#don’t fucking leave the animation studios to do the heavy lifting for you

[blitz-bi]

I just finishes S2 of Arcane and just, ok, lots of feelings, complicated feelings on how they took the characters. Still a bit salty with Riot with their decision to make arcane 1. Canon, and 2. their main source of champion storytelling, but that’s a rant for another day.

Jinx’s look, final Battle Look. This.

Is driving me up the wall because I have yet to find a person who has seen this and not immediately thought it looked like the head of Fiddlesticks.

I’ve heard jawbones, scuttle butt, stinky maw, etc. But COME ON!!

LOOK at THIS

AND LOOK AT MY BOY

LIKE ESPECIALLY WITH HER HAIR AND HOW IT HANGS OUT AND THE JAGGED TEETH WITH THE EYWS AND HOW IT SORT OF LOOKS HUNCHED

THIS CANNOT BE FROM THE SEED OF MY MADNESS FROM EXPOSURE TO 8 YEARS OF RUNETERRA LORE IT JUST CAN’T

now, is there a logical reason as to why Jinx may be dressing up as the demon of fear born from the first scream of the universe? No? But is Fiddlesticks still a well known folktale/myth that takes many forms all across Runeterra as seen through the short story The Ancient Fear? Yes. Ok. Just.

I genuinely feel like I have 20 cans of energy drinks when I think that maybe Jinx took inspiration from Fiddlesticks into her outfit. Like a colorful prey animal flashing a warning to its predator to be afraid

I don’t know. I’m tired. Did ANYONE see the resemblance?

[parkers-gal]

Can you please write one where the reader is singing about her ex and breaks down crying and Tom comforts her

if you’ve seen the bbc videos of ari g then this will make a lot more sense <3 (i subconsciously chose ag!reader for this so... enjoy) 

wc | 1.5k

｡☆✼★━━ requests are closed ━━★✼☆｡

Today, you’ve planned to record every song off of your thank u, next album with BBC radio in the Live Lounge, just as you did years ago with a few songs from sweetener. It’s been almost three years since your number one album came out, and some of the songs are still yet to be performed live.

You love recording with BBC radio — your band and backup singers are just as included as you are, and there’s always a few invited fans up on the balcony to silently sing along. This isn’t the BBC special, considering you didn’t want to make a big deal out of this. But, because you decided to opt out of the television special, you’ve decided to include a few unperformed songs like “in my head” and “ghostin.”

Clad in a black hoodie, faded jeans and thick platform sneakers, you’re seated on the bar stool in front of the microphone stand. The keyboard player sits behind your right side, your backup singers in a studio box beside his set up. To your left is the drummer and two guitar players — one on the bass and the other on the electric guitar.

In front of you, behind the camera lens, seats Tom in his famous shit happens! Hoodie. His curls are messy and he wears a genuine smile, beaming at you while you put in your in-ears.

With a nod to the camera man, you give your final look of approval to the drummer before the camera starts rolling and the intro to “imagine” starts playing. Tom clasps his hands on his lap; he’s sitting cross legged on a shaggy rug with your favorite stuffed animal in his arms. He’s got a blanket beside him despite the fact that he’s perfectly content with his hoodie and jeans. He looks so soft and gentle, and you want nothing more than to sit beside him and sing your heart out, but alas, you stay put and settle on locking eyes with him while you belt the chorus to the first track of your fifth studio album.

Eventually, the song ends, and after successfully doing the whistles, you take a gulp of water before giving the producer another thumbs up. “Needy” plays and you start singing the intro with as much emotion as you can muster — the album makes you nostalgic. You made it during a time of heartbreak and self deprivation, where you were drunk off your ass and all you had was music to therapize yourself. It brings all those emotions back in a rushing flood of remembrance.

But here, in front of you after so much time, you see Tom with a supporting smile and eye dimples that make you want to write a thousand songs about him. You have love you didn’t have before, and that’s enough.

For the first time ever, you perform “in my head” live. You can already tell that twitter is going to flip when the video releases. As you sing the verses, you try to contain up as much consistency as you can, though your voice wavers slightly and you can feel yourself getting emotional. You power through, though, and when the song finally ends, you release a deep breath and drink some water.

Tom mouths a question, wondering if you’re alright. You assure him as best you can, giving him a small smile and a little thumbs up. You have approximately two minutes to compose yourself, seeing as they’ve brought in a few strings players for the next song. You’re singing the album slightly out of order — not that it matters much, but you are.

The producer, who’s behind the camera, gives you another notion with his hands, informing you silently that the next song is starting. You nod, setting down your bottled water and waiting for your cue.

With a shaky inhale, you let the beginning of “ghostin” consume your body. You’ve done this in the studio, when you first recorded the song. But it’s been so long since you've sung the song all the way through. And even then, you’ve never done it publically.

You take a deep breath one last time before you start singing. You see Tom from the corner of your eye, and you remind yourself that everything is okay, and that these wounds are healed and you’ve grown from the tragedy that was captured in your music.

You finish the chorus for the first time, successfully making it through the first verse. Not without a few stumbles and sniffles, though. When you begin on the second verse, everything comes rushing back to you — moments with Mac and moments with Pete, and moments with Pete where you’re grieving Mac and breaking Pete’s heart. It’s all too much at once and you realize you should’ve tried to rehearse it beforehand.

You wince at yourself, face contorting into that of a pained expression while you attempt to prolong the waterworks. You gasp into the microphone, skipping a few beats and a line in the verse to somehow compose yourself.

Everyone seems to be on edge, realizing how this might not play over well. Tom, though, is especially on edge, antsy while he watches you. He’s reading your body language, decoding your silent thoughts. He knows you’re going to break any second, he knows you’re not going to make it through the song, and while that’s okay, he knows you might not think so. He wants to be there, though, when you do break. It’s his job.

Your hands are shaky while you move up to grip the microphone in hopes of reminding yourself of where you are and what you’re doing. It’s a lost cause, though. You gasp into the microphone again, and suddenly you’re sobbing into the speaker.

You mumble out a quick, “I’m sorry,” before rushing out of the room, stepping off the chair and making your way away from the cameras as quickly as possible. You can hear a few gasps and murmurs from the few fans and the stage crew members, but you don’t pay them any mind,

Tom was off his ass as fast as you were, dropping the stuffed toy and racing after you with crazy curls and furrowed brows.

“Love? Love,” his gentle hands grip your arms and you gasp again, trying to breathe through your thick sobs. He shushes you, “It’s alright, baby. I’m here, I’m here, It's just me.”

You’re hidden away in his chest, nodding as best you can. Tom’s heart breaks as he feels you come apart in his hands. He doesn’t cry, though, not when he needs to make sure you’re okay,

Your nimble hands grip his hoodie tightly, balling up the cloth in your fists. Tom holds you carefully, arms around your waist while he tries to help you control your breathing.

“In ‘nd out, like this, yeah?” You nod, following his heavy breaths. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” He sucks in a breath, unsure on how to approach the topic. “You were good enough, baby. Everything that happened isn’t your fault — it never was, and it never will be.”

You peer up at him, lifting your head and wiping your eyes, You sniffle again, and Tom turns his head in hopes of finding a box of tissues. He’s grateful when a crew member is already standing by with a box in his hands. He leaves the two of you be after successfully handing Tom the box.

“Here, love,” he strokes your back with his hand while you blow your nose into the tissue. After a few silent beats, he breaks the quietness. “Y'alright, darling?”

You nod, wiping your nose with the edge of your palm before pulling the sleeves of your sweater down to cover your hands. You use the sleeves to wipe at the stray tears, and when you finally look at Tom, you wearily smile gratefully.

“Thank you, Tommy.” Your voice is timid and gentle, quite a contrast to the way he heard you singing not twenty minutes ago — before “ghostin” fucked with your mind. “Don’t know what i’d do without you.”

“Of course, my love.” He offers a smile, one you slowly return. “You wanna go back out there?”

You nod, silently leading the way while anxiously rubbing your palms on your jean-clad thigh. As soon as you step back into the Live Lounge, a round of applause goes around until everyone is clapping and cheering for you, including Tom. It warms your heart, and you laugh for the first time after crying, right into the microphone for everyone to hear.

“Thank you all so much,” you swallow thickly while the clapping settles down. “I’m so sorry about that. Let's give this another try, yeah?”

The producer mouths something at you, “Are you sure?”

You nod, almost excitedly, and he speaks into his headset. The camera starts rolling and the strings start “ghostin’s” introduction. With one final deep breath, you lock eyes with your sweet British boy right as you start the first verse again. This time, you make it all the way through. For the first time.

[alexthedrummerboy]

I Need To Forget You

pairing: platonic alex, luke, and reggie (and bobby but only mentioned!)

summary: Before his parents kicked him out, his sister had been trying to teach him how to play the acoustic guitar. Andrea hadn't been quite the musician that Luke is, but she'd tried her best. Alex remembers being 15 and sitting on the edge of her bed, her guitar in his arms as she told him where to place his fingers. He also remembers complaining endlessly about how much the strings hurt his hands.

Another exploration into Alex’s feelings about his family after his death.

(plus self indulgent guitar playing inspired by that video Owen posted on Instagram of him playing the guitar in the dark)

authors note: I JUST REALLY WANT ALEX TO GET A SOFT ACOUSTIC GUITAR SOLO IN SEASON 2

trigger warning: homophobia and bad parenting (mentioned)

ao3

The studio is cold when Alex walks in. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised, it’s barely five in the morning and everyone is asleep.

They technically don't need to sleep but Luke and Reggie like to try anyway. Alex finds he's too wired to even do that; he’s been this way since before he died.

He eyes his drum kit and walks over, gently the tapping on the batter head with the pads of his fingers. He doesn’t really feel like playing right now. The morning feels too quiet for that.

Then, he sees it. A six string in the corner that Alex assumes belonged to Julie’s mom.

He walks over tentatively, keeping his footsteps quiet as he approaches, almost as it he's approaching a wounded animal. When the guitar is finally within reach, Alex reaches out and gently plucks a string, listening to the muted sound of it quietly ring out. He smiles, though it feels bittersweet.

Before his parents kicked him out, his sister had been trying to teach him how to play the acoustic guitar. Andrea hadn't been quite the musician that Luke is, but she'd tried her best. Alex remembers being 15 and sitting on the edge of her bed, her guitar in his arms as she told him where to place his fingers. He also remembers complaining endlessly about how much the strings hurt his hands.

His fingers begin to itch the longer he looks at the guitar and before he even realizes, he’s picking it up and sitting on the couch, balancing the guitar in his lap.

It feels instantly different from his sister’s guitar. It has a rougher feel from the unvarnished wood, and the curves in the body of it fit differently in his lap... but holding it feels like home.

It’s a different kind of home, though.

Alex’s drums are a warm-kind of home. They remind him of long rehearsals and laughing until he couldn’t breathe. They feel like long talks about dreams and hopes with his best friends at midnight, and crying about his parents while Luke, Reggie, and Bobby held him.

But the guitar... feels different. It reminds him of locking himself in his sisters room and playing Green Day way too loud while their parents stomped around downstairs, pretending to live perfect lives.

It feels like fear; the fear he’d felt when he’d told Andrea that he liked boys the way he was supposed to like girls.

He hugs Julie’s moms guitar just the slightest bit tighter when he remembers the way his sister had hugged him so tightly, when he remembers how she’d told him (for the first time in their entire lives) that she loved him.

Alex takes a deep breath as he positions his hand over the strings and presses down.

It stings in the same way that it had the first time Andie had tried to teach him how to play, but he finds that he doesn’t really mind so much anymore. He begins to pluck a gentle melody and winces when one of the strings buzzes under his grip.

“Pushin’ past the limits, trippin’ on hallucinogenics.”

His voice is quiet and the slightest bit gruff from rehearsing all day yesterday, but it feels good to hear it ringing out in the empty studio. He isn’t sure when his eyes slip shut, but all he can see behind his eyelids are flashes of his parents disappointed faces, of Andie’s teary eyes.

The rhythm of Alex’s strumming picks up and morphs into something more aggressive the longer he sings.

“Rippin’ with my sinners ‘cause fuck it, man, I ain’t no beginner.” Suddenly, Alex is 14 again, sitting in church and shuffling uncomfortably in his Sunday best as he’s helpless to listen to the minister as he tells them to cast out sinners; sinners that Alex is too afraid to admit he identifies with.

His parents had always taken the ministers word as if it had come from God himself, so they’d done just as he said.

When Alex had told them he was gay, they’d cast him out. They’d barely given it any thought at all.

”’Cause I just couldn’t open up, I’m always shiftin’.” Alex sighs before launching into the next line, a sour taste in his mouth. “Go find yourself a man who’s strong and tall and Christian.”

The gold chain around his neck burns, heavy with the phantom weight of the cross that used to hang from it. Alex swallows. His eyes feel suspiciously wet as he continues to strum through the end of the song.

He lets out a shaky breath and leans back against the couch, catching his breath and letting the guitar just lay across his body. It’s quiet mornings like these that make Alex hurt the most. Mornings that are cold and unfocused and quiet; mornings that give him too much space to think.

He hears the sound of someone proofing into the garage and shoes shuffling against the ground and he sighs. He wipes his eyes before he opens them, seeing Luke and Reggie standing in front of him.

Reggie is sheepishly fiddling with his fingers and Luke looks vastly uncomfortable; like he’s been caught looking at something he wasn’t supposed to... but seeing them makes a comforting warmth explode in Alex’s chest.

“Hey,” Alex says softly, lifting the guitar off his lap and putting it on the coffee table, being careful not to scratch the wood. “How much of that did you hear?”

”Pretty much all of it,” Reggie says, flopping down next to Alex on the couch. Alex leans toward him almost automatically.

Luke joins them. Alex knows he isn’t great with vulnerability, but he can tell he’s trying, and that’s enough to make the tears threaten to spill all over again.

“You alright, man?” Luke asks quietly. “It looked like things were getting kind of intense.”

Alex sniffs, shrugs, and looks up at the chairs hanging from the ceiling. “I think so,” he says. “I just started thinking about my folks... and Andie.”

Reggie winces and bumps their knees together. Neither of them say anything, but Alex knows they’re listening.

Luke reaches for Alex’s hand and he welcomes the touch, squeezing Luke back just as tight.

“I just...” The words get caught in Alex’s throat, “were they sad when they found out?” He clenches his jaw. “A part of me wonders, y’know... maybe they were relieved.”

“Alex—”

”No, Luke, they kicked me out!” He says. “I might as well’ve died right on their porch the night my Dad told me to pack my shit and leave!”

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but it just happens. He gives Reggie an apologetic look. Alex knows how he gets when people yell.

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispers. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

“It does if it’s hurting you,” Reggie says quietly. “Have you thought about tracking them down?”

Alex tugs at his chain as Reggie’s question twists and turns in his mind.

Surprisingly, he hasn’t. Not really. The minute he stepped out of that house, his parents had stopped feeling like family. Luke, Reggie, and Bobby had been his family for far longer than his parents had been.

“No,” Alex says after a moment. “They aren’t my family anymore. You guys are.”

Luke bumps their shoulders together and Alex smiles, grabbing Reggie’s hand with his free one.

“What about Andie?” Luke asks, stroking his thumb across the back of Alex’s hand. “You told us she was chill when you came out.”

Hearing Luke say her name stings in a way he hadn’t expected.

“She was.” Alex looks at the guitar sitting on the coffee table. “I do wonder sometimes, I guess but... what good would that do? It’s not like I could talk to her. And even if I could, it’s not... I couldn’t hurt her like that.”

Reggie furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Alex sighs. “If she did mourn me when I d-died...” for some reason saying the ‘d’ word feels harder than it’s ever felt, “I couldn’t put her through that again just to ask her whether or not mom and died cried at my funeral.”

All three of them fall silent as the morning sun finally starts to rise. Alex leans his head back and feels a smile grow on his face; because for the first time since all of this started, he feels... okay.

He hates not knowing so much about his own life (or... death, he supposes), but... death gave him so much.

“I know dying sucked.” Alex looks down at his, Luke’s, and Reggie’s clasped hands and smiles wider. “But I think this was... the best worst-case scenario.”

Luke grins, too. “Yeah?”

A sunbeam streams into the garage and catches against the glass of the window, causing a rainbow to appear on the very edge of Alex’s knee. It’s so perfectly absurd that he can’t help but giggle.

“Yeah,” Alex says breathlessly, letting go of Luke and Reggie’s hands so he can wrap his arms around their shoulders instead.

Because they’re all that really matters.

His family.

[stellalux-universe]

Shout At The Devil

Summary: Nikki doesn’t believe in God or the Devil, not necessarily. He believes that people can be angels or demons but doesn’t actually think those entities exist but he is extremely interested in the stories surrounding them all. Still, he does feel a peculiar energy wash over him as he flips an old book on witchcraft open and starts copying down symbols to use on their stage.

What follows will certainly change his life for good. Or evil, depending on your perspective.

Notes: ~Hello! So here I am, foolishly attempting a multi-chaptered alternate universe fic. What the hell am I thinking? But I'm going to do my best and update as frequently as I can, I promise! As long as people actually, you know, want it. I don't want to give anything away with this story so I'm gonna let you move right along now but first a HUGE SHOUT OUT to @devil-shouted​ because this fic is a product of a long and intensive head cannon that we have been talking about forever together and it would not exist without her! LOVE YOU DARLING, I hope you like how it came out! As usual, I haven't edited and I'm going to try to do so tomorrow but I wanted to get this up tonight because I'm stubborn! Okay, well, I hope you enjoy~

You can read this on my Ao3 as well if you’d prefer:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416446/chapters/51026005

Chapter 1: Streetwise Religion

Nikki’s mind is completely blank as he stares at the empty, open notebook in front of him. The stark purity of the white paper absolutely mocking him without any black markings as he taps his pen against the desk in his makeshift home studio. His bass is propped up against the far wall, the curtains of the huge window open to let in the moonlight that mixes with the warmth of the lamps that are on in his house, and there’s a half empty bottle of Jack sitting precariously close to the edge of the desk, all things that would normally combine to create the perfect atmosphere in which he could write but tonight, there’s just nothing.

A deep growl of frustration leaves his throat completely out of his control as he throws himself to lean back in his chair and slams his pen down, hands coming up to card through his matted black hair. His fingers get stuck in some greasy knots and he makes a mental note to actually take a shower soon, sighing as he grabs the pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the clutter on the desk and lights one up.

The nicotine that fills his lungs has an immediate calming effect as he exhales the smoke, looking around absently at the dark red walls of the room where he spends most of his time when he’s in his new home. He bought the house with his signing bonus after his band signed with Elektra Records, right after buying himself his dream car, and it still shocked him every single time that he was an actual house owner.

It wasn’t crucial for him to write at this exact moment. They had just released their newest album and they were about to start touring in just over a week and Nikki was feeling so validated. Validated because he knew they were good enough, the record sales for Shout at the Devil that were already taking off was proof of that. Those days and nights grinding away, playing the shittiest bars on the strip to measly crowds of people who barely looked up to boo, had been worth it. The heckling, the fist fights, the literal starvation in that old crappy two bedroom apartment he shared with Vince, his lead singer, and Sammy, their drummer, had been worth it. Long nights agonizing over every note and word with Mick as the man constantly changed his guitar pieces were absolutely worth it because they were making it. His baby, his band, was taking off and Nikki was happier than he can ever remember being.

Or maybe, happy wasn’t exactly the word.

Proud, yes. Exhilarated, definitely.

But happiness was an elusive concept for Nikki. He experiences it like the atmosphere experiences lightning; a long static build-up of events and situations, a fast, explosive crack of feeling, followed by a just as quick dissipation back to dispiritedness. Vince had told him once that Nikki was just a morose person, that when he wasn’t drunk or high and therefor crazy, he just naturally tended toward depression.

Nikki doesn’t really believe that’s true, it’s just that his sober mind thinks too much about things that he can’t control or change.

He thinks about his childhood, or more accurately, the lack thereof. He thinks about how selfish and miserable a mother has to be to set her own desires above the actual physical welfare of her child. He thinks about a kid being hit by men meant to be father figures and about how he’s never taking shit like that from anybody ever again. He thinks about the abandonment by an actual father, about how disappointing it was to realize his namesake wanted nothing to do with him, about how he felt burning the last of Frank Feranna Jr. away with his license the day he became Nikki Sixx.

Most of all he thinks about the loneliness. The loneliness of a boy who never had an ounce of affection thrown his way until way too late in his life. That loneliness was a beast inside of Nikki’s heart, gnawing away at the sinew and veins and drinking the blood that was supposed to be pumped through his body, leaving him feeling weak. Nikki didn’t like to feel weak.

He did everything he could to fill that void, to feed that beast, to cling to the brief sparks of happiness that came his way. He drank and did drugs, he did crazy things with Vince and Sammy just to override everything with that rush of adrenaline, he bedded countless groupies, men and women alike, all in an effort to drive away that loneliness and chase away the darkness in his own mind. He turned himself into an animal of the night, prowling the streets of Los Angeles for anything to distract him in the dark. But it was always temporary, just like the flash of a lightning strike, driven away by the morning sun and leaving Nikki tortured by his demons again.

Nikki isn’t one to languish in his misery. He doesn’t want to be sad like Sammy seems to think, and he does try to be happy unlike what Vince seems to think. He supposes Mick understands it best, the weariness that comes with a life that has just beaten you down. The guitarist told him when they last talked about it that Nikki just hadn’t found that thing that lifts him up and makes him want to stay up and until he does, he’s always going to be in this spiral.

The issue was that Nikki always thought that thing would be his music. Nikki is under no delusions, he knows that music literally saved his life. He wouldn’t be here today without it and he has a love for it that rests deep in his bones, but it’s temporary, just like everything else for him. In those few hours he’s on stage or in the studio, he’s truly Nikki Sixx. Alive, passionate, strong, thriving. The second he’s not playing though, he’s lost, his music unable to sustain him when he doesn’t have a bass in his hands or a notebook in his lap.

For now, he’s okay. They’re busy working on putting together a killer stage for their set, spending copious amounts of time in the studio to perfect their setlist and live versions of the recorded tracks. Nikki is swamped with photoshoots and interviews and record signings. These things occupy him and distract him from that emptiness that consumes him when he’s alone and idle.

He’s already turned to heavy drinking and copious amounts of cocaine to stave off his darker thoughts, he shudders to think about what he might get into when those stop being enough.

For now though, he wanted to write. Nikki knows that once the tour starts, between performances, interviews, and partying, he was going to be too busy and too out of it to get any work done so he wanted to get a head start on their next album but there was just nothing coming out of his pen onto the paper.

He’s uses his foot on the ground to swing himself back and forth in his chair as he smokes, he wants to put some music on, the house far too quiet for his kind of mind to be comfortable in but he doesn’t like listening to other people’s music when he’s trying to write. His eyes move over the pictures, the sound equipment and speakers lazily before they land on a box of books next to his bass. He’d been meaning to get a bookshelf or something to house them but he’d been simultaneously too busy and too lazy to do it yet.

On the top sat a black leather bound book, it was fairly thick, it’s pages worn from age but it was the cover that always caught Nikki’s attention whenever he saw it, silver embossed into the leather in the shape of the pentagram. He had been staring at the cover of this very book when he had decided that this was going to be the symbol for their newest album cover, and with that, came a whole concept. A friend had actually picked it up for him while he was in New Orleans, the fellow musician had thrown it at him when he had gotten back, telling Nikki that he knew the bassist was into freaky shit like this and it had looked cool.

Nikki had laughed at the time, thrown something right back at him but he kept the thing. To date though, he had never opened it.

Suddenly he was moving out of his seat and walking to the box, picking the book up without thinking about it and sitting back down. The leather was soft in his hands and as he sets it on the desk in front of him, he thinks fuck it, he may as well actually look through it, it’s not like he was getting any work done anyway.

Nikki doesn’t believe in God or the Devil, not necessarily. He believes that people can be angels or demons but doesn’t actually think those entities exist but he is extremely interested in the stories surrounding them all. Still, he does feel a peculiar energy wash over him as he flips the book open.

“Superstitious bitch.” Nikki chuckles to himself as he turns the pages.

The writing is in an ink that’s dark red, almost black, but Nikki can see the difference in the color tone and the language is something he’s never seen before. He can’t read it, but it’s beautiful to look at and the symbols are captivating his attention as he continues to turn the pages.

One symbol in particular has him pausing in his page turning, his mind filling with an idea of painting symbols from this book all over their stage for the tour and he grins as he picks up his pen and copies the symbol down in his journal.

From there he flips through the book with more purpose, copying his favorite symbols down to show the rest of the band and choose which ones to use. He’s not sure he’s doing them any justice, but he tries to be as thorough and accurate as possible. Another smile tugs at his lips as he thinks about how incredible it’s going to look and how freaked out the label is going to be when they see it.

The next symbol he copies is more difficult than the others, but when he sees it, he feels drawn to it immediately. He can see it so perfectly in his head, the beautiful circle symbol with it’s flowing script around the edges and intricate shapes in the center will be painted in bright red on their black stage right in the middle of all of them.

He’s just finishing copying the symbol down, making the last mark when he feels a strong rush of wind flow through the room and he looks up in shock at the strength of it, papers from his desk flying around and the pages of the book fluttering and he’s confused when he sees the window is still closed and even more confused when the lights shut off. He strides through the papers in the air to start feeling around the edges of the window but he can’t feel any air flowing through and he’s truly starting to freak out a little bit, heart pounding as his eyes flicker around trying to find the source, when the wind all of a sudden dies down and the lights flicker back on.  

The papers fall to the ground and the desk and he watches them in disbelief for a second before he’s tearing out of the room and checking all of the windows in the living room and the kitchen. They’re all closed and he even goes as far to check the air conditioning but it’s shut off and he stands there, arm against the wall as he tries to reason away just what the hell happened.

He shakes his head and tells himself it was just a phantom draft from somewhere in the house. It’s an old house, one of the reasons Nikki bought it was because it had an old world charm to it, it wasn’t a new, perfectly manufactured thing but now he’s starting to see the drawbacks.

He makes his way back to his studio, glances at the book, surprisingly still open to the page of that circular symbol he was copying down and shakes his head as a shiver works its way down his spine. He doesn’t believe in magic and demons and witchcraft, and the book has nothing to do with what just happened. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he closes the book and grabs the bottle of Jack from the edge of the desk and leaves the room, turning the lights out behind him as he makes his way to his bedroom.

Nikki takes a large gulp from the bottle, still trying to calm his rattled nerves and reaches out a hand to flip the switch for the lights in his room but when he does, no light turns on.

Nikki fiddles with the switch and curses the faulty electricity in the old house when another single gust of wind blows through the room and causes Nikki to look up. The lights are off but the moonlight spilling into the rest of the house lets him see okay and even if it were pitch black he would still be able to make out the glowing red eyes staring at him from the direction of the bed.

Nikki drops the bottle of liquor in his hands in surprise at the figure laying across his bed, the bottle bouncing off the floor and soaking the carpet beneath his feet.

“Who the fuck are you?” Nikki calls out angrily. He doesn’t know if it’s some crazed fan with strange contacts or a joke being played on him by Vince and Sammy but he’s not in the mood to be messed with right now.

But all he gets in the face of his anger is a breathy laugh that makes goosebumps pop up along his skin, jumping when the never used fireplace on the wall next to him suddenly roars to life, lighting the room in flickering warm light and Nikki almost audibly gasps when he sees the person draped on his side on his bed.

The figure is most definitely a male, and if Nikki were just looking at the bare mile long legs crossed over each other, Nikki would have no question that they were just human but as his eyes slide up over lean thighs and the short leather shorts that hug the slight curve of the being’s hips, Nikki spots a long thin appendage ending with an arrowhead tip flicking back and forth lazily over his legs and he instinctually knows it’s a tail.

If he had any other doubts that this was some sort of inhuman creature, the clawed hands certainly washed them away. His slender torso was bare and Nikki followed the long lines of the creature’s body to a long neck and a pretty face, full red lips, high cheekbones, straight nose and big brown eyes lined black, all surrounded by long curly black hair. The two small fangs that peek out from under the thing’s lip as he smiles and the two small black horns that are nestled in his hair further confirm that whatever this admittedly beautiful thing is, it certainly wasn’t human.

The being is propping his head up with one arm, his other hand tracing patterns on his own hip as he watches Nikki with a gleam in his eyes that looks like pure sin to Nikki and makes a sudden wave of heat wash through him. The bassist feels confused when a haziness starts to settle over him, his pants feeling tight as he stares at the creature and his own arousal shocks him because who the fuck is confronted with something like this and gets aroused and not scared?

“Who, who the fuck are you?” He repeats the question, trying to sound as angry as the first time but his voice comes out low and husky and it makes the creature on his bed outright giggle at him and Nikki shouldn’t find that sound cute but he does and what the fuck is happening to him right now?

The thing shifts in position, climbing up on his hands and knees facing Nikki before finally speaking, “You should know, you summoned me, didn’t you mortal?”

Confusion hits him again, but Nikki can’t respond because right at that moment, the creature is jumping clear across the space between them and Nikki catches him out of instinct, those long legs wrapping around his waist and clawed hands sinking into his hair to tilt his face up.

“Now, let’s have some fun.”

[randomwriteronline]

Double Crossed

a collab between the incredibly wonderful @insane-control-room and me, set in their Pathogenink AU.

Silvestro Agnes belongs to one of my AUs.

Silvestro had a specific type of way to walk. His gait was smooth, slow, and all (far too) important. It was the kind of walk that makes one’s hands itch terribly as soon as he came in their line of sight, barely resisting the urge to slap him across the face to wipe it clean of its damn cockiness. He knew very well who he was - the best, most handsome, most perfect person in the whole damn world. Sure, he might have worked for someone; but that someone wore a stupid, ugly, misshapen mask, hiding himself from fame. What kind of fool would do such a thing? Resist the limelight so violently?

(An example came to mind, and he gave a single, loud, contemptuous laugh. Birds of a feather, weren’t they, the weirdos and outcasts of the world? Although he had to thank his brother’s choice. At least, his wonderful face would have never been associated with a monstrous creep of his caliber.)

Silvestro decided that he wore a mask to hide his vile face - he had seen Mr. Joey Drew slip white gloves onto dark hands, marred with heavy scarring. It seemed likely to Silvestro that those scars were all over his “boss”’s face as well. And the pin on his chest solidified that - he was afraid. Silvestro almost laughed as he walked home. How could that poor, nervous, and gay fool not be terrified? Silvestro knew about the death threats as much as anyone else did, but he also knew that Joey could care less about them.

He was just a walking paradox, Silvestro decided. So scared, yet so fearless.

Naive.

A car pulled up beside him.

“Silvestro Anges?” a low and dangerous voice spoke to him from the window of it, the being wearing dark sunglasses. “We have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow. His blue eyes evaluated his interlocutor, and concluded that he was far better than anybody that might have been. “You don’t really think I will just accept anything from the first who comes by, do you now?”

“Sir, I’m certain you’d like to hear this one,” the person said, covertly showing him a stack of money. “This is… very important.”

Silvestro spared the dollars a quick disgusted glance: “That is the best you can do?” he mocked, lips rising in a joyless smirk.

Might have not been a prostitute, the agent thought increasingly angrily, but God if he wasn’t one expensive bitch. 

“If your eminence would please let me give him a lift,” they hissed through gritted teeth, “We might just find a compromise.”

Finally. Someone who addressed him rightfully.

Silvestro opened the car door unceremoniously and stepped inside.

“So.” he began, “Who wants me?”

“You’ll see soon, your highness,” the agent replied, trying desperately to keep the sarcasm from dripping into their monotone. They pulled up to a fancy looking hotel, and Silvestro was bowed out of the car. “Right this way, my liege. He’s waiting. He’s heard much about you and is very… anticipatory to work with you.”

The smile on Silvestro’s face was beautiful - at least, it looked beautiful, as did his visage and body and whole being. But it wasn’t beautiful, not in the slightest. There was something that must have once been hidden deep within the person that he was, now taking the form of a revolting mucus oozing from his every pore, making his natural beauty slip and melt off his skin. And underneath it remained only a nasty, viscid, annoying, insufferable little man who believed too much in something he wasn’t ever going to be close to being.

They entered a room together, and Silvestro recognized the faces of Disney and his current co conspirer, Fleischer. They both studied him as he sat with self importance, splaying himself with his legs spread far and wide to assert his position in the room as the greatest one there. 

“So, Mr. Anges…” Disney began, and pulled out a briefcase, sorting through a few files. “You work at Joey Drew Studios. I assume you see your boss often. Now, a man of your caliber certainly shouldn’t even be under someone, isn’t that right?”

Silvestro grinned. At last, someone knew who they were talking to. 

“Undoubtedly,” he cooly replied, knowing it was he that should be on top, not Joey. “And?”

“We’d like to help you with that,” Fleischer leaned back, steepling his fingertips. “We can offer you quite a bit of… resources, to get the job done.”

“You want me to do your dirty work for you and kill him?” Silvestro rose an eyebrow and bent forward, making a motion to leave. He might have been a lot of things, but he was not some animator’s hitman. He hated getting his hands dirty as much as anyone else. “I think I’ll decl-”

“Not kill,” Disney interrupted him, looking at him with dark indifference. “Expose.”

For once, Silvestro shut his mouth. His eyebrows rose higher and his eyes widened ever so slightly, intrigued. He leaned back on the chair slowly, a cat contemplating whether to eat the mouse or play ruthlessly with it, head reclined in a silent order to continue. 

“You see, Mr. Anges,” Disney smiled, glad to have his attention. “This Joey Drew is a menace - not a threat or problem, but clearly, if he was known for who he was under the mask, he would obviously lose his status, otherwise why would he hide himself? He must be a villain or bandit beneath it. And so, we’d like to hire you to discover who he is and spread the knowledge to us.”

“And once you do have that knowledge?”

“We will drag him into the dirt and make him regret he had ever decided to enter this business.”

Humiliation.

Silvestro’s grin grew wider and wider, face grimacing grotesquely at the thought of Drew’s impending, inescapable misery.

“I see we’ve got a deal.” he chirped, white teeth gleaming malicious from the small space between his parted lips.

Joey was not at work the next day. Or the one after. Silvestro managed to track down Henry, the elusive secondary owner of the studio, and asked where Joey was. 

“Out,” was the only answer he got, Henry shrugging. “Don’t worry about your checks, though, I know how to sign my name.”

Neither did Bertrum or Cohen answer him, both apparently clueless. 

Silvestro began to think of it as a covert team up against him, and so, one day, he went to work early, thinking that the rest of his coworkers showed up before time, and Joey gave them orders and vanished for the day.

The door of the studio opened noiselessly, and Silvestro put that to the younger twin. Of course that Franks lad would spend extra meticulous time to make sure that each and every door would be silent. Still, in this moment, he was glad about it - he was less likely to be noticed by any of the lunatics that bothered working at that studio. He strutted through the halls, finding them all eerily empty, not a soul around. He made his way down to Joey’s office, to check if the man was actually there and secretly leaving orders. He opened the door, expecting to catch him red handed, but found the office completely empty. He frowned. Where could the bastard be?

He grumbled to himself, handsome features now soured by not only that repulsive internal disgustingness, but also his annoyance with the situation.

Wandering about the silent and empty halls, he decided to do a bit of exploring. He knew the studio was quite vast, and nearly all of it was designed by Joey. A hint of where said man lived must be hidden in the architecture of the place, and so he began inspecting the area with a hawk’s eye.

Yet he found, to his growing frustration, absolutely nothing.

The building was as plain as Joey was.

It infuriated him, and he stalked upstairs to leave, when he suddenly noticed something strange.

Was there always an attic of the studio?

Part of him laughed at the thought, the other found it absurd, and at the same time, it made perfect sense. Where else would useless old things be stored? Of course Joey could not bear to part with anything. Being sentimental felt just pathetic enough to be right for the kind of person he was. Silvestro smiled as he made his way up the ‘extra’ set of stairs, already envisioning what he would find in the rooms above - everything neatly sorted away into little piles, each one hand marked with what they were, carefully and cautiously. And of course, among the mess, there were bound to be traces of Joey Drew’s elusive private life - little forgotten hints nobody thought would ever be found again, like letters, cards, anything that might have had an address printed on it. A bountiful chest of treasure awaiting none other than him and him alone.

Like a treasure chest, the door to the attic was locked. He smirked and rolled his eyes at the simple contraption, pulling a filched ring of keys from his pocket, and tested them one by one, and found that not a single one of them fit the lock. Perplexity turned swiftly into anger, and he went down to Lacie’s workstation, snatching a hammer.

At first, he wanted to smash through the whole thing, until he remembered he wanted to keep this covert. As a sentimental old fool, Joey would be bound to check the attic often, and once realizing that it was broken into, he would also understand that his situation was compromised.

So he set to work of carefully removing the door from its hinges, slowly lifting it away when he finished, excited to open up the trove and dive right in, discover all the hidden details of Joey Drew’s life.

But once he actually got into the attic, he found nothing of the sort: instead, his dismayed and stupefied eyes beheld what seemed to be a fully fledged apartment. He recognized a living room, a kitchen, a lunch table, a couch, pictures, flowers. Everywhere he turned he was assaulted by the feeling of having just broken into someone else’s home while they were away, not that he truly minded.

Honestly, he felt rather offended.

What kind of fucking joke was this?

He passed a hand over his eyes, blinked them a couple times, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then looked at his surroundings again. No, he found that he was not dreaming. The attic was a house. And somebody was living there, right above everybody else’s heads.

This felt like something out of a mystery novel, a hidden alcove in plain sight.

He shook his head: well, if this was someone’s apartment, the owner would have left something behind. Now, he thought. Who would be so desperate to sleep above an animation studio? Certainly not some decent fellow, oh, goodness, no. Nobody would stoop so low. Unless of course the ‘decent fellow’ was truly an efferate criminal, hiding under Drew’s wing and roof. Oh, that would have been perfect for Mr. Disney. Or perhaps… Agh, there it was again. That bony, unhealthy, disgusting face with bicolored eyes came to the forefront of his thoughts.

Of course. Of course! Of course Karpos would be the perfect candidate for being found living in some random guy’s basement. Or in their attic, in this case. No wonder he had not seen him often lately.

And wouldn’t you know it, as Silvestro tiptoed through the apartment and into a snugly furnished bedroom, there he was, on a bed far too comfortable for what he deserved, cuddling against another lanky being like the lizards he so disgustingly adored. Revolting.

Silvestro glazed over him, looking for clues.

An eaten bowl of soup on the side table, some papers scattered on the floor-

Then he realized what he had seen and - no no no, he slapped his cheek to wake up fully and checked again.

That was his twin brother, sleeping soundly just underneath the all too fluffy blanket. And next to him was a body, a human body, or at least it looked human, with an arm wrapped around him sweetly and gently and a book on its lap. He was seconds from having a stroke. Masks covered both beings’ faces, both of which were well known for Silvestro.

No way.

It was just so, so impossible, but all the pieces fit into the puzzle like so many intricate knobs and keys, fitting in so perfectly. Of course that gay artist would-

Hold up.

Gay. Brother. NO WAY. NOPE.

He recoiled. His brother. His twin. Gay. Having sex with his boss. Was it contagious? He’d spent more time than he would have liked - oh stop that, you know it isn’t. Gay brother. Gay brother… Well, it made sense. It made perfect sense, actually. He had to be gay, honestly, because Silvestro was the normal one, the perfect one, and he was a horrible mistake of nature full of awful perversions. It made perfect sense. He would have had to teach him a lesson, now that he had found out. The thought of beating his stupid brother senseless calmed Silvestro down a bit, allowing him to consider the situation a little better. Joey Drew, laying on a bed with the crazy handyman. Clearly, this wasn’t a coincidence. Oh no, it wasn’t. This was perfect slander to spread.

‘How could I phrase it?’ he wondered as he peeked at a sliver of Joey’s face that poked out of his mask. It had to be something shocking, something completely and totally demolishing, bringing Joey’s reputation down to the very depths of hell. ‘Let me see….’

Famed animator Joey Drew hires mentally retarded men to have wild sex with them, keeping them around for more.

No, no. That was not quite right, he knew there was a detail off. He inspected the strand of deep blue hair that framed his boss’s dark face from around his mask, and that slender arm around his brother: Joey clearly was not nearly strong enough to deal with that devil of his twin. He couldn’t have possibly forced himself into the damn animal even if he had tried with all of his strength. Ah, no, that was it! He wasn’t the one on top, no, he could never be! He liked the feeling of dick in his ass too much! And who would be better to pound mercilessly into his thin and pathetically weak frame than a mindless savage beast like Karpos?

Oh, it made such perfect sense, and was so good for anyone wanting to ruin the thin animator’s secretive reputation. 

Famed and beloved animator Joey Drew pays mentally retarded men to fuck him mercilessly, then housing them in the attic of his animation studios and keeping them around under the cover of ‘employees’.

No wonder he had trouble walking. Oh, that sounded so good. He smirked, oozing maliciousness as his eyes trailed over what he could see of the man’s sculpted cheekbone, his mask tilted just a bit to keep off of Karpos, so gentle. Absolutely grotesque.

That mask needed to go, both figuratively and literally. As did those damned blankets and whatever kind of clothes he might have been hiding that voluptuous frame under.

Hold. Hold on. He frowned. What the hell? What the hell. Sure, he had seen his boss’ body before, but could only imagine what it was like under clothes, though he was certain of slender hips and slim muscles, but there was no reason to, to see it for himself. He shook his head, his eyes falling on the sleeping man’s neck, a small, thin, creamy scar peering over his dress shirt. He shook it again, more harshly, and again he stared at that inviting throat, gently moving with motions within deep and mysterious skin, just waiting to be claimed with a sharp and digging bite -

He leaned his head back, inhaled, and exhaled, shaking his shoulders out, slapping his cheeks slightly to snap out of his infectious thoughts. He was getting himself worked up thinking of the malicious, awful, simply delightful slander he was going to spread about the animator. He smiled to himself as he gripped the curve of the mask covering Joey’s face, ready to learn who he was.

Joey stirred slightly as Silvestro was taking the mask off, but he did not wake up. His head turned gently on the pillow, his dark skin streaked by a few fragile looking scars, one on his neck, another on his forehead, and a final one barely noticeable on his lip, fine china patterns on delightful night skin, turning into a sculpture of brown agathae. Silvestro’s mouth went dry as he bit his lower lip, eyes hungrily, predatorily tracing his boss’s features as he breathed heavily, from his blue eyebrows to the tired heavy eyelids and then down, down, down the slope of his nose to reach beautiful full lips that were just begging to be forced open and bitten and left hanging as the soft voice of Joey Drew moaned his na -

WOMEN. HE LIKED WOMEN. THIS WAS UTTERLY DISGUSTING. GOD, THE NERVE OF THIS MAN. TO SEDUCE HIM EVEN AS HE LAID SLEEPING.

He would have fucking torn him apart. He would have shredded his reputation into confetti, just like he would with his clothes and then fucked him in the a- NO! JUST THE REPUTATION. NOT THE ASS. Mental and social destruction. Not physical. Not physical. No shoving him on his dick for a whole night, keeping him awake and fully aware of his plight. Just slander.

Just slander.

Ok, maybe a bit of ass too - NOOO. Reputation. Only reputation.

Actually you know what? Fuck him. Fuck him hard. Goddamnit, he deserved it, Joey negatively and he positively. He had been denied by every single woman in the bastard’s damn studio (and also was slightly afraid of asking again because last time the manager had nearly killed him, as had the engineer, and the singers, and the writers - damn, every woman nearly sliced his head off, be it with a microphone, saw, or deadly sharp pen, or just… straight up nearly decapitated him with a punch… God that crazy Irish bitch of a manager was scary) and he had been too lazy to actually get himself some company for two whole weeks. If he wanted to get off, this was his chance. It did not even make him gay. He was just taking advantage of a shitty, lowly, handsome piece of fiery hot meat and teaching the pervert a lesson. He could twist the whole story and claim he was forced to do this. Perfect. More slander. All according to plan.

He was so caught up in his inner machinations that he barely noticed a groan (though his skin prickled from it, goosebumps breaking out on his arms), and a rustle, and finally bright, wonderful red eyes opening, still hazy from the long sleep.

And god, those eyes were so gorgeous and alluring, and Silvestro wanted them half lidded and misted over with pleasure and salacity, looking like that at Silvestro as he raked his hands over his sides and pulled away from deep lecherous kisses….

“‘ska…” Johan called, breaking the intruder’s fantasy, his voice like hundreds of star songs, suffocating a yawn, touching his face, silently questioning where and when his mask had vanished from it. “Whu'r’ y’ doin’…?”

Silvestro jumped back, finally aware of what was happening. As red as a bleeding heart robin, he mixed his anger and lust in a big, messy and nasty bomb that began the countdown to its detonation immediately. He undid his tie with haste, positively furious.

Joey’s eyes found him in the room, squinting to recognize him in the late moonlight.

“… ‘vestro?”

“Shut the fuck up.” he hissed in warning, his free hand going to press against Joey’s mouth as fast as he could. “Not a word.”

Johan muffled something, a confused request of explanations maybe, but Silvestro ignored it. He leaned quickly towards the other man’s face while trying to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Look at you,” he sneered. Joey’s eyebrows knitted together in question, so Silvestro took it upon himself to explain, leaning closer, his hand going down to Joey’s neck, feeling and relishing in the sensation of his palm against his beard, pushing on his gullet just enough to keep him from making noise, but giving him just enough air to breathe. Their faces were mere inches apart. “Disgusting. How could you sleep in the same bed as Karpos? You’re such a loser, you know? You make me sick. That’s why you’ll be having me tonight, to learn what it’s really like, to be fucked silly. Won’t you like that, a big fucking dick in your ass? Even if you say you don’t want it? Even if you say it hurts? Even if you tell me, beg me, to stop? You know what that will get you? A good old beating, choking every single little breath out of you - oh, won’t you be trying to scream tonight! You thought Karpos was a beast, you faggot? You thought he fucked you good? God, you have no idea what the hell is in store for you.”

Joey’s eyes were so wide, shocked and confused and hazy with sleep, and yet his chest shook with slight coughs stolen by Silvestro’s pressing hand, his mouth open with the need for air. Silvestro leaned closer, opening his own mouth to taste Joey’s, already thinking of all the delicious flavors and whimpers he’d get from him, their lips brushing for a moment, Silvestro tasting a hint of cinnamon, sugar -

- and TONK, went his head against an equally hard one.

The headbutt nearly sent him tumbling to the floor. Upon the bed a paranormal silhouette perched up on all fours to shield Johan with the little mass of his skeletal body, the artist gasping feverishly, rubbing at his throat, but looking at Karpos gratefully, and Karpos - Eska, his name was Eska, no matter what his brother insisted on calling him - Eska hissed at him violently like a murderous feline. He couldn’t bare his teeth, for they, much like the rest of his face, were carefully hidden, but those of his mask gave a pretty good idea of how he would have looked.

Silvestro shivered, but his ego didn’t give in: “You fucking animal!” he barked at his twin, and Johan covered his face in fear and shame, “Go jerk off somewhere else! You’ve had your turn!”

“EVERY LAST WORD COMING OUT OF YOUR GODFORSAKEN MOUTH IS BUT ANOTHER BRICK PAVING THE ROAD TO YOUR INEVITABLE AND UNSPEAKABLY PAINFUL CANNIBALIZED FRATRICIDE.” Eska thundered in response, his deep, raspy, crackling voice tearing at his throat. One of Johan’s hands searched for Eska’s arm to rest on it, trying to keep  him calm and grounded.

Silence fell for a couple of minutes. All parties in the attic remained perfectly still, aside from Johan’s trembling hand on Eska’s arm, and Silvestro felt a pang of envy, but it was quickly quenched by the recalling of his brother’s terrifying words.

Finally, Silvestro’s voice rose, horrified: “Since when are you capable of complex thought?”

“SINCE EAT SHIT AND DIE, YOU FUCKING BASTARD.”

“Good point, Eska,” Joey rasped, coughing slightly. “Silvestro, you’re fired.”

The man stared at him with his blue eyes open wide. Never, not once, never before had someone had the gall, the audacity, the sheer rudeness to fire him. It… scared him, not that he would let that be known. He spat on the floor.

“Bullshit!” he screamed. He scrambled back onto his legs: “BULLSHIT!” he yelled again, a bit of drool dribbling down his chin, as if cursing a second time would have helped prove a point which he had not specified. He lunged at Johan’s throat with hands like claws, ready to tear him apart and bend him to his own will, completely forgetting Eska until he was being pummeled into the floor by his twin once again. He felt as if the realization of just how strong Eska could be had hit him as hard as his head had crashed into the pavement.

Johan shouted something, he could not exactly tell what, something in fear and worry - and then his mouth was agape and the air in his lungs was gone. He kicked his brother back as best as he could, screaming his head off, there were rushing footsteps from below, and he could hazily sense Johan running toward the door to pull it back into place from where Silvestro had leaned it against the wall, shouting that everything was under control. Silvestro felt his arm getting wetter and wetter, hurting like hell for no reason, no reason at all, he simply couldn’t get it, had that bastard bit him, had he fucking dared biting him hard enough to make him bleed, but it wasn’t on his arm or forearm because he could feel it all dripping all over, was it on his palm, he had to check, he had to run his fingers over it, his fingers, fingers, fin… Fingers…

He choked on his gag reflex.

Silvestro looked up at his brother, shaking like a leaf.

Eska stared back at him. His breath was even through his occupied teeth.

“Eska!” Johan shrieked, petrified. “O-oh god, oh no….”

Questions were shouted from behind the door Johan was holding shut.

“Good god!” Joey barked, his voice raspy and authoritative. Silence fell. “I have this under control, go to work or there’ll be hell to pay!”

The crowd that had gathered by the closed door ebbed away.

The man took a few gasping breaths, closing his eyes for a moment, then leaned off the wall, walking over, cane in hand, assisting his weary footfalls, head held high, looking down at Silvestro from his great height in heaven.

The gears in his head turned rapidly, and Silvestro could see a burning wisdom within those eyes, bright, blazing, compassionate and gentle. The eyes of a god. He could see judgement and repentance in those eyes.

“Silvestro, I have three things that I can do with you,” he spoke so softly, like the final judge of everything that ever was. “One, I can kill you, seeing as you clearly planned to sell me out.” (Silvestro’s eyes were as wide as a small child’s in front of something far greater than himself. They were scared, and shocked, and pleading.) “But I don’t want to. No, I can’t. I’m no executioner. Two, I can wipe your memory, completely and totally. Or three, we can work together, and swear you to secrecy; magically, in a way you would never be able to speak of this ever again, except with those I deign allowed. The choice is yours, but if you pick the first option, I will do the second.”

Silvestro looked up at the man, and saw compassion and care in his exhausted eyes.

He made his choice.

Silvestro had called in beforehand. They had arranged the meeting, the day, the hour, the place. Disney sat in the armchair of a hotel room, sipping a glass of liquor, ignoring all laws, being the rule breaker he was. Fleischer was standing and looking out the window restlessly, silently contemptuous of the alcohol in Disney’s hand, resisting the urge to slap it out of his hand or chew at his nails. There was no reason to be nervous, Disney thought to himself. Silvestro was such an unscrupulous man, he would have gotten all kinds of information on the menace that was Joey Drew, one morally and legally ambiguous way or another. With that narcissistic diva at the job, they were in safe hands.

Two quick knocks got the two business mens’ attention. They were fast and nervous. Tock-tock, followed by silence.

Far too uncharacteristic. Disney and Fleischer exchanged a glance.

“Mr. Agnes?” Fleischer called, moving from the window. “That you?”

A deep inhale, a bit fearful, maybe. 

“Yes.” Silvestro’s voice answered. “It’s. Me.”

“Come in.”

The man who came through the door was indeed Silvestro Agnes… but something was oddly off. He had the same dark auburn hair and the same light cinnamon skin. Actually, Disney noticed, slightly confused, it was too light a shade of cinnamon. He was very pale, and he appeared to be shaking. His back was hunched forward, his shoulders closing in on his chest. His eyes were concentrated on the ground, terrified. Everything about him - his movements, his looks, his demeanor - chronically lacked the superb disgust towards everyone else which he had constantly displayed throughout his life.

He closed the door behind him and simply stood. His head bent a little downwards, nearly shameful. He did not say a single word.

“Well?” Disney encouraged him, though was somewhat… anxious of what the reply could be, “What do you have for us?”

No answer.

And Disney might have pressed further, if Fleischer had not risen his eyes above the trembling man before them and let out a horrified “Jesus Christ!” as he almost fell on the floor, leaping backwards in what could be described only as pure terror. Disney’s attention went first to his partner in crime, then to the silent Agnes, then behind him. And while he did not shout, his jaw and eyes fell open wide.

He could not have understood how he did not notice it. A giant dirty skeleton dressed in tight skin and enormous clothes, towering over Silvestro’s head. Hairs so thin they might have been made out of beams of light surrounded a naked skull in a dirty, brown and reddish halo, a pair of lone will-o’-the-wisps standing perfectly still deep in the recesses of empty eye sockets, to lead the wicked away to their just slaughter. Despite its hunched back, it was still taller than the doorframe; Disney would have bet it had just phased through solid matter like a ghost.

“Joey Drew knows you.” the skeleton said. The jaw did not move; a deep, crackling, croaking voice seemed to come directly from the depths of the earth. “Knows you well. Wiser than you.”

Fleischer and Disney were frozen in place. They did not dare breathe a breath, a sound, a word. They did not even know if they could.

The skeleton leaned towards them, Silvestro lowering with it, trembling as he tried to keep it from touching him - almost as if mere contact might have killed him. The voice grumbled from behind the skull once more, slowly and carefully articulating every word: “He will not have any of your threats. None. Not one.”

Those wild irises glowed without emitting the faintest hint of light. Demonic. Did Joey create the thing before them? Bendy was, after all, a demon. So was this as well?

“Your flesh tastes no worse than anyone else’s.” it advised, and Fleischer could imagine a macabre grin behind the skeletal mask. “I promise you that.”

The businessmen did not respond. They did not know how to respond. How could they? How could they have known, what exorcism would they have screamed? What can one say after being presented with a threat that implies the horrifying supernatural being currently standing in front of you has had a bite of your kind before, and maybe even more than one?

The skeleton’s long fingers slowly crept up Silvestro’s shoulder and closed their iron grip on it, making the man shiver harshly and attempt to mute a cry of pain under the pressure as his arms jolted upwards. His hand clawed at the air, missing the stump of the other arm’s wrist as if there had been something attached to it.

Disney paled as he noticed that.

“H-he says it’s a m-message,” Silvestro managed to say through chattering teeth and blurred vision, silently wishing the pain go away. Eska gave a drooping nod, too boneless, too bony. His voice added to the words, “So heed it.”

Eska decided he had already said a frankly excessive amount of words for today, so he thought it well not to allow a single one more to be spoken. He only turned slightly, dragging his twin with him in a silent yet angered order, hand still on his shoulder possessively as though Joey deigned him reign over his brother, and then they were both gone. Out of the room, out of the hallway, out of the building entirely (standing on the sidewalk, staring at each other with empty eyes on one part and a sinking fear on the other, strangers to everything about the person they were looking at, not even brushing against one another as the taller figure dragged his feet away, slowly, rhythmically, and his brother just stood, waiting for something before quickly heading home), leaving Fleischer and Disney stunned, fearful and less than inclined to try and disturb Mr. Drew again.

[spooky-scary-imagines]

Hi :) would you write one where ChopTop met the reader the the radio station along with Strech*idk if i spelled it right* but the reader dressed similar to him and was in a band herself makeing ChopTop love struck and just his stuttering getting worst and forgeting what to say witch the reader finds cute maybe it would get slightly nsfw to to the ebd but you can pick its ok if its just fluff :3 *sorry if its to long*

((Sorry this took so long! Gotta love my boy Chop-Top and this prompt not only gave me an excuse to rewatch his intro scene but it also seems super fun! It is a challenge to figure out dialogue for him tho because he’s so bizarre in all the best ways. This one didn’t end up being too romantic but I’ve been thinking about maybe writing a continuation for this just cause there’s so much more I can do with it. So let me know if any of y’all are interested! Tagging: @i-cant-get-with-it

Chop Top meets hippie s/o @ the radio station:

It’s been a pretty rough week at the station. Your good friend Vanita had gotten a terrible call-in the other day. Initially she thought it was a prank, as the men had been obnoxious all day, but even she couldn’t ignore the terrible screaming and shill grating of metal on metal. Not when she saw that article in the paper that seemed to match the call-in. She had told you about the plan she devised with some old sheriff, about playing the tape over the radio. To you it seemed like a bad idea and a great way to put a giant target on her back, but she was insistent that she had to do it and make a difference. Despite your worries, you couldn’t just leave her alone, so you decided to stay with her after that night’s broadcast.

Tonight had done nothing to ease your concerns, angry callers had been cursing out the station and since Stretch first aired the tape. L.G. seemed to be the most upset by it, talking about how much trouble Vanita was going to get into, though anyone with eyes could tell how soft he was on her. Sadly, it didn’t seem like the feelings were returned quite the same way. At least not yet, you thought, as you watched her turn down his offer to grab some coffee with him. Guess you two were sticking around for this “Lefty” guy.

Shortly after L.G. left, you heard the phone ring. You went to reach for it, but Stretch got there first. “Hello?…Hello?…Lefty?” You could guess from her side of the conversation that she was being met with silence. You raised an eyebrow and she looked at you, equally confused. The mysterious caller hung up. “What the hell was that all about?” you asked.

“No clue,” Stretch shrugged, “We get some weird callers sometimes, but-.” As if on a cue, you two heard a small slam from the other side of the station. Vanita’s eyes flicked to you. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Stretch had been gone for a suspicious amount of time, when you decided you needed to go after her. You stood in the doorway of the hall leading to the lobby. From there, you could hear Stretch and a strange male voice, talking manically. “Hi, I know what you’re thinking. This is weird. Hope I can handle it.“ You peered out into the lobby, there you saw Vanita nervously backed against her desk, across from her was an odd man. He appeared to be in his 30s, dressed in patched and campy hippie clothes, the odd look topped off with a shappy mop of black hair and lavender Lennon specs. Though a somewhat tacky outfit, it reminded you of the way you and your bandmates dressed, especially when hanging out around at festivals. He started getting up and moving towards Stretch, and you walked out from the doorframe. Both sets of eyes looking your direction.

“Uhhh, hey man…what’s up?” you asked, awkwardly trying to redirect him. He turned to you, and looked you up and down, face unreadable.

“Wh-Who  the hell’re you? I thought it was j-just the DJ?”

“Well it isn’t space cadet! Who the hell are you?”

“I-I-I’m just a fan,” he turned back to Stretch, “Me and my little brother, Bubba, we listen to this show e-every night.” He turned back to you with a sick grin, “Music…is my life.”

You smiled at that, “Oh? I dig it. I’m in a band myself.”

His eyes went wide at that, and the barely contained manic energy in him seemed to ramp up, “O-Oh yeah? Wh-What’re you like? Something h-h-heavy? Like-like Iron Butterfly!”

You chuckled. Despite him being kind of a freaky-deaky dork, you had to admit the spaz was kind of endearing and a little cute. “Kinda. We’re more like Vanilla Fudge or Quicksilver Messenger Service than anything.”

“Far-Out! So-”

“I hate to interrupt,” Stretch cut in, “But the station is closed for the night.”

The man turned back to her, a strange glint in his eye and a sick grin that made you shudder. “Well, y’see, I wa-wanted to phone in my request but, but I al-al-always get too nervous, y’know?” He paused for a reaction before continuing, “But, well, since I’m here. In-In flesh-and-blood…I figured I could just give you my request now right!

Stretch looked to you for help and you just lifted your hands in a shrug-like gesture. “Uh, sure, sure. You can tell me your request and then you need to leave.”

The man chuckled, and started heating up the coat hanger he was holding with an old rainbow lighter. “Al-Alright…How about Cold Stone Fever from uh, Humble Pie! Or uh…” he picked at his scalp, ”In Da Vidda da Gadda babey. Heh heh yeah…” he turned to you, “Real, uh, heavy stuff, y’know.” You hid a laugh behind your hand, at his goofy smile and the fact that he got both song titles wrong.

Then that menace was back in his eyes, “Or…how about s-something like that, uh, Lefty r-request record you played today? How’d it go again?” You and Stretch’s eyes went wide as the man screamed and growled in mimicry of the terrible sounds of the attack. You looked at each other in mutual fear at this man standing between you and the exit. “Wh-What was that anyway? R-Rambo III soundtrack?” he chuckled at his own joke. “Could you play it again? Or, uh, m-maybe you co-could get me a copy!” He grinned, “You could both sign it. To-To-To a far out fan!”

He seemed to respond better to you so you spoke up, “We, uh, actually don’t have a copy. Sorry sir. But we could, er,  play your other requests.”

Something dark passed over his face that you couldn’t quite place. He looked to the side in the records vault. “Hey, uh, is this where you keep the golden oldies? And mayb-” The rest of the sentence was cut off when the lights suddenly flipped on, revealing a horrifying giant wielding what looked like a chainsaw. You and Vanita screamed, she ran off towards the back rooms while you ducked out of the way into the far corner of the room behind and hid on the far side of the sofa. You heard the man from earlier hollering in pain and wailing at the giant to “Get the girl!” You saw the giant run after Vanita through the door, and you peered out from your hiding place. You watched the man from before scream and clutch at his head. “He dented my plate! My brain is burning! Nam flashback! Nam flashback! Leatherface, you bitch, I’ll…Oh just look what you did to my Sonny Bono wig. Oh, God damn it!”

You listened to the man’s cries of pain and rage from your hiding place as you resisted the urge to help him. Judging from what you could make out from his rant, he was clearly with the man trying to kill Stretch. Oh god…Vanita…what have you gotten yourself into? He eventually managed to get to his feet and began to go through the records vault, muttering something about dogs hunting. You covered your ears and tried to block out the terrible sounds coming from behind the door leading to the recording area.

You heard a door open from the other side of the room. “Hey! What the shit?” L.G was back! Maybe he could get the police and everything would be okay.

“Lick my plate you dog dick!” the hippie yelled, flipping L.G. the bird. It would have been funny if the whole situation wasn’t so terrifying.

“What the fuck you think you’re doing in here, you crazy-looking little son of a bitch? Get out of here!” You wanted to scream at L.G. to run out of here and get help, that these guys were totally buggin and super dangerous. But you stayed quiet for fear of revealing your position. This turned out to be a lethal decision as the man lunged at L.G. brandishing a hammer. “Time for incoming mail!” he shrieked, slamming into hammer into L.G.’s skull, “Ho Chi Minh!” Over and over you heard the sickening thuds through your covered ears. You squeezed your eyes shut but you couldn’t pretend it just wasn’t happening. Hell, the same thing was probably happening to Stretch right now .

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt the warmth of the tears sliding down your face, but someone else did. You open your eyes to see the killer’s leering face less than a foot from your own, “H-H-Hey there, rock’n’roll b-bunny! T-th-th-thought I lost ya t-there.”

“Please, don’t kill me,” you sobbed, “I’m, like, really sorry for whatever’s making you upset.”

This seemed to make the man nervous, and he started picking twitchily at the edge of a metal plate embedded in his skull. “I-I…I ain’t g-gonna, er, kill you. J-Just…” he looked around the room frantically, as if trying to find a solution to his problem. He spied the hammer over by L.G.’s corpse and his face broke into a grin. He scrambled to grab it, whipped back around, and started getting closer to you, arms out ahead of him as if you were a spooked animal. And I guess in a way you were. “N-Now do-don’t move or-or nothing. It It ain’t gonna h-hurt.”

Your soft sobs turned into bawling, “NoNoNo Oh God PleasePleasePleasePlease Don’t do this Please don’t do this!”

You noticed some emotion flash across his face that you couldn’t figure out. “A-one and a-two and a-three!” and the hammer fell down on your skull. You collapsed, yet you kept fading in and out of consciousness. You heard footsteps coming through the door to the studio and what sounded like the two men having a one sided conversation. “Did you get her, Bubba? Did you get that bitch? She was my fave…but-but she knew! And now…nobody knows!…L-look what you did to my plate, you bitch!…Y-You got her? Di-Did you get her good?…Slap me five!

You heard footsteps coming closer but you couldn’t see what was happening as you felt yourself getting dragged over to a damp section of floor. “I got some too. Bonus bodies! Look at that beef,” you vaguely felt a slap against your thigh, but it was as if you were made of cotton. “Help me get it out of here!,” said the hippie as you felt yourself be hoisted onto the larger man’s shoulders.

 You were tossed in what seemed like the back of a truck, though you were so dizzy it was hard to tell. Finally you succumbed to your head injury and passed out. The giant, Bubba, left to sit shotgun and only Chop-top stayed by, standing over you with a dopey look on his face. “Don’t wo-worry baby, we’ll b-be home soon,” he gave you a sloppy peck on the cheek and ran back around to the driver’s side. “Alright Bubba! Let’s blow this pop stand!” he yelled, and sped off back to where the rest of the family was waiting.

[blair-adamson]

One Foot In The Abyss || Solo

In all aspects of life, we take on a part and an appearance to seem to be what we wish to be–and thus the world is merely composed of actors. ― François de la Rochefoucauld

Blair swung at the bag, heavy fist meeting heavy surface with a thud, and another, and another. She had foregone gloves or pads, a subconscious kind of punishment for herself. The thin layer of athletic tape was all that protected her hands, and it was already starting to fray and rip. She swung until the chain holding the bag to the ceiling groaned and trembled, threatening to break. It was like a challenge; which one of them would break first.

“I hate you!” She grunted, picturing her father’s face as she beat the hell out of it. “You did this to me, to us. How could you?” Thud, thud, thud. The bag gave no answer. Right now, Blair wasn’t even sure if it was helping her feel better. “Ugh.” Blair turned, letting the bag swing away and then rock back and forth. She buried her head in her hands, flopping onto the mats. Don’t cry, she told herself. Don’t you dare freaking cry.

It was too late.

The fact she was crying only served to fill her with more frustration.

She was supposed to be tough. Wasn’t that what her dad had taught her? He raised her to be a soldier. But then what? He’d gone and changed the war. She sobbed, tears trickling down her cheeks. She didn’t have the energy to sit up for a good few minutes. When she did, she reached for her water bottle and her phone.

No new messages.

No missed calls.

No nothing.

“Of course not,” she muttered to herself, wiping both sweat and tears away with her towel. All it had taken was Lilian showing up and it was as if every one of her weaknesses had been exposed. Her appearance as that tough girl who wouldn’t let anything bother her was up. Sunlight, wooden stakes, beheading? Screw all that. Her real weakness was her sister. But she was also her greatest strength. That dichotomy was what made it all the more difficult.

She stared into her phone with vacant eyes. Did Lilian even have her number? Why would she expect her to call? Blair had been saving her sister’s number in every burner phone she’d got since her father had turned her. She’d never used it. She didn’t even know if Lil was still using the same number. She started typing, her fingers hitting the touch-screen with preternatural speed and yet also with an uncertain hesitance.

‘We have to talk about this. Please don’t hate me.’

Her finger hovered over the send button. She scoffed, shaking her head. “Nope.” She tried something else, more to the point.

‘Talk to me.’

No, not that one either. Blair ran a hand through her damp hair, letting out a frustrated groan.

‘I only did this for you. You know that right?’

Again, she deleted it. In the end, she sent nothing, simply because she didn’t know what to say. Blair turned her phone off in frustration. Even if Lil did try to contact her now, she’d get a voicemail or texts that would go unanswered for at least a few hours. Let her sweat, she thought, as if she wouldn’t be turning the thing on and checking it obsessively again in a few minutes. The tough take-no-shit hunter was battling with the vulnerable, over-emotional fledgling vampire and leaving Blair unsure who she even was any more, let alone what she should do.

She caught her reflection in the surface of her phone. Even if you ignored the unflattering angle, she looked like a mess, puffy eyed and red-faced, hair looking like she’d been dragged through a hedge. “Jesus Christ,” she sighed, brushing back her hair with her fingers and standing up again to reclaim some slither of feeling of control. “Get yourself together,” she told herself. Blair was in the middle of wiping her face with a moisturising wipe and trying to stop crying long enough to reapply enough make-up to make her look human when the door swung open.

Blair turned, raising her fist, instincts springing to life. She was coiled up like a spring, ready to unload. “What do you want?!” she blurted out without even stopping to think about it.

“Holy crap, B. You expecting someone to rush in here with a stake or something?” her colleague Jason snickered as he walked in, dropping his gym bag on the bench.

“That’s not funny,” she answered, lowering her fist, untensing, just a little. Not too long ago, she had been the one rushing in with the stake. But he didn’t know that.

“Yeah, yeah. My bad. I didn’t know the studio was booked. You mind if I do some floor work?” Before she could answer, he’d got close enough to get a decent look at her face. “Have you been crying?”

Blair stiffened, acting like she was just really, really interested in something in her bag and not like she was avoiding him. “No,” she scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Blair…” He stepped closer to her still, a newfound concern in his voice.

She clenched her fist. She felt like a cornered animal, but what was she going to do? Fight him off? Now that he’d called attention to the fact she was crying, it was like she couldn’t stop herself, the embarrassment of someone catching her in a vulnerable situation only adding to the dizzying cocktail of emotions.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, not very convincingly.

“Okay. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Yes,” she snapped, and then, once Jason had nodded and started apologetically picking up his bags, she uttered hesitant words that surprised even herself. “Maybe… No. Fuck.”

He came back, apparently recognizing that she needed him to make an executive decision for her. “It’s okay. C’mere.” God, he was going to hug her, and Blair didn’t even have the fight in her to stop him. In fact, she kind of wanted it. She exhaled, just leaning into him and sobbing into his shoulder like a damn wreck. Jason held her, patiently soothing her and stroking her hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so much flinch at a stubbed toe, let alone cry.”

“Yeah,” she huffed. “Don’t get used to it.” She clung to him loosely, tears leaving a wet patch on his shirt. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I hate this. I can’t… people can’t know.”

“I know.” He smiled soothingly, not knowing the full meaning behind her words. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want people to know she could cry. There was another secret that put her at even greater risk. “I won’t tell,” Jason answered, and Blair found herself wondering if he really meant it. He kept soothing her, being a better friend than she deserved while she calmed down. “What happened?” he asked, sounding almost afraid of the answer.

For the longest time, she was just quiet, apart from the low sobs. She wondered if she should answer him, tempted to simply say it was none of his business. Something made her decide against it though. “My sister’s here.” Blair lifted her head from his shoulder, giving a small nod to tell him she was okay now, or at least as close as she could be. “She knows I’m a vampire. And…” Blair struggled to get the next words out of her mouth. They hung there, like a guillotine. She looked at him, practically begging him with her gaze. Please be trustworthy. Please. “It’s complicated. I… I don’t do it any more, obviously…”

“What?” he asked, continuing to look at her. “What is it?”

The room got colder as she managed to say the words. “My family… We used to be hunters.”

Jason’s jaw dropped a little and Blair simply stared at him. She wouldn’t really blame him for rushing out and warning every werewolf or vampire he knew. She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. Why had she even said anything? After what felt like ages, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have let you get too close to me,” the werewolf teased. “You got a silver bullet up your sleeve?”

“Shut up.” Blair lightly smacked him with her towel, but in spite of herself, she managed to crack a smile.

“Nah. If I shut up, life would be boring.” He picked up his stuff. “I was gonna get a workout in, but I think I should take you drinking instead.” He gave her a wink. “Hit the showers and clean up, okay? I’ll meet you outside.”

It was weird, something so simple could stun her into almost silence. Blair nodded, barely able to answer. “Okay.” She showered, drying her hair and applying her make-up. She didn’t wear much of it. Just enough to make her feel like a person and not a monster. Just enough to make her feel – and look – like her old self. Her heart was still pounding, her emotions were still heavy, and her body was still pumping with adrenaline. But she had opened up, even if only a little. And the world hadn’t ended. At least not yet.

[5hfanfiction]

Why Did I Get Married? (Camren)

Part Twenty Six: Back To Reality

“I’m here with, Camila Jauregui, and we’re talking about her newest album….‘The Hurting, The Healing, The Loving’,” James Corden; a renown talk show host said as he introduced the pop star. “We’re all dying to know, when is this highly anticipated album dropping?”

Camila smiled. She was way too excited for the release of this album, as it was as she dubbed 'her baby’. “Well, James, my baby will be dropping….drumroll please,” the audience laughed once they heard the drumroll. “September 21st! I’m so excited to share this with everyone, not just my fans but anyone who listens to my music. I hope it resonates with the broken, and I hope they know that their healing is coming. It may not be right now, but it’s coming.”

James grinned. “You heard it here first, folks. Camila Jauregui’s third studio album is dropping in two months! I don’t know about you all, but I am honestly super excited for this album!” The crowd murmured in agreement. All of Camila’s fans had been awaiting this album since before she even announced it was in the works, and it was finally going to be released and bless their ears. “Okay, so question, what’s your favourite song that you have on the record?”

Camila groaned. “Everyone keeps asking me this, but truth is, all these songs are my babies, they’re pieces of me. It’s like when your kids come and ask you which one of them is your favourite.”

James snorted. “Oh, trust me, I know the feeling.” The crowd laughed along with him.

“But, if I had to choose, I feel like my favourite song would be 'Like I’m Going To Lose You’.” This had been a part of Camila’s 'The Loving’, and a featured artist she had on it was John Legend. “And I know, you’re going to ask why, but I think it’s my favourite because it revolves around a situation between my wife and I.” Camila ran a hand through her hair. “I think…um…when we love someone, something that we forget is that at any given moment the person can be gone; be it death, divorce or whatever it is. And I feel like we don’t truly cherish someone until they’re gone. So I wrote that song after coming to the realisation that my wife won’t be here forever, so I plan on loving her like I’m going to lose her. Unconditionally, because we aren’t promised tomorrow.”

You might think that you don’t matter in this world, but because of you someone has a favourite mug that they drink their coffee out of every morning.

Someone has a favourite song, that whenever it comes on the radio, they can’t help but belt the lyrics out, not giving a shit whether they sound good or not.

Someone reads a book or watches a movie that you recommended and they get so lost in the little details, and they can’t help but wait to talk to you about it.

Don’t ever think you don’t have an impact in someone’s life. Your fingerprints can’t simply be wiped away from the little acts of kindness, from the way you love someone, it can’t go away just like that.

“Aw that’s literally the cutest thing I’ve heard all day!” James gushed. “Do you think she’s watching your interview right now? Do you have something you’ll like to tell the woman that stole your heart?”

Camila laughed. She didn’t think her wife had been watching the interview because she had to be at work at an insanely early hour. Nicholas Dos Santos was going to need her to photograph some of his models and that was going to take a few hours.

“I don’t think she’s watching right now, but even if she isn’t, I just want you all to know that this woman has my entire heart,” Camila placed her left hand over her heart and smiled. “I love her with everything in me. I know that no matter what…she’ll be mine. She’s my home.”

***

“Lauren!”

“Mrs Jauregui - Cabello!”

“Ma'am!”

It had been an extremely long day of running back and forth in her photography studio. Lauren was accustomed to all of this but today, she wanted everything to be perfect. Working with Nicholas was her childhood dream and she needed to impress this man, even though he had expressed on more than one occasion how much he fancied Lauren and Natasha’s work.

Lauren slid into her car, slamming the door shut, she rested her head against the steering wheel and shut her eyes for a bit. She just needed a moment of calm before heading home.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Her phone rang, groaning as she picked up the phone, once the voice rang through the speaker, she knew it was her sister.

“Heyyy, sissy!” Maggie greeted her sister. “Where are you?”

Lauren groaned. “I’m heading home. I’m so tired. I’m just going to dive into my bed and…die.”

“Very cryptic, hermana,” Maggie yelled at someone in the background, telling them to put something back. “But no can do, you’re coming to Val’s restaurant. You know where that is right?”

The older Jauregui mumbled an incoherent answer.

“Listen here, you dumb bitch, how many times do I have to tell you to stop eating the fucking food! She isn’t here yet!” Maggie yelled.

The person yelled back; the culprit being Dinah Jane, Camila and Lauren’s mutual friend. “Listen here, Jauregui, I would end your shit. Do not talk to me like that!”

Lauren snickered. “Mags, Dinah, the both of y'all need to behave.”

“Ugh!” Maggie let out frustratedly. “Just be here in twenty minutes before I murder this whore.”

Lauren laughed loudly. “Okay, fine. I’ll be there soon. And in case Dinah kills you, just letting you know that I love you.”

“Love you too! Now bye,” they both hung up.  Lauren hadn’t the slightest clue as to why her sister wanted her to come to Valetina’s restaurant, she just assumed that they were having a get together that Camila had planned last minute.

However, what Lauren had completely forgotten was that her 27th birthday was today. With all the work she was doing building up to today, it had slipped her mind. Of course, people wished her on her social medias, but she didn’t have the chance to check it, nor did she like social media to begin with.

Me, on the other hand, Twitter and Snapchat are my faves. I’m always lurking, scrolling…judging.

Anyway, it hadn’t been the first time Lauren had forgotten her birthday, in fact maybe it was the fourth or fifth. Unknowingly to her, Camila had planned an intimate get together with their families and close friends. She knew Lauren wasn’t too keen on extravagance, so the smaller, the better.

It was a twenty minute drive to Valentina’s restaurant. A pretty high end restaurant, might I add. Lauren parked her car and got out. She wasn’t greeted to people jumping out of nowhere, screaming 'Happy Birthday’, but rather Camila, Dinah and Maggie bickering about some birthday decorations.

Lauren cleared her throat loudly, the trio stopped and turned towards the noise, only to be greeted with their guest of honour.

“Laur!” Camila pouted. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

Lauren laughed. Izzy came charging at her mother, almost tripping in the process. She scoped the child up in her arms. “Feliz cumpleaños, mama!” Izzy wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck.

“Happy Birthday!!” Everyone else yelled out because it made no sense anymore as they weren’t prepared for Lauren’s entrance. Upon surveying the room, Lauren saw her parents, Sinu, Valentina, Becky, Dinah, Normani, Ally along with their families. Then there was Natasha who was chatting with Hailee; who recently ended things with her newest boyfriend, then there was Maggie and Ariana.

Lauren smiled. “I can honestly say that I’m surprised. I had completely forgotten about my birthday with everything that was going on.” She wrapped an arm around her wife pulling her close. “Thank you all for coming.”

“I don’t know how you can forget your birthday, babe,” Camila placed a kiss on her wife’s lips. “It’s the day the earth was blessed with such an amazing woman like you.”

Dinah cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled. “Smoothhhh.”

Camila smirked and sent a wink at her friend, “It’s the Cabello genes, baby.”

“Hear, hear!” Becky raised a glass of juice as her mother wasn’t going to allow her to drink anything alcoholic.

Maggie approached her sister and engulfed her in a hug. “Twenty seven has literally never looked any better,” she winked at her sister. “But! Let’s get you out of that hideous work attire,” the model linked arms with her sister, not before telling everyone to let the party begin.

Maggie popped open her trunk, and began rummaging through clothing bags.

Lauren laughed. “You have cocktail dresses in your trunk? Really, Mags?”

The younger Jauregui rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. I’m not an animal, Lauren.” She pulled out a jeans, and paired it with a shirt. It wasn’t something Maggie would wear because she goes all out, but her sister wasn’t extravagant; only when it comes to cars anyway. “Throw this on and go enjoy your party.”

Lauren took the outfit, but as her sister went to walk away, she pulled her back. “Hey, Mags?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” Lauren gestured to the party. “I really appreciate it.”

Maggie smiled. “You’re welcome, but I only did the heavy lifting. Your wife is the one who planned everything. You should be thanking her.”

Which was true. Camila had been the one who was planning Lauren’s birthday party. She didn’t want to do something over the top, but rather a small get together with Lauren’s loved ones.

“Although,” Maggie smirked. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job thanking her almost every other night.”

“O-okay,” Lauren blushed. “I think I should change and head back inside. You know, can’t keep my guests waiting!” She sprinted inside to change into her outfit, leaving her sister behind who was laughing uncontrollably.

***

After opening up a few gifts from her friends, and interacting with everyone, Lauren needed some time to herself. She grabbed a plate of food and headed out on the veranda to look at the cars that were passing by. Surprisingly, Camila was already there sitting on a bench, lost in her own thoughts.

Have you ever looked at the love of your life, when they’re doing absolutely nothing and find yourself falling more and more in love with them?

One day, you’re gonna meet this great girl or guy in life. And from the moment your eyes lock with theirs, you’ll know that they’re trouble. They’re going to have a weird sense of humour, they’re going to have an attitude, they’re going to drive you crazy. They’re going to make you do things you never thought you would’ve done. They’re going to make you see the world in a different light.

But, most importantly, they’re going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.

You’re going to love them against reason, so no matter what, don’t get tired of them.

Don’t give up on her.

Because you knew from the moment your eyes locked with hers, the moment she took your breath away, you knew that she was….worth it.

“You’re staring, Jauregui.”

Lauren snapped out of her thoughts and she smiled to herself. “How can I not? You’re absolutely stunning. Especially in that dress.”

“Flattery would only get you everywhere,” Camila turned her head, and sent a wink to her wife.

Lauren approached the woman, taking a seat next to her. “But as beautiful as you look in that dress, I’ll love to see you out of it,” she whispered into Camila’s ears, causing her to shiver at the thought.

The brunette hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind when we get home, if you aren’t too exhausted.” She took the birthday girl’s hand in hers, pulling it onto her lap. “Listen, Laur, I know it’s your birthday but I need to tell you something.”

“LAUREN! CAMILA!” Ariana burst out onto the veranda where the couple were. “What are you two doing out here? The party is in there.”

“Why are you yelling?”

Ariana paused for a moment contemplating why she was yelling in the first place, but she shrugged. “I don’t know,” she giggled. “Oh by the way, Milz. I didn’t get the chance to tell you, but I’m really excited to be joining you on tour! Just us girls taking on the world!!”

The moment the word 'tour’ left Ariana’s lips, Camila could practically feel Lauren’s eyes glaring into the side of her head. When Camila didn’t say anything, and Ariana had saw the look on Lauren’s face, she knew she had messed up.

“WHAT’S THAT MAGS?!” Ariana pretended as though her girlfriend was calling her, as she tried to escape this very awkward situation. “COMING, BABE!” The pop star ran away, because she was sure some shit was about to go down. And she didn’t want to be a part of that.

“So,” Lauren began. “Tour, huh?”

Camila cringed. “Mi amor, please let me explain.” She turned to look at her wife, who was surprisingly calm, but she was pretty sure Lauren was about to murder her.

“Oh, go right ahead, amor,” Lauren smiled. “Tell me all about your tour.”

“It’s not…it’s not set in stone as yet,” Camila began. “I mean, maybe it is, but if you don’t…if you don’t want me to go, we can cancel it and I um..” She tried to find the right words, but she was so afraid of messing up the progress that they had made over the past few months. Camila wanted to tell Lauren about the tour, but every time she was about to, something interrupted them, and honestly? She was just too scared of her wife’s reaction.

Lauren sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Camz… I love you, I really do, but why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was scared…”

“Scared of what?”

Camila turned away from her wife. “We we’re finally happy again. You, me, Izzy…then…then I have to leave again. And after everything we’d lose all the progress we made, and you’ll hate me and Izzy would hate me.”

Lauren took Camila’s hands in hers in an attempt to comfort her. “I could never hate you, amor. I’m mad and definitely sad, yeah. But hate you? I can’t ever do that.”

Camila sighed but she didn’t say anything.

“I just wish that you would talk to me about these things you, know? You can’t keep hiding your career choices from me, especially when I’m obviously going to find out.”

“I just…I just didn’t want us to go back to the way we used to be,” Camila frowned. “But I know me not saying anything wasn’t a good decision on my part.”

Lauren blew out heavily threw her mouth and stood. She lent against one of the pillars of the building, not saying anything. “I don’t want to fight with you, Camz.” She turned and looked at her wife. Sadness evident in Camila’s brown eyes. “But it just hurts when you have to leave, you know? I know it’s your career and I’m not asking you to choose between your family and your career. I just want us to be able to discuss these things. I just…want to have a say, you know?”

Camila nodded slowly. “I know, and I completely understand. It’s just even after therapy, it’s still a process, and it’s still hard, but…I want us to figure this out together.” The brunette stood and walked towards her wife, taking one of her hands and intertwining their fingers. “Do you want me to go on tour?”

“I do,” Lauren didn’t miss a beat. “I know how much this means to you and I know how much you love your fans, and how much they love you. I don’t want to come between that, I just want us to be with you, as a family.”

“Do you think we should move?”

The photographer kinked an eyebrow. “Move? What do you mean?”

“Like…I don’t know? To New York” Camila suggested. “Most of your clients are there, then I’m there most of the time because of work…it I don’t know, it makes sense.” When she saw the confused expression etched on her wife’s face, she began to mumble incoherent things. “Never mind, I’m just being silly.”

Lauren shook her head 'no’. “It’s not that. It’s just…everyone is here. My family, yours…and Izzy. All Izzy’s friends are here.”

“Izzy doesn’t really like her friends besides, Elijah, Moana, Destiny, Imani and Elena,” Camila pointed out, but then she sighed. “It was stupid anyway.”

“What was stupid?” Dinah asked as she stepped outside, Ally and Normani trailing behind. “This is literally your twenty seventh birthday, Ralph Lauren, what on earth are you doing outside here?”

Normani took a sip of her drink. “We should be doing body shots! I call dibs on, Camila.” She playfully winked at her friend’s wife, who blushed red in embarrassment.

“I just followed these two out here to ensure that they weren’t going to do anything stupid,” Ally said, throwing her friends under the bus. “You both look glum, what’s going on?”

Camila sighed heavily, and passed her hand over her face. “I’m going on tour.”

“Oh.”

“Damn.”

“Welp.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Really, guys?”

“I mean, we’re just saying, things don’t usually end well for the both of y'all when Mila tours,” Dinah pointed out. “What are you both gonna do?”

“Camila, suggested we move.”

“Oh, damn. To NYC?” Ally asked, causing Camila to nod. “That actually doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. She’s always there cause of her music, then sometimes she’s in LA, but I mean it’s not a bad idea.”

Which is true. Most of the time Camila was in New York recording her songs, doing interviews, then she would be back and forth between Miami and New York. Occasionally she would have to go to LA, but that wasn’t as often as New York.

“But then there’s Izzy,” Normani added. “Uprooting a child from a stable environment can hamper their friendships and relationships with other people. These effects are most problematic for kids who are introverted and those whose personalities tend toward anxiety and inflexibility.”

Dinah snorted. “Did you read that off some magazine or something?”

“Actually, yes I did,” Normani retorted. “I like to be well informed for my clients.”

“BUT!” Ally interrupted the two before they started bickering. “Maybe you should include, Izzy in your discussion. Not right now though, she’s playing with Dante, Maggie and the kids.”

Lauren sighed and looked at her wife. “Camz…I love you. I really do. Home isn’t four walls to me, it’s two eyes and a heartbeat.” She trailed her hand down Camila’s arm. “Home is wherever you are, and if moving is what seems best, then we can do it. But we need to include Izzy in this.”

Camila smiled softly and nodded.

“And obviously, we’re going to constantly be in NYC now!” Dinah said excitedly. “Can’t miss out on baby Camren’s precious years.”

Camila laughed. “Of course not, DJ. Mi casa es vuestra casa.” She then looked at wife. “What about me being gone for tour? What happens then?”

Lauren paused and thought for a moment. “I mean, I can always let Hailee manage my company. She’s very capable of doing that. And I can become a freelance photographer. Travel around with you, whichever country your career takes you, and do jobs for people.”

“And Izzy?”

“We can home school her,” Camila thought out loud. “Hire someone, with a child at least who can travel with us and can teach Izzy for the time that I’m away.”

It may seem a bit too drastic. Having your family on the road with you, but it seemed like the only logically idea, especially if you don’t want your partner to give up on her dreams.

If you didn’t want her to stop doing what she loved.

And if we were being honest, Lauren never truly liked sitting behind a desk. She always wanted to travel the world, be adventurous and do what she loved. But when the time came, she chose something practical over her dreams and just went with it.

Minor details would have to be worked out, but this was something that the Jauregui - Cabello family had to talk about together and then go ahead with. Well, only if it was beneficial to all of them, especially young Isabella as she was just a child.

***

“Hey, princesa,” Lauren took a seat next to her daughter who was staring at a slice of cake. The child seemed as though she was deep in thought, until her mother startled her. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m thinking,” Izzy said. She had her tongue caught between her teeth, eyes not leaving the slice of cake.

Lauren smiled fondly at her child. She ran her hand through the child’s ponytail. “What about?”

Her daughter didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Mama?” Izzy looked at her mother randomly. “What’s your birthday wish?”

“I wished for us, as a family to be happy always. No matter what happens, that we’ll come back to each other.” Lauren picked up a fork and cut a piece of the cake to feed her daughter.

Izzy smiled once she tasted the cake. “Because we’re family and that’s what family do!”

“Exactly, princesa.” She tougher Izzy’s face tenderly, smiling fondly at her. “Why aren’t you with your friends?”

Izzy shrugged. “They annoy me when I play with them too much.” Lauren laughed. “I like Elena more, but she couldn’t come to your party.” She pouted.

“Maybe next time you can invite her home for a sleepover. Does that sound better?”

Izzy nodded furiously. “Yes! I can’t wait.”

“Hey,” Camila approached her wife and daughter. “Are the two of you bonding without me?” She fake pouted, looking adorable as hell.

Lauren patted her lap so that the woman could take a seat. “C'mere, let’s bond.”

Izzy grinned happily. The child was always overly excited when she saw her parents’ interacting with one another. She didn’t know what truly went down between the two, but she knew they weren’t happy then, but now seeing all the strides her parents were making, the child couldn’t have been any happier.

“How’s your birthday going, babe?” Camila asked her wife. “Got everything you wanted?”

Lauren buried her face in the crook of Camila’s neck, inhaling her scent. “I couldn’t have asked for anything more, if I’m being honest.” She looked up and smiled at their daughter. “Being here with the both of you, with my friends and family? What more could I want?”

“Probably some birthday cake, if you know what I mean,” Natasha butted in. She pulled up a chair and took a seat amongst the family. “Am I right, or am I right?!”

Izzy handed her plate of cake to Lauren. “You can have some of my cake if you want, mama.”

Natasha laughed loudly. “She’s so innocent like you, Camzii.” The woman patted Camila’s hand.

Lauren rolled her eyes playfully. “It’s okay, princesa. You enjoy your cake. Natasha is being an idiota.”

Izzy shrugged and continued to eat her cake, ignoring the adults around her.

“So,” Natasha began. “How’s my best friend in the whole wide world doing?”

Camila and Lauren exchanged a look. “What do you want, Tasha?”

The Dominican giggled and rolled her eyes. “I don’t want anything,” she said but the couple wasn’t buying it. “I’m serious! Oh my god, when I try to be nice, you don’t want my niceness?” Lauren kinked an eyebrow at her. “Okay, fine. I was wondering if Hailee is like…I don’t know… single?”

“I mean, from what I know she recently broke up with her boyfriend,” Lauren said. She ran her fingers through her wife’s hair mindlessly. “Why do you wanna know?”

Natasha shrugged. “Oh, no reason. I was just wondering.” The table fell silent, until Camila grew bored and decided on dragging her wife up on stage with her so that they can perform.

“Anyway,” Camila stood and pulled Lauren up along with her. “Let’s sing!”

“Camz…” Lauren whined. “I don’t want to!”

It wasn’t that Lauren was a terrible singer, she just didn’t really like to do it. It was always Camila’s thing, the same way Camila didn’t like photography or having her photo taken, but due to her career, she had no choice but to grow accustomed to it.

The reason why Camila and Lauren had worked so well was that they both respected each other’s wishes. They didn’t force each other to do something they didn’t like or didn’t want to. But even if the other was uncomfortable with something and they knew their partner wanted to do it, they always pushed away their fear or dislike of something.

Especially Lauren, she was always the shyer, more reserved one amongst the two.

When Lauren is with Camila, she’s different. In a good way of course. She smiles and laughs more. She doesn’t have to pretend that everything is okay, when it’s really not. She can let her guard down. She can allow her walls to crumble without the fear of being hurt.

Camila doesn’t feel hurt and alone when she’s with Lauren. Instead, she feels safe and loved. She’s easy to talk to, and Lauren listens. She doesn’t have to worry about holding anything back because Lauren doesn’t judge her. She doesn’t ever feel insecure or sad, because she knows that she’s the only one that Lauren wants.

When you’re with someone, they’ll show you that they really do care, and  they’re not just pretending.

When you’re with them, you’re different.

You’re happy.

Camila and Lauren sang effortlessly.

Whenever they’re together, whenever they do something together, it just flows so naturally. That’s when you know that they’re your person.

That’s when you know they’re the one.

Lauren took Camila’s hand in hers and pulled her close, the microphone in the other as she held it close to her lips.

“Everybody’s talking about heaven like they just can’t wait to go, Saying how it’s gonna be so good, so beautiful,” she trailed her hand down Camila’s arm, gazing lovingly into her wife’s beautiful brown eyes.

“Lying next to you, in this bed with you, I ain’t convinced, 'Cause, I don’t know how, I don’t know how heaven, heaven…” Camila brought Lauren’s hand to her lips and kissed her palm. “I love you,” she mouthed as she stared into Lauren’s eyes.

“Could be better than this (heaven) Could be better than this (heaven, heaven),” They sang together, as the music slowly faded in the background.

Once the song was over, Lauren dropped her microphone on the floor, and cupped Camila’s cheeks. “I am so in love with you, Camila Jauregui. So irrevocably in love with you.”

She kissed Camila with every ounce of passion that she had burning inside of her. Every ounce of love and need that she had for this woman. That she had for her wife. She kissed her like it was going to be their last kiss.

Don’t ever take the one you love for granted because you never know when you’ll run out of time. The thing about some relationships is that they just end. You can compare it to a star. They burn bright and brilliant for quite some time, and then for no particular reason, they just reach their end. Nothing goes wrong.

In a sense, I guess, they just burn out.

So embrace the time you have with someone. Love them like you’re going to lose them. Give them your all, only if they’re deserving of it.

Love with no regrets.

***

Wattpad: Commander_Camren

[julia-highstorms]

If Jane Was Here (Noah's POV) - Ch. 08

Summary: ILITW by Noah’s point of view. Previous chapters here

Author’s Note: all characters belong to Pixelberry Studios. F!MC! THE 2 MONTH HIATUS IS OVER!!!!!! BEANIE BOY LIVES!!!! lol Thank you all for your patience ilysm

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Pairing: Noah x MC

Word count: 2563

Tagging @kurbqa @miragemeister @yertletheturtle04 @mysteriouslady4 @klaudiana-beaumontkk @katiehawkeyebishop @melchann @imgoingtocurnyscho @jadedpixiescribbles @gameofstrangerwars @american-duchess @blackheartdreams @indiacater

If you want to be tagged, let me know!

Chapter 8 - Breakdown

Redfield lifted his hand and patted his own chest:

“...Jane is here...”

“What... What are you talking about?” – Noah yelled, taken aback. – “What do you mean ‘Jane is here’? Here where?!”

But before the creature could answer, the sun broke through the clouds. Mr. Red winced, retreating back into the trees, safe in the shadows.

“Hey, no! Stop! What does that mean? Where is Jane?!”

But the creature vanished, leaving him shaking and alone on the empty road.

“What the hell? What the hell?!”

Noah reached for his phone to text his friends... and spotted a message from

Ava, telling him about Cody’s death.

“...Fuck.” – he mumbled.

If Jane was here...

On Monday morning, the gang gathered outside the school building, just before the classes started. They were all anxious and worried about MC. Noah chose to not tell them about his encounter with Mr. Red. He himself still didn’t believe that he actually had found the monster. He didn’t want to alarm no one else. Everybody was pretty messed up already.

Surprisingly, the police didn’t consider MC a suspect. They said that based on Cody’s wounds, he simply fell down into the tree.

What the hell?!

“How do you fall into a tree?”

“What, was he up on your roof or something?” – Andy asked.

“The cops think he was trying to break in...” – but then Lucas asked her what she thought. – “I... I think Redfield killed him.”

Everyone exchanged a nervous glance. Noah’s heart even stopped for a second.

“And... how do you feel about that?” – Lucas still had that cautious tone in his calming voice.

“I think this is messed up. Cody was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve to die for it. And definitely not like that.”

“You guys see what this means, right?” – Lily’s hands were shaking a little:

“It means things are getting even worse. If Redfield’s willing to kill for us... there’s no telling what else he’ll do.”

“So we put a stop to it, once and for all. We march into those woods, find Mr. Red’s house, and—“

“That’s what started this mess!” – Lily interrupted him. – “The closer we get to him, the stronger he becomes! And clearly he’s too strong already!”

“Seriously. What are we even supposed to do against a freaking shadow monster that impales people on trees?!” – Stacy exploded by his side. Andy said:

“There’s gotta be something we can do. I’m not just gonna sit around while people die!” – he was right.

“B-but if he’s doing all this for us... maybe he’d go away if we just ignored him!”

“Sure, and maybe if we all wish real hard, the clouds will turn into cotton candy.” – Ava snapped at Lily. – “We can’t just ignore Mr. Red, we need to understand him. It’s the only way to get some control over the situation.”

Understand?! Control?! That was totally bullshit. It was madness. That monster was uncontrollable.

“You want to control Mr. Red?! After what he did?!”

“You got a better idea?”

“Hold on a second...” – MC showed both of her hands in a peace sign. – “I think... Ava’s right, we need to know more. Maybe there is a way to control Mr. Red, or lock him away. We don’t know until we look for it.”

“And while we’re looking, more people could die.” – Noah reminded her.

Everyone was out of their minds.

“Look, we’re the ones who are closest to this, so we should do everything we can to find a way to stop Redfield...” – Lucas started saying: - “But... the ugly truth is that there may be nothing we can do. Redfield may simply be too powerful.”

“Great, thanks for the pep talk.”

“What, did you want me to sugar-coat it? I’m just trying to be honest about our situation!” – the Class President assumed a defensive position.

“Funny, it sounds a lot like you’re trying to talk yourself out at doing this.”

Typical. Just typical. Lucas trying to free his ass. Stacy thinking that the adults would resolve a damn thing and Lily just wanting for things to stop if they ignored it even with all that madness happening right in front of their faces.

Cowards. They were all just a bunch of cowards.

“Hey, nobody’s giving up yet. We’ve just gotta figure out—“ – he yanked out of MC’s hand on his shoulder.

“Save it.” – he took a step back from the group, shaking his head as the five-minute bell rang. – “You know, for a second back there... I thought you were all with me. I thought maybe we were finally going to make things right. Guess I was wrong.”

And then, he turned and slouched off towards the school building.

He shouldn’t be feeling so disappointed. So lonely. They had already abandoned him once. No one truly cared about Jane. They all just cared about their own lives.

He should have known that this would happen, sooner or later.

If Jane was here...

He didn’t pay attention to the classes as usual. He just couldn’t stop thinking about his meeting with Mr. Red. What the hell did he meant with “Jane is here”? Here where? In the woods? Was she alone there? And how could she be there? They had buried her body a long time ago.

Ugh. That thing was probably just wanting to mess with his head.

Then, with his nerves much calmer, he thought about the fight earlier. Why did they all always ended up fighting when they talked about Redfield? With all that time they wasted arguing with each other, that monster was getting stronger and more dangerous.

After school, as the classes were over, he saw MC leaving the building alone. He decided to follow her. She walked over to the coffee shop on Main Street. He pondered for a moment if he should enter or not, before deciding to go for it. He was already there anyway. He hadn’t talked to none of the gang after their fight... and he wanted to see how she was doing.

MC was sitting alone, armed with fresh coffee and a papers scattered around her.

“Hey.” – he greeted her with a small tilt of his head as he approached the table.

“Noah! What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” – he said as he slid into a chair opposite of her. He leaned forward to look at her notes. – “’Hates sunlight, incorporeal form, can control animals’... Are these notes on Mr. Red, or Dracula?”

She didn’t seem to enjoy his joke, since she snatched the notes away from him and shoved them into her bag, with a scowl.

“You got that the whole coming-here-alone thing was on purpose, right?”

“Yeah, I figured that was the case when I saw you sneak out the back door after school and book it down the road. So why didn’t you tell anyone where you were going?”

“Because someone has to figure out how to stop Mr. Red... And I’m tired of fighting about it. Everytime we even start talking about him, it turns into a big stupid argument that doesn’t go anywhere.”

“So you’ve noticed that too?”

“And after everything that happened this morning... I think maybe we all need a little time apart anyway.”

Noah stared out the front window, tapping his foot on the ground. He didn’t know if he agreed with MC. He knew that the gang always ended up fighting with each other... but there was strength in numbers, right?

“I’m sorry, MC. I know I can be a real jerk about Mr. Red stuff. It’s just... Every time I think about him, I get mad about Jane all over again. Then I get pissed at everyone else for not being as mad as I am.”

“About Jane... I’m sorry I pulled away.”

That caught him off-guard. He wasn’t expecting it.

“Whatever. We don’t have to rehash all that.” – he saw her shaking her head before she kept talking:

“No, I... I’m as guilty as anyone else. I pushed you away. And I let it stay that way for too long. And I’m sorry.”

“Jeez... uh...” – he still felt speechless. No one had ever apologised for abandoning him before. But maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. It was MC after all. – “I mean, thanks... I appreciate that.” – he grinned at her.

He saw a small smile on MC’s lips and they fell into a long but not completely uncomfortable silence. In fact, it was nice being there with her. Watching people coming and exiting the café, living their lives, oblivious about that thing that lived in the woods.

Noah couldn’t help but let his mind drift away... to a time free of drama, sorrow and angst. When Jane was here. One memory specifically popped up on his mind. He was so silly back then, so innocent... Things were so simpler...

“Heh.” – he chuckled to himself.

“What?”

“Nothing, just... I remembered something funny. I was thinking about this time I ran away and Jane came to ‘rescue’ me. She always knew how to...” – he trailed off when he saw MC’s eyes on him. He was rambling. Being a burden again. Noah rubbed his forehead tiredly. – “Eh. You probably don’t want to hear about that...”

“No, come on. I want to hear it.” – she smiled at him, squeezing his hand on his lap, in a encourageous way.

“Okay, so, like I said, I had just run away...” His backpack hung heavy as he hiked deep into the woods, leaving his old life behind. After probably ten minutes walking, he decided that it was time for a snack break. He sat his backpack down on a stump and rummaged around for the Cheesyfish crackers he brought along. 

“Aww, they got squished! I can’t eat these now... This sucks.” - suddenly he heard a twig snap in the underbrush nearby. – “Wh-who’s there?!” – he shout to the woods.

Leaves crunched. Ferns rustled. The little boy pulled his trusty slingshot from his bag.

“S-stay back!” – he shouted again. He picked up a pebble and took aim as his target stepped into the clearing.

“Noah, is that y—“ – his rock clattered past Jane’s foot. – “...wow, were you aiming at me? That was really bad.”

“What are you doing out here?!” – he snapped back at his sister.

“I came to find you. – she looked confused.

“But my note said specifically not to!”

“If you didn’t want anyone to come look, why’d you leave a note?”

“I—“ – he didn’t know what to say. – “I don’t know.”

He sighed and sat down on the stump. Jane came and sat with him.

“Noah, why are you running away? Did I do something?”

“No, it’s not you. I heard Mom and Dad fighting... and Mom said the D-word.”

“What’s the D-word?”

“Um...” – should he tell her? – “Divorce. It’s when parents stop being married. And then I think  one of them goes to jail.”

“Oh...” – Jane hugged her knees to her chest, eyes watering for a single second, before her brow furrowed. – “But... how does running away help?”

“Well, it’s not supposed to help...”

“Then why do it?”

“I dunno...” - to be honest, he didn’t think much about it and the consequences. He just thought that running away was a good plan.

Then Jane stood and planted her hands on her hips.

“Well, I think you’re being selfish! If you run away, who’s gonna walk me home from school? And help me find Gizmo when he gets out of his cage? And eat the crusts off my sandwiches?”

“I don’t know... MC, probably...”

“Huh? MC hates crusts!”

“Well, she does everything else for you...”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“You guys have been doing everything together! You took MC to Mr. Red’s house before you even told me about it!” – he yelled at her. Jane blinked a few times.

“Wait... Noah, are you jealous?”

“...Maybe.” – he heard himself confessing.

“Noah, listen to me.” – she took him by the shoulder and shook him. She grinned at him. – “MC is my BFF. You’re my twin. Okay?”

“...okay...”

Jane shook him again. A lot.

“Stop. Being. SAD.”

“Okay, quit it!” – he poked his sister in the armpit and she jerked away, giggling. – “Race you home!”

“Not if I do this!” – she shoved the boy backwards over the stump and took off running.

He quickly stood up and followed her home.

“Anyway, uh. That’s it.” – Noah finished his story, still hearing his and Jane's giggles in his mind. He had a smile on his lips.

“That was a cute story.” – MC grinned back at him, her hand still over his.

“Heh. Yeah. It’s kinda nice to think about something besides all this.”

“But I never knew you were jealous of me.”

“Wait, seriously? I thought it was super obvious!”

“No, not at all!” – she seemed as surprised as him.

“I mean, yeah. Jane and I were a team. After you came along, it was like...” – he struggled to find the words, then rolled his eyes. – “Whatever. Anyway, that was...” – feeling MC’s eyes still on him, he went back to staring outside. – “...that was a long time ago.”

His smile vanished as soon as it appeared. Noah wondered if he should tell her about his encounter with Mr. Red, when MC whispered:

“You want to hear something kinda messed up?”

“What?” – he looked back at her. She wasn’t smiling anymore either.

“For all the awful things he’s done, I have to admit... my life has gotten better since Mr. Red returned. If it wasn’t for him, none of you guys would have started talking to me again. He brought us back together.”

“Look, I get what you mean, but... Redfield’s a monster. He’s hurt people, and he’ll do worse the longer this goes. No matter how he tries to trick us, we can’t forget that what he wants is to drag us into that house and do the same thing he did to Jane. All he wants is power, so he can escape. We can’t let that happen. And we can’t make the same mistakes we made as kids.”

“Yeah... you’re right. So what do we do?”

Noah looked down to her notebook on the table.

“Uh, we can try to do some brainstorm? Ways of maybe stopping him?” - he saw a small smirk tugging on MC’s lips.

“We can try.”

But easier said than done. After a couple of hour of fruitless brainstorming, he and MC parted ways.

“Hey. Don’t sweat it this. We’ll find a way to fix it.” – his lips quickly turned up before going back down. – “....somehow.”

“Thanks, but... I don’t know how I’m gonna fix anything when I don’t even know what Mr. Red really is, or why he’s doing this to us.”

“I guess all we can do is judge him by his actions. Try to find a pattern.”

“Yeah... guess so.”

“So, uh... See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

And, before he could go away, MC pulled him in for a hug. Noah felt a heat rising into his cheeks as he felt her arms around him. He awkwardly patted her head. She was so short.

“You know, I’m glad that you followed me today, Noah.”

“I wasn’t following you.” – she chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah. Then how did you know that I was here?” – he rolled his eyes, still blushing. She chuckled again seeing that he didn’t know what to say. – “Anyway, see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Text me if you think of anything, okay?”

“Okay. You do the same.”

They said goodbye and started going home. Thoughts spiraled inside his head.

That night at home wasn’t so bad. Mom still wasn’t talking to him, too hurt about what he said that weekend. He didn’t apologize to her too. So they were just trying to stay out of each other’s ways.

Not that was too different from their routine. But at least she wasn’t yelling at him.

Although he struggled a little to go back to sleep as usual, that day it didn’t take too much time to come and he fell into a dreamless sleep...

...To be awaken by his phone a few hours later. It was just before pre-dawn and he had just received a text from MC.

MC: “Noah, I think I just figured something out”

Noah: “??”

MC: “remember when we went into the woods to look for dan”

MC: “and I found Jane’s whistle?”

Noah: “yeah??” – he still was trying to woke up.

MC: “I don’t think that was just a coincidence. I think redfield left it there for me...”

Noah: “makes sense. just one more trick to lure us in”

MC: “right, except he HASN’T tried to lure us into the woods for days”

MC: “he just keeps trying to solve our problems”

MC: “attack Ben for Andy”

MC: “dealing with britney for stacy”

MC: “killing cody for me”

Noah: “what r u saying?”

MC: “what if the things he’s doing aren’t tricks?”

MC: “what if they’re just... GIFTS?”

What the fuck?! Gifts?!

Noah: “wtf”

Noah: “why would he give us gifts??”

MC: “I think maybe in the beginning, he DID need us to come back, to increase his power...”

MC: “but I think he brought us all back together because he MISSES us”

MC: “he wants us all to be friends again”

Noah: “no way! after he killed jane? and now cody!! what he’s doing is so messed up”

MC: “yeah, but think about it! he was the same way back then!”

MC: “always going just a little too far”

MC: “always playing just a little too rough”

MC: “I don’t think he understands that he’s doing anything wrong”

MC: “what if he doesn’t even understand that he killed jane???”

MC: “what if all he knows is that we had a big fight and then all pulled away from him???”

MC: “like we did from you???”

MC: “and he doesn’t understand why???”

MC: “and he thinks that if he just makes us happy, we’ll all come back and see him again???”

He was feeling seriously nauseous with that chat. What? What?!

Noah: “jfc... I think I’m gonna barf”

MC: “tell me about it”

Noah: “so what do we do about it??”

MC: “what if we just tried to talking to him?”

That was the most stupid plan he had ever heard. Or read, in that case.

Noah: “oh sure just invite him out for some coffee and have a chat”

MC: “do you have a better idea? you said it yourself, this isn’t just going to stop happening. and if anything it’s just getting worse.”

MC: “if I can fix this... then I have to try.”

Noah: “what, by yourself?”

Oh no no no no no no no no no no no no no...

MC: “if I’m wrong, I can’t risk any of you getting hurt anymore”

Noah: “wait, when are you thinking about going?”

MC: “no time like the present”

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Noah: “wait you’re going TONIGHT? like RIGHT NOW???”

MC: “If Mr. Red killed someone once, he could do it again at any time”

MC: “what if Jocelyn shows up dead tomorrow?”

MC: “Or Principal Flores?”

MC: “Or your mom?”

MC: “Or ONE OF US?”

Holy crap, MC was going nuts. She had lost her mind completely.

Noah: “ok ok, but just hold on a sec, this is crazy!”

Noah: “like what are you actually gonna DO??”

MC: “what we should have done back then”

MC: “instead of just running away”

MC: “Im gonna walk into the woods and tell Mr. Red to stop hurting people and leave us alone.”

WHAT?!

[tayegi]

Nerves (m)

In a lab experiment gone horribly wrong, your nervous system is merged with Kim Taehyung’s... 

Scientist!Taehyung AU 

Warning: smut and ridiculous, fake science crack 

Word Count: 12,419

It's been a long week.

You've been clocking out twelve-hour workdays at lab for all five days. So being able to finally lie down on the couch with a glass of wine is heaven. Your back aches from slumping over your computer day in and day out, and your eyes are bloodshot with strain from staring at the lines of code. It feels so good to just curl up under a plush quilt with your heavy head cushioned by multiple shams that you find your eyes sliding shut within minutes.

You haven't been able to sleep much this past week either, so stressed by the recent disaster at lab that your panicked thoughts keep you up all night. Feeling relaxed enough to fall asleep is an accomplishment in of itself, so you don't try to fight the lull of unconsciousness one bit. Sleep is washing over your mind, pleasantly buzzing in your skull, when suddenly—

Bam!

Crippling pain hits you like a shot to the side. "Ow!" You cry out, violently ripped from your precious sleep as you double over, both hands pressed tightly to your stomach.

There is no one in your studio apartment with you. You are completely and utterly alone. Yet the feeling of a hard shoulder ramming into your middle is unmistakable.

"Kim. Taehyung." You hiss under your breath. Then you're diving for your phone to angrily punch in the number you've dialed way too many fucking times this week.

Luckily, he picks up after the third ring, "Ah, ___," He chimes your name on the other end, "Hello!"

"What the hell are you doing right now?" you growl as you massage your still-sore tummy.

"I'm playing football!" he brightly replies, "But I think Jungkook won…"

"Wait, football?" you repeat in astonishment, "Tackle football?"

"Um… is there any other form…?"

"Taehyung!" you yell his name in frustration, "What did I say about playing sports or doing any dangerous activity in our condition?!"

There's a pause on the other end, and you can practically see him blinking with confusion, "… That I shouldn't?"

"Yes," you grit out in exasperation, "And what are you doing right now?"

"But, ___, it's really fun," he whines, "Do you want to come over and play with me?"

"No!" you barely refrain from shouting, "I am trying to get some rest. 'Trying' being the key word before I was so rudely awoken. Taehyung, can you please let me rest for once?"

"Alright, ___," he reluctantly agrees, and you don't need to see him to know that he's pouting, "I'll stop playing."

"Thank you," you curtly mutter before you abruptly hang up on him. Still annoyed, you irritably kick at your blankets, trying to get comfortable again on your sofa. But it's too late and Taehyung has ruined your peaceful mood with this damned stomach pain that won't go away. You'll probably have to pop a few ibuprofens before it'll leave you. Damn.

And that is how you spend the fifth day sharing a nervous system with Kim Taehyung.

A lab experiment gone wrong.

That's the nice way of describing the terrible accident that merged the pain receptors in your central nervous system with Kim Taehyung's. Before the accident, you had only known him as one of the molecular cell biology graduate students working under Dr. Bang, the principal investigator your lab was collaborating with on a pain receptor separation study for patients with chronic pain in the hospital.

The nature of the collaboration was simple: your computational biology lab came up with the technology to complete the experiment, and the Bang lab only had to carry it out in organic models. Easy as pie. The Bang lab had successfully tested the program you and your lab had slaved over for years, on mice and larger mammals, before they finally got the governmental approval necessary to move onto human subjects, exactly five days ago.

You remember the buzz of excitement around the entire biology department. A cure for chronic pain in a non-addictive way? A substitution for opiates that might combat the drug-abusing issue once and for all? This would be revolutionary. A medical advance that would go down in all of the textbooks. And you would do everything in your power to make sure you got third author on the finished paper.

Of course, the principal investigator of your lab would be first author, and Dr. Bang would be second. But you deserve to be third. You did not devote your entire academic career and years out of your quickly dwindling youth to this project for nothing. You would do anything in your power to make history as one of the inventors of this revolutionary cure. So when Kim Taehyung, the enthusiastic but asinine, third-year student of the Bang lab offers to be the first human test subject, you jumped to intervene, diving after him in the scanner without a second thought.

He should not have entered the scanner so carelessly. And you definitely should not have launched yourself after him. It's a series of ill-timed mistakes. The scanner was not meant to take such a quantity of subjects, and could not adapt to the complexity of both of your nervous systems. But before the senior scientists could intervene and save you, the machine that you've labored over for the past three years overheats, buttons lighting up by random and noisy beeping sounds filling the quiet hospital floor.

And when the smoke clears, everyone is horrified to find that the opposite objective of the experiment occurs—instead of separating the pain receptors in your nervous system, the scanner has combined them.

You can now feel everything Kim Taehyung feels, and vice versa…

You are so fucked.

Oh, and the broken scanner is just icing on the cake.

Your whole lab spends the next week frantically searching up ways to reverse the results and unmerge your nervous systems. Luckily, after a comprehensive medical exam, the doctors in the hospital determined that there was nothing physically wrong with you or Taehyung… except for the fact that you can feel everything this complete stranger is feeling, of course.

After you are discharged from the hospital, you absorb yourself in your work, beyond humiliated by your mistake, and determined to get the scanner up and running again so you can make history and get on that publication already. Although it took you and all the rest of the students years to create the first scanner, you still have the blueprints and all the coding files saved, so it shouldn't take that long to recreate. This is just a minor setback in the grand scheme of things. It's really not a big deal…

Or at least, that's what you think until you realize how fucking insane the man you're sharing your nervous system with truly is.

It only takes twelve hours of sharing a nervous system to realize that Kim Taehyung is a psycho. Every two seconds, you're bombarded with sensations. He must be the clumsiest person alive, for he's always tripping over literally everything. You can't concentrate on your work for sudden feelings of vertigo and sharp pains in your knees. He's also weirdly obsessed with furry animals. You'll be drinking coffee in the morning, and suddenly coughing it up all over yourself when you feel ticklish fur rubbing up and down your face. And always, always it's due to the fact that Taehyung is playing with his test animals… again.

The kid is in charge of decapitating mice and pulling out their spinal cords to examine under his microscope, not cuddling these death row subjects. It's so difficult to concentrate on the lines of code on your screen when you feel something furry crawling on your skin at all times of the day. But all of this is tolerable… until you realize how Taehyung lives his life outside of lab… with that insufferable meathead roommate of his.

You'll be coming home from a long day when you suddenly find yourself strapped for oxygen, an invisible force choking off your air supply as Jeon Jungkook catches Taehyung in a headlock across town. You'll be trying to enjoy a quiet supper when you feel yourself lifted off your feet and thrown across a broad shoulder. The last straw is when you are on the phone with your grandma, wishing her a happy 80th birthday, when you suddenly feel heavy slaps against your ass. The way you had screamed Taehyung's name in a high-pitched voice made your grandmother jump to inappropriate conclusions. And now your whole family thinks you're some kind of sexual deviant.

So three days after the failed experiment, the morning after your scandalous phone call with your grandmother (which she had put on speaker, to make things so much better), you march up to the fourth floor where the MCB department is located and bang on the door until someone lets you in. They take one look at the utter fury on your face and wordlessly lead you to Taehyung's desk.

The young biologist is still wearing his white lab coat as he sits back in his chair and considers an image of a mouse brain on his computer screen. He looks up at your brisk entrance, "Oh, hi there ___!" he crows, smile appearing on his handsome face in delight from seeing you for the first time since the accident, "What brings you here?"

You say nothing in response, but simply grab him by the hand to yank him out of his seat. He stumbles, making you both grunt in pain when the edge of his desk rams into his hip, but luckily catches his balance to totter after you.

"Where are we going?" He asks, eyes bright with curiosity as he cheerfully follows you out of the lab.

You ignore him as you push him into the stairwell and yank him up to the fifth floor. Then you stop outside of the neuroimaging lab. Fortunately, the door has been wedged open, so you effortlessly pull Taehyung inside, pausing as you glance over the rows of tables and workspaces.

"Ok, which one of these fuckers is Jeon Jungkook?"

You could hear a pin drop in the deafening silence that ensues. Then a short man with rimmed glasses who must be a postdoc awkwardly points to his deskmate. There's another pause. Then the oversized young man sitting in front of the computers sheepishly raises his hand.

You blink as you take in his broad shoulders and the firm muscles that are visible even under his lab coat. Good lord… This won't be easy… But you have a score to settle. So you feign confidence and wag a finger at him, "You, meathead. Come outside now." And without waiting for a response, you grab Taehyung by the elbow and drag him back into the hallway.

A few seconds later, a confused neuroscience grad student wanders outside to join you, "Um… Taehyung, what's going on?" But the older man is just as confused and can't do anything but shrug.

"Muscle pig, I'm just going to ask you a single question before we start: Are you aware that your roommate and I share a nervous system?"

"Uh…" he glances between you and Taehyung in bewilderment, "Yeah…?"

"So you knew that Taehyung and I share the same sensory receptors?"

"Yeah… Tae told me all about the accident... I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Ma'am?!" you spit back in astonishment, "What the hell did you just call me?"

"Uh oh…" Taehyung whispers under his breath, clearly feeling how your nails dig into your palms when you curl your hands to fists.

"Huh? Did I say something wrong? I don't know what you—ow!" The neuroscientist cries out in alarm, both hands darting to his backside when you abruptly kick him in the butt, "What the fuck? Why are you—ouch! Stop that!"

"Taehyung, hold him down!" You growl as you try to chase after a rapidly fleeing Jungkook.

The biologist laughs out loud in delight as he happily throws his arms around the muscular younger man, "Get him, ___!"

"What the hell is going on?!" Jungkook bellows in anguish as you launch another flying kick to his ass, "Ow! That fucking hurts!"

"Payback's a bitch!" You cry out as you wallop him again. Your foot hurts at this point, so you use the heel of your hand instead. The loud slap that echoes through the deserted hall is the most delectable sound that has ever graced your ears.

When the neuroscientist begins to squirm in Taehyung's grasp, the older man shoves him against the wall, ass out for your relentless spanks, "Hit him hard, ___!" He exuberantly cheers you on, "Make him really suffer!"

You happily agree as you spank the young man's ridiculously toned ass over and over until your palms are chafed to a hot red color. "Damn, I should've thought to bring a ruler," You mutter in irritation.

"I still have no fucking idea what's going on!" Jungkook loudly laments, "Stop hitting me!"

"You deserve it, thunder thighs," You growl at him, "If you mess with Kim Taehyung, you fucking mess with me, too!"

"You're so cool right now, ___!" Taehyung exclaims, stars dancing in his eyes as he gazes longingly at you.

"Tae, you are going to pay for this when we get home," Jungkook snarls.

"Oh, don't you dare!" You exclaim, aiming such a hard hit to his left ass cheek that your entire hand tingles, "I know where you work now, you drumstick. Mess with Tae again, and ho boy. Forget a ruler. I'm bringing a whole damn tree next time."

"Ugh fine, I won't! Just let me go!" He cries out.

You're reluctant to allow him off the hook so easily, recalling with anger the numerous times he has pounded the life out of Taehyung—and you by association. You shake your head, wringing out your wrists to prepare to smash him with your non-dominant hand, when Taehyung suddenly gasps, "Oh shit! There's his PI!"

You look up in surprise, but sure enough, there's a dignified older woman with steel-gray hair marching down the hall towards you. You'd recognize that famous neuroscience investigator anywhere.

"Run, ___!" Taehyung exclaims, grabbing your hand that is still hovering over Jungkook's sore ass, and yanking you away.

You allow him to fearfully usher you down the hall, but not without one last warning, "You better watch yourself, beefcake. Mess with Taehyung again, and that's the last thing you've ever do!"

"What the hell is going on here?" Jungkook's principal investigator demands when she finally arrives at the scene of the crime.

But Taehyung has already shoved you into the staircase.

After you so sloppily beat up Jungkook on the fifth floor hallway, Taehyung begins to idolize you. At first, it's just a minor inconvenience how he spams you with texts (well, mostly strange emojis) and bursts into the computational breakroom uninvited when you fail to respond quickly enough. He always brings cookies though, and the other computational students love his wacky sense of humor, so it's not a big deal… Until a certain time of the month comes, and Taehyung is insufferable.

You wake up on a Tuesday morning two weeks after the accident to find that Aunt Flo has paid you an unexpected visit in the middle of the night. So you shuck your ruined underwear in the hamper with a sigh and stick a pad on a new pair of underwear. You're brushing your teeth in the bathroom when a sudden dull ache invades the pit of your stomach. Damn it. Your menstrual cramps have arrived earlier this month.

You briefly consider popping a few painkillers, but then you remember that you wanted to have a drink with some friends tonight to celebrate a successful dissertation defense (or mourn a failure), so you ruefully place the ibuprofen back in your medicine cabinet. Luckily, the cramps aren't as terrible as they usually are, so you opt out of your clunky plug-in heating pad and hot water bottle for just a few hot patches. You can just slip them under your shirt during bathroom breaks at lab, and you'll be all set for the rest of the day.

Before you leave the house, you grab a few herbal tea bags to replace your usual caffeine supply at the office. And you don't think too much about Taehyung until you arrive at the lab an hour later to find him at your workstation, curled up in a ball and howling.

"Taehyung?"

He bolts upright at the sight of you, messily knocking over some of your lab notebooks in the process, "___!" he cries out your name, eyes filled with tears and nose runny, "I missed you!"

"What? Tae, I literally saw you yester—oomph!" you grunt in pain when he suddenly tackles you, nearly sweeping you straight off of your feet if not for the arms wound tightly around your waist.

"___," he cries again, "I love you!"

His passionate confession draws attention from all over the sterile work area. Your face flushes with embarrassment as your curious lab mates from the experimental rooms poke their heads in, trying to find the source of the commotion. "I love you too, Taetae," you quietly whisper to him as you attempt to push his head away from your bosom. But he clings on like a koala and burrows deeper into your chest.

"My tummy hurts so much," he drools on your right boob, "I think I'm going to die!"

"Wait what?" you ask in alarm, "Why don't I feel anything? Taehyung, are you okay?"

"It hurts!" he screeches, "My stomach is being torn in two! And my chest is so sore and my lower back is so achy. Am I going to die?!"

"Wait, I don't understand why this is only happening to you… Is it appendicitis?" you ask, sympathetically running your fingers through his soft caramel hair, even as his drool soaks through your shirt, "Should we get you to a hospital?"

"___," he moans, "If I don't make it, just know that I love you, okay?!"

The biology student has always been dramatic and generous with his affection, but this is another level of weird. "Um… Do you want me to call your mom?"

"___, is this your boyfriend or something?" A cool voice calls out from behind.

You jerk in surprise and crane your neck in Taehyung's needy embrace to find your postdoc supervisor standing in the doorway, amusement in her expression as she takes in your inappropriately intimate position. And then you're madly scrambling to break from Taehyung's grip, "No!" you cry out, "This is not what it looks like! This is just the MCB student from the accident remember? I just—stop it, Tae!" you push him away by the forehead when he starts gnawing at the collar of your shirt.

"Hmm, I didn't realize that you guys were dating already. Do you mind taking this to the lounge room?" she asks as she brushes past you to her desk.

"I'm so sorry, Jihye-ssi. We will get out of here immediately." And then you grab Taehyung by the back of the neck to forcefully drag him out of your lab.

You're just about to push him through the front door when Taehyung suddenly grabs at your hair, "Yes, Tae?" you ask in the calmest voice you can muster.

"I just… I really love dogs," and with that, he bursts into tears.

You stand there for a while, awkwardly petting his hair in utter confusion when a lab mate nearly runs into the two of you as he enters through the doorway, "Whoa, is someone PMS-ing?" he laughs before strolling past into the lab.

You can't speak for a few moments as your lab mate's lighthearted jibe sinks under your skin. Then you turn to Taehyung with fire burning in your eyes, "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Half an hour later, the two of you sit side by side in the lounge room, heating patches on your tummies, steaming mugs of chamomile tea in hand, and an entire bottle of midol on the table in front of you.

"I'm sorry," Taehyung whispers for the hundredth time.

You rub your fingertips into your temples, "I told you not to talk for the next half hour."

"…Sorry."

There's a brief moment of blessed peace while you pour over your lab notebook, when you suddenly feel hands on your shoulders, making you flinch at once. "What the hell are you doing, Taehyung?"

"My shoulders ache," he explains as he kneads his large hands into your tense muscles, "Which means that yours must hurt, too. Doesn't this feel nice?"

You know that you should nip this overly touchy feely habit of his in the bud before he gets too comfortable. But then he works out a particular kink in your neck that has bliss flooding your system and you can't find your voice to complain.

"Oh god," Taehyung unexpectedly moans, "Wow, that's good."

You're confused for half a second before you remember that your nervous systems are connected. Then you're cringing with embarrassment, "Taehyung!"

"Oh, right there," he groans as he rolls the palm of his hand against the nape of your neck, "Shit!"

Your face is probably as red as a beet at this point, "Tae!" you hiss at him, "Are you doing this for you or me?!"

"For both of us," he says with a toothy grin, "Your muscles are so much smaller than mine and so easy to loosen… This feels way better on you than it does on me. It's amazing!"

You hurriedly turn around to slap his hands off of you, "Stop that! You're causing a scene with those obscene sounds!"

"There's no one in here this early in the morning," Taehyung protests, "Please let me give you a massage? It feels so nice… Also can I rub your stomach too? I'm still cramping."

A little pout appears on his handsome face as he says this, and you feel your resistance crumbling. He's surprisingly adorable, like a little puppy dog. You're so tempted to concede. But then—

"And your boobs, too? They're so sore."

Your mouth drops, "You fucking pervert!" You screech at him, turning to aim a punch at his arm, not caring when you hurt yourself in the process.

"Ouch, that's not what I mean!" he cries out, arms raising to defend himself, "I just wanted to make you feel better—wait, no," he blanches at his unfortunate word choice, "No, I swear I didn't mean to—"

"Ow!" You both scream out in synchronized agony when you kick him in the butt.

It takes a few days for you to finally get over the period debacle. And Taehyung has to grovel at your feet with ice cream before you finally forgive him… Though you continue to wear turtlenecks every day at work, despite the heat of the summer, in case he gets the wrong idea again.

Finally, it's Friday night. An older graduate student in the molecular cell biology program has passed his oral dissertation defense earlier this week, and invited you out to celebrate. Your classmates are all probably already at the bar right now, doing a quick happy hour round of drinks before heading to the club. But you can't bring yourself to leave the comfort of your sofa.

Your favorite drama is playing on the TV and you've got a six-pack of beer all to yourself. This beats going out any day of the week. You happily crack open another can and take a hearty sip. Treat. Yo. Self.

You kick your legs out on the sofa, stretching your cramped legs out like a cat, when a sudden tickle in the pit of your stomach makes you pause. Is that Taehyung…? You frown as you slowly sit up and press both hands to your abdomen. That's funny. When you talked to him earlier today, he said that he was also planning a quiet night in. Huh. Must be the alcohol then.

You squint into the can of beer in your hand, then shrug and take another swing. Even if the alcohol's gone bad, no broke ass grad student would dare toss it out. Instead, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab some snacks to neutralize the acidity. But as you're reaching for some potato chips on the top shelf, an intense sensation sweeps over your core, making you double over with a shriek.

But no matter how you grab at your stomach, it doesn't stop the dark pleasure from rolling over you in waves. This is definitely no alcohol-induced cramp. This must be—

"Kim Taehyung!" You screech his name like a curse as you run into the other room to snatch up your phone and punch in his number vigorously. You're pissed to find that his number has made it to the top of your contacts list—that's how damn often you've been angrily called him up in the past three weeks.

The phone rings and rings for nearly half a minute before Taehyung finally picks up, "Oh… hello…" The guilty unease in his tone confirms your suspicions.

"Are you… Are you doing what I fucking think you're doing right now?!"

"Um…"

"What the hell were you thinking?!" You snarl at him, "Who the fuck are you with right now?! You told me you'd be alone!"

"I am alone," he insists.

"What? Don't lie to me. If you were alone then why do I…?" your voice trails off as the revelation suddenly hits you, "Oh… my… god. Kim Taehyung, are you fucking masturbating right now?!"

He gulps on the other end, "…Maybe?"

You narrowly resist the urge to slap your forehead in frustration and cross the room to pick up your beer, chugging half the can in one go. Then you hiccup and wipe your mouth, "Taehyung!" You bellow when you catch your voice, "What did I tell you about doing these sorts of things when we share the same fucking nervous system?!"

"But, ___," he whines, "It's been three weeks!"

"So what?!" You bark back.

"I haven't been able to get myself off for three whole weeks, ___. It hurts!"

You collapse back on the couch with a deep sigh, "Taehyung, we are so close. Seriously, it'll only take a few more days—a week max—to fix the machine. Then we'll be back to normal and you can jerk off as many fucking times as you feel like. Does that sound good to you?"

He pauses for a moment, then whimpers, "I can't wait that long."

"Taehyung!"

"___," he groans your name, "I am so hard. If I don't come right now, do you even know how bad the blue balls will be? I'm doing this for your sake, too!"

"Well then you shouldn't have worked yourself up to such a state! What the hell were you even doing?!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm a man!" he exclaims, "I just pop random boners all the time—it's biological!"

"How are you still acting like a pubescent teen at your age?" you hotly shoot back, "Control yourself!"

"Who's the biologist here?" he exclaims, "It's normal and healthy!"

"Hey, wait a minute! Computational biology is still a discipline of biology, you self-centered prick! You think you're all that just because you play around with a bunch of rodents all day? Well, you ain't shit, bitch!"

There's a beat of dead silence. Then, chagrin fills you from your childish outburst. You open your mouth to apologize and backtrack, when electric pleasure suddenly spikes in your stomach, followed by a deep groan on the other end. Astonishment fills you, "Are you touching yourself right now?!"

He grunts in response, and the pleasure continues, growing in intensity you can barely think, "You sound so hot when you're cursing like that."

Your mouth dries, "Are you… are you getting off to this conversation?"

"Mmhmm," he shamelessly increases the speed of his strokes until his wrists burn from the effort. You can feel the pain as clearly as if it was your own. And as for the throbbing length clutched tightly in his fist… You don't possess that particular appendage yourself, but you can vividly feel how his long fingers caress each sensitive area until stars are bursting past your eyelids. "Keep talking, ___," he pleads with you, "It's seriously so hot."

There's no way you're going along with this ridiculous, unprofessional request. This is definitely crossing a line! So you open your mouth to deny him, but at that second, he twists his hand up his length, wrist flicking at the tip so perfectly that a moan comes pouring out instead.

He pauses at that, sucking a breath through his teeth and you can feel his erection twitch in his grip, "Fuck, that's even better," he curses, "___, moan for me again."

"Why can't you f-fucking watch some porn and—hng—and l-leave me alone?!"

"Oh god, that's it, baby," he hisses, "Keep talking to me like that. You're making me so hot."

His words pool directly in your center. You press your thighs together to resist the urge to reach for your vibrator and shakily grab your forgotten beer instead. But your hand trembles too hard to keep the can steady and you end up sloshing the drink over when you take a sip. Both of you gasp when the icy liquid trickles down your shirt and under your bra.

"Holy shit," Taehyung chokes out, "Are you pressing ice to your nipples? You naughty little girl."

"Wait, no!" You exclaim in horror, "That wasn't my intention! I accidentally—ah!" you shriek when he abruptly cups his balls.

"I'm close," he pants as he expertly fondles himself with both hands.

Forgetting that he can't see you on the other end, you nod your head, then collapse onto the couch, your eyes fluttering shut against the overwhelming bliss that consumes every nerve ending. It's so different feeling pleasure with a male body. It usually takes you forever to get yourself warmed up, with or without a partner's help. And even then, the wrong touch or a slight, millimeter's adjustment in angle will shift the budding pleasure to irritation in the blink of an eye. But with Taehyung… every single touch feels like liquid fire. It's so good that you find your hips lifting off the couch, instinctively careening forward for more.

"H-hurry Taehyung," you find yourself begging, "Please hurry."

He groans at the desperation in your tone, and jerks himself off harder, using the excessive precum at the head of his swollen dick to lubricate his movements. You can feel the pressure building in his balls, his orgasm so close that you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

"Fuck, ___!" He groans, whole body wracked with shudders as he races towards the end. Another half dozen hard pumps of his slick length, then he releasing with a guttural shout.

Your mind completely blanks for a few seconds, with nothing but white light filling the hollow of your skull, as ecstasy inundates your system. You're not sure how long you lie there, curled up on the couch quivering from Taehyung's drawn out climax until a cold sensation on your stomach jerks you out of it.

"Sorry, ___," he whispers, his voice hoarse from his orgasm, "I'm just cleaning off."

"O-oh," you say, heat flushing your face as you shakily reach for your half-empty can of beer to take a sip. The hand Taehyung suddenly wraps around his limp dick makes you spit it out again. "Taehyung!"

"Sorry," he says again, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I just came, but I already want to come again. I'm so horny, ___," he whines, reaching down to squeeze his hypersensitive length again, "Ow! But it hurts when I touch myself. What the hell is going on?!"

You are so embarrassed at this point that you pray for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. All you should do at this point is hang up and pretend like nothing happened. This is just a lab colleague, not someone you should be having phone sex with. This is beyond crossing the line. But somehow… for some crazy, unexplainable reason, you can't bring yourself to hang up the call, allowing the MCB student extra time to connect the dots…

"Wait a minute…" he mutters, "I just got off and I'm horny again… this has never happened to me before… which means… it's you."

Your entire body curls with humiliation, your face so hot that even Taehyung must be able to feel the heat.

"Oh god," Taehyung chokes, "How are you this turned on when you haven't even been touched?"

"Taehyung!" you yell out, turning to burning your face in a cushion, thoroughly embarrassed. He chuckles in response, his voice so deep that a new wave of arousal flows over you. Yes, he has had his release, but you certainly have not.

"This hurts, ___," he groans, "Why aren't you touching yourself?"

"This is… this is wildly inappropriate," you stammer, "The machine should be up and running by Monday. And then we can do whatever we want in our personal lives."

"Monday? Are you serious? I can't wait that long. I can't even wait another minute," he grunts when he gives his flaccid penis another squeeze, "Damn my refraction time! Please touch yourself, ___. Please."

You bite down on your bottom lip, sorely tempted by his breathless sounds of pleasure. There's nothing you'd rather do than shove your hand down your pants and grant yourself the relief you've been denied of for three grueling weeks. But you'd never survive the embarrassment, "I can't."

Taehyung huffs in annoyance, "What's the problem? Sure you can… unless…" His Adam's apple bobs in his neck as he swallows, "___... Do you need a hand?"

You're not sure what you were expecting, but you sure as hell weren't expecting that. "What?"

"If I leave now, I think I can get to your apartment in fifteen minutes," he says so quickly that his words come out jumbles, "Let me just grab my keys and I'll—"

"Wait, Tae. Stop!" You exclaim, "Don't come over."

"What? Why not?" he protests, "Are you doubting my abilities, ___? I swear I can make you cum harder than those flimsy little fingers of yours."

You squeeze your eyes shut against the filthy images that swarm your mind, "God, Tae…"

"I'm serious, ___," he murmurs, his voice suddenly dropping to a seductive rumble that you feel down to your core, "Won't you let me help you out? I'm really good with my mouth."

You don't doubt that. You've seen that irritating oral fixation of his first hand, after all. "That… That's not a good idea, Tae."

"Oh, come on," he complains, "It's not a big deal. You helped me out already and I'm just returning the favor… Please let me taste you?"

You're so overwhelmed with desire that you can't speak for a few seconds. Fifteen minutes. That's all you'd have to wait, then Taehyung's beautiful face would be between your legs, that wicked tongue of his delving into you and finally, finally relieving you of this pain. Fuck. It's an offer nearly impossible to resist…

Nearly.

"Fuck you Taehyung!" You screech as you abruptly hang up the call, then throw your phone across the room, careless even when it bounces off the wall. Your trembling legs nearly give out from under you as you scamper across the apartment, and when you finally get to the bathroom, you collapse in the bathtub. Without bothering to remove your clothing, you turn the shower to the coldest setting and allow the icy water to dampen the ravenous flames of your desire…

Still, you have to sit there, drenched and shivering, for nearly half an hour before the urge to drive to Taehyung's apartment and jump his bones finally subsides.

"Hello?" you croak into your phone the next morning. Your head is groggy from sleep deprivation and your throat dry.

"Good afternoon," Jiyoung, a fifth year student in your lab chimes in greeting, "How are you?"

"Good afternoon?" You repeat in confusion, "The hell are you talking about?"

"___... It's three pm… You aren't sleeping by any chance, are you?"

You're flustered by the accusation in her tone, "N-no, of course not! I just thought… that this qualified as evening?"

"Oh… Hmm. I suppose you could be right? Well, good evening then!"

"Good evening," you awkwardly return the greeting, "Is there something wrong?"

"No, I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go grab drinks and go dancing with us tonight."

"Again?" you ask in surprise, "I thought you guys celebrated yesterday."

"Seunghoon's parents unexpected showed up on Friday to take him out to dinner. We had to cancel," She complains, "So I'm trying to gather up everyone for tonight instead. You down?"

You're so exhausted from a sleepless night that you really should be taking some time to recuperate. But the idea of copious alcohol to drown your troubles is too seductive to turn down. "Just text me the time and place and I'm there."

The bar is packed to the brim on a Saturday night at ten o'clock, but luckily your friends have arrived early enough to secure a booth to themselves. You congratulate the recently graduated older students before slinking into a seat in the very back corner to help yourself to the pitcher of beer.

They laugh at your eagerness and help you fill your glass up to the brim, "Someone's looking to have a good time," Jiyoung quips as she slides your beer towards you.

You take a deep drink out of it before responding, "It's been a long week," you say with a smile.

"Well, you better catch up," Seunghoon says as he grabs a shot of tequila off the table and offers it to you, "You're two rounds behind."

Normally, you would politely refuse his offer and laugh it off. But today is much different. Before he can tease you, you grab the shot out of his hand and pour it down your throat without waiting for him to grab the salt and lime. Everyone at the table turns to watch in surprise as you slam the empty glass upside down on the table with a contented smack of your lips.

"Aren't you afraid of how this will affect Taehyung?" Jiyoung hisses at you as she watches you reach for your beer again.

You scowl at the very mention of him, "Why should I be? He can't control what I eat or drink. It's not like we share a stomach."

"Yes, but the repercussions of your drinking could affect him as well," she wisely points out.

"That bitch deserves it," you mutter darkly to yourself as you take another sip.

"Deserves what?" A cheerful voice calls out from behind you.

You turn around and nearly spill the beer down your shirt at the sight of Kim Taehyung beaming at you from where he stands at the head of the table. "T-tae?!"

"Ah, I'm so glad you could make it, Taehyung!" Seunghoon warmly greets the younger man with a hand clasped on his shoulder, "Here, come have a drink with us."

"Thank you, hyung," The biology student happily accepts the beer from the older man, then slides into the booth to join the rest of you. It just so happens that the only room left is the tiniest sliver of space between you and the wall. A normal person would be mindful of the limited seating area and hover on the edge of the seat, as to not brush you. But not Taehyung. The biology student unabashedly takes over the entire seat and encroaches into your personal space as well.

You swallow at the feeling of his thigh pressed shamelessly against yours. You attempt to sidle up to Jiyoung on the other side of you, but she only laughs and pushes you away, complaining of the heat. As a result, you're stuck next to Taehyung, so close that the heat from his body easily soaks through your thin clothing to warm you to the core. Your whole objective behind going out tonight was to drown your sorrows and distract yourself from memories of the night before. It was literally your only goal… and you've been thwarted in a manner of seconds.

You hesitantly reach for your beer again, desperate for something to cool off with, but your elbow accidentally bumps into Taehyung's shoulder when you raise the glass to your lips.

"Oops, it's pretty crowded in here," Taehyung laughs, awkwardly trying to slide his arm out of the way, "Here, this is better."

You nearly choke on your drink when he swings his arm around your shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he had the same hand that currently rests against your arm wrapped tightly around his cock, pumping himself so furiously that his muscles burned. You resist a shiver when his long, slender fingers begin to play with the sleeve of your shirt.

"I didn't realize that you were friends with Seunghoon," you say in as calm of a voice as you can muster.

"Hmm? Yeah, I know most of the sunbaes in your department. They all treat me well."

Any other day, you'd be almost annoyed by his popularity and his utter ease at making friends. But today, you can't think about anything other than the dexterous fingers playfully skirting under the hem of your short-sleeved shirt. All you can think about is how he had begged to bring you pleasure with these same fingers just the night before. You can clearly imagine how much nicer this would feel if he was teasing between your legs instead. And that little fucker knows exactly what he's doing to you, what you're helplessly conjuring in your mind. He has to, the way his fingers suddenly swirl in tight circles into your skin, as though he was fingering a more sensitive part of your anatomy…

"A-ah, guys!" You exclaim, instantly bounding to your feet to escape Taehyung's evil clutches, "Let's… let's dance!" And without waiting for an answer, you grab Jiyoung's hand to tug her out of the booth.

But with Taehyung sitting at the end, you have no choice but to clamber over his lap, sloppily brushing against his broad chest and grabbing a knee for support when you nearly topple over. He doesn't help you one bit, watching you flounder, but of course he instantly jumps to his feet like the perfect gentleman when it's Jiyoung's turn to crawl out… Asshole.

"Wait, no one's really dancing yet," your lab mate complains as she trips in her heels trying to keep up.

She's right. There's only a smattering of couples on the dance floor at this early hour, and you feel foolish trying to join them with only one shot of tequila to lubricate your inhibitions, but anything is better than that cramped booth with Kim Taehyung. You shake your head clear of all tumultuous thoughts and turn to Jiyoung with a smile.

"This is fun! Come on, let's go!" you exclaim with an awkward swivel of your hips.

"This is embarrassing," she grumbles as she reluctantly sways to the beat, "Everyone's a couple here. There's no one to dance with!"

"Just dance with me," you playfully reach out to grab her by the hips.

She instantly squirms out of your embrace with a squeal, "Stop it!"

"What's wrong?" you frown, disappointed by her rejection.

"You know I've been trying to score a man for weeks! I don't want them getting the wrong impression seeing us together."

You laughingly raise your hands in defeat, "Fine, fine. I'll help wingman you instead… Ooh, look over there! There's a group of cute guys coming towards us."

"What? Oh my god, they're so cute! Hurry, ___. Dance sexier!" Jiyoung hisses at you with a little slap to your pelvis.

"What? What does that mean?" But it's too late, and the guys are already here.

"Hey ladies," a tall man with mussed purple hair greets you, "Mind if we join you?"

Jiyoung tosses her long black hair over her shoulder with a sultry smile, "Not at all."

He grins, both dimples flashing as he begins to dance with her. His moves are a bit stiff, but that is the least of Jiyoung's concerns as her face lights up like it's Christmas day as she eats up his appearance.

You resist the urge to laugh as you watch your lab mate practically drool over this tall, dark stranger. He's clearly her type. She's going to have a lot of fun tonight. Damn. So caught up in your amusement, you forget about his other friends until one of them catches your attention by resting a hand on your hip.

"Would you like to dance, beautiful?"

This man is shorter than the first, but his defined muscles, clearly visible from his clingy muscle shirt, makes your mouth water. You nod your head, eager to take your mind off Taehyung, then twist around to back into his embrace. To your surprise, you quickly realize that you might have gotten the better deal between the two friends when the muscular man behind you begins to grind against you with such fluid movements of his hips that your head feels woozy. His hips are really flexible… and strong. You can't help but wonder in what other context he could demonstrate these skills….

You've only had one shot and a bit of beer, but it's enough to make your head feel woozy, like it's stuffed with cotton, as he continues to roll his hips against you, his hard body pressed against every line of your backside. You're light-headed enough to collapse entirely when his chiseled arms unexpectedly reach out to grab you by the hips.

"What's your name?" he whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending chills down your spine.

You shakily tell him, "It-it's ___. What about you?"

"Jimin," he says.

You can feel the curve of his smile against your neck and it's so sexy that you can't breathe for a moment. You're struggling with a response, when suddenly Jimin is forcibly pulled off of you. You whirl around in surprise to find Taehyung standing in front of you, his hand fisted around the front of Jimin's shirt in a threatening manner.

"Who the fuck are you?" The shorter man exclaims in confusion, both hands raising to try to wrench away Taehyung's hard grip.

But the biology student simply tightens his hold and narrows his eyes to slits, "You don't want to find out." And with that, he lets him go. Jimin mutters a curse under his breath, but is clearly not invested enough to argue any further.

You watch him walk away in despair, "Wait, Jimin!" But it's too late and you're left alone with Taehyung in the middle of the dance floor.

"Don't you think it's a bit rude to pick up another guy when we share the same nervous system?" He quips as he snakes a hand around your waist and pulls you flush against him. "Do you even know how gross it felt to have another man rubbing his dick on your ass?"

Your face flushes with embarrassment, "I'm sorry, Tae. I didn't think about that. I won't let anyone touch me again."

"Good girl," he purrs in satisfaction, "Don't let anyone touch you… except me, of course."

Your eyes widen, "Wait, what?" You try to twist around to look at him, but his grip on your hips is too strong.

He curls a second arm around your middle too, wrapping you in such a tight back-hug that you finally notice a pressure against your lower back. Your eyes widen, "Taehyung, what is that?"

He nuzzles his nose into your hair, breathing in deeply, before responding, "It's your fault," he murmurs, "You're the one who got aroused back there in the booth. My body's just reacting."

The blood drains from your face when you realize that he was perfectly aware of your visceral reaction to his proximity simply from sitting next to him. "Oh god, Tae!" Overcome with embarrassment, you try to escape the uncomfortable situation. But your wiggling causes your ass to unintentionally rub against him, making pleasure shoot through both of your systems.

"Mmm that feels good," he groans, hands grabbing at your waist to hold you in place. He tentatively rolls his hips forward, and both of you groan at the subsequent sensation.

"Two days, Tae," you hiss, "Two fucking days until the machine is fixed. Can't you wait just forty-eight hours?"

"No," he bluntly says before leaning in to press his lips to your neck. "Please let me repay the favor for last night."

You gulp at the feeling of his wet tongue sliding across your pulse point, "Y-you're just saying that because you want to feel my orgasm."

"No. I'd happily eat you out for hours even when our nervous systems are separated on Monday… But it would feel nicer for both of us if you let me do it today."

You shake your head, trying to dissipate the tendrils of lust that curl in your mind, blocking your rational thought process, "You fucking pervert," you curse at him, enraged by the way he's so easily getting under your skin.

"Hey, you got to experience my orgasm yesterday," he chuckles in your ear, "And don't you even try to deny that you enjoyed it. I know you did. So isn't it fair that you let me feel yours?"

"Fine," you snap, "Let me go so I can rub one out then."

"Wait, why? Can't I give you a hand?" he whines, tightening his grip on your waist as he continues to rub his bulge against your ass, building the pressure in his stomach until it reaches its boiling point. You can't help grinding your hips back against him, increasing the intense sensations until he grabs your arm with a yelp, "Ah, ___, what are you doing? You're going to make me cum."

Your eyes threaten to roll back at the way he moans that statement in your ear, but you force yourself to collect your wits and roll your hips back against him as hard as you can, "Good," you pant, "Get it out of your system."

"I don't want to cum in my pants," he groans, crashing his mouth against the crook of your neck to muffle his sounds, "I want to cum inside of you."

His filthy words combined with the feeling of his teeth grazing your neck makes it hard to think. You glance around the dance floor desperately to find someone to save you from this situation. But all your friends are still in the booth and Jiyoung's completely absorbed in her tall purple-haired stranger on the other side of the room. You're entirely on your own here. And there's only one thing left to do.

So you spin around and clap both hands on Taehyung's face to yank him down for a searing kiss. He reacts instantaneously, lips parting and tongue darting forward to meet yours. It's so strange to kiss him and feel yourself kissing him at the same time. But this causes the sensations to double, and the dual stimulation is so erotic but you can't help but melt against him, hands scrambling down his body to search for more.

Both of you groan when you unintentionally brush the straining erection in his pants. Taehyung breaks from the kiss to rest his forehead heavily against yours, "My place or yours?"

"Mine," you answer at once, "I'll fucking kill Jeon for real this time if he interrupts."

Taehyung laughs in delight, long legs easily catching up with your rapid stride as you impatiently drag him out of the bar.

Half an hour later, the two of you are crashing through your front door, so thoroughly intertwined that you must have traumatized your neighbors and your poor taxi driver on the way over. Taehyung's belt is unbuckled, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel, and your skirt is pushed up over your hips, his hand firmly lodged in your underwear—a position he hasn't budged one inch from since sliding his hand down your waistband in the backseat of the taxi.

"T-tae," you stammer as you kick the door shut, "Take this off," you say, yanking impatiently at his shirt. You manage to undo all the buttons, but he refuses to remove his hand from your panties long enough for you to pull the shirt off his arms.

"I am so fucking glad that you were the one who went into the machine after me," he groans as he rubs hard circles against your clit.

You shakily laugh as you give up on his shirt and work on his jeans instead, "This wouldn't be as fun, then… unless you were actually hoping for Dr. Bang Sihyuk to run after you instead…?"

Taehyung pauses to shoot you a look of disgust, "What's wrong with you?!"

You giggle at his reaction, "No offense, Tae, but I was hoping that Dr. Bang would be the one in the machine… or maybe even Kim Sejin," you say, referencing, the tall lab technician in the Bang lab, "But alas, here I am, stuck with you," you say with a dramatic sigh.

"Oh, sweetheart, now you're just asking for trouble."

Your laughter melts to a moan when he pinches at your clit in retaliation, "Oh, come on, Tae. Don't pretend like you've been in love with me and plotting this the whole time. I'm not stupid enough to fall for that bullshit."

"It's true. I didn't really know who you were before this, nor did I care much," Taehyung admits as his free hand reaches to unzip your dress, "But then you kicked Jeon Jungkook's ass for me three weeks ago... And that's when I fell for you."

You jerk up in surprise, "What? You fell for me… Because I was beating up your roommate?!"

He enthusiastically nods, "Yeah, it was so hot! I knew I had to have you after that."

"Are you crazy?" You bark, suddenly jumping away from him in concern, "How could you actually be into weird shit like that? Are you a pervert?"

He chuckles, "You're just so sexy when you're all aggressive like that. I was so horny afterwards that I wanted to touch myself that very day, but somehow I managed to hold back until last night… Aren't you impressed by my self-control?"

The way he beams at you, eyes scrunched up in delight, you're reminded of a small child seeking praise. It's so adorable that your stomach churns at the thought of corrupting his innocence. "Oh god, you're like a baby," you groan, "What kind of adult actually goes around fishing for compliments like that?!"

"What's wrong with that?" He pouts, grabbing you by the arm when you try to remove yourself from his embrace, "I've been hard every night for weeks, ___, just thinking about you and how hot you'd look all steamed up, yelling at me to fuck you… Don't you think I deserve a reward for that?"

You can't speak for a few moments, resigned to simply gawk at his sudden shift from innocent to carnivorous in half a second flat. His eyes, clear and bright with laughter a moment ago, are now so dark that they appear lupine under the dim lighting. You can't help stagger back a step, your body unconsciously attempting to put distance between yourself and this predator.

Noticing your fearful reaction, Taehyung smirks and takes a long step forward, rudely intruding into your personal space, "Get down on your knees."

You find yourself dropping to a kneeling position before you can process your actions. Something about the darkness of his gaze triggered this visceral need to obey. Pleased by your reaction, Taehyung affectionately strokes his thumb over your bottom lip, then reaches to fumble with his belt. He's just managed to unzip his fly and shove his jeans down to mid-thigh, when he suddenly pauses.

A mischievous smile slowly unfurls across Taehyung's face as he drops his hands from his crotch, "___... I have an idea."

Dread fills you as you watch him cock his head to the side in curiosity. Uh oh. "Wh-what is it, Tae?"

His smile broadens, "Where's your bedroom?"

Your mouth dries at his unexpected question. Then you're rising to your feet, grabbing Taehyung by the wrist to drag him to your bedroom. You pause for a second by the foot of the bed, expecting him to lay back against the headboards for you to suck him off, but to your surprise, he pushes at your lower back to urge you onto the mattress. Confused, you follow his directions, crawling towards the headboards. But before you can reach your target, Taehyung grabs you by the ankle to flip you over onto your back.

Then he's climbing onto the bed after you, sliding up to cover you with his body. His shirt is unbuttoned to the waist, offering you glimpses of lean, tanned muscle before he's abruptly dropping his weight on top of you to trap you against the mattress. Then his mouth is at your neck, sucking at the ultra-sensitive flesh in a way that makes you both moan.

"This is unfair," you complain, "Y-you're only doing this because it feels good to you, too. But you're not left with ugly ass hickies."

Taehyung chuckles at this, "Don't worry; I'll let you mark me up later," and with that ominous promise, he slides down the length of your body, large hands shoving your legs apart to make room for his head.

Your breath catches in your throat when his intentions become glaringly clear. At first, you're touched by his seemingly selfless gesture, forgoing a blowjob to eat you out. But then you remember your situation. "You're a fucking pervert!" you growl as you attempt to snap your legs shut.

But he simply laughs and crams his body between your thighs to wrench them open, "I'm just curious to see how it feels, ___. They say the female orgasm is way better…"

"I'm not one of your fucking guinea pigs to experiment on, Tae!"

"They're mice, ___," he gently corrects as he attempts to coax your skirt down your legs, "And why do you always think the worst of me? I swear I'm not as selfish as you make me seem!"

You snort loudly at that, "Yeah, because you're more selfish."

His eyes narrow dangerously, "I'll make you eat your words once we're separated, baby girl."

Your eyebrows raise, "Oh, is that so? And how do you plan on doing that?"

"Like this," he says, suddenly swooping down to swipe his tongue over your drenched slit.

You gasp in surprise, hips instantly rising off the mattress to meet the heat of his mouth. It's so weird being able to feel the softness of your pussy on his tongue at the same time, but it turns Taehyung on so much to taste you that you can't help but react as well.

"Oh shit," Taehyung groans as he struggles to continue flicking his tongue over your clit, "I wanted to tease the fuck out of you… You're such a little brat, you don't deserve to cum… But this feels so fucking good. Goddamn."

Your laugh turns into a warbled shout when he suddenly wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard enough to send tears to your eyes. The pleasure is so fierce that Taehyung instantly descends into mindless lust, furiously sucking at your clit while his hips hump against the bed, uncontrollably.

"Oh my god," Taehyung moans around your pussy, "Oh. My. God. How am I so good at this?"

This instantly snaps you out of your cloud of bliss, "Wait, what?"

"Mmm, I've always known I was good at this, but I didn't know I was this good. Damn, those girls really weren't faking it."

Your arousal fizzles out, "You arrogant fuck!" you hiss at him, shoving at his head, "Get off of me!"

"Why?" Taehyung complains, clinging to your thighs, "This feels fucking awesome!"

"I'm not here to stoke that oversized ego of yours," you seethe, "Your head is already too damn big."

"It's an objective truth that I am good with my mouth," he laughs as he lightly kisses the inside of your thigh, "You can't deny it!"

"It's also an objective truth that I can shove my foot up your ass," you mimic him.

He cheekily sticks his tongue out at you, "Yes, but it'd hurt you too, babe… Unless you're secretly into that…?"

"How are you such a fucking pervert?!" you exclaim as you angrily kick him out from between your legs, "Get on your back, bitch."

Taehyung giggles happily as he happily flips over, scrambling to press against the headboards, "Are you going to suck me off, baby?"

You scowl at the childish excitement that brightens his handsome face, "No," you bluntly say, just so you can watch the smile slide off his face with sadistic relish.

"What? But, ___," he whines.

You clap a hand over his mouth before he can complain further, "I have never met anyone so damn noisy." And with that, you lean down to paw at the fly of his pants. When your fidgety fingers make contact with his bulge, both of you groan, and the sensation distracts you for a long second before you remember the task at hand. You yank his jeans down to mid-thigh as soon as you get them open, then reach in his underwear to pull out his rigid length without a moment's hesitation. You roll it in your fist for a few moments, shivering at the pleasure, before you collect your senses to reach in the nightstand for a condom.

Taehyung breaks out of his blissful trance at the feeling of you rolling the latex down his length, "Ah, aren't you on the pill?"

"Yes, but I can still catch your nasty ass diseases," you gently reprimand him as you test the hold of the rubber.

Taehyung scowls at that, "I could've checked us both out at the lab in like ten minutes," he grumbles, "But you had to be difficult and hold out on me until the last possible second…"

You roll your eyes, "Shut up."

He opens his mouth to argue more, so you have to stifle his complaints by rising on your haunches and abruptly dropping yourself on his cock. The pleasure that suddenly bursts in your system with the force of a rifle blast to the gut takes you completely by surprise. You have never experienced such immense pleasure so abruptly before, and you can't bring yourself to move as you sit frozen on his dick, helpless but to soak in the sensations.

His manhood is so sensitive, laced with nerve endings that light up at the feeling of your wet, unbelievably tight heat swallowing him whole. You're cushioning every inch of his cock so beautifully, warmth enveloping every side, and squeezing so hard that he can barely breathe. You've never imagined that sex would feel this incredible for a man. Lucky ass bastards.

Taehyung is equally as affected. He kicks his head back at the feeling, mouth hanging agape and fingers twisting around the sheets underneath him to attempt to stable himself. There's a long pause where the two of you struggle to process the overwhelming sensations. Everything is so strange and foreign that you can't think, and as a result, Taehyung is the first one to come to his senses.

"This isn't as good as I thought it'd be," he says as a small frown creases his brow.

Your jaw drops in indignation. Who does this asshole think he is? How good could the pussy he's been getting possibly be if yours doesn't match up? "What the fuck Tae?!" You spit at him, "If it's such shit, why don't you just go fuck yourself?!"

He quickly whips out a hand to grab your hip, anxiously holding you in place when you move to roll off of him, "That's not what I meant, ___," he rushes to clarify, "You feel amazing around me. But how I feel to you… Sex really isn't that great for women… Shit."

Your lips twitch with amusement at his unexpected response, anger quickly forgotten, "Yeah, you idiot boneheads all think your dicks are made of gold or some shit. But it really just feels like an irritating poking half the time."

"And it kinda hurts!" Taehyung exclaims in shock when a sudden rocketing of his hips causes pain to shoot through your system, "What the hell?! This is so unfair!"

You bite back a laugh as you gently grind yourself against him in small circles, "It's all about finding the right angle," you explain as you swivel around his cock, "It's more like a slow build. Intercourse for women is probably more similar to anal for you guys, since you have your prostate and all that."

Taehyung's brow furrows as he tries to muse over your words through the blaze of pleasure, "That makes sense. There are twice the nerve endings in a clitoris than a penis, so it's insane how we don't focus more on that during sex."

"There's also a recent study that demonstrated that vaginal orgasms might just be deep clitoral orgasms," you add.

"Really?" His eyes widen, "What was the sample size of this study? What was the data collection method?"

"Hmm, I'm not sure, but it wasn't just self-report."

"Wait, what about the G-spot, then?" he persists, "Or does that just stimulate the clitoris from the inside out?"

"That's exactly right!" You exclaim, impressed by his quick deduction, "The G-spot is on the anterior wall of the vagina, remember? Which is the location of the clitoris."

"Oh, where the clitoral crura lies?"

"Yes, under the urethra."

"Damn… I've never thought about this before… I feel so guilty now," Taehyung says, his face twisting in displeasure.

"No, don't be. This just proves that even indirect stimulation of the clitoris is sufficient in approximately—oh my god, Tae. What the fuck are we talking about?!"

"About how the human body is so flawed so I should go down on you for a century after this to make up for all of mankind's selfishness."

You chuckle at his words, "You are so lame. I've never had such a nerdy conversation during sex before."

Taehyung grunts in response, "I'm just so pissed that this feels fucking incredible to me, but so mediocre to you… Don't worry, though. I'll make it up to you."

Before you can ask him what he means, he licks his fingers then reaches between your legs to thumb at your clit. The pleasure bursts across your senses like a whip lashing under your skin. Both of you recoil at once, toes curling and moans filling the bedroom.

"Oh fuck, you're clenching on me so hard right now," Taehyung pants as he speeds up the motions of his long, slender fingers on your clit.

"Mmm, I didn't realize it felt so good when I did that," you say, clamping down on him over and over until both of you are struggling to breathe. Suddenly, it breaks into a full out war between the two of you to see who can fuck up the other more—Taehyung with his nimble fingers, or you with your incessant clenching.

The only problem is that you fuck up yourselves in the process. Taehyung's additional pleasure is not additive, but rather multiplicative… exponentially multiplicative. Experiencing his pleasure increases your arousal, which in turn gets him even more worked up, and so this continues multiplying to infinity until all you can see is blinding white light swallowing your vision as you descend into madness.

"This is s-so good," Taehyung huffs as he runs rapid laps around your clit with his slick, textured fingerprints. "So fucking good, oh my god."

You ride him harder with a whimper of response, making the whole bed shake from the force of your thrusts. It's only been a handful of minutes. This isn't nearly enough time to get you off in a normal setting. But the two of you keep building off of each other's pleasure. And the combined force of his wicked fingers on your clit, his thick cock stretching you to the hilt, and the strange, but addictive feeling of your heat wrapping and tightening around his length pushes you to the limit.

Your entire body stiffens on top of Taehyung's for a second, squeezing down on him hard enough to hurt, then you're cumming all over his cock. You can hear the sound of Taehyung's strangled shout of pleasure faintly in the back of your mind as your climax sweeps through your senses.

The two of you are frozen solid for a few seconds as you process the aftermath of such an intense orgasm. But the voracious lust quickly returns, ten-times stronger than before. You're too perplexed by this painful need so soon after your orgasm to move, so Taehyung takes the initiative to rise to his knees and slam you flat on your back. Then he's thrusting into you hard enough to send you flying if not for his bruising grip on your hips.

Helpless moans fly from Taehyung's lips as he drills into yours, furiously chasing after his high. You try to raise your hips to meet him thrust for thrust. But your strength has been sapped by the relentless pleasure and your whole body trembles too hard to meet him halfway. So you can only lie there, boneless and sweaty, as you revel in the vicarious pleasure. Another dozen desperate surges into your heat, and he snaps.

Your mind blanks of all thoughts for a long, breathless second, and your vision narrows to a pinpoint of light. Then, everything bursts back into place, white light blinding behind your closed eyelids as pleasure inundates your system like waves of a tsunami. You're left helplessly writhing in the sheets until Taehyung shudders with sensitivity and pulls out of you. Then, you both collapse onto the mattress, heaving with exertion and boneless with exhaustion.

"Damn," Taehyung gasps as he turns to nuzzle his face into your neck, "I didn't know female orgasms lasted so long."

You chuckle, "Well, I didn't realize that male orgasms caused your mind to blank like that."

Taehyung smiles as he awkwardly shuffles off the bed to dispose of his filled condom. When he comes back to join you in bed, you instantly roll over to curl your limbs around him, in need of a bit of cuddling after a great orgasm. Taehyung happily pulls you onto his chest and burrows his nose into your hair, "___," he whispers your name.

"Hmm?" you sleepily respond, your heavy lids sliding to a shut.

Taehyung affectionately peppers kisses all over your bare shoulder before responding, "I know that you're tired… But how long will it take before you're ready to go again?"

Your eyes flash open in shock, "Wait… again…? You want to do that again?"

The biology grad student bobs his head up and down in affirmation, "Of course! That was the best thing I've ever felt in my entire life!"

You pause for a moment. Then you shrug, "Ok."

Taehyung's mouth splits into a wide grin, "That was easy to convince you."

You shoot him the dirtiest look you can muster, "I'm a scientist, Tae. This is an unprecedented opportunity to examine biological differences in orgasmic experience between men and women!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Taehyung says with a roll of his eyes, "Just admit that you're horny too."

You purse your lips into a thin line, "Ok, maybe that's true… But a researcher has to be interested in her work or she won't be invested!"

"No wonder you're such a great scientist then," Taehyung happily agrees, even as he flops over to bury his face in your chest and nip at the sensitive skin.

"Are you going to eat my pussy right this time, Tae?" you teasingly ask as you thread your hands through his hair and gently push his head between your legs.

He briefly pops up to flash a smile at you, "I think you mean our pussy."

"…"

"... ___...? What's wrong?"

"… Suddenly I don't want to do this research with you anymore."

"What? No, please!" Taehyung grabs at your wrist when you try to shove him away, "I didn't mean that!"

"Why couldn't it have been Dr. Bang in the machine with me…?" you lament.

"What?! I'm a way better collaborator, I swear."

You flop over to glare at him, "You're not getting third author on this publication."

"Of course not," he easily agrees, trying to appease you, "You definitely deserve to be third! Hell, you should be second! Take Dr. Bang's spot for all I care!"

You giggle at his words, "Good boy, Tae. I think you deserve me sucking your dick for that."

"You mean our—"

"Don't you fucking dare finish that sentence."

"Hello, ___? Why aren't you in lab?" Jihye asks in concern as soon as the phone connects.

"I'm taking the day off," you groan as you rub the sleep from your droopy eyes.

"What? No, ___, you need to get to campus immediately. The scanner has been fixed!"

"Wait, really?"

"Yes! We fixed it this morning. Hurry and come to lab so we can separate your nervous system from Taehyung's once and for all."

"…"

"Hello, are you still there?" Jihye asks, confused when she doesn't receive a reply.

"… oh shit, I think we're breaking up."

"What? The connection sounds fine to me. What are you—"

"Uh oh, this sucks. Bye!" And with that, you hang up the phone.

Your actions disturb the slumbering body in bed with you. Taehyung sleepily stretches his arms over his head with a loud yawn, "What was that about, baby?"

You simply shake your head, turning to allow him to spoon you closer to the warmth of his body, "Don't worry about it."

A/N: ... I apologize for this nonsense crack. 

[strawberriestyles]

Mess o’ Mine

Harry X Reader: Angst & smut

In which Harry’s stolen from you and needs to fix it.

Request? No

The apartment is dark, lights dimmed so you can set the mood for what you expect to be an emotional performance. Your laptop is plugged into the television and the screen is flickering, splashing colors across your face from a product commercial. Harry is across the world, about to premiere a song from his upcoming album on a popular talk show. Despite how excited you are to hear the music, you’re still nervous for him, as you always are. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll smash whatever he performs, but he always seems to get in his own way.

“’S a slower song,” he told you when you badgered him for information earlier today over the phone. “’S a bit deep.” Then he changed the subject.

That’s all you know. The duration of your friendship apparently didn’t earn you early access to his music. You haven’t heard the album. It was a bit annoying at first, but now you sort of enjoy the suspense. He’s able to gauge the reactions that fans have from what you tell him about your own reactions. You’re his own personal guinea pig, and as much as you hated it in the beginning of his promo, you’ve settled in with the surprises quite nicely.

A bubble of excitement rises in your chest when the commercial break cuts out and the show returns. There’s no announcement, just a wide pan of the camera across the studio until the shot ends up on a dark stage. Lights fade up, illuminating Harry and his band members. His outfit is toned down from his usual extravagance, a simple white button-down, undone to the bottom of his ribcage, and a pair of dark trousers with a barely visible paisley pattern.

Harry’s staring at the floor when soft guitar chords begin. His eyebrows are drawn together in concentration, head bobbing softly when the drums kick in gently. You notice a sheen of sweat on his forehead, visible in an unusual way. His fingers are rolling the material of his pants. You know he sweats when he’s nervous, but you’ve never seen him like this, almost jittery.

You notice you have a throw pillow clutched to your chest, like you can feel his nerves in your own body. And then his head lifts and a low note sounds from his throat. It’s beautiful and delicate, and you already love the song before a full word’s left his lips. It’s amazing how he can conceal his nerves when he sings.

You sway with the soft tune, listening closely for the little details and smiling when you hear a catchy riff. Then your smile slowly begins to slip from your mouth. Harry’s voice remains gentle and his eyes cast down to the ground as he sings familiar words. They’re not familiar in that you’ve heard him say them before, but that they’re your words, and not one’s that you’ve shared with him.

It’s another minute before you able to even process what’s happening. Harry is singing a song from his album, singing lyrics that he didn’t write. They’re words from your poetry journal, a private collection of thoughts directly from your mind that you’ve never, ever shown anyone.

The song finishes and Harry’s head falls, his chin dropping to his chest. He licks his lips slowly, pulling them into his mouth, eyes glued to the floor as applause fill the studio. You watch a bead of sweat drip from his hairline and then you click the TV off and launch the remote across the room, flinging yourself from the couch. You’re no longer in any mood to sit through an interview.

Your feet carry you into your bedroom and you yank open the drawer in the nightstand. Your journal is right there, all worn leather and stretched binding, overflowing with stray mementos and photos. Your fingers grip it gently and you sit down on your bed, letting the pages fall open on their own. You flip through, looking for the page that’s stuck in your mind. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you’re falsely remembering writing down those words, but then you find them on a wrinkled sheet, scrawled out in your handwriting. He’s been in your journal, read your poetry, stolen your private thoughts. Not only that, but he’s shared them with the entire world.

A flux of emotions flood your body. You’re embarrassed knowing that Harry’s caught a glimpse of your private self, one that not even your family has seen. Those thoughts are your safe haven, a home among words. You’re mortified even further knowing that people across several continents have also heard those thoughts, regardless of them not knowing whose they are. You feel naked, like your soul has been hung out to dry. Worst of all, you feel betrayed by someone that you’ve been close to for years, and no matter what explanation he may have, you’re unsure if you’ll ever be able to forgive Harry.

A wave of angry tears find their way from your eyes, streaming down your face. In a rage, your journal is whipped from the bed, stray papers feathering through the air and scattering the floor. You wrist swipes at your running nose, fists balling up.

The shrill ringing of your phone cuts through the flat from the living room. You’re not in the mood to speak to anyone, but the incessant tone forces you to pad down the hall and back to the sofa. When you lift your phone from the coffee table you almost drop it, as though it’s seared your skin. “H,” is the letter on your screen, accompanied by his goofy contact photo. You stare for a moment before deciding that you definitely cannot speak to him, especially not right now. You drop your phone on the couch and let it finish ringing, taking a deep breath in an effort to stop crying.

There are only seconds of silence before your phone is ringing again, and this time you don’t let it continue. You reject the call as fast as your fingers can move and then toss the phone again. He’s insistent, though. You reject his calls twice more before you’ve had enough and you turn the device off altogether. He can’t fix this, not now.

***

A week has passed. An angry, lonely week during which you haven’t peeked at news or social media, filled with tears and self-isolation. At multiple times you’ve questioned whether or not you’re being too dramatic, but then a heavy feeling settles in your gut and you remember that your mind and person has been cracked open without permission. You’ve been exploited and put on display like a zoo animal.

The irritating calls continued for a couple of days, along with a few voicemails you refused to listen to, but they thinned out and eventually stopped. You’ve cleaned a lot to distract yourself, reorganized cupboards, sorted through your closet. After a fair bit of thought about scrapping your journal, you ended up scribbling down angry poems instead, ones that had no rhyme scheme and were anything but lyrical.

It’s Friday, now. You’re just returning from a long, frustrating day of work. The sky is dreary, hung with heavy black clouds that have begun to leak light showers on and off. You’re just on the last stretch back to your flat when they open up and a downpour begins. You hiss, running to find cover by your front door. You fumble with your keys, not even noticing the presence leaned up on the railing until he clears his throat.

“Fuck!” Your keys slip from your fingers and you clutch your chest in terror, spinning to find an equally wet Harry. His sweater is stained darker where the rain has soaked it and his hair is dripping down the sides of his neck, a pair of large sunglasses holding the locks from his face. It seems he’s walked here.

“Hullo.”

You roll your eyes and take a deep breath to calm your raging heart before picking up your keys again.

“Get off my steps, Harry.”

“Haven’ been answerin’ my calls.” He moves forward and you rush to twist your key, placing yourself inside your flat with a door between the two of you if necessary. When you’re facing him again he has his hands in his pockets, eyebrows pulled together and lips set in a deep frown. “I take it yeh didn’ like the song.”

You let out a dry laugh and attempt to press the door closed, hindered by his thick boot.

“Wait, wait.” He sighs and pulls his sunglasses down over his eyes, an idiotic look with the lack of sunshine, fitting for his recent idiocy. “Can I jus’ explain m’self b’fore yeh go slammin’ doors?”

“You can try, but I’m not going to forgive you.” Your voice is harsh and hard as your feelings toward the situation. “Save yourself the trouble.”

“I wasn’ goin’ t’apologize,” he informs you nonchalantly.

Your eyes narrow and your teeth grind together. All of this already has you doubting years of friendship and now he’s only worsening the wear.

“Great. Then get off of my steps.”

“Y/N,” he sighs, pressing a hand to the door in an effort to force his way inside. You shove it back in his direction, pinching his foot in the frame.

“Oi! Would yeh quit that?”

“Harry, get the hell away from me!”

Angry tears have begin to brim your eyes, ones that you thought you’d rid yourself of days ago. You turn your head so you don’t have to look at him. You feel sick to your stomach. He’s not even recognizable to you. The Harry you’ve known for so long would never do anything like what he has.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers. “Are yeh cryin’?” He sounds shocked, voice rising in a panic.

“Please leave.” You try to push the door closed again but his ringed fingers wrap around the edge, holding it in place. “Harry.”

“Jus’ let me in. ‘M sorry. ‘M really sorry. Didn’ know yeh’d be this upset.”

“What do you mean you didn’t know I’d be this upset?” you demand in disbelief.

You have to take big steps back when he manages to wedge himself through the entrance. His hair is still dripping water and it leaves a trail on the floor as he enters the hallway and closes the door. He spins around, removing the sunglasses from his face. His eyes are wide, apprehensive.

“Yeh said yeh’d never share your poems but I read ‘em and I couldn’ let ‘em go t’ waste.”

You shake your head, fists balling up at your sides.

“That’s not your decision to make!”

A crease forms between Harry’s eyebrows as if he’s confused. You’re absolutely trembling with anger at his ignorance. In what dimension would his actions be taken positively?

“Look, I was appreciatin’ what yeh wrote. That’s all. Didn’ think it was that big of a-”

“Harry, those are my private thoughts!” You brush away a tear that has escaped. You don’t want to seem soft or weak. You want him to know that he’s crossed a line, a dangerous one that you’re not comfortable with. “There’s a reason I never showed you what was in that journal!”

“But you’re good! People should be able t’ hear what yeh have t’ say.”

“Stop!” Your fingers find your hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. He’s not hearing what you really have to say. “What I write is for me. I don’t even know when or how or why you got into that book, but it’s not for you, and it’s certainly not for strangers. Did you read the whole thing?”

“I jus’ thought-”

“You didn’t think! You invaded my privacy and you shared my words without my permission! You can’t just-”

The air leaves your body in a split moment when Harry’s mouth is suddenly on yours, lips fierce and hands tight on your jaw. Your hands are tangled in the front of his shirt, whether to keep him close or to hold yourself up, you’re not sure. He pulls away after a second and your breaths mingle in the minimal space between you.

“Would yeh jus’ shut up?” he whispers, finger brushing over the shell of your ear. “’M sorry. Wasn’ tryin’ t’ piss yeh off.”

You barely let out a noise before his lips are back on yours, hands finding your waist and body pressing yours against a wall. Your mind has gone blank except for the feel of his, the smell of him, the taste of his mouth. You’re not sure how you’ve ended up here, cheeks still damp from your previous tears, tongue tangling with your best friend’s. Nothing like this has ever occurred between the two of you. The closest you’ve gotten is sloppy face kisses and cheeky, wandering hands when one or both of you are drunk. You’d be lying if you said you’ve never thought about him this way, about how his lips would feel, how he would taste, the pressure of his hands. You’re not disappointed, just confused, but you push the confusion from your mind, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, still wet with rain.

Harry’s fingers snake under the hem of your shirt. His skin burns against yours, and when his teeth nip at your lower lip, you let out a mewl.

“’S this okay, love?” He keeps pressing hungry kisses to your lips, barely breaking away long enough for you to take a breath, let alone answer him.

“Harry, I-”

“Let me make it right. Let me fix this mess o’ mine. Yeah?” His mouth drags down the length of your neck, tongue peaking out to lick the hollow at the base of your throat.

“Okay,” you’re able to mumble, hands winding into his sopping hair. It slips through your finders and smears water over your skin.

“Thank God.” His mouth slots over yours again, rougher, needier, hips suddenly rutting against your body. He swallows your gasp, pulling you away from the wall and stumbling backwards in the direction of your bedroom. You lose your shoes along the way, nearly tripping over your own feet. Harry tightens his grip on your waist, leading you until your legs collapse on the edge of the bed. Your mouths part as you plop back on the mattress, Harry towering over your body.

“Get undressed for me, pet.”

Your body is buzzing with the sudden realization of what’s happening. Awareness seems to wash over Harry at the same time. His face is flushed, eyes blown wide and lips a deep pink. His fingers almost shake as he reaches behind his head to pull his jumper off his body.

Your own fingers fumble with the buttons of your blouse, shedding the material on the floor in front of you. You do the same with your pants, and Harry wriggles himself from his skinny jeans, stepping over the lost clothing to press you back on the bed. His necklace dangles from his neck until the cold metal is tight between your hot bodies.

Harry’s hair is falling in his face when he leans down, applying kisses to your neck and chest, ones that suck and pull at the skin. His locks leave droplets on bruising flesh. You moan out when his teeth graze just above your bra.

“’S a nice sound,” he observes, leg knocking your thighs open so he can nestle his hips between yours. “Make it again fo’ me, pet?” He pulls on the cup of your bra and wraps his lips around a hardened nipple, sucking the bud into his mouth.

“Harry,” you moan. He loves the sound of that. His hips buck against you, searching for a source of friction against his growing bulge, mouth losing hold of your nipple.

“Tha’s a good girl. Been hard since yeh started yelling at me, yeh know tha’?”

“Can you…” Your voice dies out, unable to speak what you’d like. Even with him on top of you, his erection pressed against your clothed core, it’s hard to separate the friend you’ve always had and the current one.

“What’s tha’, love?” His hands push their way under your body to snap the clasp of your bra, peeling the material away to expose your whole chest. “Wha’ d’yeh want?”

“Want to touch you,” you breathe out, throat constricting around the words. “Please.”

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, trailing another few wet kisses down the valley of your breasts. “’Course yeh can, pet. Can touch me.” He presses himself away from you and onto his knees, reaching into his briefs and to pull out his heavy length. His fingers tighten as he gives himself a slow pump, air hissing between his teeth.

You reach forward, fingertips brushing over his until he removes his own hand. You replace it, thumb smearing a bead of precome over his swollen head and giving him another tug. Harry groans then, vein in his neck pulling taut. He crawls back up your body, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Feels good,” he praises, lips nudging the underside of your jaw. “Wanna be inside yeh, though.”

“Condom,” you whisper, letting his cock fall from your grasp and wiggling across the mattress toward your bedside table. Harry’s hands latch onto your hips, yanking you back into place with a force that makes you yelp.

“Lemme get it. Yeh take your panties off fo’ me.”

He rolls off to the side, ridding himself of his boxers and reaching into the drawer that also holds your journal. He pauses for a brief moment before tearing a packet out of the box hidden in the back of your drawer. You slip your underwear down your legs, tossing them down to the floor as he makes his way back to you.

Harry rips open the wrapper and rolls the rubber over his length. His hands wrap around your knees and drag you closer to him, spreading your legs open to get a good look. His fingers slip through the slickness that has collected between your folds, slipping past your entrance only once to get a feel of you.

“Mmm,” he hums, using his damp fingers the pump his cock a few times. “Yeh ready fo’ me, love?”

“Please, Harry.”

He leans down, teeth nipping at your hip, mouth roaming your skin as he makes his way up your body. His lips meet yours again in a kiss that’s softer, deeper. His tongue dips inside of your mouth before he sucks your lip between his briefly. A shiver chases his fingers as they ghost down your side to grip his cock and press it to your slit.

Harry pulls his mouth from yours promptly when he first pushes into you, swallowed up by your walls. You’re so warm and tight, and he wonders what it’d be like to fuck you bare. But then he remembers he’s fucking you to begin with, that he’s inches deep in his best friend, that he’s living his wet dreams, and he lets out a long, desperate moan.

You feel so stretched. You’ve been a homebody lately and can’t remember the last time you’ve has a fuck, but you swear that you’ve never had anyone so thick. And then he presses in deeper and you can swear that he’s in places no one’s ever reached. You choke on a cry when he nudges just the faintest bit further to sit fully inside of you.

“Yeh all right?”

“Yes.” Your voice trembles, but fuck do you want him to move. “Fuck me, please.”

Harry grunts and delivers a heavy thrust that makes your toes curl. His muscles strain. He bulked up for filming, but you know that he’s grown even more since, spent countless hours at bootcamps and with personal trainers. Your hands lift around his torso to press against his back, pulling him down so you can feel the full weight of him.

“Feel fuckin’ amazin’.” He buries his face in the curve of your neck, breaths puffing over your skin. The mattress creaks with each movement of his hips and you have to latch your legs around him to keep from being jolted up the bed.

“A little- There!” You gasp when he nudges into the spot deep inside of you he’s been searching for you. “A little harder,” you request.

Harry moans when he feels you pulse around his cock. Your fingers are digging into his back, legs locked around his waist. He can tell how good he’s making you feel, but with each mumble of his name he falls a little deeper, struggling to hold back his release.

“Takin’ me so well, pet, he whispers against your skin, turning his face to kiss just below your ear. “Fuck!”

You’ve angled your hips up, allowing him even deeper than he thought possible. He remembers the spot that makes you shudder beneath him and surges forward, drawing a shocked cry from your lips.

“Yeh close? Please tell me you’re close, love.”

“I’m close,” you ensure him breathlessly, clinging to his back. Your head presses into the mattress, inches below your pillow. “I’m gonna come.”

“Come,” he urges you, pounding forward relentlessly. His hips are getting tired, his cock begging to burst. His fingers twist between the two of you expertly, finding your sensitive clit and rubbing messy patterns into it. “Please, come for me, pet. Need it.”

Harry’s choking on air, spinning into oblivion despite his attempt to wait for your release. He spills into the condom despite himself, groaning into your ear. And then you’re falling too, wrapping around him. He lets out another moan of disbelief when he feels you clenching around him, milking his cock for everything he’s got. His body is nearly crushing you, exhausted from holding itself up for so long.

Aftershocks jerk through your body for the next minute, and Harry doesn’t remove himself from you until he can’t feel them anymore. When he does, his chest is heaving, throat bobbing as he gulps in air. He peels the condom from his length and ties it, tossing the rubber into the trash can beside your bed. He pulls back the sheets, helping you underneath them before climbing in himself.

You lay side-by-side in a comfortable silence, eyes sometimes drifting closed in a space between sleep and wakefulness. Your body is tingling, head light and slightly dizzy. Harry’s fingers drift up to skim over the top of your hair after a few moments.

“It’d be weird for people to see my poems,” you say, finally breaking the silence. You opt for this conversation rather than the more awkward one. “They’ve always just been mine.”

Harry hums in response, hoping this won’t start another argument. But you still want to talk about it.

“Do you think people see me differently after hearing that stuff?”

“Wha’ d’yeh mean?”

“What did everyone think of the poem?”

Harry’s silent for a moment, a deep frown carved into his face.

“What?”

“Well, I didn’ say yeh wrote the lyrics. Mighta used ‘em without askin’ yeh, but I didn’ wanna put your name out there in case yeh wanted t’ stay anonymous or somethin’.” He pulls on his lower lip with his fingers, eyes roaming the empty ceiling. “Your name’s not on the list o’ writers.”

“So?” You sit up slowly, wrapping the sheets around your naked torso. You twist your neck to keep a view of his face. “Just add my name or something.”

“Love,” he says with a sigh, fingers reaching out to trace up the curve of your spine. “Can’ do tha’. Already told people I wrote it t’ keep you outta it. ’S not good publicity ‘f I look like a liar, is it?”

“Harry.” You tear his hand from your body, staring at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Y/N, I can’-”

“Yes. Yes, you can. You just don’t want to.”

“’S not like that. I-”

“Get out.”

It’s silent for a full minute. Harry presses his fingers into his eyes and rubs them gently.

“Y/N-”

“Get. Out.”

He clenches his jaw and looks up into your face, analyzing your hard expression until he realizes he won’t be able to talk you out of your anger. He takes a deep breath and slips out of the bed, taking his time to fit limbs into clothing. You stare at the sheets silently until he’s fled from the room. A slam of the front door echoes through the flat, jolting your body. Harry was right. This is one very jumbled mess of his.

Part 2: Mouth o’ Mine

[4jimin]

Let The Walls Break Down | 4

CHAPTER IV: Closer | crossposted on ao3 Summary: Resistance never really was their forté. A/N: all i have to say is: i'm sorry i have a lot of reasons to why i took so long to update (i was writing lost stars and another oneshot i didn't post yet) but it still doesn't justify, so for those who were waiting for it, i'm truly sorry and i hope you're still here sdjdkfj anyway i hope you enjoy and i promise i will do my best to not let that happen again

It wasn’t the way Jimin's body was moving under the blinding white lights of the dance studio. It wasn’t the way his sleeveless shirt was sticking to his solid muscles, the wetness of the fabric turning it see-through. No. It wasn’t how he rolled his hips like it was liquid, his thick thighs keeping the pace while his upper body flowed just as the lightest leaf. No, it wasn’t. It fucking wasn’t. It was the sleepiness spur of midnight, his mind too dizzy, too sore from the nonstop practice to be thinking straight. “Jungkook.” Namjoom bumped shoulders with him. “You're standing in the way... If you're tired go sit over there and relax a little, okay? We'll be going home in half an hour anyway.” He numbly nodded thinking maybe he really needed to take a rest. His line of thought was getting a little bit out of control, too much for his dismay. He sat on the corner of the room, away from everyone, a bottle of water in hands and a heart beating on his throat. He drowned it in water, shoving the beats down within each gulp. The hot sweat accumulated on his forehead and arms had already turned cold thanks to the air conditioner – Jungkook attributed to this the fault for his shivers. The room was filled with a loud beat that wasn’t their music anymore since some minutes ago. Almost everyone was seating or laying down trying to catch their breaths – except for Jimin and Hoseok, still up, all the energy from the world spilling from them. It almost didn’t seem like they had just spent the whole day dancing and trying to get their new choreography right. Hoseok was doing the most, randomly dancing to the foreign song blasting out of the speakers, moving his body everywhere, in a lame and forced attempt of sexiness due to the vibe of the song, which was, yeah, now that Jungkook realized, pretty sexual. Jimin was bending his body forward, too much laughing stopping him from standing straight. The sound of his laugh was filling the room, almost overlapping the song, and providing that so usual joy to Jungkook’s chest everytime the sound reached his ears. Hoseok stopped moving, hands on his waist and the brightest smile on his face – but still sweating and panting, obviously tired. He pointed with his chin to where Jimin was standing catching his breath and trying to stop laughing with a hand on his tummy, as if saying 'your turn'. Jungkook could only gulp, because Jimin sexily dancing to a slightly too explicit song was definitely not what he needed in that moment. No one was actually giving them too much of attention so Jungkook thought it would be weird if he was caught intensely staring. He busied himself pulling out the plastic label of the water's bottle on his hands, and heard Jimin's voice over the music. “Aish, hyung, no, no.” He was laughing and giggling all cutely – that way it made everyone’s heart melt. “Come oonnn, Jiminie! Show me those sexy skills you got, dance for hyung!” Jungkook put the bottle aside – the plastic around it now partially hanging off – and searched for his phone on his bag. His father had called him. He should call him back. Yeah, he probably should. In fact, he should call him back in that exact moment. “Aish, okay.” Jimin's little mumble didn’t go unnoticed by the maknae’s ears. Jungkook stood up, hurrying to leave the room so he could find a silent place to talk with his father, but somewhere along the way his body stopped moving, his own eyes betraying him and shooting a glance at Jimin. He was obviously fooling around, but that alone was enough for Jungkook's palms to get extra sweaty and tingly, because what the fuck? He was rolling his hips all the way, more for Hoseok's loud squeaky laughs along with the intense clapping of his hands than anything. Jimin kept pulling out faces that were kinda funny and destroyed the mood, but Jungkook was totally ignoring it, focusing on his body alone, because that was far than enough. Some point along the way, the beat seemed to really start enveloping Jimin's skin, because he was suddenly too serious, body moves too sharp and controlled – too letal, much for Jungkook's despair. His breath hitched when he looked up his face and their gazes met. Was he fucking dancing for him? No way. But Jimin didn’t break eye contact, eyelids partially falling closed in that way he knew it was too fucking tempting. He took his hands to the back of his neck as he tauntingly threw his head backwards, rolling it to the side until it was back staring at Jungkook's eyes, gaze piercing through him. Jungkook thought that was already too much when Jimin suddenly dropped his upper body down, thighs tensing for a second, before he was back up again, arms and hips hitting the beats too pointedly, too perfectly for a improvisation. Jungkook was barely breathing. Hoseok was the one who stole Jimin’s attention, body starting to move with the music again. They got serious about it and Jungkook didn’t know what to do. He should leave. He didn’t know what just happened, but he needed to leave for sure. It was when the music suddenly ended and the place was plunged in silence, heavy breaths being the only thing responsible for filling it. Jungkook held his phone on his hands harder and glanced over at the two men in the middle of the room one last time. It was just curiosity. Hoseok was smiling as always, but Jimin was looking directly at him, the slight hint of a smirk playing on his lips. He lifted his head up a bit, hands resting on his hips as he teasingly smiled. “Like what you see?” Jungkook's heart fastened its pace so violently and in such a short period of time his vision blurred. Hoseok's turned his head to him, still smiling innocently and probably completely oblivious to what was happening there. “I... You–“ he weirdly muttered, cheeks blushing and voice failing, “You were cool.” He gulped changing his focus to Hoseok so he wouldn’t feel on the verge of exploding. “The dance. It was cool.” Hoseok smiled more widely than before and Jungkook almost felt guilty – his eyes didn’t focus on him even once. “Anyway, ahm... I gotta... call my father, so, mhm, yeah.” He left the room without having the guts to meet Jimin's eyes again.

•••

Jimin knew more ways to have a crush than to actually deal with one. He had always been the person to fall for the small things. He was a hopeless lover, he could do nothing about it. He was in love with many things – Namjoon's dimples, Taehyung's eyes, Hoseok's smile, Seokjin's laugh, Yoongi's little nose –, not to mention other things unrelated to his members. But Jungkook... It was fucking crazy, to begin with. Jungkook was his dongsaeng, Jimin had always believed his love for him was old-brotherly – and the fucked up thing was, it really was old-brotherly, it really used to be, but... But what? He didn’t know and it was driving him crazy, because that shitty feeling had already caused problems enough, for god's sake. It was past the time for him to get his shit together and simply get over it, but it always seemed like there was something holding him back every damn time he decided to let go. Maybe it was his wishful mind making things up to delay his heartbreak, but Jimin always noticed – or he think he noticed – the sublte (sometimes not so sublte) glances Jungkook directed at him, the way he cleaned his hands on the back of his pants every time Jimin approached him – or even, how one night his eyes clearly landed on Jimin's lips, seeming to drift away from the conversation for a second or two. Jimin knew all of this could mean many things, none of them being what he wanted – he could have had a strand of hair sticking on his lips, maybe. He knew it all, but his mind kept creating nonexistent things to fill his need for correspondent love. Yeah, it was love and fuck that. He knew it, because different from with the other members, Jimin was in love with every single thing about Jeon Jungkook. His flaws. He was in love with his flaws, for fuck's sake. He wasn’t in love with anyone's flaws – not even Taehyung’s, not even his owns. He sighed loudly, his head falling from the couch while he watched a shitty anime on tv. “Your neck will hurt later if you keep doing this.” Hoseok warned walking past him. “I don’t care.” “Aish, stop being a brat and straighten your back.” He slapped Jimin's legs. “I'm the one you look for later with puppy eyes asking for massages.” Jimin grinned. “You can’t say no to my puppy eyes.” “I'll start to learn to, you cocky asshole.” He smiled back and Jimin straightened his back, returning his attention to the television, until Seokjin parked in front of it, hands on waist and looking pretty pissed. He sat straight on the couch to listen the scold he knew it was to come. “What did I say about the bathroom, Park Jimin?!” Jimin lowered his eyes, little guilty remembering him his forgotten duty, “For god's sake! I told you, bathroom is yours and Jungkook's responsability, didn’t I? It's not because we have a cleaning lady coming every week we need to leave the house this disgusting mess for her to do all the work!” “I'm sorry, hyung...” he sincerely apologized. “I don’t want apologies, I want you and Jeon Jungkook cleaning that bathroom until it's shining! Now!” Jin turned off the television and pointed for Jimin to leave with his finger. And he left, head down and feeling slightly embarrassed. He did nothing all morning, he could have quickly cleaned the bathroom, but he kept procrastinating until he forgot it. Jungkook was already there, sitting down, a sponge in hands rubbing the tiles of the wall. He heard Jimin's footsteps and looked back, smiling understandingly. Jimin shifted his gaze away, because his smile did funny things to his stomach. “Jin-hyung can be pretty serious when he wants to, right?” Jungkook started, returning his attention to his duty. “Yeah... What were you doing when he appeared?” Jimin took a sponge for himself to clean the sink. “Playing fallout. He was pretty pissed.” Jungkook giggled. “Oh, and toilet's yours.” “Jungkookie!” Jimin whined, turning his head to look at him in deblief. “No!” “You should've been faster to call dibs.” Jungkook laughed. “I hate dibs.” He pouted. “And I hate you.” “Ahhh, don’t be like that...” Jungkook teased, a smile sounding on his voice, “You know I'm your favorite dongsaeng.” “You're my only dongsaeng.” “Shhh...” Jimin laughed. He really hated him. “You're a brat, Jeon Jungkook.” “Hyung loves me anyway...” He singsonged. Jimin shook his head laughing. A brat. He was in love with a brat. Unbelievable. Time went by and silence dominated the place as they kept rubbing and cleaning. Jimin was already feeling bored and his fingers were starting to get wrinkled from the water, when, with no previous warning, a cold hand was placed on the inner part of his warm – bare – thigh, making him shudder, caging his breath inside his lungs. He looked down – a gulp in his throat – just to find a pair of innocent eyes staring back at him – completely unaware of the effect his touch had on Jimin's body. “Hyung, can you pass me the disinfectant?” But his hands remained there, and Jimin suddenly didn’t know how to speak. “Oh, it's so warm here.” Jungkook closed his eyes, taking his other hand to rest on the back of Jimin's knees. “Jungkook–“ Jimin gasped, because, one: his hands were pretty cold, and well, the other reason he was trying to ignore. “My hands are cold, hyung.” He frowned whining. “Yeah, I know that.” “Oh.” The younger snapped his eyes open, taking his hands off Jimin's skin, “Sorry.” Jimin swallowed the tip of disappointment that surged on his gut. “Sure. Disinfectant, right?” He reached for the bottle on his right. “Here.” “Thanks.” And there was the silence again. But this time it was awkward. Jimin finished with the sink and took a deep breath, knowing the toilet was next. Disgusting. He crouched down by Jungkook's side, who was almost finished with the bottom tiles, and plunged the sponge into the foam bucket. Jungkook grabbeb his wrist before he could take it out. “Oh, no, hyung, I was joking. I'll take the toilet.” “No, it's o–“ “Hyung.” Jimin was trying to avoid eye contact, but Jungkook was searching for his eyes so he gave in, “It's okay.” When did his eyes become so warm? Jimin sighed, shifting his gaze away. His heart was racing stupidly. “Okay.” He murmured, pulling his hand out of the bucket and his wrist out of Jungkook’s hold. It was silent for a second until Jungkook leaned in closer, startling Jimin. He turned to face him, eyes slightly wide and a question hanging on his lips. What are you doing? Jungkook's eyes were glued to his jawline and as Jimin's breath got increasingly shorter, Jungkook brought his hand to the side of the older's neck. “You...” he murmured while brushing his thumb over it. “There's soap on your neck.” Jimin felt the cold foam spreading on his skin until Jungkook completely wiped it. “T-thanks.” He managed out, wondering why Jungkook was still with his hand on his neck. Their eyes met and Jimin fisted the fabric of his shorts a little, the distance between their faces being the only thing he was thinking about. “Hyung, I–“ “Are you two going to take the whole day to finish this or what?!” Seokjin's loud voice was heard from the hall. Jimin jumped on his feet so fast he almost slipped on the partially soapy floor. His heart was thunder on his chest, the welcomed air on his lungs showing he was unconsciously holding back his breath for god knows how long. Jin appeared by the doorframe while Jimin was still trying to figure out how to act. But, thank god, he didn’t give a shit to them, just inspectioned their job with a nod. “Okay, that's fine, just finish the tiles and the floor, so you can come eatn. Lunch's already ready.” “And the toilet?” Jimin heard Jungkook asking. How was he so calm? “Nah, it's okay. Just throw disinfectant in it and press the flush. Be quick, we're waiting for you to eat.” He was gone just as fast as he came, leaving the two of them alone to deal with the weird atmosphere that settled in there – which they didn’t, just tried finishing their duties as fast as possible, so they could go away from each other and pretend nothing unusual happened at all. Just another ordinary day.

•••

It was under the soft fabric of his blankets, air beginning to get stuffy and thick from too little oxygen to breath inside his made up shelter, that Jungkook had his first anxiety attack after a long time. His mind was dizzy, and he was miserably failing at the only function he needed to focus on in that moment: breath. Exhale and inhale. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it, and his throat was closing and he was panicking. He pushed the duvet off his head and even when the cool air of the room hit his face – he still couldn’t breath it in. He wanted to cry, but the tears were stuck, making his nose tingle and then burn, until he had no other option apart from laying on bed and waiting either for death or for his mind to pass out. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the soft sheets around his body, on how the sensation on his skin was refreshing, and on how the hum of the air conditioner was far more welcoming than the idle buzz inside his ears. Eventually, oxygen naturally invaded his lungs without warning, so smoothly he was scared to stop doing it again if he got too focused on it. So he just redirected his attention to the cozy sound of the ac filling the room. He was alone, Namjoon wasn’t there. No one was in the house, in fact. He was alone. But it was okay. He was going to be okay. His grandmother once told him if he kept repeating a lie for too many times, it'd might turn true. In the time, it had been a warning to stop him from lying little lies, but now it was just an encouragement for him to get through difficult times. It's okay. You’re going to be okay.

He woke up to the blinding light of early morning invading the windows. His eyes were blurry and gross, so he rubbed it to see better, the sleepy state of his mind confusing him about where exactly he was. When Namjoon's silhouette took in his sight on the other bed, he let his head fall back on the pillow. He was feeling drained and he had barely woken up. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, so he took it in his hands. Full of useless notifications. Except from one. He clicked on it, a lazy smile settling on his lips for the next five minutes as he stared at Jimin's latest selfie on twitter. He was so gorgeous. Jungkook sighed, a tiny hint of exasperation hidden in the way he closed his eyes and licked his mouth. Why him of all people? He was always so sure he liked girls, why was that happening to him? It was so frustrating. As his thoughts floated on his mind, memories of the last night flashed quickly before his eyes before he blew them away. He didn’t want to remember. It was so embarrassing – even more considering it had almost a year he didn’t have a crisis like that. Stupid. All due to a sexually frustrated crush. Because that's what it was, in the worst of cases. A sexually frustrated crush. It couldn’t be any more than that. He wasn’t going to let it be. Jungkook knew it was okay, and even normal. He knew it all – he and Jimin talked, he had read things and had even heard Namjoon talking about it one day. It was okay for people from the same sex to love each other. It was normal. But for other people. Not for him. For him, loving Jimin was his mother's disappointed eyes, his father's harsh words, his grandpa's disgusted face and his grandma's promises of praying for the lord to save him. It was his fans heartbreak, his members dream being shoved into a trashcan. All of that and more. He couldn’t risk it. Jungkook was still laying in bed when the door softly opened some minutes later – one arm resting above his eyes to block the sunlight and the other on his stomach, which instantly reacted the moment he saw Jimin's sleepy face by the door. Jimin peaked inside the bedroom and assumed everyone was still sleeping, because he was about to close the door when Jungkook's hoarse voice resounded in the place. “Hyung.” Jimin put his head back in again, wondering if he was hearing things. Jungkook still seemed asleep. “Hyung.” He called again, voice scratching his dry throat. He had a bad morning taste in his mouth, so he completely regretted calling Jimin the second he started walking till him. Now he was going to smell Jungkook's terrible breath and would be disgusted by him. The smaller boy crouched by his side and Jungkook's futile worries were completely washed away. Jimin's hand went to his hair, and it felt almost as refreshing as cold water soaking his scalp during a shower after an unbearable hot day. Jungkook allowed himself to relax, closing his eyes for a moment too long to drown in Jimin's touch. “I thought you were sleeping.” Jimin's low whisper forced him to lazily open his eyes. His face was such a wonderful thing to see first in the day. “I came to see if anyone was awake, so I could do breakfast for more than one person only.” Jungkook slowly nodded, partially stunned by the sight before him, eyes dazed like it was a dream. He was so beautiful. “You're still sleeping, it seems.” He wasn’t. He was so fully awake. Jimin giggled and Jungkook's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to hear it one more time. “Hyung...” he called again, even though Jimin was right in front of him. “What is it?” the older rested his chin on the border of the bed, staring at Jungkook’s eyes just a few inches from his, hand's still on the younger’s hair, caressing it softly and sweetly. Jungkook's throat closed and he was scared to break in front of Jimin. He wanted to take his hands on his, kiss his knucles and ask him to lay by his side. He wanted to intertwine their fingers and ask him to sing him to sleep. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t and it fucking hurt. “I–“ he started, voice choked. But Jimin was mistaking his sadness with sleepiness. He didn’t know if that relieved or depressed him. “Can we... Can we spend some time together today?” Jimin's brows briefly furrowed, lips falling open in a silent coo, unaware of the situation he was in. “Of course we can. But why all of a sudden, though?” “I'm... I’m homesick.” Jungkook lied, watching the expression in Jimin's eyes change. “Are you okay?” he slid his hand down to caress Jungkook’s temple with his thumb, worry hanging from his words. Jungkook closed his eyes again, fighting the urge to cry. “Yeah, just...” he slid his eyelids up, “Stay with me today.” Jimin smiled and, for a moment, it was like there was no evil in the world. “Of course I will.” Jungkook nodded, a weak 'okay' escaping his lips. Jimin turned around, still crouched down, and then looked at him over his shoulders. “Come on. Hop up.” Jungkook didn’t fight when a sweet smile bloomed on his lips. “What?” he asked, sadness being replaced for a fluttering heart. “Hop up. I'll carry the sleepy baby to the kitchen. We need to be together today, right?” Jimin giggled and Jungkook was far more than pleased, “Come on.” “Can you even handle my weight?” he teased. Jimin placed a hand on his chest, mouth hanging open in a dramatic offended expression while looking at Jungkook with fake disbelief. He got up on his feet. “Oh brat, you'll swallow those words up.” He wrapped his arms around Jungkook’s back and picked him up. “Hyung!” Jungkook ridiculously squeaked in surprise, heart beating like crazy, scared to fall in the ground but already falling – in a completely different context. “Hyung, put me down!” he complained even though his arms were already around Jimin's neck. Jimin just adjusted the younger's body better on his arms and smiled. “Enjoy the ride, bride.” Jungkook pinched his shoulder, but buried his face in the crook of his neck anyway. He closed his eyes and resisted with all the strength of his body to not place gentle kisses all over it. He failed, giving in to the will one time only, his lips sticking to Jimin's skin like honey – lasting one moment too long and one moment too short. Neither of them uttered a word about it – the butterflies in their stomachs speaking a lot more than necessary, but never reaching each other’s ears.

•••

By spending time with each other, Jungkook didn’t mean losing the entire afternoon on a practice room working on a choreography a little bit too intense to catch on, but he guessed that was what life had for him. They remained there though, after everyone left, Jimin saying he wanted to train his vocals and Jungkook just following him around everywhere and agreeing with everything he wanted to do. That definitely wasn’t what he had planned on his head when he asked Jimin to be with him that day, but to be completely honest, he was far more love struck than he ever thought he would be. And it was okay, because it wasn’t romantically speaking (or so he told himself). It was a too-stunned-and-too-admired-to-form-a-word type of love struck. His eyes were glued on Jimin's focused features, unable to swerve away even for a second. Because Jimin was singing. Acapella. And it was simultaneously the most beautiful thing Jungkook had ever seen and heard his entire life. Jimin had his eyelids tightly pressed against his lower eyelashes, getting his brows to slightly furrow as he hit a high note that bristled Jungkook's nape hair. It was when he opened his eyes that Jungkook realized he was holding back his breath. He slowly sucked in a good amount of oxygen to his lungs, feeling refreshed but still in trance. He watched as Jimin took his hand to the back of his neck and pressed the muscle – probably sore from too much exercise –, a slight hint of pain hidden in the way he pressed his lips together and failed to sing the next note. The melody stopped flowing out of his mouth to be replaced for a little whine and a frown on his face. “God, it hurts.” Jungkook almost instantly double tapped the ground in front of him. “C'mere.” His muscles were just as sore, but he'd do anything to erase that expression of pain from Jimin's face. “Let me massage it for you.” His hyung crawled till him without resistance, accepting Jungkook’s offer with pleasure. He settled his body between Jungkook's legs, his back to the younger's chest, and lowered his head, waiting for Jungkook's hands to do the job. Jimin was wearing a tank top, so Jungkook had to deeply breath before his fingertips met the skin of Jimin's nape. He pressured the sore spots with just the right amount of force, completely cupping the neck with both hands to make it feel better for Jimin. He slided his hands to the smaller boy's shoulders, pressuring the muscles with his palm and thumb, Jimin's tiny moans reassuring him he was doing right. “Mhmmm...” Jimin let out and Jungkook was forced to close his eyes in order to maintain his self control. He continued to squeeze Jimin's shoulders and neck with eyes closed, trying not to focus on the little whimpers coming out of the older's lips, pretending to not notice the droplets of sweat forming on his own nape. He was doing fine, until Jimin roughly grabbed his thighs with both hands and loudly moaned, Jungkook's breath hitching. “Oh, right there, Jungkookie, right the– God, yes...” Jungkook stopped moving to breath, Jimin's palms still pressed down on top of his painful thigh muscles. He closed and opened his eyes a few times before bringing his fingers to move again, Jimin's warm skin feeling so soft against his touch. He had such a nice skin. In that moment it was creamy and a little bit shiny from sweat but Jungkook didn’t care. He straightened his back – increasing the height between them even while sitting –, and somehow it made him feel a little confident, to see a small Jimin melting under his touch. “Mmm– God, this feels so good–” It was in a dizzy spur of lust and desire that Jungkook leaned in closer, placing an open mouthed kiss on the back of Jimin's neck. He slightly sucked it, his stomach twirling and his heart thundering, loving to hear the way Jimin gasped midway his sentence and held on Jungkook’s thigh so hard he dugged his nails on the flesh. Jungkook didn’t care, intoxicated by the feeling. He slided his hands to Jimin's biceps and kept massaging it, mouth travelling to the skin behind Jimin's ear. He tasted like after training salty sweat and Jungkook was addicted. He swiped his tongue over Jimin's ear lobe, catching it on his lips a second later, hearing the older loudly sucking the air through his mouth, hands clutching so tight on Jungkook’s leg it made him whimper, voice vibrating against Jimin's skin. Jungkook didn’t know what had got into him, but he decided he didn’t want to take the time to find out, tracing a path of kisses on Jimin's neck instead, hands pressuring his muscles roughly now – both stimulus seeming to be too much for the boy to take it, having turn into a moaning mess already. “Mmmm... Jungkook-ah...” Jungkook clutched Jimin's arms hard, the sound of his voice crying his name making his cock twitch and his heart burst. His eyes were tightly closed as he tried to easy his unsteady breath – hotly hitting on Jimin's now wet skin and making him shiver. The pause in the moment made Jungkook hesitate, fear menacing to invade his empty mind – but it only needed for Jimin to drag his hands up his thighs for him to be back at it again. He brought his right hand up Jimin's shoulder, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of his shirt and swiping it down, exposing this shoulder. There was something so sexual about that sight that Jungkook couldn’t repress the needy moan escaping his mouth in response. His lips found Jimin's shoulder at the same time his arms found his waist, pulling him closer, the end of his back clashing against Jungkook’s cock and causing the friction he was so much earning for. Jungkook tightened his thighs by the sides of Jimin's body in instinct, wanting the contact to be bigger. It was when Jimin pulled away and Jungkook almost instantly felt terror settling inside him. But just as fast as he was gone he was back, straddling Jungkook's body with both his thighs and sitting on his lap, Jungkook's mind going instantly blank, a groan escaping both their lips. He held on Jimin's waist and pressed him down, their erections briefly touching, too many clothes between them. Jimin harshly placed his elbows on the wall behind them by both sides of Jungkook’s head, their faces so close he could feel their noses brushing. He was panting, hot breath invading Jungkook's mouth, and a look on his eyes that made him gulp in antecipation, heart beating too fast for his own good. “I swear to god...” Jimin started low, voice hoarse and iris so dark Jungkook swore they were black, “You're going to be the fucking death of me.” Jungkook closed his eyes, ready to feel the most perfect pair of lips against his mouth, – but instead he felt a trace of cold air spreading on his skin where the missing warmth of Jimin’s body was a second before, his weight leaving his lap in a heartbeat. He snapped his eyes open in confusion just to find a nervous Jimin fixing his shirt and signalling for him to get up – when Yoongi entered the room and Jungkook was terrified, pulling his knees up to hide his too much apparent hardness. “Hey kids. I brought food.” He showed the plastic bag on his hands, walking past them to put it on the table in the corner of the room. “Hi hyung. Ahm...” Jimin started while fixing his sweatpants, thankfully large enough to hide any sign of what was happening there an instant before. “Weren’t you supposed to be home?” “Me?” Yoongi looked at them, but Jungkook was too scared to look back, “No, why? I was working on the mixtape at the recording room.” “I see...” Jimin nodded and the room was  oddly silent for a moment. Jungkook wanted to disappear. He was feeling guilty and dirty, as if he had cheated on the most important moral principle of his life, when in fact he had just – partially – made out Jimin. God. He had partially made out with Jimin. “Come eat before it gets cold.” “Actually, ahn...” Jungkook jumped on his feet, avoiding both gazes on him and hurriedly picking up his things from the ground, “I have a really important thing to do right now and I can’t be late, I'm sorry, hyung. Thanks for the food anyway.” Yoongi turned around to pick Jungkook's portion so he'd at least take it with him, but when he looked back a second later the younger was already gone, having left behind just the loud sound of the door closing shut and a confused Yoongi with a package of hot yakisoba in hands.

[kaijoskopycat]

Part 2 of Model!Yuri and Photographer!Otabek. Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 AO3

The next time Otabek works with Yuri Plisetsky, he's expecting it. He’s been paying more attention to the names of the models he will be working with and Yuri’s name had finally shown up again. Not that he was necessarily looking for it.

Of course, even if he had not seen Yuri’s name on the latest contract he would still know. The clothing that lines the racks around him is none other than the same line of tacky animal prints that he remembers Yuri modeling before. He can't fathom how someone as talented and as good looking as Yuri would end up modeling for a designer with little to no fashion sense, though he can't deny that Yuri can pull them off.

Yuri actually makes them look good.

“Will you stop with the fucking hair?”

Otabek glances back. Yuri’s vanity is set up in the same room as the photo studio, set off to the side behind Otabek to be out of picture range. His stylist fusses over a few strands at the front of Yuri’s head that Yuri himself keeps ruffling loose every time she turns her back.

“Just leave it like that.”

“But Yuri, it’s not--”

Yuri’s voice deepens in warning. “Don't touch.”

Otabek’s lips twitch. They're the same few strands of hair he had pulled forward at their last shoot. Admittedly he’s glad that Yuri is leaving them down. He looks better with his hair a little unkempt. Slicked back and still isn't a look that suits Yuri Plisetsky.

The other side of Yuri’s head is braided tight against his skull, intricately woven until it meets the length of blond hair that rests against his back. Otabek likes this look. It suits the clothing and the wearer.

This time Yuri is wearing a tight pair of leopard print leggings, black with white spots. Faint glimpses of gold and teal circle each spot. Heavy, black combat boots come up just above his ankles. The shirt is a tight white V-neck. Two enormous paws come over each shoulder, the claws set tight into the chest area right where the end of the V meets.

Yuri stomps over, ruffles a few more strands of hair out of place, much to the dismay of his stylist and stares at Otabek, challenging him.

“Otabek Altin.”

Otabek’s lips twitch. “Yuri Plisetsky.”

“Consider yourself lucky that I'm booking you a second time,” Yuri tells him, with all the confidence of a top model. “I rarely work with same photographer more than once.”

“Is that so?” Otabek brings the camera up to his face.

Yuri shifts into a position without being told what to do. He slips his right hand into the neck of his shirt and grabs his right wrist with his left hand. Both arms are positioned perfectly so as not to block the design of the shirt. Otabek snaps a few pictures.

Yuri turns to the side when Otabek moves, tilting his body enough to expose one of the paws fully. More pictures. Otabek can't deny that he loves the ease that comes with working with Yuri. If he had a choice, he would only photograph him.

They're nearing the end of the shoot. Otabek is almost out of film and Yuri seems to know that without being told. It’s at that moment that Yuri hooks a thumb into the waist of his leggings and tugs them down an inch, exposing a perfect cut of hipbone. His other hand slips up the hem of his shirt, brushing his fingers seductively across his abdomen.

Otabek’s mouth goes dry and he almost forget to hit the shutter-release to capture these perfectly posed, tantalizing shots.

Then it's over.

Yuri is stepping out of the lighting and off to the side, running his fingers through his hair to break it from the confines of the product holding it down.

Otabek steps up beside him and inclines his head. “A pleasure working with you again, Yuri.”

Yuri smirks. “Because I wasn't as much of a shit as last time?”

Otabek’s brow rises.

“Don't act so damn surprised.” Yuri pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it to his stylist who scrambles to catch it before it hits the floor. Otabek adamantly keeps his eyes on Yuri’s face instead of giving in to the pull of glancing at the newly bared skin. “I know I'm not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“Ah,” Otabek shrugs and offers a faint smile. “I happen to like a little unsuspecting spice.”

Yuri snorts and shakes his head.

“Though I will admit,” Otabek gestures toward the clothing racks. “It’s a shame they keep putting you in these unfortunate animal prints.”

Yuri eyes flicker back toward the clothing before they return to Otabek, narrowed into a glare. His lip curls into a sneer as he says, “Oh yeah. It’s a damn shame I'm modeling my own line of clothing because no other model is competent enough to do it for me.”

Otabek’s jaw drops and the camera nearly tumbles from his grasp. “Your…”

“Yeah, asshole.” Yuri jerks a thumb back at the clothing racks behind him. “My line. I designed this unfortunate animal print shit.”

Fuck…

Otabek runs his fingers through his hair, grips at the nape of his neck and sighs. “Shit… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--”

“Yeah, it's whatever.” Yuri pulls an oversized sweater from of one the racks and slips it over his head. “Again, not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“It looks good on you,” Otabek offers, trying to salvage what he can.

“Damn right it does.”

Otabek nods and turns back toward his cameras. He should pack up. He should leave before he makes any other stupid, unintentionally rude comments. Before he ruins this more when he wants to make sure he has the chance to work with Yuri again.

As he’s zipping up his bag and sliding the final lens into its case, he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder. Glancing back as he straightens up, he catches sight of Yuri backing away. He waves to Otabek and says, “Until next time then?”

Otabek stares, unsure if he hears correctly.

Next time?

“Otabek?”

Snapping out of his stupor, he nods and lifts his hand in goodbye. “Yeah,” he says, fighting back a smile. “Until next time.”

Yuri smiles back this time and it's bright, almost childish. It makes Otabek’s heart forget how to beat for a moment, makes him forget how to breathe.

And then Yuri is gone. Yuri and his cursing, his naturally abrasive nature, his undeniable talent, his unexpected professionalism, his tacky fashion sense. Everything that makes him not-everyone's-cup-of-tea.

Otabek catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror standing on the opposite side of the room. Dark boots, dark jeans, black top that shows off the tattoo sleeves he spent ages designing. The tattoos don't stop at his arms, they trail across his knuckles, up his neck. They're on his hips, his ankles, across the top of his feet. His eyebrow piercing gleams in the bright studio lights. The small gauges in his ears match well with the darkness of the rest of his outfit.

He knew, going into any business, that the tattoos and piercings may turn out to be taboo. He didn't care then and he doesn't care now. If someone turns him down for a job because the story of his life is etched into his skin, then they don't deserve to have someone with the impressive resume he has. That's how he’s always seen it.

But as he stares at himself now, the only thing he can think is, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea either.