#but you have dead daddy money still? yeah no let’s just stay at your place and I’ll eat you out

[j00stkl31n]

Do you have like an aesthetic style that you go for or like you don’t mind anything if you like the person physically and like inside? Like idk like hooking up with a super femenine woman, I’m pretty sure that’s different from your style? You’re more like goth I think

I really don’t mind like any aesthetic as long as you have like you know a good personal sense of style. My ex dressed like a fucking idiot. Do you know the term Adam Sandler lesbian? Yeah they were like that but somehow just fucking not it because Kristen Stewart to an extent can be an Adam Sandler lesbian at times aesthetically and there’s a way to do it, but they weren’t fucking doing it. Like I don’t mind, sweatpants and T-shirts or anything like that, but if we’re going out, I really need someone to match my freak and that doesn’t mean you have to be goth that just means you’re gonna spend a good amount of time getting ready like I am.

Honestly, though the thought of having an extremely feminine girlfriend, while being an extremely goth partner, oh my Gods dude I need it.

I want that my melody and kuromi aesthetic with my partner truly

Now that’s like ideal but if you dress like Joost, if you have like just genuinely your own personal sense of fashion that you enjoy and that you put effort into caring about, I don’t give a fuck what it is. I just like knowing that you like, wearing what you’re wearing

I can’t ever go back to someone who puts no effort into how they look unless we’re going out and others could see them and flirt with them over their clothes 🙃 cuz wow that felt awful. Won’t dress up for me but will dress up on the off chance that some pretty lady will flirt with you coooooool yeah lovely.

So like as long as you’re not getting dressed up for that fucking reason and you’re actually getting all dressed up and cutesie for me or just for your fucking self then we’re good and I don’t give a fuck what your aesthetic is 

If you’re cute you’re cute idc what you’re wearing cuz if the night goes well you won’t be wearing it when I’m done with you 😈

[brainyxbat]

Chapter 6: Usopp vs Daddy the Parent! Showdown at High Noon

(Episode 50)

"A showdown!"

"There's gonna be a showdown!"

"Daddy the Parent's gonna duel somebody!"

Nami, carrying loads of shopping bags, noticed a crowd running in the direction she was walking. "Did he say Daddy the Parent?" She asked herself. "Daddy the Parent is the greatest gunslinger bounty hunter! Everyone in the East Blue knows that! I wonder what the idiot who'd challenge him to a duel looks like!" She pushed through the crowd for a better look, and sure enough, it was someone she knew all too well; Usopp. Nami gasped, before grimacing. "Oh. Like that."

"He's gonna get himself killed, I just know it," She heard someone close by grumble. She turned, and saw a girl with long, green pigtails and a purple cloak with her hand under her bangs. "I tried to warn him, but he wouldn't listen."

"You know him?"

"For a few minutes now, yeah."

"Good luck, Long-Nose!" Someone in the audience called out.

"Don't worry if he beats ya!"

"We already got a place dug for ya!" Behind the crowd was a cemetery.

"Hey, shut up, all of you!" Venus shouted. "You're not helping!"

"Oh, go back into your hole!"

"Yeah, you aren't wanted here!"

Nami stared in shock. "Why are they so mean to you?"

"It's a long story."

Usopp shook with fear, as he stood back-to-back with his opponent. 'H-how did things turn out this way? Am I an idiot?!'

"The rules are simple. We both walk 10 paces, and then shoot," Daddy informed him.

"Y-yeah..."

"What are you doing?!" Nami exclaimed.

"Nami!" He noticed her in the crowd.

"Fighting Daddy the Parent in a duel... are you an idiot?!" She ranted.

"S-shut up! Things just turned out this way! Shut up and watch!"

"I'm sure he knows what he's doing," Venus put her hood up, "So long as he's as good as he says."

Nami raised an eyebrow. "You're kinda creepy."

"You're kinda bitchy," Venus retorted without a beat. The redhead was taken aback, but kept quiet.

"You get one shot," Carol announced, "Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah..."

Nami and Venus watched nervously, staying quiet with the crowd. "One!" The first pace was done, Usopp's more clumsy out of fear. "Two! Three! Four! Five!"

'This is bad... Really bad...' Usopp thought through his paces, 'There's no way I can possibly beat Daddy the Parent.'

"Six!"

'Am I going to die here?! This can't be happening!'

"Seven!"

'I just started my adventure! I haven't even gained any courage, or manliness, or anything yet!' He gulped.

"Eight!"

'Venus really is cute.' To everyone's shock, Usopp threw down a smoke bullet in fear, creating a diversion, and tried to make a run for it. "Bye, now!"

Daddy's gunshot stopped him dead in his tracks, but due to the smoke, the crowd feared the worst. Venus had her eye almost completely covered, but hunched over in relief when he was still standing, albeit shaking. He collapsed to his knees, as Carol ran up to her father. "Papa! You're amazing, Papa! You're so cool!"

"Man, how pathetic," A spectator complained.

"What a lame duel," Another agreed.

"I thought he'd have more guts than that. What a disappointment." With that, everyone sans Nami and Venus left for other affairs.

"I only shot his gun away," Daddy told a nervous Carol.

"What's with you?!" She angrily confronted Usopp. "Tryin' to cheat like that! You coward! Weakling! Can't you even fight honestly?!"

"SHUT UP, YOU!" Venus shouted angrily out of nowhere.

"I-I'm sorry! Forgive me!" Usopp crawled over. "I'm just a lowly, pathetic man! Taking the life of someone like me wouldn't gain you anything!" Venus nodded in agreement. "Right?! Right?! Couldn't you just peacefully let me go?!"

Hearts jumped when Daddy pulled his gun back out, aiming right at him. "No!" Venus shouted.

"W-wait!" Nami ran and stood between them, stopping the witch from following her lead.

"Nami! Y-yeah, if it's money you want, she has tons of it!" Nami turned to frown at him. "Just please don't shoot me! Please spare my life!"

"Hold on, now!" Nami scolded.

"Oh? So you're trying to hide behind a woman?" Daddy pointed out.

"In any case-"

Usopp urgently pushed the redhead aside, now angry. "No! Forget everything I just said! She's just an innocent bystander who has nothing to do with this! Venus too!" The young witch perked up with surprise. "Even if I wind up getting shot, I can't let either of them get caught up in this!"

"Usopp..." Nami breathed. Venus stayed quiet; she was surprised he already cared about her this much.

"Please! I beg you!"

""Usopp..." Daddy recognized his name, "Is your name Usopp, boy?"

"Yeah."

Daddy stared at him, hiding his shock. "It couldn't be... do you know a man named Yasopp of the Red-Haired Pirates?"

"Yasopp? That's my old man's name. Y-you've met my dad before?!"

"I see. So you are his son..."

"Papa?"

"I've never once told a soul what happened on that day... but you're an exception. It happened at a hot, dry port town, much like this one."

~

"Let's do it, Ensign Masterson! We each get one shot!"

"One! Two! Three!"

Two gunshots went off; one from Yasopp, the other from Daddy, with the rest of the Red-Haired Pirates watching on the sidelines. Yasopp stumbled, holding his grazed right shoulder, but managed to stay on his feet, whereas Daddy fell on his back. "He won!"

"Yasopp won!"

"Check it out! He beat one of the Marines' best snipers!"

"That was truly a close fight!"

"You're the man, Yasopp!"

"Yeah."

"Yasopp! Finish him!"

"Yeah! Killin' the loser of a duel is a sign of kindness!"

Yasopp pointed his gun at Daddy, but made no move. "Kill me! Now that I've lost a duel, I have no reason to live."

"Yeah," Yasopp agreed, "You've got good resolve."

A locket around Daddy's necklace caught his attention; he ran over, and pulled it off to have a look. "What are you doing?"

When he opened it, a photo of a blonde, bright-eyed little girl stared back at him. "Your daughter?"

"Give it back."

"A Marine ensign of all people, carefully treasuring something like this... she must be really spoiled."

"Don't lecture me, you filthy pirate!"

"That's fine by me!" Yasopp laughed, put Daddy's gun on his chest, and walked away with the locket.

"You were great, Yasopp!"

"It was nothin'," He said modestly, as his wound was treated, "The pain of this wound just goes to show how inexperienced I am."

"You took on Daddy Masterson! You won because you're you!"

"We never would've stood a chance."

Shanks tossed Yasopp a bottle of rum after his arm was wrapped. "Thanks, boss! I appreciate your watching the duel without saying anything!" Shanks silently walked away with a wave of farewell. Yasopp helped himself to most of the bottle. "That's the stuff! You want some, Ensign?" His offer was met with defiant silence. "Family, huh... family's not so bad. But I'm not good at it."

"Huh?"

"I got a son of my own. His name's Usopp. Haven't seen him in years now; I hit the high seas around the time he was a toddler."

"Why? Do you not love your son?"

Yasopp chuckled. "It wasn't about that." He stared at the ship on the dock, where the crew was gathered "A pirate flag... a Jolly Roger was calling for me."

"You tell 'im, Yasopp!" They cheered.

"Now then..." He tossed the locket behind his back, returning it to Daddy, "There's nothing I can do for my son. Just one hopeless parent like me is too many! Always stay by your daughter's side. You can't let her feel lonely. Though I'm in no position to talk!" He laughed.

Daddy stared at the swaying, open locket; more at Carol's smile than anything else. He sat up, as the crew made their leave. "I lost our duel! Yasopp! Finish me off!" He demanded. "Don't give me your lousy sympathy!"

"Forget it!" Yasopp refused. "You Marine guys might hang us by our necks right after you catch us, but we pirates are free to let you live or die however we please! So long!"

Daddy laid on his back in defeat, not saying a word.

~

In the present time, everyone took in the memory. "So that's why a Marine elite turned to bounty-hunting," Nami remarked.

"Papa! You lost to a pirate, Papa?!" Carol cried. "He spared your life?! Say it isn't true, Papa!"

"But that's amazing!" Nami praised to Usopp.

"Your dad must be really skilled," Venus added, "He even beat Daddy."

"Plus he hadn't forgotten about you!" Nami pointed out. "Even now, when he's living an adventure, he has an image of you etched in his memory!" His hand moving in front of her face cut her off. "Usopp? The young sniper was in tears. "Yeah. I can understand how you feel."

"No! That's not why..." He choked. "That's not why I'm crying! Would you normally do that?! Would you normally tell some pathetic boy like me a story about you shamelessly having your life spared?!" Venus put a hand on his shoulder in comfort, though it went unnoticed. "You told me that to give me courage! Most people would be vain, and keep a story like that a secret! You told me even though you knew it'd make you less cool! Regardless of how brave my old man might be! Right?! Weaklings or cowards could never do that!" He turned to the little girl. "Carol! Your dad is the bravest man alive! You can find strong guys any old place! But I've never seen a man as strong and kind as your dad before! I... I can't give in, either!" He wiped his tears away. "I gotta be brave, or I'll shame your dad! Daddy! Give me a chance! Fight me in another life or death match! I won't cheat anymore!"

Daddy eyed him for a moment; he was being completely sincere. "All right. This will be our real match. Choose the weapon you're most skilled with." Usopp opened his bag, and pulled out his trusty slingshot. "Good. Now, then. Let's see..." He looked around the area for a good target; he found a weathervane they had to squint to make out; it featured a sperm whale wearing a teal crown.. "Try and hit that weathervane."

"Weathervane? That?!"

"I-it's so far away," Venus breathed nervously. She and Usopp both gasped when Daddy pointed his gun at him.

"Miss it, and..."

"Y-yeah! You can shoot me right through the heart!"

"Usopp!" Nami exclaimed.

"My life is on the line for real this time!" He drew a bullet back, keeping his eyes on the weathervane.

"There's... there's no way he can shoot that far with that thing," Carol said fearfully.

Venus covered her eye with one hand. "I can't look."

Usopp aimed shakily, trying not to focus on the gun pointed in his direction. 'J-just like always... just shoot like you always do...' Venus' arms and legs shook. She had only known him for an hour, but she still couldn't bear to see him die. 'Yeah... concentrate...' With that, he made the shot.

His life flashed before his eyes in that very moment; the Usopp pirates, his friend Kaya, his mother's passing, his father... meeting Venus just earlier that day.

The bullet flew away with a whistle, until it was out of sight, as he lowered his slingshot. The weathervane was undeterred. "W-well?" Venus stammered.

"You missed!" Nami observed in horror. This was it for him.

"WHAT?!" Venus eye widened. She was going to lose a new friend she knew for less than a day?

"No, Papa! Don't shoot him! Papa!" Carol begged.

To everyone's surprise, a now furious Venus moved between Usopp and Daddy, a ball of energy swirling between her clawed hands. "I won't let you!"

'I-is she a witch?' Nami thought in awe, brown eyes wide.

Daddy stared in the bullet's direction with shock. "I can't shoot him. Usopp shot right through its crown!"

"He what?" Venus made the ball launch away into the stratosphere.

Nami gasped, and used her telescope to have a closer look. Sure enough, he was right! "H-he really did! Right through the crown!"

"Gimme that!" Venus snatched it away, to Nami's chagrin, to look for herself. It wasn't even a little off-center; it was a truly perfect shot. "No way..." She breathed, and lowered the telescope. She flinched when the redhead grabbed it back.

"Usopp!" Carol beamed. The young sniper collapsed to his knees.

"You're an excellent shot," Daddy praised, "I'd expect no less of Yasopp's son. Never forget that bravery. Someday you will become like your father!" Usopp felt emotional again, while also recovering from the scare he had just a minute ago. "Go to the Grand Line. I'm certain Yasopp is there."

"Daddy..." That was all he could say, before Carol ran up to him. With the goggles he wanted so much.

"You're pretty good, old man!" She handed him the goggles.

"Aren't these..."

"It's okay!" She assured. "So long!" With that, she and Daddy made their leave, as Usopp, Venus, and Nami watched. "Papa!"

"Carol, you know that's not right. It's poor manners to say, "So long!"" He kindly lectured.

"Yeah! I'm sorry, Papa! I'm going to grow up to be a nice lady worthy of being your daughter! So forgive me!"

"You're already plenty nice as you are now!"

"I'm going to be an ever nicer lady!"

"If she's plenty nice, then I'm queen of the sea," Venus remarked with a smirk.

"Even when people say he's a disgrace behind his back now, he's fought all this time to protect the one he loves," Nami observed.

"I'm going to be a brave man like Daddy, too!" Usopp vowed. "I'm gonna become a real warrior, and stand before my dad someday!" Venus smiled up at him. "I'm certain of it!"

[elizabethemerald]

"Do you think he's dead?"

"Nah, if he was dead he would make more work for daddy."

"Oh wait! I think he's waking up!"

Red Hood woke up with difficulty, his ears still ringing from the explosion that he had been far too close to. Fuck he hated how explosive happy every rogue in Gotham was. Himself included.

He opened his eyes and was eventually able to focus them to see two kids with black hair with their faces inches from his. He tried to raise his head to get a look at his surroundings past the kids but it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

"Is my helmet still on?" He slurred the words out, but the two kids, one boy and one girl seemed to be able to understand him.

"Yeah, I wanted to play with your helmet, but Daddy says its fucked to brim with explosives." The girl said, and he could hear her tapping on his helmet which did nothing good for his helmet.

"Hey, language."

"Seriously? Aren't you a crime lord?" The boy gave him the most condescending look Hood had ever experienced. Why the hell did a kid have the ability to give a dirty look like that?

"Just because I'm a crime lord doesn't mean I wasn't raised right." Hood said as he tried to sit up. Neither of the kids were very helpful as the boy continued to sit on his chest as he flailed and the girl kept grabbing his arms and moving them around like she was dancing with him.

"You know, I think you being a crime lord exactly means you weren't raised right." A new, older voice said. "Look at you, people who have good childhoods don't dress like you do."

The new person walked into Jason's field of view, and revealed himself to be the mysterious, yet helpful Danny. A new person in Crime Alley who had made a name for himself by helping people out. Giving kids a place to stay and a warm meal, protecting the working girls, repairing just about any broken appliance he could get his hands on. Hood was keeping an eye on him to make sure he wasn't a rogue in the making, and to ensure that if he was just a good guy, that he stayed safe.

"Hey, I'll have you know that exactly one person tried to raise me as an upstanding gentleman and I will be back in my grave before I let his lessons go to waste." Jason said.

Danny lifted his kids off Jason's chest and he was finally able to sit up and look around at the apartment he was in. He could feel heavy bandages on his torso and arms and vaguely remembered one of his guys pulling him out of some rubble and saying they were going to bring to someone who could help. He had kind of expected to wake up in Leslie's clinic, but maybe Danny was closer.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure he's very proud of you. Now you pretty haggard when you were brought in, but I think I've fixed everything that can be fixed. You'll still need a couple days of rest before you hit the streets or rooftops in your case."

"Thanks kid. What do I owe you?" Jason asked. Now that he could see clearly he could see that Danny was at least 4 years younger that Jason was. This kid really is a teen dad out here in Crime Alley taking care of his neighbors. Gods above Jason hoped this kid would make it to adult hood.

"There's no need for repayment-"

"Shut it daddy!" The girl said pressing herself into Jason's space followed by her brother.

"You can make sure The Bastard can't hurt daddy anymore!" The boy said, the meanest glare ever on his face. The kid could give Batman a run for his money with that glare.

"Now, Dan, Ellie, we don't need-"

"The last time The Bastard took daddy he tied him up and made him scream!" The girl, Ellie said. Tears flooded her eyes as she grabbed Hood's shoulder and weakly shook him. "Please Mr. Hood, you gotta stop him from hurting my daddy!"

Jason stood with difficulty without shaking the girl off. Oh he had heard rumors of "The Bastard." The other parent of the two little mites, some fucking piece of shit who knocked up a teen transman.

"Don't worry kiddos, if this fuckwit shows his face in My Alley, it will be the last thing he ever does. You have my word on that."

Jason could feel the Pit bubbling and churning in his gut as rage filled him. Yet he didn't feel out of control. For the first time Jason felt fully in control of his rage, and he had a target to aim it at.

DcxDp prompt

Teen dad Danny Fenton moving into Crime Alley and getting a reputation for helping. Street kids willing to babysit Ellie and Dan while he’s job hunting can spend the night, have a meal, get cash, whichever they choose. Sec workers who do Ellie’s hair/nails/babysit some nights also get the same benefits. He will treat anyone with injuries for the low price of showing Ellie and Dan their guns/taking them to the observatory/getting him job opportunities.

All of the people in Crime Alley know the single meta dad with two kids, who has helped half the alley at least. Everyone is also aware of how Ellie calls her other parent ‘The Bastard’, and how bad their nightmares are, the ones they have to call Danny for(A few of his repeat guests have seen the scars and burns on his arms. Some of the older street kids recognize that hunted look he gets when people touch him when he doesn’t know they are there. Some of the sec workers notice how protective he is of his kids, and the younger workers. No matter who they are, they all notice how Dan gets quiet and angry when asked about his ‘other dad’. They all have sworn never to let those kids go back to the other dad, Danny included. They are a part of Crime Alley now, and they protect their own)

Danny doesn’t realize how far his reputation goes/how much everyone trusts him until two of his regulars bring in an injured Red Hood, promising him whatever he wants in exchange for him helping their boss.

[scarletk537]

Several hours later, James immediately opened his door and he brought Tamia and Cleo inside his apartment, just himself and the children, and no Tommy Vercetti or anyone ever bother them.

"Come in kids, you must be tired. Why don't you watch TV while I uh... get you some drinks, alright?" James said as he motioned Tamia and Cleo to sat down on the sofa to relax and, as while James is heading to the kitchen to get some drinks, Tamia immediately asked him, "James, why did you do that?"

James stopped in his tracks, right at the kitchen doorway as he turned around to face Tamia and Cleo, who are confused of his action earlier. "Why did I do... what?" James asked in confusion, with his head tilted in response.

"Why did you do that to Uncle Tommy, James?" Tamia asked, pointing out James insults and threatened Tommy Vercetti, before shoving him off and take both Tamia and Cleo with James to this apartment.

"Yeah, why did you hate him? Are you being racist?" Cleo asked in confusion, doesn't seem to get why James hates Tommy Vercetti for. James, still standing by the kitchen doorway, lets out a sigh and bites his lips a bit in silence, before responding to the children, "To be honest with you, I don't hate him, personally, but you know, Italians these days. And you might be thinking I'm a racist, but I'm not. It just that... mafia and drug lords are only cared about money, booze, broads and bloody shit there. Nothing much at all. There are times when Italians can be abusive and controlling."

"But why you threatened Uncle Tommy for if you're not personally racist?" Tamia asked James in a concern tone of voice, which James lets out a sigh, seems a bit embarrassed of his behaviour just now, as he sat down on another chair and faced towards the two children. "I... I didn't mean to spat such racist remarks on his face in the first place. He's quite a notorious bloke, killing atleast 11 men back in 1971, from what I have heard during my stay in America, which I'll be staying here for 2 weeks or so, and uh... his actions earned him the nickname the 'Harwood Butcher', and all that... but as far as I'm impressed, and a bit disdain of his 'brutal' actions, ironically of any places aside from here, up until he became the drug lord of Vice City... he was the 'king of the world' or whatever may be, but... there are many reasons why I come here for."

"W-what is it?" Cleo inquired, as James finally reply with an unexpected response. "I want to... take custody of both of you."

"What?!" both Cleo and Tamia are shocked by the announcement of James May, who had came all the way from UK to here in US, wanted to take custody of them, despite the kids barely knew him.

"B-but why? We can't leave our mommy and daddy!" Tamia cried in disbelief. "Why you want to take custody of us? We don't know you, and why you said you're our grandfather?"

"Because I am your long-lost grandfather. On your father's side. You two are the children of the gangsters, and your mother is used to be part of the unexpected dangers in the streets. America is not safe for children like you. Drugs, prostitutions, gang war, everything. I can't bear to see you ended up like either Claude or Tommy or even your mother, Reena," James replied firmly with care. "Even it means separating you from your parents, then yes."

"What? B-but... our paternal grandfather had been dead years ago," Cleo said in confusion, which got James confused also. "Your... paternal grandfather, dead. Who?"

"Um... dunno, maybe Brian Speed or... I can't remember but his last name is Speed," Cleo replied uncertainty. That's really admonished James at the revelation. "Brian Speed? No! He's not your grandfather. The word 'speed' didn't always come from street racing. It also comes with the wizz also, that makes you feel the speed."

"Wait... what? Mr Speed is not our grandfather?" Tamia was shocked by James's response, before he decided to press further as he felt his head spinning. "Look, why don't you just... rest in one of the bedrooms and, whatnot? I'm gonna have to call someone."

"Um... okay?" Cleo said as he and his older sister, Tamia, went inside one of the rooms while James decided to make a call on the phone.

[sunasjellyfruit]

Can you please do sugar daddy Suna headcannons?

Thank you, I really like your work!

-y♡

SugarDaddy! Suna headcanons

Dear anon, I love you. Thanks for this request cause it's just what I needed. We all know I'm a Suna lover ☺️

This took longer than expected so sorry for that! But I hope you like it <3

Warnings: sugar daddy themes, drinking, fingering, choking, marking, riding, dacryphilia.

You had to hold your breath not to shout when you woke up, mostly when you saw another body next to you in a bed that definitely wasn't yours.

The worst part? You were naked, he was naked, and you didn't remember anything except that you weren't specially remorseful.

Still, you decided that the best was to leave that stranger (who was actually really pretty) and try to forget about that.

Much to your relief, the party had been held at your friend's house and you only had to search for her to ask about what had happened last night, which didn't help a lot cause she was as drunk as you.

A few days later you found yourself in another party, but this time it was at one of your favourite night clubs. You loved that place, you could drink alone at the bar whenever you wanted as everyone was always too busy dancing to look at you.

At least that was what you thought until that day, when someone appeared by your side while you were enjoying your second or third drink.

"Can I pay for that drink?" a male voice asked. "Someone has alredy paid for me." You answered without looking at the person, wanting him to leave as soon as posible, not interested in anyone at the moment. "You are lying to me today sweetheart? I thought you were a good girl as you said the other day."

Wait, what the fuck was that?

You looked at him dead in the eye, ready to reply with a snarky answer, but when you recognised him your heart skipped a beat. Well, it kinda stopped for a whole minute.

Yeah, he was definitely the guy of the other night. And you didn't know his name, his age, not even what you did that night after the party. Although you had an idea.

He smirked at your reaction and lifted his hand slightly to call the barman. "Put that drink on my tab." "Don't do that, that night didn't mean anything. Actually, do me a favour and leave my alone." You said, he made you nervous. "I know, it's not like i caught feelings for you in one night."

You laughed sharply, finished your drink in one sip and got up ready to leave that place. You weren't sure if it was because of the alcohol or because of him but you needed some fresh air. And deeply inside, you hoped for him to follow you.

Luckily that's what he did, and soon you found you two outside, your bodies too close to be safe. He was attractive, and the alcohol in your blood wasn't letting you think straight.

"What do you want?" You asked him trying not to touch him. But he was too close, and you ended up holding onto his arm to get some stability. "I don't even remember your name, you know?" You said, holding a laugh.

Gosh, he smiled and you felt how your entire body combusted. You really wanted to kiss him. And you didn't even know him! You found the situation so funny that you were sure it was all a dream.

"Suna." He uttered, and when you repeated his name it felt like fire burning your tongue. "I might want you, right now." He continued, brushing your collarbone with one of his fingertips. His skin was warm and the chilly air was making you shiver. Or was it the emotion that his words were causing on you?

"You have followed me here because you want to have sex?" You asked sharply. "Exactly." "And what do I get from this?" You stated. "What do you want sweetheart? Money?" He joked, but you could see sparks of truth behind his eyes. "You think I'm some kind of slut or something?" You asked. "Not a slut, but I do see you as my sugar baby. What do you say?"

Fuck, was he serious?

You stayed silent, and he kept talking after a few minutes. "I have money and I want someone to fuck. You are pretty, we are not totally strangers and you would get some money. Plus, I think you still remember how good i fucked you the other night."

"I do, but I would need to think about it. Alcohol is not a good friend to make this kind of decisions. And, how do you have so much money? You don't look rich." He raised an eyebrow before answering. "My parents are rich and i'm a professional volleyball player, and you still think I don't have enough money for you?" "Volleyball doesn't pay that much." You tried to argue.

Your legs were shaking at this point, your body betraying you and showing Suna how much you wanted him at this point despite your words.

"That might be true, but being a professional player means i'm also kinda a model, and modeling agencies do pay quite a lot for people like me. So pretty, I have more money than what I can spend, and I would really like to fuck you right now."

You inhaled deeply. Of course you wanted him to take you then and there, his deep voice made you shiver everytime he talked.

"First take me to a nice place, I'm not gonna let you fuck me here." You said, and he smiled lustfully, knowing well that he actually could.

Let me tell you, you were going to remember that night for a long time. Not even alcohol could make you forget it.

Headcanon time guys!

Okey so, my boy is longer than thicker, but he is so fucking veiny. The kind of dick that could be a perfect dildo but sticked to a person so it's even better.

The morning after that "first" time he took you to your favourite bakery to have breakfast saying that it was his favourite to discuss some things of your agreement.

You discovered later that in fact, the morning you had left him sleeping in your friend's bed after the party, he asked your friend about you and that's how he got to know some of your preferences.

He gave you a lot of freedom about the schedule. You only had to message him whenever you wanted to fuck (or when he wanted lol), but Sundays were a day to spend together.

He loooooves lazy sex, he lets you ride him but he controls the pace or the movements.

#1 fan of fingering you. He loves to do it on the car, just to see you struggling to keep a straight face so other people don't notice it. He adores to see you falling apart between his fingers, buried deep inside of you.

And if he gets to choke you at the same time? Pure bliss for him. Seeing your delicate neck under his hands, and knowing how much you love it, how addicted you are to it, it only gets him harder every time.

Unlike Bokkun or Kuroo (previous sugarDaddy! headcanons, you can find them searching in my masterlist), Suna would only let you use his credit card if you have behaved well or if you need to buy something.

Although he gets you presents quite often. Mostly jewelry and clothes because his fashion sense is just inmaculate.

And i'm sure his music taste is also wonderful so if you want to surprise him just let him fuck you in a t-shirt of his favourite band or group.

Be a brat sometimes, he likes it. Try to be on top of him, try to show him that you can take him full without his help, even if you fail. He will gladly show you that he's the one in charge.

But will also sometimes let you take the lead if he's feeling tired.

He thinks it's so hot when you feel so good that you end up crying. It only makes him fuck you harder, to see those pretty tears shining in your delicate skin.

Surprisingly good with aftercare. Will prepare a bath (or a shower) for you two and order some food. And if you are too tired to do that he will clean you (he will make you go to the bathroom to pee first) and he will get you some comfortable clothes to sleep on them.

He treats you so well but he loves to play with you so expect a lot of teasing and playing before the actual fun of the night.

He loooves to watch you play with yourself and hear you beg for his help. Get pouty and cry a bit and he'll be there faster than the light.

He's also really jealous, so he's not gonna let any other men approach you. Even if you're not dating, he doesn't care, you're his.

And related to that, Suna always leaves marks on your body, so everyone can know that you belong to someone. Bites, hickeys, sometimes even scratches.

One of his favourite part of your body are your thighs, he's obsessed with them. So soft, he loves when you squeeze his head when he's eating you out, hearing your moans and your panting.

Not very kinky but likes to experiment with new things.

If you ask him he might try to tie your hands and hold them above your head, to force you to look at him all the time. Yeah, he would love that.

Also, #1 fan of doggy style. And you can't change my mind.

All right, now I want this men to fuck me but for free. Like, woah Suna please be real :(

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

Hooked

Summary: Harry and Y/n meet again. This time spending more time together and getting to know each other. 

warnings/ disclaimers: Swearing, mentions of death, mentions of childbirth. 

Harry was out searching for a book. He had left Loralie with his mother for the day since he had some errands to run and it would be a busy day. He had finished all of his books and he was on the search for another, maybe even some extra ones for his classroom. He had stopped by his favorite coffee shop and ordered his favorite black coffee to start his day of errands, then he went to the market to get everything for dinner tonight- he thought he might as well get it out of the way since he hates grocery shopping.

Now he’s on the way to a bookstore, he didn’t want to order it on Amazon or just go to a big chain store so he did a quick google search and found a small book store a block down the road from the coffee shop he had gone to. He wanted to find the book burning in water, drowning in flame- his sister had recommended it to him and now he was itching to read it.

He made his way to the bookstore, it looked like a homey place just from the outside of the store. It was a rust colored brick with two sconces on either side of the top of the book shop, a rather tall building- possibly a flat at the top. Harry looks at the cacti peeking through the windows, little flower stickers to decorate.

Harry walks into the book shop, opening the door making the golden bell at the top of the door frame sound off. As soon as Harry steps in he notes the warm scent, it smells like the owner had been baking cookies. “Hello!” He hears a cheerful voice sing while he steps toward the poetry aisle in search of the book. “Is there anything I could help you with today?” He hears the voice again making him turn his head. To his surprise it’s Y/n, he’s been thinking about her. “Oh, hi.” He says bashfully, smiling and stepping over to the cashier counter she was behind.

Y/n smiles, continuing to add price tags on the back of her new shipment of books. She had started her little business officially a bit after she had gotten pregnant with Milo. Milo’s dad had left her after she broke the news to him, they were in their early twenty’s (Y/n being twenty one and him being twenty two) so it was understandable that he didn’t want children yet but the way he dealt with the situation was just dramatic and too much on Y/n. So she put everything into her little book shop, she took out a loan and bought this place, starting planning and putting her all into it, it wasn’t easy but it was worth it.

“Hi Harry.” She says, adding a book to the stack. Harry blushes at her tone again, she’s hard to read. “Um… do you happen to have burning in water, drowning in flame?” He asks, whirling around her display of different styles and colors of bookmarks. He is a twenty six year old man, why is acting like one of his students who thinks he’s handsome? Y/n laughs, nodding while she pulls her mug up to her lips- Harry thinks it’s hot chocolate (and he’s right). “It’s in poetry, first aisle, third shelf, second row.” She says, impressing Harry in how she has memorized every single spot of her book store.

Harry gives her a tight nod, walking over to the poetry section and looking for the book. “Is this your place?” Harry asks, making conversation while the rest of the store is dead silent.

“Yeah, me and Milo live in the flat upstairs.” Y/n admits. Harry’s ears perk up, she didn’t say anything about a partner. He walks back to the counter placing his book down, not handing it over to her yet. “When did you open this place?” He questions, looking around the shop. He sees some crystals, some candles- that both look up for sale and also her personal ones. It’s cute.

“After I got pregnant with Milo. Right after Xavier left me.” She says, leaving Harry wondering. “Xavier is…?” Y/n sighs, rolling her eyes a bit. It’s only their second time meeting and she’s already giving him her sob story. “He’s what would be Milo's father.” She says, picking at her bare nails. She doesn’t consider Xavier Milo's father, he’s never been there for him so he’s not a father. Harry’s lips form a tight line, “um, Loralies mum died… so… we’ve all got baggage.” He laughs, trying to cut the tension.

Loralies mum had died, she died during childbirth. She already had a particularly painful and rough pregnancy with Lora and that was just extremely unexpected, Harry just thanks his stars everyday that his little one is safe with him. “That’s awful, Harry. I‘m sorry.” Harry smiles at her, “it’s okay. I’ve got my Lora so I’m okay.” Y/n nods, smiling and grabbing the book from between his fingers. “She’s a sweet girl.” She compliments.

Harry nods, feeling a little cocky over how well he has raised his daughter. “Is this all for you?” She asks, pulling out a small brown bag with the logo and name on it- they are cute. “Yes please.” Harry politely says, making her laugh under her breath. “If this is your first time here? You get a free bookmark with every book you purchase if it is.” She says, nodding over to the bookmarks. Harry nods, looking through the bookmarks and picking a random Fleetwood Mac one- cute, he thinks. Y/n adds the bookmark to the bag, setting it infront of him. “13.22” she says, Harry fishing his wallet out.

“Are you doing a lot today?” He asks, motioning down to all the books stacked around her while he hands her a ten and four singles. She shrugs, “the usual.” Y/n says, handing him back his change. Harry thinks for a second, pausing his response making Y/n a little nervous. “I could help?” Harry offers, setting his coffee on the table. Y/n gives him a questionable look, sharpening one of her eyes at him. “You want to put tags on books and reorganize with me?” She asks, making Harry laugh. He nods, putting a bookmark back in its place “see, I’m already helping.” He says cheekily.

Y/n smiles, shaking her head. “I guess you can help.” She says.

Soon enough they are sat on the brown carpet, mountains of books around them. Y/n has a blanket wrapped around her and Harry has his legs stretched out. Y/n is tagging books while Harry is setting by the book shelf closest to them organizing. “I swear they put something in the water fountain at that school, the kids are always running and screaming around my classroom while I’m trying to talk about how Van Gogh cut off his own ear.” Harry says, making Y/n loudly giggle, thinking about how Milo probably gives him a horrible time on Wednesdays.

“You like working where Loralie is?” She asks, Harry of course nodding. Loralie is his baby, he loves knowing she’s just up the stairs- especially if she were to get sick or hurt he would be right there to take care of her. “Yeah, I wish I could always be with Milo but one of us has to make the money.” She jokes which makes Harry laugh.

“She always comes waddling into my classroom screaming for me- which disrupts the class but I don’t care.” He shrugs, his mind going back to Loralie. “Oh shit, I’ve got to pick her u-“

“Hi! How are you, baby!” Y/n cheers, Milo running toward her then crashing into her in a hug. Y/n’s friend Mikaela had babysat Milo for the day while Y/n tried to get as much work done as she could. Usually on the weekends (like today) Milo will be in the store with her… which tends to distract her. “Um, I’ve got to go but we should do this again? Maybe… over dinner?” Harry asks, Y/n’s face lighting up.

“Are you asking me on a date?” She teases, Harry blushing and nodding. Y/n laughs, slipping her phone from her pocket, “take my number and we can schedule that date you’re begging me for.” She teases.

Harry gets her number, thanking her for the book and letting him stay before he slips out. Now he’s got to get back to Loralie. But he’s got a date!

**

Later that night when Harry and Loralie are practicing her memorizing her ABCs his phone beeps. He ignores his at first, just expecting it to be a stupid text from his friend Mitch, but once he looks down he sees Y/n’s contact name. “Keep going, bug.” Harry says, grabbing his phone from the carpet while they set on the floor of the living room, unlocking his phone.

Hii, im free next Friday :) let me know if that works with your schedule!

Harry laughs at her cute little smiley faces, trying to think up a response that doesn’t make him sound a thousand years older than her. The tip of his tongue sticks out while he types back his response, his eyebrows knitted in concentration.

Hello! Friday works, how about 5:30? I can pick you up.

He lays his phone back down and helps Loralie with her letters, pulling her onto his lap. “D is for Daddy!” She cheers, making Harry smile, chuckling and kissing her round cheeks while she squeals. Harry hears his phone ding, grabbing it and reading the response, thanking god she answered. He thought his heart would explode out of his chest. It was beating so hard.

That sounds good ☺️ see you then!

Harry got her to say yes, but now he has to deal with the anxiety of actually going on the date. What should he wear, where should they go? Should he be opening the door and pulling out her chair or is that not in-in dating anymore? He hasn’t dated since Loralies mum and his baby is two years old now, it’s been quite a long time since he dipped his toe into trying to charm a woman. He just hopes he’s still got it.

****************************

The day is here. Loralie is with her grandma so Harry can get ready for the date. He’s been panicking and running all around his little house. He showered and smothered himself in lotion and his best cologne- he wanted to smell nice for her. He was adding leave in conditioner to his hair (which he hardly remembers to do) to make it more silky and the curls look a bit prettier than they usually do- he doesn’t know much about hair, he just does what his sister tells him what his hairdresser tells him he should do.

He planned out an outfit, a pair of tan dress pants with a white tank top and a cardigan over it. He had thought over the outfit a bit too much, was it too casual for the date? Was the cardigan too much? He decided against his thoughts and layers some pearls on, sliding his rings on that were in a jewelry dish, placed in there before his shower. He takes a look in the mirror, readjust his cardigan before he gives himself a little nod. He feels good about this.

He makes his way over to Y/n flat, walking up the metal steps to her flat and knocking on the door. When she opens the door he notices just how amazing her home smells, just like her book shop. He needs to remember to ask her where she gets her candles. “Hi,” Harry smiles, looking his date up and down. She was dressed nicely. It was a sage green dress with spaghetti straps, it stopped a couple inches above her knee. Harry thought it was cute.

She paired it with gold jewelry and a black cross body bag. Dirty white vans to go along with it that added a child-like feel to the outfit. Harry thought that was cute too.

“Hi,” she smiles, glancing behind her. “You look nice.” Harry says, suddenly feeling hot. Y/n laughs under her breath, thanking him. “You look nice as well.” Harry smiles bashfully, looking down at his feet. “Thank you”

Y/n says her goodbyes to Milo, hugging and kissing him before thanking her friend again for watching him. It’s the same one from last week, Mikaela. They get into Harry’s car, a bit of awkward silent before Y/n breaks it, Harry stopping the tapping of his fingers along to the low radio once her voice interrupts it. “So, where are we going?” She asks, smoothing her dress out against her thighs.

Harry laughs, he’s not prepared for dates and for some reason he hadn’t thought about the most important part. “I’ll eat anywhere to be honest.” Y/n admits, looking through her window at all the different places.

Harry was looking around in a panic and he finally pulled something out of his ass that sounded good, especially on his teacher salary. “Olive Garden?” Harry says, trying to say it confidently but it definitely comes out as more of a question. Y/n’s eyes light up, she’s in the mood for bottomless salad and breadsticks. “That sounds heavenly.” And Harry is happy to hear that.

They walk into the busy restaurant, instantly getting escorted to a table. Harry is happy they didn’t have to wait- that would have just been embarrassing since he threw this together last minute. They sat in the booth, sliding in and getting comfortable. “So, how’s the bookstore?” Harry asks, pulling apart his breadstick. Y/n knocks her shoe with his under the table, she thinks it’s cute how bashfully he can get when just asking a simple question. “It’s good. How are your little art students?” Harry playfully rolls his eyes at her choice of words.

“It’s good. They are doing self portraits.” Y/n laughs, her eyes widening.

“How’s that going?” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “They look like shittier versions of Picasso’s paintings.” Y/n dramatically gasps through her laughs, “aren’t you supposed to worship the ground that man walks on? Why would you say that?” Harry rolls his eyes once again, chuckling at her. “I’m just behind honest!”

Their date goes on the same, they order their food, giggling while they eat and even getting into a little food fight with the leftover breadsticks. (They weren't being humble, they asked for another basket) They finished their food, “That was fun.” Y/n admits smiling. Harry nods, taking the check and opening his wallet. “Here,” y/n holds out her card, Harry shaking his head. “I’ll pay.” Harry shrugs her off, handing his card tucked in the black check book the waiter had brought over back to him before she can further protest.

Y/n scoffs, throwing another breadstick at him that he tried to catch but it’s too greasy. “Hey! I thought we had a truce?!” Harry questions her. She shakes her head, apparently swearing off the truce. Harry shrugs, thanking the waiter when he brings his card back along with their mints. “You better sleep with one eye open then.” Harry says, standing up and waiting for her. She laughs, standing up and pulling her bag over her shoulder. “I have a three year old, I basically sleep with them both open. You’re nothin’.” She says, Harry nodding his head in agreement. He knows just how she feels.

They drive back to her flat, Harry of course walking her to her door. “I had so much fun tonight.” Harry says, looking down before he looks up at Y/n. She smiles, blushing. She hasn’t dated since Xavier and she admired that to Harry tonight, they both admitted that they haven’t dated since their children’s parents so they felt a lot comfortable knowing they were both rusty.

“Me too, you’re a really sweet guy, Harry.” She says. She needs to remember to thank her forgetful little Milo for leaving his folder in Harry’s classroom. “Thanks for agreeing to go out with me. I was pretty nervous.” Harry admits a bit sheepishly. Harry is a bit giddy on the inside about them hitting it off so well, they were having the best conversation and at times they were getting extremely loud, probably annoying the people around them, but they didn’t care, they had fun. “Yeah, I was nervous as hell but I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Thanks for tonight.” Y/n smiles, leaning in for a kiss.

Harry’s eyes widen, but he still kisses her back. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so long he thought he had forgot how to for a second. His hands come up to cup her jaw, moving his lips with hers. “I’ll see you soon. Have a good night.” Y/n smiles, opening her door with red cheeks. Harry nods, a little flabbergasted. “Have a good night.” He says, trudging down her steps.

And now he’s hooked on her.

Tag list: @romionefp @iaalien @hopeyoustaythenight @evanjh

If you liked this please reblog and please tell me what you thought of it ☺️ thank you for reading!! I hope you all like the series so far I’m writing part three right now so it should come out soon ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[sinner-as-saint]

Can’t Get Enough

F-boy!Steve x Reader AU

Run-through: Despite all the warnings and words of caution, you still get involved with the most arrogant and popular fuckboy on campus…

Themes: fuckboy!steve, smut, fluff?

“He’s bad news.”

“He’s like, the most arrogant person ever. Walks around like he owns the place.”

“Screw Rogers honestly, he just wants to fuck everyone and everything.”

“Him and his friends are exactly the kind of people you should stay away from at all times.”

Words of cautions, warning you against Steve Rogers – the notorious, popular, drop dead gorgeous guy on campus – came flooding in from everywhere. But did you listen? No.

How could you when all he did was walk around with that god damn smirk on, and his irresistible deep blue eyes which reminded you of the bluest of seas on a sunny day, and those tight shirts which; showing off his perfect, muscular body.

And that god damn baseball cap worn backwards – that made you weak almost each time you ran into him at the coffee shop, at a party or rarely in the library. Although he look equally as delicious without it, the hat definitely added on to his bad boy charm.

And secretly, we all love a bad boy, don’t why? So despite all the warnings, you fell for his charm and his boyish manner – falling head first – the minute he approached you at a party one night. It was a uni after party, so it was packed with horny young adults – including yourself.

Steve walked over to you with a seductive smirk on his pretty face. His smooth pick-up lines, and cheesy jokes and his impeccable body won you over in less than a few minutes. “Wanna get out of here?” he asked.

You raised an eyebrow, deciding to play just a little hard to get. Because truth is, you were ready to get low, down and gritty right there and then. “Yeah no, I’m not fucking you tonight Rogers.” You smirked and walked away. Needless to say, he followed you like a lost puppy.

“Come on, Y/N.” he faked pouted and everything when he cornered you playfully near the stairs. “I’ll be so good to you.” he whispered the last part in your ear. And you would be lying if you said your whole body didn’t feel all hot and bothered.

You shook your head and tried walking away again. He grabbed your arm and pulled you closer. “Let’s go for a drive then, away from all this.”

Your common sense left and you agreed.

He did take you for a drive, in his expensive car – daddy’s money you figured. And he also fucked you in the backseat of his car.

Legs spread apart, hands holding each side of your waist as you lowered yourself down on his thick, hard cock. The moment you had him inside you, he threw his head back and let out a loud, shameless moan, “Fuck…” his voice deep and raspy with lust; which only made you want to fuck him even more.

A lot of things gave away that he had done this before. The way he knew how to maneuver around, how to position your body, where to kiss you to make you lose your mind, where to hold you to get you going… but you didn’t care. The need to have him was pressing and all your mind could focus on is making both of you cum.

“Come on doll, don’t be shy. Ride me,” he grabbed your chin and pulled your face closer, biting down on your lower lip gently. “Ride me big cock like you know you want to. Show me how bad you want it…” he trailed off in another loud moan as you lifted your body up and sank down on him again. This cock stretching you out and filling you up each time. You could feel him deep inside you, you could see the bulge which formed at your lower abdomen as he filled you up.

You threw your head back and moaned as well, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you quickened your pace. Steve lifted his hips occasionally, fucking into you and reaching deeper inside you but he mostly let you do all the work.

“Fuck… you feel so fucking good…” he moaned, biting down on your neck, and shoulder. “So wet, and warm and tight for me.” He whispered against your skin.

At some point, realizing that you were purposely slowing down to tease him each time, he growled and grabbed you by the hips and just pounded into you; lifting his hips up and fucking you hard and fast. You felt him stretch you out like no one ever did before. He felt so snug and so big inside you; you were losing your mind

Okay but fuckboy!steve would make you cum like no one else. Just absolutely railing you in the backseat of his car; not bothering about how loud you got, or how warm and steamy it got inside his car; he’d just be at it until you’re a whimpering mess, filled with his cum. One orgasm overlapping with another, toes curling, voice hoarse, Steve would own all of you in that moment, and you’d happily let him.

Yet, after that steamy night you expected him to pretend like he never saw met you. Ghost you like he did other girls, but no. He found you in the library, and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your cheek. You were just as surprised as the rest of your friends when they saw that interaction.

You two never called it a relationship. But everyone else knew that you two were spending every day and night together.

Okay but fuckboy!steve would be so awkward about dates; it would be borderline funny.

“Do you wanna like, do something after class today?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, movie or something? We can grab dinner afterwards. Or go to the beach. You pick.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

He’d blush and try to hide his face. “What, no! I just wanna hang out.”

Hanging out with fuckboy!steve meant going places and fucking as much as you could without getting caught.

Sex in the library, after he snuck the two of you in after closing time.

Sex in his car, like every weekend.

Sex in bathrooms at parties; in the pool after everyone’s passed out drunk, on balconies, and in whichever bed you could find.

He never called himself your boyfriend, but he was ready to fight whoever the fuck even dared to flirt with you, or even look at you the wrong way. Even his friends found it unusual. Sam and Bucky often passed flirty comments at you, and they both always received a smack on the head for it.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sam always complained about his friend’s protective behavior. “It’s not like she’s your girlfriend or anything.”

Steve would roll his eyes, “Shut up Sam. She’s mine.”

Being Steve’s girl would include;

Receiving dirty texts when you’re in class. The kind which made you lose focus and send your mind straight to the gutter.

Going on long drives to nowhere in particular and making out in his car.

Stealing and wearing his jackets and hoodies, and have every girl stare at you in envy. Or wearing his baseball caps when you’re out sometimes.

Keeping up with his moodiness.

Teasing him about how you’d tell his friends that he secretly loves watching Disney movies with you.

Him bragging to his friends about how good you are in bed, and once you caught him and didn’t speak to him for a whole week and he was miserable. Incessant calls and messages, and begging for forgiveness.

Arguments leading to hardcore, hot sex where you’re both just fucking the frustration out of each other. Steve secretly liked you a little feisty. And you liked it when he was all rough and mean in bed.

Sitting on his lap, keeping his cock warm while he plays video games. And all the grunts and sighs of victory leaving his lips would only make you want to fuck him even more.

“Hey, sit still.” He’d whisper once he catches you trying to grind your hips against him.

You’d whine at how you were right on the edge; his cock stretching you out, snug inside you, throbbing in need against your walls. All you needed him to do is make you cum already. “Steve please.”  

He’d chuckle and smirk. “No. You’ve been a brat all day. Bitching about how I don’t give you enough attention and I don’t care about you. And brats don’t get to cum so easily. Now sit still, I’ll be done in like half an hour or so.”

Okay but imagine fuckboy!steve being secretly a softie who loves cuddles and loves it when you baby him, shower him with cuddles and kisses. But then around his friends he’s that guy who pretends he’s all tough and manly.

But when he’s with you it’s all like; “What are you doing over there? Come here and give me cuddles, I’m cold.” He’d pout.

And you knew he was nothing but trouble, but you couldn’t get enough of him.

[youryanderedaddy]

Honey dripping

 Yandere! Jumin Han x reader

tw: nsfw, murder, non-con, dub-con, mentions of cheating, mentions of blood, slight sugar daddy vibe, dirty talk, degradation, mention of threats

Summary: Your boyfriend provides everything for you and the only thing he expects in return is your love and loyalty. So of course when you fail to give him that, he gets a little angry. 

 It was useless - all your struggling and pained little pants. Nothing could stop the brutality unfolding before your eyes, glossy with tears. They were red and sore from the crying, but your despair wasn’t enough to melt his cold black heart. You knew that it was your fault and now someone had to pay the price. You couldn’t deny it, not when it was obvious to the outside gaze exactly what had happened while your loving caretaker was away, working hard to support you and give you anything your heart desired. The bed was messy with the white sheets all crumbled and the smell of adultery in the air still heavy and thick. No pretty words and sweet talking could get you out of the sticky situation this time around.

 “Please, tell them to stop!” You whispered, looking at Jumin with the big doe eyes you used when you wanted something to go your way. You even gently touched his hand, trying to wrap your fingers around his to calm him down, only to be met with a cold empty stare of disgust in return. It pierced through your heart like a thousand sharp arrows and your throat tightened in fear as you watched the bussinessman’s bodyguards beat your lover into a sweaty mess of flesh, snot and blood, weeping on the floor. The poor unfortunate soul was two punches away from the afterlife and there was no one to blame, but yourself. Shivers ran through your body from the cold and you realized you were still half - naked, the only thing protecting your most intimate parts being the oversized shirt of the dying man. Jumin glared at you for a long moment, studying the soft features of your delicate face before making an important decision. 

 “Kill him.” He finally ordered, voice monotone and unbothered by the inhuman whim. With a quick snap of his slender fingers the CEO-in-line had your paramour lifeless, dead on the ground. It happened so fast you found it hard to process down the murder, despite seeing clearly the unmoving figure and all the red sticky liquid he was drowned in. A hard lump stuck at the back of your throat, making it hard to swallow or even breathe, but the panic rising in your chest went unnoticed by Jumin, who was ready to turn his full attention to you, pining you with his cruel gray eyes. “I thought you were different.” He started off slowly, moving closer to you. “You were always so sweet and innocent I almost fell for your little tricks.” The man smiled bitterly, the sadness reflecting in his pupils as he took another step towards you. Now you could feel his big hands grabbing at your hips, drawing you in, and his hot breath on your neck - but he didn’t bite just yet. “I should have known better, that’s on me. After all you are just like those women who use my father for his money and status.” He whispered into your ear as he dig his nails deep into you bare thighs, squizing the naked flesh roughly. “You may be a cheap lying whore, but I still love you.” The bussinessman scratched at the vulnerable skin on your lower body before placing a small wet kiss on your collarbone. “I have invested so much in you, darling, but you seem to have forgotten that.” Jumin finally raised his head, smashing his lips onto yours, pushing his tongue all the way in, leaving you breathing hard and brushing off the saliva running down your chin. “I will teach you what happens when you forget your place, kitten.”

 WIth that the man dragged you towards the unmade bed, a harsh reminder of your betrayal, and despite all your squirming and pulling away, begging him to let you go, soon he had you pinned onto the mattress with your wrists trapped beneath his. The director wasted no time in ripping apart the clothing, soaked with the smell of another man. The swift aggressive move left you fully exposed and bare in front of the hungry lustful monster, the fear and andrenaline in your veins turning everything into a hazy mess of ugly emotions and silent sobs. You tried to close your legs, but the attempts to cover yourself were fruitless as the rich man simply tied your thighs, spreading you all to himself. Jumin couldn’t help running a finger up your slit, circling the small sensitive bud in the center until he felt your walls clench around his forefinger, and eventually it came out wet. 

 “How interesting.” The director stated, smirking with malice. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore, but your body is pointing otherwise.” You whimpered at his words, but your body gave you away as your hips rocked in the air in hopes of finding more stimulation. “I just killed your lover and your wet little pussy still wants me to fill it up, kitten.” Jumin started undoing his belt, taking out his member, hard at the sight of you so open and flustered, ripe for the taking. With one hand he groped your breast, messaging it gently, pulling slightly at the stiff raspberry tip, while the other kept fingering you in a steady pace. 

 “J-jumin!” You cried out in pleasure despite your best efforts to stay quiet while he played with your body like it was just another one of his possessions. It was humiliating, infuriating even, but there was nothing you could do except lay there and take it like a good little doll. You couln’t even fight off the moans coming out of your scarlet lips because his touch felt so good in such a wrong way. “Please, I am sorry! D-don’t do this to me.” You sobbed, letting the logical part of your brain speak as your cunt twitched in the upcoming orgasm that soon washed over you in one powerful wave. It was painfully satisfiying and left you panting heavily, trying to catch your breath. 

 “You want me to stop?” The bussinessman suddenly pushed the head of his throbbing member into your entrance, but stopped to look you straight in the eyes. There was no sight of defiance in them, only guilt and desperation - and to him you were the prettiest when needy, broken down and obedient for him. The tears were streaming down your face leaving a salty red trace on your puffy cheeks, and he licked it, running his tongue slowly and teasingly on your hot skin. “If you hate it so much, then, perhaps, you won’t come all over my cock like a little slut, yeah?” Jumin replied huskily, sucking and biting at your neck until several lovebites in all shades of blue and purple were formed, like a collar. The man then forced his lenght into your responsive hole without giving you the time to get used to it properly. Your expression changed from pleasure to pain and you whimpered in agony while the CEO-in-line shoved himself mercilessly into your heat, hitting the overstimulated nervs over and over again. Despite the initial discomort and shock your body managed to relax under the rough treatment and after a few minutes you started to arch your back to meet the harsh punishing thrusts. 

 “Look at you.” He spoke out, the coldness in his voice piercing your skin while you watched the sweat cover his pitch black hair. “ You are moaning like a dumb little slut while I fuck you silly even though you should be fighting be off. ” The director squeezed your tits, rocking his hips faster and faster - he was very close. “And now I am going to blow my load into you and mark you as mine.” The bussinessman kept hitting your sweet spot, abusing the sensitive place with his manhood. “We will do it together, I will count. You are not allowed to come before me.” The man commanded sternly without losing speed or strenght, staring at you with an intense gaze filled with lust, obsession and adoration. “One, two...” He lowered himself onto your tight hole as he kissed you passionately, invading your mouth with his wet tongue. “Three.” Jumin thrusted lastly before releasing the white thick liquid into your pussy. “Cum for me, my love.” He whispered softly into your ear while playing with your hard nipples. “Cum while I fill you up with my seed.” The bussinessmen kept stirring you up, teasing you, until he felt your cunt clench down, throbbing with need. You finally orgasmed, throwing your head back during the high of the terribly delightful sensation. You closed your eyes - there was nothing left to do or say after the violation.

 “Your punishment has come to its end now.” You heard his cold voice from far above you and it felt awfully distant but at this point you didn’t care. You just wanted to qucikly fall asleep and drift away to a different place. Somewhere warm and cozy where no one could hurt you. Unfortunately, his last sentence caught your attention. “But if you ever betray me again, I won’t be so loving anymore. What goes around comes around. Beware, darling.”

[hartigays]

rafebarry prompt: not canon compliant but rafe and barry are trying to get away from ward but barry gets hurt so rafe begs sarah + pouges (not on good terms w each other) to help them escape bc he loves barry<33

just a little something i thought about! totally up to you on how this all goes down if you decide to write it, anything you write is amazing !!

this was a stupid fucking idea. stupid, stupid, stupid. rafe knew from the beginning, he should’ve never agreed to this.

there aren’t many things that he and barry don’t agree on, surprisingly. even if they start off disagreeing about something, they generally always end up on the same page. but this plan had been something they’d gone back and forth on, never settling on a definitive decision.

in the end, barry had simply manhandled rafe over to the place he’d formerly called home - before ward booted his ass out - and waltzed them through the front door like they owned the place.

all to steal from ward, to get more money for coke and groceries (re: booze and hot pockets) and whatever other fleeting indulgences they could think of.

rafe had disagreed with this plan throughout its development and execution, not wanting to cross the one and only person in the entire world who scares him: ward cameron. and he’d been right to, because now barry is gasping for air, holding his side while blood spills from between his fingers.

they’re racing through the woods, trying to get as far away from ward’s long-range hunting rifle as they can.

rafe doesn’t know if ward knew he was barry’s companion in this little venture. he’d insisted they wear bandanas over their faces, but rafe is pretty sure ward would know his son in a heartbeat regardless.

he doesn’t even want to think about it. about the fact that ward shot barry, or that he probably would’ve shot rafe too if rafe hadn’t had the presence of mind to shove both barry and himself out of the nearest window, plunging into the bushes below before ward could get off another shot.

another shot on the person he more than likely knew to be his son.

ward had continued taking shots as rafe dragged barry across the yard and into the treeline, disappearing from view.

now, they’re back at the main road, barry collapsing against a tree as he clenches his hand around the wound in his side.

“let me see,” rafe demands, kneeling down and peeling up barry’s shirt despite barry shaking his head.

“ain’t got time, country club,” barry wheezes, trying to push rafe back so he’ll stand up and keep moving.

rafe doesn’t budge, just swipes at the blood with his shirt sleeve to get a better look at the wound. the bullet just grazed him, but it’s enough to warrant stitches at the very least.

“you’re not going to make it to the emergency room like this,” rafe comments absentmindedly, pulling out his phone a firing off a text to topper letting him know he’s going to need to borrow his car.

barry manages to push rafe back an inch this time, shaking his head furiously. “ain’t no way i’m goin’ to no damn hospital. i ain’t got insurance and your daddy done cut you off months ago. how you gonna pay for my little siesta in the ER with them empty pockets?”

and okay, he has a point. rafe will admit that. not to mention, ward has people all over the OBX, and if he sends out word about looking for his son, they’ll surely be caught if they’re trapped in the emergency room.

there’s only one other place rafe can think to go. one place where ward won’t know to look, one place where barry can get some medical help without having to shell out a fortune.

rafe may have to grovel a bit (or a lot), but he’ll do it. damn it, he’ll fucking do it because barry is going to bleed out if he doesn’t and that would really fucking suck because rafe was just starting to sort of like him.

he must’ve said that last part out loud, because barry manages to glare at him and say, “quit that shit. we been dating for a year, dickhead.”

then barry sort of slumps to the side, and rafe has to all but carry him to topper’s place.

rafe has just gotten the keys topper keeps in the cupholder into the ignition when he looks at his phone, seeing a text from top.

can’t let u borrow the car tonight, have a thing in the morning. srry bud.

rafe glances over at barry, who’s blacked out in the passenger’s seat, fresh blood still seeping out of his shirt.

“sorry about this, top,” rafe says to himself, turning the key and hearing the engine roar to life. “i’ll get you back later.”

he peels out of the driveway, speeding down the familiar streets until they become more and more unfamiliar, figure eight bleeding into the cut.

he zooms past more and more unfamiliar houses, searching for the only one he knows, starting to feel hopeless, starting to really worry that barry might actually die in the passenger’s seat of his car.

or topper’s car, rather. it’d be super annoying to have to apologize for that on top of having to apologize for stealing it in the first place, to be honest.

then suddenly, rafe is idling outside a house that is both familiar and unfamiliar. the few times he’s been here before, he’d been fucked up beyond belief and fueled by violent anger. it seems almost foreign to him now, while he’s sober as a judge (only due to his current circumstances, mind you) and fueled by nothing but pure adrenaline.

rafe practically drags barry to the house. there are all sorts of lights on, both inside and out, and rafe can hear the sounds of music and laughter drifting out from an open window nearby.

he only hesitates for a moment before circling around the house and banging on the door.

john b answers the door with a smile, a small wad of cash in his hand, clearly expecting some sort of food delivery. his smile fades instantly when he realizes it’s not his pizza or what the fuck ever, and is in fact rafe cameron and a half-dead barry.

“no,” is all john b says before trying to shut the door. rafe kicks his leg out, foot jamming between the door and the frame, preventing john b from closing it.

“fuck off, rafe,” john b grunts as he tries to shut the door. rafe can hear concerned voices from inside the house. “you’re not dragging us into whatever shit this is! literally fuck. off.”

“sarah!” rafe shouts, ignoring john b’s protests. “sarah!”

footsteps, and then sarah is pushing john b out of the way gently, looking at rafe in confusion, then at barry in horror.

“rafe? oh my god, what happened?”

sarah ushers them into the house, and rafe is literally dragging barry at this point. still, no one helps him get barry onto the couch. he manages regardless, but he’s panting when it’s all said and done, sliding down onto the floor with a grunt.

“i need you to help him,” rafe says, and he’s looking at pope, who’s seated in the corner beside jj, a guitar that he’s no longer strumming still sitting in his lap.

but john b is the one to answer, shaking his head. “no. besides, we can’t even help him. we don’t know how to do shit like that.”

“he does,” rafe says, still looking at pope, who’s now looking at barry thoughtfully.

“what?” kie laughs, looking bewildered. “pope may be smart, yeah, but he doesn’t have a medical degree. this guy needs a doctor.”

“i know how,” pope sighs, and rafe suppresses a smug smile. “i volunteered at the hospital last summer, remember?”

“and you knew this how?” john b asks rafe, accusatory.

“he was on my rounds once,” pope says calmly, leveling rafe with an unreadable look. “alcohol poisoning and a drug overdose all in one night.”

rafe fights the urge to look away, choosing instead to shrug nonchalantly.

“just another night in the cut, right?” rafe asks, arching one brow. “look, we can dredge up my poor life choices later, if it’ll make you all feel better and get your fucking panties out of a wad. but right now he needs help, so are you going to give him that or are you going to let him bleed out on your ugly ass couch?”

“i say let him bleed out,” john b snaps, clearly irked by rafe’s demands and insults.

rafe wants to knock the guy’s teeth down his throat, but he just breathes steadily through his nose. just like barry has been teaching him. “we can’t go to a hospital. no insurance, and ward’s hunting us down as we speak. so do i want to fucking be here? no. but i have to, so name your fucking price and we’ll pay it.”

“besides,” rafe continues, turning his eyes to sarah, challenging her, “you’re not just going to let someone die, are you?”

sarah narrows her eyes, hands perched on her hips. “no, that’s more your style, isn’t it?” then, she looks at pope. “come on, help him. he isn’t dying on john b’s couch. that’s way too creepy for me to deal with right now.”

pope nods and disappears from the room as sarah and john b bicker quietly. kie and jj glare daggers at rafe, while also eyeing barry, lying on the couch looking far more dead than alive.

when pope reappears, he has a first aid kit in one hand and a sewing kit in the other. he shoos rafe out of the way. rafe just scoots a little further to the left to give pope room, but stays close to barry.

“rafe, we need to talk,” sarah says after a moment. “outside?”

rafe shakes his head. “not until i know he’s okay.”

the room falls silent, and rafe looks around, glaring. “what, it’s illegal to care about people now? fuck off.”

“so do you want us to like… give you a room, or something? maybe some champagne and rose petals? we could get some ambient beats going, really set the mood, you know- ”

kie throws a pillow at jj, effectively shutting him up. “gross, jj. don’t put that image into my head.”

“look, whatever,” sarah interrupts, rolling her eyes. “but once he’s patched up, we’re having a conversation.”

rafe puts his hands up in mock surrender. “your house, your rules.”

he’s only trying to irritate john b, and it works. rafe smiles to himself when john b starts grumbling about it being his house actually, storming off to his room, undoubtedly to pout. sarah follows, and kie and jj trail after them a moment later. jj is the only one to look back, throwing a concerned look in pope’s direction before inevitably disappearing into john b’s bedroom.

rafe looks back at barry, all smugness disappearing from his expression when he sees just how bad the wound really is now that pope has cleaned it up a bit.

he really doesn’t care if he has to talk to sarah later - all he knows is that if barry dies, he’s sure as hell not going to be outside listening to sarah bitch at him when it happens.

rafe takes one of barry’s hands, ignoring the way pope’s eyes flicker down to the movement before returning to his work, remaining silent.

“you love him,” pope says suddenly, still not looking at rafe. he’s began sewing up the wound, his hands surprisingly steady.

“what’s it to you?” rafe asks defensively, but he curls his fingers tighter around barry’s, a little possessively.

pope just shrugs, like he doesn’t really care one way or another. “just an observation.”

he ties off the thread and cleans up the remaining dried blood from the wound with a rubbing alcohol-soaked cotton ball before applying a bandage and tugging barry’s shirt back down. it’s a lost cause, the shirt, but rafe appreciates the gesture anyway.

“it’s good to know you care about someone other than yourself,” pope says, finally turning towards rafe and giving him a hard look. “maybe there’s hope for assholes like you after all.”

rafe opens his mouth to say something bitchy back, but pope just claps him on the shoulder, stands and cracks his back, then leaves the room.

it’s just rafe and a passed out barry now. at least this way he can openly worry about his boyfriend, gnawing on his lip as he thinks about what it’ll be like if barry doesn’t make it.

rafe has been living with barry for some time now, ever since ward kicked him out. it’d started with sarah - she’d ran away and no one had known where. rafe ended up finding out through topper, but never seemed to get around to telling ward. don’t ask him why - he really doesn’t fucking know.

after sarah’s disappearance, ward’s temper reached its peak and rafe was kicked out mere weeks after his sister had gone missing. he stayed with topper for a while at first, often making trips to the cut to harass the dirty pogues who’d whisked his sister away from their supposedly happy family and her happy relationship with one of rafe’s closest friends.

when topper’s mother got sick of rafe loitering around her house, the only place left to go was barry’s. it’d helped that they’d already been screwing around for a while, initially so rafe could get discounts on coke, then turning into a full blown something over time.

their relationship has a definition now. barry had manhandled rafe into bed one evening and declared them to be officially official. meaning a relationship, meaning a bunch of figuring shit out as he goes because rafe sure as shit has never done any of this before.

he’s also pretty sure other relationships don’t involve hard drugs and robberies and shootings, so he thinks he’s got a few more obstacles to overcome than most when traveling the rocky road of a first relationship.

“rafe?” sarah calls, suddenly re-entering the room. “think we can talk now?”

rafe looks at her for a long moment. she looks different - happier, maybe? rafe wonders if he looks the same. maybe not right at this moment, with barry’s limp, clammy hand resting between his own, waiting on bated breath for barry’s eyes to blink open.

the need to hear barry’s slow drawl of coUnTrY cLUuUb is almost too much to bear, so rafe cuts his line of thought off, nods at sarah in answer to her question, and follows her outside.

they don’t talk for a long while, just staring out across the yard in silence. it’s not uncomfortable, per se, but rafe still wishes she’d say what she wants to say so he can get back inside. back to barry.

“this is a one time deal, you know,” sarah finally tells him.

when he looks at her from the corner of his eye, she’s staring directly at him, her expression serious. “i know,” is all he can come up with.

“i expect a thank you, just so you know.”

“i’m not thanking you,” rafe says immediately.

sarah actually smiles, just a little bit, then parrots back, “i know.”

“what did you want to talk to me about?” rafe asks eventually, pulling a cigarette from the pack he keeps in his pocket and lighting up.

sarah doesn’t answer for a moment, then shrugs, looking down at her hands. “i hate you, for the way you’ve treated me. and my friends. but sometimes i miss you. i miss my brother. what happened to you?”

it’s almost like she’s just thinking aloud, but rafe knows it’s a genuine question. one he doesn’t have an answer to. because he doesn’t really know where he went wrong - just that he could never seem to get anything right. not as a kid, not as a teenager, and not now as an adult.

“i don’t know,” rafe answers honestly, for the first time in a long time. he doesn’t know what else to say, so he tells her, simply, “but thank you for helping anyway.”

yeah, yeah. he wasn’t going to thank her, blah blah blah. whatever, shit happens.

the back door swings open, and rafe and sarah turn to watch barry stumble out of the house, still clutching his side but finally looking like a living, breathing person instead of a corpse.

“ain’t i tell you them things gonna rot your lungs?” is the first thing he says, plucking the cigarette from rafe’s lips and taking a drag.

rafe rolls his eyes, but lets barry rope him into a hug, careful not to bump into his wound.

“ugh, gross,” sarah huffs, making fake gagging noises before going back inside. rafe doesn’t miss the small smile that’s playing on her lips, though, and he’s suddenly filled with warmth.

it’s disgusting, and he’s surprised that he’s missed it. and that maybe, deep down, he’s missed his sister, too.

she said this is a one time deal, but maybe there’s a possibility of reconciliation. it’s a thought to revisit at a later date, rafe decides, wanting to focus on this moment right here, where barry is blessedly alive and safe.

so rafe just leans down a bit and buries his face in barry’s neck, taking a deep breath, feeling barry inhale and exhale around his cigarette as they stand in each other’s arms, companionable silence falling around them.

“you done saved my life, country club,” barry says, the first to break the silence.

rafe smiles against barry’s neck at the nickname, pressing a kiss to barry’s pulse point before pulling back a bit to look at him.

“yeah, you’re the only one who knows how to empty the septic tank,” rafe replies, deadpan.

barry throws his head back and laughs, one hand coming up to cradle the back of rafe’s head, pulling him down gently so he can press a kiss to his forehead.

“damn good thing you saved my ass, then.”

“sure is.”

when barry kisses rafe, he tastes like tobacco and blood, sour and metallic on his tongue. rafe should think it’s gross, but he just kisses barry harder, trying to scrub all the thoughts he’d had about barry dying from his memory.

it helps to have barry here, real and solid in rafe’s arms, lips soft against his own.

“can we get outta this shithole and back to our shithole?” barry asks when they separate, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “‘m pretty sure them shits would object to us christening their couch.”

rafe, for a moment, is tempted to try just to see what kind of reaction he’d get. but instead of following the urge, he lets barry guide him back to topper’s stolen car.

“who’s ride is this?” barry asks when they’re both buckled in, backing away from the routledge property.

“topper’s,” rafe explains, smirking to himself. “i, uh. borrowed it for the time being.”

“for the time being?” barry questions, and when rafe looks at him, barry is looking right back, brows raised and amusement written all over his face.

“mhm,” rafe confirms, matter-of-factly.

barry just glances around the car, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “sweet ride. think ol’ topper’d object to a little christening, too?”

rafe starts the car, letting his own smirk grow. “as a matter of fact, i think he would.”

barry blinks at him, then stares at his nails casually.

“so where we gonna park her?”

rafe just smiles, peeling away from the routledge house, cruising into the night.

“i know just the place.”

[wagner-fell]

I am still very new to this website and I don’t know how link a post but this fic is based on a post by @sandersgrey

(If someone reading this knows how to link a post please either explain it to me or link it in the comments because that post is *amazing*)

“Hmmm,” said Tessa, depositing Mina into Kit’s waiting arms and examining her buzzing phone critically. She shot a quizzical look in his direction.

Jem looked up from his novel. “What is ‘hmmm’, my love?”

Kit mimed vomiting but stopped dead in his tracks when she replied, “it’s Astrid’s mother. You remember her from parent teacher night, don’t you, my darling?” Kit swears they were being extra insufferable just to mess with him but he didn’t have the time to be annoyed when Astrid’s. Mom. Was. Calling. Tessa.

To understand why Kit was panicking as much as he was, you must know that Astrid’s mom was incredibly chill. She never got mad. The worst punishment she’d ever given her daughter was taking away her iPod for a week so she couldn’t listen to Mitski.

Was she calling about last night when Astrid, Mari and Kit threw eggs at the Shadowhunter’s that were giving Mari’s pack a hard time for no reason? No, that couldn’t be it. She’d given them the eggs.

Could the call be about the day before yesterday when Kit and Astrid got distracted doing homework and ended up snapping the coffee table clean in half while battling gladiator style with pool noodles? No, that wasn’t it. She’d just handed Astrid a twenty and told them to go to Kevin’s parents' shop and get a new one. Was she pissed because they ended up spending the money on ice cream instead? No, they ended up finding a table for free in the rubbing bin outside a fancy hotel.

Kit clutched his sister to his chest and prepared for the worst.

“Seo-yoon! What can I do for- Oh, hello Astrid!” Tessa paused briefly, presumably to listen to Astrid speak, and Kit sighed in relief.

“Kit is occupied at the moment but I can relay the message.” Another pause. “Oh don’t be frightened of me. I’m a tots rad mom. Your secret is safe with me.” Kit felt his face flush red as he heard his best friend’s laughter echo across the living room. “Okay! I’ll let him know. He has to get Mina to sleep before he can leave though. Lord knows he’s the only one who can these days.” Tessa chuckled at something Astrid said before wishing her good luck in her endeavour and ending the call.

She turned her attention back to Kit. “Astrid needs your help breaking into your teacher’s home to retrieve her cell phone.”

Kit blinked at her, dumbfounded. “You aren’t mad I’m going to go break the law?”

Because of course he was doing it. Astrid’s dad had bought it for her and he was extremely cautious about money. That was one of three things Kit knew about her dad. He was cheap, he lived in America and he loved the movie Fight Club.

Tessa ruffled Kit’s hair affectionately. “Please. I’ve raised two other Herondales. At least I know about this particular adventure beforehand.”

Mina began snoring softly and Kit handed her back to her mother. He grabbed his bag and started his journey to the door when Tessa added, “she also told me to say hi to a ‘daddy Kit’. Are you ‘daddy Kit?’”

‘Daddy Kit’ closed his eyes and wished for the sweet release of death.

“Why is Kit a daddy,” Jem asked, genuinely confused. “Aren’t I the daddy?”

Kit swung the door open so fast not even a speed rune could have aided him. But not before I heard Tessa reply, “Lily Chen certainly thinks so.”

Mrs. MacNamara clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we all go around and say a few things about ourselves?”

Kit buried his face into his hands. He’d been relieved when no other teacher had fulfilled the Disney channel stereotype of making every student introduce themselves to the new kid. But Mrs. MacNamara didn’t even seem to realize what she was doing.

All Kit’s fellow classmates groan. Expect one. Her hand shot up immediately. She was short, like smaller than Clary short. She wore a baggy pink shirt with the words ‘Queen Glimmer of Etheria’ sewed on with purple sequins and tight black jeans. Her colourful, choppy hair was in a low ponytail and she flew a few strands out of her eyes as her hand wiggled in the hair.

Mrs. MacNamara pointed at her. She stood up and smiled at Kit. “Hi. My name is Astrid. My hobbies include making my little cousin’s girl Barbies kiss, as it should be, and watching television shows where everyone is a terrible person so you can love all of them!”

“And what shows might that be?” asked Kit, already in the process of pulling out his phone and opening the Notes app.

“Grey’s Anatomy, Glee, Grey’s Anatomy again because it’s seventeen seasons as of right now. And to be fair it practically became a different show when they killed off Mark Sloan.”

“That’s enough, Miss Yang,” said Mrs. MacNamara. Astrid sat down and winked at Kit. Then she took out her phone and airdropped him a complete list of all her favorite shows, along with her number.

After Blessica’s pre-birthday birthday party, they went to Cirenworth and stayed up till four A.M. binging them.

They met outside a queer dry bar called Aries Not Welcome, the unspoken gathering place of the Merry Hoes. It was run by a poly lesbian couple in their mid-thirties. Quinn, Sydney and Aliyah may not have served alcohol but at least they were open 24/7.

“Did you bring the shit?”

Kit gave her a look. “The shit? How conclusive.”

“Shut up. You know, the shadowhunter thing.”

“The shadowhunter thing?”

“The, the, the glow stick that you draw with.”

“The glow stick that I draw wi-“ Kit closed his eyes briefly. “Do you mean a stele?”

Astrid snapped her fingers. “That’s it!” Kit shook his head in exasperation, smiling fondly. “I borrowed a torch from Quinn, let’s move.”

“Should I be worried that you know where Mr. Smith lives?” questioned Kit as he followed Astrid’s lead through the park.

“Should I be worried that your mom was fine with us breaking and entering?” she shot back playfully. Kit pushed Astrid and she fell off the path, laughing all the way.

“You called me ‘daddy’ to my mom’s face.”

She just laughed harder, slinging her arm around Kit’s shoulder. “It was over the phone, Christopher. And as I should.”

“Pffffttt. Why did you get your phone taken anyway?” She put her hands into her jumper pocket and looked at the ground. “Astrid.” She remained silent. “Astrid?”

She mumbled something under her breath. “What?” asked Kit.

“I WAS READING NINEJ FANFICTION!” she shouted.

Kit gasped. “I thought you were a die hard Kanej shipper,” he whispered.

“I’m a multishipper, okay?!” she replied, equally quiet.

“Does Blessica know?”

She shook her head. “And she will never find out.”

Kit saw the opportunity and he seized it. “She’ll never find out as long as you never call me daddy in front of either of my parents.”

She removed her arm from his shoulder and guided them out of the park, in the direction of the many apartments that lined this side of town. “I hate you.”

“Well, so does Mari. You're not special, Ast.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know Mari doesn’t actually hate you, right?! They’re just still in the enemy phase of your enemies-to-lovers romance. She only dislikes you because they feel something for you but they don’t know what so she interrupts it as loathing. In reality, her inner soul knows you’re hot and shmexie.”

Kit didn’t know how to process this so he just nodded and follow Astrid in silence to Mr. Smith’s house. (Plus, he was kinda glad that, according to his best friend, he had a little more time for Mari to ‘discover their true feelings’. If Kit screwed this up, he was out of countries to run off to.)

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What,” asked Kit, turning around to face Astrid and closing the drawer he was rifling through. “Did you find your phone?”

“Yeah. But I also found Blessica’s. She was Snapping Kevin. Platonic my ass. But he took the fucking trans flag out of her phone!”

Kit snatched Blessica’s phone out of her hand to examine it for herself. She was telling the truth. Where the glitter pride flag usually rested was just a clear purple case. Kit couldn’t believe his eyes.

“It’s one thing to misgender her every day.” Blessica had forced all four of the other Merry Hoes to sign a contract saying they wouldn’t do anything to harm him because of it. “But this is the last straw. You know what we have to do.” Oops.

“Yeah, but we don’t have any spray paint.”

Kit eyed Mr. Smith’s pink sofa, blue bar stool covers and white picture frames. “I think I have something better in mind.”

It would have been easier for both parties to just zip off the sofa cushions and tape them to the wall but by ripping them off in strips, they ensured he would have to buy new ones. And judging by the car he drove and the fiji water in his fridge, Mr. Smith could definitely afford it.

That reminded him, “I’ll finish up with this. Go put all his fiji water into my bag.” Astrid saluted him and ran off. “Wait.” She stopped and looked at him. “Steal all the remotes you can find.”

“How is he not awake?,” asked Astrid as they ripped the fabric of his seating from the stool.

He shrugged. “Don’t question it.” He shoved the bundle of cloth into her arms. “Glue this above the pink. I’ll handle the frames.”

“Say the magic word,” she sang.

“Please?”

“No. Lesbian. Come on, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Kit laughed quietly. “Can you lesbian glue this above the pink?”

She grinned at Kit. “It would be my pleasure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hello! Sorry I haven’t written anything in so long. School just restarted and it has been…a lot.

@adoravel-fenomeno @thechangeling @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @noah-herondale-lightwood @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @maxboythedog @book-dragon-not-worm @hardlymatters

Very sorry if I forgot anyone. Lmk if you want to be addEd/removEd from the tag list.

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IX

Word Count: 3,087 Warnings: PTSD. Children. Fluff. Angst. Emotions. Dialogue heavy bullshit. Author's Note: Welp... this is it, y'all. I posted the first chapter of this on March 4, 2021, and it's coming to a close today on April 5, 2021, and I'm... a goddamn mess. I'm not ready to let these characters go, both the TF boys and my own character in Leah. I really appreciate all your kindness and encouragement throughout writing this, my whole heart belongs to you. Thank you, I hope you love this as much as I love you.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Her room is painted like a sunrise. He remembers the first time he went up there, like it was the first breath he ever took. All rising pinks and melting blues.

He wanted her to feel that freedom from the beginning.

Leah’s hands climb his back, a kiss pressed to the hot skin between his shoulder blades as he dips to pluck his peaceful little girl out of slumber.

“Baby, let her sleep.”

But he’s shaking his head, careful with hers in his hand, “she can sleep later, I need her with me now.”

“Hmm,” she hums, turning him to guide him back to their bedroom, “keep that enthusiasm.”  

Their shuffle is quiet, Luna’s big eyes slipping back to sleep nestled into her fathers shoulder.

He’s been home for over half a year and as he crawls back into bed, baby and wife clinging to him, part of him still can’t believe it. That after everything he told her, she let him stay. That, like tonight, she’s soothed the new nightmares like the old. That he celebrated Christmas with them, Luna’s first.

That he watched her lift herself up and take her first steps. That after all he had done, those first steps were towards him.

That he helped blow out the candles that he helped light, on the cake he helped make for the little girl who has her daddy’s eyes. His dimple. His smile.

One hand splayed across each of their backs, he’s talking to Leah but directing it at Luna when her bright brown eyes open again to find his.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, Leah’s soft hand falling on his under her small back, “I’m sorry that mama and papa woke you up.”

She reaches a tiny hand up to his face and he melts into the small touch of her, his heart swelling at the unbelievable luck he has in chances granted again and again when a little, “papa,” tumbles forward in the softly lit room.

He feels Leah jump and his eyes snap to hers before they both fall back to Luna, just over one year.

“She just sa—“

“Say it again, baby,” Leah coos, tears spilling over Frankie’s eyes.

She doesn’t understand but as she grabs for him, the small voice repeats, “papa,” and he didn’t know his heart could feel so full despite all the compounding moments of fullness she’s brought to him. That they both have.

He bites his lip while looking into Leah’s glassy eyes and knows that her heart is just as swollen in this moment and all the others.

“The next one’s first word will be mama,” his hand finds the small swell of her lower belly, “I promise.” —————

She presses a coffee cup into his hand before taking a seat across from him on the living room floor, baby toys and blankets strewn across the space between them.

“What happened?”  

He takes a deep breath, finding the words he spoke out loud to his team in Lorea’s mansion, “A serious fuck up.”

“I figured that much, Francisco, but what happened?”

So he tells her and she lets him.

He tells her about the seventeen grand of Santi’s own money. How he promised himself no live fire and let himself and his desperation to give her and Luna and himself the best lead him into shattering his soul again. Ripping it up as life drained from the eyes of his fellow human beings and how he didn’t even have the protection of a flag on his shoulder to ease a semblance of that pain. How even if they were bad guys, they weren’t his bad guys to worry about.

He tells her about the helicopter crash, the result of his own greed for the money and for a lack of conflict led to more loss and conflict. How he doesn’t know if he’s the one who fired first on that village but he knows he fired, an automatic weapon slung across his shoulders as easily as the diaper bag he carries through the grocery store for her.

He tells her about the crumbling mountainside, how all he saw at the bottom looking down was himself never coming home to his girls. How that’s when something within him finally snapped, when he and Will silently decided to take the reigns from Tom and Santi’s hands.

He tells her about the fire, burning hundreds of thousands of dollars to keep warm in the freezing air that wrapped around the Andes. About the gunfire that followed them through the rocks in the morning sun.

About standing over Tom’s dead body, the relief and guilt crashing inside him like a warm front meeting a cold one. How he thinks he’ll feel those both every day that he wakes because, unlike the survivor’s guilt easing through you on active duty at the knowledge that this just happens sometimes, this time was different.

He tells her that, after all of that, he threw millions of dollars down a snowy ravine in the middle of Peru where no one would ever see it again, not even his girls who needed it so much because he realized it wouldn’t be fucking worth it for them to have it if it meant not coming home.

He tells her how he almost shot that kid in the jungle. How he would’ve shot every kid standing between him and the boat to get home to his own.

He tells her that he thinks, at the end of it all, Santiago and his plan ended up doing more damage to that country than not.

She listens intently, focused wholly on him. Her face never breaks but he can see the cogs turning behind her eyes, trying to take it all in. Trying to understand.

“I understand if you want me to leave, if you never want to see me again,” he reaches out for her hand, a shiver of shock running through his spine when she doesn’t pull away from him.

Blinking as the words catch up with her, her head shakes, “I just got you back, Francisco, you promised me you wouldn’t leave again so why the fuck do you think I want you to go now?”

“Because what I did is unforgiv—“

“It’s not, there are terrible men in this world who do worse everyday,” he sees the slight sheen of tears coat her lashes, “and you helped stop one of them.”

“There will be others to take his place,” he says around a sip of his drink, his coffee gone cold in the spaces between all his words.

Her hand gives a squeeze to the one it holds, “there will always be others to take his place.”

His breathing evens out, anchored in his chest by a warmth he doesn’t deserve, “there's something else you need to know.”

He tells her about the five million dollars they were able to make it to the boat with, “we signed it all over to Molly and the girls. Will and Benny and I, we decided to do so while Santi was sleeping. We figured, ya know, at least we were coming home. It wasn’t really money we were losing since it was never ours to begin with, Tom’s family lost everything and they didn’t even know it.”

The tears do come now, streams running down his face, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how close you came to losing everything and not even knowing it too.”

His stunted words around the hiccups in his throat draw Luna’s attention, her babbles reaching out to him the way she tried to soothe Leah’s over the weeks prior. Their attention is on her now, eyes wide as she lifts herself with the couch for leverage.

She toddles one step towards his still shaking body before tumbling forward, his hands dropping the now empty coffee cup and Leah’s hand to catch her.

He pulls her small body close, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to inhale the scent of baby lotion. As she giggles in his ear, he looks up to Leah’s soft face, “the boys and I still took three hundred thousand.” —————

“You're fucking insane,” Deana doesn’t quite whisper into Leah’s ear, “a whole ass baby with another one barely even a year old, have you heard of a condom?”

“How many mimosas did you have already, D?”

Kristyn struggles with her key in the door, a large bag in hand, “judging by the slight slur, I’m going with about three so far.”

“Fuck off, K,” she points, turning back to Leah, “I'm just saying that if that big goofy idiot husband of yours goes on another of his boy’s trips, I will kill him this time.”

Her fingers are still quoting around the air as the threat falls around them, Frankie’s attention at the other end of the room grabbed away from the pureed carrots of Luna’s lunch.

“Well,” Kristyn interjects, holding the bag forward, “that’s why I come bearing the gift of one Benjamin Miller, he couldn’t be here because of a boy’s trip.”

“What do you mean?”

Leah looks back at Frankie, his eyes now turned to the conversation. She sees the pain and confusion there, he didn’t know.

Kristyn follows Leah’s gaze before looking back at the older sister in front of her, “he promised me this was his last one and he’s sorry it had to take place during your baby shower but,“ she holds the bag out again, “he says you’ll like this one.”

“It's not a shower,” Leah rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kristyn interjects, “a sprinkle. Whatever.”

“It’s not even that since, ya know,” she looks down at the tiny bundle in her arms, “he's already here.”

“A birthday present then,” she beams, “Benny says he’ll set it up when he gets home.”

Frankie’s laughter finds them now, choking around the baby food he’s trying to convince his stubborn daughter of—she’s not and she’s learned how to voice that disgust with all thanks given to her Uncle Benny.

“Baby, it’s another military surveillance camera.”

Kristyn laughs, “yeah, our whole house is strung up with them at this point but they come in handy to watch the neighbors since I’m nosy.”

“When did they leave?” His voice is small, a slight worry behind it.

Kristyn lets out a breath, “about four hours ago, he made me promise not to tell you until he was gone.”

He just nods his head, a silent clock beginning to tick in his brain. —————

It’s been two weeks since he heard from Ben or Will.

The boys have been here day in and day out since they came home last year, always were before that and even more so now that all they truly had was each other and the families they were making with and around each other.

Benny ran through Kristyn’s apartment complex screaming her name so loud as he started to bang on her door that he was met with a baseball bat. Now that idiot was going to be his brother because the sight she was met with was one of Benjamin Miller on his knees with a ring in his hands.

They gave them space with the baby’s arrival, small and short visits until Leah felt ready to have them all over again. He spoke to them that morning as he shaved the night’s stubble away, they talked like they were coming by and how they couldn’t get enough of their new nephew. How they were getting him the best present.

Frankie runs his forefinger and thumb along his mustache now, the compromise of facial hair he settled on. He didn’t want his full and sparse beard but he also felt lighter at the way Leah laughed into him with every brush of his lips.

He’s pacing the living room, bouncing the baby as Leah and Luna nap upstairs. There's only silence and the soft gurgling of a newborn when the quiet knock comes.

Already close to the entryway, he closes the distance and whispers a silent prayer to himself. A prayer that this isn’t bad news. That this is Will or Benny, not using their keys out of courtesy to the newness of little life inside his home.

He opens the door and is met with the tired eyes of Santiago Garcia.

“Hey, Frank,” he says. All bravado of his being seeped from him and replaced with, what sounds like, apology.

He adjusts his son in his hold, ushering the shorter man in so the warmth of the house doesn’t keep seeping out, “I thought you were in Australia.”

“Yeah, well,” he turns to face Frankie again as the door closes, “I make some really shit decisions sometimes.”

Frankie scoffs, half a laugh hidden in the sound. He’s not wrong but he’s not exactly right either.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He’s walked through to the kitchen, the shorter man falling in pace beside him, “we’re a dry household right now with the baby and my therapy bu—“

“Nah, Fis-Frank,” he stutters, “just came to talk to you. And Leah. She around?”

“She’s resting but I can pass along a message if I like it.”

Santi reaches into the leather folder he always carries around and produces a booklet, the one from the lawyer in St. John’s.

But different, a different cover and date, a different name stamped across the front.

“The boys sent me to give you this alone, said we needed to talk about a few more things than just this. Said I needed to apologize to you and to your wife, that I owed you that for so much but especially roping you into that shit last year.”

“Water under the bridge,” Frankie replies softly, changing direction to move through to the living room, “I gave up on an apology a long time ago and Leah never expected one, but nobody’s mad at you.”

Frankie carries the bassinet into sight from the kitchen before walking back, “what is this, Pope?”

“It’s your cut, we went back.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re stupid and greedy and we fucked ourselves up getting it in the first place so we figured we’d go back and we figured we fucking owed you.”

Frankie squints at the shorter man, searching his eyes for the hint of a joke he’s not laughing at. There is none. His cold brown stare is dead serious.

“This is my apology to you, Fran—“

“Frankie,” Leah’s voice filters into the room, he can hear her sleepy shuffle as she pads across the carpet now, “did you feed Santiago while I was asleep or should I?”

“I fed him, baby,” he calls over his shoulder.

He looks back at the man who helped shape his life, tears welling in his eyes, and hears Leah talking about ordering Chinese for dinner as she crosses the threshold but he doesn’t hear her. He can’t hear anything over the squeeze around his midsection, Santi’s quiet strength taking all of his air and senses.

He lets go as quickly as he grabbed him, Leah’s presence heavy in the room now and he crosses the room to gather her in his arms, a kiss pressed to each cheek and then her hair. He’s careful not to hug as hard as he had Frankie, conscious of her still healing body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between them, “for everything I’ve done and everything I wasn’t around for.”

She’s trying to catch her breath, trying not to cry herself, “it's oka—“

“I should’ve been here for you guys.”

Her small hand comes up to pat the curls, a little more gray than a year ago, “you are now.”

He pulls away from her, a hitch in his voice as he says, “can I hold him?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but you gotta wash your face and hands, no tears or snot on my baby.”

He mumbles to himself about how that makes sense as he moves to the sink, fumbling over the soap in the holder as he shakes with nerves.

She makes her way across the kitchen, wrapping her still sleepy being around that of her wide awake husband. The low lying winter sun is filtering through the windows, bathing everything in soft, warm light.

She sees the golden cover of the booklet on the counter and taps it, “what's this?”

Daylight Family Trust is stamped across in big bold words.

“That was the boy’s trip,” he whispers, “that’s our cut.”

He watches her as she slowly reaches for the document, the one that explains how this all works and looks between the men.

“How much?”

Santi rips a paper towel from the roll, “about thirty-five million.”

Frankie holds her as her knees start to give out but she’s still looking at Santi, she’s still looking for the joke he never made.

“Daylight's your call sign, you know,” he says cooly, “all the wives get one too, did he ever tell you?”

She shakes her head, looking at her husband now and thinking of all the times that very word fell from his lips.

“On our last real deployment,” Pope continues, “he was flying as the sun was setting and the sky was pure gold over the desert—“

Frankie’s eyes never leave hers, arms tight around her now.

“—he said it reminded him of the way the gold flakes in your eyes reflect the sunlight back at him, he called you Daylight until he got home and shed the callsigns altogether.”

“Frankie?”

He presses his lips into her forehead, his hand a heavy weight on her lower back that says, I’m right here.

“Your daughter has the same golden flakes in her eyes, like you, Daylight.”

Frankie runs his thumb along the swell of her cheek, "all I wanted to do last year was get home to you both, all I wanted was to make it right and see that reflection of light back at me through you both again.”

He leans down to softly press his lips to hers before nuzzling his nose into her hair, “our son has them too, the same gold in his eyes, it was the first thing I said to Ben when I walked out of the delivery room.”

"It was the first thing they said to me," Santiago says, "when they got off the plane." 

“Like me?” Her voice is soft, the heaviness of sleep still clinging to her limbs.

“Mmhmm,” Frankie hums, “like Daylight.”

TAG LIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @knivesareout​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ | @mouthymandalorianalso​ | @starlightmornings​ | @soyelfuegoquearde​ | @darnitdraco​​ | @green-socks​​ | @the-feckless-wonder​​ | @hnt-escape​​ | @sarahjkl82-blog​​ | @klaine-92​

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

The Sight of You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s disturbing dreams about his childhood bring him back to Las Vegas to face two of his childhood’s greatest enemies: his estranged father and his ex best friend.

AN: it’s a friends to enemies to lovers fic! Set in the episode “Memoriam” 4x07

Content Warnings: usual Criminal Minds stuff, mentions of child death, childhood trauma, descriptions of a dead body. Let me know if I missed anything!

Despite seeing Spencer around Pre-k, Y/N did not trot over to talk to him with their brightly coloured rucksack swinging vigorously and violently behind them. They walked faster instead once their parents had dropped them off. Spencer did his best to catch up to Y/N but lost them around the corner in the sea of students seeking their next class. He was meant to be one of them. Adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose, Spencer noted that he needed a new prescription before entering his own class and preparing to focus on a subject he was already well-versed in.

It was lunch time when Spencer finally found Y/N. They were sitting at the furthest end of the table in the canteen. But Y/N cowered away from him, his shoulders drawn up defensively.

“Are you OK, Y/N?” Spencer asked before getting to what was more significant to him: “Do you know when you will be free to play again?”

The next sentence out of Y/N’s mouth stung like a nettle. They stood up, their face contorted in their fit, and they pushed Spencer hard on the shoulders.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!” They cried.

They went silent when Spencer was laughed at by those who heard what was said. Just grabbed their lunch and moved away, leaving Spencer spellbound in the middle of the canteen, heartbroken and with a new opening for a potential chess partner. Maybe that man they saw last week at the park would be kind enough to join him again.

But there was no replacement for Y/N, who now never said a word when they caught a glimpse of Spencer being bullied – only dithering about on the spot before fleeing the scene moments before a teacher would show up.

Spencer was hurt; that hurt warped into hatred when he was next out with his mother and father. They were at the shopping mall and had just bought Spencer his new glasses. Going down the escalator, he saw Y/N. They were smiling and skipping between their parents, a new pair of shoes shiny on their feet.

The second they spotted the Reids, Y/N ducked behind their parents. Spencer could still see their face: brow furrowed, eyes squinting, hands shaking now that nothing was holding them. Their parents didn’t seem to notice. They kept talking and walking even as Y/N stopped in time with the Reids stepping off the escalator.

Sudden footsteps running away was what dragged the public’s attention to a suddenly absent child.

“Y/N!” The parents called out as they chased after the four-year-old. They were quick past the Reids, not stopping to say ‘hello’.

Spencer kept his eyes trained after Y/N’s fleeing form, right until his mother’s face came into view. Diana looked saddened; she too was staring after the L/Ns. Turned to his father. William was composed but his eyes were turned down and watering.

For making his parents react like that to their mere presence, Spencer despised Y/N.

---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

 The burning hatred from adolescence staled once Spencer reached adulthood. The protective nature that spawned from it for his mother remained.

Which is why, when Diana Reid casually mentioned Y/N when asked about Riley Jenkins, Spencer froze up.

“You remember Y/N?” He said stiffly.

Diana didn’t notice her son’s change in tone, “Of course, you two were opposites but you got on so well. So sad what happened to them.”

The first guess was that she was referring Y/N’s repeated attempts at running away before Reid cut contact with neighbourhood gossip at age fourteen. He didn’t bother with a second attempt to understand what his mother meant.

“I don’t care about Y/N. I want to know if you remember Riley.”

“And I told you: Riley was a boy you made up.”

“No, Mom, he was a real boy who lived in our neighbourhood, and somebody killed him. And, I don't know, I think-- I think that dad might have had something to do with it.”

“He was real?”

“Yes. And...”

“He was on that little league team, too.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The whole case was surreal - “case” being a very loose term.

When they got into his office, Spencer thought that perhaps things might simmer down a little. Unfortunately, as soon as his father spoke about their history of similarity in appearance, Spencer’s usual comfort of statistics and facts on the elderly and pets failed to conceal his abandonment issues.

William Reid was clearly affected by Spencer’s accusations, calling the idea of fitting the profile thus being Riley’s killer “absurd”. Furthermore, he was confrontational when asked for access to his files and demanded a warrant. Coupled with Lou Jenkins’ absolute certainty that William was not involved in Riley’s murder and Penelope asking him “you sure about this?” concerning invading the aforementioned files, Spencer was very close to snapping.

“I really wish people would stop asking me that.”

Then there was the envelope posted beneath his motel room door. Suspicious timing aside, there was a brand-new suspect basically handed over on a silver platter. One Gary Michaels whom Spencer couldn’t remember him but he couldn’t be sure that he didn’t know him. Uncertainty being the feeling he hated the most.

This man could fit the profile; his previous of exposing himself to a minor was a precursor to molestation. But that wasn’t what Spencer wanted to hear from the shady file slipped to direct his attention away from William.

Garcia reported back about his father’s drives, “No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chat room history.”

“What about his finances?”

Hotch joined the conversation, “We went back ten years. No questionable transactions that we can find.”

Spencer sighed while Emily decided to crack a joke: “Well, he did buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago, but I think we can overlook that.”

“He’s smart. Is it possible he kept things under the table?” Spencer persisted.

“Well, of course,” Hotch answered, “But from what we can tell, Reid, he doesn’t fit the profile.”

“We can tell you other things about him, if you want to know.”

A peace offering on behalf of Emily. Clearly she had improved after her night out and subsequent hangover. Spencer gave the go-ahead and Emily listed her profile:

“He's a workaholic, he actually logs more hours than we do. He makes decent money, but he doesn't spend a lot of it. He has a modest house. He drives a hybrid. He doesn't travel much. He stays away from the casinos. Um, and according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat.”

“He appears to spend most of his free time alone,” Hotch added, “He goes to the movies a lot, and he reads. And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favourite author is-”

Spencer interrupted his boss, “Isaac Asimov, I remember that one.” He pressed his lips together. They were right; William Reid did not fit the profile.

Garcia piped up once more, “He does have one other major interest. On his home computer, he's archived, like, a ka-jillion things on one common subject.”

“What?”

“You, kiddo. He's got, like, everything that's been published online. Every article you've been quoted in, pieces you've written for behavioural science journals, He even has a copy of your dissertation.”

“He's keeping tabs on you,” Rossi said, That's saying something.”

But Spencer smoothly dismissed this attempt to make excuses for his father, “Yeah, he googled me. That makes up for everything. I'm going to get some air.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

After getting said air, Spencer went to the local bar and began playing an computerised poker game. His paying attention was only to distract himself, clear his head with something he knew he could control. And thankfully, a chance interaction with a lady at the bar spawned the inspiration for a sporadic hypnosis session.

Doctor Jan Mohikian allowed them a session. Reminded of the limitations that a four-year old’s memory could provide, not including the bias he already had as a son and a profiler, Spencer lay on the couch. His feet hung over the end so that his head could be comfortable in a pillow. There was no time for self-consciousness with Rossi in the room observing. He closed his eyes and felt his hand be placed upon Doctor Mohikian’s body.

She spoke low and calmingly, “I want you to hold my wrist in your left hand. And if you should feel any fear, I want you to squeeze, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to the night you were just telling me about. You're at home, in your room. You can't sleep because your parents are arguing.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 His eyes were closed still, but the couch shifted into a bed. His bed. A floor below, the faint shouting between his mother and father was heard. There was someone else there too. A child wailing, and it wasn’t him.

Suddenly his father was at his side, touching his arm, saying, “I know you’re awake. Daddy loves you; you know that?”

Spencer didn’t want to be there, and then it was the following morning.

Putting his glasses, the room fell into focus. His mother was there, she didn’t see him because she was too busy looking out the window. Her body language told him that this was not a meltdown, but what she saw was distressing. She’d been crying. As she walked away into the house, she hid her face as if she knew Spencer was watching and she wanted to hide her reaction from him.

Spencer ran to the window the second Diana had left the room.

His father was in the back garden and burning clothes. A bloody shirt, a tiny cardigan, landed on top of the pile already set alight.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and wake.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 And Spencer was shocked out of the scene, back to the doctor’s couch and gripping her wrist with an iron grip. Rossi was by his side, bringing him back to peace with his voice.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Derek was clearly disturbed that Spencer was very set on his father being a paedophilic murderer as much as he had been that Spencer was taking something that was said after his mother’s fit seriously. He continued however to assist with Rossi in Spencer’s investigation.

As if everything else hadn’t been hard enough, the captain took some time to agree to holding William Reid in custody. Finally, he settled for twenty-four hours. William was as resistant to the questions as he had been upon the initial reunion. All he could say was that he didn’t hurt Riley. Spencer wore him down, getting him to drop the Gary Michaels bomb plus the threat that he “didn’t want to go down that road”.

Garcia’s search of Gary Michaels’ DNA on the databases brought to light that their suspect was dead. Buried across state lines, beat over the head with a pipe or bat, and the body was discovered in 2001.

“Maybe it wasn’t Riley’s blood on the clothes he was burning.” Derek was about to hang up when Garcia began to speak again, a new discovery ready for her team.

“Also, Todd found something in your father’s finances. There was a standing order for a therapist, specifically a child therapist from 1985 to 1995. I thought it was for Spencer, but William left when you were twelve, and these sessions continue irregularly after he left you!”

“Who was the patient?”

“One Y/N L/N. Local to North Vegas, born 1980 to Shelly and Finley L/N.”

Both Rossi and Derek looked away from the phone to Spencer and he knew. He knew he’d have to face another villain from the past – like a knight in one of Y/N’s stories.

“Still alive?”

“Yep, already pulling up an address. There’s a lot of short leases attached to this name. Lucky for you, they keep going back to live with their parents.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure that he could handle two bitter reunions in one day.

“We’ll send off the fingerprint while we visit Y/N. They could have been a potential victim of Michaels before he died. They might know something.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was a normal home in a normal neighbourhood. Spencer had never visited Y/N’s house. Their play-dates were always at the park.

“Hello, Mr L/N,” held up their badges, “I’m Agent Derek Morgan, this is Agent David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid. May we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Sure. My wife is uh out at work at the moment,” Finley opened the door wider and stepped aside for the trio to enter, “I’m the house husband as it were.”

Looking about the kitchen, Spencer spied several photos of an adult Y/N but very few of them as a toddler and even less as a teenager.

“You have a child, Mr L/N?” Rossi asked.

“All grown up now, Y/N,” Finley smiled with a nod. Then he squinted at Spencer, “You’re not related to William Reid by chance, are you?”

Masking his bitterness, Spencer said shortly, “He’s my father.”

Finley seemed in awe at the prospect, so Derek redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand, “What was Y/N like as a child?”

Nodding still, like a bobble head, Finley looked weary at the notion, “Troubled. They were very young when they withdrew into themselves. Used to run away from home a lot. I don’t know what happened, but Y/N never told us.” He then jumped to protect his child’s reputation at present, “They’re doing better now, went to therapy and they’re doing very well for themselves.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Rossi replied.

Finley continued his defence of Y/N, “They’re a published author, they write fantasy things for kids and young adults. We’re very proud of them.”

“Did Y/N know Riley Jenkins when they were a child?”

“Riley Jenkins, that’s Lou’s kid who died, right?” Finley sought confirmation and, when he had it, he spoke, “Not personally. I think they might have played at the park once or twice. Before he died, Y/N would play with anyone. But you… you know that.” And Finley gestured to Spencer, much to his disgust.

“Is Y/N in the area?” Spencer asked briskly.

“Well, they’re due for a visit in a few hours. They went on holiday.”

“They still live with you?”

“A month ago, they got a new flat in the city. But they’ve got their own room here, for whenever they need it.”

“May we see it?”

The wallpaper was barely visible beneath exam revision notes, posters of Fresh sheets on the bed and the clear space on the floor were the only tidy things about the place. It was a haven of organised clutter.

A chess set caught Spencer’s eye. It sat upon the windowsill, recently dusted. The pieces were not that of a classic set; each was painted prettily but with enough error to indicate it was a personal touch.

“You and Y/N were close then?” Derek was holding up a photo album. Upon inspection, the photograph the page was open on was of Spencer and Y/N dressed up for Halloween as Doctor Frankenstein and the Monster respectively – accurate to the book of course.

“Yeah, ‘were’,” Spencer turned back to the chess set. He didn’t bother to ask when his friends had figured out he knew Y/N.

Rossi decided to further test the waters, “You think that Y/N could have killed Riley?”

“Of course not. A four-year-old couldn’t kidnap, tie up, rape, and kill a boy their own age. No violent history that indicates they would ever do something like this. Do I think that Y/N knows something about what happened and my father is trying to keep them quiet? Yes.”

Rossi moved beside Spencer, picking up the knight. Except it wasn’t a knight. It was a wizard of some kind in purple robes.

“We’ll stay up here for a bit then go down once Y/N’s inside and settled,” He gestured with the knight to the window. Spencer blanched as he spied a cab at the end of the driveway. The trunk was open and someone was retrieving a suitcase from within.

Y/N appeared around the corner, waving off the cab and turning to the house. Mr L/N appeared on the drive and they met in the middle for a hug. Over Mr L/N’s shoulder, Spencer could see that Y/N had grown into their chubby childhood features. They looked genuinely happy.

He would have to go through with it, but he didn’t have to like it. And he couldn’t go hide in the bathroom like with his father.

The trio plodded down the stairs when the sound of the front door closing was replaced with a joyous gathering in the kitchen. It all changed when Y/N went to take off their jacket and caught sight of the three FBI agents standing in the doorway. Taking out his badge, Rossi led the way.

“Hello, Y/N, I’m Agent David Rossi, this is Agent Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. We’re looking into the death of Riley Jenkins, and we were hoping to ask you some questions.”

To the naked eye, very little changed about Y/N’s appearance. To the three profilers, there was a visceral reaction: Y/N’s right hand started trembling, the hard swallow, the dropping of their gaze from Spencer to the floor.

“OK,” They said, a great deal quieter than they had been with their father.

Rossi sat next to Y/N at the dinner table. Derek was beside Rossi; Spencer stayed standing. Mr L/N stayed in the kitchen, at Y/N’s request.

“Can you tell us what you remember about Riley?” Rossi began.

“Not very much, I don’t really remember much about school.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Spencer blurted, “Well, I do.”

Derek glanced back at him with a look that just screamed “shut the hell up”. It seemed to cut down Y/N’s resolve, their jaw quivering.

“Sorry, can you give me a moment?” They stood up quick, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor as they walked just as fast to the kitchen. Through the open door, Rossi, Derek, and Spencer watched Y/N grab a glass from the open dishwasher. The water from the tap hit the bottom of the glass harsh, crashing out like a wave of the ocean hitting a cliff. Y/N didn’t seem to care. Their hand dripped water onto the surface as they chugged back some of the drink before returning to the table with a topped-up glass.

“Are you alright?” Rossi inquired, leaning closer to Y/N.

They answered wearily, “Fine, just feeling woozy.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah, you’re a writer too. My mom reads your stuff before bed.”

“Bit of an odd nightcap,” Rossi said with a little chuckle.

Y/N shared that smile for the briefest of moments, replying “You’re telling me.”

From their pocket, they pulled out some painkillers, popping them back with a slug of water then speaking again. “I remember Riley was smaller than me. Still figuring out coordination, but he liked to play chase. I know he was killed; I didn’t find out how until I looked into it last year.”

“Why did you look into it?” Rossi gently probed.

Y/N rubbed two fingers back and forth across their head as they spoke, “I was back here, I felt sick so I went for a walk in the park, and I just remembered him tripping over while trying to tag me. No one ever told me what happened, just that he had to go away. I wanted to know what happened to him.”

“Are you sick often?” Derek asked suddenly, his voice soft to match Rossi. Spencer grimaced at the treatment Y/N was receiving but said nothing.

“Headaches and stomach aches mostly.”

“You get them whenever you come home?”

“I do. Figured I was allergic to something but never figured out what.”

That would have to be a very quick response, like a dog allergy. And coincidental, seeing as the symptoms didn’t start until they saw Spencer.

“Y/N?” called their father, “Can you come here a moment please?”

“May I?”

“Of course,” said Derek and Y/N was out of the room. Derek pivoted in his chair to include Spencer in his theory, “I think they know something, but they don’t know they know it. I think they repressed this memory like you did, Spencer. We should take him to the therapist, see if we can jog his memory.”

“You can’t be serious,” Spencer covered his face with his hands, dragging them down with irritation.

Derek was persistent though, “Spencer, like it or not, Y/N’s linked to this investigation. Put aside your differences for a moment, please.”

Spencer all but squawked, “Put aside my differences?”

“You have brought a lot of bias to this case. Let us at least pursue this lead.”

“Sorry,” Y/N interrupted Spencer’s retort, sitting back at the table, “He needed someone to get unhook the loft door. Mom usually does it.”

“That’s alright.” Rossi waved a hand dismissively. Once Y/N accepted that, he moved in with Derek’s suggestion, “You know, some people have strong physical reactions to memories, trauma. Maybe you’re not getting sick. You’re rejecting something.”

“Rejecting?” repeated Y/N. There was no doubt in their voice, more cautious curiosity.

Derek nodded, “A memory, repressing it, and your body has linked the physical responses to your home. We think it has something to do with this case, and we’d like to see if we can retrieve any memories you might have. Would you be alright to come with us?”

“Yeah,” said Y/N, though they didn’t sound too certain, “Yeah sure.”

The resigned, too tired look on their face, and Spencer felt a tug in his chest. A longing to see Y/N smile like they had when they first entered the house. He’d rather hate someone who was happy than someone who suffered the same as him.

Leaving the house, Spencer took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spencer?”

He ignored Y/N’s voice for a moment, but he couldn’t disregard Y/N standing in front of him and speaking again, “Spencer, can we talk please?”

“I’m busy,” He said, already walking off as he pretended to call someone, “Hey Garcia.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “Hold onto my hand, use it as an anchor, and squeeze when you feel fear.” Doctor Mohikian accepted Y/N’s hand on her wrist and their silence nod as they lay back on the same couch Spencer had been just hours before.

“I want you to think back to your childhood, back to when you were five. You’re at the park, your parents are on a bench watching nearby to keep you safe. What do you see?”

“Spencer Reid.”

Derek and Rossi glanced at Spencer, who did not react. They kept quiet so that Y/N could immerse themselves in the hypnosis.

“What’s he doing?” Doctor Mohikian continued.

“Teaching me chess.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sat on opposite sides of the table, Spencer and Y/N’s eyes were glued to the chess pieces that were neatly organised between them. Spencer was thinking strategy. He could not say the same for his companion Y/N. They reached a hand out and hovered over the pieces before finally selecting their last knight.

Their tongue clicked as Y/N trotted the piece on the spot.

“What’s this one again?”

“The knight,” Spencer recited, “It moves two spaces up, down, left or right, and another step perpendicular to the first direction.”

“Brave creatures riding into battle,” Y/N narrated before continuing their clip-clopping to its new position, “Pawns in the game of war.”

Spencer didn’t understand how they were coming up with this whilst playing. Well, actually, he did. Because Y/N was clearly not playing to win. They were playing for the best possible story.

“Where do you think this story will end?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” said Y/N, pushing back the sleeves of their white cardigan, “Come on, you can tell me, with your magic powers.”

“It’s not magic. It’s logic.”

“That’s magic to me,”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer decided that he should give his friend the information they sought: “I see checkmate in fifteen moves.”

“See? Magic! The gift of sight!” crowed Y/N, clapping their hands together. The cardigan sleeves fell back in place as they did so. Spencer felt his cheeks heat up; he dropped his head so he could smile in privacy while Y/N began to decide their next move.

“How’s your mommy today?”

Shrugging, Spencer said, “Better than normal. But that means a bad day is around the corner.”

Y/N nodded solemnly. “Do you want another ice cream? I got more birthday money.”

“No thank you.” Spencer moved the piece but was immediately intercepted by Y/N, “You’re getting better.”

“Fank you.”

“You’ll have to wait longer to beat me though.” And he snatched Y/N’s knight away, just as planned and much to Y/N’s dismay.

A new voice from their left spoke, “Hey you’re pretty good.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Y/N’s grip tightened on Doctor Mohikian’s wrist, “Someone’s with us.”

“Who do you see?” Doctor Mohikian asked patiently.

“A man. He’s asking us if he can watch us play, listen to the story.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

“No,” Y/N flinched, “But Spencer keeps talking to him. The man won’t go away.”

“It’s OK, it’s OK, you’re safe, Y/N.”

Y/N flinched again, this time letting out a whimper, “He’s on the floor.”

“Spencer is?”

“No, the man.”

“What’s he doing on the floor?”

“He’s,” Y/N began panting, their face tensing and body jerking, “I can’t get to him. There’s glass in the way and the ground is shaking.”

“Y/N.”

“I can’t look, I’ll be sick! Whenever I see them, sick.”

“OK, you’re going to wake up in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Their eyes snapped open with the click of the fingers and Y/N leapt out of Doctor Mohikian’s couch. Their head aimed over the bin by the door and they retched. Nothing came up but their stomach continued to squeeze up

Spencer fidgeted in his seat, trying his best not to look at Y/N. The choice words of the session, three in particular, wrapped around his head.

“Floor”.

Y/N had seen Gary Michaels inside, somewhere that wasn’t the park.

“Glass”.

A window, Y/N was watching what Gary Michaels was doing.

“Sick”.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!”

“Them”.

It wasn’t just Michaels in the room alone. They had been a witness to his murder.

Derek’s movement to help Y/N took Spencer out of his analysis. Sweaty, Y/N was led back to the couch, the bin between their legs, head lolling forward. Spencer tried to move beside them for questioning, but Y/N winced and began heaving again. He felt that ache in his chest again. He was causing this and nothing he could do would change that. Not until they both knew what happened to Riley and Y/N got help through it.

“What did you see, Y/N?” Derek asked as he replaced Spencer’s spot beside them.

With watering eyes, Y/N looked at Spencer, “The man we played with, he was on the floor. His head – thank you.” They accepted the water from Doctor Mohikian, gulping some back, “It was smashed in.”

The three agents left the room, Doctor Mohikian following after Y/N left to get some air.

“It’s logical to assume that Y/N tied that sickness, that repulsion because of what they thought they saw your mother be involved with, to you and your family,” Doctor Mohikian evaluated.

Interrupting again, Spencer stammered his way through his analysis, “That’s why they avoided me. They associated me with being ill. It’s probably also why they ran away so much; they had to get away from this horrible feeling they had associated with their home.”

Doctor Mohikian shook her head, “We won’t be able to use this in court, I told you when we started.”

Derek’s phone started to ring. As he answered, Spencer somehow managed to slip away for long enough to find Y/N. They were leaning against the ramp’s railing in front of the practice, their body lifting and slumping with each deep breath they took. Against his better judgement, he moved toward them.

“Y/N? Can I have your number?”

The breathing slowed again.

“I need it to call you with an update on the situation as soon as we get one.”

Without looking up, Y/N pulled out their phone and handed it over to Spencer. He punched his number in a new contact, using this time to gather the courage to maybe say something else. The hurt and pain went beyond him now. Y/N was suffering and had been much longer than he had.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly, hoping that his didn’t add to the illness, “I hope you feel better soon.”

Their head still down, Y/N croaked, “You too, Spencer.”

“Spencer, get over here! We got a match on a print on Michaels’ body!”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“What makes you think Gary Michaels killed your boy?”

“He admitted it,” Lou Jenkins said, as monotonous as he had been for the last fifteen minutes of the interrogation.

Derek’s quickfire was on Jenkins instantly, “You beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?”

“I know. He approached another kid in the neighbourhood.”

“And how do you know that?

“I was told by a concerned party.”

“Who? Another parent?”

Jenkins leant back in his chair, “That's all I'm going to say on the subject.”

“Who was it?” Spencer suddenly spoke up.

Caught off guard at his interjection, Jenkins awkwardly parroted himself, “I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub—"

Reid slammed his hands on the table, getting right up in Lou’s face, “Who was it?”

The door opened, Detective Hyde appeared, “Agent Reid?”

“Do not interfere with this interrogation, detective,” shouted Spencer, “This is not your case anymore!”

Once again, he was cut off. This time, by the arrival of his own mother, Diana, and her admission of guilt: “Spencer, it was me”.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  Of all the things this case had brought him, Spencer least expected to be sitting in a room with his mother and father together for the first time in years. To have Diana explain to him how she was involved in a child’s murder was also up there with the unthinkable.

But he stayed quiet and listened to her confession.

The reveal that she had seen Gary Michaels playing chess with him and Y/N, that she and got a feeling that something was wrong before anything had even happened, opened the story. Lou Jenkins’ involvement was next on the menu. Two days after the chess game, he drove Diana to Michaels’ house, disclosed his history of child abuse, and demanded she leave while he went into the house.

Upon reaching the point where she entered the house, Diana struggled with her words. William reached over and took her hand.

She described seeing Lou with the bat, standing over the body, slipping in the pool of blood, finding Y/N standing in the window and their face, their little face as innocent as the white cardigan that covered their shoulders and absorbed the blood from Diana’s hands as she shook their shoulders.

“And the rest... It's all dark after that.”

William continued for her. Diana came home and brought Y/N with her. Eventually he came to understand what had happened and decided that nobody could ever know.

“You were burning her bloody clothes,” Spencer concluded.

His father nodded, “But the knowing, you can't burn that away. It changes everything.”

“You paid for Y/N to go to therapy.”

William didn’t seem surprised that Spencer knew this, going straight into explaining: “They went into a dissociative fugue state after seeing what Lou had done. When Diana brought them home, they were just stiff. I asked them for their home number, to call their parents, but they started screaming and throwing up. We had to take them to the police station.” He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, “They needed help, but their parents couldn’t afford it. And they didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t drag another person into this, Spencer.”

“Is this why you left?”

“I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much.”

“You could have come back. Could have started over.”

“I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back. What's done is done.”

“At least now you know the truth,” Diana made an effort to smile at her son

Choking on his words and the overwhelming remorse he felt, Spencer refused to look at his parents any longer, “I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry.”

And William said something that Spencer had been waiting for, for a long time, “I am, too, Spencer.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  All of this was repeated when Spencer walked with Y/N through their old park the following day. Filling the final gaps in the memory would hopefully bring some respite to them both. Or at least maybe something to start the recovery process, easing Y/N’s sickness and Spencer’s pain.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour during this case,” Spencer sniffed, “When you said we made you sick, back when we were four, I thought you had seen my mom during one of her episodes and thought she was a freak, like everyone else.”

That stopped Y/N in their tracks, their hands coming up to cover their mouth, their eyes misty, “Oh Spencer, I’m sorry too, I’m so, so sorry I caused you so much pain.”

Spencer’s hands rushed up as if to create belated damage control, “It’s ok! I hurt you too. I made you sick.”

“That wasn’t your fault though.”

“It wasn’t yours either. We were kids.”

Almost pedantic, stropping, like a child again, Y/N moaned, “It’s all been such a waste. We could have been friends all this time!”

“We can be friends now,” Spencer pushed his hands down into his pockets to stop them flailing about anymore. His sentence was phrased more like a question.

One that Y/N gladly answered, “I would like really that.”

Sitting in the reply for a moment, Spencer followed up on his concerns, “How are you feeling? I mean, are you feeling sick again?”

“A bit, but I can handle it.”

Spencer could not see any changes in their behaviour from the day before. So obviously they were lying about that. But he didn’t protest. The lie meant Y/N wanted to stay with him, which was good - Spencer wanted that too.

They kept walking, only in silence for half a minute before Spencer broke it again, “I read your books last night.”

“Yeah?”

“‘The Siege of the Lost Faiths’ in Rogue’s Mask, that was our first game of chess.”

“It had by far the best narrative,” Y/N dragged their shoe a little on the grass before coming to a stop, “Do you still play?”

“All the time.”

They nodded over to where the old chess tables still stood, “Fancy a game before you go?”

Spencer grinned, “Just promise that this is the only setting where we’ll be on conflicting sides from now on.”

“Promise.”

Brushing the debris from the table, they both took their places opposite each other. From Y/N’s bag was revealed a box, spilling their painted chess pieces across the board. Remembering how they had stood in Y/N’s room, Spencer helped to set up the match. They took their seats opposite one another. Y/N was the green side, Spencer the purple.

Spencer moved first. After a second’s deliberation, Y/n moved their pawn.

“Isn’t there a story with this one?” Spencer said, an implicated teasing in his tone despite his shyness.

With an equally bashful eye roll, Y/N started their new story, “First begins the battle with the royals on both sides sending intrepid messengers to meet and pass along their deeds.”

Spencer took Y/N’s pawn. As he lifted their piece away, he spoke quietly, “One not as intrepid as the other.”

A gasp dropped from Y/N’s smile. He had never joined in the narrative telling before, always too taken up in the match to invest in whatever story they spun. 

“He’s not a coward,” They said, still smiling, much to Spencer’s delight, “Prisoner’s dilemma, he just couldn’t trust the other with his life.”

“Did they know each other before this battle?”

“Yes,” Y/N moved a knight across, stealing Spencer’s pawn, “They were brothers who once shared a crib and now they share a grave.”

Throughout the game, Y/N continued the story with Spencer asking questions just to hear them talk more. The maturity of the stories had grown just as Y/N’s voice had. They knuckled their eyes a few times, but they didn’t complain about the headache.

“I know what endings you like,” Spencer moved his rook, “Checkmate in five.”

Y/N didn’t seem to mind that little dig, “This’ll have to be a short story instead then.”

Spencer’s next sentence got away from him, trailing off the closer he got to the end of it, “You could write an anthology series, if we see each other again and play more games.”

Where Spencer’s voice disappeared, Y/N’s returned with invigoration, “That’s not a half bad idea, Spencer.”

The checkmate never came. Y/N diverted the ending into a draw.

“A peace treaty has been forged by the survivors, because too many lives have been lost to justify this violence anymore. If only they realised sooner that no blood had to be shed for peace to rule the lands.” And they smiled at Spencer, clearly chuffed as they leaned back in their chair, “Bit of an upgrade from the horse noises, I’ll say.”

Spencer rotated the purple knight – the illusionist – between his thumb and forefinger, “I liked the horse noises.”

“You should have said during the match! I’d recreate them, for you.”

One by one, the pieces were placed back into their box until the last piece remained in Spencer’s palm: the knight or Soren the Illusionist, distractions and deceptions but he loved the tricks that delighted most of all. Just like Spencer with his magic tricks but a little to the left. The character was always one of Y/N’s favourites. Some solace away from the pain of thinking of who he was based on.

Y/N pushed Spencer’s hand away, closes his fist around it, “Keep him. He was made with you in mind anyway.”

The information sank in and Spencer’s nose wrinkled with the little smile on his face as he cupped the little Illusionist, “I’m Soren?”

Nodding, Y/N confirmed, “You’re Soren.”

“But what about your set though?”

“I can always make and paint another knight,” and Y/N tilted the piece upside down in Spencer’s hand, revealing the signature on the underside, “You and him are the originals, it’s only fair you stay together.”

In a moment of pure instinct and nostalgia, Spencer clicked his tongue as he twisted Soren in time with the noise. Y/N let out a burst of laughter that dragged the air out of Spencer’s chest.

“Hey, do you wanna get dinner tonight?” He said, running out of breath very quickly as a result.

It had a similar effect on Y/N, “I thought you – don’t you have to get back to Virginia?”

“I have time for dinner. For you.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 The bookstore was packed but the breath of the patrons was held as one. All eyes were watching the mini stage where a crouching figure lifted their head up slowly. A jump as the tension broke with the figure leaping up to their feet with a bang.

Y/N pushed up the brim of their cap. Snatching a deep green hoodie from the purple trunk – silver constellations painted on the sides – they swung it over their back before picking up the page where they had left off.

“Nasima looked up at Mason and said, ‘Well that was just unnecessary.’”

A burst of laughter shot through the pre-teens in the front row, spreading to the adolescents sitting further back who had grown up with the author’s other works, finally reaching the adults at the back where Spencer was fiddling with his cane. He adjusted the sleeve of his costume absentmindedly. He was just like everyone else in the room: captivated by how Y/N was so immersed in their reading.

They had just mimed kicking down a door, plus sound effects from their mouth. Swapping back and forth between the two conflicting characters arguing with one another, changing between the hoodie and the cap with every other line of dialogue and taking both off for the role of the narrator, it was certainly a workout.

An exaggerated breath was drawn into Y/N’s lungs, flopping over in a melodramatic state, which caused another laugh in the audience.

Spencer’s nose scrunched up as he grinned. He knew this was part of the scene; he’d seen Y/N rehearse this story in their sitting room. It was so much better to share this with an audience, for their reactions to fuel Y/N’s energy.

Y/N finished the short story A Battle of Bent Truths with a flourish, leaving the rest of the anthology for their audience to read in their own time. The kids were up on their feet first. Some of them were jumping up and down as they applauded with the rest of the shop. Y/N gave a big grin as they bowed, sweeping their cap off for extra drama.

There was a book signing and a photographer that followed, and Spencer waited patiently at the end of the queue, thankful that the store allowed him to bring a chair along with him. He was happy to entertain his godson and friends with a few tricks to pass the time.

“Another one please!” Henry jumped up and down when Spencer revealed his card.

A minor commotion arose by the photographer’s backdrop. There was a teenager was crying; she was clutching her copy of Untold Tales of Human Nature. Y/N was holding their shoulders, rubbing gently and speaking softly. Only half paying attention to his next trick, Spencer kept an eye on Y/N as they hugged the teenager, looking near tears themselves.

“Spencer?” J.J tapped him on the shoulder and Spencer realised that Henry was looking a little mad to have lost his godfather’s attention so easily.

“Sorry, Henry, can you pick another card please?”

When they reached the front of the queue, JJ went up first and took Henry and his pals up to see Y/N. They instantly recognised JJ and welcomed her with a tight hug. Henry was delighted to see his favourite babysitter and show them off to his school friends, boasting that they had read to him before today.

“They read me bits for bedtime, Mommy!”

“I know!” JJ tickled his cheek, “I read them to you too.”

“Who do you like better?”

“Mommy,”

Y/N gasped, dropping to their knees which made Spencer wince, “Henry, you wound me!”

Rossi approach next, knowing that once Spencer got to Y/N, they would not be left alone.

“You really know how to captivate an audience,” He kissed them on both cheeks, “Though don’t take offence if I don’t use the same tricks at my readings.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it! Thank you for coming.”

Y/N then caught Spencer’s eye and began meandering over to him with a smile they were desperately trying to stifle. Spencer rose from his chair, meeting Y/N in the middle.

“Hi, Spencer.”

With his free arm, Spencer flaunted his cloak, “Who is Spencer? I’m Soren the Illusionist!”

Giggles from his godson, his godson’s gang, his co-workers and friends, they almost caused Y/N to lose their composure. They held on just long enough to continue the banter.

“Oh, forgive me, you look so much like my boyfriend.”

“Hmmm, he must be very handsome,”

And Y/N burst into peals of laughter, waving their hands about, “OK, stop, stop, stop, I can’t.”

“Hey!” Spencer pretended to take offence, pouting as Y/N brought him into a hug.

“Don’t worry,” They kissed his cheek between giggles, “You are so very handsome.”

“To think you were once sick at the sight of me.”

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter six: no one but you

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, smut

rating: 18+

word count: 5.6K

A/N: i sincerely hope you guys like the way this ends, it’s always so nerve-wracking to end a story! the epilogue to this story is posted as well and linked.  thank you to every single person who sent sweet messages of support it means the world to me.  SMUT WARNINGS APPLY IN THIS CHAPTER: oral (m/f), unprotected sex (only in fiction y’all) and hoseok thirst.

of course, i cannot post this story without shouting out some of the most supportive, killer people on this site.  you guys truly mean the world to me @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna​ @taetaewonderland​ @hobi-gif​

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

*********************

There are perks to being the boss.

For Namjoon, it means calling the shots on the streets from his office in the sky.  Rarely does he leave the climate-controlled comfort of his pristine headquarters to get his hands dirty in the day-to-day business of the organization he runs.

Tonight, he’s making an exception.

Yoongi drives. Like a bat out of hell, as always.

It’s a thirty-minute ride from downtown Seoul to Incheon Port without traffic but Yoongi is on pace to finish it in just twenty.  Hoseok watches the lights on the expressway speed by from the backseat.  He tries hard to focus on the information Namjoon shares, the details he’ll need in order to ensure he doesn’t put himself or anyone else in danger tonight.  

But fuck, it’s so hard to concentrate with the taste of you still on his lips.  

He scrubs a hand down his face and takes a deep breath.  He forces himself to push the memory of your body in his hands and your skin in his mouth and your voice in his ear to the corner of his mind.  

Then he goes over the information again.

Namjoon wants to be in place at least ten minutes before the scheduled meet so he can figure out what’s going on before the Ssijog knows he’s there with his men.  

He wants guns to stay holstered unless he gives the signal.

He wants --

“You must have really scared the shit out of that guy, Jung,” Namjoon murmurs from the front seat.  Hoseok snaps back into focus to search for his boss’s reflection in the side mirror and finds Namjoon already looking at him. “He’s been blowing up his contact since last night, begging for personal protection.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t do worse,” Hoseok shrugs.  “I certainly could have.”

“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” Namjoon agrees.  “Someday you’ll have to tell me the story of how you managed to be outside of his apartment when his handler picked him up.  Here I was, under the impression you had the night off.”

Hoseok swallows thickly.

“Just doing my job.”

There’s a twist to Namjoon’s mouth that Hoseok can’t read and it puts him on edge.  

“Well, I must thank you for your dedication to your job,” Namjoon continues. “You’ve really gone above and beyond the call of duty for this assignment.”

Hoseok looks away from the mirror.  “Yeah, sure,” he says quietly.  

The car falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Yoongi clears his throat.  

“So anyway --” he announces loudly, “-- Jimin and Tae were able to track Kang’s texts through some internet bullshit they mess around with. Apparently dude flipped out after you left his place and wouldn’t let up until his handlers agreed to meet him tonight.”

“At Incheon Port?” Hoseok asks, glad for the redirect.  “That’s a hell of a drive for a chat.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Namjoon says under his breath.  

The car falls silent once again.

**********************

Mun Kiwoo has a reputation for being messy.

The man at the top sets the tone for the organization, and Mun is no exception.  His men are known for their brutality, his deals often go south, and by most accounts his syndicate is hanging on by a thread.

But it’s still hanging on.

Namjoon, Hoseok, and Yoongi watch quietly from their vantage point behind a shipping container as Mun waits in the dark, cigarette in hand. He looks like an unmade bed -- shirt rumpled and half-tucked into his wrinkled dress pants.  He lights one cigarette off of another as he answers a series of calls on his cell.  

His agitation seems to rise each time it rings again.

Hoseok takes stock of the two guards Mun has at his side tonight.  They’re bulky men with huge arms and round bodies -- the kind of guys who look dangerous due to sheer size, but would be slow to respond in a physical fight.  Namjoon holds up two fingers to confirm they’re the only men with Mun and Hoseok nods.

Headlights bounce off the pavement after a few more minutes of waiting.

A black car pulls up close to the water’s edge and Mun Kiwoo ends his call just as he lights another cigarette.  

Kang Donghyuk is the first out of the car, followed closely by his Ssijog handler.  Kang is dragging his ass and even from a distance, Hoseok can make out the bandage over the side of his face.

Hope it hurts, motherfucker.

“Mr. Kang,” Mun Kiwoo’s voice is clear now, loud enough for all three men to hear.  “You have been rather insistent about this meeting. I’m a busy guy.  What do you want?”

All three men strain to listen to Donghyuk’s response, but it’s too muffled to catch.  Yoongi brings his hands to his throat to make a choking gesture.  Can’t hear shit, he mouths.  You choked him too hard.

Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“That sounds like your problem,” Mun laughs in response to whatever Kang has said.  “Not mine.”

Donghyuk gestures wildly as he tries to make his case, likely pleading for the protection of the Ssijog.   Mun Kiwoo looks unmoved.

“I’m not interested in causing any more trouble with the Gajog, Mr. Kang.  This entire situation has been a means to an end.  Stirring more shit with Kim Namjoon is not in my best interest.”

Namjoon signals to Yoongi and Hoseok that it’s time to move.  All three men step out from their cover behind the shipping container, hands in front of their bodies to demonstrate none are holding their weapons.

“Fucking hell,” Mun Kiwoo groans when he spots them.  “I don’t have time for this shit.”

His guards bow up at his side, both men reaching for their guns.  Mun has the good sense to raise a hand and stop them from pulling their firearms -- which keeps Yoongi and Hoseok from doing the same.  All of the men face off in silence for a moment, each side waiting to see if the other will do something to break the fragile peace.

Kang Donghyuk whines under his breath and Hoseok shoots a warning glare at him.  He drops his gaze to the ground and shuts his mouth.

“You say you don’t want trouble with me, Mun and yet --” Namjoon snarls, “-- you have this piece of shit working my sister. Explain.”

“You know how these rich boys are, Kim,” Mun chuckles.  “They develop a bad habit -- or in this idiot’s case, two -- and daddy’s money isn’t enough anymore.  They’re easy to buy.”

Donghyuk looks from Namjoon to Mun, panic in his wide eyes.

“They’re trying to kill me,” he rasps.

“So what?” Mun laughs.  He smiles wide to reveal a mouth like an abandoned graveyard, teeth broken and scattered.  “This guy thinks we’re friends,” he jeers, jerking a thumb in Donghyuk’s direction.  “He’s too stupid to figure out that he served a purpose and now he doesn’t anymore.  Simple as that.”  

Namjoon sucks in a breath with obvious irritation.

“I’m still waiting to hear what any of this shit has to do with my sister.”

“Ah, yes,” Mun says, stubbing out his cigarette and getting back to the task at hand. “Listen, I don’t have anything against your sister personally, okay? Lim Joowon is my son and I want him back.  He can’t spend the next 15 years behind bars. You understand that, right? Doing whatever it takes for your family?”

Namjoon utters a curse under his breath.

“I’ll give your sister some credit, though -- she’s tenacious.  I thought she’d give up after we took her digital files,” Mun admits.  “Instead she’s cost me a hell of a lot more money.  I’ve had to start cutting a lot more checks to ensure this shit goes away.”

“She’s not the type to roll over and play dead, Mun,” Namjoon growls through gritted teeth.  

“The pigheaded gene runs in the family, huh?” Mun grins. “Look, let me level with you Kim, man to man.  I don’t even need your sister at this point. I’ve paid enough people to fuck this case from the inside out.  But I won’t lie, she is my insurance.  If any of the higher-ups start asking questions about why this case fell apart -- who better to point the finger at than the sweet young prosecutor with the dirty family connections, hmm?”

Namjoon tenses, hand reaching for the gun at his side.  Yoongi stops him with a muttered warning.

“None of us give a fuck about what happens to your son, Mun,” Namjoon says. “What I have a problem with is you sending that piece of shit --” he points at the trembling Kang Donghyuk, “ -- into her fucking home. Invading her space.  You crossed a line.”

“You’re right,” Mun agrees lightly.  “It was rude. Uncalled for.  I’m gonna apologize for it right now.”

He pulls his pistol from his side and the sound of clinking metal bounces off the shipping containers as everyone pulls their guns.  Hoseok trains his pistol directly at the shaking Kang Donghyuk and silently prays for the chance to pull the trigger. Mun Kiwoo’s gun is pointed at Namjoon and Namjoon’s is pointed right back.

Then Mun’s face lights up with a bizarre smile. He swings the point of his pistol in the direction of Donghyuk and pulls the trigger twice.

Donghyuk sputters as he falls to the floor.

Hoseok and Yoongi exchange looks.  

Namjoon stares at Mun incredulously.

“What?” Mun’s nonchalance is comical.  “You wanted to do that too, right?  Besides, that guy owes everyone in the city money. I promise you, his own mother won’t even miss him.”

“Jesus,” Yoongi mutters under his breath. “This guy is fucking nuts.”

Mun puts his pistol away and his men follow suit.  Namjoon signals for Yoongi and Hoseok to do the same.  

“Consider that a goodwill gesture,” Mun says breezily.  “An official apology from me, to you.  And please pass along my consideration to your sister.  Please assure her that none of this is personal.  But I will make sure my son stays out of prison.  And like it or not, she’s going to play some kind of role in that.”

Namjoon stares off into the water.

“I can’t control my sister, Mun.  She makes her own choices,” he says after a moment.  “But let me be clear, this is the first and last polite discourse we’re going to have about this situation.  I don’t want you, your goons or any --” he glances at the bleeding pile of Kang Donghyuk on the floor, “-- paid help going near her.  Not in her office, not in her home. Nowhere. Are we clear?”

Mun Kiwoo lights another cigarette and smiles wide, the space in his teeth prominent against the gleaming ember hanging from his mouth.  

“Crystal.”

On the way back to the car, Hoseok hears the heavy splash of Kang Donghyuk’s body hitting the water down below.

He shuts his eyes against the rush of pleasure he feels as he climbs into the backseat.

************************

YOU

Something isn’t right.

You stare at the empty seat across the conference table -- the one where Hyejin normally sits -- and something twists in your gut.  She’s out sick today.  You can’t even remember the last time she took a sick day.

All morning, you’ve tried to convince yourself that it’s no big deal.  That you’re working yourself up for nothing.

But Donghyuk is out today, too.  

Vaguely, you register the sound of your boss’s voice at the front of the room. Any minute now, you’ll be asked to brief the team on the status of your case, but you can’t think straight.  You can’t focus on anything but the feeling in the pit of your stomach that something is wrong.  

Your thoughts race back to last night, back to your brother taking his men away for business in the middle of the night.

Back to Hoseok.

You try not to think about what it felt like to have his warm body pressed against yours. The way he smelled like fresh laundry and spice. The way you unraveled the moment he touched you.  

Your phone pulses with an incoming text.

namjoon: i’ve asked jungkook to bring you to the office tonight after work [ 1:25 PM ]

namjoon: a lot to discuss [ 1:26 PM ]

Your brain grinds to a halt as you stare at the messages.

It’s like everything is wrong and everything is right, all at the same time.

“Miss. Kim?”

You look up to see your boss staring at you, one expectant eyebrow raised.  You take a deep breath, line up your papers and stand to take your place at the front of the room.

****************************

The sense of déjà vu that hits you as you make the long walk across your brother’s office is nearly overwhelming.  This is exactly how this entire mess began weeks ago -- with you summoned to see Namjoon after hours, with Yoongi and Hoseok flanking him on either side.

But there is one thing different about tonight.

When you briefly lock gazes with Hoseok as you make your way to Namjoon’s plush chair, there is a warmth behind his dark eyes you can see from a distance. It’s a complete contrast to the first time you ever saw him, when you thought you could freeze to death from the ice in his glare.

You look away before anyone can catch the flush working its way up your neck.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you brother begins evenly.  “I finally have some answers for you about what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m ready to hear them,” you exhale, taking a seat.  Your eyes drift over the papers strewn scattered across his desk.  

“We’ve learned that the reason the Ssijog want your case against Lim Joowon to fold is because Lim is Mun Kiwoo’s son.”

You raise a brow.

“That’s news to me.  I didn’t even know Mun Kiwoo had a son.”

“Neither did we,” Namjoon admits.  “Apparently this is his only son and the man he intends to pass control of the Ssijog down to.  So it makes sense that he’s so hell-bent on seeing this case fall apart.”

He picks one of the papers off his desk.

“This is the more problematic piece of the puzzle,” Namjoon says quietly.  Your chest tightens in response to the expression on his face. “Jimin and Taehyung tracked a Ssijog account making payouts.  Payouts to people in your office.”

He holds the piece of paper out to you.

“There are six names on that list.”

You take a deep breath before taking the sheet from his hands.  

Your eyes scan down the document, taking in the blows, one by one.  Two receptionists.  One paralegal.  

Lee Hyejin.  

Kang Donghyuk.  

Park Soo.

You say nothing as you stare at the list, taking in the names again.

Someone you called a friend.  Someone you’d allowed into your bed.  The boss you’d bent over backwards trying to impress.  You stare at the black-and-white evidence of betrayal in your hands, reading the words over and over -- expecting to feel sadness or rage or humiliation or something.  

Nothing comes.

“Give us a moment, would you please?”

Yoongi and Hoseok file out of the room quietly at Namjoon’s command.  The second the heavy door to the office clicks shut, he clears his throat.  “There is something else we need to discuss, Amsaja,” your brother continues quietly.  “Kang Donghyuk is dead.”

“Good.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide at the quick, calm delivery of your response.

You stand to walk to his sideboard to pour a drink.  You have no idea what’s inside the decanter, only that whatever it is promises a burn you want to feel right now. You pour a glass and take a sip, leaning against the heavy wooden piece.

“Did you kill him?”

“No. The Ssijog beat us to it,” Namjoon admits.  “But Hoseok paid Donghyuk a personal visit at home to convey our -- displeasure -- at his involvement in this mess. He damned near choked that man to death hours before Mun Kiwoo put two bullets in him.”

“I’m sorry anyone has ever tried you because I promise you they are going to pay.”

The words Hoseok spoke in your kitchen surface in your mind.  

They’d sent a bolt of pleasure through you at the time -- triggering a kind of primitive response you’d be embarrassed to admit out loud.

And somehow that response pales in comparison to what you’re feeling right now.

A normal woman wouldn’t find satisfaction in the idea of Donghyuk cowering in fear inside his apartment.  A normal woman wouldn’t feel warmth spread through her entire body at the mental image of Hoseok wrapping his hands around Donghyuk’s throat.  You slip a finger under the collar of your blouse and search for your scar -- closing your eyes at the familiar feel of the raised skin.  

You remind yourself that you are not a normal woman.

“Hoseok uncovered Kang’s involvement with the Ssijog even before we found the payouts.”  Your brother pauses, a wry twist to his mouth as he continues.  “He can be a very determined man when something is important to him.”

Namjoon holds your gaze for just a beat too long after delivering that statement.  You look away and walk to his office window.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now, Amsaja,” you brother says.  You can hear the sound of him pouring his own drink behind you.  “Your silence has me concerned.”

You’re thinking about every time Hyejin feigned concern for you and tried to get you to open up. The days Donghyuk insisted he take you to lunch or to dinner when you insisted you were too swamped.  The bullshit little speech Park Soo gave you the night of the charity dinner about keeping Seoul from falling into the hands of criminals.

You’re thinking about what a joke they all are -- dressing up and looking down their noses at the criminal element they claim to despise.  Wearing their fake piety like a badge of honor and paying for their fine things with dirty money.  

You’re thinking that you’d rather choose a hundred street thugs over any one of their kind.  At least your brother has the balls to wear his sins on his sleeve.  

Namjoon joins you at the window, glass in hand.  

“What I’m thinking, Jaegyueo,” you say calmly, “Is that a lot of things are starting to make sense for me.  I haven’t felt this clear in a very long time.  So, thank you.”

A smile tugs at the corner of your brother’s mouth and you return it.

You clink your glasses together in a toast.

***********************

You are two whiskeys deep when you leave Namjoon’s office.  

Hoseok is waiting in a chair in the hallway.  He stands to his feet when you appear from behind the heavy wooden door.  

You suck in a breath as you take him in -- the sharp beauty of his face and the soft curve of his mouth and the way his suit hugs the lines of his lean body.  You realize, with more than a little embarrassment, that you are staring.

“I’ve got the car warming downstairs,” Hoseok says carefully.  “If you’re ready to go, that is.”

“Yes. Hoseok, I --” you swallow thickly,  “-- I never apologized for what I said to you.  I didn’t mean those things. I’m so sorry.”

Hoseok steps close and reaches one hand out to tuck your hair behind your ear.  You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch and inhaling his scent.

“You’ve had a hell of a night,” he murmurs.  “We can talk about that some other time.  Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You open your eyes to look up at him just as Yoongi rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks.

“Glad this isn’t awkward,” he mutters, before turning to walk back the same way he came.

**********************

The air in Hoseok’s car is thick with tension on the ride home.

You’ve stopped pretending to not stare, eyes fixed on Hoseok while his eyes stay glued to the road.  He guides the car through a sharp turn and you catch the way he winces as his hand grips the steering wheel.  

A throb of guilt hits you square in the chest.

“You’re hurt.”

“Nah,” Hoseok deflects quickly.  “Just a little sore.”

He won’t look at you.  Why won’t he look at you?

“Namjoon told me you nearly choked Donghyuk to death,” you say quietly, studying his face for any reaction. He slows the car to a stop at a red light and rubs his fingers across his mouth, stares out of his window.

“I wanted to kill him,” he admits.  He takes his aching hand off the steering wheel and flexes his fingers as if reliving the memory of that night. “I almost did.”

That embarrassing reaction flares inside of you again.  This time it slides down your back and pools low between your legs and you have to squeeze your thighs together in response.  You shiver as you remember the promises he made while pressing his body to yours.

“Tell me what you want. I swear to God, I’ll give it to you.”

You’ve never wanted anything as badly as you do Jung Hoseok right now.

*************************

You force yourself to wait for the elevator doors to shut.

The second they do, you crush your body and your mouth to Hoseok’s.  If you catch him off-guard, there’s no way to tell -- not with the way he immediately backs you into the elevator wall, slotting one knee between your thighs.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore,” he groans the words into the shell of your ear, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck.  “Just like no one gets to touch you anymore.  No one but me.”

The strangled sigh that escapes you is the closest thing Hoseok is going to get to a thank you right now.  You whimper in agreement, gasping when his fingers grip your ass to pull you flush against him.  The swollen outline of his cock brushes against your stomach and you shudder.

The elevator ride is too long and too short, all at the same time.  Hoseok backs you through the doors as soon as they open, fumbling in his pocket for the keys while you suck bruises into his throat.  By some miracle, he gets the door open and both of you through it in one piece.

“Fuck,” Hoseok swears as you wrap your arms around his neck, grinding against his insistent cock.  He has to drag you both into the bedroom as you press against him like a dead weight, teeth nipping at his bottom lip as you both stumble into the bedroom.  You drop out of his grasp when the bed hits the back of your knees.

Hoseok stands back, chest heaving with exertion.

“I need you to hear you say it,” he pants.  “Please.”

You sit up straight on the edge of the bed and unbutton your blouse, slipping it off without hesitation.  “No one gets to touch me,” you breathe, reaching to unclasp your bra.  You toss it away.

“No one but you.”  

Hoseok’s eyes darken to near black.

He shrugs off his suit jacket and slowly pulls off his holster and gun, placing both carefully on top of your dresser.  Then he turns back, body looming over yours.  He cups your cheek with one large hand, looking down at you with such heat that your breath hitches in your chest.

You lean into his touch, fingertips grazing the contour of his cock beneath his suit pants.  

“You promised to give me anything I want,” you whisper, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. He nods slowly, the rasp in his voice betraying the calm on his face.

“Anything.  Name it.”

“I want to take care of you,” you say, pulling the hem of his shirt out of his pants.  Your fingers work the buttons open, one by one.  “Let me.”

Hoseok exhales a heavy breath as you open his shirt and stroke your hands down his chest. You give yourself a moment to admire the lean strength of his body, fingers stroking over the metal tags that hang just above one dark, flat nipple.

His stomach tightens and his cock twitches in his pants when you tilt forward to press a soft kiss to the golden skin just above his belt.  You work it open with unsteady hands and his pants follow just a moment later.

“I want to make you feel good,” you whisper, nuzzling the outline of his length with your cheek.  You push his boxers down his slim hips just enough to expose the head of his cock.  “I don’t want you to think about anything but this.”

Hoseok groans when you flick your tongue against him.  

His cock throbs under your fingertips through the fabric of his underwear when you dip down to tease the head with your mouth.  You lap at the salty moisture gathered at the swollen tip and his head drops back.

“Sweetheart, please --” he grits out, hands reaching for your hair.  He winds his fingers through the strands and jerks when you rake your teeth across the wet ridge under the head of his cock. “-- don’t tease me.”

Some other time you might play the delayed gratification game with him.  You might take hours to torture him and keep him dangling at the precipice of pleasure.  Tonight, though -- the only thing you want to do is make him come so hard he can’t see straight.

“I won’t,” you promise sweetly, pulling the rest of his thick length free from his boxers to wrap your warm fingers around him.  You flick your gaze up to appreciate the way his head is tipped back in pleasure, lips parted.

“Look at me,” you murmur, pumping him with languid strokes.

His eyes are glassy with arousal when he opens them to gaze down at you.  You make sure he’s watching as you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you draw your mouth across his length.  He gathers your hair in his hands so he can appreciate the unobstructed view of your private show.

“No one gets to touch you anymore,” you whisper.  You take him down as far as you can again, tongue dragging against the thick vein that runs the length of his cock.  You are panting when you pull off him, tongue running the seam of your lower lip as you catch your breath.

“No one but me.”

Hoseok’s dick jerks in your hand in response, hand tightening in your hair as you lick a long stripe up his shaft.  He chokes out a moan as you lick at the sensitive spot just under the head of his cock, eyes fixed on his.

“No more,” he croaks.  

You pull your mouth away reluctantly, tongue swiping at the taste of him on your lips and the sight seems to set him off.  He grabs your face with both hands, groaning into your mouth as he claims it.

He pulls away, panting.

“Lie back,” he demands between breaths.  You comply without question.

Hoseok leans over you, arms braced on either side of your body as he drops his head down to take one nipple between his teeth.  Your hips jerk at the stimulation and you squirm underneath him, thighs slippery with your own excitement.  He laves at both nipples slowly, thoroughly, until they are aching and wet.  Then he trails a soft line of kisses back up to your ear.

“I want to taste what’s mine,” he whispers, and a pang of arousal hits you so hard you forget to breathe.  You lift your hips to help him pull your skirt away along with your soaked panties and he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you. Every muscle in your body locks in anticipation.

Hoseok nudges your legs apart with his hands, placing gentle kisses along your inner thighs.  His dark eyes are half-hooded with pleasure by the time he drapes your legs over his shoulders.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he groans when you are fully spread open for him.  He drops a kiss on your mound and your body jolts at the sensation, every nerve ending standing at attention.  He moves lower, long fingers tracing the outline of your swollen cunt and you suck in a breath.  

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping one finger into your damp heat.  “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you choke out, hands gripping the sheets as his finger flexes inside of you.

“Only for you.”

Hoseok makes a sound of satisfaction deep in his chest before sealing his lips over your aching clit.  You shudder against his mouth when he pulls back to soothe you with the flat of his tongue.  “You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined how you would taste,” Hoseok groans, licking deeply into your wetness.  “It doesn’t even come close.  Nothing comes close to this.”

“Hoseok --”  your hands come off of the sheets to grip into his hair, “-- Hoseok, please don’t stop.”

Your senses are so heightened that just the pressure of the heel of his hand against your cunt is making you crazy.  His finger crooks deep inside you, stroking against your swollen walls while his lips and teeth toy with your clit.  You whine at the stimulation, at the wet drag of his tongue that has you writhing beneath him.

“You’re close sweetheart, I can hear it,” Hoseok’s voice is ragged with arousal. “Let me hear you.  Come for me.”

You clutch his hair between your fingers, moaning brokenly as the heat between your legs simmers to a boil.

“Hoseok --”

“That’s it,” he praises you with dirty words spoken in the sweetest way. “Let me taste you. Let me hear you.”

Hoseok is prepared the moment you come apart.

He grasps your hips firmly in those large, warm hands of his -- tongue and lips persistent as the live wire inside you tightens and snaps. The force of your orgasm shakes your entire body and leaves you begging and breathless. Hoseok savors every drop of your release until your hips sink back into the mattress and you protest weakly against the threat of overstimulation.

The mattress dips under you as Hoseok joins you on the bed, lips swollen with use and mouth marked with your taste.  His head dips into the hollow of your neck, nipping gently at the skin, while his fingers skate over the soft skin of your stomach and thighs.  

You shiver in his hold, closing your eyes for a moment to savor the feeling of his body on yours.

“I want to watch you come like that every day,” Hoseok whispers into your ear.  “Only for me.”

“Only for you,” you agree in a whisper, finding your voice after what seems like ages.  

You slip one hand between you, fingers wrapping firmly around the rigid cock pressed against your stomach.  Hoseok groans when you tighten your hand around him.

“Hoseok,” you breathe, feeling a pulse between your legs that seems to beat in time with the throb of his cock in your palm, “Fuck me please, I’m losing my mind.”

His hoarse chuckle sends a shiver up your spine as he moves to cover you completely with his body.  He lines up the head of his cock at your entrance and you tilt your hips up into his.  

“Please,” you plead again, lifting your head to brush your lips against his.  “Now.”

He sinks his cock into you slowly, inch by inch, groaning at the tight fit of your cunt around him.  The stretch inside of you is nearly too much -- you whimper when he bottoms out and he drops his forehead to yours.

“You okay? Am I hurting you?”

His entire body feels like a rubber band ready to snap -- coiled energy waiting to be released.  But he holds back the instinct to move until you nod your agreement.

“You feel so good,” you murmur, nudging his hips to move with your own.  You stroke your hands down the slick skin of his back.  “I’m so full right now.”

Hoseok swears under his breath as he tentatively rocks his hips against yours, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside of you.  You wrap your legs around him as the discomfort subsides and the only sensation that’s left is the pleasant pressure of his cock against your walls.

Hoseok’s hips move harder as your whimpers melt into moans.

“Dammit,” he swears, head dropping low between his shoulder blades.  “So tight and wet for me.  So perfect for me.”

You look up to take in the sight of his perfect face slack with pleasure, mouth parted and face flushed with exertion.  His dog tags hang from his neck, swaying as his hips begin to piston in earnest.  You pull on them to force his mouth close to yours.

“Only for you,” you whisper, “No one else.”

Hoseok’s steady rhythm stutters when you whisper those words into his mouth and press your lips to his.  His hips jerk wildly as his release races up his shaft.  He laces his fingers into yours, fucking you deep into the mattress in those final seconds as he loses all control to chasing his end.

He comes with your name on his lips.

************************

Hoseok breathes deeply into your hair as you stroke your fingers across the lean lines of his chest, fingers tracing the metal outline of his dog tags.  You lie together like that for a while, skin to skin.

Your thoughts are loud in the quiet.  

You’re used to the bitter sting of betrayal by now.  

Long before Lee Hyejin or Kang Donghyuk or Park Soo ever sold you out for a check, your own father betrayed you for the bottle.  You of all people know too well that most people aren’t to be trusted.

But then Hoseok’s fingers drag lightly across your back and they bring you back to the here and now -- back to the promise he made to you tonight.

“No one gets to hurt you anymore.”

And you decide to trust just one more time.

************************

@saintjeonofbusan @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain @sunkissed725 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale @sugaminyoonjiji @jinhitwhore @trust-me-im-joly @daydreambrliever @jjeonjoon @ultraanonymousey @yoon-bug @multistantrash17 @poohsaidhi @alyboo-jpeg @sahmfanficbts @yoongissugarmommy @ppersonna @p-polaroid @vi-hoshi @stressedinmedschool247 @jgissle12 @ctvrty @btsnatalena @strawbewymiwk @stephleee @jalexa83 @livanthi @fantasybangtan @trviahope​ @mono-kookie@hauntedlilies @sugasaidbultaoreune @yeojaa @secret-alphabets @hodginss@parkjimin-persona​

[specialmindz]

“Mmm *POMP!* this some good milk, Snas,” said Papyrus, shuffling around in his brother’s makeshift backpack. It wasn’t very comfortable, but as long as he didn’t have to crawl…

“eh, i prefer hot chocolate myself,” replied Sans. “glad you like your milk baby bro, i was worried about how it’d do in the microwave cause’ of all the chemicals, but you’re not dead yet so…”

“Daddy say is okay to put mah super milk in da’ mikeywave…or is I baby guinea pig?” Papyrus narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“guinea pigs are cute pap!”

“…”

Sans blew on his hot chocolate for what seemed like the sixth time. He didn’t put his drink in the microwave like Papyrus’s, he preferred to use boiled water as the cold weather of Snowdin usually cooled it off without him having to do anything.

Today though, they weren’t going to Snowdin, plans had changed.

Alphys had always had a messy workspace, but the Nursery, according to her, was in worse shape. FAR worse shape. She didn’t mind the broken toys scattered everywhere seeing as it wasn’t her room, but the fact that the toys came from the Dump meant they smelled terrible. Sans and the rest of the family were either nose-blind to it, or simply didn’t care, but Alphys couldn’t stand it. She complained weekly about the stench, claiming it was getting worse and worse, seeping from underneath the Nursery door and distracting her from work, but no one would do anything about it.

Today, SHE took the initiative and decided to spray the Nursery with every air freshener they had, making it impossible and even dangerous to sleep in the room; that meant that not only did they have to find a new place to sleep, but Baby Papyrus also missed his nap.

Not good.      

“You an idiot,” mumbled the cranky infant, unhappy to be a baby guinea pig.

“whatever.”

“Lazy idiot stink head with stupid broke gloves…”

“heh ha! they’re not broke pappy, that’s how they’re SUPPOSED to look. these are fingerless gloves,” explained Sans, hoping to laugh away his irritation. Papyrus wasn’t having it though.

“Your gloves dumb like you.”

“they’re not dumb! i think they make me look cool…”

“They make you look homeless. I half aspect you to be shaking a tin can around, asking for monies.”

“Screw you, Papyrus.”

“Is I your bindle, big Buther? You’s supposed to carry me on a stick…”

“SHUT UP, PAPYRUS.”

“Can you do da’ har-mon-ica? Pay a song for the baby.”

The young comedian quickened his pace towards the Resort Area. “i’ll pay you a beating, you keep mouthing off,” mumbled Sans under his breath.  

“Ooooh, Buther think he tough now cause’ he gots biker gloves! Nyeh heh heh, what gang you from, Snas? Pussies of Anarchy? Renegade Rejects?”

San didn’t reply, he merely pushed open the doors of the Resort and went inside, not wanting to travel all the way to Snowdin’s hotel or teleport whilst carrying his brother in a bag rather than his arms. He knew for a fact that anything touching his body would travel with him, but what about the things that weren’t? Or the things he wasn’t holding on to purposely?

It’s not like I’ve ever lost anything in my pockets when I take my shortcuts, but I still don’t feel comfortable with something so precious in such a flimsy bag…

“Harlem’s Asshats?”

Hm…maybe “precious” isn’t the right word to use for Pap.  

Sans grimaced as Papyrus continued to complain and come up with more insulting gang names. He himself was a complainer when HE didn’t get enough sleep, but Papyrus?

“Big-butted Bums of Bloomington!”

His brother REALLY sucked when he missed his nap. He was loud, angry, and mean. Babies weren’t supposed to miss their daily naps and baby bones already had hot tempers to begin with…

TA-TAP, TA-TAP!

The Receptionist, a monster with a giant hand in place of her head, tapped her red painted nails on the counter impatiently, a strange sight for those who weren’t used to seeing it. “Do you need a room you two?”

TA-TAP, TA-TAP!

“No, I needs a doctor cause’ Snas give me irradiated milk!” Papyrus tried to point his finger accusingly at his brother, but found it next to impossible in his current position, so instead he threw his bottle on the ground.

“NYEH!”

CAP, CAP!

It bounced along the tile floor, empty despite his whining, and rolled to a stop before a janitor, who kindly picked it up. “Ah-hawww, looks like you’ve got a fussy baby on your hands!” chuckled the employee, returning the bottle.

CAP, CAP, CAP!

“HAHAHAHA!”

“PAPYRUS! i’m so sorry sir-”

“Oh, don’t be, it’s what I get paid for after all! It’s best you get that little guy to bed though…”

“NOT TIRED!”

Sans took the bottle from the janitor and put it in his pocket. Even if his brother were telling the truth, he knew the Lying Font was still going to ACT tired, and a tired baby was a cranky baby. For Papyrus, a missed nap was all the excuse in the world to be a douche, and Sans would rather fork over 400g then listen to his crap.

Lucky for us, children get discounts.

TA-TAP, TA-TAP!

“STOP HEADBUTTING DA’ TABLE NAIL LADY! IF AZZY NOT ALLOWED TO, YOU NOT ALLOWED TO!”

“E-excuse me?”

“just ignore him, miss-”

“When Azzy be small like me, he used to headbutt the desk. You not remember Nail-Lady? You was all like, ‘STOP ATTACKING THE DESK GOAT-BABY!’ and Moo-Mom say, ‘HOW DARE YOU YELL AT MAH BABY LIKE DAT!?’ and then Fluffy Buns say ‘settle down now ladies, is not that serious,” said Papyrus, voice acting each line. He’d been doing that a lot as of late, trying to “perfect his mimicry for when he got big” and by extension, he ended up disturbing those unfortunate enough to hear him. Asgore’s loud booming voice coming from such a small baby was…eerie…and it was even worse when he decided to imitate Sans...

The receptionist doesn’t have a face, but I bet she’s as uncomfortable as I am right now.

…

…

How do I get bro to stop talking though?

“…Then you got all mad Nail-Lady and say ‘HE DO DIS ERYTIME HE HERE! WHY YOU CAN’T CONTROL YO’ KID? ERYBODY ELSE CONTROL THEIR KID! YOU THINK JUST CAUSE’ YOU THE KING YOU CAN DESTROY? NOT ERYBODY WICH LIKE YOU!”

“…I actually DO remember,” said the receptionist. “Someone, who used to do that. Yes…there was a small child with an entitled mother who used to headbutt and jump atop the furniture…”

Who was that?

“Yep! I’s there too with Chara, so I knows! You and the Moo Lady used to argue about discounts-”

“Oh my goodness, you’re right!” the woman suddenly remembered. “There was a woman who claimed she should only have to pay the regular 400g because you weren’t her child and THEN she got upset when I AGREED and asked you for 200g-”

“HOW YOU GONNA ASK A BABY FOR MONIES? BABIES SHOULD GET IN FREE! YOU DOESN’T EVEN GOTS CWIBS!”  

“That’s EXACTLY how it went, every single time. It was always the same argument.” The monster, who prided herself on her professionalism, could feel herself getting angry all over again, her old forgotten hatred bubbling to the surface. She couldn’t stand the Royal Family. The Entitled Mother, the Spinless Husband, the Destructive Child…and if she recalled, the human they adopted was an actual thief…

“Yep, and Chara was all like ‘don’t be a bitch, bitch’ and da’ Cow Lady say ‘I agwees, but I doesn’t ah-pea-ciate yo’ language my child,’ and Chara go ‘I was talking to youuuu-”

“hey pap-”

“Fluffy Buns smacked them right on the butt! It was funny.”

“Yes…Chara was their name…the thieving human who kept getting in trouble with security. They would go into other people’s rooms and take their things like it was okay and the mother-”

“She say, ‘Oh Chara just curious, you should be more patient wit yo’ customers! Da’ world of monsters be new to them ya’ know? They just a child…!”

“…”

Sans didn’t know how she was doing it, but he could have sworn he heard growling coming from the woman’s direction.

“ha ha…hey uh, bro? let’s just get us a room already, yeah? i’m sure the receptionist here is busy-”

“TWO WOOMS PEAS!” yelled the infant. “One for the baby and one for the Pussy of Anarchy.”

“damnit pap…!”

“Very well, that’ll be 400g then.”

Glaring over his shoulder, Sans forked over the money and headed to their room. “now bro, there are other people in this resort so try not to be a dick, alright? we need to be quiet-”

“WAIT SNAS!” the baby bones picked himself up out of the bag with his wingdings. “I gots to visit the fountain real quick.”

“Oh uh, please don’t urinate in the fountain,” said the receptionist raising a finger. “The rooms have toilets in them.”

“I’s not a gross peepee-baby Nail-Lady, don’t you know a cute widdle skelly when you sees one? I’s looking for coins-”

“Absolutely not!” cried the woman, her tone taking a sudden turn. “This fountain is a memorial to…someone. It is strictly forbidden to gather the coins within, read the sign!” The monster pointed at a sign that said “Stay Out of the Fountain.” Apparently, people were so desperate, they were stealing G from the memorial…

“I NEEDS EM’ TO PAY SNAS BACK!” yelled Papyrus, wondering how much 200g was.

“READ. THE. SIGN. THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE!” she replied, shouting just as loud. Clearly theft was a daily problem for her.

“heh heh, you don’t need to pay me back lil’ bro, thanks though.”

That was…unexpectedly sweet.

“I’s not a deadbeat big Buther…also, I can’t reads so dat sign don’t apply to me.”

“THAT’S NOT HOW THAT WORKS!”

“you do too know how to read, quit your lying pap,” said Sans chuckling.

“I’s not lying, I’s a baby and babies don’t read. Erybody knows that! Isn’t that right Nail- Lady?”

“I just told you what it said, get away from that fountain!”

“Babies also have poor memor-ies. I doesn’t remember what you said,” Papyrus used his wingdings to scoop up a handful of coins and deposited them into his onesie to count later. “I’s very sorry for da’ inco-venience.”

“PUT THOSE BACK OR I’LL HAVE TO ASK YOU TWO TO LEAVE!”

“uh, okay pappy this is getting serious, let’s just put the pretty coins back like the nice lady said…”

“Is serious? THEN WE SERIOUSLY WANT OUR MONIES BACK,” said Papyrus, angrily. Here he was being a good bae, paying back his big brother, (something babies did NOT have to do) and this big person wanted to yell at him?

CLEARLY, she was a baby-hater and didn’t deserve to have such cute guests staying at her gaudy hotel.

“We take back our monies and we go somewhere that ah-pea-ciates sweet babies such as ourselves. Your hotel ugly anyway…too bright, right Snas? We leave.”

“no no no, we don’t need to do that!” said Sans quickly in a panic.

“FINE, TAKE IT AND GO!”

WHAP!

The receptionist slammed the money down on the counter.

I’m so sick of serving thieves…

“wha-ho, lady! let’s just calm down alright? *sigh* geeze…” Sans scratched behind his skull. “why don’t we come to a compromise? that sound good?”

I CAN’T take Pappy to that inn in Snowdin again, I didn’t sleep at all last time!

The comedian winced, remembering the night he spent there with Papyrus. The infant didn’t like the snoring from the other guests in the room.

“Nyeh? Com-per-mize…? Waz dat?”

“it’s a negotiation,” explained Sans. “where arguing people get a little bit of what they want, so everyone’s happy…ish.”

TA-TAP! TA-TAP!

“Okay Snas, I do da’ com-per-mize cause’ I’s a good bae,” said Papyrus sweetly. Seemed he was done acting cranky for the day…or so Sans hoped.

“good boy, pappy! GOOD babies compromise allll the time.”

“No they don’t, but Imma make an ah-ception cause’ I doesn’t like the snoring baes in Snowdin. Remember them Snas? The snoring bunny baes?”

“heh heh, yep, iiiii remember.”

“You can’t tell a sweepy baby to shut the fuk up, cause’ they just babies, so we get no sweep and the Inn lady get all our monies for fee! Is a scam, I KNOWS it!”

“Put the coins back please,” said the receptionist, no longer interested in Papyrus’s stories.

“Kay’. Papyrus picked himself up out of the fountain and waddled over to the counter, his onesie jiggling with coins and leaving a wet trail behind him. I gots a good idea for a com-per-mize Nail-Lady.”

“I thought you were going to put the coins back?”

“Slow yo’ roll woman, we makes a commerize first-”

“compromise’ bro.”

Papyrus ignored him. “I’ll put the coins back like you say…and in return for being a good baby bones, I gets a fee room, kay’? Dat sound like a good commercialize?”  

“…No.”

“*pfft!* papyrus-”

“Why not Nail-Lady? It solve both our problems, yes? Why you so unreason-able?”

The receptionist sighed and hung her head, her energy for the day having been completely drained.

I forgot how terrible this infant was, all he does is talk and make things worse. Why is he even here? Doesn’t he have a mother and father to go home to?

Ugh, he’s still going...

“…Good babies get rewards Nail-Lady, is the law. Dat’s how we learns to be good people’s ya’ know? I do something good…then I gets a reward, then I be good again to get another reward. You see where I’s going with dis?”

“There’s a difference between a reward and a bribe, child-”

“I’s not a child, I’s a baby! How you gonna learn if you no listen? BIG people’s get bribes, BABIES get rewards-”

“bro, stop, it’s okay,” said Sans picking up his brother. “i’ll pay your way and if you really want to return the debt, you can pay me back with your OWN mon-”

“Except ugly babies like Snas, they get nothing.”

“…you know what? nevermind, you can sleep out here like the bum you’re destined to be." He put Papyrus back down.

“I can join your gang…?”

“no, we’re full.”

“Bums of Bloomington full?”

“yyyep.”

“Kick someone out.”

CA-CLACK!

The receptionist pressed the security button underneath her desk.

“why should i? you don’t have biker gloves and you’re mean.”

“Baby not mean! Also, I’s family and family comes first. Kick someone out.”

“no.”

CLANK, CLANK, CLANK!

The two boys stopped fighting and grew silent as a giant knight in black armor approached the counter.

“*Yawn* ………Is there a problem ma’am?”

“Yes, there is,” replied the receptionist. “That baby is stealing from the fountain…and apparently the other one is in a gang-”

“what? no i’m not! papyrus is lying!”

“Nope, is true all right. My big Buther a rebel! He drive his motorcycle around at night when is bedtime.”

“no i don’t, shut up papyrus!”

“……...Is this true?”

Sans gave the knight an irritated look, “why don’t you tell me? why don’t you tell me where i can ride a motorbike without filling the underground with carbon dioxide? why don’t you tell me where i can get one whose pedals i can even reach? where i can get one PERIOD-”    

“……...You don’t need to be a smartass.”

“…”

“………Please return the coins.”

“…”

“Why you gots so many ellipses in yo’ text Knight-Lady? You sweepy too?” The baby bones crawled over to the sleepy giant and gave her the coins in his onesie. “Here you go Heavy-Lady, now you can affords to sweep like us!”

“that’s very sweet, pappy-”

Papyrus turned to the receptionist, “NOW baby gets a fee room?”

“*sigh*”

Damnit bro…

“…No.”

“Nyeh? Why not? I WAS GOOD, GOD DAMNS IT!”

“Get out.”  

“NYEHHHHAAAAHHHH!!”

“papyrus, you don’t need to scream-”

KA-CHUR-GERGERGER!

Taking out a coin pouch, the knight poured some G onto the receptionist’s counter, “…400g right?”

“You don’t have to do that Knight Knight-”

“Yes, I do,” replied the armored monster, handing over the coins Papyrus gave her. “It’s a knight’s duty to help those in need…and we live in times where money is scarce…” She looked down at the skeletal children. “…Remember these words well…following the rules may make others happy and keep the peace, but if it comes at the cost of your or another person’s survival…ignore them.”

“…”

“…”

And with that, Knight Knight walked back to her post, leaving the receptionist alone with the two brothers.

The hand monster wasn’t angry anymore, in fact, she felt a bit guilty and embarrassed over her previous behavior. It was true that the coins in the fountain were people’s wishes…and it was part of her job to make sure people treated those wishes and the memorial with respect, but when looking at the big picture and thinking about WHY so many thieves were running about, well, it was clear who the bad guy was.

“I apologize for my previous behavior,” said the receptionist bowing low. “I’d forgotten that rules were made to help others, not act as bait for the desperate. There’s no point in a memorial if there’s no one left to honor it.”

How many people have starved to death for my job?

She winced and shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of such thoughts. What was done was done, all she could do now was change so it never happened again.

“Is okay Nail-Lady!” said Papyrus petting her back with his wingdings, “It’s your intentions dat count, not what you do.”

“that’s true. as long as you’re at least TRYING to do the right thing, you’re still a good person. mistakes are mistakes, ya’ know? you shouldn’t be punished for something you didn’t MEAN to do, ain’t that right pap?”

“Daz right big Buther! Now give us da’ key.”

“say please.”

“No.”

The woman handed the baby bones, who had taken the liberty of climbing onto the counter, the key to their room. “Please enjoy your stay.”

“YAAAASS! C’MON SNAS, IS TIME FOR YO’ NAP!”

“you mean it’s time for OUR nap, pappy.”

“NOT TIRED!”

As the boys headed to their room, the receptionist left her post and walked towards the fountain, removing the sign.

It was never put up again.

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 3

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,587

Warnings: none

A/N: I wanted to give Reader a family and this is the easiest way to do it. Btw Peggy’s husband isn’t Steve, I have other plans for him ;) Enjoy!

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

The rest of the week went by, and you kept hoping Bucky would come back. You hadn’t seen him since he’d left 300 dollars under his napkin after visiting you at work. You had tucked the bills into your bra, knowing they would be safe there, and walked home at the end of your shift.

Now it was Thursday afternoon and you were craving a day off.

Natasha’s apartment was spacious and the oversized glass window bathed the living room in natural sunlight. The apartment was a gift from Sam. Obviously.

You dropped your purse on the sofa –your bed- and laid out the bills on the coffee table. It was made of marble and brass, another gift from Sam.

You didn’t know what to do with the money, so you took it wherever you went, to keep it safe. You wanted to return it to Bucky. It was too much and you weren’t used to random acts of kindness.

You sunk into the cushion and blew out a sigh as you stared at the money. The persistent vibration of your phone against your thigh pulled you out of your thoughts. Half expecting it to be Natasha, you answered without looking at the caller ID.

The operator told you that Scott Lang was calling from Saint Quentin State Prison, and asked if you would accept the charges. You agreed. You always agreed.

“Splotchy, I need your help.”

Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back against the cushion. “I told you to stop calling me that, Scott.”

It was a silly nickname.

As a child, your mother dubbed you splotchy because of the colourful doodles you painted on the living room walls, and your siblings, who were roughly a few years older than you, had loved using that nickname. Especially since they knew you disliked it.

Their support and endless enthusiasm played a big part in your artistic journey, nurturing that spark into a flame. What started out as a childlike fascination with colours and shapes became your whole life. No one was surprised when you decided to pursue a degree in fine arts.

After the death of her husband, Peggy Carter adopted five children; a little boy from San Francisco, a little girl from Wakanda, twins from Sokovia and a little girl whose birth parents were still in high school. You were the last one, the only one she adopted as a baby.

“Is it offensive to call an artist splotchy?”

“It’s irrelevant. I haven’t painted in months,” you replied. “And we’re not kids anymore, you can use my name.”

“I’ve been calling you Splotchy for so long, I forgot your actual name.”

“You’re so funny,” you deadpanned. “What do you need, Scott?”

Scott’s tone changed suddenly, his voice grew agitated. “I need you to call Maggie. She isn’t picking up when I call her.”

“Scott,” you sighed.

“I haven’t talked to Cassie since her birthday,” he cut you off, pleading. “Please, I just want to talk to my little girl.”

Maggie was Scott’s ex-wife. Six months after his incarceration, she had filed for divorce. Natasha thought it was a real dick move but you didn’t blame Maggie. She was alone, her husband was in jail –for basically being a dumbass although the official charge was embezzlement and destruction of property- and she had a kid to raise.

Maggie wasn’t a saint but she was a good mother, and Cassie was a smart and healthy kid. Now you knew what to do with Bucky’s money.

“I’ll call her,” you said. “Listen, I’m going to put 50 bucks on your book. Buy yourself a bar of soap, I can smell you from here.” Scott interrupted you with a monotone ‘har har’. You chuckled. “I’ll buy Cassie a Christmas gift on your behalf, all right? I think she wanted a bike.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chanted over the phone, his voice muffled as if he was holding the receiver too close to his mouth. “Are you sure you can afford it? I know it isn’t easy for you. Between living in New York and paying for mom’s nursing home, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting off the conversation. “I’m not alone, Okoye helps.”

“And Wanda?”

“She sends postcards from time to time.”

The line went quiet for a moment. “I want to get out of here so bad,” Scott groaned. “Everything’s gone to shit since I went to jail.”

“Everything’s gone to shit since Pietro died, Scott.” You both remained silent, remembering your late brother. Just thinking about him made your eyes start to prickle with tears, so you cleared your throat and ended the call. “I’ll talk to Maggie. You’ll be out soon, just... stay out of trouble. Love you.”

You left your phone on the table and kicked off your shoes before you lay down on the sofa for a well-deserved nap. In your dreams your brothers weren’t either dead or in prison, your mother hadn’t been diagnosed with Alzheimer, and you weren’t a burden to your friend.

If you were lucky enough, you wouldn’t even dream at all.

The next day, Bucky arrived at the hotel at six thirty and you playfully glared at him from across the lounge. He wasn’t stupid, he knew why you were glaring at him. At least he had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Just so you know, you bought yourself about 30 breakfasts,” you told him, referring to the far-too-generous tip he had left the other day.

“A man’s gotta eat,” he replied with a boyish cockiness that made him look stupidly attractive. You were too flustered to find a good comeback.

You brought him his cup of coffee and let him enjoy his breakfast while you attended to your other clients. It was an unusually busy day, the room was packed with families who were getting ready to explore Manhattan. You didn’t have time to chat with Bucky and he didn’t stay long. You saw him flinch a couple of times; the muscles in his shoulders pulled tight and his eyes darting left and right.

He left another ridiculously generous tip, along with a handwritten note. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day x.

Bucky came back the following week, and even though it was a quiet morning, you made sure to find him a table in a secluded spot. He didn’t notice when you slipped the 300 dollars into the pocket of his coat. You could be pretty sneaky, too.

“Mmmh,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I looked at your Instagram.”

“Oh,” you glanced at your shoes, embarrassed. “Wait, you’re on Instagram? I have a hard time imagining you scrolling through your feed.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll admit I’m not as tech savvy as you youngsters, but I’m not a fossil. I use it to look at the pictures my sister post of my niblings.”

“Cute,” you grinned.

“Anyway,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair. “I love your work. It’s very unique; a cross between Impressionism and Post-impressionism. It’s realistic, and yet there’s something different...” his face scrunched up as he tried to look for the right word. “There’s something in your paintings, something that isn’t here in real life but perhaps should be. It’s hard to explain. It’s a feeling, a color, a pattern; it’s indiscernible but it’s there.” He looked up at you, his cheeks red with embarrassment. “I’m not making much sense, am I?”

You blinked, suddenly stunned that someone had such strong opinions about your work. There was nothing but sincerity in his ocean-blue eyes, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

“I, um-” you cleared your throat, “Thank you, I didn’t know that. I look up to Monet, obviously. His work is phenomenal, and I also have a soft spot for Van Gogh.” You ran a hand across your face. “Sorry, I’m a little emotional. The people who compliment my art are usually my siblings, and Nat.”

“And now me,” he said with a warm smile. “And soon a lot more people.”

Flustered, you bit your bottom lip. “That would be nice.”

Bucky nodded. He gathered his silverware and set them on his plate, trying to buy time. You watched him hesitate before he turned to you. “I noticed that your last post was from almost a year ago.”

“Yeah,” you said with a casual shrug. “I don’t really paint anymore. I’m too tired when I get home and supplies are expensive.”

“Of course,” he pursed his lips in thought. “Are you free this afternoon? I was wondering if we could meet for coffee.”

You tried not to show your surprise but his words made the sleeping butterflies in your stomach crack an eye open, their interest piqued.

Was he asking you out? He’d come to your workplace every week since your brief ‘date’. He always gave you more-than-generous tips, and he listened to you with a combination of close attention and warmth that made you weak at the knees.

He’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for anyone but maybe he had changed his mind. Agh, down girl! He just wanted a friend.

You looked into his beautiful eyes, seeing a myriad of expressions cross his face before he smiled at you.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, angel.”

It was an honest lie, just hearing him call you angel felt like a punch to the stomach. The butterflies were dancing around, reborn, and chanting the word ‘date’.

“If you don’t like coffee, we can have tea, or ice cream,” he said, “anything as long as you can sit down with me.”

You snorted. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, smiling. “This is my number. Pick a place and I’ll meet you there.”

After breakfast, you closed the restaurant and started cleaning the Lounge. You brought everything back to the kitchen, stacked the dishes in the dishwasher and turned it on. Then you put away the unopened miniature jams, butter and whatnot, and gathered the remaining patisseries and fresh fruits in a basket that you would later bring to the reception.

You worked mechanically. It wasn’t exactly the most exciting job you’d ever had.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky. It was easy to let your mind wander into the cosy and dangerous territory of this being a real date.

You decided to go to the Australian coffee shop near Natasha’s apartment. It was popular but not as crowded as Starbucks, which suited you fine.

After your shift, you removed your uniform and changed into the spare set of clothes you kept in your locker for emergencies. Emergencies being an impromptu date or a night out with Nat. You dug around in your purse for your lipstick; the nice one, the Carter Red as your mother called it.

You dabbed the lipstick on your lips, staining them. You only wore it on special occasions, and you weren’t sure Bucky deserved your full red pout.

You walked to the café with a little pep in your step and a confident smile on your face. The freezing temperature didn’t matter, you were too giddy to care. It was a date, it had to be, why else would he ask you to meet for coffee?  

You smiled when you saw him through the coffee shop window. He was chatting with the waiter as the latter set two mugs on the table.

“Hi again!” You shrugged out of your jacket and took a seat.

“I hope you like hot chocolate. Carl, here, says it’s their best seller,” Bucky said, smiling kindly at the waiter.

“Enjoy, and if you need anything else don’t hesitate to call me.”

You carefully wrapped your cold hands around your mug while you watched Carl walk away. A moment of silence rose between you. Bucky watched you with an unreadable expression, making you fidget in your seat.

“I’m glad you came,” he finally said.

“Me too. I’m a little surprised you asked.”

He looked down at his mug and smiled; it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have something to ask you.” He paused. “The night we met, you said you agreed to see me because being in a... financial relationship felt like the only solution to your problems.”

 Your smile faltered but he didn’t seem to notice. Oh. The butterflies in your stomach fell so suddenly that it felt like carrying a ball of lead. They went back into hibernation.  

“If I had been a decent person and, I don’t know, bought you a drink, talked to you,” he paused, meeting your eyes. “Would you have been interested in this type of relationship? With me, I mean.”

You swallowed hard. “You want to be my sugar daddy.”

It wasn’t a question but a statement. You were slowly realizing that you had been wrong about his intentions. This wasn’t a date, it was a business afternoon tea.

He winced. “Do we really have to call it that? I was thinking mentorship. I can provide financial help, and in exchange you could be my friend.”

“I can be your friend for free,” you said, your throat tightening.

He shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “This way we’ll both get something out of it.”

You looked down at your hands, still wrapped around the mug, and pursed your lips in thought. You felt a sharp tingling sensation in your nose, a sign that you were about to cry. You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw, fighting against the flood that was coming.

You pushed all the emotion down and forced a smile to your face. “Do you mind if I use the restroom? I just took the subway, I’d like to wash my hands.”

Bucky watched you, momentarily stunned by your request. “Of course, take your time,” he quickly recovered.

“Thanks,” you croaked, pushing your chair back.

You picked up your bag and walked to the restroom, your legs feeling like cotton wool. You didn’t need to use the restroom, you had walked to the café, but you needed a moment alone to collect yourself.

A woman came out of the restroom, holding the door open for you. You picked up the pace and thanked her before closing the door behind you. You looked pretty sickly under the artificial light of the restroom. Your eyes were glassy with tears and your red lips were taunting you.

“Got your hopes up, uh?” You watched your lips move. A little humourless chuckle escaped you and you shook your head at your own idiocy.

You aggressively wiped the lipstick off your mouth with the back of your hand and sighed deeply as you looked at your reflection in the mirror. Now you felt like an idiot.

It wasn’t Bucky’s fault. He had been nothing but nice and kind, and perhaps you had mistaken his kindness for flirting. A naïve mistake. You had always been a little clueless when it came to men.

You ran your index fingers under your eyes to get rid of the makeup that had gathered there. It wasn’t the end of the world, you barely knew him anyway. It didn’t hurt any less, though.

Maybe it was time for you to do something out of character, to experience life no matter how crazy it seemed. You were dreading this conversation with Bucky, but you couldn’t hide in the restroom forever. With another sigh, you pushed yourself away from the sink and walked out of the restroom.

Part 4

[petri808]

We’ll Take Back Heaven a Nalu Yakuza Au

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

“Ms. Heartfilia,” the man nodded at the blonde.

“Mr. Katsunuma.” Lucy bowed in response. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course,” the older male smiled. “Your assistance has led to this celebration after all.”

It was an extravagant party being held in a large room of Katsunuma Industries corporate headquarters. The tech giant was celebrating the acquisition of their rival in the industry… thanks in part to Lucy’s untraceable services. A few bits of intelligence on the rival company coupled by the money laundering Lucy provided allowed Katsunuma to fuel the merger and overtake them. The rival had no choice but to sign the contract because if they didn’t, they would have been put out of business. Part of the deal insured the employees would be kept which had been the rivals concern, but those employees are in large part Katsunuma’s desire to take the business. Their current patents and information aside, those employees were the heart of creating more. It was a genius move.

“Mmm, I do what I can,” Lucy smiled sweetly and held up her glass. “A toast to a successful relationship.”

The man clinked his glass against hers. “For many more years to come. Enjoy the party, Ms. Heartfilia.”

“I will,” Lucy responded with another smile.

As she made her way back towards the temporary bar set up, Lucy chatted with people along the way. Some she knew, others she didn’t, but her stunning looks always turned heads everywhere she went. She wasn’t the typical Asian beauty found around those parts. Her mother was a Caucasian American and her father a Japanese businessman, so the hapa mix created a buxom blonde with almond eyes and legs for days, fluent in both English and Japanese as well as Korean. Gorgeous and intelligent. Men desired her, and women either hated her or wanted to be her. Luckily for the other women, Lucy had no interest in these stuffy, boring business types, except in taking their money because she knew all they wanted were docile arm candies and that wasn’t for her at all.

The only reason she attended these events were to show her loyalties and drum up new business considering she operated at word of mouth. But anyone too eager to do business with her immediately sent up a cautionary flag. No one survives in the dark world by being naive, the biggest lesson her cut-throat businessman of a father ever taught her. Lucy had to get to know the person, feel them out, and background check them inside and out, and even after all that she wouldn’t immediately jump into an arrangement. She made sure that any business wanting to employ her laundering services would lose big time if they ever considered turning on her. ‘Stupid men,’ she mused to herself. Greed was the easiest way to keep them in line, because the green-eyed monster was just too enticing. Another lesson her father taught her the hard way when bankrupted his company on a bad venture.

Lucy placed her empty glass onto the bar top and rested an arm on it. She smiled at the orange-haired bartender. Handsome in a playboy kind of way, even the glasses added to the charm. “A Cosmopolitan, please.”

“Coming right up cutie,” the man winked at her.

She wanted to roll her eyes but played it cool. “Loke, is it,” Lucy read off the name tag on his vest. “Unusual name. Bet you flirt with all the girls, huh?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he grinned back. “And you are the finest example here tonight.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Lucy clicked her tongue with a shrug. “Too bad lines don’t work on me.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Loke smiled back undeterred. “You’re definitely a higher caliber than the rest.”

‘Oh, Kami,’ Lucy droned internally. This guy probably had a ton of cheeky comebacks in his repertoire. Was he fuckable in her view? Toned body but not too muscular, nimble fingers… maybe fit for a one-night affair. It has been awhile since she’d had some action, so maybe he could be fun to end this celebration with. She leaned in closer letting her breasts press up against the counter. “You know this might—”

“Careful dude, this ones got claws you don’t wanna mess with.”

Lucy’s body stiffened in annoyance at the new voice so close to her ear. “Ugh, Natsu.” Not the intrusion she wanted right now!

“My apologies,” Loke immediately put her finished drink down, then his hands up as he took a step back. “You have a good evening ma’am.”

But the bartender’s body language spoke volumes as well. Loke wasn’t reacting solely to the comment, because he was staring straight at Natsu as he spoke. She could imagine that while Natsu’s tone was light, he was probably giving the bartender a menacing glare. Ugh!

Annoyed at Natsu’s interjection, Lucy grabbed her drink in a huff and started to walk away without looking behind her. “I don’t need a knight,” she huffed. But undeterred, Natsu immediately stepped in and tried to weave an arm around her waist. “Don’t get familiar,” she seethed in a hushed tone as she stepped out of his embrace. She didn’t want to cause a scene either, so she pulled him away from the crowd near the bar area to a quieter section. “What do you want Dragneel?”

“It’s improper for a woman like you to be without an escort at these events.”

Lucy placed a hand on her cocked hip in irritation. So, what if that were true, those traditions made her skin crawl. She normally would have brought one, but her go-to guy wasn’t available and since most of the guests knew who she was, Lucy figured they wouldn’t care. Why would a bunch of old guys not want a gorgeous blonde to look at? “I’m perfectly fine by myself considering I’m an invited guest. What are you doing here, this isn’t your playground.” She knew the world of corporate Tokyo and business stiffs were not the type he’d associate with. Though she had to unconsciously admit Natsu looked good in a three-piece suit.

“Be nice kitten, I was invited too.”

“Oh yeah, by who? I know Katsunuma’s not involved with the Yakuza.”

“Not senior, the son. Boy’s got a bit of a habit along with his friends.”

“Ah, let me guess, you’re the supplier.”

“You guessed right, kitten.”

“Stop calling me kitten!”

The irritation in her voice only succeeded in pulling a smirk from Natsu. He was obviously enjoying this dance, which fueled Lucy’s determination to not be swayed by it. She took a sip of her drink in annoyance. “Shouldn’t you check on your client then?”

“What for? Those rich brats partying on daddy’s dime make for disinteresting conversation. I’d much rather talk to you.”

“Lucky me,” Lucy rolled her eyes. “Well, I’d rather schmooze with my clientele. They serve a purpose, you do not.”

Natsu reached out and ran a finger along Lucy’s arm. “So harsh, kitten. We both know you’re enjoying this too.”

The ripple he triggered along her skin and increase in temperature had Lucy internally reeling, though the dead stare she wore on her face showed the opposite reaction. She wasn’t about to admit to a damn thing! “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that Dragneel. Perhaps one day your dreams will come true.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Ugh!” Lucy pushed him away in annoyance. “You’re too much! I’m leaving.” She turned her back.

“Oi,” Natsu grabbed her arm forcefully and spun her back around. “I mean it!” he growled in a lowered voice. “You may be damn good at what you do, but you still got a thing or two to learn about a man’s world.”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Lucy spat back in a hushed tone. “These guys don’t care!”

“You think they’d say it to your face, kitten? I’d overheard more than one of your so-called prospects here gossiping about your shameful behavior and you’ve only been here fifteen minutes.”

“You’re lying.”

His eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. “I’m a lot of things, but you know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Okay, so that was true. Lucy’s known Natsu long enough to know when and if he’d ever lie to her. Still, “fine!” She seethed. “I won’t plan on staying much longer if I’m stuck with you.”

“Aww,” he defiantly tipped her chin up. “But I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Pfft,” she glared back with a twisted smile and voice dripping with sarcastic disdain. “As if. You couldn’t satisfy me then, so… what makes you think you could now?”

“Wow…” Natsu placed a hand over his heart feigning pains and groaning for effect. “Hitting me where it hurts, Luce.” He then grinned and suddenly pulled her flush against his solid body, arm wrapped around her waist, while the other gripped tightly to her hip so she couldn’t move. He leaned in, his face lowered and hovering over her ear. “If only it were true. All those nights… I lost track of how many times you called my name to the heavens.”

Between the sensually deep tone of Natsu’s voice and warm breath fanning over her skin, Lucy couldn’t hide her physiological reactions if she’d tried. Her body stiffened up, fighting a hormonal urge to give in with a sheer determination not to play his game. There was a damn good reason they’d broken up, and until he admitted to what went wrong, there was no way in hell Lucy would go back to him.

“It’s not just about sex,” she gritted out.

“I know…” Natsu let his lips brush against her ear, pulling a shiver from her body. He smirked. “It’s about love.”

Love?! How dare he! Whatever spell he was close to casting instantly dissolved on Lucy and her anger boiled to the surface. She pushed with all of her might, forcing them apart. Oh, she was furious! “And that’s something you know nothing about!” Lucy’s hand flew up faster than even she knew it was happening, landing a loud slap across Natsu’s face. “You made your choice long ago, and love never factored in,” she seethed then stomped away leaving the man alone and speechless amongst whispering bystanders.

So much for celebrating, not after Natsu’s intrusion into the affair. Lucy thanked Katsunuma again for inviting her and left the party. She couldn’t be around Natsu for another second or she just might hit him again. Ugh! He made her so angry! Love… seriously?! He had no right to pull that on her, not when it was his decision that lead to their split. In a way she should thank him for opening her eyes, because that’s what lead to creating her own organization. Lucy wanted to show that women could do just fine in the underworld with the right people and the right plans in place. And she hadn’t been the only one to feel that way. This was the modern era and all the bullshit, patriarchy rules that held them back needed to die with the twentieth century. The saddest part… Lucy didn’t even know if Natsu realized how much he’d hurt her all those years ago.

“Ma’am,” the valet snapped Lucy out of her thoughts. “Your car has arrived.”

“Thank you.” Lucy stepped closer to the curb as the vehicle pulled up alongside her. The valet opened the door for her, but just as she was about to step in, she heard her name called from behind her.

“Natsu, can’t you take a hint!” She turned and snapped while still keeping a hand on the vehicle.

“Luce, I was just playing with you upstairs. I didn’t mean to make you so angry.”

“Well, you did.”

“I don’t understand why!”

“And that’s your problem.”

“But I don’t want you to hate me, and you seem to hate me.”

Lucy sighed from the sheer emotional exhaustion. “I don’t hate you, Natsu. But until you can figure out why I left you, we don’t have anything more to talk about. Now. Good night.” She got into the vehicle, and they drove away.

Once they were out of sight, Lucy slumped down into the seat holding back the cloud of tears building in her eyes. She’d meant what she said, all of it including not hating him. Frankly, she didn’t know if she could. Anger, yes, but hatred no. They’d been young but even she recognized the connection she had to Natsu wasn’t something she could easily walk away from, and she also knew he wasn’t lying when he’d brought up love. The man’s reaction to seeing her flirt with the bartender was a reminder of his feelings for her. But it wasn’t enough. Lucy didn’t want to feel like an unequal partner in the relationship and that’s exactly what the Yakuza world Natsu chose expected.

“Home, miss?”

“Yes, please take me home.”