations than this. You can do this.

Your finger starts to squeeze the trigger—

BANG.

That... wasn't your��gun.

You flinch, turning toward the sound before you can stop yourself. Through the corner of your eye, you catch smoke curling from Jeon's pistol.

He's standing there looking bored, arm extended like this is just another one of his daily mornings. The gun fits his hand like it was molded for him, an extension of his body rather than a weapon.

When your eyes snap to the target, there it is—perfect shot, dead center, because of course it is.

A̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ Show-off.

You lower your gun, lips pressed tight. His gaze sits heavy on your shoulders, hurricane pressure bearing down until you want to scream. His face gives nothing away, but those dark eyes say plenty—and none of it's good.

"If you're not quick enough, you'll get killed." His voice cuts like ice. "Let that be a reminder for everyone else."

The words hit like a slap. Heat rushes to your face—anger, embarrassment, frustration, all mixing together into something that makes you want to either punch something or crawl into a hole. Preferably punch him, but you're very aware of everyone watching this little show he's putting on.

Both divisions are staring, and you've never felt more like a fish in a very small, very exposed bowl.

Your eyes meet Jeon's, and suddenly breathing gets hard. His stare hits different—those dark eyes boring into yours like he's trying to read your soul, pupils blown wide in a way that makes your stomach do weird flips.

That silver lip ring catches the light when his mouth twists into something s̶e̶x̶y̶ condescending. He opens his mouth—probably to tear into you some more—but then—

BANG.

Everyone drops like puppets with cut strings. Pure instinct.

It's instant chaos. Voices rise into a crescendo of shouts and commands, bodies moving with practiced urgency.

It's kind of beautiful, in a messed-up way—how quickly personal beef gets shelved when shit hits the fan. One minute Jeon's looking at you like you're dirt on his boot, next second he's barking orders to keep everyone safe.

Your heart's in your throat as you scan the crowd for a flash of pink hair.

Yunjin.

But Yunjin's nowhere.

The sea of faces blurs together—no Kazuha, no Eunchae, not even Sakura. Even Chaewon's vanished, which is weird because she's usually got this sixth sense about danger.

Another shot cracks through the air. Your fingers tighten around your gun until your knuckles go white. Your eyes keep drifting to the treeline, where shadows dance between patches of dark green.

A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death.

His words echo in your head, which is ironic considering how not calm you feel right now.

Fuck it.

You're moving before you can second-guess yourself, legs carrying you toward the forest. Maybe it's stupid, but you need space to think. To be calm, like he said.

Plus, the trees might give you cover—an advantage you desperately need right now.

The forest swallows you up. Sunlight filters through leaves overhead, painting everything in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Every step crunches on dead leaves, making you wince. So much for stealth.

V wouldn't be happy.

The chaos from the training ground fades the deeper you go, replaced by normal forest sounds—birds chattering overhead, small animals rustling in the bushes. It's almost peaceful, if you ignore the whole possible death situation.

You spot it then—a ridge overlooking the training ground, hidden behind thick bushes. Perfect vantage point, if you can reach it. The climb makes your muscles burn, but you manage. Up here, you force yourself to breathe slow and steady, trying to quiet your racing heart. Your fingers trace the gun's cold metal like a lifeline.

Your back hits the tree with a thud. The bark scrapes against your spine through your shirt, but you barely notice. Every nerve in your body is focused on that rustling sound behind you.

Footsteps.

Your breath catches. They're quiet—too quiet to be some random person stumbling through the woods.

No, these are the steps of someone who knows how to move silently. Someone trained.

Adrenaline floods your system as you press yourself flatter against the tree. Your fingers tighten around the gun until your knuckles go white. Through a gap in the leaves, you try to catch a glimpse of whoever's approaching, but the foliage is too thick.

Friend or foe?

The question pounds in your head with each careful footstep drawing closer. Your mind races, too many possibilities—it could be an enemy, could be another member searching the area.

Could be death or salvation walking your way.

The steps are almost upon you now. Your breathing goes shallow, controlled. You might be exposed up here, but they don't know that. Surprise is your only advantage right now.

Shoot or strike?

The dilemma tears at you. A gunshot would alert everyone to your location. And if it turns out to be an ally... F̶u̶c̶k̶ No. Hand-to-hand is safer. Quieter. Less explaining to do if you're wrong.

Your muscles coil tight as a spring. When the footsteps are close enough, you launch yourself from behind the tree in one fluid motion, aiming to take them down hard and fast.

Instead, you slam into what feels like a brick wall.

Oh.

It's Jeon.

His reflexes are insane—before you can even process who he is, he's already moving. The air sweeps around you as he twists, disarming you with embarrassing ease. Your gun hits the ground with a clatter that seems to echo through the whole forest.

Recognition hits you both at the same moment. That flicker of shock in his eyes quickly turns to his usual look of disdain, because of course it does.

Then—a misstep.

Your ankle rolls, sending white-hot pain shooting up your leg. You stumble, sucking in a sharp breath. His grip on you loosens just slightly, and something that might be concern flashes across his face before his usual cold mask slips back into place.

"You okay?" His voice is gruff, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will.

"Just perfect," you snap back, because fuck his concern when your ankle feels like it's on fire and your pride hurts even worse.

He just stands there, staring at you with those dark eyes that see too much.

"What the hell were you thinking?" A pause, one eyebrow lifting. "You have a gun, don't you?"

You almost laugh. Because of course. If you'd shot at him, he'd be lecturing you about trigger discipline. Attack hand-to-hand, and suddenly you're an idiot for not using your weapon.

You seriously can't win with this man.

"Well, good thing I didn't use it on you then." The words come out lighter than you feel, dancing between playful and pissed. "And what are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be back there playing commander?"

"That's what deputies are for." The casual way he says it makes your teeth grind. "Besides, I dispatched a team to check the gunfire. Just my luck, running into you instead."

"Pleasure's all mine, chief." You load the title with all the sarcasm you can muster.

"And you?" His dark eyes study you like you're a particularly puzzling target he can't quite line up. "Any reason you're out here instead of following orders?"

"Didn't get any orders to follow." You cross your arms, ignoring how his presence makes your skin prickle. "And that ridge over there?" You jab a finger toward the overlook. "Perfect vantage point. I was trying to be strategic before you showed up."

He actually grimaces at that, like your logic physically pains him. But before he can open his mouth to deliver what's surely another lecture, you add:

"Just my luck, running into you instead."

The words—his own words turned back on him—hit their mark. His eyebrow twitches just slightly, and satisfaction blooms warm in your chest.

Score one for you.

But before you can inwardly celebrate, he grimaces. He actually grimaces before he opens his stupid mouth again.

"That?" His voice drips with condescension. "You think that's prime real estate for observation?" The asshole holds back a laughter. "Alright." He says, and you ponder the merits of hitting him with a rock.

But then he begins walking, and you trail after him, partly because s̶c̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ he's wrong and partly because... well, where else are you gonna go?

"Remind me again—which one of us specializes in persuasion and observation?" You can't keep the annoyance from your voice. His arrogance is starting to give you a headache.

"And which one of us is known for sniping?" He tilts his head just enough for you to catch the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. "You think I don't know a thing or two about picking vantage points?"

"Just because you can shoot from far away doesn't mean you know the best places to shoot from." The words come out sharper than intended. "What works for a sniper might not work for surveillance. They're different skill sets."

"How so?" He doesn't even bother looking back now. "A lookout's a lookout, smartass."

Your hands find your hips. "You know what? Ask me that again when you sit in on our cross-training. Might learn something useful."

"Learn from an ensign?" His tilt is mocking. "No—learn from you?" He lets out a low chuckle that makes your teeth grind. "Pretty sure it works the other way around."

"Forgot about Flower?" You can't help the snark in your voice. "She's a chief too, and I'm sure she'd love to put you in your place."

The exhale he lets out is so exaggerated it has to be for dramatic effect. "You're insufferable."

"Feeling's mutual, chief."

You trail behind Jeon through the darkness, trying to ignore how his mere presence makes the night air feel electric against your skin. The silence wraps around you both, broken only by your footsteps until—

A rustle in the underbrush.

Before you can react, his hand clamps around your wrist. No warning, no words—just the firm press of tattooed fingers against your pulse point as he yanks you behind a massive rock. You crash against him, bodies colliding in a mess of limbs and s̶h̶i̶t̶ startled breath.

You open your mouth to tell him exactly what you think about being manhandled, but his finger presses against his lips. Shut up. His eyes scan the darkness beyond your hiding spot, focused and lethal.

And suddenly you're way too aware of him.

The moonlight paints him in silver and shadow, highlighting things you've never noticed before. Like how his eyebrow piercing catches the light—two tiny beads of silver that draw attention to the way his brow furrows in concentration. Or how that lip ring glints when his mouth sets in that stern line you know too well.

There's a scar on his left cheek—barely there, really. Just a whisper of a mark that makes you wonder what story it tells. Your eyes drift lower, catching on the small mole decorating the left side of his neck. It's such a delicate detail on someone who radiates danger, like finding a flower growing through concrete.

But it's his eyes that f̶u̶c̶k̶ y̶o̶u̶ u̶p̶ catch you off guard. Dark and deep, framed by stupidly long lashes that flutter when he blinks. They're beautiful in a way that makes your chest tight—and isn't that just f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ fantastic? You didn't need to know that about him.

This close, you can see the tiny lines at the corners of those eyes. They speak of sleepless nights and heavy choices, of burdens carried too long alone. Watching him like this—he feels different now, less like a storm trying to drown you and more like standing in summer rain.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut: you're seeing Jeon. Not the cold-as-ice division chief or the intimidating Council member. Just... him. Human.

Complex.

His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist like an iron band. If anything, his grip's gotten tighter, and you're caught between wanting to yank free and being weirdly aware of how warm his hand is against your skin in the cool night air. It's hard to tell if you're feeling trapped or protected.

The footsteps draw closer—deliberate, confident. Not someone trying to hide.

You watch a muscle tick in Jeon's jaw, the kind of tiny detail you wouldn't normally notice if you weren't pressed so close to him. It's fascinating, in an annoying way, how he can look so calm while radiating such intense energy.

His eyes flick to yours for just a second, but it feels loaded with... something. Like you're suddenly partners in this mess, whether you like it or not. It's more communication than you've had in all your previous conversations combined.

The rustling gets louder. You hold your breath. Jeon's gone statue-still beside you, but you can feel the coiled tension in him. His dark eyes snap to a spot in the trees, then back to you with unnerving intensity.

"Shoot there."

You stare at him like he's lost his mind. "What?"

"There." His voice is barely a whisper, rough with urgency. He jerks his chin toward whatever he's seeing that you're apparently missing.

"You want me to shoot a tree branch?" The skepticism in your whisper could cut glass. "Seriously?"

"Just do what you're told." The words rumble out of him like distant thunder, crackling with impatience.

You give Jeon a look, but arguing isn't an option right now.

The gun feels heavy as you line up the shot. Your finger finds the trigger, and for a split second, everything goes quiet. The bang echoes through the trees, making your ears ring. You watch as the bullet hits exactly where Jeon wanted—that innocent-looking branch that apparently wasn't so innocent after all.

A net explodes from the darkness like some kind of ninja trap, shooting toward the approaching figure. But whoever it is moves like water—fluid, impossible, beautiful in a terrifying way. The net hits empty ground with a sad little flutter while your brain tries to process what just happened.

Beside you, Jeon goes still. If you weren't pressed so close, you might have missed that tiny hitch in his breath—the only sign that this wasn't part of his plan. His eyes narrow just slightly, that crack in his perfect mask making your stomach do weird flips.

He pushes you back against the rock, putting himself between you and whatever's coming. The stone digs into your spine, cold and rough through your clothes.

Then everything happens at once.

A shadow vaults over your hiding spot, moving with deadly grace. Gunshots crack through the night, and suddenly Jeon's shoving you down, his body covering yours. The world spins into a blur of motion and sound, your pulse drumming so loud you can barely think.

When reality settles back into focus, you watch the figure reach for their mask. Your fingers tighten on your gun, waiting to see what kind of threat managed to dodge one of Jeon's traps.

The mask comes off.

Oh for fuck's sake.

V's grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Paintball night!" he announces with way too much glee for someone who just scared the shit out of you.

Relief and irritation war in your chest. Of course it's V. Who else would turn a simple training exercise into their personal dramatic performance?

You watch Jeon's shoulders drop, but the annoyance is written all over his face. His jaw's so tight you can practically hear all the curses he's not saying.

Always the professional, even when he's irritated.

V's eyes dances with delight as he watches Jeon simmer. "Don't look at me like that, Kookie," he coos, lips curling into that signature smirk that makes you want to take a step back.

Cookie?

You blink, trying to process that nickname. Looking at Jeon—all dark clothes, silver piercings, and intimidating tattoos—the last thing that comes to mind is anything remotely cute or sweet. The mental image of him buying cookies from some terrified boy scouts makes you bite back a laugh.

Now that's a story you'd pay to hear.

Jeon's eyebrow shoots up in that way that somehow manages to say f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ more effectively than actual words. His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, jaw working like he's physically holding back whatever he wants to say. He's irritated.

"I'll give you some advantage," V sighs dramatically, thorny vines wrapping around your lungs even from this distance. "No fun beating you when you're unarmed." The words drip with amusement, like this whole thing is his favorite game. "See ya."

With one last unsettling grin, he melts into the darkness. Because of course he does. Dramatic asshole.

You're still sprawled on the ground, processing what just happened. Leave it to V to turn a regular night into some twisted paintball training session. The man's idea of "improving stealth skills" is giving everyone heart attacks.

Beside you, Jeon's muscles finally uncoil from their battle-ready stance. He looms over you, and you can't tell if the expression on his face is more annoyed or relieved.

"You gonna get up or what?" The words come out gruff, but there's something else there. Something that might be concern if you squint.

Then his hand appears in front of your face. You stare at it for a second, surprised. It's weirdly bare compared to his tattooed arms, and you hesitate before taking it. His grip is firm but careful as he helps you up.

The whole night feels surreal —one weird training session bleeding into another. You glance at Jeon as he stretches, working out the tension in his shoulders.

The mystery of "Cookie" tugs at your curiosity, but one look at his face tells you now's not the time to ask.

Some mysteries are probably better left unsolved.

next | index

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[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Co-Stars pt.13

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: Y/n and Callum have their puppy interview, but they fell in love with one...

Warning: use of Y/n/ babies/

Word count: 750 words

They sat down, she was so excited. ‘’I’m so excited!’’ She squealed as she rested her head on Callum’s shoulder. Callum only laughed before Great Pyrenees puppies run into the room. Y/n’s eyes filled with stars, just like anime, she was in awe. ‘’Oh my god! Hi precious!!!’’ she squeals. Callum looks at her, smiling, but a puppy ran on him. ‘’Oh, hello you!’’ he giggles. Puppies run into each other and fight a little. ‘’No! Don’t fight, I’m going to separate you!’’ Y/n squeak, separating the puppies. ‘’Honey, these puppies are not Daisy and Ophelia’’ Callum laughed. Y/n giggled and looked at the interviewers. ‘’How did your labour go? And did it affect your work?’’ Y/n smiled. ‘’I was long, but it was totally worth the pain, I have two beautiful girls at home. And I think it affected my work in way that I’m more conscious of the time I’m spending away from home’’ she said, while her hand was being chased by puppies. She really fell in love with one of the puppies. ‘’What’s this little guy’s name?’’ she asked. ‘’He’s called Jazz’’ one of the women said. ‘’Callum, what was the best thing about working with Y/n?’’ As he was about to answer, a puppy ran on his leg. ‘’Hey there, little guy, uh the best thing about working with her was, uh, it was like having a safety net. During like hard scene, she was often with me, and it was reassuring, knowing that she was there with me’’ he said. ‘’Y/n, same question’’ Y/n smiled and looked at Callum. ‘’Uh, like he said – ‘’ a puppy was chewing on her hand. ‘’ – no, I’m not a toy. Uh, sorry where was I?’’ she laughs. She didn’t think she was going to give much content, she was too distracted by puppies.

The interview was sadly over, Y/n didn’t want to go. She fell in love with Jazz and wanted to bring him back home. ‘’Can we have him?’’ Y/n asked, eyes filled with happy tears. She was holding Jazz. ‘’Y/n, we have newborn twins at home, you want a puppy that’s going to grown and be enormous?’’ Callum giggled. Y/n nodded and smiled, she kissed Jazz and looked at Callum. ‘’Please, look at him! He’s adorable!’’ She squeals. ‘’But we’re already sleep deprived, we have two babies, and you want a puppy?’’ he laughed. ‘’Yes, please, please, Callum you’re the best husband and the best dad ever, please!’’ she did her puppy eyes, he wasn’t able to resist. ‘’Ok, but remember it was your idea!’’ he finally gave in.

When they entered the house, Rosemary was in the living room with the twins. ‘’Hello! How did it go?’’ she asked. ‘’Good, we have a puppy!’’ Y/n exclaims as she shows the puppy to Callum’s mom. ‘’Oh my, he’s adorable!’’ she smiles. Y/n puts the puppy on the ground and goes to her daughters. ‘’Hello my precious! Were you good for grandma?’’ she squeaks. ‘’They were angels’’ Rosemary answers.

She looked at the time, 3:16 am, she was woken up by cries, Callum was asleep, but it was okay, he already got up earlier to feed the twins, but it was Y/n’s turn. When she opened the door, Jazz was in front of it. He looked like he wanted to pee, so Y/n quickly got to Ophelia, she was crying, started to breastfeed her as she went down the stairs to bring Jazz to her pee mat. Callum woke up, because his other daughter was crying, his wife wasn’t beside him. He went in his daughter’s bedroom and took Daisy in his arms, he heard Y/n talk downstairs, so he followed the noise and found his wife, breastfeeding Ophelia and directing Jazz, at the same time. She was seated on the floor, waiting for the puppy to pee. ‘’Honey, what are you doing on the floor?’’ he yawned. ‘’Ophelia was hungry, and Jazz needed to pee, but the mat is stressing him, so I’s staying with him. Is Daisy hungry too?’’ she asked. ‘’Yeah, I think so, give me Ophelia’’ Callum said as they exchanged daughters. She switched breast as she began to feed Daisy. Callum sat next to her. ‘’I told you it was going to be tiring’’ he smirked. ‘’Don’t be a smart butt, I’m not (yawns) tired’’ she said. She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘’I love you’’ she whispers. ‘’I love you too’’ he replied. Jazz finally peed; the couple almost celebrated, that meant that they could go back to a much needed sleep.

[armpirate]

Anti-romantic || JJk | Ch. 24

Pairings: Boxer!Jungkook x fem!reader || Enemies to lovers, neighbors

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, curse, illegal boxing, violence

Warnings: fuckboy!Jungkook x reader, smut, dirty talk, curse, mention of tarot and fate

Summary: Jungkook had always been carefree when it came to love. He always believed he was worth sharing himself with everyone, and thought it was selfish of him to ever think of keeping himself exclusive to just one person.

And maybe that was exactly what got him into the big problem he was in.

A curse that kept him away from love didn't seem an issue for him. The fact that his ex-girlfriend thought he'd be affected by the idea of the girls he slept with running away from him after sex was ridiculous. She actually did him a favor, and took a burden away from him.

At least that was what he thought at first.

He had never found himself thinking of the possibility of repeating with neither of his hook ups, because they disappeared before he was able to even think about it. But when he makes the mistake of sleeping with the sexy neighbor that lives in front of him, he finds himself hoping to get the chance for a second round every time their paths cross.

Y/n hated him the second he set foot inside the building by the way he started making her life a miserable mess for no reason. Sleeping with him was a big mistake she wasn't thinking of repeating. At least not until he came up with the excuse that she rejected him for a curse. Not only she thought he was annoying, but she was also convinced he was crazy. 

There was no way she could take him seriously.

Aprox. time of reading: 17 minutes

Chapter warnings: smut, explicit language, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), female masturbation, teasing, edging, penetrative sex, non-protected sex (Not you, wrap it, folks).

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MASTERLIST

Their bodies broke into her place, turning into an exterior expression of everything that was going through their heads at that moment. Her hands were everywhere, which made it difficult for Jungkook to form a single coherent thought while he battled to stay standing after Y/n pushed him against the closed door. His breathing was as unstable as his will to keep himself from pounding into her against that same wall to his right.

Her fingers dug into his hair, pulling him closer, while her hips kept pushing him against the wall, keeping him stuck there, making him realize how much control he was losing over himself, and the whole situation itself.

Their lips broke out loud with a pop sound, before she linked them together again only to take his lower lip in between her teeth, pulling from the lip rings at the corner with such sensuality that he could feel himself throb under his boxers.

It was the first time in his life he was fighting himself not to let go completely, as low moans kept burning his throat to his mouth. And Y/n could feel it, sucking right where all those sounds were piling up to make him squirm in front of him.

She was distant, always keeping it safe with him, but whenever he managed to dig enough to rub her weak spot... That woman was a goddess, and he could totally understand how he was willing to worship the ground she walked upon.

Y/n didn't understand what was going with her body, or her mind, she just knew she wanted him and didn't want to think about it, she didn't want any of the regrets, she didn't want to overthink... she just wanted Jungkook all over her, or under, or behind her. He wanted him in all the positions, everywhere.

Jungkook was confused at some of the thoughts that were pushing among all the filthy images going through his brain. Suddenly, the question "What are we?" was annoying him, like a constant beeping that wouldn't let him fully concentrate.

—Am I doing something wrong? —she suddenly asked.

It was obvious by the way he kept tilting his head, or clicking his tongue, that there was something wrong with them. After all, she knew Jungkook was the type to want things when he didn't have them, and get tired of them as soon as he got them.

—What? No —he shook his head—. It's just... —his lip slid through his lower lip, stopping at his lip rings to play with them while his front teeth were on display— Yes, it's your fault.

—My fault? —Y/n pointed at herself surprised, looking around as if that were some type of hidden camera and she was chosen to be the victim of the day.

—You and that fucking curse —she heard him mumble, throwing his head back while he walked across her living room—. It's the first time I don't know what to do —she stopped when she heard him say that—. I don't know where to put my hands, because I don't want to make you feel bad. Like what the fuck is that even? —his grimace broke any seriousness Y/n expected from the conversation, ending up smiling while she saw him struggle with such innocent doubt.

—It's called being decent and respectful? —her answer didn't make things better for him.

—You see the problem, right?

And the truth was that she didn't. Seeing Jungkook being in such an irritable and confused state was something new. Usually, even when he didn't control his surroundings, he always managed to look calm, as if he had everything under control. But he was nervous and anxious that night, almost as if it was his first time.

—Should I see a problem with you trying to treat me nicely? —her eyebrows furrowed deeper with her confusion.

—Yes! —he answered immediately after— I should be fucking you against that wall right now, not having this stupid conversation —his hands pushed his bangs back in frustration—. It's scary as fuck, because it has never happened to me before. I kept trying to deny it, but you're really different from the rest for me. Everything is completely different.

Outside of his inner battle, and his tangled thoughts, Y/n could only look at him move nervously on the spot, warmed up by those words that weren't meant as a confession, but that were let out by that same side of him that kept trying to hide them from himself even.

Of course she had heard those words before, of course she knew it was an old tactic that boys used to get on her pants. But something on the way he looked so distressed about hearing him say it, proved he was being genuine about it, basically because he didn't understand those thoughts and feelings himself. Far from being offended, Y/n felt endeared by it. Jungkook was showing himself fragile in front of her, arguing with those stupid demons as if she weren't standing there with her nipples almost piercing through her bra.

—Hey! —she cut him off, making him turn to her with wide eyes— Let me shed some light on it —she stepped towards him, dragging the tip of her shoes with every step—. It's clear you're not used to sleeping more than once with the same woman. But let me explain to you that it's different to have sex with someone you've just met than with someone you see on a daily basis —she spoke to him as if he were a little kid—. It's different, of course it is.

And it was also better.

And that kind of thought was exactly what had Jungkook in that loophole.

—Maybe it's that now that we're getting on well, you're scared of doing something wrong and ruining things —she shrugged, trying to calm him down—, and it's normal.

His doe eyes were looking at her with hope, although he knew there was more to it than just that.

—Why don't you let me help you relax? —she suggested with a smirk.

His eyes flew straight to her lips, as the tip of her tongue slid through them to make them wet and shiny. He was convinced she was going to kiss him, but instead she rubbed them against his to instantly move to his cheek. The fruity smell of her shampoo filled his nostrils like a drug, momentarily taking him out until he was back to himself, feeling her fingers messing with his belt and the zip of his pants.

—Well, that could help —he smirked, finally relaxing under her touch.

Seeing Y/n getting on her knees in front of him was the filthiest vision that could've been tattooed in his brain, yet, at the same time, it was the most exciting experience in his life. And, to keep enjoying the vision, Jungkook held up his oversized t-shirt, placing the improvised knot on his back so nothing would cover her.

The pull she had on him was so strong, that she barely had to do anything to get his length to twitch before she lowered his pants and boxers for it to sprung free.

The tip of her tongue kitten-licked the tip while she looked up to him, getting a taste of him first before closing her lips around it and pushing it against the corner of her mouth for it to come out again. Careful to make sure it fell on his tip, Y/n let some of her spit fall, with Jungkook feeling forced to grip on the fabric of her couch with her free hand to control himself when he felt how the liquid went from warm to cold, on the route from his tip to the base.

And that smile...

It was almost as if she had done it on purpose, because it took her a few seconds for her hand to start moving and spread her saliva all over his shaft, rubbing his veins with her fingers every time she twisted her ankle to make small circles.

At some point she sat, spreading her knees a bit more to lower her body, enough to be able to throw her head back a bit and stick her tongue out, flat and wet, rubbing against his swollen tip at the same time her fingers stroked the rest of his dick.

And fuck, that image... Jungkook was sure he'd have the best dreams of his life.

—You know how hot you look, don't you?

That comment received a chuckle from her, licking his tip before she went back to the initial position.

—I might be —she teased him, tilting her head.

Once her fingers stopped back at the base to control him, her lips moved to the sides, with the help of her tongue curving and trying to reach as much as possible. Her tongue moved down from where her thumb was placed to reach back up, only stopping to lick her lips and finally take him inside.

And it was only then when Jungkook felt encouraged enough to move his hand away from the fabric, pushing her hair back to be able to see her face while she sucked him off, enchanted by the way half of his dick disappeared behind those skilled lips. Everything about her was alluring. From the way her eyebrows slightly furrowed whenever she tried to take a bit more of him, to how her eyes watered a bit after she almost gagged on him. With always her eyes being on his, making sure he knew she knew what she was doing with him.

And she loved each second of it. Jungkook's forearm muscle moved under his tattoos every time he rubbed her scalp with his thumb, his lips looked even more kissable when they were parted because of his silent moans, and his eyes -with his pupils almost taking the full spot of the iris- were looking at her as if he had seen the light, as if the little control he was trying to have was disappearing from his system.

A string of saliva kept them connected when she moved back, letting his dick go to stroke him off again. With the only difference being Jungkook pulling her back up, licking their lips in a hungry kiss that almost made him cum in her jeans.

—Is there a way I can have you glued to my cock at least once a day?

Y/n giggled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

—Fuck me right tonight, and I might think about it —she whispered, unaware of how dangerous those words actually were.

—Turn around.

Y/n didn't think twice to turn on her feet, facing her television while she helped Jungkook unbutton her pants and pull them down until her jeans and her wet panties were piled around her ankles.

Her lip was trapped under her teeth when two of his circles traced small circles on her entrance, spreading her wetness before he pushed them inside. Instinctively her legs parted a bit more with the movements of his finger, giving Jungkook more space to act.

—You're always so wet for me —he groaned, caressing her ass cheek with his thumb while his ring and middle finger were sliding in and out of her warm channel.

As soon as he said that, the speed of his digits changed drastically, feeling how her ass cheeks jiggled in consequence, in sync with the wet sounds coming out of her. And while all of that happened, his free hand caressed the curve of her ass, moving his fingertips carefully in contrast with the way he was torturing her, until the shocking sound of his palm collapsing against her skin gave her an attention call, followed by the itchy feeling his palm was trying to cover.

He wanted more attention than what he was giving her, and she was able to tell, standing straight back again to wrap her right arm around his neck, holding onto his nape, to link their lips together in a messy kiss filled with saliva, moans, and heavy breaths.

Another throb called him out when he felt the way her pussy clenched around his fingers, and how her lips were barely able to remain closed to follow the kiss.

She didn't whine, she didn't complain... Y/n knew what was coming after he pulled his fingers out, getting a first taste of her when he licked his ring finger while he was still breathing on her cheek. He was left speechless when she turned her head to find a comfortable position to take his wrist and push his fingers through her lips, licking her own juices from his hand, sucking them off just like she did when she was on her knees a few minutes back. Just the thought of it made him twitch in the air, begging to be wrapped with her walls.

Suddenly, all control she had, all confidence she was willing to portray were thrown out the window when his tip pushed against her entrance, filling her up so slowly that it felt like he was doing it in slow motion.

All the hairs in her body raised up with the invasion and the position of his possessive hands -one on her hip, and the other extending from her chin to the end of her jaw-, once his pelvis met her ass. And it was no wonder, Jungkook felt possessive of her in general, so deep in his head that he was barely aware of it; but balls deep in her, while she took him in like it was something she had been waiting for for a lifetime, was the moment he was fully conscious of how bad he wanted to have her like that as many times as they pleased, with no excuses, no regrets later.

He just wanted her squirming with every touch he landed on her.

Y/n was still holding onto his nape, turning her head to kiss him again, with their tongues moving first before their lips closed and sucked onto each other.

Their smiles and chuckles once they broke the kiss were dark, but also a short introduction of the change of speed. The wrinkles on the corner of her eyes were switched for a pair of furrowed eyebrows the moment Jungkook's dick started rubbing against her walls a bit rougher and faster.

—You're always playing so hard to get, and now look at you —he moaned.

—Don't act like... mmm... You weren't dying for this —her moans got in between her only to try to clap back at him.

—I was dying for this —he nodded—, and I'd die as many times just to have your pussy squeezing my cock the way it is doing it right now.

Right after he said that, the angle of his hips changed, turning her knees into jelly and forcing her to hold onto the backrest not to fall as he pounded into her harder, letting the crashing sounds of their bodies break the silence of her place.

That same sensation was building up in her lower stomach, running up her body, and Jungkook felt it on the way she squeezed him tight desperately.

That time she did whine when he blocked any possibility of her reaching her high, at the same time she looked at him over her shoulder.

—What? Now you do wanna cum? —his pierced eyebrow lifted.

—Of course I do, who the fuck wouldn't want to? —Jungkook's hands stop any attempts from her hips to move on him.

Instead of answering back, his hands slid inside her t-shirt, moving up her stomach to reach her bra and hold her tits tight, pushing her back to press her back against his chest.

—Admit I'm the only one who can make you cum —he whispered.

—Right now? Seriously?

Jungkook moved his hips up to push back into her, getting exactly what he wanted: a soft barely audible moan and a needy expression that tempted him to break character.

—I have my pride, too.

Seeing he wasn't going to get the words he was expecting, one of his hands moved down her body, finding her swollen button jumping at the slight touch of his fingertips. His movements were slow and calm, testing her patience at the same time he was looking to let her animalistic side come out. He wanted to drive her crazy enough for her not to care about anything else other than him pounding into him.

While she was trying to think of her answer, her legs kicked her pants and panties away, followed by her shoes, far away from where she was.

—You aren't going to fuck me if I don't say it? —she tested him again.

—That's right —he nodded on her shoulder.

—Okay, then.

Jungkook expected her to say anything that could rub his ego a bit more, but Y/n did completely the opposite. She moved in front of him, forcing him out before she stepped away from where he was.

—Then I'll finish off by myself.

—What?

His face went completely pale at her words, seeing her half naked body standing three steps away from him, while the hands on her hips accentuated her body even more under the fabric of her t-shirt.

—You said you weren't going to fuck me, so I guess you don't really mind it —she shrugged.

He regretted his scoff as soon as her eyes threw a warning glance at him.

—OKay, you don't have to say anything.

Her t-shirt and her bra flew away with her socks when he said those words, having him twitching in the air again.

Her brain couldn't process the moment, her body was already flying up over his shoulder while he made his way to her room. Her cackles while he walked her to her bed were causing a strange sensation; he wasn't quite sure what it was, but it made the tickles on his belly more powerful.

The moment he placed her over the bed, her hands were already pulling up from his t-shirt to get him naked.

—I would've admitted I wanted you to make me cum if you had insisted a bit more —she confessed with a smirk.

—I would've let you cum the first time if you had asked —he clapped back.

His body found a comfortable place in the spot between her legs, linking their lips together before he pounded into her again.

Their connection increased ten times more when they were both lying, face to face, with their bodies rubbing, touching, and covering one another. He could've sit on his knees, and fuck her relentlessly, but he was convinced it felt way better to have her just like that. The intensity was replaced with intimacy, and rough movements turned into her nails digging on his back, her hips moving up for more, and her moans dying on his lips as they breathed into each other's mouths.

Her back arched, impulsed by the pleasure of his cock stroking her walls with each thrust with such delicacy she was going to melt, and the rub of his pelvis on her clit. Whether he knew what he was doing or it was just good luck, Jungkook was doing it so right she was going insane.

—Cum with me, please —he moaned against her lips, feeling his thrusts getting sloppier as he got closer to his high.

Y/n wasn't able to say a word, she wasn't able to do anything else but nod and moan, while her legs closed tighter around him.

The orgasm fell over them, at the same time some other realizations hit their brains -although those were easier to ignore than the devastating orgasm that left them breathless and shaky for a few minutes.

And as sense was kicking into her, reality hit her.

—You didn't use a condom —she calmly said, staring at the ceiling as she felt his load spilling out of her.

—Shit, I'm sorry.

Far from what he expected, she looked radiant lying on her pillow, looking at him with a small smile.

—Just be careful next time, I don't know where your dick has been.

In the past few weeks, nowhere she needed to worry about.

Actually, the last time he got checked was the biggest waste of money, and he knew it.

It was the first time he didn't move instantly towards the other side of the bed. He wanted to do more, but what?

—I need to clean myself and brush my teeth —she mumbled, holding back her giggle.

Jungkook nodded, unaware that he was the only reason she didn't get up already.

—Right, of course.

His body found its way back to that spot he didn't want to take that night, looking at her crawling towards the edge of the bed and hiding inside her bathroom.

He didn't want to leave her room, he didn't even want to leave her bed that night. The question was whether Y/n wanted him to stay there, or if she was the one who didn't want him near her when it wasn't related to sex.

She probably wouldn't kick him out if he was already comfortable...

Jungkook sprinted towards her other bathroom, rushing to clean himself to run back to her bed, jumping over the mattress to take back the spot where he was at. His heart was beating fast, as he moved as quickly as possible to drag the blankets to cover his lower body with them, pretending to be looking at the ceiling in a cool pose -resting his nape on his forearm- when he heard the door clicking.

She would've lied if she had said she wasn't shocked to see him there. She was expecting him to take the chance and run to the couch so he wouldn't need to give any explanations, or, at least, avoid the argument they had the last time.

The question that was willing to escape her lips remained there, knowing it'd only cause him to leave. Instead, she just joined him under the blankets, looking at the ceiling as well.

—I can leave if you're uncomfortable —he randomly said—. I just thought it'd be better to stay and sleep in your bed since I'm here.

Y/n didn't ask for any explanations, yet he felt forced to answer questions she wasn't looking for.

—I didn't say anything —she giggled.

—Just in case —he defended himself.

—In case what? —she lied on her side.

—In case you wanted to kick me out —mirroring her moves, he also lied on his side to face her.

—I can still kick you out.

—Sure.

Her feet started pushing him out of the bed, with him giving little to no reaction until his hand trapped her wrist as a warning for her to stop.

That brief connection they had when their eyes met was something bigger than lust, and more meaningful than just feeling horny about each other. And that was strange, apart from making them malfunction for the few seconds they remained in that position.

—We should go to sleep —she suggested.

—Yeah, you're right —he quickly nodded.

Neither of them wasted any time rolling on the bed, so their backs would be facing each other with darkness surrounding them.

It was going to be one hell of a night. 

Taglist: @jk97bam @ttanniett

[hms-lurking-latinist]

For @bird-lord1993 and @vastwinterskies, although it’s not exactly what either of them proposed, I still think they’ll like it: below the cut, Archie Kennedy and the Eighth Doctor

(I strongly suspect I am about the one millionth person to write roughly this exact fic, but hey, one million cakes!)

Horatio had been here a moment ago but now it was Bush. Why was Bush here? He should be free to go—he must be—unless it hadn’t worked—

“Don’t need to wait,” Archie tried to say. “Horatio will wait with me.” But Horatio wasn’t here. They’d taken him away to the court-martial. No, the court-martial was over. And Horatio had waited with him, they’d talked, he’d known that Horatio knew, and he’d heroically refrained from Hamlet and then—

Horatio must have left after that.

Bush leaned over him and said, “Don’t try to talk,” and it wasn’t Bush at all. The face could have been Bush’s brother, but older, and he spoke differently, and it wasn’t him. 

“Thought you had sisters,” he mumbled, only this wasn’t Bush, it was Bush’s brother, presumably a different Bush then, only Bush didn’t have a brother…

He was still feverish, it seemed. Natural enough in a dying man.

He had still to finish dying.

It was turning out to be more work than he had expected.

***

Next time he surfaced to awareness, he had enough presence of mind to realize he wasn’t in the prison infirmary. He could not make any sense of where he was. There was dim light, but—he lifted his head with some difficulty—he couldn’t see a lantern or a window, and it reflected off oddly smooth surfaces—stone? glass? steel?—in uncanny ways. Small colored lights glowed nearer him like unnatural little stars, and there was a buzzing noise, in his head he thought at first, but it seemed in fact to be coming from above him. Also a monotone chirping. The total effect was unpleasantly like a fit coming on and he was glad to close his eyes again.

***

The third time he woke up, the man who wasn’t Bush was there again, doing something across the room. Archie tried to sit up, and then realized he had tried to sit up, and the muscles of his belly and side had moved and nearly obeyed. They were weak and painful still, but—was his wound healing?

He tried to assemble his questions in a useful order. “Who are you?” floated to the top first.

“I’m the Doctor,” he said, and added “Just the Doctor” in the manner of someone who had often received further questions. Archie didn’t care, at least not at the moment; if he wanted to be secretive, let him.

The Doctor was coming over to Archie’s bedside now with what looked like a glass of water. But before he could offer any care Archie said what he had to say: “I’m sorry that you’ve wasted your time.”

He closed his eyes. He could hear the Doctor’s quick, anxious movements, quite characteristic of a certain type of surgeon. “Don’t say that,” said the Doctor. “I have better treatments here than your surgeon had. You’re going to live.”

“It’s not worth it, just to be hanged.” He took another breath—full, deep, almost unhindered, damn this doctor, he was going to live—and added, “The only kindness you can do me now is—decent obscurity.”

He could feel the Doctor hovering over him, so that he more or less had to open his eyes. He was met with bright unnerving blue eyes, so like Bush’s but so different in expression. Uncanny, that was the word.

“I’m sorry to have acted without your permission,” he said, “but you were really in no state to give it. They thought you had died, you know that?”

“Horatio wouldn’t have left till I had.”

“Your tall friend?”

“You’ve seen him?” Archie interrupted. “Is he well?”

“He still hadn’t left when I came and took you away. I was afraid he never would, you know, and I’d miss my chance with you. I can roll back time here, under certain constraints, but I can’t work miracles.” He looked very worn as he said this.

“What have you done?”

“Saved your life to start with. And—I’ve taken the liberty of departing Kingston. We are well outside English jurisdiction. So you see you haven’t got to be executed after all.”

There were bigger questions he would ask in time. He knew better than to quarrel with the surgeon while still confined to his bed. For the moment he would stick with the very practical: “Where are we now?”

“Where? Aboard the TARDIS. My ship,” he explained.

Archie took another look at his surroundings—the level floor, the big square room. “It’s very calm, then,” he said dubiously. “She must be pretty large. What is she, an Indiaman?”

The Doctor laughed, although Archie hadn’t intended it as a joke. “Bigger than that,” he said.

There were more worries there—who crewed her? did they want a fugitive aboard? did he want to be a fugitive, come to that; could he endure it? and what was this captain-surgeon of hers?—but he could feel himself growing faint, coming near the end of his strength for the moment. One more thing he had to ask first.

“Why have you done this for me?”

The Doctor got that tired expression again. He didn’t look at Archie. “I didn’t mean to find you at all,” he said. “I came to Kingston quite by accident; looking for someone, avoiding something else; you know how it is.” Archie didn’t, much, but it didn’t seem to matter. “You were the talk of the town, for the moment at least. I heard your surgeon talking, saying it was better to let you die, before…. I’ve known too many people that thought that way. I’m sick of the waste of lives.” He met Archie’s eyes again, with a lopsided smile. “And I can’t resist a challenge.”

The smile was nearly infectious. “I’ve been remiss,” Archie said. “I haven’t yet thanked you. What for, precisely, I’d still like to know…”

“Just rest,” said the Doctor, “let the nanobots do their work—I’ll explain nanobots later—I’ll come back and explain everything. Don’t, whatever you do, don’t wander off,” but Archie had already obeyed his first command and fallen into a deep unfevered sleep.

[blessedbyapollo]

Nico was certain that a lifetime of prison would be worth it if he could just murder whoever lived above him. Unfortunately, that would mean he wouldn’t graduate on time, so it seemed he was doomed to eternal suffering.

The first month of fall semester, everything had been fine. There was no noise next to or above him. Life was great. Now, however, Nico was stuck hearing the people who lived above him fuck at 3 am, something that he previously did not know could carry through floors. Most of the time, he tackled this by going down the hall to sleep in Jason’s room on his soft rug. It was fluffy and cozy, and Jason regularly vacuumed so he knew there was no freshman flu embedded in the fibers.

It was coming up on months of those assholes’ reign of terror. Nico had come to terms with the fact that slapping the ceiling in hopes that they would hear it was not, in fact, as effective as he thought it would be. 3am be damned: this time he was going to tell them to shut the fuck up once and for all.

Percy was Nico’s in to the third floor. He was technically not allowed to be up there - he didn’t have a key (as far as anyone was concerned) so it was not his place to enter. Truly, he didn’t use the totally-not-key that Percy had given him unless it was an absolute emergency.

It was an absolute emergency.

Based on the positioning of where he knew the bathroom was on each floor, Nico knew exactly which door to knock on. He just hoped that whatever was going on before had started to cool off as he approached the overly-decorated door.

He paused a moment. Did he really want to see what was happening here? Did he really need to talk to them, or could he just go the classic “tell my RA and pretend they solved the problem” route? He observed the name tags stuck to the door that read “Will,” “Leo,” and “Travis.” They were shaped like Amongus characters. Nico hated it deeply. He knocked.

He heard a muffled “What’s up?,”but before he could answer he was stopped with a hand suddenly smacking the doorframe next to him, which totally did not make him jump. When he looked up, what he saw totally did not make him blush.

The guy next to him was, to put it bluntly, hot, but not in a way that Nico believed any sane person should find as attractive as he did. He was wearing a truly atrocious shirt: a Storm Trooper covered in Christmas lights that said “Merry Sithmas.” Underneath that gray shirt was��another gray shirt, yet long sleeved and just close enough to the color of the graphic tee that it looked weird. His shaggy blonde curls were a mess, but were, in what appeared to be his most redeeming physical factor, an absolutely radiant gold color. His blue eyes were fixed on Nico far too calmly for someone who he had clearly never met before.

Nico was a goner. A goner for a nerd in a bad shirt who definitely lived in that sex dungeon he was coming to take down.

Instead of revealing this, he said, suavely: “Are you Will, Leo, or Travis?”

Mystery nerd finally startled at that.

“How did you know my name?” He fervently whispered. Nico raised an eyebrow and pointed to the name tags on the door.

“It’s right there, genius. And that doesn’t answer my question.” The guy seemed to relax a bit at that.

“Oh thank god, for a second I thought you might have been the campus stalker that Travis won’t shut up about.” Ok, so not Travis. “I’m Will.” He finally said, eyes wide. Nico nodded in acknowledgement.

“Hello, Will. Do you happen to know which one of your roommates is currently in there?” Will pulled out his phone and furrowed his brow. He seemed to be checking the time, which Nico found strange considering it was obviously Too Fucking Late.

“I’m not convinced it’s Leo, but I’m also not convinced it ISN’T Leo. He usually stays out late working, but not this late.”

“Well then where were you this late?”

“Working.” Will said, grinning widely. His two front teeth were slightly crooked and his whole face lit up when he smiled. Goner. “Either way, what does it matter to you?”

“Whoever it is in there is getting up to some, uh, stuff that I can hear all the way on the floor below.” Nico said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. Did they have dinosaurs on them? Yes. Were they any more embarrassing than gray-on-gray Star Wars apparel? Absolutely not.

“Oh, I doubt it’s Leo then.”

“That’s all you have to say? No explanation for how someone, apparently ‘Travis’, can defy all laws and be heard THROUGH the floor?” Nico’s hands were fully out of the pockets then. Will shrugged, then looked down in what appeared to be genuine apology.

“I’m sorry about that, uh-“ He looked up in question.

“Nico.”

“Nico. I’m sorry, then, Nico, truly. It sucks to be up this late, especially in the middle of the week and especially against your will.” Damnit. That was genuine too. “But, hey, if it makes you feel any better, I doubt that Travis is like, actually doing it in there. He’s probably just playing a game.”

“WHAT?” Nico asked incredulously. He had clearly heard something else happening.

“Yeah, no, Travis doesn’t have people over very often, and when he does he at least leaves a sock on the door. Um, anyway,” Will continued quickly at the look on Nico’s face. “He makes way incriminating noises when he plays video games. Look, I can prove it.” Will reached for the door at the exact same time Nico shielded his eyes. When he removed his hands, he saw….

…Nothing. Genuinely nothing. Just some guy sitting on a ratty - was that a dog bed? - playing some kind of game.

“Ugh fuck me!” He screamed, pounding his fists on the floor. Nico wasn’t sure if it relieved him or not to know that he had heard the exact same thing and assumed the worst context. But, this was definitely his culprit, and he was definitely alone.

“Travis!” Will said, in a tone far bossier than he had greeted Nico with. “Dude, shut up! You’re being way too loud!” Travis looked up at Will with a quirked eyebrow.

“Says literally who, William?” Will, who was clearly excited to prove himself right, jumped a bit and pointed directly at Nico. He waved at them both tiredly.

“Wait. Shit. Who is that?”

“Nico.”

“I’m Nico.”

“Hi Nico. Where are you from?” Travis had switched off the TV at that point.

“The second floor of this building.”

“Ah shit are you-“

“Room 220.” They said in unison. Will looked completely lost.

“How did you know what room he was in?” Will said in the same whisper-yell from earlier.

“Dude. We’re room 322. The floors are two rooms off, so he’s right below us.” Travis reclined further on the - yep, it was definitely a dog bed.

“Okay literally how was I supposed to know that. How do YOU know that?” Nico noticed that Will made wild hand gestures when he talked, and they had begun to accelerate. He figured it was time to step in.

“It truly does not matter at all how or why or when you all figured this out, I’m just here to tell you to shut the fuck up.”

“Oh.” Travis said.

“So true.” Will said.

“Sorry man.” Travis again.

“Also, and not that I care, but where is your third roommate at 3am?” They both exchanged suspicious looks.

“Probably with Jason Grace. Do you know him? He lives on the second floor.” Nico gaped at them. HIS Jason? His wonderful soft rug angel?

“I do know Jason, actually. I sleep on his rug whenever you buffoons are too loud, which is literally at least two nights a week at this point.” Nico almost regretted his tone when he saw Will’s shoulders fall again ever so slightly. He clearly felt bad about it, even though, from what Nico gathered, he was not the main perpetrator.

Travis, on the other hand, looked…offended? “You SLEEP on a RUG? Dude, I’m so sorry! Jason’s rug is probably gross as fuck, too!” Will made an “amen” gesture to that, his eyes still slightly downcast.

“Do not diss that rug. That rug is the best thing in my life right now.”

“That’s sad.”

“It’s comfy. And you make sex noises when you play video games.” Travis put his hand over his heart.

“He got you, man. We’ve told you this for WEEKS!” Will’s beautiful grin was back. He snapped his fingers on the word “weeks” for absolutely no reason. If anything, it just made the whole situation louder.

Travis, who had just started to look guilty for the first time, reeled again. “Okay, well, in my defense, you said you’d ask Cecil to go into Connor’s room and smack the floor to see if we could hear it and you literally never did. So. That’s on you.”

Will turned to Nico with his mouth open and palms out, like some kind of dehydrated fish. God he was hot.

“Connor is literally YOUR brother, you dillweed! Also, I’m never in this room. Like. Ever. So if anything that’s Leo’s job.”

“My what?” Said a voice behind Nico. It didn’t take much even in his absolutely braindead state for him to deduce that it was Leo.

“Will thinks you’re not pulling your room-weight.” Travis said, now just fully laying across the dog bed.

Will put his head against the wall in exasperation. “I did not even kind of say that.” He told the corner. Leo reached his arm fully around Nico to pat Will’s shoulder. It took more self restraint than Nico cared to admit to not smack his arm out of the way.

“I believe you, comrade.” Leo said in a shitty Russian accent. Then, regularly: “I frankly don’t give a shit what you were talking about as long as I can go to bed right now.”

“Ugh yeah. You and me both.” Will said, turning to Nico. He didn’t break eye contact with him as he said. “Also, Leo, this is Nico.” Leo clapped his hands louder than Nico needed to hear at any given point. He pointed directly at Nico.

“RUG DUDE! JASON’S FRIEND! Why are you here?” Nico felt a bit honored that his rug was finally getting the recognition it deserved.

“Ask them.” He said.

“We’re way too loud.”

“YOU’RE way too loud, Travis.”

“I’ll believe anything that comes out of Will’s mouth. Travis, shut the fuck up.”

“Why him? What has Will ever done to earn so much trust?”

“He made me soup.” And then, simultaneously: “I made him soup.”

“I can respect that.” Nico said. Will opened his mouth to go on what would likely be a Long One, but Nico, to his great surprise, put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, all I needed to do was say that you’re being too loud. I don’t care who, or why, but just please be more conscious. I’m sure you all have finals too, so let me get some goddamn sleep. Cool?”

Will gave him a sheepish thumbs up, arm slightly stiff under Nico’s hand. He quickly withdrew it. Travis nodded shamefully, and Leo threw a two finger salute his way. “Great. I’ll see at least one of you around Jason’s room apparently.”

As Nico shut the door and shuffled his way down the hallway in his clunky shower shoes, the sounds of muffled arguing following close behind. He couldn’t help but hope he ran into that group some other time. Except maybe without Travis. Or Leo…

Yep. Goner.

[cavedraconem]

Local Maximums

A while back I read an opinion piece my a woman who was upset about the state of grocery shopping these days. I can't really disagree with the basic premise that food in NZ is too expensive and this causes a lot of trouble for people who are living paycheck to paycheck. And shopping at the supermarket can be pretty stressful for a variety of reasons!

BUT, when the writer started to describe her shopping process... it was a massive odyssey. Of a Saturday she was dragging herself and her kids through multiple different shops - a Pak n Save, a Countdown, a fruit & veggie shop, maybe even a butcher as well - looking for the cheapest everything to stretch her budget, the particular whatever her husband wanted, the brand of snacks that her autistic child would eat. Of course she was sitting in traffic and fighting for parking and struggling with the kids and navigating trolleys at every single one of these locations. It sounded incredibly stressful! And she was incredibly stressed about it by the time she got home (and so were the kids).

"Surely just buying food shouldn't be this difficult?" she cried. And, well... no, I don't think it should be. Obviously I don't know every detail of this woman's life and I probably have extreme DINK privilege, but the ordeal she tried to pose as relatable seemed to me largely self-inflicted. Some of these issues seem trivially solvable: if you know your kid will only eat one type of snack, why wouldn't you just buy ten boxes at once? Can you plan ahead and click & collect any of these shops so you don't have to drag the kids around the supermarket itself? Can you pop out by yourself on a quiet evening?

And then we get into some more speculative cost-benefit questions that will depend on the exact details. Are the vegetables from the fruit & veggie shop cheaper enough to make up for the petrol you spend driving there? (Petrol is also expensive in my beautiful country.) What value do you really place on your time and stress? Is the money saved or the special thing for your husband really, genuinely worth the effort? If you are doing all of this work to save money, could you instead work a bit more to earn more money instead? Add a couple of extra hours a week onto your contract so you can afford to shop at a nicer supermarket or get groceries delivered, and save that much time or more on the weekend, plus less screaming from your children.

(By the way, I got that last idea from an old flatmate of mine. His philosophy was that it was better for him to work an extra hour every night and get takeaways for dinner than to spend that hour cooking something cheaper but not very good. I would have been more convinced by this [and his related opinions about division of labour] if he hadn't been allowing his PhD student girlfriend to cook him literally three meals a day.)

Anyway, this writer spectacularly failed to make her problems relatable to me, but there probably is something to be learned here. It's about how easy it is to reach a local maximum in your life: where you look at what you're doing and think, this is the best way I could possibly be doing it. But you're wrong! Maybe you've optimised your routine along one axis (e.g. cost) but totally neglected other axes (e.g. time/stress). You're making tradeoffs that you don't realise you're making. Things that you think are non-negotiable might actually be pretty easy to compromise on. It can take an outside perspective and a bit of convincing or experimentation to even realise that other possibilities exist, and maybe some of them are even better than what you're doing now.

So, in the end it's a good reminder to me to question my routines and ask whether I've trapped myself in any local maximums. What is stressing me out now that could be easier? Does everyone else have so much trouble with this? What opportunities am I missing? Surely it shouldn't be this difficult?

[edgy-ella]

SONIC 3 WAS SO GOOD!!!

Extended thoughts below:

The action scenes are by far the best they’ve ever been in the whole series. They’ve really improved how they visually represent Sonic’s speed. The only exception is the gravity scene at GUN HQ, which I think dragged on a little too long and overall wasn’t as impactful as, say, fighting a GUN mech with those same gravity abilities would’ve been.

Keanu is ok as Shadow. If you’ve seen the trailers, that’s about the level he keeps it at for the whole movie. I think I would’ve been more sold on him if he gave a bigger “MARIA!!” when she died.

In the first act, I felt like the movie was kind of on autopilot. Things just kind of happened without a ton of buildup, and the script kind of lacked flavor for the expository scenes. For example: when Sonic asks Olive Garden Guy™ about Shadow, he just starts expositing Shadow’s lore without anything like “this information is top secret, tell no one else about this” or “it’s painful to think about…I wish I could just act like it never happened” or even Sonic questioning how/why Shadow came from a meteorite. Just lore exposition without flavor from the rest of the cast. Throughout the movie, the dialogue felt very on the nose. I wish it was a little more subtle, but it’s a kids movie I get it.

On that note, the movie feels like it just has a checklist of SA2 iconography they had to tick off rather than more naturally integrating that kind of stuff into the plot. For the larger story it works well, like with Shadow and Maria, but stuff like the Chao Garden and “talk about a low budget flight!” just kind of felt…tacked on. In the moment it’s fine because I’m too busy aggressively pointing at the screen, but for someone not as invested in the series as I am, it feels a little random and clunky.

The movie really kicks up when Shadow starts having Maria flashbacks. The little montage they have with them together was so good. The cold cut to the record player stopping was so well done.

In retrospect, when just looking at this movie and not the rest of the franchise, I think Maria and Gerald’s relationship could’ve had some more focus. They never mention anything about Maria being sick in the movie, so it’s not clear why she’s there at the research station to begin with. That being said, Gerald telling Ivo “you’re no Maria” towards the end was gut wrenching. My theater audibly ooh’d.

@allshaftsfall and I were betting that the reason Gerald is still alive would’ve been through time travel shenanigans (which would set up the next movie), but, bizarrely enough, it just seems like Gerald is genuinely that old. He mentions he’s 110. But…how? Did he just survive that long? Did he use Shadow’s quill to expand his lifespan? It’s never explained.

I’m glad they had Knuckles and Tails continue to be proactive and do things instead of just being relegated to cheerleaders and/or comic relief. Knuckles in particular wound up hard carrying Sonic and Tails through most of the action setpieces.

There’s a scene where Tails talks to Agent Stone about being Sonic’s friend and not his assistant like Stone thinks he is, and Tails asks Stone “aren’t you and Eggman best friends too?” Stone replies verily sorrowfully “yeah…friends. Totally friends.” I know it’s meant to read as Stone wishing Eggman treated him better but I could not see it as anything other than Stone thinking “he’s my lover!” but thinking he can’t say that to Tails bc he thinks Tails is homophobic.

YET ANOTHER GOD DAMN CASPER REFERENCE. I cannot believe that both this and Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, my two most hyped movies of the year, both had Casper references in them. I’m losing my mind.

I am so mad they didn’t actually kill off Tom. The setup was right there. They even parallel Sonic grieving him to Shadow grieving over Maria! But noooo he survives. When will we be free of human cop dad.

DUDE. The Super Sonic/Super Shadow fight was SO FUCKING GOOD. Worth the price of admission alone.

I kinda figured Live and Learn was gonna be in the movie going in from how much everyone’s been #KnowingSmile posting about it, but honestly? I was more hyped hearing Eggman’s theme from Unleashed start playing. It was way more of a “oh my god, it’s the thing!” moment. That being said HOLY SHIT LIVE AND LEARN PEAK!!!!!! The movie’s OST had a lot more of a rock influence and I couldn’t be happier.

I have some miscellaneous “I liked this better in SA2” stuff (pissing on the moon, Shadow’s heel-face turn, etc.), but all of them I understand why the filmmakers did what they did so they’re just nitpicks.

The end credits scene is kind of insane because it’s super long. It just feels like a scene from the next movie. Metal looks a little rough, but I’m sure they’ll polish him up for the next movie. They’re probably going to lean into Amy being a magic fortune teller girl given how she shows up in a dark cloak and floats in the air. I hope she’s gonna keep the fangirl energy, but I doubt it. Very interesting choice to do multiple Metal Sonics, though, especially since Sega only likes using the one Metal Sonic rather than having different copies running around. My prediction for the next movie is that Neo Metal Sonic will be the main villain and he’s controlling all the other Metal Sonics from afar.

[eyesfullofsttars]

☆ sypnosis: despite ellie's sarcastic and confident attitude, it fades away when she interacts with abigail, whose sweet seriousness doesn't hesitate to set boundaries, even if she can tolerate certain behaviors.

☆ notes: omg i have no idea what this is i'm so disappointed with having written that! i feel like i could've done it a thousand times better or maybe i just don't fully grasp the concept :( still, i hope you enjoy it (especially @fictionalgap omg sorry if this doesn't meet ur expectations! you can always specify more and I'll do something better!!! sorry)

☆ Ellie Williams is quite the challenge, with her constant sarcasm in every social interaction. Often, her barely perceptible smile leaves others wondering if she's joking or being serious. She lives with a furrowed brow and rolling eyes at the orders she receives.

She always has something to say, with sarcastic and questionable comments that make it difficult to understand her true intentions.

Dina, at first, found Ellie's attitude exasperating, but she has grown accustomed to it over time. She simply laughs at every one of Ellie's comments, just like Jesse, who plays along by hitting her shoulder while shaking his head.

☆ In romantic situations, however, Williams finds herself at a loss.

She's clueless when it comes to romance! She can't even tell when a girl is trying to flirt with her, even if it's blatantly obvious. She just shrugs it off, deciding that the girl was just being friendly.

Even worse, her confident sarcasm falters in the presence of a cute girl. She can't maintain eye contact and finds herself looking at the ground, playing with her fingers.

☆ Ellie is the least dominant girl! When she started feeling something for Abigail, she decided to keep quiet, harboring her own fantasies until Anderson jokingly admitted she was in love with her, giving Ellie the confidence to move forward.

☆ And the arguments are interrupted when Abs grabs Ellie's wrist, asking her to sit down and stop arguing over trivial matters. This causes Ellie to simply sigh and sit down beside her with her arms crossed.

"But..." Ellie wants to continue, seeking to be right about some nonsense against someone.

"It's not worth it, Williams," Abby interrupts quickly, wrapping her arm around Ellie's waist, making her sit on her lap.

Ellie's complicated and difficult demeanor can disappear with just a stern look from Abigail, indicating that enough is enough. It often ends with Ellie seeking Abby, holding her hand, and glaring at everyone, but then softening her gaze when Abby places her hand on her shoulder.

☆ However, even though Abby is patient, sometimes she can't tolerate Ellie's attitude, and it's inevitable for her to get annoyed with her from time to time.

"I'm talking to you, you know?" Abigail asks, grabbing Ellie's jaw with her hand and turning her towards her so they can look at each other. "You're ignoring me on purpose."

"I don't know, am I?" Ellie responds with a question, shrugging and a smirk on her lips that only provokes more annoyance in Abby.

"God, you're insufferable..." Abby mutters through gritted teeth, quickly bringing Ellie's face even closer to hers to kiss her.

☆ Abigail wastes no time complaining about Ellie's foul language, letting out a sigh every time an unnecessary swear word slips from her lips. But she knows it's impossible to correct, so she settles for Ellie acknowledging it on her own.

☆ Despite their differences and occasional clashes, their dynamic is ultimately one of mutual respect and pure love, with Ellie keeping Abby on her toes with her antics and Abby keeping Ellie in check

(after all, ellie can be as challenging as she wants, but she totally loses dominance to abigail, and tbh i would too!!!)

[thejournallo]

Hey I'm the one who asked about the lucid dreaming methods. And no , you didn't ask a dumb question. Actually, I am trying to enter the void state through a lucid dream , and I would like to know the various methods or techniques that help to induce a lucid dream soo I can enter the void state 😅.

Hi! Thank you for clearing that up! 

Some years ago, I started searching a lot about lucid dreaming, and some techniques were really interesting.  I'll put my head up. I don't remember the names of those technicians, so I'll try to identify them by summarizing.

Here are some basic and common tips: Lucid dreaming is when you realize you are dreaming and have some control over what happens in your dream. To enter the state of lucid dreaming, you have to be aware that you are sleeping and that you are actually living in a dream, and that is the most difficult part of lucid dreaming. When exploring methods, I saw that most require you to meditate or keep your mind engaged while your body sleeps. (The main idea behind a lucid dream is that you can change it and even create a new approach.)

-wake up and fall asleep. (5/10; too complicated) 

This method is one of the first that I tried, and in the long run, it is just tiring, at least for me. Basically, you fall asleep and have to wake up at least 3 hours later. Once you wake up, you go back to falling asleep, but this time you will slightly move one finger up and down. It does not have to be a full motion; it must be the softest touch possible because your brain must be alert but not totally awake in order to return to sleep.

-using your imagination. (7/10; good to keep your mind active)

This is how I fall asleep on a daily basis, and I only discovered a few years ago that it was a legitimate way. Simply sit in your most comfortable position and begin to envision whatever. It does not have to be about manifesting or entering the void, although if that is your objective, I recommend you do so.

-Write down your dreams once you are awake. (8/10; it is a slow method).

Something that I actually started doing is writing my dreams in a journal or in my note app, giving them titles, and writing down any details that I can remember. This not only helps us grasp the significance of our dreams, but it also teaches our brain that our dreams are significant, and you will begin to remember more, eventually leading to vivid and lucid dreams. I also suggest that you keep track of the time you sleep (I use my smart watch that tells me all the data when I sleep, but you can simply track the time).

-guided meditation (6/10; I have ADHD; I simply can't focus enough.) 

This is a great way to also relax your body and become aware of your surroundings when you are falling asleep. They are easy, and I actually suggest you try them. It is not an effective strategy for me because I tend to divert myself, but you are your own person! 

-Some shifting methods (8/10; believe me, they're worth it)

Several shifting methods, such as the Raven and Julia methods, are unintentionally good for beginning with lucid dreams. They help you because they keep your mind active and your body tired.

and i think that's all! @ddaycoming (i tagged you because you asked for some methods about lucid dreaming, forgive me if i disturbed you.)

If you are interested in other methods, I have a masterlist of things I have already talked about, and if you have more questions, don't be afraid to ask! 

[highonmarvel]

thank you SO much for answering my question (the one with Brock Rumlow). I just think his character is VERY underrated and his darkness and gruffness is just...wonderful, especially in Infinity War (when Steve goes back in time) and in The Winter Soldier.

If you don't want to write for him, it is totally fine.

If you are willing to write for him, here is my request:

Reader grew up in an (mentally) abusive household. Her self-worth is very low, but she manages to go to college. During college, she meets Brock. He, of course, works for S.H.I.E.L.D.S, and let's say he's a very important agent, not just the STRIKE leader. Reader gets together with him (ofc, he manipulates her into that), but he gets abusive, like...really abusive. Being raised in that household, she thinks she deserves that and she stays.

One day, her friend calls the police, and reader wants to go with them, but when the police arrives at their house, right then Brock arrives home and he sends the police away (abuse of power) and then he beats reader again and noncon maybe..

THANK U SO MUCH for reading my shit...idk if you are comfortable with age-gap and everything else, but thank you again.

Stay safe! Have a great day and remember: you are loved!

oh, i especially like the ending here, with him arriving home just as she’s right about to get away. love it! i’m cool with age gap, i like it. if you wanna be super sure, make sure to check out my requesting guidelines here! but in general, i’m pretty much okay with anything. sorry it took so long, i really, really hope you enjoy. alright. let’s go:

Breaking Point

Brock Rumlow: Brock seems too good to be true at first, and when that’s revealed to be a farce, some bad timing really pushes things over the edge.

especially for the beautiful @thehydraethereal, please enjoy. seriously, please do. i tried my best.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of violence. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with explicit descriptions of physical abuse and rape. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I am going to hell.

Non Con Warning!

There were very few things your parents did right—in fact, nothing they did benefitted you in anyway: the constant belittling, sometimes yelling, but when they weren’t making sure you knew just how much of a burden you were, just how much your mother regretted not having an abortion and your father regretted that night, how much pain and exhaustion your existence causes them, not to mention the ridiculous amount of money they have to spend on an oxygen thief, they ignored you and your needs. Sometimes they got tired of dealing with you, and would resort to complete neglect, going as far as locking you out of their bedroom so you couldn’t ask for food or even just a hug. You learnt to take care of yourself pretty early on in life, and you always knew you were your best shot at getting out of this alive.

Surprisingly, you found yourself to be brilliant when you started school—all your teachers (which your parents would never meet with on parent-teacher night) praised your intelligence and creativity, but when you went home with this supposedly good news, your parents either didn’t care or straight up told a six year old to fuck off and die. Your entire schooling career had been straight As and perfect attendance—despite the days where your mother was blackout drunk and couldn’t drive and your father refused to take you to school, you made a plan, always worked around their abusive behaviour. Very early on you knew your parents would never pay a dime for university, and so you worked hard to get a scholarship, and you got it! Here, is where their negligence may have paid off—the only time your mother ever smiled at you was when you said you were leaving for college and you wouldn’t be living with them anymore.

But even now, being on your own, you can never really shake the nearly two decades of constant harassment they subjected you to. Even though your teachers all through grade school assured you you were bright and had so much to offer the world, it didn’t make much of a difference when the two people who were supposed to love you guaranteed and unconditionally just constantly drilled into your head that you were, at best, good for nothing and, at worst, a huge burden no one could ever love or even appreciate. If you were worthless to them despite eighteen years of what you thought was good behaviour (you never snuck out, never drank or did drugs, never did anything but your schoolwork and clean the house) what good would you be to literally anyone else?

It’s chilly when you step out of your dorm building, making you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself as you adjust the tote bag on your shoulder, the heavy books weighing you down slightly. The walk to the other end of campus for your next lecture is dreary as the grey sky is above: you had tried to call your mother—even through all these years, part of you hoped that maybe if she sobered up she’d apologise for everything she’s said (you knew your dad was a lost cause)—but she didn’t pick up. To make matters worse, she texted you telling you to leave her alone, and you’re pretty sure she blocked your number because the message you sent begging for just five minutes of her time never went through.

You slow down as you enter the corridor where a few of your classmates are gathered behind a pillar, looking curiously towards the doors of the lecture hall. Ducking behind them, you ask one of the girls what’s going on.

“Like, ten guys in black went in there,” she whispers, “We think they had, like, guns and stuff, too. But it’s been quiet.”

“Is Professor Brown in there?” you ask with wide eyes.

She hums in confirmation and nods towards the entrance. “We saw him go in and then these guys appeared out of nowhere! Like they’re ninjas or something,” she mumbles, and you furrow your brows as you straighten up.

Just then, there’s a bang! and the small group jumps. But it’s only the doors bursting open, revealing two guys holding Professor Brown by each arm and practically dragging him across the courtyard.

A tall man steps out, and by his confident stance and firm tone you can tell he’s in charge here. “Nothing to see here,” he says, quickly side-eying the students you’re huddled in with. “Lecture’s cancelled. Take a nap or go to the bar or somethin’.”

The group disperses and leaves you standing there. And from where the small amount of bravery comes, you don’t know, but you muster up enough courage to walk over to the man that stands much taller than you. He has his back turned to you and is talking to two of whatever task force just dragged your favourite professor out of here, who eye you suspiciously as you approach. The man dismisses them and turns to you with what is initially an unimpressed look, before he looks you up and down and something lights up in his eyes. You shift nervously under his gaze and clear your throat.

“Excuse me, sir, I— I’m sure you can’t tell me what he’s done but, do you— do you know if Professor Brown is gonna be back?”

“No, sweetheart, he’s lucky he ain’t dead,” he deadpans, making your stomach drop. He takes a step closer to you and you instinctively take a step back. “What’s your name, darlin’?” he asks in a sweet tone, but the gruffness in his voice counteracts the easiness you guess this is supposed to bring.

You stutter out a response and he smiles, reaching out a hand for you to shake. “Brock,” he gives his name in response. “Brock Rumlow.” You tentatively shake his hand with a nod, slightly intimidated by his grip that’s just a little too strong. He lets go and crosses his arms over his broad chest, looking down at you. “What’re you studying?”

You want to answer him but you check your watch and come to the conclusion you could probably get some of your dissertation going if you hurry back now, or even just take a nap, get a few more hours of sleep seeing as you spent the night crying after your mother’s cruel behaviour.

“I— I’m gonna run now,” you say, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I could fit in some work seeing as I— I don’t have anything now so—”

“How about getting a drink with me instead?”

Your eyes go wide and you’re sure you’ve misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“Can just be coffee,” he shrugs, and unfolds his arms to tuck his hands into his pockets. “I won’t keep you too long, promise.”

You stammer nervously around your words as he looks down at you expectantly. “Th— Thank you but— but I really should get back to, um, to my dorm and—”

“That work’s not going anywhere, come on. Maybe a caffeine boost will help you in the long run—half an hour, 45 minutes tops.”

You chew your bottom lip and let your eyes dart around your surroundings. There’s no one here except these police or military or secret service guys, and you have a feeling if you leave alone he’s gonna follow you and wear you down either way.

“O— Okay,” you reply, to which he smiles warmly at you in response. Surprisingly, he offers his arm, and you loop yours through his and let him guide you.

Brock is definitely a dangerous guy, and you two attract stares as you walk off campus, obviously, because he’s a muscular guy in black tactical gear and you’re clearly a little anxious on his arm and regretting your decision to wear sundress today. Despite whatever security force he’s got going on, though, you can’t help but feel a little safer with him nearby—he’s more than equipped to protect you, and he’s being nice, taking you out for coffee, maybe he’s trying to help calm your nerves, or take your mind off the weird scene you saw earlier that he definitely can’t explain yet.

When you finally get to sit down in a quiet corner of a cafe that’s got a few students scattered around, all immersed in their books, and some people with laptops undoubtedly writing screenplays they think are genius, Brock again asks you what you’re studying. You’re a little confused at first, and tell him Professor Brown’s your chemistry teacher (which makes you surmise he was busted for cooking up a couple Breaking Bads), assuming this is some kind of informal interrogation, because why else would he be interested in you? But he shakes his head.

“No, I mean your course. Is this your first year? Are you enjoying it so far?”

You offer a weak smile and give a brief outline, but he presses you for more details, seeming to have a genuine interest in what you have to say, and smiling when you get excited about certain topics, listening—really listening—to you, and for the first time in your life, you feel seen by someone, and not just someone payed to educate you.

“Oh!” you eventually exclaim when you remember to check your watch. “I’m gonna be late! God, it’s been an hour already! I’ve got to go,” you say, and hastily stand up, but Brock puts his hand over yours and looks up at you with pleading eyes.

“No, stay,” he encourages. “It’s not a big deal if you miss one class, is it?”

You look to the door and then back to him, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider his words. He must be right, right? It’s not a big deal. You’ve worked hard all your life, and it’s not like it’ll be difficult for you to catch up, you’re just missing one lecture.

“Um, yeah,” you nod as you sit down again. “All right. It’s… it’s not a big deal.”

“That’s right.” He smiles as he flags down a waitress to get two more coffees.

***

Staring at your busted lip in the mirror, you wonder how on Earth it got to this point. You knew Brock had the potential to be violent because that’s his job, but when did it get to the point where you couldn’t even say “I’m leaving the house” without bleeding? You think back to that first day, and how he had convinced you to stay with him for coffee, and you can’t help but curse yourself. If only you had just listened to your instincts, just gone to class like you would under any other circumstance. Why did he have that power over you? How did he convince you to stay? You know why, but you don’t really want to think about it. You know it’s pathetic but that was the first time in your life you were asked to keep talking, the first time you had spoken about yourself without being told to go away, that your voice is grating and whatever you have to say isn’t worth the strain on their ears.

But this is how it works, right? You can only pick one—be heard and deal with physical abuse, or be ignored and deal with psychological damage. And besides, Brock isn’t abusive, is he? Yes, he’s rough, but that’s just in his nature, and he is a SHIELD agent, after all—this violent instinct just comes from his training, his commitment to keeping people safe, and that just misdirects sometimes, it’s not like he can turn it off. And you have to admit, you do feel safer when you walk down the street at night with him or go to bed and not make certain all the doors are locked. His toughness is protective.

You sigh as you wipe the last of the blood off and gather cold water in your palms. You splash your face and let the cool liquid drip down into the basin, along with a little bit of blood. You need to look on the brightside: Brock’s letting you go to school again! You hadn’t been dating him long before you joined a study group at your university, excited to meet some new people, make new friends, and just learning in general made you gleeful, like a little dork (the one degrading name you’d wear proudly) but Brock was suspicious. You brushed it off, thought he was only being protective, of course, but when you were sitting at his kitchen island, eating dinner and telling him the news, his appetite disappeared and was replaced with something like anger.

“You’re not doing that,” he said, firmly, jaw clenched and forearm resting on the table with his hand balled into a fist.

“What?” you had asked with a frown, genuinely confused, “Why not?”

“You really shouldn’t be hanging around kids, baby.” His voice had dropped, gravelly tone making your body stand on alert, ready to bolt for the door if the way he was looking at you was any indication of danger. “They won’t treat you right.”

He stood up and slowly stalked over to the kitchen door, casually turning the key to lock it.

“Well, it’s— I’m not really hanging out with them, we’re just studying.”

“But you don’t need it,” he says softly, walking back into you to cup your face with his calloused hands. “You’re bright, you’re brilliant, they’ll only slow you down. You could be five years ahead of them, you know that?” The stark contrast between his bruised knuckles and his soft eyes makes your mind swirl in confusion.

“In fact,” he continues, “You really don’t need school anyway. You’ll live with me.”

You could tell that wasn’t a question. And though you were hesitant, you accepted, because how nice would it be for once in your worthless life to live with someone who actually cared. But eventually, he started getting bolder with his claims about the people around you, until he declared it wasn’t safe for you to go back to campus at all, that it wasn’t even safe for you to leave the house, and any time you questioned him, a good bruise reminded you of your place, that you were only to listen to him, because he wants what’s best for you. Right?

You had been good the last few weeks, so when you begged him to let you go back to school, promising you’d keep your head down, wouldn’t say a word to anyone and come straight back to him the second you could, he smiled and allowed it. He also gave you your phone back, he took it when he noticed reading world news was only upsetting you, and there’s no reason to worry about that stuff—that’s the stuff he takes care of everyday on the job.

After more or less making yourself look presentable, you return back to school. You haven’t heard anything from the school or your professors about your four month absence, but you’re sure it’s because Brock took care of it for you. How thoughtful, you think.

When you hear a feminine voice call your name, you want to turn around, but you remember what you promised. You pull your hoodie over your head and walk a little bit faster, but she easily catches up to you.

Wanda joins you in step and smiles at you, and though you raise your eyes to meet hers, you don’t smile back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, hesitantly bowing so she can better see your face. When you don’t respond, she reaches over and pulls your hood back, casting you into light.

“Hey!” you yell, and she gasps, taking your face in her hands before you can cover up again.

“What happened?” she whispers, ghosting her thumb over the cut on your lip.

“Nothing,” you reply, a little too quickly, making her raise an eyebrow. “I’m fine.”

Before you can process it, she’s grabbing your hand and leading you into the nearest bathroom, which is thankfully empty.

“Sit,” she instructs, pointing at the counter lined with sinks, and you obey her without a second thought, hopping up with your back facing the mirror and letting her examine you. She’s quiet for a moment before she asks, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, but the look she gives you is of serious and genuine concern. You don’t know her well, only that she’s the one who invited you to the study group, and she lives on the same floor as you did in the dorms, so you spoke to her occasionally. The fact that this woman knows nothing about you but is clearly determined to help, it makes you tear up. You roll up your sweatpants to reveal your shin and thighs stained with ugly shades of yellow and blue and brown, at which she winces.

The room is silent for a few minutes, and it feels like you’re holding your breath waiting for her to say something.

“We’ve got to get you out of there.”

You want to sigh in relief, but you also know that you can’t get out of there, that he will always find you. Nearly immediately you regret showing this to her. Neither of you said anything about Brock (in fact, you’re not even sure if she knows his name) but both of you have the same idea of him.

“N— no, Wanda, really, that’s okay. I— I need to get going,” you hurriedly stammer out as you adjust your clothes and pick up your book bag.

“Do you have your phone?” she asks, moving to block the door when you try to leave.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I do, I need to go—I shouldn’t have even come, Brock’s not gonna be home tonight so I’ve gotta prepare dinner for myself and—”

“He’s not going to be home tonight?” she interrupts with a sad yet hopeful look in her eyes.

You look away from her and decide to just push past her, regretting you said anything at all. This time, she lets you go, but not without yelling from behind you, “Keep your phone on!”

***

Later that night, it’s approaching 20h00–Brock has left but you haven’t eaten anything, and though you tell yourself it’s from the nerves of being left alone, you know you’re anxiously waiting for Wanda’s call, your heart pounding against your chest, leg tapping furiously as you stare at your cellphone sitting across the table. When it rings, you all but jump out of your seat as your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. You almost forget to press Accept before raising the phone to your ear, breathing uneven and voice shaky as you answer, “H— hello?”

“Is he gone?” Wanda’s comforting voice comes through on the other end—she’s clearly in an anticipatory state, but just hearing the care her voice carries makes you feel a little lighter.

“Yeah,” you croak before clearly your throat and mentally reprimanding yourself for being so paranoid. “Yeah. He’s… he’s out. For the night, I think. He’s not gonna be back until I think tomorrow morning, or maybe even the day after.”

“What’s your address?”

You give her Brock’s address as you make your way over to the window, peaking out into the front yard, afraid he’ll just materialise and barge him.

“Okay,” she responds after scribbling it down. “I’m calling the cops.”

“What? Wanda, no!”

“He’ll kill you if I don’t.”

Part of you wants to argue with her, say he’d never do that but… he might. You’ve never been on the receiving end of 100% of his strength but you know you’ll never make it out alive if it gets to that point.

“Please,” she pleads, desperation so evident in her voice you cup your hand over your mouth to stop the sob that threatens to come out. “I’ll come with them, I’ll be there, you won’t be alone, I can keep you safe.”

Safe. Safety: the one thing you’ve wanted all your life.

With a few hiccups you nod, forgetting she can’t see you through the phone. When she asks, “Are you there?” you reply, “Yeah. C— call them, but please come, too.”

She assures you she will before hanging up, and you’re left in silence once again. It could have been a minute or an hour before they showed up at the door, you have no way of knowing because of your nervous pacing and your mind racing a million miles a minute. When the doorbell rings, you swear your soul must have leapt out of your body for a second, that you momentarily had a heart attack but that human survival instinct brought you back to life.

Your hands are trembling so hard you wonder how you haven’t dropped the key as you slowly unlock the door and crack it open just enough to peer out into the dark. Wanda is standing behind two tall police officers, and she gives you an encouraging smile that makes you want to cry for the third time today.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” asks one of the policemen, carefully watching your movements. “We have reason to believe domestic assault may be taking place in this residence. If you could come with us—”

His words are cut short by the crunching of gravel as a car pulls into the driveway and all four heads turn to face the black SUV coming to a stop. It’s like you’re paralysed, completely still as you watch his heavy boots hit the ground and hear the door slam shut. When he circles to the other side of the car and towards the door, a brief flash of confusion crosses his features, but he quickly regains his composure, and it was a subtle display, so subtle you doubt anyone else in the world could’ve spotted it but you. Your eyes dart nervously from Brock to Wanda, who is glaring at him so hard you’re sure she’s willing daggers to pierce straight through his nonexistent heart.

“Evening, officers,” he greets, casually as he takes the few steps up to the door. “Can I help you?”

He joins you in the doorway, standing just a little bit in front of you to discreetly hide your terrified features from the two men.

“Agent Rumlow,” Officer Two greets with what’s clearly deep admiration, and you see Wanda resist the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s an honour to meet you, sir.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he responds, changing his stance to lean against the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. “Is there a problem?”

The two officers give each other nervous looks before the first speaks up again. “We were,” he clears his throat, then continues, “We were responding to reports of domestic assault, sir. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Though you can’t see him, based on his faux sympathetic tone, you can imagine an exaggerated display of his brows furrowed in confusion. “Can’t say I do. Do you know anything, sweetie?” he turns to you and gives you an ugly grin, a face you know all too well—that look he displays when you piss him off and he’s got an excuse to punch you this time.

You gulp and shake your head, looking down at your shoes.

“Well then—”

“Bullshit!” Wanda suddenly calls, stepping up to Brock. “You,” she begins, pointing a finger at him, her voice trembling with anger. “You are a fucking maniac! You—”

Before she can finish, Brock waves his hand and the officers grab Wanda by a shoulder each, snapping her out of her rage and into a bit of panic for a second.

“Sorry to bother, sir,” is the last word one of them gives before turning back to the car.

“Wanda!” you call out, not taking a step forward before you’re blocked by Brock’s large body. Between him and the doorway you’ve got a gap to see them dragging her away. You watch with horror as she repeatedly calls your name, unrelenting in her kicking and screaming, calling out to you, and you’re… useless. You can’t help her. She did all this for you and you can’t do a single thing for her.

In shame and fear, you take a step back, breathing heavily. You jump when the door is shut and the click of the lock makes you queasy. There’s a rattle as Brock drops his keys into the bowl near the door and sighs as he turns to face you.

“What was all that about?” he questions, in between a laugh, and you can do nothing but stare at him in horror as tears spill from your eyes.

“Well?” he asks, taking a menacing step towards you, becoming bigger and bigger before you as you cower in paralysing fear. Before you can process it, he wraps a hand around your neck and nearly lifts you off the floor as he pulls you towards him. “Fucking answer me, you cunt!”

You claw desperately at his forearm to get him to relent as his breath hits you in harsh puffs through his flared nostrils—he’s seething, practically to the point you can feel his body temperature rise and rise. When your attempts become feeble and he can feel you struggling to keep consciousness, he lets go and you fall to the ground, gasping for air as your nails dig into the weathered floorboards. You cough a few times to regain feeling in your lungs before a swift kick to your chest knocks the wind right back out of you. You go sliding a few metres across the floor, splinters poking under your fingernails making your eyes water, wrapping your hands around your neck as if that’s gonna help.

“Brock” you try, but your voice comes out as barely more than wheeze, “Please—”

“You gonna answer me?” Another kick sends you backwards, sprawling onto your belly. When you attempt to crawl forward, he presses his boot down harshly on your lower back, making you cry out as you reach an arm behind you to try and pry him off. “What was all that about, sweetheart?” he seethes through gritted teeth before delivering a kick to the side of your head, sending a warm trickle of blood running down from your temple.

“I didn’t— I didn’t call them—”

“But your little friend did.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and you whimper. Leaning down to meet you halfway with your head pulled up off the ground, he drops his gruff voice to an almost animalistic growl. “Big mistake.”

If you didn’t turn when he did, you might have broken your spine in half, still trying to claw at him as he drags you by your hair to the bottom of the staircase and tosses you carelessly onto the steps—they’re carpeted, but that doesn’t soften the blow, and a ringing sound echoes through your skull as black spots dot your vision, disorienting you for long enough to let Brock tug down your pants.

“Maybe you need a reminder of what you are, and who you belong to.”

As he’s unbuckling his belt, you take the chance to push yourself up and run up the stairs, but you trip on your pants he hadn’t even bothered to take halfway off and he easily catches your ankle, pulling you down again and making your chin hit the stairs. Your teeth clatter together painfully and you’re sure you would’ve bitten straight through your tongue if it were in the way.

Finally rid of his belt, he grabs the end of it and whips so the metal buckle slashes against your face, making a deep gash down your cheek and nearly clawing your eye out in the process. You sob as your skin is ripped and reach a hand up to cup your injured cheek. Brock takes the opportunity to to press your other hand behind your back and practically crush your wrist with the impact of his boot to keep your arm pinned down.

He tries to finger you before quickly giving up and spitting into his hand, the lewd sound making you let out another sob as you try to wriggle free, a feeble fight which he effortlessly ignores.

When you feel his tip line up with your entrance, you let your head fall in defeat. Maybe it’s better this way, to just go limp and accept whatever comes your way. You’ve been worthless all your life, maybe this will make him think you’re worth something, if you just let him do what he wants, stop fighting him, because every single time you express opposition, you get hurt. You thought Brock was the only person to listen, but he’s not listening to your pleas for him to stop.

Eventually, he grows bored of your crying and grunts in frustration, turns your head to smush your face against the dusty carpet, somewhat effectively silencing you as you try to stop crying to preserve oxygen, taking shallow breaths as if that will have much of an effect. His slow pace makes it more painful, somehow, like he’s saving this memory, taking his time and making sure every one of his thrusts hits deep enough to make you jerk forward before pulling out of you almost entirely, and doing this over and over again. Gradually, your cries die out, voice slowly disappearing and throat hoarse and as painfully dry as your cunt. You taste blood in your mouth and can feel that the blood from your tearing walls is the only thing slick enough to keep him going. Now, it’s only his groans and the sound of skin on skin when he slams into you, but when he starts to lose focus, his rhythm hesitant, he lets go of your arm in favour of gripping your hips, his nails indenting your skin, like a tattoo of his name that’s impossible to erase even if you sliced the skin off, like it’ll just grow back if you ever heal, like the scars are a reminder of your breaking point.

The very moment you decided to stop fighting, to give in, just allow yourself to be worthwhile to someone, whatever it takes.

⊗

my beloved taglist: @cjand10, @cowboysnbugs

[csuitebitches]

Book Review: Book 1: Stop People Pleasing (a 9-part series by Patrick King, “Be Confident and Fearless.”)

I’m reading a 9-part series by Patrick King, “Be Confident and Fearless.” His books talk about becoming assertive, saying no, not people pleasing anymore and being confident. Generally, such books are quite generic but I found his take on the subject interesting. His techniques to handle certain situations seem to be quite doable too. His techniques have been highlighted in bold.

Book One: “Stop People Pleasing”

A people-pleaser is worried about rejection. They have a need, as we all do, to be accepted and treasured—to be loved. But in people-pleasers, this need is amplified to the extent that they will bend over backward just to not lose that love or acceptance. This is more invalidating than giving an honest opinion.

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In reality, people-pleasers continued promises and inaction just tick their friends off, as it becomes apparent that they are willing to be dishonest and only say what people want to hear.

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They’re not really doing what they do to improve someone else’s life—they just want to feel more positive about themselves.

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Living under the limitations of our own viewpoint, we tend to think everyone in our circle is looking at and judging how we look and behave. At most, maybe a couple of people are paying attention to most of your moves, and they’re likely people you’re already close to who are supposed to know you better than anyone else.

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When you’re so consumed with the perceived needs of others, you’re not paying yourself any attention. You could be overlooking or ignoring things you need to do to take care of yourself.

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Avoiding confrontation for fear that it might only make things worse ironically results in the very outcomes it’s meant to deflect. The absence of confrontations doesn’t mean your relationship is all healthy, and the presence of confrontations doesn’t mean your relationship has gone to the dogs.

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The BLUE model is a specific CBT strategy developed by PracticeWise to help counter negative thinking. BLUE is an acronym that stands for the kind of extremely negative thoughts you should recognize in yourself when they do pop into your head. “B” stands for blaming myself, “L” is looking for bad news, “U” means unhappy guessing, and “E” represents exaggeratedly negative thoughts.

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What many people-pleasers fail to see is that sacrificing so much of themselves in pursuit of serving everyone else around them is sabotaging their very capacity to continue being there for others when it truly matters.

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Rejecting an invite is not the same as rejecting your friend and that prioritizing your own peace of mind by just settling into a restful weekend is totally okay.

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Ask yourself, “What are the things I do to be happy?” or “What are the core beliefs I have about my worth as a person?”

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Exposure therapy is the process of deliberately placing yourself in situations that cause you fear and anxiety. You’ll need to immerse yourself in your feared situations in a gradual and progressive manner, starting from situations that cause the least anxiety and later advancing to those that cause the most intense feelings of fear.

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Creating your fear hierarchy. The fear hierarchy is an ordered list of situations that elicit your fears and anxieties.

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The first habit we must develop is the habit of self-awareness. We don’t understand why we people-please, and we’re not aware when we’re doing it.

This begins with questioning the motives for your actions: “Why exactly am I going out of my way for this person?” “Do I genuinely care for them, or am I just afraid of what might happen without them?” “Would I be doing this out of free will, or am I doing it for someone else?”

Take note of the moment you’re starting to feel internal resistance. When that happens, stop everything and question why you’re doing it.

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The second habit to cultivate is the habit of personal autonomy. An autonomous person knows what they truly believe and why they believe it. But the differences that you’ve valued your own opinion over that of others. Or you’ve at least valued it equally and not by habit put your own opinion as inferior to that of others.

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That’s why it’s important to get into the habit of expressing yourself honestly. The more you communicate where you stand, the more people will know where you’re coming from (and what your limits are). After all, people can’t read minds, and to expect others to know what you want is an impossible task.

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Remain strong under pressure. When you stop people-pleasing, you will face some angry reactions. It’s not necessarily their fault because you have conditioned their expectations. But this is where you must not fold under pressure, like you previously would have. It only takes five seconds of extreme willpower, and it gets easier every time thereafter.

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How to set boundaries:

1. Determine your core values

2. Change yourself and only yourself. You dont control other people

3. Set consequences of someone else breaking your boundaries. Write down the boundaries you have, the actions others might take that trespass those boundaries, and exactly what you will do when they’ve violated your boundaries.

4. Communicate your boundaries to others in very exact terms. Make sure everybody’s very, very clear on what your limits are.

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If you tell yourself “I can’t,” you’re simply reminding yourself of the limitations you’ve set for yourself. You’re creating a feedback loop in your brain that tells you that you can’t do something that you would normally want to do.

When you tell yourself “I don’t,” you’re creating a feedback loop that reminds you of your power and control of the situation. You’ve given yourself a line in the sand that takes the situation out of your hands. Your choice was premade to say no and thus you can stick to it more easily.

[phelia]

“For the charge of Violation of the First Universal Law, we find the defendant—

—guilty”

«Oh, another beautiful day in court» you think as the room goes nuts as quickly as the words came out of the jury in question.

A few people—mainly your family and friends—cry behind you, in the background of the place your sentence was set. Yet you don’t turn around to see them. Be it embarrassment or plain anguish to see your mother bawl her eyes out, you decided not to see that scenario. The courtroom is a mess. Everyone is complaining about how unfair the people from the jury had been… but had they, really?

You have broken the most important law in the country; in the world, to be exact! So, it’s easy to say that you were not going to get away from this as an innocent person.

The Judge tries to calm down your fans in the crowd while stomping their hammer—because yes, you had thousands of fans waiting for you inside the courtroom, and outside as well—, but fails to do it. Women screamed your name desperately, men sob uncontrollably, and lots of teenagers claimed to be the culprit to keep you away from the tragic life of prison.

But for the eyes of the law, you were already a guilty person—plus you were caught red handed, so no one has the ability to get you out of there as easily as just claiming to be the culprit. It was pretty stupid, to be honest.

“QUIET!” the judge raises their voice while the police move forward towards the audience. Upon their shout, everyone quiets down. “I know we have a very influential defendant right here, but don’t let ourselves be distracted by that fact. This person is a very dangerous individual; breaking Universal Laws, putting the country in a very dangerous situation… I am not only disappointed in every fan of yours,” they now look over their glasses, straight towards you, “but I am deeply saddened by you. Such a clever mind like yours, ruined. Such potential… you would have been great in The Agency. Yet, you chose the wrong path.”

Silence takes over the courtroom, while the Judge goes through some papers.

“What do you have to say for yourself, MC?”

You try not to laugh at the judge calling you by your first name. You’ve known each other for a long time now, there was no need for formalities.

Despite the tragic speech the Judge had given, a smile appears on your lips. Cameras flash through your face to capture your reaction, but your focus is still in the person in front of you. You had rehearsed your response to that question the moment The Agency had caught you that night in the rain, as dramatic as it sounds, waiting for the inevitable ending to finally occur. And here it is.

The cameras continued flashing in front of your eyes, waiting for the right picture to put in every magazine cover. But you still said nothing at all. You were famous now, so every word counts to keep your place in the high position you were currently in. Your five minutes of fame were starting to fade, and you were going to live each moment to the fullest.

“Your Honor… it was totally worth it.”