#found this while verifying what skins were used when

[tango-but-everywhere]

Looking fancy, ready for war.

Grian, season 6 episode 44

[ID: a minecraft screenshot from hermitcraft 6, taken at the civil warzone’s flagpole. It’s an empty field at the moment, though there’s a tudor house in the background that I believe might be Wels’. Could be wrong though. In front of the viewer, Grian, is Iskall, Jevin, Tango and Stress. They’re all in various soldier-themed outfits, though Iskall’s is sort of a bright navy where everyone else’s is brown, and Stress’ hat is a red beret and she’s got more medals. Jevin is crouching right next to Iskall, Tango is walking sort of toward Grian, Stress and Iskall are both kind of just standing there. Iskall and Tango are holding tridents, Stress something yellow, impossible to tell what, possibly a baked potato. End ID]

Don’t forget to vote in the polls ^-^

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 19 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, ANGST & FLUFF (i mean it, watch out), SLOW BURN

words: 14.5k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 19 ► so dig two graves, ‘cause when you die, i swear i’ll be leaving by your side

When the tour bus arrived in Glasgow, you realised that you had slept perhaps a quarter of an hour in total tonight. Discomfort and Regret had become unwelcome companions that kept you up.

Last night, you had planned to talk to Jungkook, but he flipped the script and did all the talking instead. And if you had to describe your choices from then on, you’d have to accept that, essentially, you had run away without saying anything.

You realised now, through tossing and turning in your bunk the whole bus journey, that this was your recurring pattern.

When you and Jungkook first broke up, you’d barricaded yourself in your apartment and only ventured outside when it was unavoidable, like to go to work. Or when your friends forced you out of bed. They tolerated your need for silence in moderation—a few days of self-imposed isolation were okay. But two consecutive weeks was a little excessive.

In Stockholm, the impulse to run away had gripped you right after your conversation on the bridge sank abruptly in the waters below. In Oslo, you had actually run away after you’d almost kissed. You could still feel the shivers on your skin from the cold night air on the rooftop terrace. And, of course, you’d also planned to avoid him when you arrived in Manchester.

It was a pattern that was doomed to end in failure every time, yet you stubbornly refused to give it up.

You wanted to escape the feelings that frightened you, but they only ran faster. They chased after you like daunting shadows. They caught up with you. They engulfed you.

This perpetual cycle wasn’t just futile, it was also unfair—to you and to Jungkook. And to Rated Riot, too.

It had gone on for too long.

You were determined to redeem that today.

While Jungkook and the boys were doing an interview on a local radio station after the soundcheck, you chose to stay at the venue to work. Initially, you only intended to answer internal company emails and update the label executives, but unsurprisingly, that morphed into more tasks that needed your immediate attention.

Seated at your laptop in the band’s dressing room, you spent a good couple of hours finalising Rated Riot’s schedule for the rest of the week, emailing back journalists and verifying their credentials before issuing backstage passes for upcoming interviews, and humming along to a tune playing in your headphones.

It was then—during the chorus of an old Bad Omens song that was loud and messy enough to keep your mind alert and focused—that Seokjin decided to tap you on the back.

You jumped up as high as it was humanly possible and pushed your laptop away as if to protect it from intruders—which was what your mind assumed Seokjin to be, apparently. He took a step back, shocked and very entertained by your violent startle.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, attempting to suppress a smile. “You’ve been—you’ve been working here by yourself for hours. I’m taking a coffee break. Want to join me?”

With one hand pressed to your chest, you slid your headphones off and checked the time on the corner of your laptop screen. “Uh, sure. Coffee sounds nice.”

The two of you found a quaint café a few blocks from Barrowland where Rated Riot would be playing later that evening. But despite the cosy setting, you chose to grab your coffee to-go. It was a warm, sunny day outside. Seokjin thought you could use some fresh air.

“So,” he said eagerly, as soon as the café bell tinkled, announcing your exit, “what’s on your mind?”

You met his question with surprise. “What do you mean?”

He maintained an air of nonchalance, sipping his Americano and observing casually, “your pupils are massive. You look like you’re planning a revolution. Or a massacre.”

You took a sip of your drink and regretted not stirring the caramel in better. You wondered what it would be by the end of tonight: revolution or massacre.

“I was—well, it’s nothing much,” you said. “I was just thinking that things might be different when we got home.”

“How so?”

The two of you crossed the street towards a small, vibrant green space—not quite a park—with a tree-lined pathway in the middle and an old blue police box nearby, reminiscent of Doctor Who.

“Well,” you said, “I hear Brazil is really nice that time of year.”

“You’re thinking of going on holiday?” Seokjin asked, surprised. He’s known you since you joined the company, even before you started to manage Rated Riot, and he was well aware of your lack of holidays. The HR department, however, remained blissfully ignorant about it.

You shrugged. “For starters.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll see.”

The ambiguity in your response wasn’t worrying in itself, but combined with your reluctance to meet his gaze and the intense concentration on your coffee—even though you winced every time you took a sip—it was certainly alarming.

“You’re not… going to quit, are you?” he asked hesitantly. “I’ve heard about Reconnaissance.”

Of course, he’d heard. At this point, enough people knew about it for the news to have a ripple effect and circulate backstage.

“No,” you said, trying to dispel the tension with an airy laugh. “Of course not.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I’d find a replacement first.”

Seokjin’s casual stride came to an abrupt halt. A few steps ahead, you realised he’d stopped and turned around.

“No,” he said.

His firm declaration made you stutter. “Th-that—that wasn’t a question.”

“And that’s not an option,” he argued. “You can’t quit.”

“I’m not saying I’m leaving for sure. I’m just saying that if I did leave, you wouldn’t even notice the difference,” you said. “I’m a very good teacher.”

With that, you started to walk away, leaving him little choice but to catch up.

“And I love all of you guys,” you continued while Seokjin grunted next to you. “I wouldn’t leave you with someone I didn’t personally trust to take care of you and the band.”

He shook his head, his determination unwavering. If he had known about the band members’ conviction that no one would blame you if you left Rated Riot due to the alluring offer from Reconnaissance, Seokjin might have been tempted to express his disagreement with his fists.

Of course, people would blame you—Seokjin was the people in question.

You belonged here. You were an essential part of the team.

He was convinced of this, and he was going to be annoying about it.

“Okay, I appreciate that,” he said, his tone tinged with incredulity. “Except, what the fuck are you thinking? Of course, we’d notice the difference! You’re you. We love you.”

“That means a lot—”

“But not enough?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the intensity of his anger. “No, it’s—”

“Alright, look.” He stopped walking again, the paper cup of coffee in his hand more of an accessory than a beverage. “Is this about Jungkook?”

An unexpected heat surged through you and a cascade of excuses immediately raced through your mind. You scanned the pathway, reading the names of the bands imprinted into the pavement with colourful stripes—artists who’d performed at Barrowland before, you assumed—so you wouldn’t have to look at him.

But this was Seokjin. If there was anyone who knew everything that was going on in the band, it was him. You didn’t want to give him pretend reasons.

“In part,” you admitted.

“Well, if that’s the case, then it’s an even more definite no,” he asserted, his resolve unyielding.

You sighed and attempted to smile, but there was a hint of awkwardness in your expression. “I’m not taking votes, Jin. I’ll talk to Jungkook about this, and—”

“You can talk to anyone you like. All the gods you can find, even,” he interrupted. “But you’re not leaving.”

“Jin—”

“Look, when you accepted this job, the fact that you and Jungkook used to know each other didn’t matter,” he stated, tactfully omitting the word ‘relationship’—a nuance you appreciated. “What difference does it make now?”

As you bit your lip and lowered your eyes, Seokjin sensed that there was a difference, after all. It occurred to him that perhaps he wasn’t entirely up to speed on everything that was happening on the tour, after all.

“Okay, you don’t want to talk about it, and I’m not asking you to,” he said, his words gentle, but his tone strict. “What I’m saying is that nobody cares. You can date, you can break up, you can—I don’t know. You can pretty much do anything as long as you don’t kill each other. No one cares.”

“The label cares,” you blurted, the words unpolished and agitated. “I care.”

He waved his free hand dismissively. “The label cares about profit. We’re making a profit from you both. Maybe even more when you’re together because you’re both less annoying that way.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “How are we annoying?”

“Are you kidding? All mopey and sulky?” He stuck his tongue out and pretended to gag. “You make me sick and miserable.”

You snickered softly at the dramatic display. “Fair. Sorry. But fact is, it’s still a good opportunity.”

“Well, sure,” he conceded. “But is that really the reason you want to leave? Or is it because you think that what you’re doing with Jungkook is wrong? You think others will disapprove or think less of you. You think this is highly unprofessional, and it would make more sense to work elsewhere.”

It felt oddly incongruous to hear him articulate—so easily, without a moment’s hesitation—everything that you had been thinking.

“Well, that’s a factor, too, of course…” you said, your voice faltering.

“I think that’s the main factor.”

Taking a sip of your coffee, you mumbled, “I think you think too much.”

“I think you don’t think enough,” he countered. “You can’t leave, not even for Reconnaissance. You’re part of the team, our team. We all are.”

You looked at him, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly—waiting, clearly, for you to admit defeat.

While you didn’t technically need his consent to quit, the sheer determination in his stance made you feel as though his approval was, indeed, a prerequisite for anyone choosing to leave.

“Now you’re making me feel guilty,” you said.

“As you should!” he said—nearly bellowing in his frustration. “But you should feel guilty about mistakenly thinking that you should leave. Not about being in love with him.”

His words struck a deep chord and your heart began to rattle violently in your chest. “I’m—right. Yeah. I need to talk to him about—about everything.”

His tone softened at your reaction.

“I think you should sit down for ten minutes and gather your thoughts before you do that,” he advised. “You should sit and accept that we don’t care if you go out with Jungkook. Whatever you decide, we’re all cool with it. As long as you are, too.”

Afraid that your eyes would betray your thoughts, you shifted your gaze to the silver barks of the graceful birch trees around you. “Do you know about the bet?”

Seokjin took a slow sip of his coffee to allow more time between these overlapping conversations.

“Yeah,” he said. “Is that... uh, have you two worked it out?”

“We’ve—I think we have. I think the bet wasn’t even the main issue, actually, it just—it sort of highlighted all our problems,” you admitted. “We—we’ll have to work through the rest.”

“Right. Okay,” he said. The sun rolled out from behind the buildings, casting a golden glow on the trees and the empty path ahead of you. He squinted and took a sip of his coffee before speaking. “Well, then I can safely tell you that everyone backstage knows about it.”

The disappointment on your face was absolute. “Oh. That—that’s lovely.”

He smiled sympathetically as the two of you continued down the faintly coloured path. Despite the sunshine, the cool breeze toyed relentlessly with the edges of your jackets.

“Don’t worry about it too much, though,” he said. “It’s nothing more than a silly joke backstage. We’re not judging either of you.”

You did worry about it. “What… do you mean by ‘silly joke,’ exactly?”

The two of you arrived at a large sycamore tree with leaves that glimmered in emerald hues under the sun, and Seokjin stopped, grateful for the shade.

“One of the roadies started it,” he explained. “It was just a game. A bet, actually! Funny.” He chuckled at the irony, but stopped himself when he noticed your stoic expression. “Anyway. Someone suggested that Jungkook’s friends were trying to sabotage your relationship by making this bet with him. So, we bet on Jungkook fighting his friends for you. Which—that cost me money, actually. When he showed up at the airport in Cologne with a black eye, I lost fifty euros.”

It took you a minute to process this, and you felt so uncomfortable that your fists itched with an urge to fight someone, too.

“You—so, you bet that he wouldn’t fight his friends?” you clarified, almost hopeful.

“No. I bet that he would,” he said. “But I got too big-headed and bragged about how he wouldn’t miss a single punch. So, everyone claimed that I lost and took my money. Really, I thought he knew how to fight. And he was doing it for a noble cause.” A dramatic pause ensued, and then Seokjin smirked. “I mean you, by the way.”

“No, yeah, I got that,” you said bitterly. “But you didn’t even know the actual—everyone just assumed he had a black eye because of me?”

He pulled his lips together to stifle a chuckle as he moved his cup of coffee away.

“Can you blame us?” he asked with a leisurely shrug. “He’s in love with you, and his friends are complete idiots. And then he shows up with a black eye! The dots connected themselves. Although, personally, I thought Luna or Maggie could have socked him in the eye, too. You three are very protective of each other.”

You tilted your head, your posture a warning. “I see. So, we’re a telenovela to you. Did you bet that I would knock someone out if I found out what you were up to?”

“Not yet,” he said, clearly delighted by the prospect of this happening in the future.

“Did you get your money back at least?”

“Yeah. But then I lost it again.”

The leaves of the sycamore tree rustled impatiently as you groaned. “How?”

“Another bet,” he said. “Some people—including Jimin, by the way—thought that Jungkook’s friends would never come to another Rated Riot show. In the UK specifically. We were very specific about the details in this bet.”

“Right, of course.”

He smirked, unapologetic about the amusement he derived from this. There were all sorts of games happening backstage at any given point in the tour; nearly everything became a joke here. And Seokjin hoped to show you that yes, people did know about you and Jungkook. But unless they could find ways to make it funny, they didn’t care.

He could tell that the more he talked to you about this, the more you started to recognise the absurdity of it all, too.

“Right. Well, Jimin won that round. I actually—I thought Jungkook would change his mind and bring his friends back,” Seokjin confessed. “Serves me right. I should have trusted him more.”

You raised your cup in his direction.

“Yeah,” you said. “Serves you right for making bets about this. He blacklisted Sid.”

“He—oh!” Seokjin seemed very pleased to hear this. “Well, that was worth my money, then.”

“Hmm.”

He grinned, the mischief still lingering in his eyes.

“We have another bet going on,” he said.

“Anoth—well, of course.” Your teeth dug into the coffee lid as you tried to take a sip, but reconsidered. “So, what? Who’s getting a black eye this time?”

“It’s whether you’ll get back together.”

Your irritation wavered in surprise. A rustling stirred inside you as though you had swallowed the wind and carried it within.

“Well,” you said. “Where’d you place your bets?”

“Drink your coffee,” he said. You did. It had cooled and turned unpleasantly sweet as the caramel settled. “I haven’t bet on that yet. But if you told me if you’re considering going back to him, I could win my money back.”

You made sure to swallow before looking up.

“That’s not solely up to me, though,” you said, sensing an obvious defensive undertone in your own voice. You didn’t make much effort to conceal it; he would have read right through you anyway. “A relationship typically involves two people. I can’t force him to be in it.”

Seokjin offered a patient smile.

“Please,” he said. “Everyone knows he’d burn down half of Europe for you.”

You swallowed again.

It was just you. The only one still fighting it.

“Well, in any case—” Seokjin said, distracted, suddenly, by a particularly cheeky pigeon that kept flying up to your ankles, then to your knees. “That bird is going to steal your coffee.”

You glanced down, and the shift in your position frightened the pigeon into flying a few metres away. Seokjin nodded in approval.

“Anyway,” he said. “What I meant to say is that I don’t know how much my opinion is worth, but if the only reason you’re considering quitting is because of this, then that’s nothing. You sit down, you work through your problems, you get back together, and you’re good to go. Well, good to stay. It’s up to you. No one else cares.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Everyone’s talking. They’re making bets about us. We—we’re a joke backstage. And yet you think we should get back together?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Give us something else to bet on.”

Exasperation flashed across your face. “I’m thinking I’d like to sic that pigeon on you a little bit.”

“Oh, but what would you do without me?” He was grinning in a manner so endearing and genuine that you felt your lips stretch into a defeated smile as well. “You know we’re family. That is what we do. And you said it yourself – everyone’s already talking. And no one’s truly bothered by it. You might as well do what you want.”

You took a big gulp of your coffee to finish it.

Some of the humour faded from his eyes while he watched you. He looked around—to make sure the pigeon hadn’t returned and to gather his thoughts.

“Just think about it, okay?” he said. “You know how they say ‘measure twice, cut once’? Why don’t you measure three times? Four, even. Five. Or, I don’t know, as many times as it takes until you realise that there’s no need to cut anything. Everything’s great as it is.”

Your face felt warm. “That’s very profound.”

“It is.” He nodded, his exaggerated confidence faltering a little when he saw the gratitude in your eyes and suddenly found himself timid. “I’ve also got a few carpentry jokes if you’re in the mood for those.”

Laughing finally, you shook your head. “Maybe later. But thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And notice how I’m not saying ‘anytime’? Because there can’t be another time that this happens. In fact, the next time I see you, it’ll be as if we never had this conversation.”

Still smiling despite his threatening tone, you put your palm to your forehead and extended your fingers in a salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

He nodded, content with your response.

“Now go back to that café and bring me a scone,” he ordered, his expression bright again. “I got distracted by your misery and forgot to buy one.”

You snorted and nodded—you did owe him a scone, at the very least. Seokjin stepped deeper into the shade by the tree and waited while you jogged back towards the café. He looked up to see your lighthearted expression reflected in the window across the street and felt himself exhale in relief.

He’d done his job—you knew everyone needed you here.

You returned to the venue with enough scones for the whole staff, and as you passed them out, almost everyone on the team regarded you with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. It was a nice change from their earlier concerns about your health, but you still felt uncomfortable.

There was an obvious reason you enjoyed working backstage: here, you successfully evaded the spotlight. You did your work quietly and got to spend time with your friends.

But lately, you’d been feeling everyone’s eyes on you and, naturally, your instinctive reaction was to flee. Really, this had to be inherent; you wondered if your brother shared a similar flight-or-flight-never-fight response when confronted with an uncomfortable situation.

And still, you forced yourself to wait.

Following your conversation with Seokjin, you decided on the key points that you needed to discuss with Jungkook. And they were simple: share your thoughts with him and make a decision together.

You’ve never really tried this with him before; open communication was a recent development for the two of you. But you meant what you told Seokjin: a relationship involved two people. And regardless of what -ship you and Jungkook were currently in, your decisions still influenced his, and his influenced yours.

You had hoped to speak to him after he returned from his interview, but it was almost funny how time worked against you today.

After the band returned, you went to help Jungkook with his bandages, and the company executives decided to respond to your email with a phone call. And so, you were forced to stay on the phone with the label the whole time before Rated Riot went on stage.

That was okay. You figured you would talk to Jungkook later.

But later just wouldn’t come.

After the concert, you waited for the band to finish taking pictures with their fans before you took them to another interview with several more radio hosts. And when you returned to the bus, the curtains on Jungkook’s bunk were drawn. You didn’t want to wake him in case he was asleep.

The only time you finally had direct contact with Jungkook was on the plane to London. He surprised you by approaching you from behind and casually lifting your carry-on to the overhead compartment. Then, as though he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, he turned around to return to his seat.

“Wait,” you called out. “Can I—can we talk? Yoongi said he’d switch seats with me.”

Jungkook stopped, his stomach sinking. He was the undefeated champion of misinterpreting situations—he hadn’t forgotten how your conversation had ended last night, but he still thought this was about Sid.

Because while you were beating yourself up about your avoidant tendencies, Jungkook was grappling with a different problem.

Since this morning, he had been bombarded with incessant text messages from an unknown number that ranged from vaguely bothersome (“UR SO DUMB LMSAO”) to genuinely threatening (“DNOT THINK THS IS OVER YOU FUCKVING CUNT”). All texts contained a certain distinctiveness: full capitalisation, typos, and a disturbing scent of wounded ego.

It was Sid, Jungkook was absolutely sure of it.

He seemed to be in a white powder induced frenzy, which wasn’t particularly unusual—Jungkook didn’t think he could remember the last time Sid had been completely sober—but the frequency of the texts was a little unsettling. Jungkook thought the bet was over now, even if Sid wasn’t satisfied. But clearly, Sid was craving something more.

Jungkook wasn’t sure how you would know about this or why you would bring it up now, but he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket again, and he thought this had to be the reason why.

“Sure,” he said, trying to mask his apprehension. He turned on airplane mode on his phone and looked up. “What’s, uh—what’s going on?”

You gestured at his seat. He sat down with bated breath—as if his life was about to change and he needed to brace for it—and waited for you to settle beside him.

“I wanted to, uh, explain myself,” you began as the plane filled. The rhythmic sound of people shuffling across the aisle was oddly soothing. Jungkook, however, appeared perplexed. “And to thank you, actually. For being there when I—well, when all of that happened. I’m sorry I caused—”

“You’ve already thanked me,” he interjected. “And you better not tell me that you’re apologising for fainting right now.”

“I’m—well, I’m just saying, you were right,” you said, disheartened by the disbelief in his eyes. You placed your water bottle on the fold-out tray and shifted in your seat. “I should have known better. Rested more. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m sorry I didn’t listen, and it all led to... that.”

He sighed. This wasn’t about Sid; this was about something worse.

“That’s who you are, though,” he said. He should have known this would be something you would blame yourself for once you recovered. “You always have to get everything done, or you—you can’t sleep. You need to, uh, work on that, but you don’t need to apologise for it.”

You looked down, tracing a shaky finger over the armrest between your seats.

“And,” he added before you could speak, “to be fair, a lot of things that happened on tour were actually out of your control. You had no choice but to put in extra time and effort, I guess. The stage constructions collapsed, the venue was flooded—”

“Right, but these—well, anyway,” you cut yourself off, reverting to your original train of thought. “I’m sorry you had to drop everything a-and worry about me. Well, not just you; the whole thing ended up being a big scene that disrupted everyone. But I—I wanted to say this to you, first of all.”

He observed you for a long moment. Between the truce you’ve decided on in your hotel room, the conversation he’d overheard about your meeting with Nick, and the disturbing messages from an unknown number, Jungkook was having a hard time comprehending what he’d done to warrant an apology from you right now.

Then, a troubling thought occurred to him: what if this was your way of saying goodbye?

He had let you go last night. What if you had decided to leave, and this was the prelude to the end of your time together?

“I’m—I didn’t have to do it,” he said. “I did it because I—well, I mean, you were passed out. Of course, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He leaned forward in his seat. “It kind of sounds like you’re forgetting that you’re not just the manager here. You’re also my—uh, y-you’re our friend. We all would have acted the same way if it had been anyone else. It’s an ‘all for one, and one for all’ situation with us. You know that.”

He was right; your team had grown so close that none of you would have hesitated to help each other. Your unease simply stemmed from the fact that you were the one receiving help this time.

You swallowed. You thought you owed him an explanation about everything, but you haven’t even really gotten to it yet.

“Thank you,” you said. “For what you said and—and for what you did. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He gave you a hesitant smile. “Was I really so terrible at taking care of you that it made you change your workaholic ways?”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised by the gentle teasing in his words.

“No, you di—you were great. Except for the fact that you didn’t need to do that,” you said, shooting him a look that he promptly rolled his eyes at. You added, “I say that with gratitude, of course. But, um, I felt very uncomfortable just lying there while everyone else—well, can’t let that happen again. Anyway, this isn’t—”

“I hope it won’t happen again,” he interrupted. “But it’s—well, you’ve spent your whole life taking care of... everything. Your brother, your mum, uh, e-even me. It’s second nature to you, I don’t know how else to—you can’t help but actively try to fix things. So, I-I don’t mind being the person who reminds you to take it easy sometimes. I just want you to listen.”

He’d said something very similar to you last night and you dug your teeth into your lower lip so you wouldn’t argue.

You thought you weren’t doing a very good job of fixing things—nevermind that you’ve subconsciously turned absolutely everything around you into your personal responsibility, and it was simply unrealistic to take care of it all.

“Thank you,” you chose to say. “I just, um—I don’t want you to think I’m talking to you so you’d make me feel better. You don’t need to do that. And it’s my turn to expla—”

He whipped his head to look at you so suddenly—an almost offended expression on his face—that the rest of your sentence got caught in your throat.

“Wh—why do you always think that?” he asked. “That I do something for you because I feel like I have to?”

“I don’t—I know you’re not—ah.” Leaning back in your seat, you attempted to rearrange your thoughts as if you were shuffling stubborn cards in a deck—trying to find the one you needed to win a game against yourself. “That’s not even the main thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” he said, a little worried. “What is the main thing?”

It took you a moment to find your breath.

“The conversation that we had last night—well, not just last night, actually, it’s been happening for a while. But, uh, last night specifically—it wasn’t supposed to end like that,” you said. He lowered his eyes. “That’s what I wanted to, um—to bring up. Because we’re not talking again, you know? I mean—okay. That’s not true. You are talking. But I’m not. I-I think it’s still new to me that we’re—that we’re actually talking about things. About everything. I’m sorry I haven’t said much to you in return.”

You exhaled when you finished speaking—finished stammering, really—but you didn’t feel relieved. There was a lot more you had to say.

Jungkook, on the other hand, felt his thoughts drift back to Amsterdam once again, when he had entered your hotel room to apologise, and you told him you forgave him and apologised in return. He remembered the pained, laboured beating of his heart as he listened to you—thinking, all the while, that he had no right to want you all for himself.

Now, he had some additional time to think about how to respond, because the flight attendant started the safety demonstration at the front of the plane, preparing for take-off.

He fastened his seatbelt, relieved by the silence on his phone—but the quiet pause between you as the plane lifted off the runway felt very loud in his head.

“You know,” he said after a few minutes, “you find the weirdest things to feel guilty about.”

You furrowed your brows while Jungkook idly twirled the onyx signet ring on his index finger.

“You’re never obligated to respond to what I tell you,” he said. “I didn’t say any of those things to you in Manchester in exchange for your immediate forgiveness, or for some similar stories, or for—anything, really. You don’t owe me anything. I just wanted to tell you everything, and that’s it.”

“I-I get that,” you shifted in your seat, restricted by the seatbelt, “but I’m your manager. And I-I left you in a confusing, stressful situation by yourself when I refused to talk to you right away. That was—it was unprofessional at best, and cruel at—”

“You’re more than that to me, though,” he cut in. You gripped the armrest tighter. “You know that. And you didn’t… leave me in that situation as my manager. You left me there as my ex-girlfriend. You have that right. You were confused and stressed, too.”

Your gaze slid over his black and grey flannel and the t-shirt with a Rated Riot logo underneath. The plane cruised at the designated altitude, but you still felt pushed into your seat like you had during take-off.

“I don’t—I’m not sure those two roles can be separated any longer,” you admitted.

Oh, whispered an alarmed pang of his heart. And, oh? echoed the multitude of shivers rippling underneath his skin.

“What are you saying?” he asked.

You drew in a breath. You didn’t want to start from the beginning because you had a feeling that he might not let you get to the end, so you decided to start from the explanation—the one that you’d come here to give him, but kept getting sidetracked as he responded to you in ways you weren’t anticipating.

“People on tour,” you began, “are very invested in our, uh—situation.”

Jungkook arched an eyebrow. “They’re invested?”

“Apparently, we’re a popular topic backstage.”

Quickly enough, he thought he figured out your implication: if he hadn’t played along with Sid, the staff on this tour might have been having very different conversations.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, that’s not—well, it’s not just your fault,” you replied. “It takes two, right?”

“Right, but I was the one who made the bet.”

“You—okay. But this isn’t about the bet—” you paused. Reconsidered. “Well, alright, the bet sort of kick-started a lot of things, but it’s not—that’s not the problem from my point of view right now.”

Oh, once more. And then, ah.

You were talking, he realised, about the things you didn’t want to talk about in your hotel room in Manchester. The things you’ve affectionately labelled as “a confusing, stressful situation.” The things you were supposed to discuss later, when the time was right. Except he had succumbed to the terminal case of nothing-matters-anymore-if-you’re-leaving-the-band and got drunk instead.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s… fine with me.”

“Alright,” you said. “So, here’s our problem: I’m your manager.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows and pulled his chin back.

“If that’s our only problem,” he said, “we are very lucky people.”

A brief smile flickered on your face.

“It’s our biggest problem,” you clarified. “But we definitely are lucky.”

Encouraged by the amusement in your eyes, he grinned. “Because we have each other?”

Your smile grew and even the plane itself seemed to shake a little when his heart rate accelerated at the sight of it.

“Because we can solve this problem,” you said.

His face fell. He thought he could guess where you were going with this.

“How do you mean?” he still asked, his voice a low murmur.

You thought you could have used some of the whiskey that Jungkook had sought out last night.

With a measured breath, you said, “I leave the band, and—”

“Wait,” he cut you off. “Is that supposed to be—”

“Hear me out first—”

“No, listen—if the problem is that you’re my manager,” he said, “then you leaving Rated Riot is not the solution.”

Jungkook sounded a little like Seokjin had earlier—a stark contrast from the way he’d spoken to you last night by the bus.

“Are you suggesting that because people are talking about us backstage?” he pressed.

You turned away. “It’s not just that. I mean, they’re already talking and that’s—well, it’s not great. But we can’t stop the wheel from turning now, or however that saying goes. What we can do, however, is stop it before it gets worse. And by that I mean, you know—we need to decide what the hell we’re doing.”

That was what he wanted, he thought. But now he was confused.

You seemed to want to make a decision about your relationship together. Yet you also seemed to believe that leaving Rated Riot was the best option. He failed to see how both of these things were possible at the same time.

“So, you’ve made up your mind, then?” he asked. “About leaving?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” you said. “I don’t want to leave the band, but—”

“Well, that’s the thing, then,” he said sharply, unfastening his seatbelt. Turning to face you, he stumbled over his own confusion, “I’m—I don’t want to hold you back. I told you. But I thought you—I thought it would be—I thought you wanted to leave. I thought—but you want to stay. So, stay.”

Stay.

It was very simple, really, very concise. But it carried a lot more weight than his words last night when he had caught you off guard. When he had let you go.

You wanted to stay. You just didn’t think you should.

Your response wasn’t particularly verbal. “Hmm.”

“Is it me?” Jungkook asked. “Am I the only reason you’re thinking of leaving?”

He didn’t sound accusatory, even though you were prepared for it. He sounded apologetic instead—almost guilty—and you were completely unprepared for that as a million tiny needles pricked at your heart.

“You’re not the only reason,” you replied. “You’re part of it. And I don’t—look, I-I don’t want to leave. But that sounds reasonable when you look at where we are right now.”

He heard nothing of what you’d said.

“That’s not reasonable in the slightest,” he insisted.

“Jungkook—”

“You have to stay. If you—”

“But if that’s the choice that would make more sense for us,” you interjected, exasperated, “then I don’t mind leaving. If—if we weren’t working together anymore, then maybe we could try to finally figure our shit out.”

Now he heard it.

He had a vague awareness that the other passengers behind you had turned off their screens and removed their headphones, choosing to listen to your conversation instead. But he was too stunned by the look in your eyes to care.

So, that was what you were trying to say: you were prepared to leave Rated Riot to fix your relationship.

He opened his mouth to speak, but it took another minute for coherent words to come to him.

“We can—we can figure our shit out while working together,” he said. “Why do you have to leave?”

“It’s—you have to understand,” you said, “that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m pretty sure neither do you, but that’s how you usually function.” Jungkook sobered up enough to offer a noncommittal shrug. You continued, “but for me—this is freaking me out. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen and what we should do, and—leaving the band sounds—it seems reasonable. It seems safe. Smart. And that’s what I’m clinging to.”

He swallowed, not trusting himself to move. “But that’s—”

“Please, it’s—this is what I wanted to say to you—what I should have said to you last night.” There was a pleading tone in your voice. He nodded, quiet while you continued. “If I stay with Rated Riot, and we try to solve our problems… there are only two ways that can go, right? We both know as much. Either we get back together, or we don’t.”

Jungkook was mesmerised by how glaringly simple this was, in principle: either you used a label on your relationship, or you didn’t.

He knew he was going to love you either way, but he couldn’t breathe, suddenly, at the thought of this other choice in this dilemma—the choice where you didn’t get back together, and he spent the rest of his life deliberately going crazy, so he could return—at least in his mind—to that day seven years ago when he first met you.

“Well, uh, yeah,” he managed to say. “That’s pretty much the choices that we’ve got.”

You reclined in your seat, lifting your gaze to the light control buttons overhead.

“If we get back together…” you began, exhaling. “Then, we might have to face a lot of problems from the label. But we might be alright in the end. I don’t know.”

Jungkook tightened his jaw. He attempted to formulate a response that would be logical and appropriate in this situation. But really, his head felt too small for his thoughts and his tongue too big for his mouth.

“That’s… that’s good to know,” he eventually said.

“Mhmm,” you replied distractedly. “But see, what if we don’t get back together? Or we do, but it doesn’t work out?”

That was what worried him, too—but for different reasons.

He knew that you were looking at this from a pragmatic perspective. A logical, what-would-make-more-sense perspective.

He didn’t think he’d ever looked at it this way. For him, this was simple: he loved you and wanted to be with you. He didn’t care how inconvenient and illogical it might seem to those around him, and he refused to think about what would happen if this love didn’t work out. It would have to. How could it not?

But he recognised his privileges; he knew he didn’t have as many responsibilities as you did. And, alright, fine, he thought about it—realistically, if you broke up again, he’d probably drink until he turned into a puddle of whiskey, while you’d flee across the globe to get away from it all.

And yet—was that all there was to this? Just rationality and calculated decisions?

Jungkook cleared his throat and asked the question that he believed really mattered here.

“Do you love me?”

Someone on the plane gulped audibly and held their breath. He wondered if it was him.

The colour of your eyes deepened, then blurred. “I-I—that’s—that’s not—”

“Answer me,” he whispered.

You tried, but no words came out. This moment resembled the nightmares that haunted you lately: you opened your mouth to scream, but silence stifled every sound you tried to make.

“T-that’s—” you began and stopped yourself before you could stutter any further. You took a breath. “That’s not important right now—”

“How can it not be—”

“Because I do love you,” you said quickly—the words slurred into one desperate Idoloveyou, a hopeless Idoloveyou, a how-can-you-possibly-expect-me-not-to Idoloveyou. “But I don’t think I should. I don’t think you should, either. We’re a—we’re a fucking mess.”

Visibly frozen, Jungkook found himself thinking that if this was the sixteenth century, and the two of you just happened to have this conversation in some public square, the townsfolk would have surely accused you of witchcraft.

It was uncanny, the way you cast a spell on him with just four words—all four of which he heard with perfect clarity: I do love you. Granted, he wasn’t sure if he heard the rest. He felt like he was already burning in your place.

“Right,” he thought he said. He couldn’t feel his face. “But we’ve always—”

“I’m—I have to—I do owe you,” you said. He watched you, his expression oscillating between mild confusion and outright bewilderment. “You said I don’t, but I do. I could have told you what was going on in my head like you told me. Honestly, all this time, whenever I talked to people, they all told me to speak to you. To talk it out. And I closed up in my head instead. If I don’t talk about it, I don’t have to deal with it. You know?”

He blinked, finally. “That’s—”

“I’ll explain it, though, okay?” you said. “Please?”

You gave him too much power—as if he could ever say no to you. As if he could stop listening. As if every fibre of his being didn’t ache to stay close to you.

Warm—so unbearably warm that it felt like he was in the middle of exploring the landscapes Dante depicted in Inferno—Jungkook wiped off the sweat from his palms on his dark jeans.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

“It won’t take long,” you assured. “Really, I don’t even have much to say. I’m fucking scared. That’s all there is to it.”

Jungkook seemed to be practising the lost art of swallowing his tongue. He wanted you to continue and you were biting your lip in a way that suggested that this was not all there was to it. You only wished it was.

You took a trembling breath, and your lungs followed—quivering, it seemed, as they tried to provide you with the oxygen necessary for all that you were about to say.

“I spent the first fifteen years of my life watching my parents break up and get back together again,” you began. “And do you know what I felt every single time they broke up? Actual rage.” You laughed wryly here like this reaction was absurd. “But when they got back together, I was fucking—I was hopeful. I refused to speak to them, of course—I was a teenager—but I was… Inside, just like my mum, I also hoped that this would work. That this time would be the one.”

You swallowed and lapsed into a silence so long and heavy that Jungkook worried you might never speak again.

Fifteen years, he thought. And all this time, he’d assumed that your dad left for the final time when you were twelve. That was already bad enough, of course, but Jungkook hadn’t realised that the back-and-forth between your parents that you’d mentioned back in Tilburg had taken place after that. He hadn’t realised that you and your brother had gone through three years of almost having a father—and your mum through almost having a partner.

“I knew they were a tragedy together,” you continued. Jungkook didn’t know how to raise his eyes to look at you. “It was obvious that it wouldn’t last. I always knew it, and I always said that to my mum. But deep down, I still fucking hoped that they’d get together and it would work.”

You shook your head with a cold, unforgiving smile.

“How fucking stupid,” you concluded. “All hope does is bring misery and disappointment.”

“You were a child,” he said, his brows drawn together—sad and a little scared for your younger self. “You just wanted your parents to be together. You wanted a family.”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh. Then again, “yeah.”

A minute passed without either of you speaking. Flight attendants crossed the aisles, offering complimentary snacks, but missing you—either by mistake or because there was no one in your seats on the plane. The two of you were somewhere else.

“I think,” you said once the commotion around you quieted, “that I wasn’t just angry at my mum for trying again and again, even though it never worked. Or for never losing hope that maybe they could be happy together. I think I was also angry at myself. Because I never truly lost hope, either.”

Jungkook hung his head, his lips tight in silent contemplation.

“So that’s what I’m afraid of,” you said. “I’m scared that this—us—will turn out to be like that. I’m scared that we’ll let wishful thinking take over, and we’ll get back together even though we shouldn’t. Even though it’s obvious that we won’t last.”

Right away, he wanted to insist that you would defy those odds. That there was nothing obvious about the two of you whatsoever. He wanted to promise all that and more, but it wasn’t right—not after you endured fifteen years of broken promises between two of the most important people in your life.

“You, um—” he started to say and coughed suddenly, caught off guard by his dry throat, “—you told me before that you admired your mum’s courage. F-for trying again.”

You handed him the overpriced airport water bottle that you had bought earlier. Jungkook nodded in gratitude.

“I did,” you confirmed. “And I do admire that about her. But I don’t have any of her courage.” You brought a shaky finger over your forehead, not quite scratching it. “I always say that I don’t believe in second chances, but the truth is, I think I do believe in them. I’m just debilitated by my fear that these second chances might not work out.”

Jungkook lowered the bottle. He’d emptied almost half of it in a single gulp, but an anxious undercurrent inside of him had absorbed it before he could feel any relief.

“Is that, um,” he tried to ask, “is that something you feel in general or—or because it’s us?”

You thought about that for half a second and shook your head.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation where a second chance held so much significance,” you said. “This isn’t a mistake that you can fix. It’s not a human error. It’s you and me. And it’s so—it’s final. There won’t be another chance for us, it’s now or never. And what if it’s never?”

You lowered your gaze, your fingers restless as they toyed with the sleeves of your black shirt. Every now and then, you’d lift your hand to your bare neck—you still hadn’t found any of your necklaces—as if seeking a distraction from the weight of the moment.

“Y-you are—you’re my—” you tried and couldn’t. Finally, you looked at him, and the words you couldn’t voice were right there, shimmering uncertainly in his dark eyes. “You’re my first thought in the morning and the last one at night. I don’t think my heart could take it if I started to have hope for us again, but we didn’t work out in the end.”

Jungkook felt his heart trip over several beats—

Stumble down his ribs—

Crash into his stomach—

Roll around the hollow cavities somewhere at the very bottom—

Rise suddenly, all the way back to his chest—

Expand—

Expand—

Expand—

And explode, it seemed. In a flash of light so vivid and intense that for a minute or two, his blood stopped running and he survived on nothing but the words you’d just said.

“And so that’s what I meant,” you finished, and he struggled to hear your next words over the loud pounding in his chest. “If I stay here and we don’t get back together—or we do, but not for long—then what? We see each other every day, we try to act like nothing’s wrong, we learn how to go back to being professional, and then four years later, you make another bet?”

Jungkook found the end of your sentence so utterly unexpected that he wasn’t sure if he had even heard you correctly. His response was half of a gasp and a fractured “I—” before you cut him off.

“I’m joking,” you said with a gentle smile—one that managed to feel both, very fitting and completely out of place in this situation. “That’s—well, that is why I think it’d be more reasonable for me to leave. That way, I think, we could figure it out without some dramatic, tragic consequences in case it, uh—in case something goes wrong.”

“R-right,” he said. A warm haze settled on his face in a delicate shade of pink. It appeared almost soft to the touch. “I… I understand. I-I don’t—I don’t know if there’s anything I can say that would take that away. All of your fear.”

You swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. There might not be anything to say at all.”

Jungkook hurriedly ran his tongue over his lips. He wasn’t thinking about you leaving right now. He was thinking about you staying and fighting through it.

He wanted to say something more, but he didn’t think he could mend these particular wounds in your heart. They ran deeper than his love could reach.

It wasn’t him that you should have talked to about this. It wasn’t him that could help you reach an agreement—or, at least, an understanding—with your own self.

“You should talk to your mum,” he said.

You looked up from the floor of the plane, surprised. “What?”

“Talk to her,” he repeated. “Just to hear what she thinks about everything. To hear her reasoning. To understand why she made the choices that she did. I think that would be good for you both.”

Your surprise deepened and gained an edge. You looked alarmed, as if the notion that a caregiver could ease your hurt rather than deepen it was new and foreign.

“I’ve—we’ve never—my mum and I have only talked about her relationship with my dad maybe once in our whole lives,” you said. “I have never even talked to her about my own relationship. You know I haven’t.”

He nodded solemnly. “I have, though.”

“What?” you asked. There was a ringing in your ears. “You have—you’ve talked to—to my mum? About—”

“I’m sure she’ll tell you everything.”

For a good minute, you watched him with an expression that held more questions than possible ways of asking them.

“I—I’m very confused right now,” you managed.

He nodded again, understanding, but still not offering any explanations.

He’d told you most of everything, really—he’d called those bits of the story “Haunting” and “Cursed.” But the rest of it had to be something you pieced together on your own.

For a long time, he had imagined this to be something that would hit you years later, perhaps when you would accidentally hear an old Rated Riot song. You’d think no, it can’t be, and you’d rush home. You’d pull out the albums, the track lists, and the lyrics.

And you’d know.

These conversations with your mum were his far side of the moon—invisible, but still present, still heavy.

These conversations were his thoughts and hopes and countless fears.

They were everything he brought to Rated Riot and everything he expressed in the recording booth, in Namjoon’s studio, and on stage.

They were his past and his present, and someone else’s future.

They were him without you, but still searching for you every morning when he woke up.

They were you, you, you.

Everything he’d ever talked to your mum about had been his songs. And all his songs had always been a tale about you—in every banal, every impossible narrative he could find within himself.

They were about seeing you and growing wings.

About kissing you and coming home.

About losing you and bleeding out.

About forever and five minutes that don’t mean anything once they’re over.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not capable of much else. “I needed her help with something. I didn’t really tell her anything, uh, directly, so to speak. But she—she knows. She’ll tell you everything. It’s just, um—you have to talk to her, too. You have to tell her what you told me.”

Airplanes, you realised suddenly, made it very easy to force yourself to stop running away. There was nowhere to escape—you could see the clouds reflected in his eyes and you were already falling in them anyway.

“I’ll talk to her,” you said.

Jungkook gave you a small nod and scratched his knee absentmindedly.

“I want you to stay,” he stated. “With the band. It’s—it’s selfish, but it’s the truth. I’ve always tried to encourage you to stop thinking so much a-and just do what you wanted, and this—this is what you want, despite your fear. You want to stay.”

You looked at him with a forlorn expression and he felt his hands twitch at his sides.

“But what will we do?” you asked.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “I mean, we’ve gotten this far, right? So, give us a chance. We’re not completely hopeless. We can... talk our way through it all, step by step.”

You’ve talked your way through a lot and you have gotten this far, that was true. Even if the journey hadn’t been pleasant.

Seokjin had told you earlier today that as long as you stayed with the band, no one would care about what happened next. And, really, no matter how you looked at it, this was what it all boiled down to: it was just you.

Only you—afraid of what others will say, afraid of getting hurt and hurting him again, afraid of doing too much, and afraid of not doing enough.

“I’m—” you tried, “w-we don’t know what will happen. That’s why I’m—”

“I know,” he said. “And you’re right. We don’t know what will happen. That’s fucking terrifying. I’m scared, too.”

He did look a little scared, but he licked his lips and successfully collected himself.

The two of you were so close to meeting in the middle and taking that first step together—just a little more strain between your shaking, outstretched hands.

“And I-I know that the bet is another thing that—that might make it harder for you to believe that we can—that we can work it out,” he added, spinning his ring around his finger twice more. “But I want you to know that it—the bet was a fucked up thing to do. But it gave me a reason to talk to you about everything that I already wanted to talk to you about. I’m—even without the bet, I would have approached you, eventually. It just—I was fucking scared, so it might have taken me longer.”

It wasn’t just you.

Fear was in the epicentre of everything you were saying to each other. It was like the wind in every city you visited on this tour—inescapable, uncontrollable, persistent.

He was afraid, too—of trying and failing. Afraid of getting his heart broken and breaking yours. Afraid of never finding the forever that he desperately wanted with you.

“My point is,” Jungkook finished, “I think this is inevitable, because—well, let’s be honest,” he chuckled softly, trying to lessen the gravity of his confession, “all I’d ever wanted in my entire fucked-up life was you.”

Your breath trembled.

Something very deep inside of you wanted you to believe that inevitability was meant for the two of you, too.

“It’s been four years, though,” you said with a faint shake of your head. “What if it takes us another four to find a way to make this work?”

“It—well, I don’t really care how long it takes, to be honest,” he said. “I’m going to die yours.”

He said that and your heart stopped beating for a moment to listen.

To wait.

To make one thing very clear for you: you would never survive losing him again.

And you were scared—completely petrified—to find yourself in a situation where losing him was possible. Where it was likely.

Jungkook saw it on your face. He saw everything—the anguish, the pain, the doubt, the fear.

But he felt a little exhilarated to find the fight in your eyes, too. This fight was the reason you were talking to him about things that you’ve never talked about. It was the reason you were here.

“We’ll decide everything else when the idea of—of trying again doesn’t scare you so much anymore,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “When you hear your mum’s point of view, and you can make a, uh—an informed decision.”

He noted that there was something softer in your eyes when you looked at him again, but he could still discern the lingering edges of doubt.

“You think that’ll help me make an informed decision?” you asked, touched by his choice of words.

“I hope it will,” he replied. “But we can work it all out, either way. I just think you need to talk to her. It’s been so long.”

“Right. It has been.” You clasped your hands around your neck and tucked your chin between your palms. “It—it probably won’t be an easy conversation, though.”

“Nor will it be short, I imagine.”

“Hmm. Probably not.”

He sensed the growing distance between you as your eyes ran over the back of the seat in front of you. He knew you well enough to understand what you were doing: you were mapping out the rest of your story in your head.

He didn’t like that. Your stories rarely had happy endings.

“You don’t—don’t start planning it ahead, though,” he said hastily—before you reached the unhappily ever after in your mind. “It’ll be late when we land in London. You need to sleep. Talk to her after that. When you—when you’re not working. We can wait. We have time.”

Finally, you allowed your gazes to meet again—and to linger a little longer this time.

You took a moment to note that, despite knowing Jungkook for so long, every time you looked at him, you still needed a minute to will yourself to keep breathing. You remembered thinking, after your first few dates, if that would ever go away—logically, it should have.

But you watched him now, seven years since you’ve met, and the beating of your heart still felt backwards.

I’m going to die yours

I’m going to die yours

I’m going to die—

“Okay,” you finally said. “I’ll call her as soon as possible.”

He nodded twice and closed his eyes for a brief respite—but hesitated, suddenly, before opening them again.

He wondered, for a suspended moment, what it would mean for you—this ‘as soon as possible.’

Then he looked at you and decided to tell you what he wanted it to mean.

“Before that happens, though—before you talk to her, I mean—I-I want to still be able to see you,” he said and did so assertively, using the phrase I want, but really meaning, I must. “I don’t want to not talk to you.”

You felt your frosty expression crumble effortlessly into a soft smile.

“We’ve agreed to a truce, right?” you said easily. Lightly.

His heart soared.

He was smiling, too, but with caution—his lips were pressed together as he bit into his lip ring to contain his smile to a level that he thought appropriate.

His shining eyes gave him away, however, and you wondered—the thought sudden and overwhelming—if there was a point in your life when you weren’t in love with him when he smiled.

“Let’s try a friendship,” he proposed.

“Oh—” Your smile abruptly turned into laughter as you remembered trying this once before. It had lasted for about two days. “You know we can’t be friends. We don’t know how.”

The gentle cadence of your laughter made him weightless.

“What are you talking about?” he teased—so high that he was certain the flight attendants were going to ask him to take it down a notch because it was dangerous to float on the ceiling in the middle of a flight. “We can be whatever the fuck we want to be.”

Your laughter grew bolder, strengthened by the relief that you’ve had this conversation, that you’ve decided on your next steps, however uncertain they were—and his smile spread.

You could see him beaming through your half-closed eyes, and there was absolutely nothing—no matter how big or small, significant or not at all—that you wouldn’t have done for him when he looked like that, and no amount of fear could have stopped you.

He'd burn down half of Europe for you, Seokjin had said.

You were worried you’d burn all of it for him.

“Honestly,” you said, “we’re such a mess that I have nothing else to say. Sure. Let’s try being friends again. Why not?”

“For the time being?” Jungkook asked. There was a tentative glint in his eyes. “Until we figure out if—until we decide what we’re going to do with us?”

It was very considerate of him to say ‘we’ here, when you knew that you were the one who needed to get it together in the end.

“For the time being,” you confirmed.

“And you’ll stay?” he asked once more. “With Rated Riot?”

Last night, he had told you he was letting you go, and you needed to hear it—not just to see how much he’s grown, but to fully understand yourself. To stop jumping from possibility to possibility. To accept that it was okay to do what you wanted sometimes.

The past few days were like flipping a coin and realising, while it was mid-air, which side you were hoping it would land on.

“I’ll stay.”

Jungkook thought that this flight was going to be the most thrilling part of his day. But a miracle happened as soon as the plane touched down in London.

His grandmother called him.

It wasn’t an accident like he had initially assumed when he saw her name on his phone. She called because she missed her favourite grandson and wanted to wish him good luck at his concert (and chastise him a little for not wearing “enough clothing” on stage).

Jungkook wasn’t sure if the tears in his eyes were because she’d remembered who he was, remembered what he did for a living, because she’d called, or because she’d confirmed his long-held suspicion that he was her favourite grandson.

Perhaps, and most likely, it was all of these things.

He was so excited that he stared at his phone even after the call had ended, ignoring the influx of more unintelligible, frantic messages from the same unknown number. He probably would have spent the rest of the night fixated on the screen if his battery hadn’t run out by the time everyone settled in the hotel.

At that point, there was nothing Jungkook wanted more than to tell you about the fifteen-minute phone call. However, he couldn’t call or text with his phone off—and waiting for ten minutes until he found the charger in his suitcase seemed like half of an eternity.

Unaware of the lateness of the hour, he lingered outside the hotel, thinking of a plan.

In the end, he decided he didn’t want to draw more attention to your friendship—he hiccupped on the word even in his thoughts—and approached the decorative garden at the front entrance. Ficus plants (artificial, as it turned out) rested in a bed of pebbles (real, for some reason) and Jungkook grabbed a handful of those before heading back to the south wing of the hotel.

He counted down the windows until he identified yours, then took half a dozen steps back from the wall and tossed a pebble at your window. It hit the glass with a gentle thud and dropped onto the grass four floors below.

Jungkook waited for a minute—or what felt like a minute—and tossed another one, making this one bounce against your windowsill before it slipped into your room through the crack of the open window.

He waited again and, finally, your curtains fluttered. A moment later, he saw your puzzled face as you opened the window and covered your squinting eyes with your hand, peering down into the darkness.

“Jungkook?” you called out. “What—what the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to get your attention!” he shouted with an elated lilt in his voice.

You picked up the pebble from the windowsill and lifted it. He couldn’t see it very well from the ground, but he could see your confused expression.

“By throwing rocks at my window?”

“Yeah!”

“How—are you—for what—”

You stopped. There wasn’t a singular question you wanted to ask, because nothing about what he was doing made any sense whatsoever.

You leaned over the windowsill to get a better look at him, but it didn’t help much. The light from your hotel room made it difficult to discern his expression in the pitch-black night. And the garden lights adorning the exterior of the hotel only highlighted his white sneakers.

“I’m sure there were a lot of steps you could have taken before you had to resort to this,” you shouted into the night. “Most people text. Or knock on the door.”

“My phone’s dead,” he explained, lifting a black block that you assumed was the dead phone. “And I didn’t want anyone to see me going into your room. Can you come down here?”

“Wh—hold on a second.” You retreated into the room to put on a robe over the t-shirt you had worn to bed. The night wind felt a little less frigid when you leaned out of the window again. “Can you just come up here? It’s nearly six in the morning, no one will see—”

“Come on, we finally have a few days off!” he shouted, implying, clearly, that you’d have time to catch up on sleep later. After days of him forcing you to rest, this was very unusual—but, really, quite welcome.

You realised that something important must have happened for him to do this. However, his buoyant voice—and this whole situation in general—also made you wonder if he was drunk.

“I meant that it’s cold outside,” you said. “Wouldn’t it be warmer to—”

“I can—it’s not that bad,” he ended up saying after quickly surmising that his offer to warm you might lead to you throwing that same pebble right at his forehead. “Please?”

You were well aware that this could go on for a while, and it probably wouldn’t be long before your Romeo-and-Juliet-esque conversation attracted the attention of the hotel staff, who would politely ask you to find a different accommodation. The manager already didn’t seem especially pleased when he found out that a rock band would be staying at his hotel.

“Alright. I’m coming down,” you said. “Put the rocks back where you found them.”

He snickered and watched you close the window, disappearing inside of your room.

By the time he returned the remaining pebbles back to the garden, the sky was already beginning to paint itself red. The clouds obscured the rising sun, but Jungkook turned his head just in time to see you walk through the hotel door, and he felt like it was the middle of the day already.

“What’s going on?” you asked, a little concerned about the size of the grin on his face.

“My grandma called me,” he said. “She’s having a good day. She remembered me.”

“Oh, my God!” you gasped. All of your irritation about leaving your warm hotel room at this hour vanished in an instant. “That’s great news! Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah!” He nodded, nearly laughing in pure, beautiful euphoria. “The whole call, she was okay. Even scolded me for breaking the glass on her favourite picture frame when I came to say goodbye to her on the last night before the tour.”

You laughed, infected with his bright mood. “Jungkook, that’s—that’s fantastic. I’m so—”

Instinctively, he pulled you to him by wrapping his arms around your waist. For just a moment, he tightened his embrace and lifted you up slightly, laughing breathlessly when you gasped in surprise.

“I know,” he murmured into your neck as he lowered you to the ground. “I still can’t believe she really called.”

He held you close to him with one hand around your waist, and another one on the back of your neck—and you were stunned for a split-second. Then finally, muscle memory roused you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting the side of your head against his.

“I’m—I’m so happy to hear that,” you whispered, feeling his breath on your shoulder and the goosebumps that rose on your skin as a result.

“I am, too.” He slowly pulled his head back to look at you, and the sight of the smile on his face was enough to pierce your heart with something that you could never remove. “You’re the first person I wanted to tell this to.”

Wordlessly, you pulled him back into a hug. You could feel the stretch of his cheeks against yours as his smile widened, and you realised you’d never want to run away from this. You’d always want to stay.

You were going to stay.

No. That wasn’t right.

You wouldn’t just stay with Rated Riot, determined to destroy every ounce of your fear for him. You’d have mopped up whole oceans for him. Captured shooting stars and stuffed them into jars. Flooded the entire world with an endless sea.

You’d have done anything to have him here like this: smiling so much that he could barely speak while his chest thud-thud-thudded against yours.

You felt so much of it—this vast love that refused to die no matter how much it was beaten—that you didn’t know what to do with it all.

A minute later, you pulled back slightly—a little dizzy from the intense whirlwinds inside your chest.

“T-thank you,” you stammered. “For telling me. I’m really—I’m so happy for you.”

His hands lingered on your waist, extending the moment to the very end.

“Thank you,” he replied, taking a reluctant step back. “She, um—she asked me to say hi to you. You know, from her.”

You were surprised that she remembered you—and brought you up!—and your smile returned, encouraged by the bashful look in his eyes when he said this.

“Give her my best the next time you talk to her,” you said.

“I will.” He nodded eagerly, then slowed down. “Although, I, uh—well—I don’t know when that’ll be.”

“That’s okay,” you replied quickly, not wanting to lose the lightness of the moment so soon. “The important thing is that she’s having a good day today. And she called you!”

You raised your voice at the end of the sentence, and it was enough to rekindle his excitement.

“She did!” he sang. “She said I was her favourite grandson, by the way. So I was right.”

“Oh—hmm.” You remembered pretending to argue with him about this in Stockholm and couldn’t help yourself. “Well, alright. I guess that makes sense. Remember that stray orange cat that she used to feed every night? Reginald?”

“Reggie,” he said, grinning. The cat was one of the first things his grandmother mentioned when she called tonight; it had stopped coming to see her, but continued to take up a large place in her heart. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“Well, I mean, she loved him so much, even though he scratched her every time she got too close,” you explained. “Clearly, she always had a soft spot for troublemakers.”

“Okay, now,”—he clicked his tongue—“my grandma did actually love that cat a lot, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You snickered and he laughed, too, and for a moment, he thought his chest might have exploded if he felt any happier than he did right now.

Then he noticed you clutching your robe closer to your body. Whatever you’d worn underneath wasn’t enough to keep you warm now that the initial excitement slowly began to fade.

“Do you, uh… want to go back inside?” he asked, gesturing at the exposed skin of your wrists. “You’re shivering.”

You looked down at your hands. “I’m okay. But maybe we could sit?”

You turned to look around. There was a bench right at the edge of the garden, next to a bronze-coloured flowerpot that was placed in the pebbles Jungkook had used to “get your attention”.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

You shivered all over again when he sat down next to you, and the bench turned out to be smaller than it had appeared. You could feel every bounce of his restless legs.

“So,” you said, “what did you two talk about?”

He brightened at your question, and suddenly, you didn’t think he was anywhere near close enough.

“Oh, so many things,” he said. “She told me she’d like to see us perform. Can we make that happen when we go back?”

“Absolutely,” you promised.

“Yeah?” His smile widened and his bouncing increased. “She’ll probably hate it. Mosh pits aren’t her thing.”

“We’ll put her in the balcony seats,” you suggested. This conversation felt so ordinary that it was hard to imagine you could be talking to him about anything else. “She’ll love every second of watching you on stage.”

“She said she saw pictures from the tour,” he added, giddy. “My cousins showed her Maggie’s Instagram profile.”

“Did she see your pirate cosplay?”

Jungkook displayed a remarkable resilience to the pirate jokes after that first concert—you and Jimin suspected that the response from the audience played a big part in his newfound immunity—and he chuckled at it now.

“She did,” he said. “She said I reminded her of Kurt Russell in Escape from New York.”

You pulled back a little to get a better look at him, even though he no longer needed to wear the eye patch. Most of the discolouration around his eye had already faded and you’d managed to cover up the scratches with a few smaller, skin-coloured adhesive pads.

“Well, shit,” you said. “Maybe I do kind of see the resemblance. You’ve got the hair.”

“I don’t know who that is,” he admitted.

You widened your eyes. “Jungkook. You don’t know Snake Plissken?”

“No, but my grandma said all her friends had a crush on him after the film came out,” he said. “Except for my grandma, of course. She insists she only ever had eyes for my grandpa.”

You both chuckled at this with a childlike glee—the thought of a love that spanned decades felt exhilarating and very possible as the sky awakened above you.

“My mum liked Kurt Russell, too, after the film,” you said. “And she was nine at the time. She snuck into the theatre with her brother and his friends.”

Jungkook inclined his head thoughtfully. “Maybe that guy’s not so bad, then.”

“He’s a classic,” you corrected. “But your taste in films isn’t.”

“That’s actually exactly what my grandma said,” he remembered. “She told me not to come home until I watched it.”

You could hear his grandmother saying this exact thing to him and felt yourself smile again.

“I think you’d love it if you watched it,” you said. “So, it’s not much of a threat.”

“Really?” He looked at you, but only for a fraction of a moment. “Would you—I mean, it’d be cool if we could—”

You knew what he was asking. And your response—like most of everything else tonight—came as a reflex. “I’m sure we can rent it on Amazon.”

“Okay,” he said, his shoulders slumping against yours in visible relief. “That—I’d like that.”

Unwelcome, the raw breeze of the late hour caught up with you, and you felt your body shudder involuntarily once more. Determined to ignore the chill, you opened your mouth to continue the conversation, but Jungkook suddenly leaned forwards.

“Here,” he said, slipping out of his dark flannel. “Put this on. It’s not much, but—”

“No, no—” you tried, but he drew closer to drape the flannel over your shoulders. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted, pulling back. To further reduce the significance of the gesture, he added, “it’s what friends do. And I’m warm anyway.”

You clutched the collar of the flannel tighter to prevent it from sliding off. Or just to have something to do with your hands. “Well—thanks, friend.”

A powerful waft of his cologne permeated your senses, and you closed your eyes, preserving the refreshing blend of woody and citrus notes that already took up a significant amount of space in your memory.

Every time you inhaled, his scent mixed with a different moment from your life—and it all flooded your mind in an unstoppable sequence.

Meeting Jungkook—

Kissing him for the first time on that rainy night in the park—

Hugging him hello every morning before class—

Borrowing his clothes when you stayed at his dorm—

Losing your mind when you found yourself alone and his scent returned to you, uninvited.

Jungkook appeared to be sharing your memories in real time as he inhaled sharply and tapped his fingers against his shaky thighs.

“Friends,” he said, swallowing, “probably don’t kiss each other.”

His words ignited a fire in the pit of your stomach without any matches.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, uh—t-they probably don’t.”

“Hmm. Right.”

“As your friend,” you said, sitting up straighter and letting his flannel settle around your shoulders while you lowered your hands to the wooden bench underneath you, “I’m pointing out that you’re on a high because your grandma called. That’s why you’re thinking about—”

“I’m on a high because I’m with you,” he stated. “My friend.”

The fire inside you spread rapidly, wildly, uncontrollably.

The way you were starting to lose feeling in your fingers from gripping the bench so tightly, yet you refused to let go of it, should have probably been studied scientifically.

“Well, then,” you said, “let’s look at it this way: have you ever kissed friends before? Sid maybe?”

Jungkook snorted. “God forbid.”

“Minjun, then?”

“No,” he said. “Do you think I should?”

You snickered. “No. But if we’re friends, too, then we probably shouldn’t do that, either.”

He looked at you, his lips puckered in thought. Unconsciously, you had started to scrape at the dark paint of the bench.

You hadn’t meant a word of what you’d said. He suspected as much.

“Probably not,” he agreed. “But we’re such a mess, though, right?”

The echo of your own words on the plane brought a smile to your face again—a reaction more rooted in easing the sudden surge of anticipation rather than genuine amusement.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We’re such a mess.”

Jungkook felt a little afraid, which was something that he always felt when the world around him blurred, and he found himself incapable of looking away from your lips.

It was dangerous, this tunnel vision. This singular focus. This impossible, magnetic pull that defied all reason, that made the whole universe tremble with a silent—

He leaned closer.

For a fleeting moment, the space between you was filled with nothing but your echoing heartbeats and silent memories.

For a fleeting moment, time itself held its breath.

You remembered Oslo and the way Jungkook had pulled away. You remembered how worried you were, how horrified—he was drunk, and he’d pulled away. He’d done the rational thing.

Funny thing, rationality.

You thought you were perfectly rational when you closed the remaining distance and your lips brushed against his—hesitant, uncertain, tender. A permission, a question, and his unequivocal death, all in one.

Jungkook inhaled—as if checking if he was alive or just pretending to be—and reached up to touch your cheek. He pulled you closer and stole the remnants of your breath with his kiss.

It was fair, he thought. You had stolen his entire soul.

The touch of your lips lasted for less than a minute—not nearly enough time for the trees around you to exhale in clandestine relief—but the softness of his mouth, the slow, intoxicating smacking of your lips against his, and the faint notes of mint on his tongue did irreparable damage to your pulse.

He stole that too, he supposed, because when he pulled away, his heart seemed to beat with enough strength to support the lives of half the population.

“Do friends discuss what it means if they kiss?” he asked, winded. His chest touched yours every time it rose in an attempt to recover.

Your laughter was breathless, too. “I’m thinking no.”

“I like what you’re thinking.”

Something very tranquil and very happy was inscribed into the contours of your features.

Soft red feathers spread across the sky above you as the city slowly stirred awake.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt like it was supposed to.

“I have a free day tomorrow,” you said. “Well, today.”

Jungkook was a bit puzzled by the shift in conversation but went along with it nonetheless. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm. The girls and I made plans, but I’m, uh—I’m going to call my mum before I go. I set an alarm for it and everything,” you said with a self-conscious chuckle. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“Oh.” He was shaking a little, he realised. He hoped you wouldn’t notice it and decide to give him his flannel back. “Well, that—that’s good. You should do that.”

You nodded, lowering your gaze to the grass and the pebbles below. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to kiss you again,” he decided. “For good luck.”

Your surprised smile overshadowed everything else he wanted to tell you.

“Oh,” you said. “Is that what friends do?”

“Yes,” he replied. “You didn’t know? It can’t be just one kiss, that’s bad luck.”

“Actually, I heard even numbers are bad luck.”

He gasped theatrically. “Oh, but that’s terrible! I’ll have to kiss you three times, then. To be safe.”

You smiled and shook your head. He died a little then, because everything was here, just like in his worst nightmares and his favourite daydreams: your scent, your eyes, your smile. All of you.

“You’re always such an idiot,” you said with so much affection that the wind crept away miserably, defeated by the warmth in Jungkook’s gaze when he looked at you. When he felt your hand on the side of his face—gentle and careful so as not to touch the healing bruises on his cheek.

“Hmm.” He wasn’t sure if he’d ever remember how to breathe again. “You said you love me, though.”

“I do,” you said, beaming, as you ran the tips of your fingers over the edges of his wolf cut. “It’s a burden I have to live with.”

He shivered from your touch and leaned in—impatient, all of a sudden. His lips met yours with a soft, rehearsed touch, and he thought he died all over again when you pulled him closer.

Your heart brought back the memories of sensations that you’ve tried to bury; it revived them and set them loose in your chest when you kissed him back and felt the smile on his lips.

Your heart threatened to quit it, to burst into flames and take you down with it when you felt his tongue slowly glide over your lower lip.

Your heart settled right against his when you parted your lips. When you felt his warm breath mingle with yours. When you held onto him with everything you were feeling, and he held onto you.

He kissed you in every way that a friend wasn’t supposed to, and groaned softly when he touched the back of your neck and felt the relentless roughness of goosebumps under his fingertips. Your body reflected everything he was feeling.

Every time your lips met—gentle and feverish—every time he pulled you closer—frantic and heated—every time you inhaled when he exhaled—sharp and eager—you were setting fire to something that once was and building something new in its place.

There seemed to be small fragments of a foreign nature inside of you both—fragments that had danced with each other long before your first kiss and would continue the lively, eternal swaying for years and years after your last.

Maybe it was dust from two neighbouring stars, drawn together by a force stronger than them, but forced to crash somewhere on earth and settle and quiver and wake up inside of you both.

Or maybe it was something less grand. Maybe it was just luck. Just coincidence.

“See,” you whispered, pulling back. “I told you we don’t know how to be friends.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, kissing the corner of your lips. The sparks inside him were fierce and relentless when you smiled in response. “I think friends can decide what sort of friends they want to be.”

“What sort of friends are we going to be, then?”

“This sort.”

You could see the northern lights and the tails of comets in his eyes before he leaned in to kiss you again. You could taste the longing for the Milky Way and the whispers of timeless meteors on his tongue.

And it all solidified this for you: the two of you were not luck and not coincidence.

You were something much more.

chapter title credits: bring me the horizon, “follow you”

prev ○ next

[virtualreader]

roadside temptations

rickgrimesxfem!reader

summary: the car breaks down on the way back to the prison when you and Rick were coming back from a small run, and you figure out a way to kill time.

word count: 1,7k.

warnings: fingering, manturbation (female reciving), thigh riding, unprotected sex (p in v), cursing, praising, dick riding, etc. not proofread.

requested: yes (by anonymous).

+18 content below, minors dni, nsfw, please do not read it if you're uncomfortable with this topic!

As the car continued along the road, the gentle rumble of the engine slowly began to transform into a more noticeable rattling sound, and the once smooth ride became slightly more unstable as the vehicle began to wobble ever so lightly.

You and Rick had gone on a supply run to gather the essentials - medical supplies and food - and anything useful you could find. Given the current state of things, you knew that every little thing counted. It was supposed to be a day's journey; however, as luck would have it, your vehicle did not seem up to your wishes, as it malfunctioning and running slower than usual.

“That doesn’t sound exactly nice and smooth,” you said, pointing out the worrying clatter coming from the motor. “Do you think we should stop and check it out?”

"It's probably best if we do," Rick agreed. He didn't want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, having just a couple of hours left until sunset. "'M gonna pull over to that siding, and I'll take a look at it.”

Rick did as said, stopping the car when he had reached the pull-off. He opened the driver’s seat door and step out, heading to the front of the car. You watched as Rick popped open the hood and began to inspect the engine, a troubled expression breaking across his once calm features after he poked around a bit.

Rick followed instructions and stopped the car at the pull-off. He got out of the driver’s seat and walked to the front of the car. You observed as Rick opened the hood and inspected the engine.

After poking around for a while, a troubled expression crossed his previously calm features. Rick slamed the hood shut with a loud bang, and, with his thumbs in his pockets, returned to the car, behind the wheel.

"Looks like we're stuck here for a while," he said, turning to face you.

“If only you’d listened to me when I told you,” you scolded Rick. “We should’ve checked everything was in order before setting off.”

He was in such a hurry to depart that he didn't even stop to verify the condition of the engine. He was to blame for your setback.

While you rebuked Rick, his gaze remained glued to your lips, moving as you spoke.

"Are you listening to me at all?" you asked Rick, shaking your head in exasperation.

“God, you're so fucking hot when you're mad," he said with a smirk.

"You're a lost cause, you know that, right?" you sigh, still trying to hold onto your annoyance with Rick, on the brink of succumbing to his pleading eyes.

"Maybe," Rick responds with a wry smile, "but you long for this lost cause to touch you." His voice is playful and teasing, and it has the abillity to snap you out of your anger.

It's not that you don't appreciate Rick's sense of humor and charm - it's just that sometimes, it can be a little too much, especially when you're in a stressful situation like this one. But as he sits there beside you in the car, his eyes sparkling with mischief, you can’t help feeling the fluttering butterflies, the same ones you got back when he first started flirting with you.

As he moved his hand along the exposed skin of your thigh, you felt a rush of desire course through your body. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine and you found yourself yearning for more. You wondered what it would be like to have his hands explore every inch of your body, to feel his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as you melted under his touch.

You gave in to your desires and crossed over to the driver's seat, straddling Rick.

In a sudden and spontaneous movement, he grabbed your arms and pulled you closer to him, pressing his lips against yours in a fervent and ardent kiss. If you could not make it home, you might as well enjoy the privacy the deserted roads provided.

You interrupted the kiss, opening your eyes to observe his face, which you held in your hands. You noticed the way his eyes sparkled in the fading light, and the way his lips curved into a small smile. How you had gotten so lucky to have found someone like him in this chaotic and unpredictable world?

You buried your face in the crook of his neck and sucked, savoring the salty flavor of his perspiring skin. The lustful action elicited a grunt from Rick, and seeing him enjoying it only made you hornier.

Unable to resist the temptation to indulge your erotic desires, you began rubbing your denim-covered pussy on Rick's leg. The sensation was electric as you indulged in your carnal urges, your body responding with increasing arousal and a sense of unbridled wildness.

"Behave, babygirl, " Rick gasped, trying to keep some semblance of control. “Quit that if you want me to please you anytime soon.”

But you were relentless, the friction sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Rick's voice was strained as he fought to keep his composure, his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of desire and amusement. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and the intensity of his gaze made your heart race.

Despite his warning, you couldn't resist the temptation to tease him, to see just how far you could push him. You continued to grind your hips against his leg, feeling the friction and the growing wetness between your thighs. Your breathing became more and more erratic as the pleasure built inside you, and you could tell that Rick was struggling to keep up his facade of control.

"Are you trying to drive me insane?" he growled, his hands tightening on your hips. "Because if that's your plan, it's working."

You smirked, feeling a sense of power in the way you were able to affect him.

"Maybe," you said, your voice low and sultry. "Or maybe I just want you to take me right here in this car."

Rick's eyes widened at your boldness, and for a moment you thought he might actually give in to your demands. But then he shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips.

Rick pushed a hand against your chest, gently but firmly, conveying both his desire and authority, moving you back so he could access the button on your shorts, and, using just one hand, he undid it effortlessly. There was little space inside the tea green Hyundai SUV, hence the steering wheel digging your back as the man under you battled to roll your pants down.

"No panties?" You gave a feeble smile as the corners of your lips turned up when he realized you weren't wearing any underwear under your shorts. "You sure are a dirty little slut, ain't you?”

His large hands griped you tights, spreading your legs so you were stradling his lap. Your eyes closed, anticipation taking over you when his hard boner grazed your crotch through the denim fabric. You moaned in response to his fingers caresses in your cunt, which soon turned into a swifter rub, his middle and ring finger at both sides of your clit.

As the passion between you and Rick grew, you heard him whisper in your ear, "You can get louder, can't you?" and you responded by letting out a moan of pleasure.

The sound only seemed to encourage him as he continued to touch and explore your body, his hand working its way up under your shirt until he reached your tit, stroking it between his cold fingertips. You were completely under his spell, and you loved every moment of it.

A gasp left your mouth when he slided a finger inside you without prior notice.

“Rick.” you muttered in a submissive wail.

“What do you want, honey?” he teased, adding another finger to his pumping. “Is it me?”

You hummed in agreement, your eyes closed and head tilted backward as your walls squeezed his fingers. Signs of an impending orgasm emerged, the swell of bliss making its way up your core.

Yet, your expression of rapture quickly changed to one of disappointment when Rick's fingers left your hole, the sense of emptiness outweighing any pleasure.

"If you want to come, you better beg," he growled in your ear, and you knew you were completely under his control.

“Please, Rick” with a soft whimper, you begged him to take you, to make you his completely. “I want you, I want you to fill me.”

Without a second thought, his own urgency beyond human limits, Rick pulled the lever under the bottom of the seat, and it swung back, increasing the wiggrling space. He pulled up his shirt and pulled down his trousers before freeing his throbbing member from the suffocating fabric of his stone grey boxers.

At the sight, your mouth watered, and you eagerly mounted his erect, precum-dripping cock. you began to bounce up and down, your hips meeting in a sensual rhythm with each thrust.

"Attagirl," Rick praised you amidst his own gleefulness.

The car may have broken down and left you stranded on the side of the road, but in that moment, all you could think about was the intense desire that had overtaken your body. You wanted to feel Rick's hands over you, as your bodies melted into one, to be completely consumed by the zeal of this moment.

“Are you going to come for me, baby?” Rick whispered in your ear as you rode him, your hips moving faster and faster as you approached the brink of orgasm.

You moaned in response, your body writhing with pleasure as Rick's hands roamed over your body, touching you in all the right places as you rode him harder and harder.

You reached your peak, your body shaking with ecstasy as you came hard, your walls contracting around Rick's cock as he pumped into you one last time before spilling his own release inside you.

As you collapsed against his chest, breathing heavily, you couldn't help but think that getting stuck on the side of the road might have been the best thing that ever happened to you.

[arcielee]

Dancing in the Dark

Tom Bennett x OFC Summary: War is spilling over Europe and a route is being created to help POWs escape occupied France. Sometimes love does not last forever, but lasts long enough. Warnings: Smut implied, sad af, some misogyny cause it's the 1940s

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 - ende

Chapter 6

The days were quick, with an easy routine for Tom to help aita and the boys around the farm, while Vera remained with ama and Giulia to complete household chores and prepare supper. The end of the day meal was an exchange of stories from the day’s events and a glass of wine for dessert. Bernard would often give an update to the next steps, letting them know that his uncle had the passports prepared and how he would meet them at the Port of Gibraltar with tickets for one of the merchant ships.

Vera found herself lost in thought about Tom and their last night in Pamplona; she found she craved to feel the warm touch of his hands and the softness of his kisses. They were curled up in the bed, with her head on his chest while his fingers played with her curls. 

“A merchant ship,” he hummed. “I do not miss being at sea.”

“It is cheap,” she turned her head, resting her chin on her palm to look at his face. “It is best to be…” she thought for a moment. “In-conspic-us?” 

He smiled and tilted his head down to kiss her hairline. “Inconspicuous.” He looked ahead again for a pregnant pause. “Vera,” his voice the low timbre of the late night. “Would you still love me if I was just a pig farmer?”

She giggled at his question. “Tom. I will love you no matter what,” she stated as a fact, her eyes curious to his question. “Even if you were a Schweinebauer.”

His lips curled and he hummed again. “What if we stayed in Pamplona?”

Her expression froze at his words.

His expression was hard, but he did not press and instead pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face into her dark curls.

“Spain is untouched by the Nazis,” he continued. “We could stay put and I can find work–”

“For how long?” Vera asked him, her words slow. “How long does Spain remain untouched by Germany?” She pushed to sit upright, her fingers trailing his bare chest and causing his skin to raise to her delicate touch. “Tom, we owe this to Webster and to the people depending on us to verify this route. I…” her words failed her and she could not finish her sentence.   

The following morning was somber; she woke and dressed in her knitted skirt and blouse that Giulia had been good enough to wash for her, though her heart would miss the comfort of the ruffle skirts leant. Her knapsack was packed and she looked to see Tom, who was dressed and waiting for her. 

He reached for her hand and they went downstairs to be greeted with hugs and whispers of good luck from aita and ama, then Bernard and Giulia gave them their papers and walked them to the station. Vera did not mind when Guilia hugged her. “You could have kept the skirt,” she whispered. “Green is your color.”

“When I come back,” Vera promised.

The train ride rumbled and Tom held her hand without a word and her own expression was stoic, but her eyes were glassy; she peered through the compartment window and watched the scenery change with the train ride. Vera eventually pushed back and rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes to hold back her tears, a soft smile when she felt him kiss the top of her head, him resting his cheek against. Her hands fidgeted with the gold band on her finger and he eventually took her hand, bringing her palm to his lips for another kiss. 

They arrived at Gibraltar, exiting the train with the crowd and eyes watchful for the uncle. “How will we know?” Tom asked her, but she held his hand and pulled him towards a tall man with ice-blue eyes that twinkled. 

“Êtes-vous Vera?” He asked, peering at them both. Are you Vera?

"Oui," she nodded and gestures towards Tom. "Et voici mon mari, Tom."

I am. And this is my husband, Tom.

She felt choked with her words and knew she would miss saying them. 

The man introduced himself as Lucay, the young brother of Lyam. He was tall and a bit leaner, with the hint of silver beginning at his sideburns. He congratulated them on their arrival. “You will be home soon,” he said with a smile. 

They had enough time for a small meal and he walked them towards the docks and watched to verify they boarded the ship. There were maybe a hundred civilians in total who were ushered towards accommodations and assigned to rooms. 

“I feel they may have spoiled us at the villa,” Vera said when they entered the cabin; it was smaller than the motel room shared before.

“I had more space on the Exeter,” Tom looked over before setting down her knapsack he carried. “C’mon, lets see her off.”

The deck was alive with the crew, preparing to weigh anchor, and the waves crashed along the side as the convoy began to shift. Vera felt her stomach lurch and Tom wrapped an arm around her. “Easy, love,” he whispered in her ear. “Take deep breaths and it should pass.”

“Should?” She asked, her eyes pleading. “How did you manage this?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Kept busy with hobbies while I was on duty.”

Tom and Vera kept to themselves and continued the ruse of newlyweds fleeing France, spending their days below deck to hide from the sweltering sun and walking the deck when the sun set. At night, he would lay his head in her lap and she would continue to read The Hobbit to him. 

“‘And why should not they prove true?’” She read, her tone soothing. “‘Surely you don’t disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself? You don’t really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your benefit?’” 

“Why shouldn’t he?” Tom interjected with another one of his questions.

She paused and leaned over to kiss his mouth. “We are at the end,” she smiled and continued, “‘You are a very fine person, Mr Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after.’

“‘Thank goodness!’ said Bilbo laughing, and handed him the tobacco jar.”

He watched as she closed the book and asked, “That it then?”

“Yes, it is over.”

“But what about his book?” 

“I am not sure if Mr. Tolkien plans to–”

“No,” he waved his hand. “Bilbo’s book. There and Back Again.”

She smiled at him, her heart seized in her chest for a moment and she leaned over to kiss him again. “That did not answer my question,” he said when she broke away and she laughed, setting the book down and grabbing his collar.

The morning began with a bleak streak of sunlight battling the fog that rolled from Britain, the beginning of autumn brought a cool, crisp wind that ripped at their clothes. The deck was hectic, as supplies began to unload and the passengers ached for solid ground. Tom held on Vera’s hand as they weaved through the mess, pushing out and away from the crowd.  

They found a small café and grabbed lunch. Tom did not touch his food and her chest felt heavy, knowing what was to come. “Come with me to Manchester,” he started.

“Tom–”

“I know you feel this obligation to Webster, but risking your life? For what reason?” His brow furrowed, his tone grew heated with his words. “This guilt you carry with you for some bloke you didn’t even love, but I am here, alive, and in front of you.” 

“It is more than what I want, Tom,” she cried, the frustration that hovered over them spilling into tears. “We have been fortunate, but I cannot just walk away when lives are dependent on me.” She took a breath. “It is not just the doctor, but Henriette, Jacques, those soldiers in the hospital beds who also just wish to be home… I have to do this, Tom. It is the right thing to do.” 

He stared at her, the red tinted his cheeks and the tips of his ears, bringing out the copper tones to his golden locks. “Fuck,” he cried out and paused. “Vera, my dad would love you, Lois too.” He shook his head with a grim smile. “So fucking honorable.”

She wished to reach across and touch his hand, but his body language spoke otherwise. A moment passed filled with the sounds of cutlery touching the porcelain plates and chewing quietly. They paid and pushed to exit the café, Vera following him outside and Tom stopped, turning to her and still looking just as aggravated. “So what do I do now then?” 

“You will take a taxi to Manchester,” she sighed, pressing some bills into his palm. “That was the point, so you can have the freedom to do what you want. Tom, I–” but her voice broke off. 

Vera did not want to speak because she was unsure if she could trust her feelings at this moment. War had its chokehold around them and it made every moment so precious with the uncertainty of tomorrow. But she did know that if she left with him, she would hate herself for it as much as she had grown to love Bennett, Thomas. 

“I must do this,” she said instead. “I understand if you hate me for it, but as long as this war goes on, I must do my part.” 

She looked up to face Tom, expecting a backlash response but instead saw the glow of his brilliant blue eyes watching her. His lips pressed into a thin line and relaxed, his tongue wetting them. “I hate that you are like this,” he began, but he took a step to close the distance between them. “You are so damn stubborn, too.”

“You are cocksure,” she replied, her eyes narrowing onto him. “And arrogant.”

“I am,” he agreed, smiling when he saw her reaction, her stoicism cracking. “You have a silent reserve that forces me to self-reflect and I cannot stand it. It is like you have this heart that is too pure for this world right now and I want you to be as selfish as I am feeling.” Tom reached for her hands and she relished in the warmth they held; his palms were large and calloused, but also gentle. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, holding them for a moment, his thumb pressing into the golden band she still wore, before bringing them back down. “I cannot convince you to leave with me?”

Her jaw and her throat tightened with tears but she forced a small smile. “You cannot.” With his sigh, she added, “But I will come back to you when this war is done.”

“Who knows when that will be,” he sounded defeated. “Who knows where I will be?”

Vera shrugged. “I will find you,” and she kissed his cheek, turning to walk away and to find a bank, as Webster’s notes instructed. 

And Tom watched her skirt swish with her steps, a small smile on his lips.

Ende.

-----

previous | masterlist 

[whisperprime]

Note: Edited Part 3 to undo a death scene. Forgot I wanted the guy around until the end. Whoops! This will be the last part for tonight, but I promise a certain someone finally shows up in this part.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Shortly after Hob’s missed meeting, a squabble broke out between Burgess and his followers and the outside world. People were noticing that something strange was going on at Fawney Rig. For the most part, they had managed to hide the full truth. But Hob could have told them that they weren’t going to be able to hide it forever. Someone was going to notice that Burgess and his older followers were far younger than they should be, forget the whole still being alive part.

Apparently, Burgess eventually found a solution that involved a lot of hush money. Hob was fairly certain that wouldn’t last forever, although it might buy him more time.

The dawn of the new millennium brought a new fervor to Mammon’s moods. It seemed the closer he got to figuring out the seal, the more the full thing alluded him. Hob almost wished his human eyes could see the thing that so vexed this demon, but he could no more see it than Burgess could.

The archdemon broke Hob’s binding circle one random day near 2010. Hob was so startled by the turn of events, that he hardly reacted when the archdemon began to drag him over to it’s work station. He didn’t realize what the creature planned to do until it was far too late to stop him.

Hob dies a violent, messy death that day. The fact that it’s temporary doesn’t relieve any of the stress of it, because each time the archdemon tries - and fails - Hob dies again. A near manic fury born of frustration burns behind Mammon’s eyes like Hellfire itself and Hob’s mind just shuts down for a while after that. He retreats full force into the Dreaming, not caring where he lands. He finds himself a secluded glade within Fiddler’s Green and doesn’t move for so long he loses track of time all together for a while there. Merely huddles there until his mind can handle the violence again and he doesn’t feel so shaky with it.

By the time he wakens, the gleam has left the Mammon’s eyes and he seems to have burned off some of the anger. He doesn’t try to kill Hob again after that. To make up for breaking the binding circle, though, the demon breaks Hob’s ankle. Takes pains to make certain even with Hob’s enhanced healing, it either remains broken or heals wrong. Hob, through the pain, is infuriated with the efforts he’s going to have to go through to fix it when this is over.

Time passes again. Hob knows he’s getting close to the end of this, whatever that comes to. Burgess’ visits to the basement have decreased significantly over the years. He mostly does so to verify that the archdemon has not secretly cracked the seal’s mysteries and made off with them. Each time, the archdemon sneers at the assumptions. It’s a demon, but even demon’s have their laws and a deal is a deal.

Hob only has a mild sense of when Dream escaped in the original timeline. Only knew it was somewhere around the time he showed up at The New Inn. Doesn’t really know, until one night he’s hiding away in Fiddler’s Green, when he hears:

“Oh my word.”

Hob almost doesn’t react. He’s so used to accidentally over hearing conversations in the Dreaming without being seen, he doesn’t realize what’s going on until a hand settles on his shoulder.

Hob does not jump out of his skin, but it’s a near thing. Stunned, he looks at the hand and then follows said hand up an arm, until he finds himself face to face with Fiddler’s Green’s human avatar.

Said Fiddler’s Green who’s staring right at him.

Hob points to himself, mouthing, ‘me?’ After over a century of imposed silence, it doesn’t even occur to him to attempt to say anything.

Fiddler’s Green brows crease in concern. “My boy, are you alright? You look quite the fright.”

Realizing he is being talked to, Hob croaks, “You can see me?”

He gets a blink in response and more concern. “Why, of course I can. Should I not be able to?”

Hob just laughs, the sound partially hysterical. It sounds terrible, judging from the look on the avatar’s face, but Hob could care less because Fiddler’s Green can see and hear him!

And that means: “The seal is broken.”

“Seal?”

Hob just shakes his head and smiles. The smile grows as relief blossoms within his chest. Whatever happens next, he managed to hold up his end of the bargain. The seal is gone (and oh, how pissed Mammon will be when he sees), but that also means that this at least, is finally over.

It’s with this feeling, he wakes up.

The archdemon is just as furious as he imagined he would be and much more. Burgess and quite a few others are drawn down to the basement, despite the fact that they should very much have stayed away. It is not just Hob who dies a painful death that day. When he returns to himself after, Burgess is standing over him. Hob is somewhat disappointed the man survived.

“It’s over,” Hob croaks up at him. “It’s gone.”

Burgess stares down at him for a long moment, before he turns to two of his followers. “Take this man somewhere no one will ever find him. I don’t care where. I never want to see him again.”

Hob doesn’t have the strength to fight the men off. They may be two of Burgess’ original followers, but they’ve barely aged and they are still in good health, unlike a certain immortal human who hasn’t drank or eaten anything in over a century.

They tie Hob up and toss him in the boot of the car. Hob doesn’t know where they’re taking him. Tries to get a sense of where they’re going, but he loses it. Loses a little more to some restless sleep. 

After what feels like hours, the car comes to a stop and he can hear water. He tries to put up a fuss when the drag him out of the car, but he can do little as tussled up and malnourished as his is. One of the men grow frustrated with him efforts and takes the butt of a pistol to Hob’s forehead.

Hob is out like a light.

He next finds himself hitting the door to the White Horse, recognizable because of how often he’s seen it, even in dreams. Outside is pouring down ran and ahead of him he can see a familiar retreating back. When he looks down, he’s wearing an outfit he hasn’t seen since the last time he dreamt of this meeting gone wrong. He does not know why he’s dreaming of 1889 now of all times, doesn’t know if there’s any point to it, but he calls out all the same with:

“Wait! Please wait!” 

Hob expects the figure to keep going. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. He hasn’t tried to do this with a normal dream and his ability to lucid dream is clashing with the full force of the Dreaming’s natural effect of luring the dreamer to go along with the logic of the dream.

Near begging, he adds, “I’m sorry!”

There’s a shift ahead of him, subtle but there. Inexplicitly, the figure stops.

Hob does not know if this is means Dream is here or if this is a figment of his imagination, still, Hob feels compelled by some subconscious need to try. He does not want to do this unless he knows Dream is really here, but the Dreaming is more powerful.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “You’re such a mystery to me, that I got caught up in the puzzle of you. Patted myself on the back and became arrogant with what I thought I had figured out about you.” He shook his head, even though the person he was talking to had his back to him. “I should have offered you my friendship. If you were unwilling to accept that, I should have asked if you were willing to accept my concern.”

“Concern?”

Hob nearly goes to his knees in relief. He knows that voice. He doesn’t know what caused Dream to actually come, but he will not miss this chance. “Yes, my concern.” He shifts, wants to reach out, but knows this Dream will not accept it. “You have a look in your eyes. I’ve seen it the last few times we’ve met. I can’t claim to know what burdens you carry, but you have the look of someone who is being crushed by it.”

For a moment, the landscape of the dream flickers. For a moment, they are not standing outside the memory of the White Horse, but are instead inside a Funeral Hall that haunts some of Hobs worst nightmares. Hob sees the sea of people in front of him, faceless and seemingly endless. Knows what he’ll see if he turns around.

In the next, they’re back outside the White Horse. Hob closes his eyes against the sting of them. Says the words he wished he said the last time he saw this being. “I’ve seen people with that look in their eyes before. Lost many a friend to their own struggles. I would not wish to see the same happen to you.”

His oldest friend remains motionless in front of him. Hob does not know if he has reached him or not. If it will be for not and he will run again. 

If he does, at least Hob will have tried. It’s all he can do.

In the Waking World, something jostles him. The dream flickers, but he doesn’t wake. Distracted, Hob does not immediately realize that the figure in front of him has turned around until he finds himself eye to eye with a pair of eyes as deep as midnight, lit only be a single star.

“You would concern yourself with my wellbeing, even after I turned you away?”

Hob stares back, drinking in a sight he thought he would never see again. It’s a little strange to see him in his 1889 outfit, but Dream is still a sight for sore eyes an Hob has missed him so much. “My dear friend,” he says, wiping at a treacherous tear that have escaped despite his attempts to keep it back. “Although I dearly wish not, you could walk away now and I would still wonder ever day for the rest of my life how you faired.”

His body is jostled again, this time with the sound of a boat’s engine turning on, and Hob knows he will wake soon. Fearing he might never get the chance again (he knows all the terrible ways you can make someone disappear around water. Does not want to remember what that means when you can’t die), he says, “If this is the last time we meet, please take care of yourself. I am not the only one who misses you when you are gone.”

Dream stares back at him. Hob does not dare attempt to read him, for fear of getting it wrong.

An age old trauma rears it’s head, causing his mind to blank out in sheer terror. He’d known they planned to drown him in the lake. To weigh him down so he could never find his way back to the surface, but his mind had been shying away from it out of pure instinct to protect his psyche. Now there is no running from it. He will go over that edge, into that water, and he will drown over and over again unless someone finds him--

Something flickers in Dreams eyes. Whatever he planned to say is lost as the dream ends, Hob waking with a grunt as his back hits the railing. A set of hands on his shoulders is pushing him slowly, but surely over, while another is struggling with his legs.

Which are heavy, he notes with more than a hint of hysteria, because there’s a chain and heavy weight wrapped around them.

Suddenly, the hands are gone. Hob nearly unbalances and goes over the edge anyway, until a pair of familiar hands grips his arm and drags him back over onto the safe side of the railing. Gently, he’s lowered to the deck, but his mind is still too sluggish to comprehend what he is seeing.

He doesn’t know what to do with the sight of none other than Dream of the Endless himself, rising to his feet after lowering Hob to the floor of the boat. Doesn’t know what to do when the two men get back to their feet, as if they actually stand a chance against their opponent. Hob might have felt pity for how quickly they gone down under Dream’s sand if they hadn’t been trying to drown him mere moments ago.

With the men down, Dream turns back to Hob, who’s starting to shiver from the chill of the air on his damp, very naked skin. Hob would be mortified, but his dignity is still taking back seat to his relief over not being in the water.

“You’re here,” he says it with something akin to awe. Still unable to believe it, even as Dream helps him out of the chains. Continues to not believe it, even as said dream lord shrugs off his coat and wraps it around Hob’s shoulders.

“Close your eyes, Hob Gadling. You will be away from here soon.”  

Hob doesn’t need to be told twice. He clenches his eyes shut. Keeps them shut as sand rises up around them and the sound of water disappears. Keeps them shut even when he is sure it’s safe to open them, because he’s belatedly remembering he’s not supposed to know how this works.

“You can open your eyes. We are here.”

The immortal human opens his eyes, blinking as his vision adjusts to going from the bright out doors to the much more dim indoors. He glances around, but doesn’t recognize anything. “Where--” he coughs around his parched throat. Tries again, even with the treat of another cough. “Where are we?”

Dream helps him to his feet with little effort, leading him over to what appears to be a decent sized kitchen. He pulls a glass from one of the cupboards, fills it with water, and then hands it to Hob. Who only barely resists the urge to down it all in one go because he knows, knows, he will get sick if he does so.

He’s just finished the water, when Dream drops the bombshell: “This is my house.”

Hob wasn’t swallowing any water when this is said. He nearly chokes regardless. “You have a house in--.” The Waking World, he almost says. Cuts off because this is another thing he shouldn’t know and he’s going to have to make a decision on how to handle all of this soon, because he really hadn’t thought about what it was going to be like interacting with Dream when he knew quite a bit more about his friend then his friend knew he knew. 

He swallows. Looks around, before looking back at Dream. Who’s raised an eyebrow at him. “Where is here, by the way?”

“Somewhere safe.” Dream gestures to a room down the hall. “Would you like to bathe now or after you have eaten? I will fetch you some clothes while you do either.”

Hob would very much like to eat and put off getting anywhere near water, but he also very much does not want to create unnecessary dirty clothes for his friend to deal with. “Bathe, then food, if I may.”

Dream nods, then leads him over to the bathroom. Hob marvels a bit over everything, still stunned that Dream even has a house in the Waking World. “I will leave some clothes for you. When you are done, a meal will be waiting for you.”

Dream withdraws from the room and it takes every ounce of self control for Hob not to try and grab hold of him. He wants to ask why Dream is here? Why did he come for him? He doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he doesn’t know if he will survive this merely being a charity.

Hob forces himself to let Dream go. Forces himself to turn on the water to a rather state of the art shower, despite the house feeling like it’s got quite some age to it. He would much rather take a bathe, but he fears he won’t be able to get back up if he takes that luxury. Instead, he slides the coat from his shoulders and slips into the shower.

He will leave the shower later. Go to the kitchen to eat. He may or may not find Dream there. For now, he contends himself with washing everything that’s accumulated over the last hundred plus years off. He cannot wash the memories away as easily, but the grime can go.

Everything else that follows will follow

Part 5

[somethingclevermahogony]

WIP Anagram Tag

Thanks for the tag. @mundanemoongirl! I really enjoy this particular kind of tag.

My word: Fight

Your word: Wrath

F

Failing at this as well as the application of other more common jewelry, they took to him with bowls of a strong smelling paste, dyeing his skin with shades of rich red and earthy brown, covering his arms, hands, and chest with swirling wave-like patterns. A bull with horns like curling corkscrews danced across his chest, while serpents embraced his wrists and on his cheeks blazed lightless suns. The servants moved their fingers across his skin, tracing the scars and muscles. They whispered to each other in hushed hisses, and yet still Narul could hear them, and what Narul heard made his cheeks flush a rudy pink.

I

“ I can’t really remember what its like.” He said. “Getting older, I feel like I haven’t really changed since Labisa, since before you were born really. Sometimes I have to remind myself how old I actually am. Bop isn’t very helpful with that sort of thing, he understands time and aging even less than I do.”

G

“Gad ta see yas, frunds.” Buru said “Hoo wa ta trep?” The dialect of the Ziprians was almost entirely unique, even amongst the other mountain villages. At times for the Kishites of the west, it was almost unintelligible. It was said that part of their strange way of speech had come from the forestfolk tribes which existed in those regions long before the coming of Tamel and his Kishites. Jani had even heard a rumor from one of the huntsman that the people of Zipra were themselves a kind of forestfolk, the hunter had told him that the Ziprian custom of always wearing slippers was used to hide the fact that Ziprians actually had six clawed toes on each foot. Jani had never made any attempt to verify this claim, as it least to him it seemed rude. When he had brought the topic up to Dati, the old forestfolk had said that it seemed likely to him.

H

 He had taken to having Otilia follow him around the city; indeed, he refused to let her out of his sight, he had even moved her out of the slave quarters to make her sleep in his own chambers. Not only could he keep an eye on her, but he also now had a captive audience to gossip and complain to about his fellow Bidani or about peasants in the streets or issues with his shipments or his father or the time his sister had an affair with a slave. Through his constant petulant babbling, Otilia had learned more about the man than she had ever wanted.  In many ways, the merchant reminded her of her husband, though he was considerably younger. He hadn’t been entirely unreasonable, after some pushing and prodding he had allowed for Shela to accompany them as their personal servant, jogging behind them with a skin of wine at all times. She stood there now, head bent, waiting for orders.

T

" That’s enough," Narul grumbled as he was bedecked with flowers and ribbons. Even the hammer, which he had insisted he keep at his side, had been wrapped in brightly colored cloth, blue at the request of Bop. The whole experience was tedious but had successfully driven thoughts of the nightmare from his head, for the time being.  “What is that for, Narul?” Bop would ask excitedly, as far as the spirit could remember they had never bore witness to a wedding. Narul himself was not particularly familiar with the concept, especially those traditions practiced outside of Labisa.   A key element of Southern Kishic wedding ceremonies was the practice for both partners to be pulled on beautifully adorned wedding carts. The village had at one point even had two oxen, one for each cart. Unfortunately one of these oxen had fallen prey to the very same kiriki which Narul had hunted months before. Lacking the time or money to purchase a new ox, the married couple had instead found an alternative, Narul. It was agreed that the remaining ox would pull Shela while Narul would pull Otilia. They had even placed two horns, made from wood and copper on his head, held there by a band of cloth.

Tagging @winterandwords, @illarian-rambling, @alnaperera, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @tildeathiwillwrite

@diabolical-blue, @elsie-writes, @the-ellia-west, @phoenixradiant, @paeliae-occasionally

[ukrainenews]

Daily Wrap Up October 7, 2022

Under the cut:

More than 20 suspected Russian “torture chambers” have been found in the northeast territory recently retaken from Russian forces, a top police official said 

The bodies of more than 500 civilians have been discovered in the territory in northeast Ukraine that has recently been retaken from Russian forces, according to Ukrainian police

France has created a fund, initially worth €100 million ($98 million), for Ukraine to directly buy weapons and other materiel it needs in its war against invading Russia, President Emmanuel Macron said on Friday

Ukrainian troops have reported outages of their Starlink communication devices while fighting on the frontline, according to Ukrainian officials and soldiers

Russia has targeted Zaporizhzhia with explosive-packed “kamikaze drones” for the first time, as the death toll from a missile strike on an apartment building in the city rose to 11

“More than 20 suspected Russian “torture chambers” have been found in the northeast territory recently retaken from Russian forces, a top police official said.

“In almost all large cities and towns, where military units of the Russian army were based, they set up such places of detention of civilians and prisoners of war and tortured them,” said Serhii Bolvinov, head of the investigative department of the regional police, adding that one was in the town of Pisky-Radkivski.

The most common torture techniques were electric shocks and severe beatings with sticks and other objects, he said, adding that there were also cases of nails being pulled out and the use of gas masks to restrict breathing.

Bolvinov cited testimony from a 67-year-old man in Izium, who the Russians accused of assisting Ukrainian targeting.

According to Bolvinov:

   This man was taken to the local police department and later had a black hood put over his head. One of his interrogators had put a gun to his head and demanded to know to whom he had given the coordinates of targets. When he denied doing so, they used a pipe or bat on his hands and broke his arm. The man had testified that later his captors had pushed metal spokes from a bicycle wheel under his skin, and beat him. His injuries included internal bleeding and he was now in a Kharkiv hospital, according to Bolvinov.

CNN has not been able to verify the regional police chief's account.

Bolvinov also said there were also criminal proceedings underway regarding allegations of rape.

"We understand that it is very difficult for victims to testify about such facts. However, there are proceedings that we have registered, there are appeals from women who were raped. We have information about the alleged facts of rapes in torture chambers," Bolvinov added.”-via CNN

~

“The bodies of more than 500 civilians have been discovered in the territory in northeast Ukraine that has recently been retaken from Russian forces, according to Ukrainian police.

Most of the remains — 447, according to Ukrainian forces — were found at what was described as a mass burial site in the town of Izium, which Ukrainian forces liberated from Russian occupation in early September. Russian troops had been using Izium as a launchpad for attacks southward into the Donetsk region.

As Ukrainian forces liberated more land in the northeast, new burial sites are being discovered.

   “We found the bodies of 534 civilians from the de-occupied territories," said Serhii Bolvinov, the head of the investigative department of the regional police,

They included 226 women and 19 children, Bolvinov added.”-via CNN

~

“France has created a fund, initially worth €100 million ($98 million), for Ukraine to directly buy weapons and other materiel it needs in its war against invading Russia, President Emmanuel Macron said on Friday.

"We are setting up this special, dedicated fund initially with €100 million to allow the acquisition of equipment that we have already delivered and that we will continue to do so in terms of weapons, meaning defensive ones," Macron said after a summit in Prague.

He added that discussions were being held, particularly with Denmark, to deliver more highly accurate CAESAR truck-mounted cannons to Ukraine, on top of the 18 France has already given.

"France has been giving military support to Ukraine from the first day, with anti-tank and individual anti-aircraft systems," Macron said.

The new fund, he said, "will allow... to also work with France's defence industry base" and "demonstrates our will to act as Europeans and to align ourselves with this collective effort" helping Ukraine.

The fund would significantly boost the military support France is showing Ukraine, from the €233 million committed so far, which is a fraction of what some other allies have allocated.

The United States is the biggest military supplier to Ukraine, to the tune of the equivalent of 25 billion euros, while Britain has given some €4 billion worth of weapons and gear, and Poland €1.8 billion worth.

Publicly-known shipments that France has so far made include anti-tank and anti-aircraft missiles, armoured personnel carriers, fuel, infantry gear and towed artillery cannons -- as well as the 18 prized CAESARs.

The discussions with Denmark would be to see about diverting some CAESAR units Copenhagen had ordered from France.”-via France24

~

“Ukrainian troops have reported outages of their Starlink communication devices while fighting on the frontline, according to Ukrainian officials and soldiers.

Thousands of terminals by Elon Musk’s Starlink satellite broadband service have been delivered to Ukraine to help troops operate drones, receive vital intelligence updates and communicate with each other.

The disruptions have hindered efforts to liberate territory from Russian forces, with some of the outages resulting in a “catastrophic” loss of communication in recent weeks, the Financial Times cited one senior Ukrainian government official as saying.

Many of the outages were reported as troops breached the frontline into Russian-controlled territory and some during pitched battles, according to the official.

They were acute in the south around the Kherson and Zaporizhzhia regions, but also took place along the frontline in eastern Kharkiv, Donetsk and Luhansk, the Ukrainian official said.

Another Ukrainian official said the connection failures were widespread and prompted panicked calls from soldiers to helplines.

The FT reports that the disruptions underline Starlink’s outsized role in Ukraine’s fight against the Russian invasion, and comes after Musk angered Kyiv when he asked Twitter users to weigh in on his ideas to end Russia’s war.”-via The Guardian

~

“Russia has targeted Zaporizhzhia with explosive-packed “kamikaze drones” for the first time, as the death toll from a missile strike on an apartment building in the city rose to 11.

The regional governor, Oleksandr Starukh, said Iranian-made Shahed-136 drones damaged two infrastructure facilities in the city. He said other missiles also struck the city, injuring one person.

With its army losing ground to Ukraine’s counteroffensive, Moscow has started to deploy drones to attack Ukrainian targets. According to Ukrainian military officials, “kamikaze drones” are cheaper and less sophisticated than missiles but have proved effective at causing damage to targets on the ground. The Shahed-136 drones are able to remain airborne for several hours and circle over potential targets before being flown into enemy troops, armour or buildings and exploding on impact.

On Monday, the Iranian foreign ministry spokesperson Nasser Kanani denied supplying the drones to Russia, calling the claims “baseless”. However, the Ukrainian military said its forces had shot down more than 20 drones over the last 24 hours and that most were Iranian-made.”-via The Guardian

[wordyneonlights]

Meeting The Elders

This story was based on a prompt from ‘The Plottery’ on Instagram titled: Write a story about a newly transformed vampire

Today is a good day to be undead. Although I suppose any day can be a good day to be undead depending on how you feel but today… this day was a good -nay- fantastic day to be undead. You may be wondering why. Why I’m celebrating my undeadness. Why this particular day is so good, well my little fledgling it’s because I have been invited to the vampire coven.

Yes the vampire coven.

Where vampires as old as time and witches as powerful as the elements met to discuss the fate of the world and play blackjack. I had almost exploded into dust when I read my invitation, in fact I hadn’t even thought it was real until Clarice verified it; giving me a jealous look as I grinned.

“I can’t believe you got an invite,” she complained as I smelled the paper, ohhh it had smelled rich and powerful the type of smell only those who’d lived over a thousand years could attain.

Francois didn’t share my excitement, when I asked him to smell it he simply wrinkled his nose and muttered something about the falling standards of letter paper. I didn’t care, I wouldn’t let his surliness ruin my big night, the night!

An hour or so passed and I had gotten ready, hopefully it was what the leaders wanted to see. As I walked down the street towards the address printed on the invitation, a few worries started to slip in my mind.

I wasn’t a complete idiot, I knew how powerful these leaders were and I understood that if they found me of no use they would get rid of me. I shivered at the thought, the thought of a wooden point being uncomfortably pressed hard enough into my chest to draw blood, or in my case explode me into infinitesimal pieces.

To add on to all of this, I also had heard rumours about people going into the vampire coven. Some went in and survived to tell the story while others… well let’s just say that they weren’t as fortunate.

My heart hammered in my chest all further excitement gone. Before now, the coven had seemed like a dream, a distant unattainable thing that I would never get to. Now I wish it were Clarisse here instead of me. Maybe I could turn back… no. I couldn’t do that.

The coven had chosen me after all, not Clarisse and I’ll be truly damned if I give anything up to her.

The building loomed in front of me, a dusty abandoned 7-11.

I walked towards it ignoring the shifting shadows and the unnerving whispers, pushing open the rusted door and standing in front of aisles worth of expired product.

I walked among the shelves trying to find some sort of lever or switch that would lead me out of this (probably haunted) shop and to the … well… wherever the coven was. Or maybe funds were bad this year and a musty old 7-11 was all they could manage.

“Hello!” I called, “It’s me! The one you sent an invitation to, Marissa Perez!”

At the mention of my name the ground literally shook and a low feminine voice whispered:

“Finally, we’ve been waiting for you to introduce yourself Marissa,”

Everything went hazy for a moment, as though the seven eleven was melting, the shelves being replaced by couches and people as well as a large floor, polished and wooden with poles sticking out of it. Almost exactly like the place my mom used to have her pole dancing lessons.

The room cleared from it’s melty dimension leaving me standing in front of a couch with four people sitting on it. The first one, sat poised and gracefully, her red curls gelled and kept in a ponytail behind her head, a spattering of freckles dusted the bridge of her nose.

The second one was a dark-skinned male, his locks tied back and decorated with gold rings. He looked wistful and I noticed that his pupils were glassy and clear like milk.

The third and fourth one were voraciously making out with each other and I turned away, embarrassed as my gaze drifted back to the curly haired woman.

“Marissa Perez,” she said softly

I nodded before squeaking out a small yes.

“It is a delight to have you here,” the male continued, nodding in my direction and I frowned. Maybe he wasn’t blind, maybe that was just the natural colour of his eyes.

“MeiLing please leave us,” the woman spoke again as one of the partners in the … activity happening further down on the couch got up and left.

The one remaining, brought out a pocket mirror and began checking her features, eyeing me as she did so. “Marissa,” the first one said and I faced her again.

“My name is Corinthe, the next to me is Dati and the other is Feilong,”

I nodded as Corinthe continued

“Very rarely do we allow people to meet with us, especially newly-turned,” she said, the word ‘especially’ being heavily stressed.

I nodded again before adding a yes ma’am so that they didn’t think I was mute.

“I still don’t understand why she’s here. She’s barley three months, she’s only just learned to acclimate. What do we gain from her existence?” Feilong asked, giving Dati and Corinthe looks that suggested that she greatly disagreed with their decisions.

Feilong’s voice sounded different to my own and I realised that both Dati and Corinthe hadn’t used their lips to communicate with me. I suddenly felt very out of place.

It was true, I was only three months old in terms of vampire age, I had only just started to digest blood fully. That’s why Clarisse and everyone else in her clan were so surprised when I got the invitation. Especially when you considered that I wasn’t even in the system yet, that would take another three months.

I looked at Corinthe, Dati and Feilong in turn, trying to summon up enough courage to ask my next question.

“What am I doing here?” I asked before quickly rephrasing the question when I noticed the look in Corinthe’s eyes, “I mean I’m insignificant, I’m not even in the system, I wouldn’t be of use to you-”

Feilong nodded in approval to my last statement as Dati stood up.

“You are our last and only hope,” he said

“Like in Star Wars?” I blurted “With Obi Wan Kenobi?”

He gave me a confused look, the most emotion I had seen from the three of them combined

“I…suppose, yes like your… Star Wars. And Obi Wan Kenobi,”

I nodded again before opening my mouth only to have Corinthe cut me off

“The new generation of vampires is a waste of blood and time, they are a disgrace to the legacy and lineage I have created. They are weak willed and useless and have no goals, aims or plans. You on the other hand, you are still new, still… malleable. Using you we can create a new wave of vampires, good ones, ones worthy of the blood they consume,”

Corinthe finished before looking at me, an eyebrow raised in expectance.

I gulped

“So what do you need me to do?”

[the-firebird69]

With this announcement of the Revolutionary War the Max are indicating that they will begin fighting the rebellion in earnest and if we become something very real and they are understanding they needed a break and everybody did to try and get ready and that's what the name of the game was and it is becoming obvious and apparent that it was necessary. We are going to get ready for another day or so of bugs but we think they're gonna spray some.

- And our son is looking forward to growing. This guy's like to write things a lot and they look stupid they're gonna have a problem with that people don't know what they're saying and they bother people with it and you're gonna try invading and they suck lost stuff like that

- We do have a few things to go over they're pretty big we need to get it done this place is not conducive to normal life and people put our sun here to screw around with him in varying degrees meaning for different levels of objectives and it's subjective to each individual and we have to look at it closer he said there's a lot of stuff coming out it's way too secret for him. No it didn't go in on it and we are flushing them out ohh we gotta get them now and faster and quicker they're hard to hit too like these bugs.

- This is it really they do it every year but this year you more like exiting all of the middle areas and we do have an update and firly mture

- There have been about 20% exiting the Midwest today over a period of 5 hours that's very fast almost faster than you want we see tons of them nodding. And there's a huge group of them they're saying stupid things we're going to go after them.

- Did he get excited when they're getting beat yeah they do get excited so that's what's happening we have a lot of stuff to do but the Midwest and upper Midwest emptying to the north they're leaving the Midwest and using big trucks it's about 10 to 20 times faster according to them and we're moving tomonitor.

- Then if you want things happening and these bugs are irritating as hell we need to get them a spray or something just wondering about skin so soft and it might work some sort of bug zapper we have several they do work yeah it's well worth it.

- Now the July first memorandum by us has been accepted by the max and verified others are verifying it ash what's actually happening to a Laura Hill to a lot of people as hell they know what it means.

- they are planning on some kind of stipend and he's not sure what it would be And he says after the three stimulus texts he doesn't see anything and we don't either And they were about the same time as the other check but he is wondering what their plan is and what the payout was and stuff like that but I guess every year is different and it has to do with what's actually going on and it's not necessarily inventions and right now they're doing better they say and these guys are gonna get creamed and it's the max doing so there's a lot to do with what's happening they say but we don't think so they have a set schedule and they're planning on releasing certain money in a certain day and it's going that way right now but knowing when he submitted is good because they usually pay shortly after and some monies were released around that day so we're gonna think about that a little I guess there are some other things happening and it's here in Shaw County.

- The Pseudo Empire is working up a hit on leaders here'cause they found hits on them while ago. They sent them out this morning and they are gunning for people and they have come down and cleaned up Dave's apt for him before'cause they don't wanna pick sigh and they don't want bugs and critters and that's what they're doing for and our son kind of figured it out and our daughter heard him and thought good. It started a big mess as we're saying stuff.

- There's other things going on donald Trump is in trouble and he is going to be sentenced July 11th it's two weeks away and he is applying the thumbscrews to people they release the gag order and the **** is talking his head off. And it's a trick and it was used before on him and it worked and he's admitting things in public and he's spewing after the witnesses and the gag order is just to keep him civil it's not a crime that they're convicting him of it's to keep him from committing a crime and he says OK so they stopped you from writing. Says they're doing me a favor and he says yeah they were for real idiot so now they release the gag order and he can be held in contempt and that's what they probably do because the gag order was in place and they forced it to be released more or less and they're going to charge him if he doesn't they also are going to sentence him on the 11th and our son is wondering about the appeal meaning I think that he needs to appeal it and they they do say when it's gonna be carried out and he's got to appeal it and be approved before they carry out sentencing or he has to have this appeal date for court before the sentence takes place they used to have people in jail yeah that were a flight risk and they say he's not 'cause he's waiting for president but he runs all over the place and causes trouble and as a terrorist. So they are going to probably have him try a face face him trying to appeal the sentence usually is carried out within a week or two and we shall see with this bozo who knows.

- And there's a few other things going on but our son says if he gets to be president he's gonna get hacked up very quick. And people notice something they'll probably try stuff every minute of every day in the office and they'll have to kick him out because he'd be so embarrassing and they'll just say he got sick from COVID 19 and goodbye to him and he will suffer from his own contrived illness that's possible that that could happen we are now facing a whole bunch of people who are bothering us here nonstop and it seems to be it's nonstop and it seems to be about him getting money and they're mad at Tommy F they say and it's none of their business and they owe us money so he wants a special project people who lost money will pay and must pay and must pay us not directly we already have a lot of lawsuits and that's different sort of and he says it is kind of different as I'm pursuing one aspect of it I do the other aspects but a group would be nice and these people who owe us money should not be bothering him about money and we're going to have to seek them out and in particular it's a great idea it's part of our military campaign and these are what he was saying about strike groups or they really think tanks and command posts for for this kind of thing and right now we're gonna set up operations in certain cities of ours and we will move them up the line. On purpose. Have other things going on but this is very important so we're going to post.

Thor Freya

Our people are suffering they can't get money they can't use it they're having trouble getting stuff this is a major reason why along with supply and stores and stuff and we're working on all of it but this focus group will will make it work much better.

Hera

Olympus

-

[ofcarnvge]

Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

McDonalds was about a 3 mile drive away from the closest place any cab would pick her up. She had to walk home the rest of the way, sneaking past police officers, steering clear of standing water, scaling walls, before finally jumping through a small window into a condemned library. It was tedious, but she didn’t mind. It was a way for her to see the country she loved.

But she couldn’t ignore forever that Taiwan was slowly dying.

She couldn’t take the roof route, not with her hands full. So she held the brown bags in her arms just above water level while she waded through the the library’s sunken lobby. She climbed to the second floor where a towel, washcloth and an jury-rigged shower were waiting for her.  Her food sat patiently while she washed away the errand from her skin. But it could only wait so long. By the time she was ready to sit down, her fries were slightly less warm.

She carried the bags the rest of the way to her room, cracked open a soda from her fridge, bundled herself in her favorite blanket and checked her screens. Nothing from her favorite wannabe super heroes. Not yet.

But there was something else. A series of inquiries on synthesizers in and near Cambridge. She’d label the pings as “Chemical Lady??”, except the request didn’t actually come from Cambridge...A part of her thought of sending a warning...but she wasn’t certain what to make of the data.

I could always ask, she thought to herself. But the distant sound of weary deli being washed away by the ocean silenced those thoughts altogether.

What have they actually done but abandon us?

Instead, Amber shoved a straw into her soda can and sipped. She left the data open though, waiting to see if anything else happened.

-----

Watching the sun over the sea put Amy in a state of slight unease. It stopped her in her tracks. The habit of living with a constant glance over her shoulder was hard to shake, and the image outside of the plane’s window threatened her with peace of mind. There could have been a hundred Shadows on the plane, not paying her any attention, calling her a friend of associate, and she would still be on edge. Once upon a time, not too long ago, they all had a Pillbox cell with her name on it.

Maybe it was too early to return to work. It was a popular thought of hers. Maybe I should have retired with the rest of Scarlet Ink. But no. Pan called. So she answered.

Go Go’s voice yanked Amy away from her introspection, and she felt gratitude for it. it was a mercy--she rescued her from the crushing weight of her own thoughts. The smile she offered was one of gratitude. “I was there,” Amy replied to Go Go’s Japanese in kind. “I was asked to serve as a silent bodyguard, while observing and verifying the exchange of information. I imagine you were too busy with other pressing matters to apply any permanence in my brief appearance on stage, but then again, I was only there for a moment to announce an opera. Besides, you had more pressing matters.”

Amy leaned her head against the window, but this time the calm was welcome. In poured into her bones, rushed through her veins and cooled her skin. “I guess its fair to say Pan and I grew up together. We clashed--” Amy hesitated, “Or rather, I clashed with her over a teacher we both wanted to learn from There could be only one,” she chuckled. “But eventually we bonded and became friends. Eventually we split, and we grew up, and when I found myself in trouble, I was lucky to find that our friendship was still intact. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. So, I protect her, I protect us. In my short life, I find the best gratitude to be action. As I imagine you do.”

The ponderance relaxed her shoulders, curled up the corners of her lips into a smile that was as warm as she felt. “Love,” she said. “The act of giving a heart to friends, family, lovers... what we do in the name of it is not always good, but the act of love itself is pure. Strong.”

She pulled her glance away from the window and held Go-Go in an assuring smile. “O-ren will remember this when she sees you.”

The memory struck Go go strangely - some old artifact dredged up from an ancient seabed; the woman on the stage. But there had been so many faces that night, so many events. As the opera had been announced she had been sitting poised next to Sofie with a poisoned pin, awaiting the order. 

The order hadn't come, not that night. What exactly had happened to Sofie Fatale was mysterious even to Go go. But she knew one thing; she disappeared after O-ren went to stay at her apartment in Paris a few weeks later.

No wonder she hadn't remembered. With practiced discipline she pushed the painful memory out of reach.

“So that was you.” She uttered, perching on the back of a sofa. “I’m still putting it all back together.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “O-ren was my teacher from a young age. Too young. But she knows that now. The way she left me out of this whole business hurt, but I understand. She wanted me out, wanted me safe.”

Love.

The simple word lodged uncomfortably in Go go’s consciousness.

“You’re right about that.” She said after a moment. “For the longest time the only way I knew how to express love was with the application of steel, and I was good at it.” Her brows drew together thoughtfully. “Every time I cut down a threat to O-ren I think I felt what people describe as love.”

Subconsciously, her fingers flexed. She might have given up her weapons but the muscles still remembered how to hold a tanto, what a chain felt like in her grip and how to move it expertly.

A nod. “I think she will, but even more I hope she remembers that she’s worth saving too.” She glanced out of the window Amy was leaning against, no land just yet.

“I’ll feel better when I can have that conversation with her in person. I appreciate everything you and the others are doing for her. It might seem strange, but in doing it you’ve helped undo someone who, left unchecked, would have carried on pouring pain and death into the world.”

Go go couldnt help noticing it; and it occurred to her pleasantly - because it didn't arise from a detection of threat or a glorification of violence, it was one expert noticing the traces of another, there was the ghost of that smile again;

“Forgive me, but I notice your stance. I could believe you are trained in Wadō-ryū, but that doesn't seem quite right.”

Her look, and smile, sharpened with interest.

“What exactly are you trained in?”

-

“Hey Milo.” Mallory picked up the phone. Her hand was on the doorknob on the way out of her motel room.

“Have you left the motel yet?” He asked. Even in that short, simple statement she could read the concern in his voice. She closed the door the crack it had been open.

“What’s wrong?”

“It might be nothing, you know I’m paranoid. But I had your traces pulled up a couple of hours ago, all the taps on the synthesizers. There was...something.”

Mallory frowned. “Something?”

“Yeah, I noticed it on a couple of the UK ones, someone accessed it - they noticed, I wouldn't even have seen it if I hadn't been watching the screen that second. I tried to trace it but it’s a ghost, no signature, no location, nothing.”

“Sounds like random traffic to me. I think you might be right on the paranoia this time.”

“Yeah.” He replied, dissatisfied. “Maybe you’re right. You just be careful, ok?”

Mallory pulled open the motel room door and stepped out into the daylight.

“Milo.” She uttered with a soothing, sarcastic tone of (not unaffectionate) condescension. “I’ve made a whole life out of being careful, I’m pretty sure I can deal with a blip on a screen. Please get some sleep, will you?”

[thoughtfulnutgiver]

Ilang Katanungan Tungkol sa Kinabukasan

Finding the best cougar dating app for you can be quite a challenge these days but it's absolutely essential. If you are truly ready to commit and you think he is too, one of the best ways to find out is to order a pizza. There are so many fun facts and random tidbits that have come out about the royal family thanks to documentaries, Freedom of Information Act requests and simple observation. So sites have to invest heavily in viral marketing to achieve critical mass, which competes with current social networks, while users expect to join both for free. While the British royal family doesn't technically have a last name, immediate heirs of Queen Elizabeth have the last name Mountbatten-Windsor, and everyone else is just known as Windsor. The result was that the feed would be displayed with some information missing (e.g. the author’s name might be missing from a malformed entry). The name was changed from Saxe-Coburg and Gotha to Windsor after it was seen as unsavory to have a German-sounding name. נערות ליווי בחיפה קריות והצפון As an older woman you have had plenty of time to work on you. However, if you have done your homework and really spent time getting to know him, you shouldn't be surprised by his reaction when you tell him how you feel.

All you have to do is to add some pictures, descriptions - and your professional website is ready. So don't hesitate to keep looking if the man you are dating is not ready to ratchet up the relationship. If you want, keep him around as a friend, or just see him occasionally, but if you are serious about finding a permanent mate, keep dating other people. Give him the space he requires and keep looking. I haven’t ever used dating apps and about a year ago I decided to give them a try. Others use Javascript instead to make it interactive and browser-based but somehow haven’t caught up with the simpler syntax of scientific plotting in R. ggplot (the Python port of ggplot2) seems to be coming along but it’s still weird to have R syntax in a Python library when Python syntax can be just as simple and intuitive. Everything blurs together a little too much, and it’s too easy to accidentally wind up on your newsfeed when you thought you were swiping on promising dates. But then I found myself on dates where I would hold off on asking questions (her job, where she went to school) because I already knew the answers.

The message may claim that Tinder is updating its records and asking you to verify your account. As women have to send the first message on Bumble, women can even make a video call or phone call as their first move. We Americans have become adept at ordering pizza. If he feels the same way you do, then you have your pizza just the way you like it and the price is right. Taking a relationship to the second stage takes courage, especially when we have been wounded in the past. It takes an intimate knowledge of yourself, your needs, wants and desires. Now that you have expressed yourself, what's it going to cost you? Enjoy yourself, take up a hobby. Most people stay a member for several months and you'll take a 55% cut of their membership fee for life! That is what you need to communicate to the man in your life (but please be gentle, and don't bring up any old baggage from the last bad relationship). So why can't getting what you want in a relationship be as simple as that? Previously I thought of politics in terms of simple ideals like universal human rights.

Apart from mobile number registration, the dating app should allow users to create their profiles using their social media accounts like Google, Twitter, Facebook, etc. making the sign-up process easier and faster. This was to avoid wardrobe mishaps like the skirt flying up and revealing more skin than should ever be seen. In July, Rihanna featured the "Everyday" rapper in her Fenty Skin campaign. This shows personal strength and growth, which she values. We also have members who are looking for friendship, meeting new people or who simply want to build their social network either for personal or business. Both of them are bound to go on separate personal journeys to get there. There are nearly 13 million single-parent families in the U.S. Having said that, I feel that there are indeed some SMALL changes, especially in Haruki and Touma. Usually, there was a misunderstanding and your partner was not intentionally trying to make you feel abandoned, dismissed, or insignificant. Chocolate. Skip the mystery filling, and make sure they're all just her favorite kind - bonus points if they took some work to find.

[greysgenerator]

Far uvc lamp

FAR UVC LAMP SKIN

"We're quite confident that it's not going to shift out of those wavebands over time," he adds. In regard to long-term safety for human exposure, Coe-Sullivan assures that "we can very easily measure the spectrum of the device before it leaves the factory and verify that it's emitting at the right wavelength." This structural familiarity will hopefully make this device intuitive for engineers to integrate into designs. The NS Nanotech chip itself is a DC-driven device that behaves similarly to an LED, where light output is proportional to the current input above the turn-on voltage. That jump from 2 to 2.7 eV was worth the Nobel Prize, by the way," Coe-Sullivan notes. "And now I want to go to 6 eV with this far-UVC light chip."Īccording to the entrepreneur, the challenge here is that a device with a 6 eV bandgap is no longer considered a semiconductor-at this point, it's an insulator. "We've gone from silicon at 1 eV to red LEDs that were 2 eV to blue LEDs that were 2.7 eV. The new device works on similar principles to a blue LED, for example, which exploits the 2.7 eV bandgap of indium gallium nitride to efficiently emit blue light. The World's First Solid-State Far-UVC Light EmitterĬoe-Sullivan explains that his company has developed the first-ever solid-state far-UVC light emitter. NS Nanotech has created up a solution that eliminates these heat risks while maintaining the germicidal properties of far-UVC. While the whole point is to keep people safe, these drawbacks seem to defeat the purpose of using far-UVC. The trick, then, is to create photons with very high energy.Īccording to Coe-Sullivan, up until now, the only known source of far-UVC light is what is known as a Krypton-Chlorine Excimer Lamp-a very high voltage AC device that is extremely hot to the touch and can become a fire/explosion hazard. "To make a light-emitting semiconductor, you have to move away from materials like silicon or other so-called indirect bandgap semiconductors and make something that has a direct bandgap," Coe-Sullivan explains. While it may appear that the easy solution is to push far-UVC light into public spaces, the realities of implementing this technology warrant more considerations. This technology opens up a new world of use cases for UVC, particularly applications where a person can remain in an environment that is actively being disinfected. Researchers have found that, importantly, far-UVC is both safe for human exposure while safely deactivating human coronaviruses and other viruses and diseases. Image used courtesy of Columbia University Irving Medical Center

FAR UVC LAMP SKIN

Recent independent research from both the University of Kobe in Japan and Columbia University in New York answers this question in part, demonstrating the efficacy of what is called “far-UVC light." Far-UVC is UVC light at the 200–220nm wavelength as opposed to traditional 280nm wavelengths.įar-UVC has been proven safe for human exposure because it is absorbed in the dead cells of the skin and eyes. "How can light be a part of the solution to COVID-19?" "As electrical engineers-as optoelectronics engineers-we've been asking ourselves, 'How can we help?'" said Seth Coe-Sullivan, CEO of NS Nanotech. We interviewed CEO Seth Coe-Sullivan to get a better understanding of this big news. Now, leveraging new optoelectronics research and novel techniques in semiconductor physics, startup NS Nanotech claims to have found the solution-a far-UVC chip. For this reason, UVC-disseminating devices are only mandated to operate when people are not around-which isn't the most effective solution when trying to protect people directly from airborne and contact transmission. UVC disinfectant utilizes EM waves of up to 280 nanometers, which has the potential to cause skin cancer, cataracts, and other ailments in humans. Image used courtesy of the Atlantic Ultraviolet Corporation While UVC is one of the most effective ways to purify one's immediate area, this technology is by no means the perfect solution. One of the ways EEs have been blazing the trail in prevention is by designing devices with UVC light, a well-known and well-studied disinfectant. As soon as the global pandemic hit, many electrical engineers sought to apply their skills to help stop the spread of the disease.

[buckyownsmylife]

Leave out all the rest - Charles Xavier smut

The one where the reader is depressed and Charles is desperate to help.

Warnings: depressive and suicidal thoughts, angst, smut

WC: 7K

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice reached me as I looked down from my window, barely balancing on the border. I froze, instantly knowing what he would think, but that made me almost fall over. As I screamed, he ran towards me, grabbing my forearms and pulling me inside the room once again.

I was shaking as I clinged to him for dear life. Such a weird feeling, suddenly reminding me that despite what my brain thought, my body still refrained from the idea of me actually dying. As the shaking started to fade, I noticed three things. First, I was crying. Second, Charles was actually holding me to his chest, effectively keeping my weight off the floor and on him. Third, he was eerily quiet and, raising my head to look at him, I realized his eyes weren’t focused on me, but on the wall in front of us.

His jaw was so tight-locked I was afraid he could break it and so I raised my hand to touch it, leaving it there. That caught his attention. He looked at me, but only briefly, before taking us to the edge of my bed, where he sat with me still on his lap. I moved to sit next to him and relieve him of my weight, but his hold on me tightened. “Stay,” he ordered more than asked, but I couldn’t find it in me to question or to disobey. So I simply waited for him, feeling tiny and scared, looking at the man I loved staring into a wall so forcefully I honestly wondered how it still hadn’t crumbled.

His soft curls were messy and dancing in front of his eyes and so when I decided to push them behind his ears, his eyes connected with mine for a second and I understood, before any tears started to roll down his cheeks. “Charles,” I started, but that apparently only worsened his pain, his sobs coming in such force that I trembled in his chest, overcome with the need to calm him. “Charles,” I insisted and when that still didn’t work, I decided to simply hug him closer to me, hiding my face on his neck, breathing him in and acknowledging he was like the jewel that I didn’t deserve to keep.

After what felt like forever, he finally started to calm down, his tears rolling more slowly, but still his grip on me didn’t soften. “You can’t leave me,” he suddenly spoke, startling me.

“What?” I questioned, worried I had misheard him.

“You can’t leave me,” he repeated, this time looking at me dead in the eye. What I saw there took the air straight out of my lungs. So much fear and anxiety, he was absolutely terrified of the prospect of something happening to me. Once again, I was burdened with the knowledge that my existence was the reason for this, that I was why he was suffering so much. I sighed, resting my head once again on his shoulder, while my arms wrapped around him, one of my hands going to play with his curls. “I won’t,” I promised quietly. It was the least I could do.

He was surprised by my words, that much was obvious. After months of him pestering me about my depression, it was the first time I actually vowed to stay, despite the fact he had tried many times before to obtain my words on that matter. He detached himself from me, pushing me away just enough so that he could see my face and I found myself missing his warmth against my skin.

His eyes searched mine for any traces of insincerity on my words and my heart was filled with love for the man underneath me, who could so easily read my intentions but still accepted to stay in the dark for me, for my privacy. I captured one of his hands with mine and took it to my temple, nodding to him, giving him permission to verify what I was saying. After a moment of hesitation, he closed his eyes and let my thoughts take in.

I watched as he listened to my inner ramblings, knowing that after this, everything would change. He would know my secret, the one I had managed to keep safe and hidden for the last three months, ever since he found me in my room with my depressive thoughts, for the first time. This would change our relationship forever, I realized, but I couldn’t keep myself nor my feelings hidden from him anymore. Not when they were hurting him like this.

His eyes remained closed as he listened, his lips pursed and his brows furrowed, until… He opened them quickly, looking at me once again and I could see he was trying to verify once more if I was lying, but before I could open my mouth to explain myself to him… His lips found mine. And I melted, not quite believing this turn of events.

Why would he kiss me? Did he actually feel the same for me? A thousand thoughts ran through my head as his lips danced with mine, until he actually chuckled against me, separating just enough to speak. “I love you. I am in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you since the moment you walked into my life. Please, just… kiss me,” he begged and I didn’t think twice before obeying it.

His lips tasted like mint tea and I found myself drowning in his taste, eager for more. I pulled him by the collar of his shirt, hating whatever fraction of air separated us. His tongue asked for permission to enter my mouth and I happily obliged, deepening our kiss, feeling as if he was becoming a part of me, fulfilling me.

Suddenly, I heard a growl from behind me. Quickly detaching myself from Charles, I noticed Logan by the threshold of my room, staring at the man in whose lap I sat like he wanted to kill him. “Logan?” I asked, confused to see his reaction. His eyes met mine for just a second, before he simply turned around and walked away from us. “Logan!” I shouted, getting out of Charle’s lap to pursue my best friend, but a tight grip on my wrist stopped me from getting away from the bed.

“Let him go,” Charles asked softly, his eyes silently begging me to understand. “He won’t hear you right now,” he explained, and I nodded absentmindedly, still worried about Logan’s behavior.

Charles’ P.O.V.

She looked so lost, still staring at the open door, where Logan had stood just a few minutes before. “I just... don’t understand…” she whispered, so softly I could barely hear her. I chuckled, pulling her to my lap once more, revelling in the fact that I finally had her, I could finally kiss her. 

“You’re probably the only person in this entire school who was oblivious to the fact that both me and Logan are head over heels in love with you,” I explained, chuckling once more as her head whipped quickly to stare me in the eyes.

“What?” she asked, her eyes bigger than I had ever seen before. I hadn’t seen any allusion in her mind to this fact that everyone else seemed to notice, so I figured she didn’t know, but I was still surprised to see how utterly ignorant of her own beauty and attractiveness she was.

I shrugged, playing with her curls as she looked at me expectantly. “He loves you. And so do I. I guess I just had better luck,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood, but she opened her mouth a few times before turning around to stare at the door once more. 

“I think I should go after him,” she pondered, but I hugged her to me.

“No, wait a bit. Give him some time. You know Logan and you know how he gets when he’s angry. He’ll lash out and he’ll do something he regrets. Let him come to terms with this,” I tried to convince her and despite the nod she gave me, her bottom lip that was stuck between her teeth let me know she was still worried about it. 

I sighed. “I’m sorry, love. I truly am. I knew about his feelings, I just never thought… this would happen. I should have closed the door on my way in, I was just so scared of losing you,” I mumbled against the skin of her shoulders, until I heard her sigh and turn to me once more.

“It’s not your fault, Charles. But… we do need to talk,” she quickly added, avoiding my eyes and moving to stand in front of me. My heartbeat picked up and I almost forgot about what I had seen in her mind, fearful she wouldn’t want to be with me. Before I could jump to any conclusions she stopped her pacing and knelt in front of me, picking my hands in hers. “I… I’m happy that we’ve kissed. I’m so happy. And I’m happy that you feel the same way I do, but you know that doesn’t erase my disease, right? I… I will need some time to heal, to get better, to be the person you deserve to have by your side.”

I immediately understood the implications of what she was asking me. Of course I knew I couldn’t solve her problems with a simple kiss, but I was hoping she would let me in, she would let me be by her side as she fought against this. “Can’t I… Can’t I help?” I tried, already knowing I wouldn’t be able to convince her otherwise. At least the smile she gave me was as precious as herself and helped with the pain of knowing I wouldn’t be able to have her all to myself right now.

“You have already helped me, Charles. You gave me a reason to be here. And believe me, it has been a long time since I last wanted to live. But now you gotta let me figure this out on my own. Can you do that for me… for us?” She bit her lip again and of course I would. I’d do anything for her.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“But there’s something I’d like from you, if I may,” Charles hesitated before asking. “I know you promised me you wouldn’t and I swear I’m not doing this to speed things up between us. I respect your wishes and if anything, I’m just trying to make my own life more difficult.” He rolled his eyes as he pushed the hair out of his face, not quite looking me in the eye. 

“I saw in your mind that you didn’t mean to jump. But I also saw how being here, in this room, with this window looking out to the gardens, makes it difficult for you to control yourself. I know you will respect your own words, but I don’t want you to suffer any more than you already do…”

I nodded, simply because I honestly understood where he was coming from. I just didn’t understand what other option he envisioned for me, since the only bedroom on the floor of the house was… Oh.

“You want me to move into your bedroom,” I acknowledged, hoping to put him out of his misery by not having to actually say the words. He nodded, sheepishly smiling at me, one of his hands scratching the back of his neck. 

I sighed, closing my eyes for a bit to focus better on the situation at hand. It wasn’t that easy with his blue eyes staring right at me, piercing my soul.

I knew he had a point and I had to acknowledge that it would make a huge difference for me to not have to deal with the height situation everytime I locked myself in my room. And I had also promised I would do whatever it took to get better. So my decision was pretty easy.

“Okay,” I agreed, opening my eyes again to find Charles’ looking directly at mine, his mouth slightly ajar, almost as if he had not believed I would actually accept his request.

“Great!” Jumping up from my bed, he wiped his hands on his trousers, already moving towards the door of my room. “Let’s get Hank, Scott and whoever else we can find over here, so we can make the change.” Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, almost bumping into me. 

“Excuse me, love.” He caressed my cheek, the tiniest crooked smile revealing that he thought the situation was amusing. “I should warn you, though, most of my important books and scientific objects are in my room and since I think it would take too much time to make the full transition I will only be taking my clothes, so it is likely I will have to enter your bedroom a few times during the day, to grab whatever I might need.”

I blinked twice, not completely understanding what he was saying until suddenly it clicked.

“You’re not going to stay with me?” I knew I was frowning so hard my eyebrows were close to breaking free from my face, but that was nothing compared to Charles’ expression.

“What do you mean? Of course not, I meant we would exchange rooms! Oh my, please don’t think I was trying to make a move on you through that…” His cheeks were burning up, he looked so lost I felt sorry for him. But I was more preoccupied with my own thoughts at that moment.

“But that would make my life so much easier,” I admitted, looking expectantly at him, who in turn, looked as confused as I had been three seconds before. “If I were to stay with you… I know it’s not optimal and we would be sharing a bed, but having you around me… It would help me so much, Charles.” I huffed, feeling uncomfortable from the admission. 

“It’s just… having you around... more than I already do, I mean. It helps with the thoughts, you know? It helps… It reminds me of why I should stay. Why I want to stay.” I finished explaining, fiddling with my fingers as I couldn’t deal with his perfect blue eyes at that moment. 

I felt inadequate. Charles was a genius and here I was, a shell of a woman, broken by my own stupid thoughts who reminded me constantly of how I wasn’t worth anything, not even being here, much less with him.

“Hey,” cold fingers interrupted my guilt as he gently pulled me by my chin to look him in the eyes. “You have no idea how happy that makes me feel. To know that I have the ability to help you like this. Thank you for trusting me.”

His blue eyes sparkled brighter than any star I had ever seen and I found myself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Our lips connected once more, surprising me as I felt the sweetness with which he kissed me, because I don’t think I had rationally decided to kiss him again. My body, or my soul even, was the one to make that decision for me.

He kissed me like we had all the time in the world to explore each other and I found myself wishing that it was true. One of his hands was spread against my back, keeping me closely pressed against him, while the other still caressed my jaw. We pulled apart to catch our breaths briefly before I pulled him down to me once more, feeling as if the only way I could feel oxygen coming into my lungs was when our lips were connected. I traced the edge of his mouth with my tongue, desperate to taste him and with a slight tremble, he finally allowed me in. 

And then he devoured me, easily taking control of not only our kiss, but also of my excitable body. As his lips moved with mine, his tongue exploring my mouth, I forgot how it felt to not belong. Because as he kissed me, it seemed like I did. I belonged. Here, with him.

“Yes, you do,” he whispered against my lips as we finally separated. It only then occurred to me that he could still hear my thoughts. “I’m sorry, it’s hard to tap out now that I’ve been in, especially since I feel so connected to you.”

I nodded, caressing his jaw as I looked deep into his eyes.

“It’s okay. It’s… comforting,” I admitted. His eyes softened as he stared back at me, his shoulder relaxing at the realization he wouldn’t have to force himself out of my head anymore. I could only imagine how hard it must be for him, to try to become deaf to a singled-out voice, especially one you wished to hear so badly. 

“I love you,” he breathed out, closing his eyes as he connected our foreheads. His hands held mine securely, his fingers caressing my knuckles and I enjoyed this moment of peace I seemed to have been able to grant him. 

“I love you,” I finally admitted out loud, causing him to open his eyes quickly, a large smile taking over his face as he found me smiling softly at him.

Charles’ P.O.V.

After I left Y/N to pack her stuff for the moving process, I allowed my mind to reach out to see if I could track Logan’s whereabouts. I had blocked him from my day-to-day life a long time ago, not only since he constantly threatened me if I didn’t do so, but also because his mind was incredibly tiring.

I was in a constant state of admiration for the man’s survival instincts. He had been through so much and still battled with his own mind daily. Despite his admittedly angry demeanor, he persisted. And if I could say so myself, he was actually much nicer than I expected someone with his sort of troubling thoughts to be.

I noticed he was in the garage and I thought about at least verifying what type of mood he was in, but refrained from it. It wouldn’t help my cause if I arrived already knowing too much about his mental state.

So I prepared myself for the worst as I joined him in the dark room where he kept his bike.

“Logan,” I called out to him, but kept my voice at a regular level. He’d be able to hear me, with his enhanced instincts. And he did, that much was obvious by the way he abruptly stopped messing with his bike and froze in his spot at the sound of my voice.

However, he didn’t turn around to face me and after a few seconds, resumed his previous activity like nothing had happened. 

“Logan,” I called out again, and this time, no reaction let me know he had heard me. But I knew he had. “C’mon, Logan, we have to talk about this.”

That might have been the wrong thing to say. He suddenly turned around, facing me with a fire in his eyes I recognized from when we were out in the field, but I’d never had it dedicated to me.

“Talk about it? You want to talk about it? Okay, Professor, let’s talk.” The sarcasm with which he had enunciated my title was not lost to me. “What do you have to say to me? What could possibly lessen the pain of seeing the woman I love kissing you?”

I didn’t have anything to offer to him, so I remained quiet. The truth was, I had come here simply because I owed it to Y/N not to destroy her relationship with Logan, but I didn’t have any sort of speech prepared.

“Thought so,” he mumbled, turning back to his vehicle and leaving me behind.

“Logan, I… Listen.” He didn’t turn around to face me again, but I knew he was listening despite his lack of signs of attention. “I just don’t want you to do something you might regret. I know you love her, and so you don’t want to see her hurt. But the truth is, I have a girl upstairs who is already miserable and you’re only making it worse.” I took some time to breathe before continuing. 

“I know it’s not in the way you hoped for, but she does love you. And she needs you in her life. So take some time to deal with your emotions, but please, I’m begging you… Do not abandon Y/N. She deserves better than that, and the truth is, you do too. The bond you share is special. Don’t let it go to waste.”

I had said what I needed to say, and so I left him to his own devices so he could mull over what I’d shared. There was no need for him to provide me with some sort of answer now.

My feet took me where I wanted to go despite the fact that I hadn’t made any conscious decision about it. I suppose my mind followed the brightness that I had come to associate with Y/N, even if I wasn’t trying to listen to her thoughts.

I found her in my bedroom. Well, I suppose it was her bedroom too, now.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I felt like I was being watched, so I turned around to find Charles looking at me with a goofy grin in his face that caused me to instantly mirror it.

“What?” I had to ask, because as much as his happiness made me happy, it felt like he was excited about one specific reason and I was curious about it.

“Nothing. I’m just… I never thought I’d see you in my room like this.” He approached me with that boyish smile I had never associated with Charles before and hugged me to his chest, hiding his face in the crook of my neck. The height difference made him pretty much lean over me, but it was cute.

“You like it?” I had to ask, my insecurity as always getting the best of me. He pulled away from his hiding place to be able to look me in the eyes. 

“I love it.” I could see the sincerity in them. I trusted him with my life.

“I’m glad, because I could definitely get used to this.” The way his face lit up had me giggling up at him.

“Really?” He asked, his big palms caressing my back as if he needed the reassurance that I was real, that I was really there.

“Yes, really. How could I not? There’s books and antiques and it smells just like you. I feel…” I hesitated for a bit, not sure if I wanted to disclose this so soon. But then he pressed his fingers more tightly against my skin, reminding me that he was here, that I could trust him, and I took a deep breath before looking in his eyes again, my hands coming up to play with the curls in the back of his neck. “I feel at home,” I confessed, all in one single breath. Once again, my reward came in the huge grin that split his face into two. He pulled me into my tiptoes so he could press a quick kiss on my lips, and I tried to ignore how cold they felt when his weren’t touching mine anymore. This was what I wanted, and he was giving me the space I asked for.

I’d have to keep reminding myself that throughout the days.

“So, where were you?” I asked, making idle chit chat as I pulled away from him to continue folding my clothes. When he didn’t immediately offer me a response, I looked up to see him looking at me with guilt written all over his face. “Charles!” I exclaimed, dropping what I was holding. “Please tell me you didn’t!”

Charles’ P.O.V.

I couldn’t. I knew precisely what she was referring to and didn’t even need to read her mind.

“I’m sorry, love…” Nervously, I scratched the back of my neck as she came to stand before me, her hands on her hips. I guess I was expecting her to be mad, but when she instead dropped her arms and sighed, I realized that wasn’t the worst outcome. That would be this one: the disappointment and regret in her features. She didn’t look up, opting instead to fiddle with the edge of her shirt, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

“He hates me.” The words were said with such pain that I felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been dropped over me. Immediately, I reached out to her, sighing in relief when she accepted my embrace.

“No, he doesn’t.” It was the truth. She knew it, and she knew why it was - the very reason why she was scared he’d start to hate her now that she’d chosen to be with me. “He loves you.” The words floated around us as she struggled to come to terms with them, still. “He still does. There’s no switch you can flip that’ll make him instantly hate you. But this also means that he needs time, time to learn how to see you in a different light. Okay?”

For a minute, she didn’t say anything, opting to let me guide her in the gentle sway I’d been performing since my arms wrapped around her. At last, she whispered a tiny “okay”, and even though her voice was muffled by the fabric of my shirt, where she’d been pressed against, I believed her. I had to.

Logan’s P.O.V.

Watching her those next months was… difficult. 

Difficult because if she was an addiction, I took the worst route to cure myself of it. I went from seeing her and talking to her everyday, being dependent on that socialization, to cutting myself from her life completely. 

Difficult because despite not talking to her since the day I found her kissing Charles, I still had to see her - we lived and worked in the same place, after all. Despite all the effort I put in changing my schedule and trying to make sure I wouldn’t be in the same room as her, there still were the inevitable meetings and dinners and parties when I had to watch the woman I loved from afar.

And above all, difficult because what I came to observe during those obligatory reunions was something that I had been waiting and wishing for all along, and it killed me that I hadn’t been by her side to help her with: her recovery.

Each time our eyes met, hers were a little bit brighter, softer, even lighter. Like the darkness that was consuming her was steadily being swallowed by her actual personality, which behaved much like a sun: warming her from the inside.

That meant her skin became more colorful, at least in the sense that it didn’t hold that paleness that made it look like she was fragile. It was harder to see her blood vessels now, and I didn’t miss the time they stood out across the room in one bit. She blushed now, and every time it happened when he was around, he felt it like a pang in his heart. Just when I thought she couldn’t be more adorable. Her hair was also brighter, lighter, shinier in general. She didn’t just chuckle now, she laughed. Initially, it was rare and low, but eventually it started to happen more frequently, to the point where I could figure out where she was simply by following the sound of her giggles.

In short, she was happy. Happier than I’d ever seen her, and it killed me to not be able to witness this new side of her, this whole part of her personality that had been kept away when she was sick. Could I even consider that I still knew her? Which was the true her, the depressive one I met or this young girl full of light and happiness? I knew the answer was dependent on both of them, but it left me with the realization that I knew less of her than I wish I did.

And it was all my fault. 

It was my fault for falling in love with her when she’d never even showed any signs of feeling the same. Stupid old Logan, You’ve been alone for too long. All it took was someone who cared too much, despite their broken state, and you let them in. You let her in.

She didn’t owe me anything.

And I knew that. But I fooled myself into believing her lack of interest was a result of her situation, so I did what I could to help, in hopes that once she got better, I would have my chance.

Selfish.

That’s what I was. 

I’d never thought of myself as someone who was particularly manipulative, hell, I was no Erik, but maybe I was. Because it was also my fault that I wasn’t there to witness her recovery. I’d pushed her away, failed on the simple task I’d promised I would help.

I hadn’t been a good friend.

I had been no sort of friend at all.

So that’s why when her eyes caught mine again in the middle of the party we were throwing for someone’s birthday - I could never bother to pay attention to those sort of details -, I gestured towards the stairs, hoping she’d meet me there.

And sure enough, she came.

I could slap myself for how temptatively she approached me. Not only was it weird in the context of our friendship, it was very obviously out of place in her manners. Y/N was always confident in her approach to people - it was one of the reasons why I warmed up to her so quickly, one of the reasons I fell in love with her.

Still, despite her obvious apprehension, she approached me and found a place for herself by my side. At first, I didn’t say anything, opting to stare down at my hands as I tried to come up with a better way to say this, hoping my words could somehow erase the pain I knew I had put her through, but then I felt her warm hand over my thigh and my head immediately whipped up to find her staring at me with a soft look on her face and a small smile.

“I missed you,” she said, and just like that, I knew we were fine. I let out a relieved breath that I felt like I had been holding for forever, once again thankful for our connection. Even if it didn’t evolve in the way I expected it to, it did allow us to communicate with fewer words, which throughout all of my life posed as a nuisance to everyone who had to deal with me - but not to her. 

No. Just three words and I knew what she meant, just like my invitation for her to follow me to the stairs told her everything she needed to know about how I was feeling. And for once, everything felt alright, including me.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

When I followed Charles back to our room that night, I felt like a different person altogether. Not only could I decidedly say that my depression wasn’t a concerning issue anymore, I felt like I was finally free to introduce the new me, the person I had become after going through such a rough patch for so long.

Of course, it wasn’t like I was a different person altogether. But I had been through enough depressive patches to know that everytime I got out of one, I was a little less of the person I had been before and a little more of someone new. And now that the only issue that still weighed me down had been settled, I was really excited to get to know this new part of my personality. I was excited to do things again, to talk to people and see what I had missed while stuck in my darkened mind. I was excited to be excited about stuff once more.

Most of all, I was excited about starting this new path in life with someone I truly loved by my side. And said person was looking at me with sweet, caring eyes when I stepped further into the bedroom, in desperate need of a hug.

“You guys spoke!” He whispered. I supposed he didn’t want to break the silent and peaceful atmosphere of our bedroom, but still, the excitement in his voice was palpable. It made me smile instantly. I didn’t have the words to describe how it felt to have someone by my side who supported me so much, even in a subject that brought him discomfort. 

Charles had every right to avoid the subject, or even to feel scared or tense about me and Logan starting to talk again, but I could see it in his eyes - all he felt was happiness for me and his friend. 

It probably helped that he could see in my mind how I only had eyes for him. 

Still, gratefulness overflowed my heart, prompting me to stand on my tiptoes as I pulled him by the collar of his shirt until I could reach his lips. “Thank you for being here for me all this time,” I whispered against his mouth, as he struggled between wanting to say something and the desire to correspond the kisses I was now laying on his jaw. 

“Anytime, my love.” His hands ran down my arms until they were holding mine against his face, and he could position me to steal another kiss. “I’ll be here as long as you want me.” The dorkiest smile appeared on my lips as my eyes looked into his blue ones.

“Forever?” I asked, and Charles opened up a smile at my promise, nodding as best as he could as I still cradled his head. 

“Forever,” he repeated, sealing our vow with a kiss. This time I followed my heart and deepened it, slowly nibbling on his bottom lip until he allowed me to taste him fully. We’d never kissed like this before. Charles was too worried to overstep my boundaries, and I despite how badly I desired him, there was a reason I had instated them. 

But now the reason was gone. And there was nothing else that could distract me from the fire rising inside of me, threatening to burn me whole.

“Charles…” I whimpered against his lips as he tried to separate us, pulling him to me again. “Please, I want you.” My words made him freeze. His eyes travelled between mine, looking for any sign of hesitancy or any sort of reason why he shouldn’t.

When he found none, he still didn’t immediately sweep me off my feet and took me to bed, like I wanted. Instead, he held me in his arms, his hands on my lower back as his thumbs drew soft circles over the fabric of my dress. 

“Are you sure, my love?” If I wasn’t before, the fact that he had taken the time to make sure this was what I wanted would have solidified my decision. But as it were, my mind had been made up long before we even stepped inside our bedroom. 

This was a long time coming, and I was glad it was here now. 

“Yes, Charles. Please, make love to me.” That was all he needed to hear. Slowly, he walked me back until my knees reached the bed, and I went blindly, too busy with the intoxicating taste of his favorite peppermint tea as he started his possession by kissing me hungrily. I’d follow him anywhere with a sane conscience, but while drunk on him? I’d jump off a cliff if he asked me to. “Lay down for me, pretty girl.”

The way he looked at me, through lust glazed eyes as I laid spread out on the bed, was enough to get my heart beating out of my chest. God, I wanted him. “Charles…” I whined, reaching out for him, which made him smile. 

“I’m right here, darling. I’m right here.” He climbed on the bed, in the space between my legs, until he could hold my face with his cold hands again. “I love you so much.” My heart jumped at hearing these words again. He made me feel so giddy, it was hard to feel anxious about what we were about to do when I literally felt the desire running through my veins.

“I love you too, Charles.” He kissed me again, then, his hands warming up the longer they secured my cheeks, and I melted against the bed and his body, my own hands coming behind him to find a way to push inside his shirt. 

He moaned against my mouth at the feeling of my nails carefully dragging over the skin of his back, and he had to pull away from our kiss to catch his breath. I watched him with barely concealed desire, in desperate need to feel his body on top of mine again, but he seemed to understand it.

In a few seconds, he was over me again, his lips on mine as our hands finally explored each other’s bodies as they saw fit. A shirt found its way to the floor, followed by a dress, until only our underwear stood in the way between our wishes.

“You’re so beautiful, my love.” Just the way he looked at me was enough to make me shiver. I could barely imagine what it would feel like to have him actively working on giving me pleasure.

“So are you,” I reminded him, giggling when I saw the blush spreading over his cheeks. “And you’re cute.” He rolled his eyes then, leaning over me to give me a quick kiss before slowly bringing his lips down to brush over my collarbones.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, drawing over the edge of my bra with a single finger. It slightly trembled, denouncing just how nervous he was to be taking this next step with me, and it only made my heart warmer for him.

“Please,” I quietly begged, and the smile he gave me was enough to have butterflies threatening to take flight from my belly. Albeit a bit awkwardly, he managed to fit his hand between my back and the mattress, just enough to be able to pluck that one other piece of clothing off of me, and then he was *staring.

“Charles!” I whined, automatically trying to hide my breasts from him, but he only raised one eyebrow in that characteristically aristocratic expression of his, before asking, “Aren't you mine, darling? Don’t I have a right to see what you’ve been hiding under those dresses all this time?”

Charles’ P.O.V.

She looked so adoringly embarrassed by my prying gaze, but I couldn’t help it. Not when she was this beautiful, an angel brought down to Earth solely to teach me how to love. It was an honor to be loved by such a perfect creature, but I still struggled to remember that this was real, sometimes. Particularly in a moment such as this, that I had dreamed about for so long.

Seeing as she still avoided my gaze, teasingly biting that delicious bottom lip that I wanted to lick so much, I leaned back over her, capturing her mouth with mine once more. Slowly, because we had all the time in the world, I pried her lips open to welcome my tongue, and then, when she melted against the mattress, relaxing her arms that quickly occupied themselves by embracing my body, I allowed myself to pull away, but never stopped tracing her skin with my lips, torturously making my way down, first nibbling on her jaw before stopping to suck a few marks on her neck, before finally meeting her breasts.

“God, you’re perfect,” I whispered, just before I wrapped a nipple with my mouth, lathering it with my saliva and attention before sucking. It provoked a sensuous reaction in her, who gasped and buried one of her hands on my curls, softly pulling on them but not actually prying me from her. 

“Charles,” she moaned, and it made me falter, my knees buckling and almost making me fall on top of her. I’d never heard my name sound like that before, so sweet, and I instantly knew I never wanted to hear it uttered by any other lips.

“Darling,” I moaned myself, still otherwise occupied with sucking tiny little lovebites on the soft flesh of her breasts. “The way you moan my name… It’s breathtaking. Do it again,” I begged, raising my head just enough to meet her eyes, finding that a lust-filled haze had settled over them, leaving her pupils blown wide. “Please.”

Something in my desperate tone or hungry eyes called out to her, earning me another melodic moan of my name. That was all that I needed to hear before I fused our lips once more, absentmindedly rutting against the mattress as I relished in her sweet taste.

“You’re such a good kisser,” she whispered after we parted, making me chuckle. “But now I need you inside of me, like, yesterday.” My chuckles became roars of laughter, and she joined me in that demonstration of excitement and happiness that was proof that this was so much more than just lust.

This was love, pure and unadulterated. And I’d never experienced anything like it before.

“Okay,” I conceded, grabbing my cock and taking in the sight of her, spread out and open, willing and wanting, all for me. “You ready?” She nodded, legs parting even further in an open invitation.

“Please,” she begged quietly, and I couldn’t resist it any longer. Leaning over to kiss her forehead, I inserted myself inside of her slowly, carefully, paying attention to all of her reactions and sounds.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered as she groaned a little bit in pain from the adjustment. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.” And we both knew that I would. “Let me show you how much I desire you.”

We came together that night, and all I could think to say before falling asleep was, “I love you.”

Much to my luck, she loved me too.

[iamcalmdammit]

She said yes 5 - Secrets || [Steven Grant x reader x Jake Lockley]

Summary: Steven finds out Jake saved you and he gets jealous. Jake convinces you that he's right. And with Layla's help you get some important news.

Note: part 1, part 2 and part 3, part 4. The last part of this chapter is written from the reader's POV instead of Marc's. (This is a first, I usually write from the boys' POV. I might switch to multiple POV instead of just one.) Unedited as usual. What do you think?

Taglist: @crystalchrysalis19 @pyrokineticbaby @susbuttercup @abrielleholland @yuukiahim @0mint-chocolate0 @collyrubies @wheresgamora @tubble-wubble @daddysfavoritesexkitten @obnoxioussmiley @moony-artemis @uncle-eggy @lokibutterknife @andrewgarfieldsspidey @dembiscuitstho @coffeyorky @padfootlovesyou @natkisskiss @princessleah129

Steven woke up to having his arm wrapped around a warm body in bed, with the person’s back pressed against his chest. He couldn’t remember falling asleep. No, the last memory—as it came back with a crushing feeling—was you being pushed into a cab against your will.

But when he took a deep breath and pulled back his arm, his brain kicked in and he recognized a familiar scent. It was you. It was really you. “Y/N!” he exclaimed as he gently turned you around. You opened your eyes while you let out a tired groan. “How?”

It took you a few seconds to wake up enough to talk. “It’s okay, Steven, I’m fine. Jake found me,” you explained with a faint smile.

“What? How long was I out?”

“I don’t know, you should check the date and time.”

He reached for the phone on the nightstand and checked its screen. Oh, God, could it be possible? “Over three days?” he asked incredulously, looking at you as if he was waiting for you to verify it. “Anyway, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You shook your head. “No, they didn’t. They just gave me a sedative or something so I was out for a while.”

Pulling you into a hug, Steven kissed the top of your head. “I’m so sorry, love, I didn’t know you would get into the middle of this mess,” he apologized.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was,” he said, sounding upset. “If it wasn’t for me—for us—they wouldn’t have come after you.”

You looked up at him and let out a sigh. “I’m fine. This is all that matters,” you told him with a warm smile.

Steven nodded, but he didn't know what else to say. So he did the only thing he was sure of—he held you close and peppered your face with kisses. You had parted following a fight before you were kidnapped and he could only hope you knew how much he loved you.

But the problem didn't go away. No, it was part of the system, something that would be around no matter how hard he tried to fight it. Hell, Jake could force his way to the front, keeping both him and Marc in the background with no recollection of what he was doing with the body.

What he was doing with you.

He gulped loudly then leaned back to look at you. “So Jake saved you?” he asked hesitantly.

“He did.” There was something about your voice, a hint of softness he had only heard when you were talking about your loved ones. “What’s with the look?” you suddenly asked.

“There’s no look.”

You shook your head and pointed a finger at him. “There was, I could see it,” you told him then stopped to think. “Are you… jealous?”

Yes.

But he didn’t want to admit it. He’d been talking about how much he loved you, how much he trusted you since the beginning, but now that level of trust was slipping away. He was terrified that Jake might find a way to get under your skin and put him on the sideline.

“Steven, listen. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll find a way to tame Jake so he'll stop with this nonsense. I promise,” you said before you placed a soft kiss on his lips.

He wished he could believe you, but a voice in the back of his mind told him it wouldn’t be this easy.

Once they were back from Cairo, Jake forced himself to the front the moment he could to visit you. He had to see you because he couldn’t think straight anymore. So he bought flowers and chocolate and ignored Khonshu who was constantly talking to him about his plan to get rid of Harrow for good.

He nervously fixed his tie while he waited for you to open the door. Will you be angry? Or was that night after he saved you enough to change your mind about him?

You opened the door, standing there with your arm resting against the doorframe. “Jake?”

“How did you know?” he asked with a questioning look.

“White shirt, tie, ugly hat. Steven or Marc would never,” you explained as you stepped aside to let him in. “What are you doing here?”

You sounded angry. Were you mad at him? He wasn’t entirely sure and he didn’t want to make you more upset by asking. So he kept his mouth shut and walked inside, handing you his gifts with an unusually nervous look on his face. You gave him a pointed look but took them nonetheless, quickly putting the flowers in a vase.

“What you did that morning,” you finally began, and from these words Jake already knew you were mad at him for pretending to be Steven… again. “If I knew it was you, I would have said no.”

“Come on, deep down you knew it wasn’t him.” He cautiously walked over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder then letting his hand run down your arm. “You knew from the moment I kissed you,” he said as he leaned so close that he could almost kiss you.

You gulped loudly, your body staying still as he breathed in your scent. “I thought he was in a good mood,” you noted before biting on your lip.

“Sweetheart, stop denying it. Maybe you don’t know me well enough yet to tell the difference by a single look, but you can easily tell us apart by the way we kiss you,” he said, putting a hand on the back of your neck and gently pulling you even closer. “And I’m pretty sure the sex was entirely different too,” he whispered in your ear.

He could barely hear it, but Jake was sure you said the word stop. But it didn’t make sense. “You don’t really want me to stop. No, you want more of what you got a taste of that morning,” he told you quietly.

“Jake, please, Steven doesn’t deserve this.”

There it was. You were thinking about hurting Steven’s feelings. You didn’t say no because you didn’t want it. No, you just didn’t want to cheat on your fiancé. But why should you keep yourself from the pleasures he could offer? You had fun that morning, you made it very clear then, and he was more than willing to give you more, even if it meant you had to do it behind Steven’s back.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” he said eventually. “But I want to give you exactly what you deserve. Wanna know what that is?” He leaned back to see your face and he noticed the small nod you gave in response. “I want to make you beg for more. I want you to fall apart so I can build you up from scratch, just the way I want. When I’m done with you, you won’t even remember Steven’s name.”

“I can’t do this to him,” you told him weakly.

“Come on, you can,” Jake went on before kissing you, surprised to feel you returning it without much hesitation. He moved his hand down your chest, moving all the way between your legs. When he reached your panties, he smiled at you. “You wouldn’t be this wet already if you didn’t want it,” he breathed against your neck.

You let out a quiet whine as he playfully bit your neck and Jake couldn’t help but laugh. You were enjoying this, giving him better access by moving your head to the side as your arms sneaked around his body. He took your reaction as a green light and began to push you towards the bedroom, ready to repeat the last time the two of you got intimate—except now you knew perfectly well who you were having sex with.

“I don’t trust Jake,” Marc stated angrily as he paced in his living room. They had a blackout recently and found out Arthur Harrow was missing, presumably being dead. “He killed so many people in Cairo that—It’s insane! We were blaming each other with Steven. And now this.”

Layla seemed tired of listening to her husband, and you assumed it was because she had the fortune to listen to his tirades for weeks now. But eventually she stood up and walked over to him, soothingly wrapping an arm around his body then placing a kiss on his shoulder.

They were so in love once again that the sight of them made you feel sick. Not because it was way-too-sweet for you, but because of what you were doing behind Steven’s back. The two of you were supposed to be just like this, celebrating your engagement and planning an unofficial wedding even Marc agreed to do somewhere far from London. But things had changed since you fucked up.

Several times.

In the past few weeks, you’d met Jake more and more often, by now recognizing him by a single look in his brown eyes. He was right, he really did make you forget about Steven, and every time the two of you were alone, your mind was always focused on him alone. You never thought about what you were doing, that you were cheating on the sweetest man you’d ever known.

Steven didn’t deserve this, yet you kept going back to his alter, begging him for more.

“Maybe you should try to talk to each other. Y/N might be able to help mediate,” Layla suggested. “Apparently Jake is only willing to talk to you after all,” she told you.

You gulped. “Yeah, sure,” you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the floor.

“Yeah, but when was the last time you saw him?” Marc asked, pushing a rebellious lock back to its place. “Right after we came back from Egypt. That was weeks ago.”

Suddenly his posture changed and he moved closer, kneeling in front of you. “You haven’t seen him since then, right, love?” Steven asked.

It was hard to get used to how seamlessly they switched places with Marc now. With Jake it was still forced. Well, Jake forced his way to the front and the others still had no idea what he was doing. With these two? They knew everything about each other.

Clearing your throat, you flashed a weak smile at him and shook your head. “No, that was the last time,” you lied.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed a strange look crossing Layla’s face. Was she suspecting something? Was it too obvious that you were lying? Steven hadn’t noticed yet, and you hoped it would stay that way. You didn’t need the drama in your life. You didn’t want to see him with a broken heart.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked worriedly, gently taking your chin in his hand to make you look at him. “You look sick.”

He was right, you felt sick. You’d spent quite a lot of time kneeling in front of your toilet in the past few days, but you didn’t think it was anything you should worry about. It was just a stomach flu or something. No big deal. This is what you got for eating at some shady place with your co-worker.

But you didn’t want Steven to worry so you flashed a smile at him and said, “I’m fine, I just need some fresh air, I guess.”

“Let’s go out for a walk then,” he offered immediately.

You shook your head. “Would you mind if I went alone? I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Suddenly Layla cleared her throat. “I can go with you. I could use a short walk too,” she said kindly.

As long as Steven wasn’t around, you were fine. Recently you found it harder and harder to be around him, and you weren’t sure how long you could keep doing this to him. Lying was harder than you’d ever imagined, you didn’t even know how some people managed to do it through their entire lives.

So you and Layla made your way out of the apartment, but once you stepped out on the street, she grabbed your arm and made you stop. “Are you pregnant?” she asked seriously.

“What? Me? No,” you replied with a dismissive wave of your hand.

“I heard you throwing up back there, and Steven’s right, you do look sick.” You kept shaking your head, trying to get rid of the idea of becoming a mother, but Layla was relentless. “We’re buying you a pregnancy test right now,” she told you, her tone making it clear she wouldn’t take no as an answer.

You wanted to object, but you soon realized resistance would be futile. You followed her lead, wondering if this was the reason why she had given you that strange look back there. Did she only notice you were sick? Was she oblivious to you lying to Steven and Marc about Jake? It was getting too much and too confusing.

You had no idea how, but Layla managed to convince to store owner to let you use the staff’s restroom to take the test. She wanted to know the result, so she waited outside and tried to entertain you through the door by telling you stories about their trip to Egypt. Stories you’d already heard from Steven, although from their perspective, which wasn’t necessarily the same as Layla’s. But you were grateful for that, because the conversation made time pass faster.

Your phone beeped, telling you it was time. Hesitantly, you picked up the test and took a look at it.

“Oh, shit,” you said defeatedly as you unlocked the door.

Hearing the light click, Layla teared the door open and rushed inside to see the result with her own eyes. “It’s positive,” she whispered, a wide grin growing on her face. “This is fantastic, Steven will be thrilled!”

She pulled you into a hug which you returned as if you were celebrating with her. But you weren’t happy about it. Sure, Steven would be a great father, but you weren’t sure if he or Jake was the father. Which in their situation was absurd, because technically speaking, it was Marc’s child. He just… wasn’t around when you got pregnant.

(part 6)

[bitch-i-migth-be]

Who’s Got Time For Death, Anyway?

Crossover: Danny Phantom; Spider-Man

Summary: What the actual fudge was New York’s Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man doing in the gut’s of a G.I.W. base in middle-of-nowhere Illinois?

And in a freaking overgrown test tube no less.

Danny had no idea, but it was probably the reason Tony Stark's ghost was screeching holy murder at the end of the corridor.

Chapter 02 — LINK TO AO3

Danny had heard the news, like everyone else.

But honestly?

The news channels were always more interested in what would bring up their damned ratings than verifying their info, and the amount of shit the Daily Bugle put out by the minute was astronomic .

Danny had experience with misunderstandings and shitty news outlets both. He even had his identity exposed a pair of times, managing to salvage the secret by reverting time or altering reality.

Sam always told him he had horrible luck but also stupidly resourceful friends in stupidly good places.

Spider-Man had lots of friends too, but it seemed like it hadn’t been enough this time.

He had seen videos of the dude getting cats out of trees, helping old ladies cross the street. There was no way. No Freaking Way that he had tried to take over the world or whatever nonsense that Mysterio guy was spouting on national television.

So yeah, the halfa was firmly on the Spidey side of the situacion, even though he lacked a lot of context, but really, who but the really involved in that mess even knew what was going on for real?

As it was, Danny had found one Peter Benjamin Parker and gotten him to Fenton Works as fast as he could, deposited the teen on his bed and then proceeded to make sure that no one would barge in on him while he had a naked super teenage spider burrito on his bed.

He wasn’t feeling like explaining that to his parents, much less them finding out the truth, because that would be even worse . So better just- not do that.

What followed was, as Tony would later oh so helpfully describe, a round of fussing of epic proportions as Danny tried to get Peter as comfortable and non-slimy as possible.

It was very likely that he would need to incinerate some of his bed sheets when he was done, but sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good sometimes and it’s not like this was the first time he had to dispose of his bedding.

He was still mourning his favorite NASA set, which his parents had absolutely drowned in ectoplasm when he was seven.

To be honest Danny had thought that the intermittent glow was a nice touch, but they didn't let him keep it. Pretty hypocritical of them but well. Parents.

This seemed like nothing in comparison .

“I'm never going to forgive them for that one..” he murmured under his breath, elbows deep on his dresser while he tried to find the baggiest clothing he owned because again: Danny felt like a damn noodle.

Danny tried, he really tried, to not get distracted by the memory of the buffness.

Though maybe getting distracted by the thought of the very toned teen was better right now than allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of guilt that had been steadily growing deep on his guts since he processed the fact that Spider-Man had been trapped for who knows how long right under his figurative nose and he hadn’t done anything about it.

He cursed under his breath.

“It’s irrational to feel guilty about it..” he made his way back towards the bed and started cleaning peter’s face and whatever available patches of skin that didn’t compromise Danny's almost nonexistent heart rate the other’s modesty “I didn't even know he was missing to begin with-”  how was he supposed to know the radio silence from Spider-Man was because he was captured to use as a lab rat and not the remaining avengers closing range around the youngest of the group?

Freaking illogical, but apparently his ghost half didn't care .

Danny wondered if it was crazy to argue with your own obsession.

Was it even possible? Because that’s exactly what all this murmuring felt like.

And he was losing against it too.

“Fuck, I hate this-! Not my fault. Nope! It's not. Nonono, he was not under my protection back then so I couldn’t know, shut UP-!”

“O̸̜̩͋̑͑́̍͐͝h̶̢̠̼̳̹̆͒͗̄̌̕?̴̧̬̭̰̟̔̄͋͒͗͆̈́̎̍ ̴̡̧̟̱͔̮̏̂̇̆̑͋̽͠S̸͎̤̈̈̂̋̀́͋̕o̸̢̲̟͖̯̞͖̮̠͊̆̃͝ ̷̧͓͖͈͗̿͑͗͌͌̇̐ḩ̷̡̡͓̥͚̦͌̐͘͠è̷̩̰̮̯̗͈̈́͜ ̶̢͈͕̞̹̥̣̣͇͚̈́̌͂͝i̷͔̾͗̇̈́s̸̢̤͚̙̮̝͎̯̫̈́̏́͒̍̓̑ ̷͉̺̭͚̝͔͖̟̂̀̿̅̾̈́͠n̸̢̳̝̳̥͍̝̤̓̂ŏ̴̧̞̹̠͎͈͙̲͍̌̏͆w̶̡̻̯̩̩̳͉̯̜͓̎͒̐̈?̶̨͍͕̩̤͈͚̣͎̞͐̿́̒͒͛͘͠ “

Danny shrieked.

He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

…Not right now, at least.

He had the right to do so because he had completely forgotten about the man, who still sounded like a damned psychophony even for the halfa. Danny had a pair of issues with those . Them being inside now was just making the sound worse.

He spun around to point a finger at the man’s faceplate.

“Don’t do that-” He hissed “Bad robot! no-!”  Even with Danny honest to god hissing it didn't seem like the man would listen. Somehow understandable. Not only because he was Tony filthy-freaking-rich Stark but because the man, most likely, couldn’t even tell his voice was practically glitching and thus wouldn't understand Danny’s reaction and request.

“No, don’t-!” Danny interrupted again, raising both arms as if he could somehow keep the other silent by waving them around. “Don’t talk , you are giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“Ë̴͖̙͔́͆͑x̴͓͙͑̚c̒̈́u̴̺̙͍̓̐͋s̴̡̺̈́͆è̷̩̰̮̯̗͈̈́͜ m͚͚͙è̷̩̰̮̯̗͈̈́͜ ??”

Oh. An indigned Tony Stark wasn't the best course of action, was it?

“Wait, hold on , just-” Danny let himself drop to the floor and then wasted no time on wiggling under his bed, and then phasing through it a little when the wiggling was unsuccessful.  “ah ha!” an ectoplasm shot.

He also had the Ecto Dejecto somewhere in here, maybe, but he figured that was too strong for a ghost who was still figuring themselves out. Danny didn't know how much the ghost armor reflected their, uh, original? counterpart so-

Considering he didn't even know what the original could do, or even how many of them there were – even with tucker gushing from time to time about them –, he definitely didn't want to find out via demonstration by a supercharged iron man ghost.

It would be cool, yeah. But painful. He didn't even want to think about the collateral damage, nevermind the unconscious teen that would be unable to dodge whatever hell was unleashed.

So an ectoplasm shot it was.

He had lots of those around the house and amity in general, just in case he needed a boost or a fight went downhill, this one would hopefully be enough to keep the armored man from sounding like the mother of glitches until they could get him into the zone.

“Ok, Come here.”

“W̶̰̤̫̎̚h̵̲͎̮͖͠a̷̘͓̹͈̰̔̓̄̕t̶̳̞̰̳̂̀͊͜?̸̜͎̝̌̚̚ N̵̟͑o̷̩̻̥͛̋̄͐.̶̱̬̳̓̏ ̴̰̒̈́͛W̸̨̨̥̅̆̚̕h̵̢̼̫͗͒a̵̝̓t̶̨̢̨̛̮̓̍'̶̹̩͖͕̊͌s̵͎̙͑́̚ ̴̞̩̠̹͂t̷͕͇͋̂͝h̴͕̾̀̎͑ą̷̢͔̀t̷̖̉-̸̱͕̙͍͒̇?̶̦̰̭̳͐͋̈́̾”

“Less questions, more holding still- ..Ugh, It’s just ectoplasm, ok?” Danny sighed and conceded when the man started to look like a retreat would be his go to option. The reaction to the answer was immediate and clearly visible with the armor’s helmet disengaged

“Don’t make that face at me! Do you want to stabilize or not? We talked about this already, no one but the dead will be capable of sensing you in any way if you keep going like this- also you sound downright horrible . I hate it. Way too much. Stay. Still-”

“- Nͧ͛ͣͯ̚o y̎͗ͪo̲̼̰ū̮ͬ͗͆͛ͥͣ ̈́̍̅s̜ͯ̾t̅a̖̮͎̗ͮ̆ͫ̋̓̉ͤy̙͍̬͖̙͎͌ͭ̐͛ͬ sti̞ͦͧ̍͛ͬͥlͩͤl, k̸̬̍͝id- A͖͎͖̥̤̦̺̍ͪ̃̓ ̰̯̍͂̀͆̂̐ś͓̓͊͛̈͌ͮh̩͇͎͌͗o͂t̲̙̽ͨ͑͂ͯ?͖͐̑ͪ͗͆͑ ̲͚͕͎̩̒H̩̤̰̙͉̠̀̿̍̄͆ͭ̃o̖̟̥͕̪̓̃w̝̎̒ͥ̿̎͊ ͯŵ͉̯ͫ̃̀ö̪̟̻͑͋͌ǘ̩̘͔͓̃͂͐ͬ̓̎l̜͈̋̓ͬͩd͔̱̣̾͋̐̈́ͧ ́ẗ̫̙̺͕́̇̎͒̃hͮ͒̅a̓̉̀̂t̤͎̦̋ͨ̅̿̈́ ̇̑͗̌ͪͫḛ̫̔v̍̍͐ͫ̀ͬͣe̾͆̽ͧn͑̀̎͊ ̰ͮͬ̏̏h̝̹̿̍ͪͯͤȅ̘l̩͓͖̓̒̈́̂̀̿ͩp̺̃ͯͣ̃͋?͛͒ Y͗̊̌ô̪͉͒ṷ̯͉̃̂ͧ ͗̉j͔͚̮͖̣͍͐u͍̰̒̑s̗͙̼̲̺͂̌̓̅ͭ̂̇t̹͇̳̘͍̘ͭ͐ͯ̉ ̗͑s͍̤̖̤̬̙a̙͙̦̪̽̈́͛í͈̑̏̅ͤ͒̌d͓̞̺̪͂̃̒ͅ ̘̥̹̻͕̃̓̊ͯ̊iț̠̅ͪ͂̓̾͆͗,̳̥̤̪̔ͭͅ ̋̿Ḯͫ͛’͇̣̆ͨͫm̟̗̝̠̘͇͑ͮ̂̈̋̀ͭ ̻̺͗n̗̥̮̦̥̄̈́͒̓̓̾̏ͅō͚̓̈t̬͈͙͖̩͐ ̝̹̦̟̎͋eͧ͛̋ͪ̂x͍̫͚aͅc̟̦̥̹̖̒ͧ̾ͅt̪͙͉̎̂̍͊̅͋l͚̿͑̑̔̎y̭̦̣̝̅ͧͅ t̳̠͕ͫa͋ͥn͛̓̋ͯ̿g͊̑ỉ̠̙͌̀̃̏ͭ̎b̊ͦ̚l̤͙ͪͯe͉̳̜͚ͯ̂. ̦͉̥̳̱̊̎̏̑̆̇̚I̳͚̻͙͓̹̚’͓̖͙͎̿ṁ ̦̇͑̐ȋ̭̭̒ͧ̚n̪̜͂ ̪ͦ̈́̑́ͪa̗̤̔̆ͧ͗͂r͙̠͎̜̣̓̏ͨ̽̇ͦm̅̒̾or͕̆ͯͮ.͉̞͆̈ ͭ̈́H̽̚o͇͌̒̂ͣͨ̿̐ͅͅw ̓̓ͬ̔ͪå͔̲̤re̖͍͌́͒͆ͯ ͯy̋̏̆̔̑o̥͎͕̜̦͎̅ͪu ͤ̊̔͂̓̓ẻ̠́͒͐͛ͤ̉v̼͒ͦe̟̖̖̭͙n͎ͧ̍ ̤͈̗̥ͩ̈͌̀g̠͚̫͉ͮͪ́̚o͆̑̋̎ͪͫi̜̭͎̗̰̜̓n̯͍̎̅̌ͣ͐̌ͦg ̤̣̫̣̓̌̐ͅt̰͊͑͛̿͛ȍ͇̭̑̌ ̝̩̿i̳̺̘̼͓ñ͔̫jͭͧ̌ͣē͕͎͉̰c̏ṫ͈͇̱̹͉̫ͯ-͍ͣͩ̀̾̅”̇͆̇͒ͭ͛ͧ

Oh, well.

No one had ever accused Danny of having good bedside manners.

Never mind when dealing with billionaires.

Danny might or might not have ended up stabbing him a little.

So what?

It was a tiny bity needle anyway, and the man was already dead .

It's not like it mattered that much at this point, Danny had dealt with – and done – much worse-

“Uh..”

And it had worked, so ha!

“Told you” Danny deserves to be smug, he really does.

Tony, meanwhile, was beyond done with this death thing and he wanted to give it back right now, thanks.

“..that makes absolutely no sense”

“it kind of does actually,” when you had some years under your death belt at least, “if you swing your head to the left a little and squint just right -”

His response was a disbelieving look, a look that got interrupted midway when the man got distracted by something over Danny’s shoulder.

It didn't take long to figure out it was by the sight of one Peter Benjamin Parker, still lying pale and weirdly still on the bed. Emotions all over the place, even if his face remained mostly blank. The older superhero was looking at the teen with-

Concern.

Guilt.

Protect-

Oh .

“It’s not your fault either” Danny offered, quietly, then a thought crossed his mind and he murmured under his breath “At least I hope it isn’t ”

That gained him some indigned spluttering from the man.

That was a no, then.

“Sorry old man, nothing personal.” The sputtering stopped, but Tony still looked offended. Danny wasn't sure if it was still about the implication or because of the old thing. It didn’t really matter. “I just have bad experiences with billionaires”

A raised eyebrow. “How many do you even know ?”

“One too many.” Danny sighed. “And you, now, so that’s two I suppose”

He didn't really get a response beyond a distracted hum because Tony’s attention had gone right back at Peter. After a moment the man replied.

“It is sort of my fault.” At Danny’s little frown he proceeded “Not directly, mind you, but the Mysterio fiasco was all on me, the kid shouldn't have needed to deal with the fall out.”

And so, explanations ensued.

Danny winced through a good chunk of them.

“Yikes”

“Yeah” Tony grimaced, and then grimaced harder after catching a glance of the new bright green of his armor. He would have to do something about that later. Peter was a priority right now.

“So, after his identity got out things went tits up, the government got greedy- color me surprised- then what?”

“Do I look like I know what the fuck is going on in the head of those morons-? No, don’t answer that. I don’t. There. Short answer. Easy digestion. All you need to know is-” Tony glanced back at Peter, pretty concerned by the null signs of recovery because “he should already be better, whatever nasty chemicals they put on him are messing with his metabolism”

Umh, considering it had been the GIW then there weren't really many options, and it’s not like Danny hadn’t thought about it before this.

“Far frozen it is, then” at the questioning look he elaborated before the man got started with the questions. Again. “Allies of mine, they are good with health things. Got me out of tight spots more than a couple of times.”

And thus, Danny started to arrange things for the trip with Tony’s curse packed rambling as background noise.

“-Fuckin Ross. Fucking HYDRA. Fucking Government- When I get a grip on this and go back, and I will , they are going to try and put a damn leash around me and the kid. Oh, I want them to try, I dare them to try- ”

“I mean, you are technically no longer under US jurisdiction- is that what is called?“. Tony turned around, so Danny continued. “You know, being dead and all? Sorry, I keep forgetting beginners are queasy about that word at first. “

“Beginners..” Tony repeated the word. It didn’t make a difference. “What is this, a netflix subscription?”

“Yeah, but the free trial period never ends. It’s a whole deal around here, you get used to it” Danny winced after a pair of seconds, “sorry. Too much. I mean, you don’t necessarily have to stay here, here, to get it, but you do need-”

Tony waved him off, they could get back to that later if necessary. “You said I'm no longer under US jurisdiction. Then who’s? There’s got to be someone trying to call the shots even in death, the maniacs”

Danny nodded, a little nervous. “Uh.. there are- royals? in the zone? And the observants. But nobody gives a fuck about them- Oh, and some democracies too, but those are pretty young in comparison and most of the ghosts are ancient as fudge, so- actually, scratch that, I'm pretty sure you can find almost every type on there if you search long enough, but most ghosts just run on Anarchy Mode, the damn jerks-”

“Whoa whoa I’m gonna need you to stop there, Casper.” Once the teen seemed to give Tony his attention the man continued, “The ‘Zone’?”

“Yeah, the Ghost Zone” at Tony's look Danny remembers- “Oh man..you are new, like, really new. Of course. Yeah, ok. Since the beginning then”

This was going to take a while.

-.-.-.-

“Who were those guys anyway?”

“The G.I.W. or Guys In White”

“The what ?”

“I know, dude-” Danny sighed. “I know .”

[littlepadika]

Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!