#for example how the fuck did i not snap my fucking neck on that dresser

[frenchfrywrites]

Le chasseur hypnotisé

MINORS DNI

Disclaimer: I haven’t the faintest idea of how to speak any french at all. whoops.

Warnings: dom top amab gn reader, sub bottom Rook Hunt, consensual hypnotism, overstimulation, spit kink, premature orgasm, possibly horrible french, possible ooc rook?, EN twst terms used

Rook is becoming burnt out. 

It’s likely that no one would notice but you, for you watch Rook with almost the same intensity that he watches you. You can tell he’s getting a bit sluggish, a bit distracted. 

It’s finals week at NRC, so everyone is stressed and exhausted, he’s a vice housewarden so he has that responsibility weighing over him, and he’s always observing everyone- especially you. For example, you know he likes to stay up late to watch you from afar until you fall asleep (plus he wakes up early to greet you in the morning). 

You, loving him and wanting to support him, look into ways for Rook to relax. Especially since Vil is going to notice (and freak) if Rook’s exhaustion gets so bad that eye-bags form. 

Bypassing all the usual self care tips and tricks you try to look into things that will be “extraordinaire” in Rook's opinion. After a while you stumble upon sex under hypnosis. Imagining Rook experiencing heightened pleasure, and being so relaxed and submissive to you gets you hot and bothered. You’re more than a little excited to tell him about your idea.

Tonight you open your window, and call out to him, knowing he’s watching from a tree nearby. This is certainly not the first time you’ve called him into your room, so when he enters, quickly and quietly, he goes straight to your dresser and changes into a spare pair of pajamas that he keeps here.

As soon as he exits your bathroom you speak up,

“You’re tired,” it’s not a question, and he doesn’t think to argue when you give him a pointed look. “Sleep with me tonight.” Rook's eyes widen just a bit. You don’t control his actions much out of the bedroom, and you suppose he’s a bit taken aback.

“Oh mon amour, has my absence caused you distress?” he slips into your bed, his typical routine long forgotten. You pull him into your lap easily, and kiss him gently.

“Just a bit. I’m mostly worried about how you’ve been pushing yourself,” you explain when you pull back. Rook wraps his arms around your neck and purses his lips, though he otherwise stays as unperturbed as usual

“I’m more than fine you know, I can take-” you cut him off,

“I know Rook,” you sigh, pushing some of his hair behind his ear, “but let me take care of you anyways, huh? Can’t I make you feel good and relaxed,” you flirt, fluttering your lashes playfully at him. Rook flushes,

“Oh cherie,” he coos, grinding himself against you excitedly, “yes please.” 

“Good,” you sneak a hand under his silk sleep shirt, tickling him and making him giggle cutely as you do. “I’ve been researching,” Rook’s attention snaps back to you, a glint in his eyes 

"I know," he says cleverly, "hypnotism, non?"

"Were you watching over my shoulder?" You ask, teasingly. This is not the first time Rook's figured out some surprise you've tried to keep away from him. He nods, proud of his ability to watch over you so well. "Well, did you see the bits about…” he watches you squirm, “I mean, have you ever heard of people having sex while the other person is hypnotized?” you try, hoping it doesn’t sound weird.

Rook is, predictably, unreadable. He stares you down for a bit, making you feel like prey (again, predictable). 

“How bold,” he finally says, smirking just a bit, “you want me, Le chasseur d'amour, under your trance while you fuck me, hm?”

“Yeah,” your hand that's not under his shirt rubs circles into his hips, “I think it could be a nice way for you to let go of your stress,” Rook hums thoughtfully at that.

“Perhaps,” he closes his eyes as he considers it, “well I suppose I have nothing against it. Let’s give it a shot,” he offers you a warm smile.

You can’t help but smile up at him, “perfect!” You hoist him off of your lap, “lay back and get comfy, I’m going to get some things,” Rook does as he’s told. Rummaging around your room you ramble a bit, “I did a lot of research on this, so don’t worry! I won’t do anything without your consent. Also, if it doesn’t work that’s okay too,” you return to the bed with lube and items relating to hypnotizing. Rook looks up at you adoringly,

“I trust you cherie,” he says simply, reaching for your hand and squeezing it affectionately. You smile involuntarily, squeezing his hand back; your boyfriend is so charming. 

Quickly you go over your plans, and how you plan on hypnotizing him, explaining what to expect and how you’ll handle the situation.

With him willing and ready you begin the process of hypnosis. 

You watch as he slowly goes from attentive and observant, staring at you with his sharp, bright green eyes to looking like he’s lost in thought, every part of his body relaxing into the bed beneath him, his eyes unfocused and clouded.

“Rook?” you try, wondering- though it’d be highly unlikely- if he’s fucking with you, “are you hypnotized?”

“Yes,” Rook responds slowly, and when the fact that you actually succeeded in hypnotizing him sinks in you let out a shaky breath, feeling lust stir in your loins with excitement. 

“Um, okay, right,” you get your bearings as he stares up at you. “When I snap my fingers, you’ll come out of the trance. You will feel relaxed and sleepy when you come out of the trance. While hypnotized you will answer my questions, you will watch me, you will be open with how you feel, you will tell me to stop when and if you want me to stop. Do you understand?”

“Oui,” he responds, much slower than usual.

“How do you feel?” 

“Pelucheux,” he slurs. You hum, 

“Think you could answer in English, baby?” you run a hand through his hair.

“Ah, désolé, sorry, ahm,” he pauses, “fuzzy and fluffy and soft,” he exhales slowly, “good, very good and relaxed.”

“Good,” you’re glad to hear that, to say the least. “Let’s get you feeling even better, huh?” 

Rook watches you through lidded eyes as you undress him slowly. It’s so strange- even a bit funny- to see him like this. Typically his eyes are sharp, watching each movement you make like a hawk. Now he blinks leisurely, like he might fall asleep any second now. 

Once he’s undressed you kiss him gently. The kiss is void of all the passion you’re typically met with when you normally kiss him. You pull back, only a little disappointed. Kissing will have to wait until he’s out of his trance. For now you have other plans with his mouth.

You tap on his pretty, pink, plump lips, "open." Rook obeys immediately. Carefully you sink two fingers in, pressing down on his soft, wet tongue. He doesn’t make any moves to swallow around the intrusion, just stares blankly. As your fingers explore his mouth, drool seeps out of the corners of his lips.

You know you’re hard, just from this. You want to put your dick down his throat, want to watch him gurgle and drool around it. You’re sure he wouldn’t gag, no matter how deep you press yourself into his mouth, for he’s too relaxed for that. You’ll save that for another night though, because tonight's about him.

After a moment you pull your fingers out of his mouth and bring them down to his chest. Rook’s nipples are already hard, and when you touch them he moans loudly, his jaw still dropped from when you’d commanded him to open his mouth.

You lean over him, playing with one of his nipples as you stare into his glazed over eyes. Rook looks fucked dumb already, waiting for whatever you do next. You gather saliva in your mouth, and then spit into his mouth. He lets out a soft gurgled moan at the action, the sound fueling the arousal growing in your loins. He keeps your spit in his open mouth blinking at you slowly. "Swallow," you command, and only then does he think to do that.

“Good boy,” you move back to suck on the nipple that you’re not playing with. Rook continues to watch you- per your instructions- pliant and submissive under you, unlike how he usually arches his chest into your touch. He looks beautiful, so pliant and dozy under you. 

When you feel satisfied from playing around with his chest, you move lower, kissing your way down his torso. By the time you reach it, his cock is hard and leaking, red and flushed, like it’s screaming to be touched. Looking at it reminds you that you’re hard too, but you bypass your pleasure to focus on him.

Finally you take him into your hands, stroke him once, twice, and then he’s cumming. It shocks you to your core, for he’s never cum that fast before. His mouth is open in an ‘o’ shape, drool passing past his plump lips as he groans something only barely similar to your name. His green eyes stay trained on you, his hips still as the cum dirties you and him.

“Fuck,” it’s not eloquent but it’s all you can say right now. His dick twitches in your hold, “you’ve never uh… that was quick,” you state, still shell shocked. “What set you off?” It takes Rook a second to process your question,

“Nuh- normally I have more control,” he explains, blinking at you slowly.

“Oh baby,” you coo, your cock throbbing over how sensitive he is “feels so good to let go, huh?”

“Oui,”

“Can you do more, or should we stop for now,” you ask, stroking his thighs gently, and really hoping he lets you continue.

“Oh, oui, yes, more, please,” he whines. One thing stays the same regardless of Rook being in a trance or not: his stamina is unparalleled.

You take his soft penis into your hand, using his cum as lube to stroke him to full hardness again. Rook whimpers and whines at the slight overstimulation, but true to his word he has a lot of stamina. 

Once he's fully erect again you take him into your mouth, sucking and swallowing what’s left of his previous load off of his length. Rook cries out your name, but stays still. He watches you through his lashes, looking dizzy with how overwhelmed and yet empty headed he is. His hands remain where they are, another abnormality considering he typically likes to hold onto your head. 

Using your teeth you pull his foreskin down, and Rook squeaks at the mild pain; however he again stays perfectly still. You circle your tongue around his sensitive head then work him further into your mouth. His dick throbs as it slides down your throat, and all the while Rook- who’s certainly not a quiet lover typically mind you- has been babbling away. 

“Feels so-ohh good chérie, fuck yes oh your mouth is- hah- paradisiaque,” you pull off his length to suck on his balls, “Mmm-ah, so good, so hot, merci-” he cuts himself off with a choked sound as you again pull away. Your dick is so hard it hurts, and you don’t know how much longer you can wait.

“Can I fuck you babe?” you ask breathlessly , rubbing his soft inner thighs.

“Oui s'il te plait fais,” you don’t have to understand him fully to know that means yes. You fumble for the lube while Rook waits patiently. Or, you suppose you’re not sure if he’s actually patient or not, maybe he’s screaming at you to hurry up inside his head.

Your wandering thoughts aside, you finally manage to open it and spread the lube generously along your fingers. “Alright Rook, I’m going to insert a finger, is that okay?”

“Yes,” he answers simply. You rub his hole gently before pressing into him. Rook is hot and- loose? It surprises you how easily you’re able to press your finger into him. 

“Wow,” you comment softly, easily adding another finger, “you’re so open my love, can you feel how I already have two fingers inside you?”

“Oui, more please,” he answers. You hum, 

“So greedy,” but you add another finger nonetheless. Rook’s response is to whine sweetly. He’s so pliant under you, opening up quickly, all soft and gummy inside. You curl your fingers into his bladder, aiming for his prostate. Rook cums again with a sob-like moan. 

“There we go,” you finger him through it, “such a good boy, giving me another so quickly,” you watch his cum puddle along his abdomen. Rook whimpers, though stays loose and still under you. 

“Okay to keep going?” Rook babbles something French and then,

“Yes, yes, yes,” you smooth his hair with your free hand, and continue fingering him with the other. You doubt that he needs any more stretching, but you scissor your fingers and gently massage his prostate until he gets hard again. As you do so he lets out little noises and half thought out sentences, some in English and some in French, and some so garbled you couldn’t even begin to understand him.

“Rook,” you catch his attention, “I think you’re stretched enough for me,” you tell him, slowly removing your fingers. He whines, which makes you smile because regardless of being sober or hypnotized some things will always be consistent with him. 

You hastily strip yourself of your pajamas, and wipe the excess lube from your fingers on your cock, hissing at how sensitive you are. You’re unsure if you’ve ever neglected yourself this much while fucking Rook. Usually he is eager and persistent in returning the pleasure you give him. Again you find yourself smiling, because without the hypnosis you doubt he’d ever let you give him this much undivided attention.

To be safe, you coat yourself with a bit more lube, stroking yourself slowly as you look down at your lover. His legs are spread and still, his chest heaving with heavy, slow breaths, his arms are exactly where they’ve been since the beginning, and his eyes- god his eyes are the most noticeable change- stare up at you all glazed over and sleepy. The way he looks at you makes your cock twitch in your hold. 

Gently you take hold of his hips and align your dick with his hole. “Let me know if you need to stop,” you remind him, kissing his cheek softly. Rook hums a soft “yes,” to show you he heard you.

Slowly and steadily you push yourself into him. You find no resistance. Rook takes you in like you were meant to be there, closing around you all hot, gooey, and soft. It drives you crazy. 

As soon as you get yourself balls deep inside of him, Rook climaxes for a third time. His cum joins the puddle from his previous orgasm as he cries out your name, hiccups, and then begins to cry. You kiss his wet cheeks, 

“You okay baby?” you ask softly, staying still inside him, rubbing his hips gently. Rook sniffles,

“Feels parfait,” he tells you, “je suis- I feel so full, always, and-” he hiccups a sob, “your dick is perfect,” he wails. You coo, kissing his face all over.

“Should I pull out?” you wonder if you’ve made him too overstimulated. Rook sobs louder,

“No, please, don’t-”

“Okay, shh, calm down darling,” and per your command he does. Rook’s breathing evens out and his tears slow. It’s a bit freaky, but at least he’s not distressed anymore. You rock your hips into him gently, and Rook moans appreciatively. 

Ever so slowly you fuck him, watching for any signs of discomfort or pain. Rook seems to be taking you well, moaning and groaning with each thrust. You take a glance downwards to find that he’s half hard, his dick bobbing slightly as you fuck him. 

“Want me to go faster beloved?” Rook whines,

“Please,” and with his consent you snap your hips forward, causing him to yelp. You set a new pace, faster and a tad rougher than your previous one. Rook seems to be enjoying himself, if the drool and constant babbling tells you anything. You pound into him, feeling like you’re probably not going to last long. 

“Rook- fuck- you feel so good around me baby,” you praise, “look so good under me, so pretty, fuck darling, gonna let me hypnotize you again after this?” 

“Oui, ah, feels s’good,” he slurs. You groan, 

“When you get stressed, mmm, I'm going to get you- hah- dumb and empty headed so all you can think about is, ungh, my cock, you want that Rook? Want to- ah- only think about being fucked?” Rook moans, 

“Already do, ah, mon cher,” he admits. You curse, feeling your climax quickly approaching. 

“I’m going to cum Rook,” you pull out, saving yourself the mess, and stroke yourself off to the sound of his whines and whimpers. You finish on his cock, covering it in your cum. You watch as his dick twitches from the sensation of your hot cum on him. 

When you come down from your high, you take a hold of his messy dick and stroke him with your cum. Rook lets out a high pitched moan, and you imagine if he were not hypnotized, he’d be arching his back. 

“Cum for me darling,” and Rook does, giving you his fourth orgasm of the night. You stroke him through it, mesmerized by how he looks, taking it all in. You can only barely tell when his orgasm ends, since he stays relaxed and still and calm throughout it, but when he’s done you snap your fingers. 

Rook groans, his eyes clearing up back to their typical sharpness, and you take your hand off of him, figuring he’s very sensitive. He sits up, looks at himself, then plops back down. You bite your lip, laying down next to him, kissing his shoulder.

“How do you feel?” you ask, filled to the brim with anxiety. Rook shuffles and turns to offer you a sleepy smile, 

“Perfect,” he leans in to kiss you, “merci. I needed that more than I ever could have known,” he tells you honestly. You let out a relieved sigh, pulling him in close, 

“I’m so happy to hear that! I was a little scared, because we’ve never done this, but you looked like you were enjoying things, and Rook baby, you were more relaxed than I’ve ever seen you. It was crazy. And-” you look over to find that he’s dozed off. With a soft laugh you run a hand through his sweat damp hair. You’ll table your thoughts for now; you’re sure Rook will have a million things to say about the experience when he’s awake anyways.

For now you’ll hold him until you feel gross and sticky, then clean him and yourself up carefully. He needs his rest, and you’re beyond delighted to know that you were the one who was able to give it to him.

[luminescencefics]

stubborn love

Ask and you shall receive! Here’s a little blurb about this post, filled with an angsty y/n and an adorably dimwitted Harry. Oh yeah, also smut. Enjoy!

2.6k word count

My masterlist // read below:

***

If there was one thing about you that Harry hated, it was how stubborn you were. And if there was one thing about Harry that drove you absolutely mad, it was when he left arguments incomplete—choosing the easy way out instead of finishing the conversation you ultimately started.

It was with good cause, though. After being together for three years, the little things started to surface every now and then. And with the aid of liquor coursing through both of your veins, it was only a matter of time until a fight started.

They never lasted long. And it was usually cured by sex, but sometimes, Harry did things that drove you absolutely bonkers, leaving you wanting to punish him a bit. Like tonight, for example, when you had to remind him three times that he had to be ready by eight o’clock in order to make it to your best friend’s birthday dinner on the other side of town. You watch by the vanity as you finish applying your nude lipstick, observing how he scrolled through his phone aimlessly on the bed with just a towel wrapped around his waist. His outfit was laid out beside him, his hair still wet from the shower he had recently gotten out of, and the time on the clock read 7:42.

“Harry, please get dressed. We’re supposed to be out the door in five minutes,” you remind him, sitting on the bed beside him while you buckle the strap of your heel around your exposed ankle. He nods absentmindedly while texting Jeff about scheduling radio interviews for the upcoming album, seemingly ignoring what you were telling him.

“Harry.”

Your tone is laced with annoyance now, and immediately his eyes snap over towards yours, taking in your completed look for the first time since slipping on the black dress you decided to wear this evening. His eyes rake your body instantly, and because of the years you’ve been with him, you know exactly what he’s thinking already. But you don’t have time for this, and when you stand up abruptly and saunter towards the door, you try to ignore the pout he shoots in your direction.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” he says slowly, sitting up straight and facing the door you were currently standing in. 

“Harry, please just get dressed! I promised Catherine we’d be there early,” you say tightly, giving him a pointed look until he surrenders and gets off the bed, reaching for his briefs in the dresser on the other side of the bedroom.

“Jesus, what is with you always needing to be early? You know Catherine’s always late, anyways,” Harry says in a clipped tone, shoving his long legs through the navy trousers laid out on the bed. 

“Don’t start. This is important to me, and I don’t need your lack of time management ruining Catherine’s birthday dinner that I’ve been planning for weeks.” You knew that you were being a bit over dramatic, but the stress of making your high-maintenance best friend happy was weighing down on you. Coupled with the fact that Harry was leaving again for a few months, you were under a lot of stress to make everybody happy.

“What do you mean ‘lack of time management?!’ We’re talking about Catherine for Christ’s sakes! The girl who showed up late to almost every event you’ve hosted in the past two years! I think she’ll manage us being a couple of minutes late.” Harry speaks while finishing putting on his outfit, and for once, you really don’t have it in you to argue. Because arguing costs time. And time is something you are lacking at the current moment.

Your silence is what causes his head to snap in your direction, giving you a confused look. “Oh are you giving me the silent treatment now?”

You know that he doesn’t mean it, but his words are causing you to seethe in your heels. Before you can make a comment that will cause another argument, you start heading towards the stairs, grabbing your keys by the table near the front hallway and throwing them into your clutch.

“Oh, come on! Catherine probably won’t even be there for another hour anyways!” His voice is right behind you, and before you can even think about it, you’ve pivoted on your heel, your hair whipping against your neck with the sheer force of your movements. 

“Enough! I’d like to get there before my perpetually late friend, and I don’t need you breathing down my fucking neck about it! Can you do that for me? Please?” You really didn’t mean to snap at him, but he’s been egging you on ever since you’ve asked him to get ready hours ago. 

You know that your boyfriend means well, and that he’s got enough on his plate as it is, and going to your forgetful best friend’s birthday dinner is probably the last thing of importance on his list—but you’ve done so much for him. You’ve flown out to shows, you’ve gone months without seeing him due to his demanding schedule, you’ve practically uprooted your life to accommodate his throughout your relationship. And, of course, it was all worth it—because he’s worth everything. But sometimes, especially times like this, you wish he would realize that and just do as you say.

And with one clipped nod, the nod he gives you when he’s surrendering to the argument, he reaches behind you for the front door and holds it open, allowing you to walk in front of him and head towards the car at the end of the driveway, trying your hardest to let the anger seep out of your skin.

***

You hate to say it, but Harry was right. Catherine was forty-five minutes late to her birthday dinner, and before it was over, she was already drunk enough to completely forget to thank you for putting the entire thing together. 

But you were far too proud to show your boyfriend that he was right, so instead of acknowledging the smug look he was shooting your way, you decide to order another drink and continue swallowing them down until you were drunk enough to forget how annoyed you were at the entire evening. When Catherine announces moving the party to the new club that opened downtown, you decided you were done, choosing instead to end the night early.

While you were waiting for the valet, you notice that Harry wasn’t as drunk as you were, but he was definitely drunk enough to let his hands rest low on your hips while his body enveloped yours, seemingly protecting you from the cold. His lips would brush your neck every now and then, and while you appreciated how touchy he got when liquor was in his veins, you were still annoyed at the unfinished argument the two of you had hours earlier.

“You look so beautiful tonight, baby. Can’t wait to take you home,” he whispers in your ear. You blame the shiver that racks your body on the wind, even though your insides were burning at the feeling of your boyfriend’s lips against the shell of your ear.You’re silent the entire car ride home, resting your head against the window as Harry’s hands splay against your exposed upper thigh uncovered by your short hemline. With every stop light, he would look over towards you, and you could feel the heat of his gaze every time he ogled your body in the short garment.

Ignoring Harry when you were mad at him was an entire feat in itself.

When he pulls into the driveway, you’re the first to spring out of the car, determined to put enough distance between the two of you so you aren’t tempted to let him win the argument. Harry knows this, because he knows how stubborn you can be. He loves this little game of yours that you play, and while he knows he’ll ultimately apologize to you in the end, watching the way you battle yourself with touching him and keeping your distance makes him only want to rip your clothes off more.

He sits on the loveseat in your bedroom while you rip your heels off and place them on the shoe rack in your closet. You're aware of his gaze, watching every step you take as you remove your earrings, plug your phone into the charger, run to the restroom to wash your face. His silence is irritating, but you’d be damned if you were the first to break it.

It’s once you’ve finally stripped out of your dress when Harry breaks.

“Christ, can you come here, please? You’re killing me, baby.” His voice is rough and you can hear the frustration laced in his words, and it’s enough to make you stare at him head on, hands gripping the undergarments gracing your hips, looking down at him with a stern look.

Harry does his hardest to hide the growing bulge in his pants at the sight of you.

“I’m still upset with you,” you utter, walking towards the loveseat slowly. You purposely matched your bra with your underwear, and it’s enough to cause Harry’s eyes to wander the expanse of your skin, holding back a groan at the sight of you.

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds miles away, and you can tell that your body is distracting him. He’s not even looking into your eyes, and once his big hands reach out to grab your hips and pull you down on top of him, you immediately back away, removing his hands from your body.

“No touching. Not until you’ve apologized properly.” You know it’s wrong to tease him, but sometimes your boyfriend needs a little reminder of how to treat you when he’s been a bit unfair towards you. 

He frowns instantly, crossing his arms against his chest like a petulant child. It’s enough to cause you to snort, before crossing the room and laying on the bed, your back towards him and your front facing the window.

You can hear him shuffling around, most likely removing his clothes in favor of wearing his briefs to bed. And once the overhead light is off, just the light of the moon filtering through the room, you can feel his body hovering over yours in the bed, his hands gripping your waist tightly.

“Hate when you’re a tease,” he whispers against your neck, rolling your body so that you're completely under his, staring up into his dark eyes. 

You lock your arms around his neck. “Hate when you’re a prick,” you reply back, trying your hardest to suppress the moan urging itself out of your throat when his hands trace the swells of your breasts, before settling at the tops of your underwear.

“How many times do I have to apologize?” He says, his eyes locked on your body instead of your eyes. You know that he’s been wanting to see you naked all night, and while it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps, it’s not enough.

“Until you mean it.” You watch as he swears under his breath, before moving his hands behind your back to the clasp of your bra. He’s cautious, testing to see how you’ll react, wondering if this is still a game for you. And when you’re quiet, he takes that as affirmation, ridding you of your top layer before pressing his mouth against your newly exposed skin.

You bite your lip so hard until you can taste the metallic flavor of blood, trying your hardest to ignore Harry’s bulge growing against your upper thigh. His mouth is moving lower and lower, his hands kneading your exposed flesh, and it’s driving you absolutely mad to stay silent. But you’re still angry. And stubborn as a bull.

“You know I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt your feelings,” his lips are ghosting over your clothed center, and when your body twitches under his, he takes that as a sign to pull the lace from your skin, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, well you did, Harry.” Your voice comes out much more high-pitched than normal, and you know that it’s due to your boyfriend’s proximity to your heat. It’s coursing now, and Harry’s eyes flicker from your eyes to your exposed center.

“Didn’t mean it,” he’s distracted again, and before you can yell at him, you watch as his ringed fingers trickle from your navel down to your clit, before swiping against your folds. He’s testing you, wondering how long you’ll be upset with him. You’re still silent, because he doesn’t deserve you at your full-capacity, not when he’s still so cavalier about the way he treated you earlier.

When he removes his briefs and teases you with the tip, your hands immediately grip his shoulder blades forcefully, and the sting is enough to make him look at you for longer than a few seconds.

“You can’t stay mad at me forever…” he’s teasing you, knowing that you’ll eventually break. But your boyfriend is completely underestimating your stubbornness, and when he tries to turn you over so that your front is pressed into the pillows and your backside is in the air, the position that he craves the most, you clench your abdominal muscles and anchor yourself to the mattress.

You won’t be giving him that luxury today.

He says your name breathlessly, but you ignore it. Instead, you bring your mouth closer to his, before speaking instead of kissing him. “Need you to mean it, baby.”

Harry groans against your lips, his tip slipping in when you moved closer to his chest. His mind is moving a hundred miles a minute, trying to remember the exchange of words you both had hours earlier, wondering what he did to make you so upset.

You can tell that he’s thinking, and you decide to reward him by wrapping your legs around his waist, allowing him to slip further inside of you. You’re not that much of a monster.

“I do mean it! I’m sorry I made you late,” he’s stuttering and his eyes are completely blown out, and normally you’d kiss him at this moment when his length is almost completely enveloped by your heat. But he still isn’t understanding it. And you’re still mad.

“Not why I’m angry with you,” you say against the corner of his mouth, your breath hitching once he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. His brain is clouded over with lust, and trying to apologize at this moment is damn near impossible.

His hips start to rut against yours, and when he pulls back out and pushes inside of you once more, gathering a gentle rhythm, you dig your fingernails deeper into his skin to remind him that you are, in fact, still waiting for a decent apology.

Harry’s breathing your name in between moans, his lips inching towards yours desperately. He normally kisses you during sex, tangles his tongue with yours, pulls his teeth against your bottom lip, anything he can do to get closer to you. But you’re denying him of this luxury, and he’s growing more and more frustrated with each pump into you.

“Harry!” You’re not sure if it’s from pleasure or from the fact that he still can’t come up with the reason why you’re so upset with him. But once you’ve stilled under him, his eyes snap to yours, and he’s realizing then that he truly has been a bit of a dickhead tonight.

“Didn’t mean to make you late. Didn’t mean to egg you on. I know—fuck, I know Catherine is always late but that doesn’t mean you are. I know this was important to you. ‘M sorry I was such an asshole. You’re important to me. I love you, fuck baby, I love you too much. Can’t stand you being mad at me. Please.” He’s desperate, his words falling over your cheek in hot pants. His eyes dart between both your pupils, and you can tell that he needs you to understand his words. That he truly means them. That he needs you to fucking accept his apology because he’s about to burst inside of you, and his heart can’t take you not kissing him and looking at him the way you normally do.

You smile then, removing your hands from his shoulders and tangling them into his hair, bringing your lips to his. He sighs in your mouth, relief coursing through his veins. He starts pumping into you again, and you’re finally reciprocating, kissing his cheeks and his neck, whispering his name into his skin, telling him that you love him with each press further into the mattress.

And when he finally comes, you reward him with an open-mouthed kiss, your tongue tangling with his, whispering “I love you” until it settles into the back of his throat.

Because even though you’re stubborn, and even though Harry can be dim when it comes to apologies, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You love him far too much to let him go that easily, and when you’re cuddled into his chest and he’s running his fingers down your matted hair, you fall asleep knowing that you’re safe in his arms.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / Reminders and Reunions

Request: You and Hotch attend his high military school reunion together

Warnings: fluff, some angst, mentions of hotch’s dad, brief mention of what happens in “100,” some harassment by a dude, hotch saving the day, a little possessiveness from reader, 

Word Count: 3.155

“Are you ready yet?” You called from the bedroom, slinging your laptop bag over your shoulder, as you glanced back at the closed bathroom door, "Aaron, just because you stop replying doesn't mean you can trick me into forgetting about the reunion." 

"Are you sure?" You chuckle, turning as the door opened. You raised your eyebrows, watching him adjust his black suit coat, a crisp white button down underneath with a red tie — and you didn't miss the engraved silver tie clip you had bought him on your first anniversary, "because I have other ways of making you forget." He adds, raising an eyebrow at your gaping mouth and lingering stare. 

And yet he can still make your cheeks burn, rolling your eyes, as he faces the mirror giving you a very nice view of his ass, “Nothing could make me forget this — not even your cute ass.” 

He came close enough though. 

He sighs, adjusting his tie in the mirror before you rise, walking around him and taking the tie from his fingers. You make quick work of fixing the knot yourself, a tired habit at this point because even though he was fully capable of doing it himself, he loved to have you do it. His eyes softened as he watched you, his fingers brushing down the length of your sides, pausing at your hips, “Do we have to go? More importantly, do I have to go without you? Can’t I just wait for you?” 

“When you’re being honored at your high school for your service in the FBI? I don’t think so,” you smile up at him, your fingers finding his cheek. He leaned into your touch, despite his growing frown. 

“It’s military school,” he corrected you, lips a thin line now. 

“Yes, because you were a troublemaker — how could I forget?” He covers your hand with his own with a sigh, the corners of his mouths twitching, but still very much in a frown, “come on, I’ll be there soon enough. I just to—” 

“Drop something off to the office, I know,” he finished. You hum, as your arms wrap around his neck, his large palms grasping at your waist, slipping to your lower back. His lips are only a breath away, his lips nearly ghosting your own, your fingers toying with the hair that rested on his neck. 

“Tell me again how you know me so well,” he leans down, pressing a kiss to your now thrumming pulsepoint and he chuckles, the vibration sending a shiver down your neck. Another kiss pressed now to your collarbone, his fingers tug the collar of your shirt back, and he smiles against your skin. 

“Might be the profiling,” he hums, as you tilt his head back up to look at you again, “might be the holy matrimony.” and you don’t miss the way the metal band of his ring grazes your cheek as he cups it. 

“I knew I married you for a reason,” you smile against his lips as he kisses you, lips sliding together, parting as you giggled, “profiling makes being passive-aggressive so much easier.” 

He scoffs, slowly walking you backwards towards the bed, the bag slipping from your shoulder, “And here I thought you married me for my good looks,” 

“That too,” you murmur, as he presses you against the foot of the bed, “you’re doing a good job at that distracting thing,” and his lips find yours again, noses bumping, and your hands find his shoulders, finding it hard to say the next words that reluctantly leave your lips, “but you still have to go.” 

“But we could have our own fun here,” his voice is husky, and you know he’s right — you can think of several examples from this morning alone of ways you two could have fun, several of which involve the very tie around his neck, but— 

“Is there a reason you are so insistent on not going?”  you tilt your head, as his gaze drops, “because we really don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought it would be a nice way to reflect on how far you’ve come.” 

“I’ve come far?” and you roll your eyes, before pulling him onto the bed, your leg over his. You only wished you could really articulate how far he’s really come, how far you’ve seen him grow, how far you know he will grow in the future — but you can’t. Not really. You could list the things he’s done, the things he’s accomplished, the things he’s gained, the things he’s lived through — but nothing would do it service, nothing at all. Because words were incomparable to Aaron Hotchner, and you supposed, your fingers tracing his jaw, that’s why you married him. 

“I know you have — I’ve seen it,” your thumb brushes his chin, brushing his bottom lip and he kisses the pad, “and I can’t wait to see where else you go. But the reunion doesn’t have to be one of them, if you don’t want to. I just thought it might be a good reminder.” 

He sighs, “I haven’t been there since my graduation — did you know that was one of the last time I ever spoke to him?” 

And you purse your lips, watching the muscle in his jaw clenching, his fingers digging into his knee, “I didn’t know that — I knew you hadn’t spoken to him since military school but—”

He gives a bitter chuckle, “I didn’t even invite him — the school did,” he leans over, elbow propped against his knee, “It was the first time in my life I felt like I didn’t have to answer to him. It was the first time I was able to walk away from him and choose something for myself. And I chose to cut him out,” he rubbed at his chin, as your arms winded around his, one arm around his back and the other around his arm, “It wasn’t until he was sick, dying in the hospital that I ever saw him again, and by then...it was too late for words.” The weight of the words pressed against his chest still, a weight that would never ease from him, but your fingers intertwined with his, but one you hoped you could help bear. 

“Aaron—” 

“I don’t regret what I did, to him, at least,” he shook his head, eyes glassy,  “do I regret leaving Sean there? Yes. Do I wish I could have seen my mom more? Of course. But,” his eyes flicker to the dresser, lined with photos of your family — of him, Jack, Haley, you, and the team, and then back to you, “it’s what got me here,” he presses his forehead to yours, “it's what got me to you.” 

“If I have to thank that man for anything, and it’s very, very little,” he chuckles, as your fingers find his cheek again, “I would thank him for you existing, and for whatever he did or didn’t do, because you’re Aaron Hotchner because of it,” and then you shrug before adding, “and then I’d punch him in the face, but that’s besides the point.” 

He laughs, leaning forward to kiss you, pressing both of you into the soft mattress, his lips tasting of the bitter dark roast he preferred dancing in contrast to the sweet taste of something unmistakably him, “I love you,” 

“Right back at you,” you murmur, pulling him to you again. 

~~

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you curse under your breath, a colorful string of expletives that you hope no one caught wind of as you bustled down the street, only two minutes away from the venue, according to your phone. You promised to be there half an hour ago, but of course, someone had to screw up your paperwork, and it took five times longer to fix then it did to actually submit it. 

Lovely. 

And now you were late to the event that you had convinced Aaron to attend. His short, terse text message didn’t bode well of his time there without you, but you would be sure to make it up to him tonight. Trying to even your breath, you found the building, adjusting your hair and your clothes — you barely had enough time to change at the office. You were sure you terrified half the people in that office tonight, but you would apologize tomorrow — it was the only way you could get here on time tonight. 

And you did, pushing the front door open. 

Barely. 

You found your way to the room where the alumni were dining. No signs present — didn’t think that would be helpful would they? 

“Are you looking for the reunion?” a voice asked. You snapped your head to find a man standing beside you, a little too close for comfort. His snarmy voice matched his blonde slicked back hairdo, and his sleazy smile had you w “I couldn’t help but notice you looking utterly lost.” 

“I am,” you take a step back, shoving your disgust away, “can you point me in the right direction?” 

“I can, but I don’t believe I recognize you,” the man’s hands slips into his pockets, tongue darting out to lick his lips. You barely can hide your disgust, “You’re not crashing the party are you? It would very bad of you,” his teeth graze his bottom lip, his fingers running through his slicked back hair, “But I would be willing to teach you a lesson.” 

“I’ll pass on the lesson,” you keep your voice tight, knowing you would catch more flies with sugar then you would with vinegar and right now, you needed this fucking fly to tell you where the reunion was, “I’m not crashing, I just need to know where—” he tilts his head, jerking it towards two double doors down the hall. 

“It’s right through there,” and you head towards the doors, “I’ll see you in there.” he calls after you, and you shudder, right before you push through the double doors. A few eyes flicker to you as the door shuts softly behind you, but none of them Aaron’s. 

You bit your lip, scanning the crowd for him. You hoped you didn’t miss it — not after you had persuaded him to come, not after how hard it was for him to be here. But you didn’t, you know you didn’t when you find him on the stairs to the stage, his presence and posture undeniably too Aaron to miss. 

There’s a tapping on the microphone as the feedback reverberates through the room, “We wanted to honor a certain alumnus tonight,” a man’s voice booms over the microphone, “From here, he went onto George Washington University and then graduated law school summa cum laude. He eventually became one of the finest prosecutors in D.C. before joining the F.B.I.’s behavioral analysis unit, where he catches serial killers for a living. He is upstanding, true to his convictions, and represents the morals we wish our alumni to embody — Aaron Hotchner.” 

He steps onto stage, and you catch his eye despite the flashing cameras and roar of the crowd — he had plenty of practice after all. His lips curl into a small smile when he sees you, a nod, as he steps beside the announcer. 

“We would like to present to you with our distinguished alumni award,” he places the glass award in Aaron’s hand, shaking his hand with the other, as the room erupts into applause, “please, say a few words.” 

He blinks, stepping in front of the podium, clearing his throat before he speaks, “The last time I was here was our graduation. Like many of you, I had been sent here — for one reason or another we all ended up here. And I have a lot of bad memories associated with this place, as do we all. But it was a jumping off point — it took us places, it helped us find the right people,” his eyes find yours again, “and it helped us become the people we are today. It’s a good reminder, a needed one,” he holds the award up again, “Thank you.” 

The applause explodes around you, seats scraping against the floor as several rose to their feet, as he left the stage, walking over to shake his hand. You hang back, smiling as you watched him greet familiar faces. And you knew it was good for him to come here. 

“Still here, huh?” an unwelcome presence finds you again, slicked back hair and all  — he did promise that he would see you again. Persistent, like a rash. But now this rash has turned into a full blown infection, with drink in hand, the aroma of beer wafting with every word he spoke at you, “I still can’t place you.” 

“That’s because you don’t,” you cross your arms, “I didn’t go here.” 

“Oh I can place you,” you could hear the smirk in his voice, “how about in my bed tonight?”

You laugh, “I think you’re hallucinating,” still craning your neck to only find Aaron had disappeared into the throng of people by the stage. 

Irritation begins to creep into his voice, “I think you’d ought to have a little more respect for the alumni here, if there’s one thing they teach you here is to have respect for everyone.” 

“Well I didn’t go here, and the one thing I’ve learned is that people like you don’t deserve an ounce of respect,” you cross your arms, not bothering to look at him, “or acknowledgement. So why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone?” 

A tension began to ebb at your nerves. Logically, you knew you were okay — a crowded room, full of other people, your husband included who was a federal agent and had his gun on him — but still. Still — he was still physically larger than you, and possibly stronger. And if you weren’t in this room full of people, it could be a much different story. 

But I am in this room, you reminded yourself. You are. 

“Come on, who could you have more fun going home with tonight? 

“I have a few ideas,” Aaron slides beside you, his arm curling around your waist, FBI agent voice fully in action, his head ducking to press a kiss to your shoulder, “myself namely, but also every other person on the planet. 

“Hotchner,” the man scoffs, “Hotchner, congrats on the award,” his lips are a thin line, “you gonna put that up on your mantle with all your report cards? I thought you were much too busy to grace me with your presence.” 

“Never too busy for my spouse,” and you lean into Aaron’s touch, “something you should know well, Mason. Aren’t you still married?” as he tilts his head at the now dubbed Mason, who gapes at the two of you, as you grin brightly at him. 

“Nice to meet you, Mason,” you hold out your hand, savoring the slack jawed expression on his face, “You’re married that’s nice. I see it isn’t going too well, and I wonder why that could be.”

“I didn’t know you got married again, Hotchner,” he crosses his arms, “try not to get this one killed—” 

You surge forward, but Aaron holds you back, as you glare daggers at the fucking prick. You clench your jaw, your fingers fisting in the sleeves of his jacket. You needed to let him fight his own battles, and you knew he could — didn’t mean you wanted to punch him any less. 

“You know I’ve dealt with worse bullies than you, Mason, before and after you started shoving my head in a locker, and I’m not scared of you anymore,” you squeezed his hand, and he intertwined his fingers with yours, as he slid beside you, Actually, it’s nice to see some things haven’t changed around here.” 

The man surges forward, red in the face, but Aaron stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder. The room grows silent, and you feel the eyes of at least fifty alums dig into your sides, “Stop clinging to the past, and grow up,” Mason jerks his hand away, heading towards the exit, “I suggest you leave now. Unless you want to leave here in—” 

“Fuck you, Hotchner,” he says as the door slams behind him, and the chatter creeps back into the room. 

You scoff, swallowing the anger sitting on your throat, “Couldn’t even say it to your face,” you face him, his expression inscrutable as ever. Your fingers find his cheek, and he basks in your touch, a sigh on his lips, “you know you need a horse and a cape when you do that.” 

He chuckles, and relief floods you at the small smile on his lips, “I’ll come more prepared next time,” he glances at the door that Mason had just left through, and your fingers find his, squeezing his hand. 

“Are you okay?” 

His eyes flicker back to you, “I should be asking you that.” 

“He didn’t do anything besides make my ears bleed,” you huff, pulling him closer, his face in your hands, his eyes nearly glassy, “Now you didn’t answer my question — are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he shakes his head, rubbing his thumb across your cheek, “I finally have some good memories here, and I feel like I actually shut this chapter of my life closed after all this time. And this place doesn’t seem so scary now — it’s smaller than I remember. And so are the people.” 

“Should we find Mason and see if we can prove that theory?” he snorts, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering for a moment, before he presses his forehead to yours. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, “do you want to stay a little longer or go? If we’re staying, I’m going to need you to say I love you a little louder in front of the group of women currently ogling you.” 

“Jealous?” he laughs, kissing your forehead, tilting your chin up, as your hands slide around his neck. 

“Possessive,” you kiss him, his lips smiling against yours, his fingers twisted in your hair to pull you closer, and your hand drifted to his chest, feeling his heartbeat thud under your touch, “Mine.” 

“I think we’ve made that clear enough now,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your pulse, “Now, I think we should leave because I believe I was promised some fun after this.” 

“Really?” you scrunch your nose, “I don’t recall.” 

And he pulls you through the double doors and out towards the deserted parking lot, pressing you against the car with a kiss, towering over you, as you tugged him closer by his lapels, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, “Let me remind you.” 

[loverabbitss]

Bury Me In Bliss (prt 2)

She looks towards me a small smile gracing her lips.

"No, I aspired to be in architecture, but when duty and family calls I'm there." She responds.

I could tell it was bothering her to talk about it.

"That must be the reason this place is so nice." I say, even if I was confused and angry. She wasn't the one to blame, well not for most of it.

"You think so?" She looks up from the gold lamp that she was tracing with her delicate fingers.

"Yeah, my mom was into interior design. I fell in love with it too, but I chose the beauty of motherhood as my specialization" I sit down in one of the chairs in front of her desk.

And just like that we spent almost the whole morning and afternoon talking about any and everything. I found out a lot about her and her childhood. It was nice to have someone who talked to me and actually listened. Micheal could careless about what I say.

"Gaia you have a meeting you must be to." The pale boy whose I learned name was Gian came walking into the space.

Her head went back against the chair as she let out a deep grunt.

"Okay I'm coming" She got up holding out her hand.

"Uh uh I'm not going with you. Your uncle will snap my neck." I say pushing her hand away.

"I'm not taking you to the meeting. I'm walking you back to the room until I get back." She says reaching her hand back out.

I nod, taking her hand as we walk back to the room. The window had been closed and locked. I sat on the bed looking towards her as she went into the closet going to change.

"So am I supposed to just sit here like a prisoner?" I call out.

"Your not a prisoner. Your a visitor but I can't have you roaming around unsupervised." She came out of the closet.

Breathtaking wasn't the word, she wore an all black pant suit with some black what I would call church shoes. It took me a minute to process what she had said.

"I'm not a child, if I go to a wrong place I'll leave." I say.

"I can't take that chance, your my guest I must keep you safe." She tsks fixing the cuff links on her suit.

I roll my eyes, which only made her smirk.

"Your a hard nut to crack. But you roll those eyes again and I'll make sure to bust you open." It rolls off her tongue like liquid gold.

"You think I'd let you get on me after watching you fuck some girl's mouth this morning. Yeah good luck with that Gaia. I don't play games." I suck my teeth.

Her eyes darken and a deep rubble is heard from her chest.

"I did that as an example and you know why." Her olive skin flushed red.

"Yeah whatever, like I said I don't play games." I repeat myself.

"You say that, but that's all you do. Your husband doesn't fuck you so you play games with yourself all the time." She snaps.

Yeah I'm about to loose my shit.

"Excuse me? You don't know shit about what I do and why I do it." I get up getting in her face pushing her back some.

Of course she barely moved but it got my anger across.

"Look I don't want to ar—" She starts to say.

"No fuck you. Fuck this week stay long shit. If this is how your going to throw shit in my face then I'm leaving. I don't care if I get lost I'm gone." I nearly shout pissed off.

Everything had come to a bubble, my husband and his decisions, her smart ass comments. My anger just popped. I went for the door and she grabbed onto my arm. I tried to fight back but it was no use. Suddenly, the door flung open and her uncle stood there looking upset.

"Gaia your late, let's go" he barks then walks out but not before throwing me a dirty look.

I stick my finger at he but he left before he could see it.

"Stop it" She hisses.

"You don't tell me what the fuck to do, I'm not your child." I snap at her.

"Your sure acting like one I see why Micheal doesn't pay much attention." She comments letting me go.

I was shocked, honestly I confined in her about how Micheal treats me and she does this.

"Son of a bitch! I'm acting like a child, yet your throwing shit in my face. You can't ask someone for trust when you use shit against them bastard." I walk into the bathroom slamming the doors locking them.

I strip getting into the shower turning one side of the shower on. My eyes close as the warm water hit my skin. I was infuriated, frustrated, kind of turned on. Basically my emotions were running wild I had no clue how to get back to the resort to at least make my way home to be near my family. I couldn't be in this house with people I didn't know and people who didn't like me. After I finish showering, I come out and the steam follows me. I wrap myself in a towel after drying then unlocks the door.

Walking out I see her gone and the door closed. I try to open it to it only to be locked, fucking bastard. I go over to the closet finding a nice red big t shirt in the back and a pair of beige panties. I put them on then go to the bed laying down, there was nothing to do or nobody to talk to. So, I decided to take a nap.

A cool hand caresses the side of my face as I wake up from my nap. My eyes flutter open as I look at her.

"I'm sorry about earlier I did not mean any of that. I just lost my temper because I really care about you and like you. Even if I've never met you face to face before. I've always seen you at Micheal's office and I would get so giddy" Gaia speaks as she looks down avoiding my eyes.

I sit up against the headboard.

"I accept your apology, but don't ever do that again. If I tell you something it's because I'm beginning to trust you." I say.

She nods, then takes my hand.

"Though I like you in my shirt I really want you to change for tonight." She says.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Don't worry about that. Just know everything is a surprise." She states before getting up and leaving.

Hmm, I wondered what could be going on. Instead of pondering I did as she said getting up finding the clothes and shoes at the end of the bed. I quickly change into them spraying on some lavender spray from her dresser, fixing my hair in the mirror the best I could. She came back in looking at me through the mirror in awe.

"I don't even look good please." I feel a rush flow to my cheeks.

"You look absolutely beautiful." She says coming behind me looking at me through the mirror.

I blush a deep red.

"Don't want to prolong any longer, hmm" I get up.

She just nods looking at me up and down. The dress that was picked out for me was a white dress that split at one of my sides showing my whole leg. Gold jewelry accentuated the elegant them I was guessing. We walked outside to the courtyard where a table was set with candles lite all around.

"You didn't have to do all this." I spoke up.

"Think of it as an apology and start over dinner date." She says pulling a chair out for me.

I sit down thanking her.

"Date? Married remember." I raise my eyebrow.

Her frown came back upon her face.

"Yeah we are going to have to get rid of that." She states.

Choosing to ignore her statement I look around some of the wild flowers from the yard sat nicely in a vase on the table. Light music played in the background.

"You've got a lot of hope you know that?" I ask looking towards her.

"Hope is what got you here with me of course I got a lot of me" Gaia responds.

I blush looking off. She reaches her hands across grabbing my hand intertwining our hands. I look down at our hands before looking back up at her.

"Your really beautiful." She says running her thumbs across the back of my hands.

Servers come out carrying plates for us. They place them on the table and pours us some wine in our cups. We spend dinner talking more and enjoying each other company while eating.

"I would ask you to dance with me but I have something else for you waiting in the room." She husks out standing up.

Placing her hand out I take her hand getting up. The wine boosted my confidence as I walked back to the house following her. Once we get to the room I see a pole hanging from the ceiling and cuffs connected to the headboard.

"You like it?" I feel her hot breathe on my ear as her arms wrap around my waist.

Her lips press against the under of my ears.

"Y-yeah." My eyes flutter close.

"Mmm I'm glad you do. You sure you want this?" She asks.

Without hesitation I nod not trusting my words as her hands caress my body and her lips cover my neck. Her hand felt like they were working magic around my body. Slowly but surely she started taking off my dress. I turn around in her embrace buttoning her shirt.

"Need some help babygirl?" She asks softly.

Her voice sends waves down to my pussy. Once I finish I pull her shirt off staring at her sexy chest. I bite my lip caressing her boobs hearing her breathing increase. I reach back taking off her bra, my mouth water as her breasts bounce. I learn forward sucking on her tits making her hands spank my ass.

"Fuck" Gaia whispers.

I suck lightly nibbling on it as I grope and knead the other boob. She pulled me away lifting chin up leaning down kissing me. Her tongue presses against my lips asking for entrance. I allow her to enter and our tongues dance together. She leads us back towards the bed my dress and shoes falling off as I walk backwards. My back hit the bed and I watch as she strips down biting my lip.

"Ooo she sees something she likes." She purrs crawling to my laid out body on the bed.

Her eyes gleamed black in the moon light as the moon highlighted that signature smirk that sent a wave of arousal to my river. Her luscious lips found my neck where she left open mouth kisses. My hands gripped onto her shoulder clenching them. I whimper lightly slowing grinding our bare bodies.

"Please" I whine feeling her hand near my thigh.

"Please what?" She asked lifting her head from its trail to my breasts.

"Please fuck me daddy" I begged.

She just chuckled looking down at my completely submissive state. Her tongue licked over her teeth.

"Oh I'm about to do that and more, cmere" She demands, which really she didn't have to because she lightly pushed me towards the center of the bed.

Once there she took my wrists putting me up in handcuffs.

"Do you trust me?" She asked as she caressed my thighs.

I watched as her hands moved my mouth running dry.

"I let you put me in hand cuffs right?" I asked.

My smart remark landed me with a smack on my pussy. Oh was it so electrifying, it sent a thrill through me making me arch my back letting out a slight moan.

"Now try it again" Gaia lightly barked out.

"Yes I trust you daddy" I respond.

"Good" She praises me before tying my ankles up to this bar.

"This pole." She taps the pole to get my attention. "Only extends so the more you fight what's coming the wider your legs are going to spread." She explains getting out of the bed.

Fight what's coming? What is she going to do? She gets off the bed going to her side of the bed to the nightstand opening the drawer. Due to my current position I couldn't see what she got, but soon I hear what it was then I felt it.

I let out a melodic moan, it bounces off of the walls.

"You like that babygirl?" She husks into my ear.

"Y-yes" I stutter suddenly finding it hard to speak.

Her lips return back to my body as she sucks on my nipples. She makes sure to give each equal attention. I clench my legs as I feel that familiar feeling in my stomach.

"Ahh I'm close, can I cum?" I ask a slight layer of sweat covering me.

"No ma'am, hold it for me mamas. I wanna watch you fight these orgasms." She growls against my skin.

These? Geez so much for walking anymore. I hear a click and the intensity of the hitachi goes up. I try to clench my legs, which in turn made the pole stretch forcing my legs wider.

"Atta girl." She encouraged me to spread more as her tongue found its way towards my dripping pussy.

She moved the hitachi towards my entrance and my wetness could be heard loud & proud.

"Fuck your so wet princess" Her tongue found it way to my clit.

"Daddy please" I beg, I was close but I knew she wouldn't allow me to cum.

"Daddy please what?" She pulls away with a chin covered in my juices.

"Can I cum?" I ask once again.

"Not yet babygirl" She smirks bringing the hitachi back to my clit.

Soon I could feel myself right the edge, my body started to tense up. I bucked uncontrollably making the pole stretch my legs completely wide. The moans flowing out of me were going to be heard all over.

"Almost there darling" Gaia cooed kissing the back of my thighs.

How could she be so demanding, hot, and sweet at the same time?

"Let go darling" She finally says as she lets the hitachi off my clit before smacking it a few times.

My eyes roll back as I pull on the restraints arching my back. I gush all over the sheets but I could care less. My pussy squirted put after all that overstimulation and edging.

"Such a good girl" Her hand rubbed up and down my pussy as I came down from my high.

My body twitched everytime she crossed my clit. She started to rub it again and she crawled over my face as if she was about to ride it. Her cock sat hard dripping precum in my face.

"Suck daddy's cock for her please mamas" Her tone of voice made me comfortable.

I open my mouth ready for her to fuck it. She doesn't waste anytime, slowly she entered my warm mouth. Her grunts start increasing as she starts thrusting into my throat. I couldn't do anything besides moan at her hand still rubbing my clit. I was so close again. Her thrust sped up making her balls hit my chin.

"Shit." She moaned throwing her head back.

It was a sight to see, the tatted Italian completely lost in the way I was taking her cock. Even when she fucked that girl's mouth she wasn't so aroused. I moan around her cock knowing that the vibrations drives her crazy. Upping her side she slips two fingers into me pumping them fast as her thumb rubs my clit.

Trying to close my legs I start moaning more making her come closer to her finger. In a swift 'come here' motion she makes me burst all over her fingers and she wasn't too far behind.

"Take my cum." She groans spurting her warm cum down my throat.

She finished pulling out and pulling her fingers out of me cleaning them off my creaminess coating them. I lay on the bed limp as could be, so lost in cum land I didn't know what was going on. That is until she started smacking my ass. I jolted back to reality moaning. My clit was throbbing from cumming so much and I'm sure my pussy would be swollen by the end.

I look down to see her getting hard again, was I even ready for her size? She started warming me up by making out and caressing my body giving me the touch, need, and love my husband barely did anymore. She lines herself up with my entrance before slowly sliding her cock up and down going over my sensitive clit.

"Are you okay with this?" She asks halting the head at my entrance.

I nod not trusting my mouth as I was already dazed off in a sea of pleasure.

[latestageyouth]

A free couch

soo this is a continuation of this fic and this fic but this time it’s focused on Deceit and Logan (*cough* if you want this to be a full-blown series just say so I will gladly do a tag list n shit*cough*)

Pairings: anxceitmus, platonic loceit

Word count: 1,174

Warnings: unsympathetic!Patton, unsympathetic!Roman, sympathetic!Deceit, sympathetic!Remus, swearing, crying, mentions of abuse, bruises (let me know if I should add something)

Summary: When Deceit hears a knock on his door at midnight, the last person he expected to be behind it is Logan, who got kicked out of the mindscape by Patton after confronting him about their treatment of the “dark” sides

Dee loved watching storms when there was one outside, like now, for example. Sure, maybe it was almost midnight, but the storm was too loud for him to sleep through anyways. A particularly loud thunder cracked throughout the commons, and suddenly everything was dark. The lamp on the nightstand turned off, so did the light in the hallway that Remus always turned on just to annoy Deceit. He paid it no mind, still watching the storm from his window. He doesn't know how long it was until he heard someone knock on his door. He checked his digital clock, but, of course, it was turned off, like everything electric.

Maybe Virgil had another nightmare? Or Remus was still awake and his nyctophobia got to him? Well, no, it was neither of those. When Dee opened the door, instead of seeing a familiar face of one of his lovers, he saw, "Logan?"

The smaller man flinched as if he wasn't aware of Deceit, "Uh, greetings," he refused to look at Dee, instead looking on the floor.

Dee furrowed his eyebrows, "What do you want?"

Logan shifted on his feet, and as far as Dee could see with the light from the windows, he was still dressed in his usual clothes. Little dishevelled, yes, but still in his clothes, "I wanted...to ask if I, uh, if I could...sleep on the couch in the dark s-side...commons?" 

Deceit furrowed his eyebrows further, "Why? Did Patton finally snap and kicked you out?" he taunted the other.

Logan stiffened, "N-no, why would, why would he do that?"

Dee could feel the heaviness of the lie, it tasted like denial.  Logan must've noticed, even though he was still yet to look up at him.

"Look, I...Just this night, okay? When you wake up there will be no sign of me ever being here. I understand Virgil would be...less than pleased with me being here after what I've...done, a-and...I am not quite s-sure what...Remus would do to me."

There was something in the way that Logan worded his sentences that made Deceit feel like something was not quite right. Logan was a confident jerk with unreasonably loud vocal cords...this wasn't Logan. It was after another thunder cracked that Dee noticed he was subtly shaking. It wasn't from cold, no, Dee would be freezing right now if it was from cold. Did he, the unfazed ever so stoic logic, fear him? That was something Dee wanted for a long time, but for some reason...it didn't feel good like it should've, like Deceit imagined it would. And then there was the fact that Logan still hadn't looked up at him, and Dee didn't want to be right about why that was.

"Logan, why did Patton kick you out?"

"He-he didn't! I already told you that!"

Deceit's tone turned more serious, deepening a little, "You should be well aware of the fact that I can tell when you lie. Spill the beans, sherlock."

Logan was silent for a long time, before letting out a quiet, shaky sigh, "I...realized the error of our ways and...what we were...doing...to you. Patton didn't. Can I sleep on the couch of not?"

Deceit wanted to let it go. He wanted to let Logan go sleep on the couch and forget this conversation ever happened. Go back to them ridiculing each other with spite in their tone. 

But...

Deceit couldn't. Besides the fact that he was a nosy fucker, he was genuinely concerned for Logan, something he never in a million years thought was going to happen. So, he responded with an order, "Logan, look at me."

Logan stepped back, "I-I beg you...pardon?"

Dee stepped with him, "You haven't looked up at me for the entirety of this conversation. Why? And don't lie."

"..." Logan folded in on himself, "...I simply don't want to," he muttered in response, just barely on the edge of Dee's hearing.

"That's a damn fucking lie and you know it," Deceit stepped closer to Logan, just barely stepping out of his room.

Logan didn't say anything this time, and Dee couldn't blame him, but after all the years of Logan being an asshole to him, Dee felt like he deserved it. That belief immediately crumbled as he felt something wet dripping onto his bare feet, just barely catching the soft sound Logan so desperately tried to muffle with his hand. 

"P-please don't hit me. I do-don't-I..." ragged breaths stopped him from completing the sentence.

Dee bend down, trying to get a look at the smaller man's face, but before he could even get a glimpse, Logan covered it with his hands. Just barely did he see the fresh bruise below Logan's wrist. He knew better than to touch him. 

"Hey, Logan, it's okay, I won't hurt you."

After a while, Logan replied, "You should...I've done...terrible thing to you. A-and Remus. And Virgil," his broken voice was muffled by the hands on his face. 

"You did," Logan flinched at the words, "But I won't hit you. You never got physical, I don't see why should I."

Logan dug the nails on his hands into his forehead.

"Hey, c'mon, let me see you."

Logan shook his head, "I look revolting."

"Not more revolting then Remus ever did," Deceit tried to lighten the atmosphere, but it didn't help. He slowly reached over to touch the ever-so faint bruise on Logan's forearm. Logan flinched out of Deceit's touch.

"I-I apologize..."

"No need," Dee seemed to think for a few seconds, glancing at his room and back to Logan, "I have some first aid stuff in my room for when Remus comes back from his missions, and I'm sure that isn't the only bruise you have. How about we patch you up, huh?"

"Is that some-"

"No," Deceit shook his head, although Logan could not see it, "It's not some kind of trick. I can not lie, you know that, right?"

Logan was silent.

"Is that a yes?"

He nodded slowly.

"Will you take the hands off?"

Once again, Logan didn't respond. Deceit straightened up again, walking back to his room, glancing over his shoulder multiple times. Logan took the hands off for a brief few seconds, the hands still shieling his forehead he looked down and walked slowly to the other's room. Dee shut the door, watching as Logan flinched once again. He walked to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer pulling out some ibuprofen and a kitchen towel, also some tissues in case something was bleeding. He turned back to Logan, who was standing in the middle of the room, hands finally off his face, looking at the floor with his back turned to Dee.

"I'll go to a kitchen for a few things, you stay here, okay?"

It seemed like Logan nodded.

Dee shut the door after him, walking through the darkscape, stopping when he arrived in the kitchen. First, he poured Logan a glass of water, which he set on the counter. He took the kitchen towel in his hands and placed it below the ice machine in the fridge. He hoped the sound didn't wake the others up. He returned back to his room to see Logan, who had his back still turned to him, looking out the big window on his wall, watching the thunder. He smirked, "Lovely, isn't it?"

Logan jumped when he spoke, "Uh, yes."

Dee was silent for a while, "...So, will you show me your face? I am sure there's something wrong with it if you're so reluctant to look at me."

After a few silent seconds, maybe even a minute, Logan finally turned around. Now, Deceit wouldn't say it was the worst he'd ever seen, but it wasn't the best either. There, around Logan's left eye, was a large bruise, already turning purple.

"Oh, Logan..." Deceit walked up to the smaller man, a troubled look on his face. This was the first time anything like this happened. The core sides never hit anyone, they never did anything physical despite the threats, even to Remus or Dee, and doing it one of them...Deceit couldn't help but feel disgusted.

He took the ice wrapped in the towel and put it over the bruise, covering the entire eye. Logan flinched in pain. Eventually, Dee coaxed Logan into sitting down on his bed and taking the ibuprofen to stop the pain.

"C'mon, what happened? Did Patton do this? I bet it was Patton, that son of a-"

"To be fair, I deserved it."

Dee furrowed his eyebrows in worry, "Logan, no one deserves that. Please, just...tell me what happened?"

Logan looked away but started talking nonetheless, "I confronted Patton about our behaviour towards you, and he shut me down, telling me you deserve it. We got into a fight about morals and...it somehow escalated to Virgil..." a single tear fell from his eye, which Logan didn't acknowledge, "It was after I proposed the idea of destroying the idea of Light and Dark sides that Patton snapped. I...can't go to my room anymore, whenever I try there's just...bricks behind the door. I have no idea why, but I suspect it has something to do with Roman."

Deceit let Logan take hold of the ice bag while he disinfected and cleaned the scratches Patton left on his arms and a few on his neck, "I don't think Virgil can forgive you just yet. After all, he experienced way more than we ever did. I still have this feeling in the back of my brain that I shouldn't be helping you, but here I am..." Dee looked Logan in the eye, "The point is, it's not safe for you here, or the mindscape. I don't know where you'll go, but if you need anything, just come to my room at night. Only late at night, or the others might still be up."

Logan nodded, "...Can I...ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

He hesitated for a second, "Why...Why are you doing this? You admitted that you don't want to help."

"No, I said that a part of me feel's like I shouldn't be helping you, that's kinda expected considering you and your friend group hated my fucking guts for as long as I can remember."

They both widened their eyes when they heard a sound coming from one of the other rooms. They were quiet for a while before Deceit spoke up, "I think you should go."

Logan got up, "Agreed," he quickly walked towards the door.

"And Logan..."

The shorter man turned around hesitantly, "Yes?"

Dee opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, before smirking subtly and saying, "Make sure to ice it."

[split-n-splice]

Hello I have no grasp on time, I've been self-isolating since 2009. Every day is Halloween.

[Chapter Guide]

23. Welfare Check – 5

When her brothers found her halfway to the library, Shilo had little choice but to make a deal with them. It was impossible to just say no when Hugo used two hopeful little boys with stars in their eyes to his advantage – proving even heroes weren’t above utilizing underhanded and manipulative tactics.

She wanted to spit acid at her big brother, but for the twins’ sake, she settled for coldly warning him that she’d give them tonight, and that was it, and it was only for the twerps because they’d come all this way and were skipping school for this.

Hugo held up his hands as if in peace, assuring her that they wouldn’t interfere after tonight. It was a lie if she ever heard one, but until they were out of town for good, she’d just have to accept whatever he had planned. As long as the other blue idiot in her life stayed out of the picture, everything would be fine.

Upon returning to the apartment, Shilo was faced with her displeased landlord, the senior citizen waving a cane at the aircraft parked on her lawn. She’d never seen the old woman so crabby before. Apparently, she’d called the police earlier, but the suave superhero Hego had convinced the baffled officers to turn a blind eye, though it didn’t stop a news crew or two from stopping by.

Mrs. Landlady couldn’t be swayed so easily, but for the sake of keeping her lease, Shilo tried to smile and politely explain her visitors would be leaving after trick-or-treating. She elbowed her elder brother, hoping he’d take the hint, but Hego didn’t look particularly ashamed of himself for inconveniencing the senior citizen with his jet scaring her pack of little white poodles.

To make up for it, Mego offered to walk the yapping little dogs to take them elsewhere to relieve themselves. Shilo couldn’t shut him up in time. Mrs. Landlady had been hinting around at dog-walking for extra cash for a while now, but he couldn’t possibly know that. He was just an expert at getting under her skin. Before she could object, Shilo and each of her brothers were handed leashes. And bags.

Bags which Shilo shoved to Milo.

Once the bouncing yapping pack of little dogs were walked and returned to a slightly-less-cross Mrs. Landlady, Pops and all of her brothers shadowed her up the stairs to her crummy apartment. Hugo, still dressed as Hego, was practically breathing down her neck. Cornered, she turned on them at the top to jab Hugo in the chest and snap that none of them were invited into her home.

Because that’s what it was. It was her home. It didn’t feel much like her home, miserable as it was, and she hated the sound of it leaving her mouth, but she was paying the rent on the place. They had no right to barge in uninvited, and she didn’t have to invite them either.

Holding her ground, she was on the verge of flaring up her hands and blasting Hugo back down the steps, if it weren’t for everyone piled up behind him – and to make matters worse, her father ducked around him. He stood a solid few inches taller than her, his mustache hooked downward in a perpetual frown as he crossed his arms and grunted at her to open the door, as if he still had some authority over her. As if he’d ever had some authority over her.

She put her foot down, crossing her arms in turn as she barred the door, even if Hugo could pick her up and kick it down if he wanted, and get away with it too by claiming it was for justice and the greater good and the usual baloney.

It was just cold enough out to see her breath, yet suddenly she felt too hot bundled up in Drakken’s sweater as she stood there facing off. The thought made her swallow and her resolve almost wavered as nerves snuck up on her. Could they tell it was a man’s sweater? Did they realize it was too clean and neat to have belonged to that destitute miscreant she’d let hang about? As comfortable as it was, suddenly she didn’t want to be caught wearing it, even if it didn’t look much different than the sort she usually wore.

If she let them so much as see inside, now that it was daylight, would they realize how involved she was with the rogue doctor? No – of course they wouldn’t. That was ridiculous. She had no incriminating evidence inside – except for what hid under her bed, and that had nothing to do with him, though an excess of cash might raise questions. With her father and brothers dogging her, insistent on taking a look around, Shilo racked her brains but all she could think of were the custom gloves the doctor had tailored for her. But she had an old restrictive pair she could use tonight – they didn’t have to know about the weaponized gloves.

She was probably worried for nothing, but nonetheless, Shilo stamped her foot and told her father bluntly, to his face and in front of two kindergarteners, to fuck off already.

He raised a finger to wag at her and drew a deep breath to begin lecturing her, and she could hear it before he uttered, “Listen here, young lady—”

The spiel went in one ear and out the other. She tried not to consider her hands might be shaking ever so slightly as she reached into the purse at her hip and fished out her wallet to brandish her driver’s license in her father’s face as if flashing ID would prove her case. “I’m an adult,” she reminded hotly, barely managing to squeeze a word in edgewise though she felt childish just saying it. It wasn’t like she was twelve anymore and he was demanding a look around her room to make sure it was tidy. “Get off my ass.”

Her father gawped at her, and she pointedly lit up a cigarette as the one desperate parent she had left made a bumbling attempt to disregard the fact she’d left the nest. It was for her own good, he was only looking out for her – it was the same old baloney Hugo fed her. Taking a drag wasn’t setting a very good example for her littlest brothers, but their father wasn’t setting a good example for them either if proving his parental authority was his intent. Over her, he had none. He really hadn’t had any for a long time – not over her, and not over the twins either. Global Justice dictated their upbringing – he merely paid child support, more or less. He was just too prideful to admit the role of father had been stripped from him the day the comet hit.

Her pops choked as he waved away the smoke and she slipped inside. “You’re still—,” he started again, and she slammed the door behind her. She was sure young and dumb was shouted through it as she twisted the deadbolt.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” she hollered through the door, and ripped the oversized sweater over her head to toss on her bed. She changed quickly – in the bathroom, just to be safe – but wasn’t quick enough.

Sometimes she wondered if Milo could phase through walls, but knew it was just his knack for shrinking small enough to squeeze through cracks like a mouse.

However he managed the feat, the lavender dork was in her apartment when she exited the bathroom, giving her a start when she found him sitting on her bed.

Worse yet, Milo was scrutinizing the ornamental green and black water pipe she’d hidden under the bed earlier. The sight of him with the paraphernalia jarred her nerves for a second – but so what? She’d bought it last week from a smoke shop just off Main Street. It was perfectly legal, and unused to boot. Granted, she had bought it with the money she stole from a 24-Seven, and what she planned to eventually use it for wasn’t so legal – but it proved nothing. Without GJ drugging her with a suppressant disguised as sleep-aid, could they really fault her for self-medicating?

“Wait until Dad finds out about this,” snickered Milo, flashing a shit-eating grin her way.

“Breyer,” she hissed.

At the simple threat to his horsey collectables, Milo went rigid and narrowed his eyes on her as he tucked the apparatus back where he’d found it.

He rose from her bed, only to inspect the makeup on her dresser and try out her hand lotion as he went on. “You know Pops is just trying to look out for you,” he said, barely changing the subject. He sounded just like Hugo for a second. “You didn’t have to go and cop an attitude with him. He’s all salty now and there’s no telling how long I have to deal with it. So thanks a ton. Hey, can I borrow this?”

Shilo snatched her bottle of black nail polish back from him and tossed it across the small room to her bed, where it bounced off and hit the floor.

She grabbed her brother by the wrist to tow him away before he could get into anything else, but he shrunk out of her grip and she felt the elf-like body perch on her shoulder. Tiny mousey hands were in her hair, venturing too close for comfort to the cut on the side of her head sustained in the automobile accident Friday night. It was still a few days away from being completely healed without a trace.

“How’d you get this?” Milo wondered, his voice an odd pitch now that his vocal cords were shrunk so small.

“I fell,” she fibbed as she exited the apartment. It wasn’t a lie – not really. The van had fallen over, and she’d fallen with it.

“Still fighting crime?” he guessed.

“It’s a good excuse to roundhouse kick people,” she stated, and that much wasn’t a lie either. It didn’t mean she was still fighting for the sake of good.

Her miniature violet brother bounced off her shoulder to resume normal size and slide down the handrail in the fashion she always used to scold the boys for doing back home. He hopped off elegantly at the end and landed on his toes between the two little boys rushing back to the staircase. The thought that he’d do well in ballet crossed her mind for the thousandth time, and it would be a lie if the familiar thought didn’t warm her chest a little, as discontented as she was to have her family here tonight.

While Shilo had been busy serving hot drinks and treats at Buckley’s Brew, Pops and the twins had done some shopping. Wesley and Willow fought over who would give Shilo her bucket as she reached the bottom step, and there was no getting out of it when she tried to decline.

She’d already accepted defeat when she’d agreed to dress into her gear to misuse as a Halloween costume. Her brothers were dressed in their own, as they’d been all day – and with her brought into the fold, the Team Go set was finally complete. Shilo’s shoulders slumped as her big brother grinned warmly and commented on how great it was to have her with them tonight, even if she refused to don the domino mask. Pointedly trying to keep her among them, he dropped a hefty arm around her shoulders to trap her in their midst.

She shoved away from Hego, only to bump into Mego, and she was beginning to feel suffocated as the Wego twins took her by the hands. Mock Team Go costumes were a regular sight in Go City, but here in the Nevada oasis, they had to be uncommon if not unheard of – even so, there were too many Team Go uniforms out tonight.

Shilo felt like gasping for air as she stood straight, reminding herself that this was her life – this was her family , she’d grown up with this, she was used to this, and nothing about tonight was unusual.

Except for the fact they were thousands of miles from their hometown, and she wasn’t guiding her brothers around the familiar neighborhood they lived in. She’d never been trick-or-treating anywhere else but Go City. Then there was the fact the older two of her brothers had quit trick-or-treating some years ago, thus their presence was unusual. She was used to being talked into family costumes, but wearing her uniform instead of a real costume was added weirdness that made her feel peculiarly exposed in a suit she was accustomed to wearing as an everyday outfit.

The twins were eager to knock on doors and ring doorbells, and Shilo seemed to be the only one to remember to tell them absolutely no duplication to score extra candy. It didn’t feel right coming out of her mouth now, reminding the little copycats that doing so would be cheating and unfair to all the other kids.

It took seven houses and a sorry handful of chalky candies with one piece of taffy to split between the twins before Shilo paused to consider the rogue doctor’s earlier suggestion. She didn’t yet know the town like the back of her hand, but she was familiar enough by now to know it wasn’t a false lead. She’d scoped out the north end a while ago, and even a solid two weeks before Halloween there had been a wealth of holiday decorations. She knew the houses there sported new paint and manicured lawns. There was no hiding it that the community out that way was of a higher class than the majority of the oasis town.

So Shilo grabbed the boys by the hands and quietly asked them if they were up for a bit of a walk if it meant scoring better candy. Of course they were. They were bundles of energy that didn’t need the sugar – but they wouldn’t be her problem at the end of the night. Hugo and Milo were chatting lowly with one another, oblivious to her whispering to the twins, “Ready? Set…”

“Go!” squealed the Wegos, getting a split-second head start on her.

The older boys didn’t seem to even notice Shilo jogging off with two gleeful little ones racing alongside her to keep up.

As she ran with them, she didn’t expect the swell of excitement warming her chest to hit her so fast. Her youngest brothers weren’t so bad. Their hands were sticky, but her impulse to recoil and wipe her palms on her pants wasn’t so strong as to call their company repulsive. She couldn’t say the same about Hugo and Milo. She’d rather the nose-picking twerps any day. It helped she wore gloves though.

She stayed a fair distance ahead of the older two boys, who eventually noticed and shouted after her. By Main Street, she’d lost them. She stared over her shoulder almost as much as she watched for cracks in the sidewalk, which the twins were adamant she not step on. She wanted to step on every one of them. She’d have to make up for lost time once they were out of her hair.

“Step on a crack, break your mother’s back,” she mouthed to herself, grinding her heel into one as the boys darted up to a bowl of candy offered by Buckley herself standing outside her café.

Two raggedy dolls, Hansel and Gretel hand-stitched from old fabrics, sat in the caldron by the painted café door, guarded by Buckley the gingerbread witch. It was probably a risky thing to allow, given the henchwoman’s dislike for heroes, superheroes in particular, but the giant witch in colorful apron stooped down to their level and spared an extra home-made chocolate truffle for each. Just like Hansel and Gretel, the children greedily wolfed them down on the spot, and Buckley smiled just as warmly as she did for the average customer.

“What cuties! Shilo, I could just gobble ‘em up,” she rumbled, peeking up past her curly bangs. Her smile fell just slightly with the wane of the false cheer. “Borrowed?”

Shilo shrugged meekly. Suddenly she wanted to usher the twins away, but Buckley was forking over more chocolate for their greedy little fingers.

Buckley hummed contentedly at the little boys going nuts for her homemade candies. “You know, there are special institutions for the little ones. If you ever find yourself with any,” she noted as she stood. “Start ‘em young is the motto. But that’s not much better than what that big brother of yours is doing to them, is it? A shame. The little ones are so impressionable.”

She was unsure if the former henchwoman was advocating sending small children away to boot camp, but she had a point. Grooming them to be heroes willing to commit self-sacrifice couldn’t have been much better than training little boys to be henchmen.

“Hm. Well. I’ll look into it when I have kids,” she dismissed, pulling her brothers back away from the witchy baker before they could reach for yet more chocolate. “See you tomorrow, Buck. Say thank you, boys.”

“Thank you!” they chimed on cue.

As she tugged her baby brothers along with her down Main Street, she had to blink and shake her head incredulously. A school for hench kids? How many henchmen even were there in the world? She knew they were people too, but to think they were out there reproducing – actually, she didn’t want to think about that. It squicked her out.

“You’re gonna be a mom?” wondered Willow suddenly, and suddenly Shilo realized what she’d said moments ago.

“Duh! That’s what girls do,” answered Wesley as if it were obvious.

Shilo squeezed their hands. “Not always,” she corrected stiffly, though the hairs on the back of her neck were prickling at the very idea now. “So don’t get your hopes up about not being the youngest in the family anymore. You’ll always be the littlest twerps.”

They whined in reply. She laughed it off, and inwardly hoped that the next storefront offering candy would distract them from any questions about the birds and the bees. It did. She breathed a sigh of relief.

All the sugar was beginning to get to them, she was sure of it. The Wegos clad in red and black pajamas were starting to run ahead of her, and run behind her, and dash across the street despite her hollering at them to use a crosswalk or at least look both ways first. She barely kept the two little superkids in sight at all times to ensure they didn’t multiply and blow their cover.

How they ever made it to the north end of town was a wonder. They had a nice collection of candy filling the bottoms of their pumpkin buckets, which they deposited in hers for safekeeping by the time they reached the well-to-do neighborhoods.

Given the cloud cover granting an early nightfall, it was good and dark by now – perfect viewing conditions for the abundance of elaborate lights and yard ornaments. Fake cobwebs on hedges and porches, giant spiders, entire yards of styrofoam headstones, detailed skeletons, the occasional fog machine – the whole nine yards. She’d seen better in Go City, but it was impressive nonetheless.

High on a sugar rush, the twins darted across lawns and up walkways, ringing doorbells with fancy chimes, one or two even rigged in the spirit of the season with ghoulish cackling when rang. At one such abode, festooned in glimmering purple and gold lights, she hovered behind the twins as they bounced eagerly on their toes for the blurry figure behind the glass of the front door to answer.

Shilo had to stifle an abrupt bark of laughter as a young man in a long white dress opened up. Accessorized with fluffy white angel wings and a golden sash to match his halo, it had to be the least masculine costume she’d seen on a man yet tonight that wasn’t blatantly meant to be comically feminine. She supposed there were male angels too, though.

The Wego twins sang the age-old trick-or-treat rhyme for the hundredth time tonight before she could chide them that it was impolite, but it earned them a nice chocolate bar each anyway as Shilo composed herself behind her hand and looked back to the angel boy.

She really shouldn’t have taken that second look.

She found herself staring slack-jawed. Not at the angel, but rather – well, maybe at him a little bit, but he was a little pleasing to look at with blond hair and picture-perfect bright blue eyes – but rather, the glass shelves she spied behind him. She shifted to the side just slightly, her stare darting from aquamarine eyes to the breathtaking assortment of glimmering geodes and chunks of crystal in every color and – and aqua eyes were staring her down again.

His mouth was moving.

Shilo didn’t hear a single word he said.

She blinked away from a perfect heavenly smile as something was extended to her – his hand, right, right – but still stared stupidly at the candy bar he offered in his palm for a second before reaching for it.

She didn’t even know what came out of her own mouth. Something along the lines of, “I, uh – h-hey – uhm,” maybe. She was effectively tongue-tied. Between dazzling aqua eyes looking straight into her and a staggering wall of glitzy precious minerals just behind him, whatever was responsible for sorting out words had shorted out.

Since when did she sweat so much? She never sweated this much around Drakken. Okay, maybe a little, but she usually kept her cool well enough and – and it was a damn good thing she was wearing her restrictive gloves because she felt her hands burning up inside them. Drakken made her hands sparkle on a good day but – why the hell was her geeky blue boss her first comparison anyway?

Her little brothers were leaving the steps without her.

Shilo shook and snapped out if it, blurting a brusque, “Thank you!” as she tossed the candy bar in her bucket and spun on her heel to tear her stare away from too many pretty dazzling objects of interest in that big white house.

Mistakenly casting a glance back, she nearly ran into a hedge lining the walkway. The boy waved, calling, “God bless!” with a melodious voice like an angel she wanted to damn.

What a prick.

Her face was still warm and there was no reason she should feel so weak in the knees as if she’d just chased a villain across Go City, but she heaved a deep calming breath as she trudged after two tireless little boys with boundless energy.

Shilo threw another peek back over her shoulder to the house – and while the house and everything in it were as attractive as ever, something far less so caught her eye.

A mustachioed man in a deerstalker cap had his head lowered, puffing at a pipe and sauntering along leisurely in a long brown overcoat. She narrowed her eyes at the Sherlock.

Who did her pops think he was fooling?

Just as she considered trying to shake him, she was taken by surprise, ambushed by two superheroes in purple and blue. She’d foolishly been glowering back at her father when they leapt out at her, catching her by the shoulders and leading her after the twins and up the nearest pathway to collect candy as the full set.

When asked what they were supposed to be, all but Shilo proudly answered, “Team Go!”

She curled her lip and rolled her eyes, glad to have the distraction nonetheless to take her mind off stupid angels and pretty rocks. She was towed along for several houses, filling up her own bucket the rest of the way, but she grit her teeth and tolerated it because that was the agreement. They never said she had to like it.

Once her bucket was heavy and full to the brim – a blessing in disguise, as the twins had been depositing candy in her bucket to make room for more in theirs – she was given some slack. She hung back a little to skip receiving candy, distancing herself ever more at each door, until finally, she didn’t even bother entering the yards with them anymore.

She fell further and further back, until they were half a block away across the street and much too caught up and hyped up on candy to notice she wasn’t beside them anymore. She wanted to think the fact alone that they didn’t notice her absence was a good sign they were getting used to her being…well, absent from their lives now.

The night seemed a few degrees colder suddenly.

Just as Shilo was casting a wary glance back toward her father to check how far away the stalking Sherlock was, a startling hiss in her ear made her whip around the other way, and she jumped away from a flash of red and black and – blue?

She reeled as the man lurched toward her, cackling lowly, “I’ve come to drink your blood!” He couldn’t keep a straight face, but she could tell he tried.

Shilo shoved him back around the corner he’d jumped out from, and threw a glance back toward her father for good measure before joining the rogue doctor out of sight around the privacy fence.

“Ugh. It’s ‘I vant to suck your blood,’” she corrected theatrically, accent laid on thick. Growing up with toddlers, she’d had more practice with funny voices than she wanted to admit, and her face burned when she realized it slipped.

“Ohh, chills!” shivered the vampire. A cheap cape hung around his shoulders, but the scarlet vest with silver accents he wore didn’t look like it came off Smarty Mart shelves, nor did the silken dress shirt or neatly-tucked necktie. She could be wrong, though. His oxfords were as shiny and slick as the hair he still wore pulled back in a ponytail. He even sported a pair of fangs which he flashed with his mischievous grin. All he was missing was a dribble of fake blood.

Shilo realized, to her dismay, her hands were clammy and beginning to burn. Fortunately she wore the smothering gloves tonight. She clenched her hands into fists and struck the offending blue idiot in the chest with a hard rap of her knuckles. “Drew—”

Evidentially, she hadn’t hit him hard enough to wipe the smile off his face. “Ah-ah,” he said, wagging a finger. “It’s Drak -ula tonight, my dear.” Maybe she needed to hit him again.

He seemed just a little too ballsy tonight, and no wonder. She swore she smelled whiskey on his breath. Drinking and catching her out and about with her family had to be more reckless than anything they’d done Friday. He was a far cry from genius right now.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed as he peered past her, toward her brothers skipping ever further away to trick-or-treat the last house at the far end of the block, still blessedly oblivious to her not beside them. She should just walk away now, for his sake. Yet she couldn’t move.

Drakken hummed pleasantly and held up a jack-o-lantern bucket like her own. “What’s it look like?” he shot, plucking a peanut butter cup from the top and offering it to her. “I’m trick-or-treating.”

She had enough candy. She really didn’t need to snatch it from his fingers or tear into the treat to take a bite. “Did you steal that?” she grumbled around the peanut butter and nodded to his bucket of goodies.

“Will you be upset with me if I say yes?” wondered Drakken – Drakula – whatever, as he fumbled to peel away the wrapper of a tiny candy bar he popped whole in his mouth.

“Yes.” She had half a mind to stomp on his foot, but she settled for putting a little pressure on a toe.

Drakken shifted away, but he had nowhere to go. He was backed into the fence. “Well, what do you expect from me?” he snapped back at her, a little too loudly, a little too impatiently, a little too close to her face. Shilo took a step back and off his toe, and before she could get her thoughts in order, he harrumphed and rolled his eyes. “I bought it,” he grumped. “And the cape. About an hour ago. Do you need to see the receipt?”

Shilo crossed her arms, habitually tucking her warm hands safely into her armpits, and shook her head. Warm hands disregarded a second later, she was picking at his cape before she could think better of it, grudgingly looking him over again. She was standing too close again. She was feeling a little too warm again, and this time it was a dark pair of lonely sapphire eyes staring down into her. “You look nice,” she mumbled before she could run it past herself first. Better than some dumb angel.

No, no he wasn’t – the angel was better. The angel was blond. Younger, too.

“Nice?” scoffed the blue doctor impersonating a vampire. “Not evil or devilishly handsome? Come on, give me something here. I put work into this outfit.” Well, he didn’t have to beg for it.

Shilo was stepping back again, her heart jumping up into her throat, and she was indisputably warm from head to toe. She had to clasp her hands behind her back before he could catch a glimpse of green embers escaping the smothering gloves, but his attention thankfully didn’t stray that low. One of her nervous hands found its way up to her hair despite her uneasy attempt to hide them, and she twirled a lock around a finger as she nervously sputtered, “No, I wouldn’t say – no.” She snorted and shook her head, face burning. She was not one for words tonight.

Drakken hummed thoughtfully. At least he seemed to get the gist of what she was trying to say, though she didn’t need his arm behind her back, gently guiding her down the new dark street and away from her family. “Really?” he chirped. “That’s a shame. And what are you tonight? A superhero?”

She stopped in her tracks. Drakken swung around and paused before her, facing her glare head-on. She didn’t like that question, and she didn’t have to explain to him why. His guilty eyes darted away, and he pouted and dug into his bucket for another candy.

He pulled a strange face as he sucked on a chocolate drop, and she relaxed just slightly at the change of subject when he opened his trap again. “What do you say you and I split off and go have our own fun?” he asked leisurely, gesturing down the eerily dark street behind him, back in the direction he’d been leading her. His quiet chuckle was practically a purr. “I’ve got a bucket of treats and, well, we like tricks too, don’t we?”

“We do,” Shilo agreed warily. Her feet were heavy, but a wry curiosity urged them to move. She didn’t know what she was thinking, taking the arm he offered like a gentleman, but she willed her hand to cool down as she did. The rest of her was warm enough to compensate. It was easy to forget what she was doing out here tonight in the first place with his toothy smirk beaming down at her.

His mouth was moving.

She didn’t hear a damn word he said.

However, she did hear a distant familiar melody in the form of a whistle, and her blood iced over and her breath caught in her throat and she whipped her head around to find the source. Drakken glanced back as well, and then she shoved him away from her.

“Beat it, would ya?” she all but snarled at the bewildered man. She was bristling, shaking maybe – he was good as dead if he didn’t leave this very second, but the big dumb blue oaf was just standing there with his brow quirked at her. She added in a hiss, “My dad is watching us,” hoping it would inspire him to scram.

The spectacled man’s eyes widened and flicked past her and back down to her. “Your dad? You mean the Sherlock back there? Oh.” He bit his lip to silence a swear as he took a quick step away from her. He bowed courteously, despite his haste, and cleared his throat. “A good evening to you, miss,” he uttered and spun with a showy flair of his cape to leave.

“Or, y’know, you could man up and meet him,” Shilo teased dryly to his back before she could remember the ramifications of meeting her father. If only she came from a normal family – but if she had, she wouldn’t be here now with a funny blue Drakula nervously looking back at her and whimpering. Hell, he might not even be blue if it weren’t for her freakish family.

Drakken groped at the air and wrung his gloved hands. “I-I’ll pass,” he stuttered. “If he’s anything like you, I’d rather – I’ll – it’s not that I’m a coward if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

Shilo gave him a wry smirk, because it was the best she could offer with her father’s footsteps approaching behind her, and waved him off.

She steeled herself against whatever terrible or disapproving things her pops had to say about her peculiar blue distraction as she watched the vampire dissolve into the shadows of the dark street. So what if her father had seen him? Surely it was too dark to make out any details from this distance anyway. If she just kept Pops distracted for a while, Drakken could get out of dodge, and the real threat, Hego, would be none the wiser. They’d be safe as long as she plead the fifth.

[thenickelportrust]

Informant Fluff

... or it was meant to be.

@dae-kalina wrote an absolutely fantastic fluff piece for Aelius (one of the ROs from her superb game, Son of Satan: The Mortal Coil- the tumblr for which you can find at @sosthemortalcoil) in return for breaking my heart with some equally fantastic angst pieces, and I wanted to show appreciation by returning the favor.

‘Wanted’ being the key word there.

I am sorry.

The rain lashed at your skin, cutting jagged scars of water over your arms and legs, the howling cry of the wind nipped at your feet. You could feel their grip against the slick rooftop failing you, skidding back and forth, turning what was already a flailing run for your life into even more of a chaotic mess of limbs- each diving through the air in an uncoordinated wildness, but the edge never got any closer. If you could just make it over to the next rooftop you could escape- you could get out of there- but the slick, water-logged roof refuses to let you go, keeping you firmly planted on the spot. Your hands reach out and drag your nails through the air, as if somehow you could find purchase in the unforgiving winds to drag yourself forward. But you’re still not moving. You’re not moving. It’s so far away. You can hear the clang of the metal rooftop door slapping the wall, flung open with ferocious force. You don’t dare a glance backwards, the phantoms already growing in your peripheral. Your legs burn with effort, and if you were to stop you would surely fall. Off the edge of the roof, plummet to the ground below. You can hear the footsteps approaching- heavy thuds in time with your thumping heart. Icy fingertips press into the nap of your neck, claws that dig into the skin around your throat-

You suck in a deep breath, eyes snapping open. Shivering despite the blankets wrapped around you, you pull yourself deeper into them, squeezing a fist around the fabric of the bed as you force your eyes to squeeze closed once more, the sound of your skipping heart fluttering around your ears drains out everything but the sensation of cold sweat soaked into your back. With a sigh, you unfurl your fingers and force your eyes open again. Staring directly into the crack that’s run from your apartment’s floor to its ceiling for as long as you can remember, you manage to dredge the last of your consciousness away from the nightmare. Collecting yourself in the comfort that it isn’t real.

At least not anymore.

Ok, maybe not quite as comforting as you thought. It’s too hot and too cold all at once- you kick the blankets aside and roll to the side of the bed, pressing into the scratchy carpet. Damn, you really need to get a new mattress. Everything hurts- you roll your shoulder, wincing when it cracks as soon as you stretch it out.

The walls creak as you move, and your head snaps to where shadows dart away from your line of vision as your eyes adjust to the dark. The silence seems to whisper, creeping thoughts clinging to the nightmare pressing against your brain with cruel grins that gleam in dark corners. With fumbling hands, you scour the wall for the lightswitch, filling the room with a dull orange glow as the bulb buzzes and flickers to life. The hiss of the faulty electrical system seeps from the walls, and the shadows cast by the light seem to shrink back whenever you dare to look towards them, only to creep up in your peripheral.

No. No you’re fine. You just need to stand- maybe splash some water on your face. Yeah, that will work. Then you can go back to bed and sleep and everything will be fine, right? After all, it was all just a nightmare and who has the same nightmare twice in a row, right? Right. So it’ll be even better if you just… go back to bed.

The shadow from your dresser peeks seems to peek around its edge, the black hand of a spectre crawling out just behind where you can’t see and as soon as you turn to look it slips back into the void.

Just wash off the paranoia first.

The cold medicinally clear white light of the bathroom glints off the stained tiles and semi-opaque glass of the shower. The sink sputters before bursting to life, a steady stream of cold water runs between your palms. Technically, the landlord has warned you to let it run for a minute or two before actually using it, but at this point you don’t care anymore, and bend down past the mirror to rub the cold water over your face- wake up to shed the last threads of the dream before going back to sleep.

The mirror fills with the face you refused to look back at on the rooftop, grinning too wide, one hand reaching towards the back of your nightshirt-

Your head snaps up, eyes darting wide and wild to the mirror but there’s nothing behind you. Of course there’s nothing behind you. Why wouldn’t there be nothing behind you?

The skin around your knuckles stretches into a paler shade as you grip the edge of the sink. With too much force, you shut the water off and shake out your hands, rubbing your wrists. Stepping out of the bathroom you take another longing glance at the bed but by now it’s become eerily clear that you’re not getting any sleep tonight. Not if your own brain won’t let you rest.

You need to- you need to- you need to move. To do something. Just keep yourself distracted. Throw on your coat, go outside, just for a tiny bit. It’s dark but…

Before you even have the time to consider anything else you’re already buttoning up your jacket and heading for the door. Blink, and you’re pushing open the apartment building’s entrance, taking a deep breath of crisp, cold night air. There’s no stars above when your head cranes back, not even rolling clouds turned a sickly yellowish by city lights- it’s just a blank, black canvas stretched seemingly just inches over the spiking buildings. Dark felt tugged taut across the sky where stars and the milky way should have been.

Your feet hit the pavement in a steady, fast-paced rhythm. There’s no real direction that you guide them in, just walking for the sake of walking. For the purpose of hearing that rhythm- unhurried, laid-back, alone.

Alone until it’s broken up by a second step- then a third- echoing one another, chasing yours. Your shoulders rise and you whirl around, gaze skittering about the street- where a young couple crosses across the path, arm in arm, laughing to themself with unconcerned grins. Neither of them are even aware of your existence as they cross in and out of your vision.

Deep breath, exhale, you’re fine. A tad bit paranoid, but fine.

There’s more footsteps, and your eyes continue to play pranks on your brain, putting phantasmal figures just beyond the edge of your sight, circling your brain with the haunting memory of rain against skin and slick shoes slipping over the edge- a jump not quite enough with flailing arms, fingers skimming the very edge of safety before slipping undone and-

You suck in a breath and look up- how far have you been walking? The pads of your feet have started to ache ever so slightly- where are you? You just tried to walk off everything that was still haunting your tired mind, but where did you end up?

Your head swivels until you manage to find a street sign, squinting to read it underneath the harsh glow of a bright streetlamp. Oh you… why did you end up here? Because if you’re here then that means…

There, the red brick building that’s begun to look familiar even shrouded in the dull dark blue hue of night. Your eyes trail up to the window with flowers- lilacs- you’d yet to meet the old lady that grows them but the first time he pointed out his neighbor’s window when you commented on the same flower he kept in a vase he’d mentioned that she was an extraordinarily kind woman, taking in most everyone on the floor as if they were all her grandchild. Receiving flowers on random occasions was just one example of how she cared for everyone.

The memory brings a smile to your face and, before you know it, you’re stepping up to the front buzzer. But- wait- it’s so late, he’s probably not even up. What are you doing? Just go home. You already feel better, so everything should be fine now. You don’t need to bother him by waking him and-

And you’re pressing the buzzer. Guilt gnaws at your stomach when you shove your hand back into the pocket but… You can’t say you’re particularly eager to head back out either. And, hey, maybe he really is asleep and you won’t wake him up so you’ll just turn around and head back home or perhaps call a cab. Might be better not to walk alone at night… even if you… walked alone at night all the way here.

“Hello…?” Fuck, he’s awake. Or he is now. Even through the robotic filter of the buzzer you can hear his voice is heavy and slurred with sleep. Damn, now you feel even more guilty. But it’s too late to turn back now.

“Hey, uh…” What does it say about the two of you that you know where he lives but not his name…? “It’s me. Sorry for waking you up.”

There’s a small pause before you hear the entrance’s lock click open, a quiet “Come on up.” following before the buzzer dies off.

You push open the door and, unlike your apartment which always greets you with the smell of musk and mold, find yourself wrapped in a fading, warm smell- roast chicken? You can see, down the first floor’s hallway past the lobby, light and muffled sound seeping out from the crack beneath one of the doors- sounds like a dinner party. The last shreds of darkness clinging to your coat are quickly cast away as you head for the stairs, those hissing remnants of the nightmare that woke you up already seem like a long lost memory.

Which, of course, means that by the time you actually get to his door, you feel positively foolish for having come here. You really did just need to walk it off, you’re fine, why did you wake him up again?

You try to knock lightly- maybe he passed out again and you should just turn around and leave. You certainly wouldn’t blame him for doing so. What time is it, anyway? One, two in the morning? The sun definitely hasn’t risen yet- is that good or bad?

The door swings open and your thoughts pass through blanky- filtering out in a single moment to be replaced with the twitching beginnings of a smile and a snicker as you look at him- “It’s pitch black outside, do you just sleep with those on?”

The Informant, in just a plain white t-shirt and boxer shorts, reaches up to his face and touches the edge of the sunglasses that, by the way his eyebrows rise in shock, he forgot were there. “I heard the buzzer.”

“And you thought sunglasses first, pants later?” You bite your lip to keep from laughing aloud and waking up everyone on the floor, “Good to know you’ve got your priorities straight.”

He moves to the side, and you step inside, taking in a deep breath and finding the tension that had propped your shoulders up quickly collapses, letting them fall down easily as you exhale. Cinnamon and pine- you should ask him what it is that makes this place smell of that, it’s such a nice smell, might help if you found some way to bring it to your own home.

You hear the Informant, unsuccessfully, stifle a yawn behind you as the door clicks closed. It feels funny to see him without the normally put-together look. Hair disheveled from sleep, dressed so casually, padding slowly to the kitchen- a far cry from the man you met what feels like so long ago now, a dark figure in the corner of a dimly lit bar selling you precious information. Now he just opens up the cabinet, pulling down a little container to wordlessly offer you some tea. “What kind?”

“Cinnamon.”

Well, that explains the smell. “Sure.”

You turn your back and look around the apartment- it’s all relatively plain. A long ruby red couch facing a simple television- the dust on the screen makes you think it’s not used very much. The coffee table in front of it is piled with different books- despite the fact that you can already easily spot two smaller bookshelves filled as well. That’s, perhaps, the one outstanding thing about this room, and something that stood out to you before as well. You walk around the couch, trailing the edge of the blanket folded over its back with your fingers, before stooping down to look at the book on the top of the coffee-table pile. “Their Eyes Were Watching God?”

“Zora Neale Hurston,” The Informant affirms with a slow nod, “You read it?”

“In high school,” You tap the book to your palm, “Usually I find that people tend to stray away from the ‘classics’ once they realize they’re no longer going to have to write an essay… Actually, even then, usually people tend to stray away from the ‘classics’ and just read a synopsis that analyze it all for them.”

You see the edge of his lips quirk up, “Which is why I’m reading it now.”

“No,” You gasp holding the book in front of your mouth in shock, “Don’t tell me that out of all the people you were someone who never did your reading assignments.”

He shrugs loosely, pouring steaming water into two cups.

“Here I would’ve bet that they had to create a whole curriculum for you.” You set the book to the side as he walks over and passes you one of the mugs. You wrap your fingers around it- savoring the feeling of warmth returning to your night-chilled fingertips. Taking a whiff of the tea you’re assured once more that this must be where the smell of the apartment comes from.

Cinnamon.

“I wasn’t the most obedient kid,” He admits, leaning back against the couch, you follow suit, letting your gaze roam over the rest of the books on the table as you take a long, slow sip from the cup- letting the sweet spice tea chase away the last of the cold in your bones. “But I found a couple of them in a bookstore recently and I thought it was a shame I never gave any of them a chance.”

“Look at you,” You purr with a grin, “You’re almost a mature adult- if it weren’t for your priorities.” The Informant turns to you with a quirked brow, to which you just point up to your eyes- the glasses. He snorts, hiding his smirk from behind the cup.

You sigh heavily, leaning back into the couch, your eyes start to flutter closed- the lids growing heavier, you feel yourself sliding slowly to the side. Your hands go loose in your lap- but just before the cup can tip over it’s snatched up, and you manage to shake yourself awake just enough to see the Informant brush aside some of his books and make room for the mugs on the table.

“Sorry I- damn- and here I thought I wasn’t going to be able to sleep again.”

He pauses at that, shooting you a questioning glance that you choose not to meet. Suddenly, the far window enraptured you just enough that you don’t have to meet the question that lies behind his glasses. “You know I was thinking about how weird it is that I still don’t know your name… I mean, I know where you live, I know that you were a surprisingly rebellious kid, I know that you love cinnamon tea and read more books than anybody else I know but I still don’t even know what to call you.”

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably on the couch, “Well it wasn’t exactly either your choice or mine that you ended up knowing where I live…” He trails off, “We didn’t exactly know where else to bring you- you were bleeding out and we couldn’t exactly leave you there to wait for an ambulance…”

You grit your jaw, squeezing your fingers into the palm of your hand- as if you could squeeze away the feeling of the concrete edge of the next roof slipping just beyond your grasp.

Still you force a laugh- dry and fake, not even a enough to convince yourself, “You’re telling me. I’m the one still waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat over it all before somehow ending up in front of your door even though I really didn’t mean to come here I just wanted to go somewhere safe and my home wasn’t really feelin’ it but then again I’m fairly sure that my landlord’s backup plan is to start reaching out to movie producer’s to advertize it for horror movie films so big surprise there, yeah?”

You fold your arms over yourself, digging your teeth into the side of your cheek until it stings and you’re about half sure you draw some blood. You feel the couch dip down when the Informant moves towards you, but you’re head is kept down and away, focused on not shaking like some… ridiculous child and maintaining whatever dignity it is you have left. If any.

Still, all that washes away when his hands brush over your cheeks, gently nudging your head up to meet his gaze. You lean into the touch, your jaw relaxing- though your fluttering heart doesn’t slow, it feels calmer than before, not quite so violent against your ribcage. You manage to detangle your hands from around yourself, instead you reach forward- and with just the slightest tug against his shirt the Informant pulls you into a tight embrace. You bury your face into his neck and tangle your hands around his still-mussed-up hair, breathing deeply to steady yourself.

Cinnamon.

“You’re safe.”

Two words. Two words and you feel like crying. Or laughing. Or just… just…

You end up doing a mix of both, hiding it all in the crook of his neck. The Informant doesn’t let you go until you’re done, rubbing little circles into the small of your back with the pad of his thumb. Even by the time you finish, he doesn’t let go- and neither do you, glad that he seems, at the very least, willing to let you hold on for just a moment longer.

Just a moment.

You just need a moment.

He pulls back first, your hands only reluctantly sliding from his back to his shoulders, still unwilling to let go completely- lucky for you, he simply moves to hold your face again, brushing aside streaks of tears with the back of his hand. Even past the dark glasses you can spot his eyes roaming around your face. The smile comes easier this time, much more natural. “I’m okay, now.” It feels true. A long breath out as the weight lifts from your chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” You let yourself lean into his touch again- you don’t bother to suppress the joy when he doesn’t pull away, you don’t even bother to try and question it. It just… feels natural, the right thing to do. “I know I woke you up when I came here and I should apologize but… Selfish as it may sound, I’m actually really not all that sorry.”

“I’m glad you did.” It’s hard to say why either of your voices drop into a whisper- the moment feels… fragile, as if the slightest word said too-loud or misplaced breath could break it. And perhaps it’s because of that feeling that you wish your heart were quieter, too, thumping heavily in your chest. Though it’s not like before, it’s nothing like before.

You reach over to the corner of his sunglasses- ridiculous sunglasses- and gently pull them away from his face. The Informant does move when you place them to the side, unable to school the small smile from your face when you can finally see his full face. His look mirrors your own, and you reach over- brushing the edge of your fingers underneath his uncovered eyes, over the curve of his ear, down to his jaw, along the bottom line of his lips. Your thumb hesitates there, eyes flicking up to meet his eyes again as you give his lower lip a little tug with the pad of your finger. He curls his hands around the curve of your jaw, and soon the both of you press forward- brushing your lips against his as you loop your arms around his neck.

The night may have started in a cold sweat, flailing and frantic, but this was slow, soft, the gentle brush of your lips before you pulled away- eyes still closed, to breathe in deeply through your nose. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, mouth curving into a smile.

He tastes like cinnamon.

[bellarkefanfiction]

And I Thought You Might Be Mine

*click through to read on ao3

Written by: Nai | @hiddenpolkadots​ Prompt: Tol: is that my shirt? Smol, wearing a shirt that goes down to their knees: ... no words: 2500

Bellamy is aware that living with Clarke was going to come with some challenges.

(Or, as Octavia put it, rather excitedly, “It’s going to be a total fucking shitshow, and Raven and I have a bet going on who would commit murder first.”)

But despite their friends utmost certainty that things were going to crash and burn within the first week, they’ve been happily living together for the past six months, so he made sure to tell them to suck it after they hit the two week mark, because he’s a responsible adult.

That isn’t to say that it’s a walk in the park either. He and Clarke still argue about every little thing, but that’s just how they communicate. Now they just add arguing about domestic things such as whose turn it is to do the dishes, or why hasn’t he taken out the trash yet into the mix as well. He maybe likes it a bit too much, but no one needs to know about that.

He’s also become privy to a lot more of her quirks which- he likes to think that being friends, or at least acquaintances, with Clarke for over four years meant that he knew her fairly well, but once they move in, it becomes a whole other story.

For example, he learns that despite being left handed, she brushes her hair and teeth with her right, she always has to keep a full cup of water on her bedside table at night, and she needs more pillows than necessary to sleep.

Perhaps the most interesting quirk of hers is that she’s always stealing his clothes, all the fucking time.

At first she starts off small; she moves in with him near the end of autumn, when the chill lurks heavily in the air, and Bellamy guesses that he’s partially to blame for starting the whole thing.

“Where’s your scarf?” he frowns when she meets him out by the car.

She shrugs, shoving her hands in her coat pockets. “No idea. I don’t think I unpacked it yet.”

She says it easily enough, as though it’s not some big deal that she’s walking around with her throat exposed, just begging to catch a cold, and his jaw drops.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, immediately unknotting his and looping it around her neck. He has on a turtleneck sweater under his coat, he’ll be fine. “It’s like you want to die.”

“I don’t need you to mother me,” she snaps, even as she fixes it properly, and Bellamy just grumbles under his breath about her irresponsibility while ushering her to the car.

He doesn’t get the scarf back after that. In fact, he loses a handful of other objects to her as well: his red knit beanie, a pair of gloves, he even spots her puttering around the apartment in one of his sweaters one time, a thick grey cableknit that hangs off her tiny frame and it had him almost walking into a wall.

“Don’t you have your own clothes?” he asks, watching as she climbs up on a chair to pack the dishes away on the top shelf.

She just throws a baleful glare at him. “I do, but someone refuses to turn the heat up and it was either this or my winter coat.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just pulls a face and wanders out of the kitchen.

A couple hours later Clarke pads into his room, her sock clad feet sliding against the floor. “You know, you could have told me you turned the heat up like a normal person instead of hiding out and waiting for me to realise,” she says, leaning against the desk. She’s slipped out of the sweater to reveal the tighter fitting long sleeve she wore underneath, and holds the sweater in her hands.

Bellamy shrugs, tapping his pen against the outside of his thigh. “But where’s the fun in that?” he asks with a smarmy smile, and she throws the sweater at his face with a huff.

“You’re such a dick,” she tells him, struggling to keep her grin at bay, before she turns on her heel to leave.

“You knew that and still chose to move in with me!” he calls after her retreating figure, and then snorts when she flips him off behind her back.

It doesn’t do anything to dissuade her from taking his clothes; quite the contrary in fact. He gets used to seeing her in his oversized sweaters, stealing his hoodies at the movie theatre, shrugging his flannel shirts over her t-shirts and tank tops when the weather starts to warm up.

He doesn’t know how or when she gets her hands on them since she never comes into his room unless necessary, but each time she goes out wearing something of his, it sends a little thrill through his heart, and he thinks about what other people might see when they look at her dressed like that while out with him, yearning for the day that it might actually be true.

Bellamy isn’t completely inept at emotions, no matter what his sister might say. He’s aware of his feelings for Clarke, and has been for a while.

Aware in the sense that he knows that he likes working out their monthly budget together and bickering over groceries, and he’d like to continue doing all of this for the rest of his life, ideally while being able to hold her hand and kiss her whenever he wanted.

(And maybe eventually adopt a dog, get married, have a few kids… he has a long term plan here, one that sounds ridiculously sappy if spoken aloud.)

He’s more than content to keep his relationship with Clarke where it is though, nothing more than friendship and roommates, and he doesn’t plan on jeopardising that anytime soon.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from coming startlingly close to doing just that one evening when he comes home early from work, and finds her in nothing but an oversized blue t shirt- his oversized blue t-shirt- as she enthusiastically lip syncs along to the boppy pop song blasting from the speakers as she cleans.

For a moment he can’t do anything but stare; at the miles of creamy smooth skin left uncovered, at her unruly curls fighting against the constraints of the hair tie keeping it bound on the top of her head, at the slight shimmy of her hips that leaves him ducking his head, a fond grin making itself known.

And then he ends up swearing out loud as he bangs his knee against the side of the entryway dresser, causing her to whip around with a shriek.

“Fucking Christ,” he wheezes, leaning against the wall as he clutches his kneecap.

“Are you alright?” she asks, immediately dropping the cloth she was using to wipe down the coffee table as she walks over, hands fluttering about him.

He bats them away impatiently, straightening up. “I’m fine, I’m fine; I was just… distracted. Wasn’t watching where I was going,” he tells her, feeling a dull flush creep up the back of his neck.

She still watches him warily, even as he limps over to the couch to sit. “If you’re sure,” she says, before flashing him a smirk, “I know you’re an old man and all that. Wouldn’t want to have to take you in to get a knee replacement.”

“Shut up or I’ll cancel the Thai take out I ordered.”

“You are young and lean and sparkling from that youthful glow,” she corrects herself promptly, and he can’t help but bark out a laugh. Clarke grins down at him and says, “I’m still going to get you an ice pack for that knee though. Just in case,” before squeezing his shoulder and walking away.

He watches her leave- or, more accurately, he watches how the hem of the shirt trails high on her thigh, barely covering anything and causing his mouth to go dry- before he tips his head back and groans, eyes screwed shut.

It’s not like it’s a secret that she steals his clothes to wear from time to time, but she’s usually wearing them with other things, not alone where he can catch a glimpse of the lime green cotton of her underwear if she so much as stretches her arms up. He vaguely wonders if her bra is the same colour before realising that her shoulder was bare the entire time, without a strap to be found, and he groans again.

That thought alone is enough to drive him mad, and he finally ends up blurting out, “Is that my shirt?” when she returns.

Really, it’s a miracle that he managed to last as long as he did without asking.

Clarke freezes like a deer in headlights, knuckles turning bone white as she grasps the ice pack tightly.

“Um… no?” she says hesitantly, cheeks aflame.

It’s a weak lie, and they both know it; in addition to it obviously being several sizes too big, it’s cut in a men’s style, and he’s had it for so long, that he would recognise it anywhere, from the rip in the left sleeve to the small holes that dot the collar. He lifts a single, incredulous eyebrow, and her blush darkens.

“Well, you weren’t supposed to find out,” she says defensively, crossing her arms. “I forgot to do laundry and this was right there so I-”

“It wasn’t ‘right there’,” he interrupts with a shake of his head, “I haven’t worn that shirt in forever; it’s been relegated to the back of my closet.”

“Can’t you at least let me save face with one lie?” she huffs, and he cracks a grin.

“Nope,” he says, popping the p, and she kicks him lightly in the shins. “Careful, I’m already injured.”

“You’ll live,” she says dryly, and hands over the ice pack.

He mutters his thanks as he takes it, fixing it atop his throbbing knee, before looking back up at her. Clarke is still standing in front of him in just the stupid shirt, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and he should probably leave before he does something very stupid, very impulsive, or both.

Still, that doesn’t stop him from asking, curious, “Why this one though? Why not something else?”

She shrugs, dropping her gaze, and her flush- which had only just started to fade- returns with a vengeance.

“No comment,” she says stiffly, picking at a loose thread.

“Aw, come on princess-”

“I really rather not-”

“How embarrassing can it be?”

“Surprisingly, very,” she says self deprecatingly.

He continues to nudge her repeatedly with his foot, until she kicks him again, this time harder and he grins. “You’re so fucking annoying,” she tells him.

“I spend my days around teenagers; it was bound to diffuse over eventually.”

“No, you were still annoying before you started teaching,” she says. “Perhaps moreso.”

He nudges her again, “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“Because I like this one,” she snaps, rolling her eyes. “Are you happy now? I like this one and it looks good on you and I was sad you stopped wearing it.”

It’s a lot to take in, Clarke standing there, chest heaving and cheeks painted red as she looks anywhere but at him.

Bellamy swallows thickly, and then, ever so slowly, he lets his fingers slip into hers.

“If it helps, you look good in it,” he says, trying to keep his voice light despite the fact that it feels like his heart has migrated up to his throat, thudding loudly. “Probably even better than me.”

“It’s not that hard to look better than you,” she teases, but she also squeezes his fingers back in return.

“I’m trying to have a moment here, goddammit,” he huffs, even as a truly stupid smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “You’ve ruined the moment, Clarke, I hope you’re happy.”

She ducks her head, and a soft chuckle slips out. “Sorry for ruining your moment,” she says, “Carry on now. I’ll behave.”

“I don’t think I want to,” he replies, just to be difficult.

“Such a baby,” she grins widely, and twists their hands so that their fingers are linked. “I don’t even know why I like you.”

“Well, I don’t even know why I like you,” he counters, even as he tugs her closer.

As far as romantic declarations go, it’s not his finest moment, nor is it how he ever pictured letting her in on his little secret, but then Clarke is still grinning as she slides onto his lap, and his hands automatically go to her hips, holding her steady.

When he leans in to kiss her, it’s like a bowstring being released, and a flood of relief rushes out of him when her hand twines into his hair, pressing her lips firmly against his. They trade languid kisses back and forth, so slow and soft and sweet that Bellamy is certain that he would melt right at that moment. There’s nothing else left in this world, nothing but Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, all smooth skin, and breathy sighs, and a curtain of gold hair that falls around them when he manages to get the elastic out.

Neither of them go far when they part; she rests her head on his shoulder for a moment, breathing him in, and he shift his arm to loop around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Hi,” she says, bumping her nose against his jaw. There’s a gigantic grin splitting her face, and Bellamy is certain that it’s mirrored on his own.

“Hi,” he replies, kissing her forehead.

“As much as I’m sure I look good in your shirt, I’m also sure that I’ll look good out of it too,” she breathes, pointedly rocking down on top of him as she presses their foreheads together. “Maybe even better.”

He just laughs, pulling her back down for a searing kiss, during which Clarke takes the chance to lick the mirth out of his mouth, and he lets his free hand rest against her neck, feeling her fluttering pulse.

“Well we’ll just have to find out, don’t we?” he says, after he pulls away, and then stands suddenly, making her shriek and wrap her limbs around him so that she doesn’t fall.

“You’re such a dick,” she laughs once she regains her footing, still leaning into him with her arms around his neck.

“But you like me,” he says cheekily, and her smile turns into something softer, more intimate.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, playing with the ends of his hair, “yeah, I like you.”

It feels like his heart has expanded several sizes in the past few minutes, and he’s about to float away with how happy he’s become. Instead, he just cups her jaw, thumb swiping over her cheekbone as he says, “I like you too,” and then kisses her once more, just because he can.

[dutifullysassybirdy-blog]

Fantasy ~Part 1

Genre: Smut (+18)

Characters: Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Jeon Jungkook and OC.

Description: Things would be so much simpler if it weren’t for her fantasies.

“Which one of you lucky bastards is nailing Jisoo?” Jung Hoseok leaned against the back of the sofa, beer in hand, and glanced at the other two men. “It isn’t me, and she glows too much to be going without.”

Jeon Jungkook raised a dark brow. “I assumed it was one of you, since she’s put me firmly in the boss category.”

Park Jimin eyed the object of their mutual desire through the window as she bustled around the patio table, setting the last of the party favors in place. She wore another of those long, summery skirts that hid her lush ass. But in deference to the early September heat, she’d donned a little white tank top that hugged the ripe curves of her breasts. Sunlight poured golden over her pale skin and mahogany curls. Jisoo was like something out of time, one of those women who could have modeled for the masters of oil and canvas long ago. Just a glance at her made his dick stiff. Fantasies of her on her back, legs splayed for him, could make him come in record time.

“I guess Jimin is the lucky winner,” Hoseok groused.

“Me?” He jerked his gaze back to the other guys. “No. I’m stuck in the friend zone, man. She put me there when we were four, and I haven’t been out since.”

“At least she’s put you two in a category,” Hoseok complained. “I don’t think she knows I’m alive half the time unless she runs out of coffee or needs me to fix her cantankerous bathtub. Then she needs a good neighbor.”

A collective quiet settled over the trio as they all contemplated the question that Jungkook finally voiced. “Who, then?”

“No one at night,” Hoseok offered. “I’ve got sweet views inside her bedroom.”

And he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of them, Jimin would bet. Unscrupulous but lucky bastard.

“She’s always home and always alone,” he went on. “Unless you count battery-operated boyfriends.”

“You’ve seen her masturbate?” Jungkook nearly came out of his chair.

Jimin nearly came, period.

Hoseok smiled. “Oh, yeah. Our Jisoo has a healthy sex drive.” His smile took a nosedive. “She’s just not getting any from me, at least not while she’s at home. At the office? Nooners, maybe?”

Jungkook shook his head. “No. I keep her busy, half because I can’t stand the thought that she could get laid at lunch, and I wouldn’t be participating.”

“The only time she disappears is to go to your place,” Hoseok pointed out to Jimin, his look expectant.

“I swear, as much as I’d love to lie, we watch action flicks together, but we’re not making any action. I’ve tried a hundred times to think of ways I could bring sex up without ruining the friendship—or having her laugh in my face. So far, I’m striking out.”

Silence lingered. Jimin bet that, individually, the trio had often wondered who Jisoo shared that sweet body with. Frankly, his money had been on Jungkook. Tall, dark, handsome, rich, intense … What woman wouldn’t want that? Except Jisoo had never been a typical woman. She liked Stallone movies, football, and beer. In the same week, she might also salsa dance, buy a Coach purse, and then attend a lecture at the local college about the discovery of new black holes in the universe. She was always a puzzle.

This was the first time they’d ever discussed their mutual desire for Jisoo. Sure, he’d known the other two were hard for her. Hoseok practically followed her with his tongue dragging the floor, and Jungkook watched her with those sharp, dark eyes that missed nothing. Like the others, he’d assumed one of them was Jisoo’s lover. Unless someone was lying, but this conversation gave him a lot of hope.

“So …” Hoseok started. “If she’s not doing the horizontal mambo with her best friend, her boss, or her neighbor, who the hell is she fucking?”

The answer came to Jimin like a comet through his brain. He drowned the sizzle it roused with a long swallow of beer. Or tried to. Nothing doused his need for Jisoo.

No one,” he said finally. “She was twenty-one when she lost her virginity.”

Jimin remembered it vividly, though he’d really like to forget. Kangta the smooth talker had finally persuaded her onto her back by lying about his feelings for her. Jisoo had called Jimin in furious tears when she’d discovered that his feelings only lasted as long as the orgasm and extended to the next coed a week later. His Jisoo never gave herself easily, and since Kangta, she never did unless she was sure. As far as he knew, she’d had only one other lover, Yoongi, the musician she’d nearly married. Close call, that. But Jimin couldn’t fault her. He’d genuinely liked Yoongi, even if he’d been jealous as hell. Jisoo had been the one to decide that twenty-three was too young to get married. Yoongi, believing he had met the love of his life, hadn’t wanted to wait. They parted, no harm, no foul. She even exchanged Christmas cards with Yoongi and his new wife.

Many tried to get into Jisoo’s panties. She took none of them seriously. He, Jungkook, and Hoseok were good examples.

“Yeah, she doesn’t sleep around that I can see,” Hoseok agreed.

“She’s never so much as flirted with anyone at the office.”

“And that leaves us where?” Hoseok asked.

“Fucked, and not in the pleasant way.” Jimin sighed. “Plan, anyone?”

~*~*~*~

Kim Jisoo cast a nervous glance inside the living room. Her guys were talking intently. They’d all been a part of her life for at least the last three years, so they knew each other. Were even friends … of a sort. But she’d bet none of them had a clue how she felt about them all. She feared their reaction if they did.

Thank God this party would be under way soon. Let someone else wade through the testosterone in her living room. Once it had started getting thick, she’d had to dash outside. It was either that or overheat.

“Need help, honey?” Jimin stuck his head out the French doors.

That wild wavy blonde hair of his made her hands itch to trim it, run her fingers through it. But it was his soft eyes melted her every time. He had the biggest heart—and the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.

“I’m good. But could you guys find that cooler in the garage and ice down the drinks in the fridge?”

“Will do.” He hesitated. “You okay?”

She avoided his gaze. If she looked at him—at any of them—no telling what her eyes would reveal. Jungkook would be furious, Jimin hurt, and Hoseok … he’d figure it out as he went.

Focused on the plastic flatware she set on her patio table, Jisoo murmured, “Great. When people start coming in, just send them out back.”

Jimin sighed, Something was off with him, with all of the guys. It wasn’t football season yet, so no one’s favorite team had lost recently. Jimin never let work stress him out. She wondered if he was having girlfriend trouble … then decided she didn’t want to know.

The door shut, and she breathed a sigh of relief. If she could just make it through the afternoon with those three, then shoo them out after the party, she could escape to her fantasy life. At least four hours to go. Damn! She glanced at her watch and started counting …

~*~*~*~

“Anything?” Jungkook asked as soon as he shut the door.

“Nah, man. She’s in her own world.” One that didn’t include them. Jimin resisted the urge to curse.

“What do you think she wants in a man?” Hoseok asked.

“If I were an expert, I wouldn’t be telling you. I’d be dating her myself.”

Jungkook nodded. “She doesn’t seem to care about money. God knows, I tried that route.”

“Nope.” Jimin grabbed another beer, then headed for the garage, motioning the others to join him. “She’s more than comfortable with her ability to make her own money.”

“She’s also not impressed by anything with a fast engine. I tried that, too,” Jungkook confessed.

“Hey, I mowed my lawn shirtless for a month, then struck up conversations with her, hoping she’d look. Her gaze stayed glued above on my neck.” Hoseok muttered, a pout playing at his lips.

Jimin retrieved the cooler, then opened the freezer in her garage and started dumping in bags of ice. The others joined in.

“I’ve been her confidant, her shoulder to cry on, her prom date when hers dumped her at the last minute … None of that did me any good either.”

“You knew Yoongi. What was he like?” Jungkook spoke in low tones. Always. Yet his voice carried the snap of subtle demand.

“Easygoing. Calm and collected. Kind of a wandering spirit.”

“That leaves me out,” Jungkook brooded as he began to toss beers, wine coolers, water, and soft drinks into the cooler.

“But her boyfriend prior to that was a successful guy who owned a few jewelry stores. Flashy dresser. Of course, he was an asshole, too. I don’t think she would put you in that mold or you wouldn’t be here,” he told Jungkook, then wondered why he was trying to make the competition feel better.

Truth was, he liked both Jungkook and Hoseok. And it felt good to finally be talking about the elephant in the room.

They finished icing down the drinks in relative quiet, but Jimin’s brain was working overtime. A glance at Jungkook—whose brain never stopped—proved Jisoo’s boss was lost in his own ruminations, too.

Until he spoke. “Would all of you agree that we’d rather see Jisoo happy with one of us than some bastard who might mistreat her?”

Jimin hesitated, then glanced at Hoseok. Finally, they both nodded. Yeah, he’d hate like hell to let her go, but if he couldn’t have her, he’d at least be happier knowing that she was with someone who wanted her, had genuine feelings for her, would take care of her.

“Me, too,” Jungkook offered. “I think Jimin is right, gentlemen. What we need is a plan.”

“Plan?”

Jimin laughed at Hoseok’s confusion. The firefighter was a great guy … but Hoseok and a plan combined as well as gasoline and margarita mix.

“We’ve got to find out what’s in her head.” And her heart, Jimin decided. But they had to start small. Forever and ever amen, picket fence, and two point two kids was a lofty place to begin. First, they had to know what she wanted in a date, in a lover. Who, if anyone, was on her mind.

“How?” Jungkook asked, getting right to the heart of the problem as usual. “Does she keep a diary?”

“Not that I know of … but it’s not as if Jisoo tells me everything.” Jimin shrugged, lamenting that fact.

“She might have a journal. No doubt she’s capable of writing more than a grocery list,” Hoseok drawled.

“Jisoo is a bit private. I’m not sure she’d write her feelings down.”

“Maybe because she is private, she’d be more likely to pour her feelings out on paper than to another human being.” Jungkook pinned his gaze on Jimin. “Or does she have some really close girlfriend I don’t know about?”

“No. To her, most women like shopping and gossip and those Grey’s Anatomy-type shows, which she hates.”

Hoseok frowned. “Yeah. Not Jisoo’s style.”

“So now what?” Jimin ran his hand through his unruly hair.

“Could you have one of those best friend heart-to-hearts?”

“Yeah.” Hoseok warmed to the subject. “See if she’ll spill.”

“Tried that. She blushed and said that talking to me about her fantasies and her ultimate man was crossing the friend line. I told her it was because I was seeking a girlfriend and wanted her advice. She was sure that her wants wouldn’t necessarily match anyone else’s and ended the conversation.”

“Damn.”

“Exactly. There must be some way to trip her up or persuade her into a tell-all mood so we can learn what she wants and who she has feelings for,” Jungkook murmured.

“Get her drunk?”

Jimin reached over and swatted Hoseok on the head. “No, you idiot. Something that won’t have her puking or give her a headache. You know Jisoo doesn’t handle her liquor well. I’d rather try something less sneaky.”

When Jimin reached down to lift one half of the enormous cooler by a handle, Hoseok lifted the other. “I would too, brother, but the up-and-up isn’t working.”

Jungkook held the garage door open. “He’s right.”

“What are you suggesting?” Jimin asked. “Seducing her?”

“Tried that.” Jungkook sighed as they traversed the house, cooler in hand. “She sidestepped me, then set me up on a blind date with a Barbie who had an equally plastic personality.”

“I tried, too.” Hoseok lowered the cooler by the back door, then glanced out at Jisoo, who stood in the shade, face raised to the sky, eyes closed, basking in the sun. “She giggled and started making jokes about firemen who think with their hose.

“I can’t seduce her,” Jimin admitted. “First, I’m not a ladies’ man, and second, I’d lose her. She thinks of me as someone she can rely on—”

“Which is why you’re stuck in the friend zone, dude,” Hoseok chastised. “You’ve never tried to make her see you as a man?”

“I kissed her once.”

“Yeah?” That got Hoseok’s attention.

“But we were thirteen, and her comment afterward was that Kim Taehyung kissed better.”

Hoseok doubled over with laughter. Even single-minded Jungkook cracked a smile.

“What we need is evidence.”

Dark brow raised, Hoseok glared at Jungkook. “Spoken like an attorney.”

“I am one; sue me.” The attorney smiled, and something about his eyes reminded Jimin why the guy billed out at two grand an hour. Suddenly, he shot Hoseok a cunning stare. “You firemen have interesting ways of gaining access to a house, right?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Yes, with all the subtlety of a sledge-hammer.”

“I have a key, guys,” Jimin offered.

“Give it to him,” Jungkook snapped. “I’m going to call Jisoo after the party, make up some emergency. You”—he stared at Hoseok—“are going to sneak in. Look around, in that monster closet of hers, through her home office… See if she keeps a journal or mementos or has written anything personal on her laptop. Check her correspondence, her voice mails. Scroll through her recent calls and see if she’s reached out to anyone.”

“I don’t know, dude … It seems so invasive. What about her privacy? What if she catches me?”

Jungkook’s stare lost what little levity it had. He looked as if he were resisting grabbing Hoseok by the shirt and shaking some sense into him. “Be careful, and she won’t. Just get us some information or we’ll all be stuck in this hell indefinitely.”

Hoseok sighed. “Fuck.”

“Call both of us as soon as you’ve finished your reconnaissance.” Jungkook directed. “Then collectively we’ll decide the best course of action, regardless of what you find, agreed?”

“Count me in.”

Jimin hesitated. He didn’t like spying on Jisoo. He didn’t like lying to her or invading her privacy … but he also didn’t like being cut off from the woman he adored. He hadn’t made any progress with her since that chaste tweener kiss. Fifteen years later, maybe it was time to try something new.

Hoping like hell he didn’t regret this, he handed Hoseok Jisoo’s house key.