#given that she has moved the entire contents of her bedroom into the living room

[the-everqueen]

bitching in the tags

[nerdieforpedro]

Let me tease you Angel

Chapter Three of Come away with me Angel

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Word Count: 2525

Summary: Moving in goes smoothly - sort of. Benny and Diana are pushing each other’s buttons until a joke becomes a promise that they’re both looking forward to keeping.

Warnings: Awkward conversations, Benny being a menace several times (not sorry), mild violence, one instance of sexual harassment, alcohol mention, the innuendo is strong, Diana is a menace too, mild sexual content, one hair pull, tossing a body (sounds worse than it is), Benny being possessive?

Notes: I finally had some inspo for Benny! 🤗 Now I’ll need some for chapter four 👀 You’ll need to help me out on this one.

Main Masterlist/ Benny Miller Masterlist/ AO3 Link

Moving Diana into Benny’s home didn’t take long at all, a couple hours. They ate pizza and laughed about the number of stuffed animals she had. The evening brought a complication that Diana didn’t plan on. She had been vaguely aware that Benny had three bedrooms, one of them had been turned into an office. Benny balked at her assertion that she couldn’t picture him sitting down long enough to be in an office. He put her bags with her clothes in the bedroom next to his. Diana insisted she could sleep in the office and that would be better. Benny scoffed and told her she was being ridiculous while he set the very box she was concerned about on her new bed in the guest room.

“What did you want for dinner? Pizza, wings or burgers?” He asks as Diana’s eyes dart from him to her last box.

“Pizza, coke, and garlic cheese sticks please.” She answers and sits down on the bed in front of the box. Maybe if she blocks it from his view she’ll feel slightly better about it. Not that he can see through a cardboard box anyway. Is she paranoid? Yes and for no reason because Benny is not one to judge. He’d likely be encouraging about it.

“Alright which movie do you wanna watch?” Benny follows her lead and plops down on the bed next to her.

“Which ones do you have?” She knows, she might be trying to annoy him into leaving. But this is Benjamin Miller, she’s playing a losing game.

“Depends on what you’re in the mood for Angel.” If they were playing a game, she would have lost at that moment. He’d just given her a response. Basic one at that but he did not need to wipe his forehead with his shirt then. Sure he was sweaty, but it makes it worse. And increases her awareness of what she’d be using the box behind her for.

“Hallmark movie.” Least sexy option please. Diana needs some semblance of sanity. Like she isn’t drooling over her friend who’s giving her a place to stay.

“Huh, didn’t expect that one. I’ll have to stream that one. You cool with me logging into your Amazon account?”

“Yeah that’s fine.” Finally, he’s standing up and walking out of the room. She might be able to calm down now. “And Benny, thanks. For everything. I-It means a lot.” He smiles and walks back in the room, scooping her up in a hug. Diana places her arms on his back and lays her head on her chest. She really is grateful, but this might be one of the best things she’s done and also one of the stupidest. It’s the first day and she feels like this. Maybe she just needed to get laid somewhere to to the edge off? But it’s still not Benny, her Benny. Not that he’s really hers.

“You know I’d do anything for ya Diana.” A lock of his hair fell out of his loose bun that he tied back to keep his vision clear while moving. Benny’s lips kissed her forehead and Diana sighed. “I’ll see you out in the living room for the movie sweet girl.” Her new tall muscular roommate left her standing in front of her bed. She watched as he walked out, observing the efforts of his daily workouts bouncing with each step that he took. Her eyes landed on her box which she promptly stuck under her bed and crossed her arms.

“It will have to be when he’s working out.” Her hand touched her forehead where his lips had been. “Did he have to give me a new nickname? Lord have mercy…”

Benjamin peeked around the corner at his dear friend and watched as she stored one box she seemed especially focused on. He had an inkling what might be in there if she was that protective over it. He’d give it a little time or try to. Benny can’t pounce on the woman yet.

Benny to his credit, tried to give it a month. He made it Fourteen days before it happened.

He didn’t want to rush her, just kept up with the movie nights fixed breakfast and had Diana help with dinner. Miller believes that he showed great restraint in not plopping his Angel on the counter and eating her for dinner instead.

Even when she just wore that simple off-white dress for a casual Friday at the end of the second week. They had finished breakfast and were cleaning up; Benny would take Diana’s work bag out to her car before going on a morning run.

She thanked him as always for making breakfast and being so sweet. He appreciates her calling him sweet, but he’d rather make her late for work and sweaty. Recently, Diana was giving Benny side hugs that he wasn’t a fan of, but this morning, he pulled her into a tight one at her open driver’s side door. Leaning his back against the car, the MMA fighter pulled her toward his chest, making sure she was flush with him. “No getting away from me today sweet girl. I’m getting a proper hug and send off from you today.” Hearing her giggle, he knew she wasn’t taking him seriously. She’d have something to think about today.

“Benny you’re such a goof. I need to leave or else I’ll be late.” She released a soft whine, it was unintentional by the look on her face. He meant his smirk. Benny kissed her cheek first before leaning into her ear. His large hands trailed down her spine and pressed her soft body into his further. He felt them, the small pebbles among her plush mounds.

“Not a goof Angel, more like a tease baby.” His lips touched the exposed skin of her shoulder, then her neck, making his words wet on her skin. “Diana you have no idea how badly I want to make you late. Hell, call out sick, but I know you’d be cross with me.” He pulled his head back to stand up and kiss her forehead before letting her go. Her hand found the ends of his sun-kissed brown hair and twirled them, biting down on her lips.

“Benjamin Miller. Go ahead on your run and I’ll be front and center for your match tonight.” Diana got in the car and put on her seatbelt quickly looking up at her dear friend. He’s already leaned over her window, so his face is nearly inside. Benny enjoys running shirtless since it’s summer and warm. Diana would never tell him what to wear or to put on more clothes. On one hand she’s puzzled that he’s choosing today, the day of his match to make a move. But she’s also pleased that she didn’t have to do it. She’d not great at making the initial move, but maybe she had been temping him a bit with all the shorts, casual dresses where she didn’t normally wear them and touching him during movie night and while cooking in the kitchen. Diana had been the one to joke that Benny should see her off, she was surprised that he did and seemed happy to do so.

“Win or lose tonight, Diana, I get to tease you when we get home. That alright?” Hitting the top of her car roof twice, he took a step back and that was her signal to drive off, but she didn’t yet.

“Benny Miller you are so much damn trouble.” Diana whistled and drove off, hoping that she might be able to dry out before she gets to work. He’s gotten her worked up and imagining how he might in fact tease her after his match. The thoughts followed her around the office the entire day and prompted her to slip on a deep violet body on dress that flared out at the bottom, she wore brick red lipstick and wore matching red heels. They would be hard to stand in during the match, but she wanted to look a bit different than what Benny has seen her in before. Unfortunately, she couldn’t get a a seat up front. Diana was able to grab a place three rows back.

Frankie, Pope and Will didn’t see her, it wasn’t like her to miss a match of his. They called her and she answered but it was too loud ringside, so she texted them.

Diana: Hey, I’m here. I wasn’t able to get a seat closer. I’m a few rows back. Are there any open seats near you guys?

Frankie: Sorry no. But you’re okay though right? Some of the guys here can be rowdy when drunk.

Diana: I’ll be fine. I’m just mad I can’t see what’s going on. How is Benny doing?

Will: He’s taken some hits but getting some licks in. You sure you’re all right. One of us can come grab you.

Pope: We’ll dare some asshole to say something.

Diana: Ya’ll are sweet but I’m ok. Just keep me updated on the match.

Diana didn’t want them to worry about her she was okay for now. She was able to hear the announcements for the start and end of each round and her phone kept going off with updates. A man next to her finished his latest beer and and tapped her on the shoulder, “Doll, you got fries to go with that shake? I’ve seen you ‘round. Red trunks is winning but he’ll be no good to you tonight, but I will.” Shrugging his touch off, she shook her head and stepped back, bumping the woman next to her by mistake. The woman stared at Diana, and she apologized to her, whispering, “Are you alright? He isn’t nothing you, is he?” Diana was about to speak but the drunkard spoke first, “Ain’t none of your business. Stay out of it. I’m talkin’ to her.”

There was a loud roar from the crowd and a flourish of activity started. Diana’s phone went off with yelling emojis, balloons and yelling. Benny had won! She was sorry to have not been able to see him win. “There will be next time.” Muttering to herself, she went to move toward the ring since people were heading to the back but a sweaty hand grabbed her forearm.

“Now hold ur horses doll. We didn’t finish talking.” Diana pulls her arm down and gets out of his grip easily but stumbles, her feet partially numb from wearing the heels all night.

“Keep the hell off of me asshole.” Diana cursed and continued toward Benny and the crew. The man followed her and all the fighter saw was a man keeping after his Diana. Benny rose from leaning against the side of the ring and hit the man square in the nose, breaking it. Will and the others were barely able keep the man from hitting the concrete floor, concerned it might be another injury.

“Diana! Angel are you alright? What the fuck was that?” The younger Miller demanded to know, he had a blood lip and a bruised abdomen with cuts on his hands and despite the pain of moving so much, he pulled Diana’s soft body against his and she felt right in his arms.

“I’m fine Benny. You won right? I wasn’t able to see most of it. I was in the third row back. Congratulations!” Tipping on her toes, her lips connected with his briefly before she rocked back. The smile on her face was bright, she was proud of him. Benny always trained so hard for his matches and in between. He had results and another win, the widened eyes he had on his face did not mask the surprise of his expression.

“I see you’re the one teasing the hell out of me Di. I see why he was following you. I’m going to hold a handful of you on the way home. Be right back.” Benny kisses her cheek before making a quick trip to the locker room to get his stuff and head home. Upon his return, he noted her hand on her hips, “Now before you say anything about your car, I’ll take you to work tomorrow and get your car back home. See you later gentlemen!” Diana mutters how much trouble Benny continues to be as they leave, and the rest of guys are wondering when the shift in their relationship happened. Will suggested things may have changed since Diana’s staying with Benny. Frankie and Pope nodded and figured it would be a matter of time given that information. The guys wonder if things will be alright and they collectively decide to stay out of it.

Opening the door for her while still shirtless and tossing his gym bag in the back seat of his jeep, Benny gives Diana a hand with stepping up into the vehicle. He clicks the seat belt for her and rests his head, on her thigh, “Wore this dress for me did you Angel?” A finger pokes her ankle and runs up her calf. Cupping his large hand around it so the meat of her leg is in his palm, he squeezes, then shakes it a little.

“I did Benjamin. You’re not the only one who’s trouble. Let’s go home. Not here.” Diana kisses the dirty blonde strands on the back of his head, her own fingers at the back of his neck. Benny hums with her motions and he makes no effort to move.

“Don’t I know it Diana? You’re going to let me tease you all night? I might not drive you into work on account of you being too pleasantly sore.” Standing up straight, his face is just above her breasts, with his trademark sheepish grin, he kisses the top of each one. Her hand pulls him close before she realizes what she’s doing and then tugs back by his hair.

“I said not here Benny.”

“Need to show them why they shouldn’t touch you. Shouldn’t even think about it. Dumb bastards.” A small graze of her neck with a stern look to some of the guys from the match who were watching their display Miller turned to get in the jeep to drive them home.

Diana wasn’t one for such public displays but she would admit that Benny being territorial with her, showing people that she’s his. She’d make fun of others who found is sexy but now she understands the appeal.

The ride home found Diana parting her legs enough so Benny could reach between them and feel her soaked fabric. The whine she released nearly made him miss a stop sign. “Damn sweetheart. We’re getting to a bed maybe just the couch. I need you on your back so I can spread you and see for myself.” Benny was able to get the jeep in the driveway, hopping out and u locking the front door. Diana had only gotten her seatbelt off before Benny threw her over his shoulder and took her inside the house – he did place her gently on the couch before slamming and kicking the front door.

Peeps who would be fine with Benny tossing the on the couch 🛋️: @rhoorl @musings-of-a-rose @laurfilijames @yorksgirl @guelyury

@gwendibleywrites @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @tinytinymenace

Chapter Two Chapter Four

[whatacaitastrophe]

Is It Over Now - Chapter 7

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Burn Butcher Burn" - The Witcher, Season 2 Soundtrack (performed by Joey Batey)

Chapter Warnings: none!

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter Notes: if you have read this fic, liked it, reblogged it, or left comments THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. keep the comments coming bc i love hearing your feedback (and like tinkerbell, i need applause to live).

Chapter 7: I Hear You're Alive. How Disappointing

The next two days fly by without incident, unless you count Wyll making Fallon cry because she has to do one hundred crunches at the end of their final training session before the ball (Fallon counts it). At least when he leaves the morning of the ball he promises he will not be at their door bright and early tomorrow, because he intends to take the next day off. It’s a sure sign of how Wyll expects the evening of revelry and celebration to go. 

After their conversation, Fallon and Astarion fell into an easy rhythm. The first night, they stayed up talking about everything and nothing, only taking breaks to exchange sweet kisses. They still haven’t properly had sex yet, but that’s something Astarion is perfectly ok with. When it comes to Fallon, Astarion wants to do this right. He doesn’t want Fallon to feel like he poured his heart out to her just to bed her (and maybe, just maybe, he’s still the tiniest bit insecure and worried that Fallon had done exactly that). 

Somehow, despite the past two days being some of the best of his life with Fallon, Astarion is incredibly nervous for this ball. He loves a good party, especially one where the attention will be cast upon him, and he’ll be given the opportunity to charm an entire room full of aristocrats, but the anticipation of this night has him pacing around the suite. 

It could also be because Shadowheart arrived at the suite in the early afternoon with a team of hair and makeup professionals trailing behind her to help them get ready for the evening, and as a direct result, Astarion has been left to entertain Lae’zel, who quickly refused the assistance of the small army Shadowheart assembled, declaring she does not need an entire day to become perfect. 

“Astarion,” Lae’zel warns after his twelfth lap around the sitting room in the last hour. “If you do not stop pacing, I will make you.”

Astarion scowls at the githyanki, but he does as he’s told; mostly because he’s still fairly certain Lae’zel could snap him in two if she really wanted to. He picks up the book about the young wizard that he’s still reading, but concentration eludes him and he’s just staring at the pages without absorbing any of the content. 

“My lover has informed me that I need to work on my….people skills,” Lae’zel starts with a huff. “So I am going to ask you why you keep looking at the bedroom door and why you cannot sit still, but please do not mistake my inquiry for actual concern.” 

Astarion snorts with laughter. “I think part of having people skills is showing genuine concern, Lae’zel.”

Lae’zel gives him a stone cold stare, and he almost regrets teasing her. “It’s the first time Fallon and I are going out in public together. As…more than friends.” He clarifies. “So this giant party where everyone is watching, it’s basically our first date.”

“Yes, Shadowheart did mention a romantic development. I did not realize Fallon was finally over the wizard.”

Astarion winces. “Ah, well, not entirely, but that’s complicated to explain and I’m sure you don’t want to hear about the whole sordid affair.”

“That is correct, I do not,” she confirms. “Besides, I’ve heard enough that I think I understand.” 

“Well, that’s why I’m pacing,” he tells her, and Lae’zel levels a stare in his direction. “You asked.” he concedes, raising his hands in defeat. 

Awkward silence fills the suite, and Astarion really wishes he’d thought to turn on the phonograph before their friends arrived because now he’s too afraid to stand up and risk the gith’s wrath by moving around again. “Do you think the wizard will show his face?” Lae’zel breaks the silence. 

“Gods, I fucking hope not. She’s been doing so well…I worry about what seeing him again might do to her.” 

“Maybe that is the real reason why you pace incessantly. You are worried for Fallon, and maybe a little worried for yourself and your romantic involvement with her, should the wizard return.”

Astarion is stunned, and not just because Lae’zel just read him so thoroughly. “Why Lae’zel, I think you may have just shown genuine concern! Shawdowheart will be very proud.” He deflects, as this is a very strange conversation to be having with Lae’zel, of all people. Then again, maybe the warrior is the best person to have this conversation with, because she minces words even less than her girlfriend does, and unlike Wyll or Karlach, or even Halsin, she won’t try to soothe his nerves with false narratives. Astarion defies her and stands to walk over to the cabinet where he and Fallon keep the wine. He pours them each a glass before sitting back down again. “Do you think he’s going to show up?”

Lae’zel ponders for a moment as she drinks her wine. “No,” she declares. “The wizard has not been in contact with anyone for the last year. I believe he is intelligent enough to know his presence would not be welcome.” As backhanded as it is, Astarion is surprised by the compliment Lae’zel affords Gale. 

Astarion winces. “Well…that’s not entirely true.” 

“My assessment of the wizard’s intelligence, or that he has not been in contact with anyone since he left in the first place?” 

“The second part.”

Deafening silence fills the suite again, and Astarion swears Lae’zel does not ever blink. “You’ve spoken to him.”

“I’ve seen him.” Astarion confesses.

More silence. “When?” 

“Months ago…it’s a long story.”

“Does Fallon know?”

“No.” 

“Does anyone?”

“....no one other than you and Gale.” Astarion did not think it was possible for the githyanki’s lips to get any thinner, but they do and she’s glaring at him. “Please don’t tell her.” Astarion begs.

The silence that follows could not have lasted more than a few minutes, if not seconds, but it feels like an eternity while Astarion holds his breath, waiting for Lae’zel to say something. 

“I will not intervene, because it is not my place and unlike my lover, I do not care to gossip,” she sips from her wine glass. “However, I will encourage you to be honest with Fallon, because if she ever finds out you kept this from her, it will not end well for you.” 

Astarion sighs, finishing his own glass of wine and pouring another. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

“I’ve never taken you to be a coward, Astarion. Do not start now, as I do not associate with cowards.” 

It might be the nicest thing the gith has ever said to him, and the closest she’s ever come to admitting they’re actually friends. Lae’zel dismisses herself to get ready for the ball, leaving Astarion alone. Astarion sighs quietly and tells himself that he’ll broach the topic with Fallon first thing tomorrow. He doesn’t want to ruin this night for her. Astarion looks at the grandfather clock by the door and realizes that he should probably get ready as well and he heads for the spare bedroom.

An hour later, Lae’zel is the first one to return to the sitting room, followed shortly by Astarion. “Well, don’t you look dashing.” Astarion offers the gith as he takes in her form. The dress Lae’zell chose (more likely chosen by Shadowheart for her), is a simple, black floor length a-line gown with a cowl neckline. The halter top compliments her toned body, and the necklace she’s wearing is a pendant with moons and stars on it. The ensemble is not much different than the one Lae’zel wore to last year’s Winter Solstice Ball, and Astarion is almost certain that Lae’zel not repeating an outfit is entirely Shadowheart’s influence.

The doublet Astarion picked out for himself is black velvet, and the filigree throughout is the same color as Fallon’s dress. Though the development of their romantic involvement is less than a tenday old, Astarion always knew he would be the one escorting Fallon to the ball, and he’d be damned if their ensembles didn’t match, or worse, clashed altogether. Shadowheart calls from the bedroom that she and Fallon are nearly ready, and Astarion begins pacing again. Lae’zel glares at him, but she doesn’t say anything, and Astarion notices that even the stoic githyanki warrior is fidgeting a little in her seat. He does not dare bring it up for fear of losing his head, but it’s sweet to see his friend be nervous about seeing her lover in her dress for the first time. 

The door to the bedroom opens and Astarion freezes in place and Lae’zel shoots to her feet. Shadowheart is the first to emerge and though Shadowheart looks absolutely lovely, Astarion is watching Lae’zel. He’s never seen her look awestruck before. Lae’zel walks over to a beaming Shadowheart and takes her hands. “ Zhak vo'n'fynh duj' : Source of my joy. You are more radiant than the sun.” Astarion looks away when Lae’zel captures Shadowheart’s mouth in a deep kiss (it feels weird watching the gith be this vulnerable), his gaze automatically goes to the bedroom door. 

Fallon steps through the door, and Astarion is breathless. He imagines the look on his face is not much different than that of the one Lae’zel had on her face moments before, but when Fallon smiles at him, Astarion honestly forgets that there is anyone else in the suite aside from the two of them. Fallon walks–no–floats towards him, the chiffon of her dress having the exact effect Astarion and Figaro envisioned together. He meets her halfway and takes one of her hands and Astarion bows deeply to the woman in front of him, and kisses the back of her hand. 

“Well, I must say, whoever chose this dress for you has excellent taste,” Astarion jests as he rises. “You look absolutely exquisite, darling.” 

Blush creeps up Fallon’s neck. “Thank you. For all of it.” He knows she means more than just the dress. 

Wyrm’s Rock is decorated for the season to the nines. Wyll’s stepmother is known for her parties, and this one is no exception. “It’s beautiful.” Fallon muses in awe as they walk in. “I can’t believe I missed this last year.” 

Astarion squeezes her hand softly as he thinks back to this time last year. Astarion and their friends attempted to convince Fallon to leave The Elfsong for this occasion, but their efforts were in vain. When they’d gone to collect her, she was already several bottles of wine deep in the bar with some of the tieflings from The Grove, could barely stand, and was in absolutely zero condition to spend an entire evening socializing with the aristocrats of Baldur’s Gate. They’d all agreed that with the absence of Fallon, and even Gale, it didn’t really feel like much of the celebration it was supposed to be.

The four of them step further into the extravagantly decorated room and are immediately greeted by various members of the court, fawning over Fallon especially after missing last year. Astarion holds his tongue as they fuss and speculate to her face about why she was absent last year, and pride spreads through his body as Fallon fields the question and deflects like she’s been doing this her whole life. This was why she’d become their leader. She charmed people with ease and carried herself with such confidence it was no wonder nearly everyone they met fell in love with her instantly. Eventually she’s able to wave them off, and Astarion leans over to kiss her temple. 

“Gods, those people do love their gossip, don’t they?” Fallon muses with a laugh. 

“Yes, I’d no idea you’ve been out of the city training dragons, do tell me, when shall I get to ride one? You’ve been holding out on me.” 

“Your very own dragon is your solstice gift.” She teases with a wink but expression very quickly changes to surprise and then pure glee. Fallon lets out an excited squeal and Astarion follows her gaze to where Wyll is standing but it’s not Wyll, or even the druid Halsin towering next to him that caused the object of Astarion’s affection to squeal with delight.

It’s Karlach.

Not only is it Karlach, but the tiefling looks like herself. 

Fallon does not bother with proper etiquette, and she gathers her skirts in one hand, takes off towards Karlach at a sprint and leaps into her friend’s arms. Astarion trails after her, and though he definitely is not running as Fallon had, Astarion’s gait is definitely quicker than usual. After sacrificing herself and becoming an illithid, Karlach was forced to lay low after the battle ended. For obvious reasons, illithids were not exactly a welcome sight in Baldur’s Gate, but Halsin welcomed her back to The Grove with open arms. 

“I missed you, soldier.” Karlach is murmuring into her embrace with Fallon as Astarion approaches the reunion.

“I can’t believe it– you’re here! And you’re you!” Fallon exclaims, hugging Karlach again with tears in her eyes. “How?”

“Just a little bit ‘o temporary magic, I’m afraid. Nettie and our pal Halsin made me a potion so I’d look like meself tonight. Not that I ever stopped being me, but, you know ‘ow it is.” 

Fallon greets Halsin next, and the druid picks her up to spin in a circle and Astarion just smiles as the fabric of her dress floats effortlessly around her. He really does have good taste. Halsin was one of the first people to ever suspect that Astarion had feelings for Fallon. The conversation occurred shortly after Halsin confessed his own feelings for Fallon to her, only to be gently turned down after Gale refused the suggestion of an open relationship. At the time, Astarion made fun of Gale for being so incredibly traditional in his way of thinking, but now that he has Fallon, Astarion understands. He doesn’t want to share Fallon with anyone else, either.

“How do you do it?” Halsin asked him whilst sitting by the fire one evening. 

Astarion looked up at the druid in confusion. “Do what?”

“How do you cope with the ache in your heart, watching Fallon and Gale together day in and day out? I only ask because I’ve not been in this group very long, whereas you’ve been here since the beginning. When does the pain of watching her love another fade?” 

Astarion stared at Halsin, mouth slightly open. “Are you suggesting I have feelings for our dear leader?”

“Am I wrong? I’ve seen the way you look at her when you think no one is watching.”

Astarion frowned. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

Halsin gives him an understanding smile. “Then perhaps I misread the situation. My deepest apologies.” 

“No apology needed, friend.” Astarion replied before turning back to his book, ignoring the very ache Halsin just spoke of.

Halsin lets go of Fallon, approaching Astarion. The druid offers him a strong handshake and claps him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you, friend. I am very glad to see the two of you together. She looks happy.” 

Astarion looks over to Fallon and then back to Halsin. “She does, doesn’t she?” Waitstaff pass buy and offer each of them a glass of champagne, and Fallon eagerly listents as Karlach regales her with stories of the grove, seeing Arabella again, and learning how to live among druids as an illithid, and learning how to live as an illithid in general. 

“I mean, I thought that emperor bloke was joking when he said he ate brains, nope. It’s truly the most horrific part of this ‘ole thing. ‘Course I don’t eat people or anything–” Karlach stops speaking suddenly, and her facial expression shifts to complete horror in an instant. 

“You owe me twenty gold, mate.” Wyll tells Halsin, and his tone can only be described as disappointed anger. Halsin also looks very unhappy, and a sickening feeling begins to form in Astarion’s stomach as he realizes that Halsin’s unhappiness has nothing to do with owing Wyll money. 

“Well, this is quite the reunion, isn’t it? Leave it to The Winter Solstice to always bring old friends together.” An omnipotent voice comments from behind Astarion’s back, and Astarion whips around, willing his fingers to not ball into fists at his side as he tries to remember to breathe. That annoying, condescending voice only belongs to one person.

Fallon spins around to face the owner of the voice and she gasps. For the first time in over a year, she speaks the name of her ex-lover, and her voice is shaking. 

“Gale.”

Chapter List

[sombrashe]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆kinktober 2024⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𓉸ྀི wax play

𓉸ྀི Maria

𓉸ྀི content afab!reader, chubby!reader, wax play, teasing, established relationship

Sighing you turn the revolver around in your palms. Something of a gift given to you by your girlfriend when you started at Heavens Night. It has a nice weight to it and think about how you can use it if you ever run out of bullets. You hated Wednesdays, you worked the day shift and she worked the night. You hated not being able to stay with her all day, but you needed the sleep. Both of you working double shifts to pay for a better apartment somewhere far away from Maine. Placing the gun down onto your shabby desk you rise and make your way to the living room. The door creaks open and Maria is there all bright smiles and smokey eyes. She gives Johnny a sweet goodbye and closes the door with a click. Taking a few steps towards her, her face drops.

"What a day. Some... guy grabbed tried to grab my bag on the way home."

You frown and immediately start assessing her for any damage. She lets you slowly peel her jacket off of her before checking down her exposed arms. A bruise from the strap of her bag looks angry against her smooth fair flesh. Didn't let go. Dragging your fingers over the dark mark you check the other side and find nothing but a few withered scars. You only pull away as the lights flicker before leaving you two in utter darkness.

Stillness fills the room and you curse under your breath as you dig around. Finding a flashlight after minutes of searching, you click it on and scan it across the room. You flash it to the front door and find Maria missing. Calling out you make your way through the small apartment and into your bedroom. You find her bent over fiddling with something under the bed. Stepping closer she peers at you from the side, her eyes nothing but inky holes in her face. A few more steps and she's wiggling something in your direction.

Taking a look you recognize the purple label. Reaching into your back pocket she takes the lighter from your palm when you present it to her. Flicking it open she presses the flame to the wick and watches as it bursts into flames. An orange glow flickered over her features. She looks beyond you and gives a soft smile. Hooking her finger in the air she pulls you forward mentally.

Clicking off the flashlight you make your way through the dim room. Knocking your knee against the mattress you don't let it hinder you. Crouching down beside her she hands you the candle before pulling out more. Holding it you watch as she places lit candles in strategic spots around the apartment. Once finished she comes back into the room to see you haven't moved from beside the bed. She giggles and places a manicured hand on your chest. Gently peeling the candle from your heated flesh she suddenly drips some of the wax onto your open palm. Hissing you yank your hand away as liquid pain turns into numbing static.

"Do me a favor, magnolia."

Pushing you back against the bed you fall over the edge and flat onto the mattress. Pulling your shirt up she pinches at the fat there. Humming she slowly drips burning wax onto the soft expanse of your stomach. You chew on your knuckle. Little whines are ripped from your throat the entire time. After a few agonizing minutes, she peels the dried wax off your discolored skin and back into the fire. Leaning down she presses her lips against your hot skin and sighs at the feeling. Nice and warm against her unnaturally cool flesh. Resting her chin on your abdomen she looks up at you with a mischievous glint sparkling against the candlelight. Handing you the candle once again she reaches between you and starts peeling your shorts off your plush thighs. Once they're successfully discarded she happily spreads your legs open at the knees. Taking a breath she kisses down your thighs and stops right above your twitching cunt. Pulling back she lets wax hit your knee, watching intently on how far it drips before drying completely. It doesn't feel like it gets past mid-thigh. Peeling the wax off she sets the candle to the side before pressing a gentle kiss to your pudgy abdomen.

"I think you deserve a reward."

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist | Other Characters Masterlist

[scorched-sunrise]

TIMING: Last week LOCATION: Emilio’s apartment, Worm Row PARTIES: Ophelia (@scorched-sunrise) & Emilio (@mortemoppetere) SUMMARY: Ophelia has some bad news and asks Emilio to meet her and talk. It goes about as well as you’d expect. CONTENT WARNINGS: Child death (mentions), parental death (mentions)

—

This wasn't really something that should have been explained over text, and so instead of using her phone to tell her uncle that something bad had happened to his brother, she instead only said that she needed to see him, needed to talk to him. He told her to meet him at the apartment in Worm Row, which is where she stood now, her hood pulled up and hands stuffed in her pockets. 

She felt sick to her stomach, anxious of what his response might be. Would he care? She wanted him to fucking care. She wanted someone, anyone to care as much as she did that the warden had gone missing, and the thought that she might be the only one left well and truly broke her heart. He wasn't a good person, she knew that, but surely he'd made some kind of positive impact on someone in this damn town, right? His own brother should have been an easy answer, but even that was fraught with contention. 

Heaving a sigh, Ophelia trudged up the front steps and into the unlocked building (how secure!), taking the stairs over that creepy, busted-ass elevator that would probably strand her, knowing her luck. She moved down the familiar hallway to the familiar door that was similarly never locked, giving a quick rap of her knuckles before pushing it open.

“Tío?” she called into the apartment, stepping inside and closing the door with her foot. “You here already?”

—

Something was wrong. Something was wrong, and there was so much dread pooled in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t breathe around it. He should have seen it coming, really; he’d been starting to feel okay again with Lucio gone, starting to feel less like a monument of grief and more like something resembling himself, and how long could a thing like that last? How long could he expect to feel decent when he knew he didn’t deserve it? 

Ophelia asked him to meet her, and she wouldn’t have done that if there wasn’t something wrong. She’d told him where Rhett was in a text, was probably happy to have that be the last communication that existed between them given Emilio’s inability to react the way she needed him to react. She’d been frustrated with him, with hunters in general, and he understood that. So she wouldn’t have asked to meet him if there weren’t something wrong. 

He got to the apartment early. That old paranoia that lived and breathed in his chest wouldn’t allow anything less. He scoped it out four times, as if he didn’t know it like the back of his hands. He circled the building twice on his motorcycle, walked the entire hall upon his arrival, looked in every room of the empty apartment. Something was wrong. He was just waiting to figure out what. 

Her voice called out through the open door, and Emilio pulled himself from the bare, dirty mattress in the bedroom to trudge out into the living area. “Here,” he confirmed, eyes darting over her carefully. No obvious signs of injury, and that was good. But she seemed… different. Anxious. He didn’t know if he was imagining it. “You okay?”

—

For some reason, she'd expected this conversation to be easy to start. He's gone, she'd say, and then explain what happened. What did happen? Her mother—sun above, her mother. Ophelia’s dark eyes met Emilio's and she felt her throat constrict.

No. Don't. 

He asked if she was okay and her lower lip trembled. She'd been holding it in all this time, since that morning… she hadn't allowed herself to properly grieve the parent that was actually dead, desperate as she was to cling to her hope that the other was still alive somewhere. She wasn't okay. She was so fucking far from okay and she hadn't even realized it. 

Don't break down. Don't do it. She scolded herself into controlling the quiver in her voice and the way her hands shook despite being clenched into fists, staring at Emilio as a suspicious silence stretched out between them. 

“I…” Speaking without bursting into tears felt like an insurmountable summit, forcing her to stop and take a sharp breath. “... I moved… into town.” What the fuck? What the fuck am I saying? That's not what I came here for. She breathed out, hating the way the sigh stuttered without her consent. “My… um. My m-mom, she's… She, um…” Her voice pitched higher as she lost the battle, and her hands unclenched and flew to her face, splaying over her cheeks and eyes. The first sob was silent, wracking her tall frame as her shoulders hunched and she tucked her head down, trying to hide from Emilio. “She's dead?” It sounded like a question more than a statement, like she still couldn't believe it herself.

—

The look on her face was a haunted thing. Her lip trembled, her eyes were big, and Emilio suddenly felt so far out of his depth that even the thought of attempting to tread water was exhausting. Fathers and uncles grew into things with the kids in their lives. He’d gone from understanding babies to understanding toddlers as Flora and Jaime aged, was starting to understand young children before the massacre took him from being a father and an uncle to nothing at all instead. He knew how to soothe meltdowns spun over problems that seemed small to adults and monumental to six-year-olds, knew how to be a passable uncle to a boy who hadn’t yet learned how to tie his shoes. But…

Whatever had Ophelia’s face twisted into this expression of uncertain grief was doubtlessly bigger than the things he’d helped Jaime overcome. He knew how to be the uncle to a six year old; he hadn’t yet figured out how to do the same for a kid in her twenties. He wasn’t particularly good at comforting Nora or Wynne, either. Still, he tried. He approached Ophelia carefully, cautious as one might approach a coiled snake. 

She spoke, claiming she’d moved into town, and that pool of dread grew deeper. She’d seemed happy, when she’d talked about Rhett up on the mountain. Nervous, but happy. She’d had her family in one spot and, for her, it had been good. For her to be here now… 

Emilio’s mouth felt dry. His heart was pounding, and he thought back to that factory, to the moment he’d walked in and been so sure that his brother was dead. The water was rising, filling his lungs, his nose, his ears. Ophelia spoke, and it was muffled. Her mother was dead, and wouldn’t it have been Rhett who’d killed her? Hadn’t that been what he’d always wanted? Ophelia spoke of a promise the first time Emilio went with her to meet her father, and Emilio was no warden, but he knew what that must have meant. Ophelia’s mother was dead, and Rhett had wanted it that way for as long as Emilio had known him. And he’d made a promise, and —

And Ophelia was standing in front of him looking broken, and he couldn’t ask. He couldn’t demand answers from a kid who’d clearly had her fucking world torn apart. Her mother was dead, and maybe his brother was, too. The thought made him nauseous, made him want to pull his hair out and kick at the ground until his bad knee gave out and slam his fist through the fucking wall, but there was a kid in his living room looking shattered and it wasn’t his place to fall apart now just like it hadn’t been his place to fall apart in the car driving Rhett home from the hospital. Emilio could break in private, the way he always had. For now, he needed to be the uncle he should have been for Jaime.

“Come here,” he said, taking her arm and gently guiding her over to the sofa. He sat her on the cushion before trailing into the kitchen, pulling one of the two glasses he owned down from the cabinet and filling it with water from the sink. He brought it over, pressing it carefully into her hands. “Do you… want to tell me what happened? It’s okay if you don’t. It’s okay. But I—” I need to know about Rhett. I need to know what happened to my brother. I need to know if I should go up and try to find his body. He buried my daughter, my wife. I need to know if I have to bury him. His eyes stung, and he looked away, silently berating himself. He had to keep it together here. No outbursts, no getting lost in the depths of his broken mind. He needed to be present, needed to be functional for once in his sorry fucking life.

—

Ophelia was so much like her father in that moment, even if she didn’t know it. Fighting with everything she had to keep the door barred shut, to not let the tidal wave overcome her. She would surely drown if she did. The look on her face was one of miserable fury, as stiff as an iron mask, plastered there with the hope that it would keep everything else from crumbling to pieces. She let herself be led to the couch, let herself be sat down and stared blankly ahead as she heard her uncle rummaging around in the kitchen with glassware and the faucet. Her gaze didn’t leave the floor when he pressed the water into her hands, her brows pinched in the center as she scowled so deeply that it made her face ache.

Emilio asked if she wanted to talk about it. She knew why, really. If he was anything like Rhett, it wasn't because he thought he could make her feel better—who could, anyway? But he wanted to know about his brother. He wanted to know if Ophelia had found him dead beside her mother. If he'd killed her mother. Seeing the way they'd been the night before, it felt impossible. She couldn't believe it, she wouldn't. And besides, he hadn't been there. And the note… and the missing fae… no. Her parents were both the victims in this scenario. Ruminating on it made her start to run hot, her hands gripping the glass of water tightly as her anger rose. 

The water was lightly steaming before she answered, speaking through her teeth, her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “He's gone. They took him.” She was shaking, letting the news settle over the room for a few seconds before abruptly standing up from the sofa and hurling the glass of water across the room. It shattered loudly against the wall, but the sound was nothing compared to the scream the girl let loose—it was equal parts devastated and incensed, shorter than the wail she'd released at her mother's side but just as jarring. “They took him, tío!” She whipped around to face Emilio, tears streaking her face. “They killed my mother and took my father away and—and left a fucking note! I'd burn that whole place to the ground if I could,” she snarled, rabid in her righteous hatred, not caring if there were fae there that had treated her like family—any who still remained after what had been done deserved death, that much she knew. 

Her gaze snapped down from where it had been fixed on the wall, picturing bodies on fire. It fell upon Emilio, who until this point hadn't been given much of a chance to speak. “I'm still looking for him. I'll find him. I'll save him. And those motherfuckers are going to pay.”

—

There were things that got easier with practice. When he was a kid, his mother had him throw knives until his fingers bled, until blisters formed on his hands and his palms cracked open. He repeated the process every day until calluses grew, until those same fingers were reshaped through repetition of the same actions over and over and over again. The same thing had happened to his feet when she made him stand still for hours at a time, starting the clock over with each fidget. The first time she’d tossed him in the lake, he’d nearly drowned. The second time, he’d been able to swim to shore with less struggling. Life was hard, she told him. Everything in the goddamn world wanted to kill you. But there were things that got easier with practice.

And there were things that didn’t.

He didn’t even remember the first loss he’d suffered. His father was dead before Emilio was old enough to memorize the lines of his face, a ghost haunting the beginning of his story who’d be irrelevant by the end of it. Then he was twelve, and his uncle went into the woods with his brother and came back alone. Then at thirty-two, he had more tombstones in his heart than he did names of living people. But no calluses grew. No blisters burst and hardened with the repetition. He practiced and he practiced and he practiced, and it still felt just as raw. He was still floundering and fighting and gasping for breath like it was the first time he’d ever been tossed in the lake. 

It didn’t feel fair. Hadn’t he just done this? Hadn’t he just found Rhett’s cane on the sidewalk and come to terms with the fact that he’d been taken by people who wanted him dead? Hadn’t he just tracked him down and pulled him out with one less limb to speak of, hadn’t he just gone from accepting that his brother was dead to finding him alive and angry? Was this supposed to give him more practice? Was this supposed to make him feel better? If this was the real thing, then what had that factory been? A trial run, a rehearsal dinner? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. 

But it was less fair to Ophelia.

There was steam coming from the glass, and then the glass was shattering against the wall, and Emilio was too numb to make a joke about how he only had two glasses. He stared at the broken glass gleaming on the dirty carpet with an expression of dull interest, as if the world wasn’t ending all over again. As if it had ever stopped.

He knew the odds here. Rhett had barely survived being taken by two people, and he was so much weaker now. Had he even had any weapons on him? Emilio doubted the fae in Ophelia’s community had been keen to allow a warden to keep his blades even if he had been allowed to remain temporarily among them. And he’d been out of it, Ophelia had said, slept for days after his trek up the mountain. What chance did he have against a whole group of fae, if they wanted him dead? What was he hoping for here? Was the best case scenario that his brother had been given a quick death, or that he was still alive and suffering torture? He knew which option Rhett would have preferred. Did it make him a terrible person that he thought he’d be happier with the alternative? At least that would give him something to save. 

(Ophelia seemed certain that he was still alive. He could see it in her determined scowl, hear it in the tone of her voice. But Ophelia had less practice than him. When it came to this kind of thing, Emilio thought he might be the closest thing there was to a pro.)

“You shouldn’t do it alone.” His voice sounded hoarse, sounded uncertain, sounded like it was coming from someone else. “He was — He’s my brother. I want to help. Whatever there is to do, I want to help.” If Rhett was alive, wasn’t it Emilio’s job to bring him home? And if he wasn’t… Didn’t Emilio owe it to him to repay the favor he’d given him years ago, when he’d dug two graves in the aftermath of a massacre? “You want to make them pay, I can help with that. I’m good at that. You shouldn’t do it alone.”

—

There was no doubt in Ophelia’s mind that Emilio would be well equipped to deal with the fae once they were found—he was a hunter, after all. Dealing with supernatural threats was his bread and fucking butter, even if fae were more outside his wheelhouse. He’d grown up with Rhett, sure he’d learned a thing or two. Yes, he’d be a useful ally in taking them down, but it was the finding them part that concerned her…

“Home was in the mountains, Emilio. You can’t…” She glanced down at his knee, the one always giving him trouble. “... it won’t be easy to find them. The warm weather is erasing their tracks. I can fly, I can see more, look faster, but…” But I probably can't kill them all on my own. She sighed, wrapping her arms around herself and trying to talk herself down from this elevated emotional state. She was running hot, too hot, and she didn’t want to suddenly become a danger to the one person she had left. “When I figure out where they are, or get any solid leads, I’ll tell you. I know you can… help take care of them.” She wasn’t a stranger to fighting—her mother had taught her how to defend herself, and her mother had learned from Rhett. But that didn’t mean she could handle seven or eight or however many it was all at once, especially when they would be expecting this from her. They’d killed her mother, after all, how could they not expect an attempt at revenge? 

Knowing that she had support did something to quell her fire, though, and she brought a hand to her face as that grief came rushing back, mixing with the anger and diluting it down into something less explosive. Her core temperature was dropping as she moved back to the couch, sitting beside Emilio again and wringing her hands in her lap. “Sorry about the glass,” she offered, leaning against his shoulder. “Sorry… for—” Her voice caught in her throat and she clamped her mouth shut, hating the way the tears said more than she ever could. 

—

It was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head, the way she looked down at his bad leg. Emilio liked to pretend the limb was better off than it was, liked to act as though it didn’t bother him nearly as much as it did. He was still plenty capable, wasn’t he? He could still fight with the best of them, still hold his own against undead monsters and assholes in bar fights even if he couldn’t manage a flight of stairs. But there were things he couldn’t do. A trek in the mountains would be difficult. But it wasn’t impossible, was it? 

“Rhett managed it,” he ground out, and he wasn’t sure if it was his brother’s name or the reminder of his own inadequacy that left that ache in his chest. Rhett had managed a mountain trek with one leg missing, and Emilio was uncertain if he could do it with both still attached. (Maybe it was because Rhett had had damn good motivation. Climbing a mountain in the interest of getting far away from Emilio was probably far easier than sticking around.) “I’m a detective, mija. I know you can find them on your own, but I can help. I can make it quicker.” Because it would need to be, wouldn’t it? If there was any chance at all that Rhett was still alive (and Emilio found himself believing it less and less the more he thought about it, though he wouldn’t say as much to Ophelia), they’d need to uncover his location quickly. 

That ache in his chest only grew as her weight leaned against him. He thought of Rhett, the way he’d found him in the woods after that massacre, the way he’d vowed to help Emilio find his vengeance only for Emilio to abandon him the moment he realized Rhett was one more person he could lose. That was what they’d done, wasn’t it? Emilio and Rhett had abandoned one another over and over again, finding some new excuse to walk away after each disagreement. Sometimes, it was as simple as not wanting to see one another kill themselves for bodies long buried. Other times, it went deeper. Their ideologies shifted over the years, Rhett’s in one direction and Emilio’s in the other. If Rhett had stayed, how long would it have been before they were at each other’s throats again? Before there was another kid locked in Rhett’s van, before Emilio befriended someone Rhett thought he shouldn’t? 

He wondered, absently, if it would be the same with Ophelia. After all, he was still a hunter, wasn’t he? Ophelia was angry, wanted the people who’d killed her mother dead, and Emilio could give her that. But what happened after? She’d expressed distaste for how he referred to himself in the past, for how hunters spoke and acted, and Emilio couldn’t change that. So how long would it be before Ophelia, like her father, took issue with some part of who Emilio was? He shook the thought away. It was better, he figured, to focus on the present issue. They would avenge his niece’s mother. They would avenge his brother, her father. And then, they’d worry about whatever came after. 

“You don’t have to apologize, kid,” he mumbled, wrapping an arm around her. He wasn’t very good at offering comfort, but he liked to think he was learning. This was the kind of thing that was supposed to make people feel better, wasn’t it? “You don’t have to apologize to me. It was an ugly glass, anyway.”

—

“Yeah, well Rhett is an idiot,” she countered, evening her gaze with his, silently calling him an idiot, too, if he decided it was time to start hiking through the Peaks like his brother had. The repeated offer was met with silence this time, Ophelia just sighing and shaking her head, mulling it over as she sat down beside him.

She laughed in spite of herself, bringing a hand to her face. It was a strained, miserable thing, but it was still a laugh. “Yeah… it was,” she agreed. “I’ll get you another. Maybe even more than one, if I’m feeling generous.” The arm around her felt good—god, she hadn’t been hugged in weeks, not since before all of this happened, that night that… I shouldn’t have left. 

“I wish… you could have seen them,” she muttered, pressing a thumbnail hard into her palm. “He seemed happier that day. Not like when I texted you, not… lost somewhere else. He was there, with mom and I, and he was… smiling. Laughing. So was she.” She gave up the painful dig of her fingernail to wipe the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, drawing a long, shaky breath. “I wish you could have seen him like that again.” It sounded like she was speaking as if he was dead, which she still didn’t believe (or wouldn’t let herself), but she knew that when they did find him… if he’d been that bad after the last time, how would he be pulled back from the edge after this one? She wasn’t sure she had the ability to do that for him, not like her mother had. 

—

It was hard to argue with her on that, though it was hard to do much of anything when every inch of him ached this way. She met his gaze with a look Rhett had given him a thousand times over, and that hurt, too. Emilio remembered, without meaning to, the first time he met the warden. He remembered being fourteen and pissed at the world, remembered the way Victor’s death still felt fresh even when everyone told him it shouldn’t, remembered feeling as though he was the only one mourning while everyone else moved on as if his brother’s life ending at eighteen was something they’d all seen coming. It was Victor’s death that had made him latch on to Rhett so tightly, Victor’s death that made Rhett slot so easily into the then-vacant position of brother. Rosa and Edgar had loved Rhett, too, but not like Emilio had. 

So what, then, would Rhett’s death do to him? He wasn’t a kid anymore, though he was still just as angry. He couldn’t imagine shoving someone else into the box Rhett had made a home of after Victor had left it empty, but the idea of leaving it bare ached, too. For years now, Emilio had lived a slippery slope of dealing with loss by replacing it. Victor died, and there was Rhett. Juliana died, and he found someone different to fill his bed night after night after night until Teddy came and offered up something real. Flora died, and he saw her reflected in every kid he came across, tried with everything he had to protect Nora and Wynne and strangers with wide eyes and young features as if it would make up for not protecting his daughter, his fucking kid. But what could he do with this? Nothing else could fit in this empty slot the way Rhett had. To try felt like a betrayal, and hadn’t he betrayed Rhett enough already? Hadn’t that been all he’d ever fucking done? 

Ophelia was talking about the glass, and Emilio was at the bottom of a goddamn lake trying to make sense of distorted language that was only just barely reaching him. She didn’t think Rhett was dead. Emilio couldn’t let himself think anything else. Should he warn her, he wondered? Should he tell her that hope, in this family, was little more than a prelude to endless grief? 

He was stiff, trying to imagine Rhett the way she described him. “I don’t think I ever saw him happy,” he admitted quietly, throat tight. The closest he’d seen to Rhett as Ophelia described him was in Mexico, with Flora on his shoulders and Emilio giving him shit and Juliana chastising them both. Maybe, if Rhett was dead, it wasn’t all bad. Maybe it was better that he’d ended on a high note, at least. Maybe that was all people like them could ever really hope for. 

—

It made her sad to think that. Sad to think that Emilio never had… and it wasn’t fair, really, given how much longer he’d known the man. Had he really been that miserable for that long? She couldn’t help but wonder how their lives might’ve been if she and her mother hadn’t run. If they’d faced him, made him see how wrong he was, just like he had in Hemlock Ridge. That wasn’t just because of the handicap, was it? 

No, it couldn’t be. He was changed. She knew it. Just like she knew that he was still alive somewhere.  

“Then we’ll just have to work extra hard to pick him back up off the ground, won’t we? Then you can see him happy.” It was a stretch by anyone’s measure, but she was nothing if not stubborn and determined. Her resolve was strong, and she wasn’t going to let the matter lie until she found her father, or a corpse. “I’ll tell you what, tío Emilio… you can start asking around town, and I’ll keep looking in the mountains. Fair?”

Getting to her feet again, Ophelia glanced around the place as she went to pick up the shards of glass on the floor piece by piece. She remembered the afternoons she’d spent here, helping her father sew up the leg on his pants, making him presentable for the few outings he went on alone, and generally just spending time with him and her uncle, getting to know them both better.

“Are you… still staying here?” It didn’t look lived in—not that it really had before, either, but there was a light coating of dust on all the surfaces that seemed relatively undisturbed. She bent down, holding out a palm and setting each piece of glass gingerly into it. She hoped he wasn’t staying here. It was depressing here. He deserved better than that.

—

She was hopeful, and he ached with it. The way she seemed so sure that there would be something left to pick up off the ground in spite of all evidence pointing to the contrary, the way she held onto this impossible idea that the world would offer them some kind of kindness. It occurred to Emilio, with an nauseating twist in his stomach, that she wouldn’t have that kind of optimism had she been raised by her father. In some alternative version of events where Rhett had known her since she was a child, where he’d been a father instead of a monster under her bed for the first two decades of her life, she likely would have felt the way Emilio felt now — hopeless and desolate.

(His stomach twisted a little more at the realization that Flora, had she survived, would have been just as much a pessimist as he was. Hunters didn’t tend to find it particularly easy to look on the bright side, after all. His daughter had only been happy because she was young. The world would have taken that from her sooner rather than later.)

“Sure,” he agreed with a nod, trying not to let his voice betray the fact that he thought looking would be a hopeless task. What could he hope to gain by asking people around town if they’d seen a man he knew had left weeks ago with no intention of returning? Even if he’d had any hope that Rhett was alive, Emilio would have found the job Ophelia handed him to be a pointless one. He wondered idly if it was meant to placate him, to keep him docile while she did the real work that she figured his bad leg made him incapable of accomplishing. 

He watched her rise, fiddling with the ring on his finger as she began picking up the glass. “Broom in the closet,” he said, nodding towards it. Like most things in the dusty apartment, it wasn’t something he’d bought for himself. The broom, like the bare mattress in the bedroom and the shelf in the bathroom, had been in the apartment when Emilio moved in a year ago. It was the kind of thing that might make someone question the fate of the apartment’s previous occupant… but only if they cared enough to do so.

Still twisting his ring absently, he shrugged. “Not really,” he admitted. “Started staying with someone when the place got covered with goo a few months back. Then the goo was gone, but… they wanted me to stay, so I stayed. Figure I’ll come back here when they don’t want me to stay anymore.” It was bound to happen sooner or later, wasn’t it? Even Rhett had figured trekking through the mountains on one leg was a better idea than hanging around Emilio long term, and he’d known him twenty years. 

Getting to his feet, Emilio limped into the kitchen to retrieve a garbage can, bringing it over to Ophelia. He set it down at her feet so she could toss the glass in, then hesitated momentarily. “We’re, uh… Together. Me and the person I’m staying with. We weren’t when I moved in, but… Happened a couple months back. Their name’s Teddy.” He paused a moment, uncertainty sitting on his shoulders like a tangible thing. “You could meet them, if you wanted.”

—

Fetching the broom, Ophelia used it to better collect the rest of the pieces of glass, listening as he told her about the place he was staying now. Good. It was good that he wasn't living here, and not just because it was a shitty apartment… It held a lot of memories, ones she figured might be painful for him to recall. She'd only spent a few months coming and going from the apartment and she had memories she didn't really want to visit, at least not until she found her father. 

“Come on, tío… as much as you don't want to admit it, you're actually very likable. I'm sure whoever it is is happy to have you around, and I don't think that's gonna change unless you actively try to sabotage it. So don't fuckin’ do that, all right?” She gave him a nod of thanks as he approached with the trash can, her brows raising when he went on to elaborate on the situation without any kind of prompting from her. “Yeah?” Her face genuinely brightened and she dumped the glass into the container, setting the broom down against the wall and putting her hands on her hips. “Teddy… yeah, I'd like to meet Teddy.” She pushed the bin aside with her foot so she could close the space between them, wrapping her arms easily over his shoulders and pulling him into a soft hug. “That's great to hear. Seriously. You… you deserve to be happy. You deserve to have someone love you like that.” She tightened her grip, burying her face against his shoulder and letting out a ragged sigh. 

She'd thought the same of Rhett. She'd desperately hoped that, even if it wasn't her mother, that someone would love the old thing. It was what he'd needed, she thought. In the end, though, all that love had gotten him was kidnapped. Again. Because of people like her. She'd never really hated hunters, she'd just been afraid. Wished they'd been raised to think for themselves rather than brainwashed to believe whatever they were told. But… there was truth there. And Emilio wasn't cruel like her father. He was lovable. He was redeemable. And Ophelia, she… she didn't know what her own future held. When she found those fae, when she killed them, she didn't know what that would make her. But she couldn't worry about that now. Now she just wanted to be with her uncle, to find comfort in his presence. “... can I show you where I'm living, now?” she asked, pulling away again. In case I ever need you to come help me with something quickly, she thought to herself. “Then maybe we can grab some food? All this crying has made me peckish.” 

—

After the way the conversation had started, the sweeping and cleaning up of the glass felt so painfully mundane. It was domestic, in a way; the kind of thing that, if he were someone else, Emilio could pretend was normal. If his head weren’t what it was, all broken and mixed up, he could tell himself that this was how things were supposed to be, that sweeping glass off the floor of his shitty apartment with his niece and making conversation about his relationship were expected things. But because he was who he was, because he was him, he couldn’t help but feel like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He loved Ophelia, just as he’d loved Rhett. Just as he’d loved Flora and Jaime and Edgar and Rosa, just as he’d loved people who existed only as ghostly memories now. How long would it be, then, before Ophelia was gone, too? Emilio had a bad habit of outliving the people he loved. He wasn’t sure he’d ever learn how to break it.

“Ah, tell that to all the guys who want to kill me,” he joked, though he didn’t think it untrue. He had a lot more people who hated him than he had people who liked him and, if he was being honest, there was something intentional about it. It was easier, he thought, to be hated. Hate was a straightforward thing, something he knew what to do with. He understood how to react when someone wanted him dead. He was less certain when someone wanted to save him. He thought of Lucio, a bitter taste settling on his tongue. He’d rather be hated than saved. It was better for everyone that way. 

But you couldn’t control what other people felt. Teddy loved him, despite his best efforts. He thought Ophelia might, too. And Xóchitl, and Wynne, and Nora, and Jade. It was a dangerous thing, having people to lose again. It wasn’t something he ever would have done intentionally. “Yeah,” he confirmed with a nod, glancing back to Ophelia. He huffed a fond half-laugh as Ophelia wrapped her arms around him. 

(In another world, he thought, Rhett would be here making a joke about how Ophelia was as tall as he was. He’d call Emilio short, and Emilio would toss something at his head, and they’d laugh. In this world, there was little more than an empty crevice in his chest and an ache in this throat. These things got easier with time, he’d been told. He was still trying to get there. And, despite Ophelia’s hope that they’d find her father alive, he felt like he was back at the start line again, back at ground zero. How could he hope for time to heal when the world kept pushing him to start over, to take it from the top? The grief would never leave him if more kept being added to the pile.)

Carefully, he wrapped his arms around Ophelia. He still wasn’t entirely practiced in soft touches, but he was learning. The pat he delivered to her back was a little awkward, but better than the first time he’d attempted to return Nora’s hug or the first time he’d tried to comfort Wynne. Maybe he was learning something. “You’ll like them,” he said, and he was sure of that. Teddy was hard not to get along with, and Ophelia came with less… baggage than Rhett had. A less complicated history between them, less old wounds constantly being reopened.

Offering her his best attempt at a smile, Emilio nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He needed it, really, though he knew better than to admit to that. His head — the paranoia, the unease that never left him, the thing that he didn’t have a name for — tended to demand that he knew where the people he cared about were at all times. “Show me your place, and I’ll buy you lunch after. Sound good?”

[foulbearobservation]

prompt: lilith + camping

When Lilith returns from her jog, the last thing she expects is to see a pile of pillows and blankets in her living room. It looks like a small tornado went through here, and given the women she lives with, there’s no shortage of potential culprits.

There’s a noise in the hallway off to the left, towards Beatrice’s study. Lilith sticks her head around and gets a face full of pillow for her trouble. Camila ducks under her arm, trying to keep most of her precious cargo precariously stacked.

“What’s going on?

Camila dumps what seems to be the entire contents of their spare bedroom onto the floor before turning to give Lilith a quick kiss. “Glad you’re back, can you help me move the couch?”

“Yes, wait. What? Why?”

Camila sighs as though she’s explained any of this situation to Lilith prior. “Did you ever go camping as a kid?”

Lilith did not. In fact, the closest she got was wilderness survival lessons and those were too… bare bones to count as camping. “Camping as in tents and marshmallows and whatever else they do on Ava’s dumb American tv shows? No. Not that type of camping.”

Camila stares for a second, the specificity of the statement sparking a suspicion. She’s well versed with Lilith enough to read between the lines but not push.

“Well, Ava never has and it’s too cold outside for us to camp in the back yard with her back so,” Camila gestures behind her with a flourish, “we’re camping in the living room!”

“One question.”

“Shoot.”

Lilith sighs. “Where do you want me to move the couch?” —

“Camila, darling, light of my life.” Lilith begins slowly.

“It sucks doesn’t it?” Camila sighs.

A pillow tips back onto an already unsteady pile, causing the whole thing to wobble more. Mutely Lilith reaches out to steady it.

Yes. “No… it’s just… well I don’t think you have a promising career in architecture.”

[69why-am-i-doing-this69]

Someplace Quieter

Aesop Sharp x OC

Description:

An American auror transferring to the British Ministry of magic for some peace of mind. She first has to undergo supervision under oath of not meddling in the British affairs. It was only a benefit to the ministry to place her under the supervision of the former auror now potions professor.

Notes:

Screaming in so many swear jars.

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Burn

I pace around my bedroom, trying to find my belt. Looking through every crevasse and bag that I could find. My attention was into my bag, digging into every nook in an attempt to find it. A scratch of ceramic across the floor floods my ears. I look up to see my potted devil’s ivy using it’s leaves to push itself on the floor. I follow the line it was trailing to see my belt in front of the foot of the bed. Oolong perched by the windowsill, attentively watching the shrub as it moves.

“Thank you,” I said to the plant, grabbing it from the floor and wrapping it around my waist. I took a glance in the full-length mirror, littered with clothing around it that I still need to organize. Wearing a comfortable ivy green sweater, a white blouse worn under, and a yellow tie poking from the v-line. I fasten the belt, turning back to my shrub, looking completely withered. “Why are you always so dramatic?” I sigh, picking the plant from the floor to find a suitable spot with some ounce of light. It starts to shake like it was whimpering. I place it on the table in front of the window, trying to get it to soak in the dimming sunlight, Oolong flapping away from it. The shrub immediately reverts to a healthy look in content. I pet it’s leaves before placing Oolong in the comforts of my arms, turning to make my way down the stairs.

I was met with what looked like an explosion of greenery. Pots and plants were at a forefront in every place you looked. Still needed to be placed accordingly. I shift Oolong into my left arm to take off my broom, a silver arrow, from its mount. I took note to find the time to properly organize my new living space before continuing my path beside the dining table, a letter to Silas sitting neatly on it. I took the letter, putting it carefully in Oolongs beak as I exit into Hogsmeade.

“Make sure they both get this or it’s my head,” I lovingly say to Oolong before releasing her, watching her fly away before attempting to mount my broom. My neighbor’s door suddenly opens for an elderly lady, dressed in a simple blue gown with floral patterns, to pass through.

“Mrs. Sepony, anything I can do for you this evening?” I beam, lifting my broom from its position to stand beside me as I greet her. She looks back at me and smiles. She lives alone with her husband, though he doesn’t get out much anymore. Often coming by to talk about plants along with various sweets she makes herself, wonderfully paired with the blends of tea Silas has given me.

“Nani dear, good evening,” she says with delight. She gestures to her small garden, once barren now filled with beautiful moonflowers that I grew not long ago, “I must thank you for planting them for me.”

“No need, I needed to make room for growing new plants anyways,” I respond, “I can help manage them if you need it.”

“Oh no, I’m happy to take care of them, dear. I thought I had to part with gardening entirely with my bad back. thankfully, you moved in and did the hard part for me,” she chatters, “but enough about the moonflowers, where are you off to this evening, dear?”

“Ah, just doing some work, but I’m sure I won’t be out too late,” I respond, deciding not to explain any further for time.

“I see. Will you be working Friday evening as well?” she inquires further. I look at her questionably, wondering if there’s any important events going on at Hogsmeade. Then I wonder if she needed any help with the plants or any manual work.

“I’m not sure, what for?”

“Ever since my husband has gotten his bad knees, he hasn’t been too eager to go mingle at The Three Broomsticks anymore. We would welcome your presence if you’re free.”

“We?” I quickly ask, unsure of this third person.

“This lovely gentleman Jacob, just around your age, and he’s been just as helpful to as you are dear. We’ve known him since he was little. Now that he’s grown, we’d share a drink every so often,” she describes. I put on a kind smile at the notion of her setting me up with a guy. It's a kind gesture but one I’m not too eager to accept.

“I’ll have to look at my schedule, but I’ll let you know,” I say, trying my best to evade her offer, “I hate to cut this off short, but I do need to get going.”

“My apologies dear, don’t be out too late,” she concludes, cupping my cheeks with her hands before walking away from me, assuming whatever plan she had as she left her little home. I reassumed my position on my broom before quickly lifting off in the direction of Hogwarts.

It wasn’t hard to miss, but I wanted to familiarize myself with the landscape. Noting various things on my path, either ones that I knew or ones I’m going to have to learn. I spent some attention on the plants I could spot, thinking about whether I wanted to grow them. When crossing the waters of Hogwarts, I couldn’t help myself from lowering to the surface. I Switch my position on my broom like I was kneeling on it to get even closer. One hand gripping the stem of the broom to keep balance while the other moves to dip into the water below, creating a ripple from where it touched. I lift myself away from the water once I feel satisfied.

I land at the same entrance from the first time I came here, taking a deep breath in the hopes that I’ll remember the same path that minister Spavin and Black took. After a couple of moments and some wrong turns, I arrive at the potion’s classroom. I hesitate to open the door; a nervous pit fills in my stomach. I shake it off by the need to fulfill the wants of the ministry and slowly turn the knob. It opens with a slight creak, and I pass through, walking to him.

He sits at his desk, scrolls littered all over it. His jacket has been abandoned on his body, and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his forearms. Body hunched over, barely snaking a glance at me before returning to his work, “I see you’ve managed to arrive, Ms. Davis.”

“Is it that hard to call me Nani?” I raise the question. Stopping at the front of his desk, I lean over to see what he’s grading. Essays about the draught of the living dead potion.

“It’s highly unprofessional,” he starts, “It’s also a violation to be reading my students' assignments.”

My head jumps up from looking at the essays to his face, “Sorry,” I mutter. He never took an eye off the parchment. I took a moment to study his face. His brows scrunched together, trying to piece together the logic behind his student’s paper. So that’s how he has so many wrinkles. I smile slightly at it. I turn my body to lean my backside on the edge of his desk to hide my growing flush, “We’re going to be doing this for at least a couple months so might as well just forget that aspect. I’ve already been calling you Aesop.”

“I assume you’re not going to make any efforts to call me anything else,” he harshly scrapes against the paper with a fury. I slightly grimace at whoever’s parchment is being abused by his ink and quill.

“And you’d be correct with that assessment,” I grin, turning to him, which caused him to glance at me. Proudly displaying my persistence, “And I’ll continue to correct you every time you refer to me by my surname, so might as well just call me by my name.” A silent pause fell upon us. The only noise present is his scribbles and scratches on the parchment. Turning back to my original position, I tried to clear the air, “So what do you think is happening in the ministry?”

“Something serious, I presume, especially if they’re placing their new recruits under supervision of former employees,” he states, I chuckle pathetically at his answer. He doesn’t know much about it either. I start to think about the unwanted sacrifice he’s making for me, feeling guilty if I’m taking away time from anyone important.

“I’m sure the missus must be upset from this predicament,” I remark, turning to look at him again, still entranced with his work. He quickly raises his left hand, wiggling his fingers to garner my attention. No ring. My face litters with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. Thank Merlin that he’s too focused on grading. “I’m sorry,” I sputter, “I just thought that you—."

“It’s none of your concern to worry about my marital status,” he says, visibly frustrated. I assume from the essay he’s been grading. I’ve been an auror for multiple years. How could I let something that simple as looking for a ring slip from me? A small part of me is partly delighted at that fact, but it didn’t matter currently.

I got up from the desk, standing firmly on my feet, I quickly tried to change the subject out of embarrassment, “So what will I be doing for you then?”

“Professor Black didn’t have a terrible idea so I made an effort to put a short list of items I’m running low on, figured it would be best to get a grasp of our geography from it. Shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain, which would help start off on the ministry’s primary concerns with your combat skills,” he explains, lifting various rolls of parchments, looking for something.

“Does he usually have terrible ideas?” I pick up the rolls parchments he was lifting to help him look for it, holding them in the arms of my hands. He looks up at me for a moment, trying to ponder what he should say about it.

“It wouldn’t be wise to speak how I feel about my boss here,” he brushes off my question. I become pensive at his words. He lifts one final parchment to reveal the list placed below it.

“Why is that?” I neatly place all the parchments I’ve been holding on the desk.

He lifts the list for me to take, “You haven’t met Peeves yet, have you?”

“Does he normally make an appearance?” I question back, hesitantly taking the parchment from him. His face slightly turns into a small smirk. I slowly look away from him to peruse the list, slightly pacing left and right from his desk.

“You’ll know once he does, but I guess I have to warn you,” I look up from the list to him, “he likes doing tricks with fire.” I blink at him in wonder at how he is allowed to be at a school for children. He focuses his attention back on his grading. He explains, “He has as big as a mouth as he does his tricks and he’s rather known to be quite the antagonist for both the staff and the students.”

“You certainly have a variety of characters at Hogwarts, though I still haven’t seen the giant squid unfortunately,” I turn my attention to the parchment. Mostly a variety of plants to be collected, inspiring to expand my variety in my house. I hear a small chuckle behind me.

“Is that why you transferred?” He jokes, which causes me to look up and smile at him, slightly glad he remembered our brief conversation.

“It would be a lie if it wasn’t a part of it,” I answered honestly. I finish reading the short list, ending off with horned slugs. I stop in my tracks, trying to rattle the usage of them. I’m unsure how often they’re used or what they’re even used for.

“Horned slugs?” I ask, looking to Aesop. His head snaps up to look at me. My attention is completely fascinated in his reaction.

He says with apprehension, “You read that correctly.”

“I don’t remember what they’re used for. Can you enlighten me?” I grin. He needs it for a particular reason, and I would like to know why.

“I thought potions weren’t favorable?” He remarks, I stare at him with a slightly offended expression.

“And this is your chance to start changing my mind about it,” I shot back, fighting a smile, “You already have my attention.”

“Horned slugs are primarily used for medicinal purposes,” he explains briefly.

I respond with a dull expression, “I had my fair share of medicinal potions,” he looks at me in question, “ones made with horned slugs were never present.”

“That’s because you’re not getting boils every other month,” he slips. So that’s what it’s for.

A smile crept up on my face at the revelation, trying to contain my laughter, “A cure for boils?”

“In my defense it’s not for me,” He withdraws from his grading, leaning back in his chair, smirking. My smile spreads onto him. He’s just as ecstatic about the situation as I am.

“Am I allowed to ask who then?” I pry.

“It would be unwise,” he simply states while I look at him, furrowing my brows for a second. It only took that second for me to understand who he’s referring to.

“Professor Black is really using his headmaster status to dry out the horned slug supply?” I laugh, bringing my hand to cover the extent of my smile.

“A surprising usage of his status, I will say,” He leans on the desk. My eyes couldn’t help but glance at his forearms as he rests them on the desk.

“I guess I better start my endeavor before Professor Black is littered with boils,” I joke, making my way to the door, I hear a distant chuckle behind me.

“I’ll see you in a few hours then,” he responds as I open the door.

I stop, “And if I don’t, will you come find me?” I ask with a playful smile, slightly caressing the door awaiting his response.

“I’ll have to,” he answers, and I exit, still grinning as I walk down the hall.

                                                           …

It didn’t take a lot to find the ingredients. The extent of my knowledge of plants certainly helped spot them along with extracting them. Before I knew it, I finally secured the last horned slug, securing the jar and placing it in a satchel along with the other things I collected. I look up from my position to see two men walking by the path, their face covered with masks with a heaping number of shining rocks in their arms. It sparks my suspicion, and I quickly move to avoid their sight inside a bush.

“Is this really not enough?” One young voice pique.

“I don’t really ask questions in regard to my clients. It’s better if you don’t either,” a hoarser voice replies.

“But I mean, there’s enough moonstone in our arms to last a lifetime. What could anyone be doing with it?” He inquires, not understanding his partner’s last statement. So, it’s moonstone. The conversation slowly lessens to a faint noise in my ear. I remove myself from my hiding spot, seeing their faint silhouettes on the path. I mount my broom before slowly trailing them to a small campsite. Landing on a tree branch slightly bordering it, if they were to look up, they might see me, but they’re too entranced at their task to check their parameters. The older man, dressed in green, points to the carriage, seemingly to instruct his inexperienced partner to load the materials on it. He then walks to the tattered table to focus his attention into a small black leather bounded book.

I try to my focus on the younger man, loading the moonstone into a carriage, but the creature drawing it catches my eye. It was like a black horse with the skin of a lizard. Its wings took a similar shape to those of a bat. It’s body frail and hollow, a nightmarish creature at first glance. I’ve never seen such a thing before, I’m sure I read about it somewhere, though. I should ask Aesop about it.

The young man finishes, securing the moonstone in a box before making his way to the other, colliding with the horse-like creature in the process. He frantically collects himself before trying to pet the mount on the creature, placing his hand on random areas before finally hitting his target. My face twists in confusion by the action, I find it hard for him to miss such a mesmerizing steed. He speaks to the other gentleman, engross in the notebook in front of him before pointing at the firepit below me.

I froze. hoping that the young man wasn’t astute enough to look up from the firepit, revealing my presence. The young man walks to the pit, placing a concerning amount of firewood in it, not even lifting his gaze a little. Is he trying to create a bonfire? Seems counterintuitive to what they’re doing.

He lights it all using confringo. I mount my broom, quickly removing myself from view. I watch from above, seeing the older man snaps from the book and to the recent explosion. He quickly makes his way to the other man in an angry fashion. My attention turns to the fire as they engage in some conversation. It burns brightly, catching onto the branch I was perched on, which quickly spreads to another. I’m sure I’m contributing to the spread from my presence.

The thought that I should leave pervades my mind, but my interest in their activities and the small book sitting on the table prevails. The fire quickly spreads throughout the plant life in the area surrounding the firepit, which catches the attention of the men. The older man quickly tries to cast a spell, water spouting out of his wand onto the expanding flames to try to calm it while the other secures all the items on the carriage. Once the fire became too overwhelming, the man quits trying to suppress the flames in favor of the products he gathered.

They both get on the carriage, hastily whipping the reigns so they can move, neglecting the little black book on the table. The horses quickly react, galloping a little before flying away, I made sure to avoid their sight during their departure. I lower myself back to the ground, ignoring the flames emitting around me as I made my way to the book. I lift it from the table. It felt like worn leather and even looked like such.

The cackle of multiple branches falling as the fire continues to consume causes my attention to break from the book. I look over to what looks like a mountain of flame, taking that as my queue to finally leave. I pocket the book in my waist, pulling my blouse and vest over it before mounting my broom. Lifting myself out of the area, making sure to cast a raincloud, that Maria begrudgingly taught me, above the area. I didn’t dally on my way back, filled with anticipation to look inside.

I immediately pace the journey to the potions classroom after I land. Taking the book out of my waist, I open to a random page. It was a list filled with random ingredients followed by a single letter and a number, assuming it’s the quantity of the product and a date. I continue to flip through, trying to find something of meaning, but it was pointless as I soon stood in front of the potion’s classroom. I stare at the door, unsure of how I managed to get to this part of the massive castle without thinking. I put the book back in my waist, adjusting to make it less noticeable. I walk through the door, small satchel in tow in one hand, while carrying my broom in the other. Aesop, not at all moved an inch from where I left him, glances up from the parchment he’s working on.

“You’re back already?” he checks the time. It should be about a couple hours since I left, beating his estimation by at least an hour.

“I’m decent with a broom,” I explain. Wiggling my broom out in front of him. “I made sure to gather extra slugs for Professor Black,” I smile.

“It certainly will save me a month or two on my part,” He remarks back, both sharing a quiet laugh. I place my broom against one of the stoves and the satchel on his desk, opening it to reveal it’s ingredients.

“Can I do anything else for you?” I ask, removing its contents.

“Wouldn’t you like to be back home?” he replies, removing himself from his work to look at me.

“I’m in no rush to leave,” I reply, grinning at him, “plus you still have a roll of parchment to scratch through.”

“If you insist, you could place the plant ingredients in their respective jars,” he suggests, pointing to the general area of where I could find it. I immediately walk over, picking them out from their color and lack in quantities. I grab the jars, making my way over to the front of his desk. Organizing the ingredients. During the process, I remembered the creature from the campsite.

“Aesop, I saw this horse,” I quip. Immediately being met with his signature unamused expression. I continue mindlessly sorting each ingredient, “Well, it was more like an abraxan but from a nightmare. It was black, and its skin was like a reptile. It looked incredibly frail, unlike an abraxans' full figure. I’ve never seen such a thing before. Do you know what it is?”

His face drops a little, “You saw a thestral.”

“Thestral?” I inquire, stopping my movements. Face contorts with weary from his expression.

“Yes, however, they are usually not seen unless you’ve witnessed death,” He speaks slowly. The fact that I’m describing it means that I’ve seen someone die, and he’s unsure how to approach the topic. My face softens with apprehension from his words. He looks at me with concern, “May I ask?”

My mind goes to debate how I wanted to phrase it. Mindlessly picking at the belladonna I’m holding for a moment. I decide not to risk it, “Someone who took care of me when I was young, he uh…got a fever that he never recovered from.”

“You haven’t considered a pepperup potion?” A question that I wish he didn’t ask, despite his well intentions.

"It was already too late,” I murmur, expressing nothing but guilt with a twinge of frustration. I wasn’t exactly wrong. It would be around five years after his death before I learned about it and what its capabilities are. Though it couldn’t be helped at that point. I continue to place the ingredients in the jars.

“My apologies,” he says quietly. Not daring to make a move with his quill.

“It was a long time ago, I made sure he’s resting peacefully,” I force a grin. I turn the conversation, not caring if he notices or not, “Is that essay being difficult?”

“That’s most essays, Nani,” he comments, making a couple of scribbles in the middle of the parchment. My grin turns genuine as my name came out of his mouth.

“See, it wasn’t that hard,” I chime, immediately reverting back to the same tone as when our conversation started.

“I’m going to revoke it,” he threatens, and my face drops to a comical pained expression. Placing my hand, holding a sage, to my chest dramatically.

“You wouldn’t. We’ve already come so far,” he subtly grins at my theatrical gesture. I place the last belladonna in its respective jar, securing them and placing them back on their original shelfs. I walk back to the desk, “Is that all I can do for you?”

“That will be all for today, thank you,” he dismisses me. I take my broom before making my way to the door, opening it.

“Oh, Aesop?” I exclaim, peering back at him, “Will you need me Friday?” I ask, hoping he’ll say yes.

He looks at me questionably, “Are you asking me to find something for you to do on Friday?” I smile at him, already reading my intentions.

“Precisely,” I nod. My smile spreads to him as he looks at me with a smirk.

“Then I’ll need you the same time Friday,” he says. I finally leave his classroom, keeping him on my sights as long as I can before the door closes. The feeling of delight spreads through me as I continue my leave.

[runesandramblings]

"To The Ends of The Earth"

Word Count: TBD / ongoing

Content Warnings: none, follows the events from The Hobbit so there will be the expected violence from the movies

Pairings: KilixOC

Themes: crossover Marvel x Tolkien, romance, fanfic, canon-ish events

Summary:

In the wake of The Blip, the multi-verse has expanded knowledge of the universe in ways no one thought possible. For the first time, journeying between realms and realities is a tangible possibility.

Ex-SHIELD agent and Avenger, Lilith Lenore, is hiding from her past, shunning the life she once led. But when an offer from a wizard of another world is extended, she cannot refuse.

Chapter 3: Into The Woods

I awoke the next morning to sunlight beaming into my eyes through the window I'd yet to buy curtains for. I sat up slowly and rubbed my eyes, still feeling as though the evening before had been a dream. I looked around my room slowly, taking in the almost empty space. It would likely be a while before I saw it again. Well, technically it would only be a day or so in this timeline. According to Gandalf, time moves differently between realms. It would feel like several months to me in his world; in this world, I would only be gone for a couple of days. 

I continued to replay the conversation from the night before as I allowed the sleep to slowly fade. Gandalf had said he didn't intend to overwhelm me, as the full explanation was a bit much. The details, he'd said, would come as things moved along.

I threw my feet over the edge of the mattress and stood up, crossing the room to the lone dresser on the opposite side of the room. I rummaged through the drawers for a moment before settling on a plain gray t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Gandalf had assured me I'd be outfitted in more appropriate clothes for our journey once I arrived in his realm. Still, I couldn't show up in nothing.

I picked up a small backpack from the floor and paused, contemplating what, if anything, I should take. I'd been told I could bring a few small personal items from home. Evidently where I was heading, our modern technology didn't exist. My phone and any electronic devices would be rendered useless from the moment I arrived. I didn't really have any personal, sentimental belongings I felt necessary to bring. I mused over practicalities for a few moments before stepping into my small bathroom and packing my hairbrush, toothbrush, and a few other hygiene necessities. I wasn't entirely sure what I was heading into, and being able to keep some small form of a routine would be nice. I doubled back into my bedroom and slid open the top dresser drawer. I'd considered bringing the hidden gun from the living room, but given what Gandalf had told me about his realm and technology I was fairly certain firearms were a no go. I pulled the blade I always kept hidden on me from its hiding spot, tucked behind crumpled t-shirts, and tossed it into the bag. 

I checked the time on my phone one last time before sticking it in the drawer, in the same hiding spot I usually kept the knife. It was five till 9; almost time to meet Nick. Despite my insistence that he could stay -after all, he'd already gone to the trouble of breaking into my apartment- he'd informed me he'd already made arrangements for the evening prior to his arrival. 

I double checked the doors to the balcony before slipping quietly out of the apartment, locking the front door behind me as I did so. I would only be gone for a few days, so I hoped no one would come snooping around my vacant apartment in that short amount of time. I slid the note I had written to Mrs. Figueroa under her door as I passed her unit. She was a bit of a talker sometimes, so I was hoping to save myself the trouble by leaving a note in place of an actual conversation. 

Mrs. F,

Got a call from back home, family emergency. Had to leave in the middle of the night. Should be back in a few days. Didn't want you to worry. 

Samantha 

I skipped down the staircase and rounded the corner into the lobby to find Nick already standing there already, arms crossed. 

"About time you showed up." He started, gesturing to the watch on his wrist. "It's 9:01." 

I grimaced as he held the door open for me, nodding for me to step outside before him. 

"Nice to see you too." 

**

"We're lost, aren't we?" 

I glanced around us at the unfamiliar surroundings. I'd been following Nick through the woods for well over an hour. Gandalf had given us specific instructions on where to meet him, which was approximately three miles into the forest on the outskirts of town. Somewhere inconspicuous, as I could imagine whatever means he had to transport us into his realm wouldn't be the most discreet. 

"We aren't lost." Nick muttered, turning the scrap of paper over in his hands. He studied it carefully in silence for a few moments, his forehead furrowing in frustration. Gandalf had given him a scrawled out, hand drawn map. It looked pretty straightforward; that is, until Nick had taken over navigating. 

"Why do I have a feeling GPS won't be available where I'm going." I joked, looking up into the trees that surrounded us. 

It was peaceful. A welcome reprieve from city life. I'd been toying with the idea of moving again before Nick had shown up. I was growing tired of the city, of the constant noise and commotion. The forest was still and, most importantly, quiet. 

I closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the sounds of small creatures skittering across the treetops above me. There was a light breeze I could hear rustling the leaves. I inhaled deeply, willing myself to relax as I listened to the sounds of the forest. I was more nervous than I cared to admit. Despite the fact that I'd been through hell and back on Earth, there was something about leaving my world entirely that was more frightening than anything I'd been through before. More than Thanos, even. I felt my heart begin to pound as I reopened my eyes. So much for relaxation.

"Do you want me to take a look?" I asked, gesturing to the map in an attempt to distract myself from the nervous pit bubbling in my stomach. 

"Nope, I see. Here we are." Nick said quickly, gesturing to a section of the scribbled map and directions. "This is where we are now, which means-"

"Which means, Master Fury, that you should have been here half an hour ago." 

We both whirled around to find Gandalf approaching from the direction we had just come. I would have sworn on my life he had appeared out of thin air. And, well, given that he was a wizard he just might have. 

He looked more like a wizard now than he had in my apartment the night before. His gray suit had been replaced with a long, flowing gray robe. His hair had been loosened from its band and now flowed freely, and somewhat wildly, around his shoulders. He carried a staff in his right hand, and wore a pointed, also gray, hat on top of his head. 

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming." He said, smiling coyly at Nick and I. 

Nick glanced, somewhat ashamed, down at the paper map in his hands. I felt a smirk tug at the corners of my lips. I wasn't used to seeing Nick flustered. 

"I, uh-" he started. "Sorry." 

Gandalf shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. 

"No apologies needed, I'm sure my directions were not the most convenient for you." He gave Nick a kind look as he turned to face me. "I don't mean to cut this short, but we are a bit behind schedule. Are you ready?"

I nodded, gesturing to the backpack slung over my shoulder. 

"I packed light."

Gandalf nodded in return, gesturing for me to step closer. He extended his arm out to the side, indicating I was meant to stand beneath it.

"Very well then. Let's be on our way." 

I moved to stand underneath his outstretched arm, hesitating for a moment. Despite the past twelve hours, it was beginning to feel real. I was really going on this journey, whatever that meant. I truly had no idea where I was going, or what lay ahead. I looked back at Nick for reassurance as he nodded wordlessly in approval. I nodded back and stepped fully into the wizard's side.

Gandalf rested his arm on my shoulders and pulled his other arm, the one with the staff, in front of us. 

"Hold on tightly now. You may want to shut your eyes." 

**

There was a flash of blinding white light, so bright I could feel my eyes burn despite keeping them shut tight. It was followed by a sense of weightlessness, and for a moment I lost the feeling of Gandalf's arm around me. It lasted for what felt like an eternity and no time at all. I squeezed my fists tightly, grasping his robes. Was it possible to be lost between realms? I didn't want to find out.

"Lilith? You can let go now."

I felt myself slowly unclench my fists, my fingers sore from how tight my hold on the wizard was.  I was afraid to open my eyes. The momentary weightlessness had left me feeling disoriented, and I was certain I'd fall over if I opened them. Or throw up.

I slowly opened one eye, allowing myself to feel grounded on the earth beneath me before I slowly allowed the other one to open. I let go of Gandalf and stepped back. 

We were in the middle of another forest; upon first glance it was not too different from the one we'd just left. If I didn't know any better I wouldn't have guessed we'd left my world at all. Despite the familiarity there was also something different about it, something I couldn't put a finger on. But the longer I looked around, the more I realized it was like nothing I'd ever seen before.

It was...breathtaking. 

It contained all the familiarity of home. The trees looked the same. The sky was still blue, the grass still green. Despite the similarities, I felt as if I were experiencing shades of those same colors I had never seen before. The grass was impossibly green, a deep and rich shade that didn't feel real. The blades were thick and soft underfoot and as it stretched around me as far as I could see, it didn't appear to have a single blade out of place. Throughout forest floor there were clumps of vibrant red and white spotted mushrooms, and clusters of purple and yellow wildflowers. Even in the most beautiful forest I'd been in back home, it was never so beautiful and picturesque. The blue sky peeking out from between the treetops was dotted with fluffy, perfect white clouds. I would have believed I was staring right up into a painting if someone had told me so. 

And the smell. I inhaled deeply, breathing in as a passing breeze tickled my nose. It was so fresh and clear, I could almost describe it as sweet. I hadn't ever considered how polluted the air on Earth was, but as I breathed in deeply over and over I felt as if I were properly taking a breath for the first time. It felt clean, and as I took another deep breath in it felt as if I couldn't fill my lungs enough.

As I looked down at the ground around me a second time, I noticed my clothes were different than the ones I had left home in. At some point in the move between realms they'd been transformed into something that, I guessed, was more appropriate for this world. 

Instead of my old, worn in sneakers I was wearing knee-high, lace up black boots. They appeared to be made of some kind of leather, though I couldn't be certain. My jeans had been replaced by fitted, black trousers. The top I now wore was also black and had sleeves and a hood; it came down slightly below where a shirt would normally lay. I supposed it was more of a tunic than a blouse. Both the trousers and tunic were an unusual material, and my best assumption was that it was a sort of wool, or maybe an unfamiliar fabric from this realm. Around my waist was wrapped a fitted, black leather belt. It was thick, and laced up in the front; more of a short corset than a belt. My backpack had also been transformed into a black and brown leather satchel that was slung across my body and rested at my side. 

"I hope you find the clothes appropriate." Gandalf started. "I took the liberty of asking Master Nick what your usual wardrobe was and made some adjustments." 

I nodded wordlessly, still feeling myself lost in a stunned silence. I couldn't seem to find words to speak; it was more overwhelming than I thought it would be.

Gandalf smiled knowingly, seeming to understand my awe and disorientation. 

"I hope you also find the choice of weapons appropriate. I was told you're quite deadly with a blade." 

I immediately moved my hand to my side and felt the hilt of some weapon, and feeling further down it was housed in a leather sheath. I looked down to find a sword strapped to my side. Looking on my other hip I found two smaller blades concealed in smaller sheaths on my thigh. I followed the trail of a leather strap wrapped around my torso and chest, reaching around to feel what was strapped onto my back; it felt like a bow. I hadn't used one with the Avengers, but Clint had given me lessons and I'd picked up on it pretty quickly. I hope it was the same as riding a bike, and the knowledge would come back to me with a little practice. 

"Thank you." I started, finally finding my voice. "But I've never used a sword before." 

Gandalf chuckled. 

"With your skill I'm sure you'll make quick work of learning. Our traveling companions are warriors, I'm sure they wouldn't mind teaching you. You'll also find a few more blades in your pouch, should you need them." 

I nodded absentmindedly as I toyed with the hilt of the sword. I was curious about these traveling companions he kept telling me about. From the little bits I had gathered in my apartment the previous night I would be the only human on this journey, aside from Gandalf. He hadn't been entirely clear yet on what that meant. 

"Where are we?" I finally asked. 

"About an hour's journey from The Shire." he said simply, as if I knew exactly where he was speaking of. 

I stared at him for a moment, wondering if I had heard him correctly. 

"The Shire?" I questioned. 

Gandalf nodded. "Yes. We are looking for a hobbit by the name of-"

"A hobbit?" I interrupted. 

Gandalf paused, seeing my confusion. He seemed to realize I was still missing several important details of our quest. 

"Mm yes. I see. Well, we have a long walk ahead of us, my dear." He gestured for me to follow him as he began to walk. "Let me start from the beginning."

[wrenreid]

Off Limits

Spencer Reid x fem oc

Content warnings: talk of death, violence, daddy issues, alcohol consumption (legal age), guns…

Part One

College life has been great… is what I would say if just six months ago I didn’t get a call from my father saying my mom died because he didn’t catch some criminal. I’d known a little bit about the jackass who’d been hunting and tormenting my father only because Dad bothered to share minor details for my safety.

When I had refused to put my last year of undergrad on halt because the great Aaron Hotchner had pissed off an unsub so bad that he began hunting my family, I was granted a body guard instead. Granted isn’t exactly the word I would use though. I would say forced to have some big guy follow me around while my mom and little brother hid out in an undisclosed location. But Dad told me it was either that or I join my family and put graduating on pause.

For the two months I had Marcus following me around and not letting any cute guys near me - which I thought was ridiculous because clearly the gorgeous basketball player from the neighboring housing dorm, Andre Taylor was not George Foyet - I had the audacity to feel sorry for myself. But then that self pity turned to rage and despair when Dad called me crying and told me what happened to my poor mother.

Haley Hotchner was not just my mom; she was my friend, my confidant, my lifeline. My dad and I have always been close, but I could tell Mom things I could never have him knowing.

I moved back home for the rest of that month and well into the next. I did my college work online; luckily my professors were lenient with me given the situation I was in.

Come mid October, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to go back to New York. My dorm room was waiting for me, and the house I grew up in was suffocating my entire being. Everything in there was sad, not just my father and Jack. Mom’s things that remained untouched would taunt me, making me miss her even more. The house reeked of depression and death.

Dad was upset when I told him I was going back to the university, but he understood. He knew he couldn’t lock his 21 year old daughter in a depressing household and use her as a baby sitter while he avoided his sadness by diving into work. He also knew that if he did, I would’ve grown to resent him even more than I already had.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my father. We had a great relationship while I was growing up. However, there had always been a hole in the house, a hole in my life. He was always gone for work, especially when he started at the BAU when I was ten. He started missing more and more important days in mine and my mother’s lives. My twelve birthday for example: Dad was supposed to pick up the big surprise present my parents had bought for me, but he answered the call from Agent Gideon and headed to Oregon instead.

My mother left some very “nice” words for him on his voicemail that day. I didn’t cry though, or even tell Mom I was sad. I just sat beside her and watched all my friends play while I secretly and silently hoped my father was planning some big surprise and a case was his cover up. But the real “surprise” was that my hopes were horribly crushed as I waited hour by hour at the door for him to show up.

“C’mon, baby,” my mother brushed my hair out of my face with gentle strokes. “It’s passed your bedtime.”

I had fallen asleep in my hopeless wait. I nodded to my mom and stood up, half consciously letting her guide me to my bedroom upstairs.

I began to grow some sort of spite for my dad that day. Of course he was still my father, and I loved him, but I never quite saw him the same. Sometimes I would feel as though me, his baby girl, was less important than work.

I thought that this would end when my baby brother Jack was born. Dad was home for a while, and the four of us were a happy, functioning family. I was a senior in high school, so my father was running out of chances to be with me, my mother made sure he knew that. I thought I would get to have my dad back.

But soon enough, he went back to work and was only there 2-3 days a week most of the time. I think Mom grew to have spite for him as well. Actually, I know she did because she called me one day after class and told me she was divorcing my father. I felt sick to my stomach. Our family was falling apart, and I was at university 230 miles away. And my poor baby brother was only 2.

Anyway, after going back to school things started to get a little better. My aunt became Jack’s practically live in nanny, and Dad seemed to be doing much better after a few months.

Now, it’s March, six months after my mother’s gut-wrenching death, and I think our family’s going to make it. We’re the Hotchners after all, and we’re nothing if not stubborn, so I think we’ll survive this just out of spite of George Foyet and everything he stands for.

Sometimes, when I drink a little too much (or not enough), I can imagine the horror of the moment Foyet almost took my father from me too. He told me a little about both times he was attacked, and every time I think too much about it, my stomach hurts, and I feel sick.

I’ve been asked before what if I think my dad killing Foyet was too harsh, but I don’t. I don’t find it harsh enough for what that evil thing deserved. It’s obvious that he would’ve gotten to Jack then maybe even me - I’ve seen his female victims, I’m just his type - if Dad hadn’t finished him off.

“Jade,” my best friend since middle school waves her hand in front of me. “Jade, you’re doing that thing again where you drift off into space.”

I shake my head a bit then look at her. “Hm? Oh sorry, I was doing that again.”

“Where’d you go this time?” She asks, a look of concern on her face.

“It’s not important,” I shrug her question off. “Let’s do body shots!”

I grab her hand and drag her to the living room of some guy we’ve never even met. The too-loud music guides my hip swaying as I lead CeCe to the crowd of people cheering and laughing. Two hot guys lay on the table as some chick older than me places a shot class full of clear liquid, Tequila, on top of his belly button.

“Who’s next?” She asks with a drunken smile.

“Me,” I say and step forward as annoyed sorority girls whine about me ‘cutting in front of them’, which is an elementary term for it, but the only one I can see fit.

The girl grins and looks me up and down. “Brave of you to go against these cult chicks,” she tells me. I make the safe assumption that she’s not a fan of sororities.

I shrug and move my hair out of my face as I lick the salt from the guy’s abs, take the shot of tequila, then take the lime from the girls teeth, all in one pretty smooth motion I think. I suck the juice off the lime and make a scrunched up face before opening my eyes again. I see CeCe laughing at me and shaking her head.

“You are something, Jade,” she chuckles as I walk back over to her with a little skip in my step.

“I’m a fun- haverer,” I say then laugh at my stupid made up word. “Why aren’t you having fun? You’re being so lame.”

“I am having fun. I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be! I’m just making this spring break amazing,” I say, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.

“But I j-“

“Nope. Do not pull the dead mom card. Only I can pull the dead mom card because It’s my mom who’s dead,” I say. I know she’s worried about me because I’m back in DC for the first time since my mom’s funeral, but I don’t need her worries.

CeCe sighs but nods. “Okay. I won’t pull that card.”

“Thank you. Now I need some fucking beer,” I say, heading to the kitchen.

“Don’t you think you’ve had too much to drink?” my best friend asks.

“You sound like my dad.”

“Actually, I have not warned off every guy here, thank you very much,” CeCe laughs softly.

I join in on the chuckle, rolling my eyes. “As funny as that is, it’s not inaccurate.”

Protectiveness is not a word used lightly when used to describe my father. I know he’s showing his love in his own way, but it’s overbearing at times. I wasn’t allowed to date until I was 16, and even then he let every possible suitor know that he was fully trained and armed.

Basically, no guy wanted to go out with me because they were scared my dad may ring them by their necks. And I suppose my father can be kind of intimidating when he wants to be, but I don’t quite see it. Sure, he’s serious a lot, especially now that my mother is gone, but I’ve seen his soft, goofy, smily side. I guess the bitch boys I tried to date hadn’t, so they were on the verge of pissing their pants when thinking about what FBI agent, Aaron Hotchner would do to them if they even just kissed my cheek.

Even when I moved off to college, the guys still were scared to do anything with me because they knew who my dad is.

“No way, dude. She’s an FBI agent’s daughter, your balls would be shot off and stuffed into your mouth if you tried to tap that.”

That is a literal quote from a frat boy I heard talking to his friend in the common area. It was quite the visual and quite the obnoxious thing to hear.

I take a swig from a bottle I dug from the cooler. As the liquid hits my taste buds, my stomach does an unsettling flop. “You know what? You’re right, I’ve had too much to drink,” I tell CeCe and hand her the beer.

“Let’s just dance instead?” She suggests.

“I like your thinking!”

The two of us head over to a group of people and dance with each other and the cute guys we’re around.

A guy with straight blonde hair makes eye contact with me, and I smile bashfully. He makes his way over to me and asks if I would dance with him.

“Well, I’m already dancing, so why not?” I shout teasingly over the music.

He chuckles and moves to the beat along with me. Feeling a little flirty, I wrap my arms around his neck.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” he says to me.

“Thanks.” I say, but it’s more like a question because he called me a thing when I am, if it wasn’t obvious, a human being.

“So what brings you to this party?”

“Oh you know, just wanting to have some spring break fun. I just got back in town fro-” My sentence is cut off my lips crashing onto mine. His mouth is hot and taste like alcohol, but then again that could also be my mouth. His hands roam too far down my back, and I free myself from his grasp.

My hand connects with his cheek with a satisfying sound. “You can’t just-”

I’m cut off once again by the man who’s now holding his redden face, my hand print on it. “You bitch!”

“Maybe that’ll teach you something, jackass,” I huff and make my way out of the house.

I can hear guys “oh”-ing dramatically, half laughs in their voices.

The music is getting way too loud; I can barely hear my heart pounding in my chest even though it feels so harsh and loud.

My name is being called from behind me, but I don’t turn around. Instead, I sit on the porch of the house and take a deep breath.

CeCe finally pushes her way past the crowd of people and catches up to me. “Jade,” she says. She sits down next to me but doesn’t say anything else for a moment.

“That was pretty badass of you to stick up for yourself like that,” she finally says, a small grin on her face.

“I don’t have a law enforcement dad for nothing,” I chuckle softly. “Plus he had it coming.”

“He for sure did. Someone definitely needed to smack that cocky grin right off his face.”

I grin faintly and run a hand through my now extremely loosely curled hair.

The two of us sit on the porch for a while until I feel sober enough to go home. CeCe, who was kind enough to be DD tonight, drives me back to my dad’s.

He moved into a two story apartment when Mom filed for a divorce. We stayed in the house for a while after her death, but eventually Dad moved him and Jack into his apartment. I think that was the best for all of us, so we weren’t surrounded by the memories of what happened between those very walls.

“You sure you’re good to walk up there on your own?” CeCe asks me.

“Yes. I’m mostly sober now,” I say, grabbing the empty bottle of water she made me drink on the car ride here. I’m not lying to her, the affects of the alcohol have lessened tremendously since it’s been a while since I had my last drink.

“Be safe! I’ll see you later,” she says.

“You too.” I walk up to the apartment complex’s front door, use the extra key my dad gave me, and make my way to the lobby’s elevator. I wave to CeCe who’s waiting on me to get safely to the elevator as I step into it. She waved back and begins pulling out of the parking lot.

I press the button “7” and feel the elevator take me up to the seventh floor. I find my dad’s apartment number, unlock the door, and walk in.

Luckily, no one is here to scold me for being home so late because Dad is at a five-day-long conference with Agent Rossi, and Jack is staying with Aunt Jessica.

I put my keys on the ring my dad has beside the door and kick off my docs. I notice the kitchen and living room lights are on, which is strange. No lights are on upstairs.

I look around, making sure nothing is out of place. Which is kind of hard since I haven’t been in this apartment in months. I freeze in my place by the couch as I hear something in the kitchen. Shit. Of course something like this would happen when I’m the only one home.

I sneak on my tippy toes, careful not to make a sound as I go to the safe my father has hidden behind a family picture. I pinch in the key, my birthday, and grab the gun Dad bought for me when I was 18. I’ve never used it, and never planned to use it, but tonight it seems like it could come in handy. I load it quickly and proceed toward the sound of footsteps and clinging in the kitchen.

Gun pointed, I sneak into the kitchen to see the back side of a man at the counter.

“Hands up!” I yell as if I’m a cop.

The man whips around immediately, obviously startled. I’ve caught him off guard. Good.

“Hands up! This thing is loaded, and I will shoot if you try anything.”

“Woah, woah, woah! Put that down,” he says, hands up and eyes wide.

“What? No. You can’t just break in without consequences!” I say, keeping my sim at his leg.

“Break in? Wh-”

Suddenly, I know where I recognize that raspy, almost high pitched voice from. I recognize the face too even though it’s changed since I’ve last laid eyes on it. “Dr. Reid?” I ask, baffled.

I see the recognition click in his eyes as well. “Wait, Jade?”

two

tags: @pauline5525mgg @theintimatewriter @lilibet261 @greysviolets @jazzymariexoxoc @one-sweet-gubler @thatsonezesty13 @necromaniackat @reidsprettygirl @awhoreforspencerreid @sebs-oxygen @yazzyu @crynroom @scarredelirium @lena-1895 @preciousbabypeter <3

[btssavedmylifeblr]

Void - Part 7 (M)

title banner by @rude–jude♡

Genre: Sci-fi with a little angst and a LOT of smut

Pairing: BTS x Reader (yup - all seven)

Summary: You are the only female crew member on a 12 year space mission with seven handsome men. The sexual tension is real, y’all.

Word Count: 10.9k

Part 7 / ?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: explicit sexual content, alcohol masturbation, voyeurism, more non-monogamy

The men at the table stare at you, dumb-founded. Jungkook’s mouth hangs open. Hoseok hides his mouth behind his hand; his eyes are wide with shock. Jimin spins around, trying to gauge the others’ reactions. Namjoon leans back in his chair, face unreadable, his chin resting on his hand as he looks from you to your powerpoint. Jin laughs uncomfortably then clears his throat and silence falls again.

Yoongi speaks first. “You put sources on your powerpoint about how we should all start fucking?”  

“It’s important to cite your sources,” you mutter, shuffling your feet.

Taehyung sits up straighter on his cot. “Are you saying we should start fucking you or each other?”

“Well, the bonobos do both. They are fully bisexual. Almost all aggressive contests are settled by sex. Even when two males squabble over a female, they often resolve it by rubbing their genitals together.”

“What?” Hoseok injects. “You want us to start rubbing our genitals together?” His cheeks blush.

“No, no, no.” You shake your head. “I meant you all should have sex with me.” Your own cheeks heat up as you say it. “I can’t control what you do with other people. In an ideal world, it would be both. But it seemed best to start with me.”

Jungkook mouths the words “start with” to himself, still staring at the table.

“But like, how would that work logistically?” Taehyung asks.

“Well, there are seven of you, so that could be like one per day. Take a week off for my period.”

Jimin splutters, whirling to face Yoongi. “Did you put her up to this?”

Yoongi shakes his head, frowning.

“No one put me up to this!” you argue. “This is what I think is best for the mission.”

An explosion of opinions pours out of all the men at once. Hoseok is swearing under his breath. Taehyung is trying to get Jimin’s attention, but Jimin is arguing with Yoongi. Jungkook wants to know how you decide who goes first. Jin says something to Namjoon that you can’t hear.

“So, um…” You struggle to regain command of the room over the chatter. “My period starts tomorrow, so take a few days to think about it.”

“Officer.” Namjoon’s deep voice cuts over everyone else and the conversation at the table ceases. “You and I need to speak privately. Now.”

The commander stands up from the table and gestures toward the door. The rest of the crew looks back and forth between the two of you wearing expressions of shock and confusion.

You avoid their gazes as you follow Namjoon’s direction out into the hallway. He steps out after you, closing the door behind him. A flurry of chatter resumes after the door shuts, but it’s too muffled to hear what the rest of the crew are saying. You and Namjoon stare at each other.

“So…” you say, shifting your weight between your feet.

“Let’s talk in my office,” he says, squeezing past you and moving in the direction of the sleep pods.

You examine him from behind as you follow him to his office, trying to gauge what he’s thinking. Are his shoulders tense? Is he angry with you? Are you about to be scolded?

His office is also his bedroom. And you did just offer to fuck him, no strings attached. But of all your crew, Namjoon is the one that you have the most strictly professional relationship with. His walls are almost as impenetrable as yours. But he is a man, right? And men like sex, right? It would have been more awkward to not include him. This wasn’t about personal feelings. It was about the mission. And you were all in the mission together.

________

Sweat pools at the base of your spine under the hot studio lights. A reporter drums her long red nails on her clipboard as the sound technician adjusts the microphones between interviews.

Press junkets are your least favorite part of the job, made all the worse by your mission director insisting you all dress in full launch gear, despite the launch still being two weeks away.

“This is the last one.” Namjoon turns around from his front and center seat to whisper to the rest of the crew.

Yoongi groans, rubbing his face with his hands. “Why do we have so many of them when they all ask the same questions?”

The eight of you have been trapped in this room all day as a parade of different reporters trail in and ask the same inane questions.

This new reporter opens with a softball. “How’s the food?”

“Good!” Namjoon patiently answers this question for the third time today. “The ICSE has recruited the top food scientists to figure out which foods hold their flavor and nutrition best in long term storage. And our chief botanist here is going to keep us well stocked with fruits and vegetables. Right, officer?” He gestures for you to chime in.

“Yup!” You are grateful to Namjoon for pitching you a question that isn’t about you being the only woman in a crew full of men. You’ve already had to explain how periods in space work twice today (short answer: pretty much the same way they work on Earth). “We have lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, peas, bean, soy, carrots, cabbage, chilis, potatoes, lemons, oranges and strawberries, plus a bunch of fresh herbs. They even found a way for us to grow mushrooms out of our culinary compost.”

The reporter makes a disgusted face at the idea of compost mushrooms and pivots to a new line of questioning. “What will you miss most about home?”

“Why don’t we go around the group?” Namjoon prompts. Even your commander seems to be fading in enthusiasm by this point. “I’m going to miss long walks in the fresh air, and my family, of course.”

Most of the crew answers with some variation of friends and family. Yoongi will miss his brother’s cooking. Taehyung will miss his dog who is going to live with his parents. Jungkook will miss long showers and his mom.

“What’s one personal item you’re taking with you?” she asks.

Namjoon is bringing a Chinese elm bonsai tree that he calls his tiny friend. Hoseok is bringing a stuffed Earth plushie given to him by his niece. Jin is bringing vodka.

The reporter narrows her eyes at the mention of alcohol and leans forward. “So what do you do if you feel a crew member’s judgement has been compromised?”

“We have protocols in place,” Namjoon answers. “Tests of cognitive impairment and such. We’re also coached in what we call “expeditionary behaviors” which are key to maintaining peace and cooperation on board.

Yoongi chimes in. “The key to solving all disputes is our ability to be honest with each other. When there is a problem, we sit down as a group and discuss it.”

“Our readers are saying what a tragedy it is that we are shipping seven of our most eligible bachelors off to space for a decade.” She laughs. “Any broken hearts being left here on Earth?”

“Oh!” Namjoon draws back and looks unsuredly at the rest of the group. This was not a question he was expecting to be asked today. “Umm…” he laughs nervously.

“My mom is devastated!” Jin cracks from the back row and the rest of the crew laughs in relief.

But the reporter doesn’t want to let go of this idea so quickly, so she turns to you. “Well, you must certainly enjoy having such handsome crew members.”

“Uh…” To your complete mortification, you actually blush in response. You clench your fist to try to get a grip. To your right, Hoseok’s hand flinches, as if he can feel the need to hold you back. “I’m going on this mission to find life on other planets.” You grit your teeth. “My only interest in my crew is whether or not they do their jobs.”

The woman shakes her head, laughing. “Doesn’t hurt that they look good doing it.”

_______

Namjoon opens the door to his office and gestures for you to enter. The number of papers on his desk seems to have multiplied, which theoretically shouldn’t be possible.

“I’m going to say three words to you,” Namjoon says as he closes the door behind him. “And then I need you to repeat them back to me: banana, river, finger.”

“Namjoon,” you cross your arms. “I’m not cognitively impaired right now.”

He mirrors your closed stance. “Please repeat the words.”

You sigh. “Banana, river, finger.”

He pulls a piece of paper from his desk and wipes it clean, before handing it to you, along with a pen. “I need you to draw a clock face.”

“Seriously?”

“Set it to quarter past eight.”

“This isn’t necessary, commander,” you grumble as you take the pen and paper, drawing a rudimentary clock face and setting the hands to 8:15. “See?” You hand the paper back to him and he inspects it.

He nods, rubbing his chin. “Repeat the three words again.”

“Banana, river, finger.” You put your hands on your hips. “You think my judgement is compromised?”

Namjoon sighs. “Everything seems to be in order. You must admit, your behavior recently has been uncharacteristic to say the least. Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Well, no, everything is not okay, that’s why I’m doing this.”

He leans against his desk, looking you up and down. “I fail to see how fraternizing with the entire crew will improve things.”

The back of your neck heats up in embarrassment, but you press on. You need the commander to be onboard with your plan.

“You admit we have a morale problem, right?”

He nods. “Hard to suggest otherwise. What with all the recent events.”

“Okay, so I was going through the principles of expeditionary behavior last night as I figured out what to do. Principle One:  Communication - talk so you are clearly understood, talk about intentions before taking action, share information freely.”

“I know the principles.” Namjoon interrupts.

“But don’t you see? That’s why I had to call the meeting. Why I had to get everything out in the open, share information freely.”

“That explains why you needed to inform the crew of your relationship with Jimin. It doesn’t explain why you think it would be good to involve everyone.”

“Principle Two: Self-care - manage psychological and physiological health, balance work, rest, and personal time, be proactive to stay healthy and mitigate stress.”

Namjoon arches an eyebrow. “A lack of sex doesn’t damage your health.”

“With all due respect commander, I think it does.”

“There are outlets to relieve sexual urges other than exploiting our only female crew member.”

“Well, they were all trading porn with each other. That’s how this whole thing started.” Namjoon purses his lips in thought. That seems to be new information to your commander. You continue your argument. “Principle Three: Team-care - monitor team for signs of stress and fatigue - which we have a multitude of, cooperate rather than compete, encourage participation in team activities.”

“Are you considering this a team activity?”

“Well, yes. Like the bonobos do.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “Let me speak so I am clearly understood. I can’t prevent you or the rest of the crew from doing what you want to do with your personal time. But I can’t participate in it either. I’m the commanding officer on this ship. It’s inappropriate. We can’t have an equitable relationship.”

“That’s why it’s not a relationship though, it’s just sex. And if everyone involved is consenting...”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Let’s be honest about intent for a minute. Is that really what you want? You want all seven of us?”

“Umm…” Your stomach churns as you are unable to admit that, yes, that is what you want. “I think it’s best for the mission.”

“Part of principle three is to volunteer for unpleasant tasks if they benefit the team. Are you sure that’s not what you’re doing right now, officer?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Though embarrassing to admit, boning your attractive colleagues is not an unpleasant task in the slightest.

“You should also consider the fact that whatever forms do get signed will have to be sent back to mission control. And may get out to the press.”

“I thought HR decisions were confidential.”

“Juicy stories have a tendency to find their way out. Especially when they distract from failed missions that added years on to our trip.”

“I understand, commander. Information must be shared freely. I still think this plan is necessary if we’re going to complete this mission successfully.”

“Okay.” Namjoon sighs, dropping his hands to his sides. “It would seem there is no talking you out of it.”

“No, sir. I intend to implement with full commitment.”

The two of you stare at each other for a minute. An immovable object and an unstoppable force.

“So… should I go?”

“Yes, you’re dismissed.”

________

After the press junket is mercifully over, Hoseok catches you in the hallway.

“Hey, you coming to Tae and Jimin’s quarantine party tonight?” Tonight is the last night you all are allowed to see other people before you enter your two-week quarantine prior to launch. “Seems like you could use a drink.”

“I don’t know,”  you sigh, leaning against the wall.

“What’s on your mind?” He leans next to you.

“That last reporter, she got in my head.” You rub your forehead.

Hoseok rubs the back of his neck. His jawline tenses as he mulls over what to say.

Hoseok is so handsome. And smart. And newly single. He broke up with his girlfriend a couple of weeks ago before signing the final mission papers. And now he was going to be the one of only seven people in your whole world.

In another life, you would want to date him. You’d be dying to go to a party with him and plot how to get him alone for part of the evening. In another life, you would have fallen in love with him. But in this life, he’d been dating someone else for the whole time you’ve known him. And you have a mission.

What’s most grating is that the gossip columnist isn’t wrong. You’d be hard pressed to find a better set of men anywhere on Earth than the seven you were leaving with. They were all attractive, smart, kind, disciplined, athletic young men. It would be much easier to be entirely professional if you had a crew of balding middle-aged men.

“Do you think it's a mistake? Me going on this mission?” you finally ask.

“What?” Hoseok gasps. “No! Why would you think that?”

“The mission director said it was supposed to be only men. That mixed gender crews are too complicated.”

“Have we ever done anything to make you feel like we don’t view you as a professional?”

“No, no, of course not.” Other than being ridiculously good-looking.

Hoseok’s fingers twiddle nervously. “And we won’t. We’re a team. You’re our colleague. This mission is so much bigger than any one of us. And you’re the best candidate for this position.”

“I’m the only candidate.”

Hoseok smiles. “Well, that’s exactly my point. We’d be lost without our biologist. Besides, you were better than all the male candidates even before they dropped out.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh yes, I do. Are you forgetting how badly you kicked my ass all over organic chemistry? And I was the chem major! It was such a disgrace.” You both laugh.

You smile at the memory: early morning study sessions, Hoseok bringing you coffee in exchange for your homework help.

“Come on,” he insists. “I know you. You can’t not go. You’re going to be the first woman on Europa. It’s been your destiny since college. Don’t you want to see it with us?”

Yes, you wanted to see it so badly. You picture the two of you looking out over the icy surface together.

“Come tonight.” Hoseok insists. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see. We won’t mess this up for you.”

“Thank you, Hoseok.”

_______

You leave Namjoon’s bedroom and climb into your own sleep pod, the question of what mission control or the press know about what’s happening on this ship weighing on your mind.

Unfortunately, googling it for yourself won’t work. It takes between 10 and 20 minutes for a single signal to get from your ship to Earth, depending on exactly where you both are in your orbits. Then it takes another 10-20 minutes to return. Usually if you wanted to research something, you’d submit a formal request to your research assistants back on Earth,  who would gather a collection of relevant documents for you and send you a bundle of them all at once. But asking your research assistants to assemble a dossier on your rumored sex life was out of the question. You need someone you can trust.

You pull out your laptop and compose the following email.

Hi Dianna,

How are you doing? I’m sorry I’ve been slow to respond to your messages lately, things have been a bit messy out here. I was wondering if I could ask you a favor. Are there rumors about my personal life going around the ICSE? Or in the press? I was wondering if you’d be willing to run a quick google search and let me know what you find.

Thank you! I hope you and Melissa are doing well.

Dianna should have been on this mission with you. You wish you could talk to her in person. You’ll have to send her a video message when you have more time. But you are interrupted in your thoughts by a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Jimin.”

You hit send on the email and open the door.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

You nod and stand to one side to allow him into your pod.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “So I’m confused.” He runs a hand through his hair as he steps into the pod. “Last night you were mad at me for suggesting you date Taehyung. You said you wouldn’t be passed around between crew members. But now you want to have sex with the entire crew?”

“I’m not being passed around. This is my plan. I’m in control.”

He shakes his head. “The end results seem to be the same though. I don’t understand.”

“This way we don’t have to pretend this is something it’s not. It can just be sex, just release. We don’t have to pretend it means anything more than that.”

“But it means something to me.” Jimin frowns. “I have feelings for you.”

You sigh. “They’re not real though. It’s hormones and boredom. It’s just because I’m the only woman here.”

“No it’s not!”

“Yes it is! You didn’t feel this way about me on Earth, right?”

Jimin stammers for a minute. “People can change. Relationships can change.”

“Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t have feelings for me on Earth either and now that they’ve seen me naked they’re suddenly 'in love' with me. That’s not real. That’s just biology. We’re just apes in space with too much time on our hands.”

“Jungkook’s in love with you too?”

“I don’t know. He thinks he is.”

Jimin frowns, but seems less sure of himself. “Is this because I suggested sharing? Cause that was a dumb idea and I take it back.”

“No! You were right. It’s what’s best for the mission.”

“So what? It’s like this or nothing? I have to share you to have any of you?”

You don’t answer him. Currently, no one else has actually signed, so Jimin might get you all to himself anyways.

“Am I… am I not enough?” Jimin asks. “I can be more. I can do better. I can do whatever Yoongi does that you like so much.”

“This isn’t about Yoongi. It’s about the mission.”

“You said you liked me. You said you wanted to be with me. Was that just about the mission?”

“It’s not about what I want.”

“Yeah, yeah… it's about the mission.”  

He turns to go, but you catch his hand in yours. His thumb rubs across the back of your hand. All the men are just as touch-starved as you are. It’s probably unfair that you are playing to that now.

You see an idea flash across his face right before he scoops you up into his arms, kissing you passionately. “I’m going to show you,” he whispers between kisses. “I’m going to show it's real. I’m going to be what you need. My feelings are real.”

Then he places you back down and leaves. You lean against the door breathless.

________

Mistake number one: You should not have challenged Jin to beer pong.

Mistake number two: You should not have said goodbye to your parents and dog right before going to a party full of strangers and booze.

Mistake number three: You should not have gone to find Hoseok when you are this drunk and he smells that good.

You collapse onto the couch beside Hoseok, too tired to stand up anymore. Hoseok smiles to see you, face flushed red.

“Hoseok,” you whisper, even though he’s already looking at you. “Hoseok, I have something important to tell you.”

He leans in closer. “Yeah?”

“Europa’s oceans are ninety-six kilometers deep.”

He laughs. “Of course, I know that! I wrote my graduate thesis on Europa’s oceans!”

“Yeah, but like…” You wave your hand. “That’s like soooo deep. Like not intuitive, you know? Like that’s ten times deeper than any ocean on Earth. I can’t even conceive of how deep our oceans are, let alone Europa’s.”

You scoot closer to him on the couch. “That’s like…” You pull out your phone to do some basic math. “That’s like 120 Burj Khalifas!!”

Hoseok nods. “Yes… It is super deep.”

“Stacked on top of each other!” You slap your knee in emphasis.

“Yes, I know!” He laughs again.

You sigh. “Can I tell you a secret?” You lean in closer and put a hand on his thigh. He leans in too. “There just has to be life down there. I know there has to be.”

“I hope so.” He rests his hand on yours.

“We’re going to find it together, you and I.” You grab his hand and squeeze it.

Hoseok looks down at your joined hands and you worry that maybe you’ve gone too far. Maybe tomorrow this will be an awkward and embarrassing moment. But right now it feels nice. His hand is warm. You wonder if it would be too much to lean your head on his shoulder.

But then Hoseok’s phone buzzes in his lap. His ex-girlfriend’s name flashes across the screen and you drop his hand.

“Sorry,” he mutters, getting up off the couch. “I should take this.” He leaves and the couch next you is colder.

“Hey!” Jin stumbles over to your seating area. “Have any of you guys seen Namjoon?”

“I think he went to meet that girl he won’t tell us about,” Yoongi answers from a chair a few feet away. When did Yoongi get here?

“So everyone is getting laid tonight, huh?” Jin laughs.

“Not everyone,” Yoongi mutters, nursing his beer.

“Don’t be such a grump, Yoongi. It’s basically our last night on Earth! Take advantage!” Jin laughs before wandering back into the crowd.

“I’m not getting laid tonight either!” You yell across the room at Yoongi. More direct than you would be when sober.

He cracks the first smile you’ve seen from him in days, raising his beer into the air in a little clinking motion. You do the same with your plastic cup full of what Jimin had described as “Tae’s jungle juice”. It was red and smelled like tequila.

“Why aren’t you getting laid?” you ask, taking a swig of the juice for courage.

“Got dumped, not really over it yet,” he answers matter-of-factly. “What about you?”

You shrug. “The only men here are about to be my only companions for the next twelve years. Seems like a bad plan to fuck them.”

Yoongi laughs. “Suppose so.”

“Well, don’t you worry. If that reporter is right, we’ll all be having space orgies in a month anyways.”

Yoongi chokes on his beer. “Shit.” Beer dribbles down his chin as he laughs. “I think we need to find you some ice water and a cab.”

“Probably a good plan,” you mutter as you lie down on the couch and close your eyes.

________

When you wake up in the morning, there are still no signed HR forms in your messages. Had you been a fool to think any of them were interested? How much time does it take to decide such a thing? Perhaps by putting the idea out there explicitly, it had lost all of its taboo appeal.

There are two other things waiting for you to notice though: your period and a calendar reminder that today is chili pepper pollinating day. After dealing with the first of those problems in the bathroom, you head for the lab to find Hoseok.

You find the science officer in the lab as always, sitting with his knee tucked up against his chest.

“Hey, um…” You shuffle your feet. Want to fuck me? No wait…

He blinks at you, bleary-eyed.

“Oh, you don’t look good. Were you here all night?” you ask.

“Um, was I? Yeah. I suppose. Lost track of time.” He rubs his eyes, before looking you up and down, then casting his gaze back to the floor.

All you want to do is ask about the forms. Or the meeting. Or what he thinks of you now. But you don’t.

“I need to pollinate the chili peppers today.” Usually Hoseok is the person who assists with that. “But I can get one of the other guys to do it if you need the sleep.”

“No!” Hoseok lurches forward, standing up a bit too rapidly and needing to put his hand back on the bench to steady himself. “I mean, I’m fine.”

You should disagree with him. He is exhausted. But you’d like more time to talk to him.

Pollinating the chili peppers is both time-sensitive and time-consuming, hence why it took two of you to get the job done. There were no insects on your ship to do the job for you and if the plants didn’t get pollinated, they wouldn’t bear any fruit. Chili peppers were your favorite crop. Not only a vital source of Vitamin C, but all your food benefitted from having a bit of spice added to it.

You and Hoseok head for the greenhouse together. The initial set-up gives you something to talk about in the beginning. Hoseok gathers the pollen from one flower onto a paintbrush, then hands it over to you to paint onto the stigmas of each little flower on the next plant.

Slowly the conversation dries up as you fall into a silent rhythm. Other than enjoying the chili peppers, this was also one of your favorite tasks on the ship because of the high likelihood that the two of you would brush hands periodically. It always gave you butterflies. But today he seems extra intent on keeping his distance from you. Was he disgusted by you now? His hands are trembling.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

His hand twitches so hard that a little rain of yellow pollen cascades onto the floor. He curses in frustration before turning to face you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

"I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“This, um, plan of yours…” he gestures to the vague tension in the air. “It doesn’t feel like you.”

“I’m trying to save the mission. That has always been my top priority.”

“Yeah, I’m still not clear on how this benefits the mission.”

“I outlined it all in my presentation. Plus Yoongi said…” you start to say, but are cut off by Hoseok's derisive snort.

“Look, if you’re in love with Yoongi, go date him, okay? Don’t feel obligated to include the rest of us out of pity.”

You frown. “I’m not… I’m not in love with him. It’s just sex. Just biology.”

“This isn’t you!” Hoseok argues back. “You hated the idea of anyone ever treating you that way. And now you want all of us to… to… use you like that?”  He splutters out the end of the sentence.

“No one is using me! This is my plan!”

He sighs. “Well, I can’t be a part of it. Excuse me.” He leaves you alone in the greenhouse.

Your lower lip trembles and you bite it to stop it. He’s disgusted by you. Yoongi was wrong; Hoseok doesn’t want you. It takes you the rest of the day to finish the pollinating on your own.

_____

There are no forms waiting for you when you wake up the next morning either. Perhaps this was a mistake after all. If the men aren’t looking for release in the same way you are, then there’s no point to any of this. Even Jimin has been keeping his distance, so all you’ve done is mess up the one relationship you did have and offend your commander and colleagues.

Your tablet buzzes with a notification. It’s a reply from Dianna.

It’s great to hear from you! I hope things aren’t too crazy up there. I haven’t heard any rumors at work, but I’ve not been directly involved with your mission. We’ve started the plans for Titan and it’s taking most of my focus. I can ask around though if you want me to. I was surprised to find this article when I googled. Is this accurate? I assumed you would have said something.

Hope you are well! Melissa and I are going to send you a video of our new puppy.

Dianna

There is a pdf of a magazine article attached to the email entitled “Love Amongst the Stars”. At the top is one of the official launch photos of the whole crew that has been zoomed and cropped so that it’s only you and Jimin sitting next to each other. The tagline reads “How two astronauts had to leave Earth to find each other”. It makes you cringe so hard you have to put the tablet down for a minute before you can read on.

It’s some sort of fluff piece about a secret affair between you and the mission specialist. You scan the article, trying to figure out what they know. “A source close to the couple spoke with us...” Who is their source? You haven’t told anyone on Earth about what's going on with Jimin.

“Coworkers said they always sensed a special connection between the two…” This is nonsense. Jimin is one of the crew members you knew the least about prior to launch.

“Other crew members are very supportive…” Uh, sure.

“Maybe we’ll even get our first space wedding…” You groan out loud, closing the pdf.

Maybe that seals it then. You’ll just be space-married to Jimin for the next 12 years and that will be that. The idea makes you feel a bit claustrophobic in your tiny sleep pod, so you throw on your exercise clothes and head for the gym to try to clear your head.

_____

What you call “the gym” is actually just a bunch of resistance bands and cardio equipment stashed into the walls of one corner of the hangar. When the gravity was off, you had a variety of different choices for which equipment to use. There was a treadmill in the ceiling and an elliptical in the wall so multiple people could use the equipment in your off hours. But with the gravity on, the stationary bike on the floor is your only option.

As you begin your warm-up on the bike, you mull over your next move. Why hadn’t any of the other men come and talked to you yet? Jungkook had confessed to you, why wasn’t he signing up now? And Yoongi? Yoongi said he wanted a form only a few days ago. Why did it feel so different now?

Were you stupid? Had you embarrassed yourself in front of your entire crew for no reason? Maybe Namjoon and Hoseok were right and this was a bad plan. You pedal faster, trying to burn out some of the tension in your lungs.

The radio buzzes and Taehyung’s deep voice sounds in your in-ear. “Looking for a location for our biologist.”

“I’m in the gym,” you radio back, pausing your bike ride to catch your breath.

Moments later, Taehyung pokes his head in the door of the hangar. It’s good to see him up and about, even if his arm is still in a sling.

“Hey.” He steps into the room, adjusting his hair with his one good hand. “I need to talk to you about this, um, ape sex thing.”

Oh my gosh, is it finally happening? Maybe Jimin was right. Maybe Taehyung is more interested in you than you had realized. He fishes into his pocket and pulls out his tablet. You wish you weren’t so sweaty and gross for this conversation. Taehyung is such an intimidatingly attractive man.

Taehyung opens up the tablet and flips to the form as he walks closer to you. It’s happening. He’s going to sign the form. Shit. Then what will you do? It’s one thing to say you want to have sex with your whole crew, but what if he’s hoping to go right now? You need a shower.

Taehyung has nice hands. Long strong fingers delicately navigate the touch screen. It seems totally improbable that a man this attractive would be into you, even if you were the only woman in the universe. It adds to your suspicions that hormones are driving everyone crazy. Perhaps if you slept with him once, he’d lose all interest.

He finds the form and then turns his gaze up to you, staring you down with those eyes. It’s a good thing  Taehyung rarely turns his full gaze on you, because it is almost too much to bear. Shit, is he going to sign it? Is he waiting for you to give him some sort of signal?

“You can’t do this to Jimin,” he says.

“What?” Not what you were expecting. “Do what to Jimin?”

“This.” He gestures over the HR form. “Signing these forms with everyone. Having sex with everyone. You’re going to destroy Jimin.”

“Jimin’s the one who suggested this whole thing in the first place.” It’s a lie. You know it's a lie. Or at least a gross exaggeration. But Jimin was the one who first brought up the idea of sharing. All for the benefit of the man in front of you now.

“No way.” Taehyung scoffs, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “No way was it Jimin’s idea that you sleep with the whole crew.”

“Well…” You can’t bear his gaze anymore and look down at the floor. “He wanted me to sleep with you.”

“What?” He puts down the tablet. “Why would he want that?”

“He, um…” You rub your arm. “He thinks you’re in love with me.”

“What?” There is only surprise on Taehyung’s face. It’s actually a relief to see that Taehyung is as shocked by that idea as you were. “Why does he think that?”

“I don’t know…” You feel kind of dumb now. Of course, Taehyung doesn’t feel that way about you. Look at him. “Cause you told him you were jealous. Cause you can’t stand to be in the same room as us.”

Taehyung bites his lip. “Oh, um, shit, sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” you ask. If Taehyung wasn’t jealous of Jimin, then...“Who are you jealous of?”

“Nevermind…” Taehyung stumbles backward, putting his tablet back in his pocket. “Forget I said anything.”

“No wait,” you get up off the bike to chase after him, catching by the sleeve. As he turns around, you make a show of turning off your microphone. He does the same. “Are you jealous of me?” you ask. “Do you like Jimin?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen and he bites his lip. He glances toward the camera in the corner of the room, then stands up and begins unzipping his jumpsuit.

“Um…” You are distracted by the golden arms that peak from either side of the tank top as the zipper reaches his groin. “What are you doing?”

“Need something to block the camera.”

“We have towels,” you mutter.  But now he’s attempting to peel the tank top up over his head.

“Yeah, but this way anyone watching will think we’re having sex.” He answers. “Shit, can you give me a hand?” In his attempts to remove his shirt, he seems to have forgotten he is wearing the arm sling and is now stuck with his shirt over his head. His injured shoulder is black and blue from his accident with the ROV.

You gingerly try to disentangle him without getting too close to his warm, bare skin. You succeed in freeing him from his shirt and he tosses it up and over the camera.

“You want them to think we’re having sex?” you ask.

“Don’t you? It plays right into your whole ‘save the mission with bonobo sex’ plan.” He zips his jumpsuit back up as he turns around.

“I suppose.” Though the plan was also supposed to be that there would be no more secrets between the crew. “What plan of yours does it play into?”

“The one where Jimin doesn’t realize I’m in love with him.”

Of course, Taehyung is in love with Jimin. That makes so much more sense. They’ve been so close for so long. And Taehyung has always paid very close attention to anything going on with Jimin. “You’ve never tried to tell him?”

Taehyung laughs wryly and shakes his head. “How would that conversation go? Hey man, I know we’ve known each other for years and I’ve already seen you naked and that you just think of me as a friend, but I’m in love with you. I know that’s awkward but now you have to spend the next twelve years with me, knowing that I’m attracted to you when you don’t feel the same way.” Taehyung sighs. “Doesn’t sound like a good plan to me. If he doesn’t feel the same way, I’ve ruined the friendship for nothing and then I don’t even have that.”

“Yeah… I get that.”  There’s something touching about realizing that Taehyung has been fighting the same battle as you for the last two years.

“I couldn’t tell anyone before launch because what if they wouldn’t let me go then? You know?”

“Yeah, the director wasn’t big on sending anyone who might ‘complicate’ the mission.” The two of you share a sad knowing smile.

“Yeah… And I thought it would be fine, you know? I like women too. I’d just date women until launch and no one would know. I wasn’t planning on falling in love with my roommate.”

“I don’t think any of us knew what this would be like.”

“I knew it was going to be a problem. I should have pulled out…” he continues.

Your mind flashes back to your own moment of doubt when Hoseok talked you into still coming on the mission.

Taehyung sighs and leans against the ice drill. “But I couldn’t just let him go off into space without me. Even if he’d never feel the same way, at least he’d still be in my life.”

The emotion in Taehyung’s words makes your eyes begin to mist. “You really love him.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung sighs again. “But he’s in love with you.”

“Well, he thinks he is.”

“What does that mean?”

“He only feels that way about me cause he thinks I’m the only option.”  Maybe he would feel differently if he knew about Taehyung’s feelings.

Taehyung frowns and shakes his head. “You don’t give him enough credit.”

“Oh come on, you know him. How many women did he date while we were in training?”

“A few…”

“And how many of them was he in love with before he found the next one?”  

Taehyung purses his lips. He can’t argue with that. “So why are you with him then, if you don’t think it’s real?”

You shrug, rubbing your arm. “I like him. Lord knows he’s attractive. And he wants me. It’s nice to feel wanted, I guess.”

“You could have that with any man on this ship though...”

You scoff. “They’re all suffering the same delusion. It’s only-available-vagina syndrome. I just want us all to fuck and get it out in the open. Maybe if we could get it out of our system, they would see I’m nothing special. And then we can get back to the mission.”

Taehyung eyes you up and down. “You don’t give yourself enough credit either.”

You shrug. “You wait and see. Jimin will get bored of me. They all will.”

Taehyung pulls his tablet back out of his pocket. “Do you really think that if everyone just like, banged it out, that it would help morale?”

“Well, it certainly couldn’t get any worse.”

“And Jimin thinks I’m in love with you?” He reopens the HR form and stares at it.

You nod.

“What if I signed this? And we let him think that for a little longer? Just until I figure out how to tell him the truth?

“Like we’d pretend the two of us are involved?” Maybe that would help you get the other men on board with your plan.

Taehyung nods. “Would that be okay?”

“Yeah, that would work.”

Taehyung smiles and signs the bottom of the form, then sends it to you. “Thank you,” he says before he leaves you to resume your workout.

______

Other than Taehyung, no one else approaches you over the next few days. If anything, the crew seems to be treating you more professionally than they did before you announced your plan to fuck them all. You have signed forms from Jimin and Taehyung and have been rejected by Namjoon and Hoseok, but you’ve heard nothing either way from the other three. What are they waiting for?

By the time you reach the end of the Monday morning weekly meeting, you’ve had enough waiting.

Namjoon finishes his debrief of the week’s goals and claps his hands. “Anyone have anything else mission related we need to discuss?”

“My period is over,” you announce to your assembled crew.

A muscle pulses in Namjoon’s jaw. “Officer, I wouldn’t consider that mission-related.”

You cross your arms and lean back in your chair. “Just freely sharing information.”

“Already?” Jungkook asks. “I thought you said it would take a week.”

“No, finished this morning. It varies a bit from cycle to cycle.” you answer. Hoseok’s leg begins aggressively bouncing up and down next to you, but you press on. “I need to make a schedule. So I need to know who’s in and who’s out.”

“Ooh, what if you shared out your tracker info so we’re all on the same page.” Taehyung enthuses.

Yoongi scoffs. “Why don’t we just add it to our mission task list then?”

“I’m not clear on why menstruating means we can’t have sex,” Jimin interjects.

“Enough!” Namjoon regains everyone’s attention. “We need clear boundaries between what is personal and what is professional. Right now, you all have jobs to do. Dismissed.”

________

By the time you finish your chores for the day, you have convinced yourself that getting the rest of the team on board is essential to your successful completion of the mission. So you go in search of Yoongi.

You find him in his workshop. Pieces of an air filter are spread out on the workbench and he’s in the middle of cleaning it. You had forgotten that is the actual purpose of the workbench. So much for climbing on top of it and seducing him that way.

He looks up when you enter and you decide to cut to the chase. “I haven’t gotten your HR form yet.”

“Yeah…” He goes back to inspecting the clogged tube in front of him.

“You said you wanted to sign one with me.”

“I did say that, yes.”

“And now you don’t?” You thought if anyone was going to be supportive of the plan, it would be Yoongi.

He sets down the part he had been inspecting. “Have you really thought this through?”

“Yes!” You put your hands on your hips. “I made a whole powerpoint! With sources!!”

“I think it's a bad plan.” He picks up another long tube full of dust and threads a brush through it.

“I thought you’d be onboard with this plan. You said if I was fucking everyone, there’s no need for jealousy.”

“Yeah, well, I was wrong.” He sets the tube down and turns around to look at you directly. “ Is that really what you want?”

Why is he questioning you now? He was the one who put this whole idea in your head. He was the one who knew all your fantasies. “But you said…"

“I know what I said.” He begins pacing back and forth in front of the workbench. “But there’s a difference between a fantasy and a reality. You really want to have sex with a different man every day for 12 years on some kind of rotating daily schedule? Like how we water the crops?”

“You’re mad there’s a schedule?” You try to come closer to him, but he backs away from you, turning back to the air filter.

“Sexual desire doesn’t run on a clock, you know,” he says as he starts to pack up the equipment. “What if you’re not feeling it that day? What if they’re not?”

“I’m just trying to be fair to everyone.”

“But nobody actually gets what they want!” He throws his hands up in exasperation.

“And what do you want, Yoongi?”

He pauses, then deflates, dropping his hands to his sides. “Nevermind, forget about it.” He grabs a wet wipe off the shelf and begins cleaning the dust of his hands, not looking at you.

“No!” He’s the one who has been egging you on this whole time. “You were the one who was all ‘you have to fuck Jimin to save the mission’. You said you didn’t care if I fucked Jimin too. What do you want from me, Min Yoongi?”

“I’m going to go get some dinner.” He mutters, throwing the dirty wipe in the trash and turning to leave.

Oh no. He’s not going to escape you that easily. You need some straight answers. “You started all this, Yoongi! You said every man on this ship wanted to fuck me and none of them do! What was that?” You follow him down the hall toward the kitchen.

He stops and turns around in the middle of the hall. “This isn’t all on me! You made choices too!”

“Because of what I thought you wanted!” you yell back. “What is your deal? First you want me to fuck you, then you dont. Then you want me to fuck everyone and then you don’t. What do you want from me?” Your voice is echoing down the hallway but you are way past caring about it.

Yoongi opens and closes his mouth, then spins back around and heads for the kitchen, with you trailing behind him.

Jungkook is sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of ramen. He looks up, startled as the two of you barge in.

“And what about you?” You fire the question at your youngest crew member. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

The poor boy nearly chokes on his noodles. “I, um…” He swallows, wide eyes glancing between you and Yoongi.

You lean against the table next to Jungkook as Yoongi steps around the two of you to head for the pantry, but you see his fist clench as he walks by. You lean closer to Jungkook. “Didn’t you enjoy my video? Don’t you want to see the real thing?”

“Uh...” Jungkook glances at Yoongi again. “Maybe the two of you should talk this out…”

Yoongi’s hands tremble, but he doesn’t turn around, intent on starting the rice cooker. You turn your focus to Jungkook instead. “This isn’t about him. Whatever the flight engineer wants to do is up to him. He knows where I stand. This is about you and I.”  You are going to get a man on this ship to fuck you. Today.

“It’s not like I’m not interested…” Jungkook’s knee bounces up and down rapidly as he watches you. “But I told you I was in love with you and you literally had a panic attack.”

Oh right. That was back when you thought you still had a shot of stopping all this. Before half your crew had seen you naked. Before all of them had heard you having sex. Before you’d announced that you wanted all of them to fuck you. But you can still control this, if you can get them onboard with your plan.

Your tablet buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out to give yourself a moment to think. There’s a message from Jin.

Hey, come find me when you get this and we can talk. I’ll be in the kitchen.

You brace yourself for yet another rejection note. But you click on the attachment to instead find your HR form, Kim Seokjin’s signature scrawled right next to yours.

Holy shit. He signed it. Under no false pretenses. What do you do now?

“What is it?” Jungkook asks.  

But then Jin appears in the doorway. He startles when he sees you. “Oh! I thought you’d still be on shift.”

You shake your head. “You signed the form.”

“What? He did?” Jungkook asks.

“Oh, um, yeah,” Jin answers, laughing nervously. “That’s what you wanted right?”

“Yes, that’s what I wanted.” You stand up and move closer to your pilot. Jungkook crosses his arms. Yoongi finally turns around to observe the three of you.

Jin. Jin with his broad-shoulders and plump lips. Your friend. Your very handsome friend. He’s going to help you save the mission.

“You’re the first one I’ve gotten, so you can go first.”

“Wait, what?” Jin stammers. “But you and the commander?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t sign.”

“You and Taehyung though? I saw him take off his shirt and then cover the camera.”

“Oh right… sorry… I guess you’re the second one. But Tae’s still on shift.”

“Don’t forget about Jimin.” Yoongi helpfully chimes in.

Jin takes a step backward. “But I thought for sure these two…” He gestures at the other two men in the kitchen.

“Nope,” you move toward him. “Not yet.” You suddenly see a way to get them all on board at once.

“Oh, well, um...” His ears are bright red. “Maybe we can talk more about this after dinner?”

“That’s one option…” You lick your lips and find the top of your zipper with your hand, blushing as the next part of your plan unfolds in your mind. “Or you could fuck me now.”

“What?”

“Holy shit.” Jungkook mutters beside you.

Jin dives around you, moving toward the other side of the kitchen. “There are people eating here!”

“Nothing they haven’t seen before.” You begin unzipping your jumpsuit in what you hope is a seductive manner, rolling your hips as you follow him across the kitchen. You have both Jungkook and Yoongi’s rapt attention.

You take a cue from Taehyung and peel off your tank top, throwing it over the camera behind you, leaving you in a bra and the bottom half of your jumpsuit. “Though if these two are going to stay and watch, they better sign the forms as well.”

“Stay and watch?” Jin swallows, hands clenched at his sides.

You grab the waist of your jumpsuit, teasing it down just slightly as you make direct eye contact with Jungkook and then Yoongi. “What do you think boys? In or out?”

Jungkook lunges for his tablet. A satisfying ping on your own tablet confirms that this plan is working. Yoongi just crosses his arms and leans back against the counter.

You drop the jumpsuit, leaving you in nothing but your bra and underwear. You prop yourself up on the kitchen table next to Jungkook’s now cold bowl of ramen.

“What are you doing?” Jin asks, whole face beginning to turn red.

“Look…” You shimmy out of your bra straps so that your bra is only held in place by your hand. “I’m going to need you to fuck me right here on this table, Kim Seokjin. For the good of the mission.”

“Why does putting your bare ass on the surface where we eat help the mission?!”

“No more secrets. No more jealousy. Everything will be out in the open. Like the bonobos do.”

Your fingers tease at the clasp of your bra. All three men stare at you. You lock eyes with Yoongi, daring him to look away. Implement with full commitment. You drop your bra to the floor.

“Stop, stop!” Jin moves toward you as you slide your fingers into the band of your underwear. “Just hang on for one second.” He picks up your jumpsuit from the floor and comes closer, draping it around your shoulders in an attempt to cover you. “Look at me.” He grasps your chin and turns your gaze to meet his. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

You lick your lips. “Yes.”

He kisses you, hard. It’s aggressive, urgent even. His hands are on your shoulders, then sliding down your back, pulling you toward him. Your eyes close as you momentarily lose yourself in it. Despite you begging him for it, it still surprises you how insistent he is. His hands keep sliding down your back, until they reach your buttocks, running over the thin cotton of your underwear and scooping you into his arms. You wrap your arms around his shoulders for balance, and then he is lifting off the table.

He breaks out of the kiss to pick you up even higher and then proceeds to throw you over his shoulder.

“Jin! What are you doing?” You kick your feet into the air.

“I am a man, not an ape,” he says, picking up your jumpsuit and bra and tossing them over his other shoulder.  “And if I’m going to fuck you, it’s going to be in the privacy of my own sleep pod, where the only man enjoying it is me.”

He hauls you ass first out into the hallway, with Jungkook and Yoongi both watching wide-eyed as you are carried away.

“I can walk,” you argue as Jin turns for the sleep pods.

“Nope,” replies Jin, readjusting you on his shoulder before carrying you down the hall.

As you reach the junction to the bridge, your ass runs into something warm and firm.

“What the-” says Namjoon. Your whole body flushes hot as you realize you’ve run butt-first into your commanding officer.

“Shit, sorry commander.” Jin laughs. “Excuse us,” Jin says and continues down the hallway, not setting you down or stopping.

Namjoon has pressed himself up against the wall with his hands in the air, a look of shock on his face. He looks like he is about to say something, but then Jin reaches his sleep pod and sets you down inside and you can’t see the commander anymore.

“Well, that was the best thing that has happened in a long time.” Jin chuckles as he closes the door. “The looks on Namjoon’s and Jungkook’s faces will power me for a year. You okay?” he asks, handing your bra and jumpsuit. “For the record, I’m not expecting anything else to happen here.”

“You don’t want to do anything else?” You hold up your jumpsuit to cover yourself, more disappointed than you would like to admit.

Jin eyes you up and down. “I mean… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested, but that wasn’t my intention in bringing you here.”

“You hauled me half-naked to your bedroom and your intention wasn’t to have sex?”

“I know, I am such a gentleman, aren’t I?” He laughs, then shrugs. “Seemed like maybe you needed an out. Things were getting kind of crazy back there.”

“But you signed the form? Doesn’t that imply a sexual relationship?”

“I guess I’m not really a ‘sex in front of two other men before we’ve even been on a date’ kind of guy.”

“How about a ‘sex in the sleep pods’ kind of guy?”

“Are you even actually interested in me?” Jin asks, getting more serious. “Because none of what happened in the kitchen felt like it was about me. I don’t want to be some pawn in your plot to make Yoongi jealous.”

“It’s not about Yoongi!” You groan. “Why does everyone think this is about Yoongi?”

“Have you seen the two of you interact recently? There are some seriously repressed feelings going on there.”

You bang your head into the door of the sleep pod in frustration, before looking up at him. “You’re a very attractive man. Maybe I have feelings for you?”

He sighs. “Yeah, but you don’t. You can’t swap us out for each other.”

Shit. The way you’ve been treating the men is exactly how you feared they would treat you. While you fear being wanted because you’re the only woman, you’ve made all the men on the ship feel as though you think them interchangeable simply because they’re men.

“It never occurred to me that any of you would have real feelings for me.”

“Well, you are very dumb.”

“Hey…” You hit him gently on the chest. He catches your hand in his.

“Amazing they would trust such a crucial mission to someone who is so very stupid,” he teases, still holding your hand.

“I’m not this stupid about mission related stuff, just all this relationship crap.” You laugh softly.

“So tragic. Someone with so much training ought to have better sense.”

He squeezes your hand and you look into his eyes again. He smiles a soft reassuring smile and for the first time in weeks, you feel like maybe everything will be okay again at some point in the future.

“You’re a good man, Kim Seokjin.”

“Best man on the ship.” He chuckles.

“Kiss me again.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look there’s no one else here right? This is only about you. I want you.”

He kisses you again, tenderly this time. His warm arms wrap around and you realize you’re still naked except for your underwear. You curl into his embrace. He smells good, warm and manly, like good cologne. You run your hands over his muscular shoulders that you can feel through his clothes. It’s slow and leisurely, like you’re savoring each other.

“You sure you’re not a ‘sex in the sleep pods’ kind of guy?” You tease as you slide your thigh in between his legs and feel his erection pressing against you.

He groans, resting his head on your shoulder as you grind against him. “I’d like to think of myself as more of a ‘sex in the sleep pods after the third date’ kind of guy.”

You pause and look up at him surprised. “You want to go on a date?”

He nods. “At least three of them, in fact.”

You smile. “That would be nice. I’d like that.”

He kisses you behind your ear. “So are Mondays my day then? Can I take you on a date next Monday?”

You gasp as he rolls his hips against you, the heat of him seeping through his clothes. “That’s a long time to wait, especially if you’re going to make me wait through three of them.”

“I’m sure we can find other ways to entertain ourselves.” He cups your naked breast in his hand, massaging gently.

“Is there anything in particular you want to do today?” You palm his erection through his pants and he gasps.

“Stop that, you temptress…” He grits his teeth. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“Aww, come on, there must be something I can do for you.”

“Well…” He bites his lip. “I will admit that I am awfully curious what was on that video that got five of my crew members suspended.”

“I could show you.” You start to shimmy down your underwear. “But there was no touching in the video.”

He kisses you one last time on the cheek, before pulling away and pressing himself into the opposite wall of the sleep pod. “Okay, show me. I’ll be good.” He puts his hands up by his head in mock innocence.

You finish removing your underwear, spreading your legs apart as best you can. You trail a hand down between your legs, finding yourself wet already. “It was me masturbating.” You tease around your clit without touching it directly.

He groans, hips kicking forward as he stays up against the wall. “Show me.”

“Well, first I took my fingers and sucked on them.” You narrate your actions as you wet your fingers. “Then I touched my nipples.” Your nipples harden before you’ve even touched them, but you continue to tease them for his benefit.

His eyes dart back and forth between your face, your breasts, and your spread legs, as if he can’t decide where he wants to look first. He licks his lips like a man starving. “Keep going.”

“I’m very wet.” You continue your narration as he clenches his fists. You run your fingers through your wet folds, then hold them up to show him. His hips buck again as he groans, still fully dressed and pressed to the wall. “And then I touched my clitoris.” It’s your turn to moan as you finally touch your swollen pleasure center, stroking slowly and keeping your eyes fixed on Jin.

“Goddamn…” He drops to his knees, hands resting at his sides, eyes fixed on your hand as it strokes around your clit.

“Do you wish it was your fingers right now, instead of mine?” you ask.

He nods, tongue darting out of the corner of his mouth. He begins inching toward you on his knees. “Do you think… maybe…?”

“I thought we said no touching,” you tease when he gets to your feet, his head level with your hand, eyes fixed on your wet cunt as you continue to touch yourself.

“I just…” His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I want to smell you.” A pulse of arousal rocks through you at how eager he is. You nod. He moves his nose right over your pubic mound and inhales a long slow savoring breath, tickling your hairs.

“Ah…” He releases a long, loud satisfied moan. His knuckles turn white, but his face is relaxed. “You smell amazing.” He inches even closer, just millimeters separating you from his face and inhales again.

“Oh shit.” You feel the pleasure skyrocketing as your orgasm catches you off guard. You grab him by the back of the head to stabilize yourself and his nose bumps firmly against your clit.

He groans again, loudly right against you as he grinds his nose into you, letting you ride his face as your orgasm washes over you. You thread your fingers through his hair to hold him in place. He wraps his hands around the back of your thighs to press himself into you harder. You cry out as waves of muscle contraction course through you over and over.

“Fuck…” you both say in unison as you collapse back against the door. Your eyes meet and you both start laughing. He places a light kiss right below your belly button before he gets up.

“Well, I see why that was worth getting suspended for,” he says, unzipping his jumpsuit and using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face.

“And you didn’t even come yet.” You slide your underwear back up, wondering if he would consider a blowjob to be a step too far before your first date.

“Um, actually…” he gestures down at his crotch and the new wet spot you find there makes your pelvic muscles clench.

“You came in your pants? Over me?”

Jin laughs. “God, you have no idea how sexy you are, do you?” He picks up your clothing off the floor, before kissing you softly on the forehead. “I will have a hard time waiting for Monday.”

“Me too.” You mutter and get a sudden sinking feeling. You don’t want this to be over right now. You want to stay here with him, to cuddle and be held by him, but you have made this very clear to everyone involved that these dalliances are not relationships. It’s just sex. And now the sex is over. Until next week.

You slip back into your clothes and give him one last kiss. You tablet pings as you head out into the hallway and you fish it out of your pocket.

Yoongi: Okay, I’m in.

Below his message is his signed HR form. A swell of smug satisfaction makes you smile as you cross the hall and climb into your own pod. You open up a group message for the five men whose signed forms you now have in your possession and type out the following:

Mondays: Jin

Tuesdays: Jungkook

Wednesdays: Taehyung

Thursdays: Jimin

Fridays: Yoongi

“Saturday and Sunday to be determined,” you whisper to yourself as you hit send.

____

Next part

[shokobuns]

“𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭”

in which you slowly give into your desires.

PAIRING: maid!zenin maki x f!housewife!reader

GENRE: smut, some fluff, some angst, slowburn (ish)

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: nsfw, 16+ smut, slowburn ish?, mentioned misogyny, infidelity, unhappy arranged marriage, angsty marriage, overstimulation, fingering, oral (f receiving), kitchen sex, sex in shared bed, face sitting/riding, 69, exhibitionism, squirting, light degradation, praise, pussy slapping, finger sucking, spit kink, consensual panty stealing, masturbation (f), first time for oral, slight corruption, implied dumbification, dom!maki. slight mommy kink, humiliation (kind of)

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Honey.”

You peck your husband on the lips goodbye before he’s out the door with a briefcase in hand and his suit as neat as ever. Staring at the leftovers, you sigh before eventually picking up the plates and pilling them in the sink, scrubbing off the sticky mess of maple syrup. Soap suds cover up your gloves as you lather them in bubbly water and plan out the rest of your day. The dishes, the laundry, a few episodes of that one show you barely pay attention to, lunch, more dishes, more laundry, a start on dinner.

You can’t help but wonder — Is this it?

You love your husband, something you remind yourself repeatedly when he’s gobbling down on the rice on his dinner plate and when he’s leaving his dirty clothes all over your bedroom floor. You love him. You want to bear his children, want to raise them, want to do the chores so that he doesn’t. You want to cook, to clean, to do everything for the sake of his pleasure. It’s what your mother insisted, it’s what she did, and it’s what her mother did. You love your husband.

Is this it?

Twenty years old, a husband with a stable living, something that can suffice for the rest of your life. All you need is to do your chores, give him your body, be his prim and proper wife. It sounds fairly easy, another thing that your mother insisted, so what is it?

Why do you crave more? Why do you have to remind yourself that you love him, love this life at all?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on your door. When you open it, you’re met with the sight of a tall girl with glasses. She’s in a black maid dress that stops at her knees, complemented by the white apron that flows along with the part of the skirt, ruffling at the end. She has a bag hanging on her shoulder and her expression shows slight amusement at your surprise. Surely, she’s at the wrong house, right?

“Are you (Y/N)?”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter out, not realizing that you were staring, “Uh, w-who are you?”

“I’m Zenin Maki, but you can call me Maki,” she observes your figure, noticing the sly nervousness radiating off of your expression, “Your husband hired me. Said he wanted someone to help you out.”

“O-Oh.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” You move to the side, watching the woman scan your house. It’s slightly messy, a result of your husband not cleaning up after lounging in the living room, and she doesn’t waste time to clean it up, rearranging the decorative pillows and helping you carry the leftover dishes to the sink. Just as you’re about to put on your gloves, her hand comes out to grab your wrist and the other takes it out of your hand. “Don’t. I got this.”

You step back, watching Maki put on the gloves herself, lathering the dishes as you did before. You don’t know what to do, standing there awkwardly as she places them in the dishwasher. It’s a given opportunity to observe how her skirt stops right above her knee, flowing out naturally and modestly accentuating her body. Her headband compliments the look, her hair tied back with bangs covering up her forehead, stopping short of her glasses. Warmth creeps up your neck to your cheeks and you sharply look away, focusing your vision on the bowl of apples on the center of the dining table.

“You can rest, Miss. But I’m going to need help putting away the dishes later. Is that okay?” She asks and you turn around to give her a nod. “Is there anything else you need done?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, you really don’t need to-”

“I was hired to help you out with chores. Please, do not worry about me.”

You sigh in defeat, looking directly at her face, her pretty face. She had a sharp expression, piercing eyes that can bore into your soul, defined cheekbones. A sensation of uneasiness rested in your lower belly and you realize you’re staring when she waves a hand over your face. “Hello? Miss?”

“S-Sorry! I was just thinking about something!”

“Oh. Well, I was just asking if you can help me put some of the dishes away just for today. I don’t know where everything is and I don’t like disorganization.”

“Of course. Of course.”

“You need anything else?”

“Folding the laundry, for now, I think? The clothes should be dry. Everything is upstairs.”

She follows behind you as you bring her out to the terrace where your laundry hangs on a string. Dresses, button ups, and ties of earth toned colors adorn the area and you touch the fabrics. The sun had definitely done its job. Maki is already setting up the ironing board that was previously laying in the corner of your bedroom and gathering your husband’s work attire together. When she’s done flattening the creases on the pieces of clothing, you take them, hanging and folding. With her help, you were finished in half the time it usually took you.

“Thank you, Maki. Really, I appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Miss. Your husband hired me to do my job and I am happy to help.”

As you hang your last dress, you give her a smile.  

—

“Honey, I’m home!”

Your husband’s voice sounds throughout the house as he’s met with the sight of you and Maki laying out plating foods and placing them on the dinner table. He smiles and you walk towards him to greet him with a hug and a kiss. Maki continues with the task, sparing a glance at the both of you. “You didn’t tell me you hired a maid,” you whisper to your husband, “Though, she has been very helpful.”

“I’m glad, Honey.” He replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Kind of curious as to why you hired one in the first place.”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s have dinner, alright?” He shoots you a grin before looking over to Maki. “Feel free to stay for dinner, Maki!”

“I’m alright. I should get going anyways—”

“Nonsense!” You husband eagerly responds, pulling out an extra chair just for her, “My dear wife here says you’ve been helpful.”

“I have classes.”

“Oh. Well you might as well take some home!” You suggest, walking over to your tupperware cabinet.

Before you go back to your husband, you plate some food for her to take home and make sure she makes it back to her car as she walks out the door. You let out an involuntary sigh, leaning against the doorway and feeling content that you now have an extra hand.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Why do we need a maid?”

“Simple,” he grabs your hands from across the table, “I think we’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to have kids, silly woman!” His laughter booms throughout the entire room, “I mean you’ll have to get off birth control and everything, but I think it’s time.”

You laugh nervously as he leans in for a kiss. “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know about this.”

“What?” He stands up, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, “Why not?”

“I’m just kind of, uh, scared? I don’t know if I’m ready and we just got married a few months ago, you know?”

“Come on, don’t be scared,” he reassures you, kissing your cheek, “I hired Maki to be our maid to lay the stress off of you. I offered her an in-house job, which she’ll be starting next week, just so that you could rest easy while you’re pregnant.”

“In-house? Is she going to live with us?”

“Of course! She’s a college student, so she doesn’t mind getting paid and living in a house,” he explains before going back to the topic, “So please. I want you to have our baby. We can start tonight.” He suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

“O-Okay.”

—

The next few days, the cycle continues.

Maki comes in the morning, usually just about right before your husband leaves for work, and she helps you throughout the day. Doing dishes, folding clothes, cleaning the bathroom. Most of the time you help her, usually against her will, but it leads to a calm and comforting silence when you work together. She’s moving in soon, two days to be exact, and you think it’s time to get to know a little bit about her.

One problem; She’s reserved, which intimidates you, and you’re too scared to start a conversation.

Eventually, you’re going to have to break the ice. So you do it as she’s ironing the clothes and you’re putting them away. You think up a few basic questions, mulling them over as to not make her uncomfortable because you want to get to know her.

“My husband tells me you’re in university right now. What’s your major?”

“Sports science.” She replies bluntly, continuing her task.

“Oh, cool cool,” you try to figure out a way to continue, but come up blank. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk.

“What do you do when your husband is not around?” She asks curiously, as if she sensed your desire to hold the conversation.

“Chores, usually,” you frown, “Sometimes I watch TV, but I wish I was able to do other stuff. I really like painting, too. But I haven’t done much of that ever since we got married.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to become an artist. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid, but my family wanted stability for me so they introduced me to a family friend’s older son,” you smile, memories of your younger self filling up your head before a sense of sadness falls over your expression, “They said this would be good for me. And it is. My husband is a good man, I have a roof over my head and dinner on the table everyday, you know. I’m not complaining,” you pause, reeling out of your own thoughts, “Sorry if I just overshared.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” she reassures you, “Just out of curiosity, how old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“That’s funny, I’m twenty one.”

“You’re closer to my age than my husband,” you laugh, folding another white button up before placing it in a drawer, “We are in very different positions.”

“Yes, we are,” she chuckles, “A struggling college student and a cool housewife.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say cool—”

“Nonsense!” She grumbles, an attempt to mock your husband.

“Nonsense!”

“Nonsense!”

The both of you laugh and you realize how she seems almost angelic. The look in her eyes that was once piercing and intimidating was soft and heavenly. Her cheeks are flushed red and her smile was alluring. Before you even realize it, a feeling of warmth settles in your lower belly and it gets harder and harder to take your eyes off of her. Her chuckle was music to your ears and you’ve internally decided that it was one of your favorite sounds.

—

“Goodnight, Honey.”

He plants a kiss on your sweaty forehead before turning his back towards you, opting to hug a pillow on the side instead. Everything is wet, sticky, and gross, but before you can say anything, your husband is already fast asleep, little snores filling the air of the master bedroom. You lay down for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling in the dark until you gather up the last of your willpower to get up and clean the mess between your legs.

It was an okay night.

Sure, you came, but it was just boring. There was nothing to it, only the huffs and groans and praises from your husband as he lived out his fantasy of finally being able to breed you. You’re happy to provide him, as long as it makes him happy, because he loves you and you love him. Even if you have to clean up the mess yourself, even if you don’t finish, even if that rush of loving emotion that everyone seems to describe never hits you.

You’re happy.

That’s what you tell yourself anyways. Yet, your fingers rub furiously on your clit while the other pumps in and out of your dripping cunt. You’re close and you pretend that it’s her fingers You pretend that it’s her fingers that you’re clenching around, her mouth leaving soft kisses from your neck down to your exposed breasts. You pretend that you’re tugging on dark hair, asking for more, but when you come down from your high, the ringing in your ears stops suddenly and the snores overtake your hearing once again.

Maki.

It’s wrong, disgustingly wrong, but there’s no way to escape her. Not when she’s in your house in the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. She helps with everything, things that you didn’t even consider yourself, talks to you about the things you like. And you know that her favorite color is black, her family would have much rather preferred if she went the same route you did, and she likes junk food a little too much.

You also wonder when you should tell your husband that you definitely have not gone off those pills.

—

“Miss?”

“Yes?” You respond, a grocery bag in your arms filled with different fruits, vegetables, and meat. Although you've made a few additions to your list and you were unsure at first, but as Maki empties it, her eyes light up at the sight of the bright little bag.

“You got chips?”

“Well, yeah. They’re for you. I know you liked them.”

She beams at you and it’s almost blinding. There’s an odd flutter in your stomach and you ignore it, but it only becomes stronger when she rips open the bag and munches on the whole thing in seconds. The small satisfied moan from the first bite has you internally celebrating. She looks at peace. All she’s doing is eating a bag of her favorite chips, yet it fills you with some unexplainable feeling of warmth. You make another mental note to buy even more next time.

—

“What do you think of him?”

“Who?” She asks, sitting up on the couch as she watches you get lost on the canvas in front of you.

“My husband.”

“Oh,” she pauses, her hand coming from under her chin to think, “He’s pretty cool, I guess. He also pays me which is pretty cool, you know.”

“Come on, I won’t tell him,” you insist, coming close, your hands involuntarily brushing over hers. She doesn’t pull them away, letting you rest them, enjoying the extra warmth.

“I mean, he’s a man, alright.”

“What does that even mean?”

“No offense,” she continues, finding the least rudest way to say it, “He’s kind of basic, you know? Which isn’t bad but he yells at the TV when watching football, has you light his cigarettes, and waits for you to serve him food. Just your typical husband things, I guess.”

“Are you saying my husband is boring?” You ask with a stoic face, watching the fear fill her eyes.

“No, no! That’s not what I—”

“Kidding,” you chuckle as she purses her lips before joining along, “I was just curious.”

“Well, why?”

“I don’t know,” you say, sighing as you think of all the times he did anything romantic for you, “He’s a good man, you know that, right?”

“Well, of course.”

“He brings me flowers, gives me goodnight kisses, tells me he loves me, but—” you pause, afraid to finish the thought. Your heart pounds at the mess of ideas on your mind and you’re ashamed, “I don’t know if I feel that love thing those people always talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

She’s intrigued to say the least. You’re fiddling your thumbs with a nervous smile on your face. All the while, the music you put on fades in the background until it’s only the two of you, hearts beating fast, blood rushing to your cheeks. When you finally look her in the eye, she doesn’t miss how glassy they look and that’s when her suspicions are confirmed without a verbal sentence — you’re unsure.

“He- Well, I don’t know. Forget I said anything about it,” you clasp your hands together before getting back to work in the kitchen, “And please, don’t tell him.”

Uncertainty, you’re most definitely full of it, but Maki is almost sure she’s figured it out before you have and she likes to think that she’s gotten to know you. She’s picked up how you play with your fingers when you’re unsure, how you smooth down your dress when you try to keep your composure, how that your smile loses genuinity while you’re at the dinner table. She decides it’s not her business, she’s only the housemaid and you’re just the housewife she works under.

But she’ll always be there for you with open arms if you need it.

—

“We gotta make breakfast, Maki.” You poke her side, waking her up from a deep sleep.

You’re already ready for the day, the top half of your hair already tied in a bun and a lilac colored dress adorning your figure. She’s caught off guard when she opens her eyes and you’re sitting up on the side of the bed poking at her hip. Her vision is blurry without her glasses, but she can clearly smell the sweet scent of vanilla perfume. Taking in a deep breath, she sits up, too, reaching for her glasses on the bedside table.

And her sleek, black hair cascades down her shoulders, though it’s slightly messy, you’re tempted to run your fingers through the soft looking strands. You’ve seen Maki in her maid uniform at home, jeans when she goes out to shop, but the sight of her in a satin night dress was different and your breath hitches when the blanket falls off the upper half of her body. It’s a loose fit and she looks absolutely ethereal, almost like an angel.

She turns her head to the side and you fake cough, trying to make up for staring a little too long. “I know your day doesn’t start yet, but I was hoping to get some help on breakfast today. Is that alright with you?”

“Of course, Miss. I’ll go get ready right now.

“Cool.”

You walk down to the kitchen, preparing a pie crust for your quiche and reading through the recipe you were given by a friend. By the time you blind bake the crust, Maki joins you in her usual attire. “Need anything, Miss?”

“While the quiche is baking, I just need you to make some cookie dough. Just the usual, my family is coming over later.”

“Of course.”

She gets to work right away, finding the ingredients immediately as you fill up your empty pie crust and dance around the kitchen. Right after the quiche is placed in the oven, your hips sway along with the music that plays in the radio. It’s all soft and slow, Maki smiling at your antics while you jokingly attempt to serenade her. She’s mixing in the chocolate chips into the dough and you walk forward, energetic and lost in the song.

You don’t think much of it when you grab her hip and your faces come closer together. One second, you were playfully dancing around your kitchen and the next, your breaths mingle, the gap between the two of you closing. It’s her who decides to lean forward, soft lips meeting together, your back suddenly meeting the edge of the counter. Her hands rest on the surface, each on either side of you, and her lips taste like cherries. Your hands come up to her cheeks as your mouths meld together until it’s hard to breathe.

You pull away first, remembering that your husband is still sleeping upstairs. “What are we doing?”

“Don’t know,” she replies, her hand starting to trail under the skirt of your dress, “It feels right, though.”

“Should we stop?” You mutter, just barely enough for her to hear.

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

It gives her the extra rush of courage to get under your dress and push your body until your back is flat on the counter. Luckily, there was nothing underneath except for a pair of plain black panties, a damp spot right in the middle. Her thumb presses on your clothed clit and by the way your body squirms she knows you’re sensitive which only adds to the sadistic fun of pulling down your underwear at an agonizingly slow pace. “Need you,” you breathe out, your legs being positioned on her shoulders, “I need you, please.”

“I got you, Baby. Don’t worry.” She replies with a smile, her breath hitting your wet cunt.

Your breath hitches as her tongue trails up from your hole up to your sensitive pearl and she moans at the sweet taste of your arousal. Her hands keep a firm grip on your thighs, holding them open as you bite your lip to contain your moans. He’s right upstairs, you think, but any thought of caution starts to leave you once her soft lips wrap around your clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves causing your knuckles to turn white as they grab onto the edge of the counter.

Your husband has never touched you like this. Ever.

The feeling of her mouth is foreign, but welcome. Before you know it, the grip on one of your thighs loosen and two fingers slip into your soaked cunt. She’s gentle at first, the pumps of her digits ever so delicately pressing against your g spot, but once you hike up the skirt of your dress and thread your fingers through her hair, she speeds up, hitting hard and fast. “M-Maki— Shit!”

You squeal when her tongue starts massaging your clit and your walls clench despite being empty, “Such a pretty girl,” she coos, watching in awe at how your slick coats her fingers, “Such a pretty pussy.”

Lewd praises and squelches fill the kitchen air as the coil in your stomach builds and snaps until your cunt is gushing all over her. Your back arches as you reach your high and she leaves a trail of kisses from your thigh to your sopping pussy. Bringing her fingers to your mouth, she gives you one command.

“Suck.”

You obey, wrapping your soft lips around her digits, swirling your tongue and she gives a graceful smile, brushing a thumb over your flushed cheeks. A sheen of sweat covers your forehead, but the sound of footsteps brings you out of your thoughts. Maki pockets your underwear, giving you a wink, before washing her hands and taking the nearly forgotten quiche out of the oven.

By the time you hear the footsteps of your husband, you’re decent, minimal signs of physical exertion just barely noticeable. She’s going through her usual routine of plating your food in front of the two of you, doing the dishes, laundry, everything. You want to say something, you really do, and you’re left with your own questions.

At night, you’re left pondering the strong women with silky black hair whilst in the arms of your husband.

—

Two days.

That’s how long it’s been since you’ve gotten the most mind blowing orgasm of your life. Your panties are still missing, though you don’t mind knowing who has them. And when you think about the things your mother has told you repeatedly about your perfectly structured life, it crumbles with each second. When you look at the face next to you, the indifference in your heart starts to become more and more prominent.

And even though you should feel guilty — well, you do — you also don’t regret it at all.

You still do your chores as expected, make the bed, cook dinner. You still organize the laundry, do the dishes, and tend to your rose garden. You still disinfect, fold, and have sex with your husband who’s indifferent to your pleasure every night. Almost every domestic activity was accompanied by Maki, who often sought to take over or help.

Yet, she wouldn’t even look at you.

She wouldn’t say anything that didn’t pertain to a grocery list or a command and it was infuriating. Still, you were determined to bring it up — how could you not? As you fold blankets on the couch and think, you call out her name. “Maki?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Are we going to talk about what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

Your heart drops a tiny bit, it was an expected response based on the fact it felt like she was avoiding you, but you still had to swallow the lump in your throat. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” She asks as you’re looking down on the rug, trying to focus on the pattern instead of the woman in front of you.

“I’m just sorry I brought it up. I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that we did whatever that was,” you take a deep breath as forming tears blurred your vision, “I’m sorry that I can’t fucking do this, Maki. I don’t love him. I can’t love him.”

She sighs, scooching forward and closer to you then pulling the half folded blanket from your hands. “You shouldn’t be sorry. This was my fault.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You’re just, I’m just—” you inhale again, trying to find the right words to say, “You’re different. You’re different from him in all the best ways. You listen to what I have to say, you care about how I feel.”

“That’s something that any good friend would do—”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Oh.”

She brings her fingers to your chin, nudging your head up until you’re looking her in the eyes for the first time in days. She gazes at you, appreciating every curve and every mark on your skin. You take this as an opportunity to lean in, planting a soft kiss on her lips. She doesn’t stop it, instead indulging in the act, cupping your cheeks.

It soon becomes hungry, her tongue slipping past your lips, you being rolled over onto your back as she slips her hand under your floral dress. She presses a finger against your clothed cunt, causing you to gasp and throw your head back. At the same time she leaves sloppy kisses on the exposed skin of your neck and you struggle to form a coherent sentence.

“M-Maki, stop,” you whimper and she pauses, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Oh?” She smirks, giving you another breathless kiss, “Wanna put that mouth to use, Baby?”

“Yeah,” you breath out, “Wanna make you feel good, Mommy.”

Her expression is filled with pride as she drags her fingers across your face and into your mouth. You comply with the silent command, wrapping your lips around the digits and sucking softly, swirling your tongue around them. “Good girl.”

You let out a hum while she discards her panties somewhere on the ground and her bare cunt hovers over your face. It’s intimidating, yet the sight of her glistening folds makes you wet. All you wanted to do was taste her, drink up all of her juices, and when you finally do you can’t get enough. Despite the lack of experience, you do what you think would feel good, giving experimental licks, noting when her body twitched and when she would let out a saccharine moan.

“Fuck — you’re doing so well,” she coos, carding her fingers through your hair, admiring the sight of your half lidded eyes and the feel of your tongue, “You sure this is your first time eating pussy?”

You hum in response which sends vibrations throughout her body, causing her to throw her head back. You grip onto her lower back, desperately bringing her wet cunny closer to yourself and she rolls her hips, grinding herself on your mouth. You’re already addicted, lapping at all of the cum she has to offer, watching intently as her mouth forms an o shape and she soaks the lower half of your face.

“Such a good fucking girl, aren’t you?”

She gets off your face and you smile with pride, tugging off the rest of her maid uniform until she’s completely bare in your living room. Every curve of her body fills you with even more lust and you’re sure your panties are soaked just from the sight. Her thighs are defined, muscular even, and you kiss them before going back to her ruined pussy, lapping at all the slick.

“You’re so pretty, Maki,” you utter, your breath hitting her neck as you come back up to her face.

She pushes you backward until you’re flat on your back, pinning your wrists together before ripping off your panties. Maki wastes no time, two fingers entering your hole and curling with every thrust. “You got this wet from eating me out?” She questions cockily, leaving an open mouthed kiss on the shell of your ear along with a nibble, “You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you whimper in between breaths, “Feels s’good.”

“Yeah?” She responds, watching you come undone underneath her.

Your orgasm builds up with every pump, the coil in your stomach tightening. She fastens the pace, every movement being calculated, her fingers knuckles deep in your cunt. Her fingertips manage to brutally hit the spongy spot inside of you, causing your legs to shake. Your back arches when her lips wrap around your clit, the simultaneous stimulation making your body tremble in delight. You’re gushing all over her fingers and she stares in awe as your slick drips down your thighs.

“Can we go to the bedroom?” You request meekly, barely recovering from your last orgasm.

“Of course, Baby,” she beams at you, body gleaming with a sheen of sweat, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Maki picks you up bridal style with almost no effort, pressing kisses all over your face on the way upstairs. When you finally get to the bedroom, she lays you down gently, almost as if you were a delicate piece of glass. But the moment of soft intimacy doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last when her pussy hovers over your face with her head buried in between your legs, licking hot stripes on your folds, sucking on your pearl while her fingers brush on your legs before finding their way back to your ruined cunt. Your tongue presses on her slit and her hips lower until your mouth is full of pussy. Her sweet taste is addicting and concurrent moans only heighten the pleasure, vibrations shooting through both of your bodies. Her thumb circles your clit furiously as she pulls away from your cunt to speak.

“You like this, don’t you? Ain’t this the same bed where you get fucked by your husband?” She questions demandingly, slapping your cunny.

You whine into her cunt, the sudden pain causing your walls to clamp around nothing. She laughs sadistically, pinching your clit, biting at your inner thighs.

“S’good, such a good little slut,” she coos, her nose tickling your clit as her face inches closer, “Bet you like getting fucked by your maid, don’t you?”

You can only respond with a squeal, her hand laying another blow to your aching pussy. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I got you.” She reassures you, mouth ravaging your cunt, slurping every drop of cum you had to offer. She’s close to her own orgasm, you can tell by the way she rides your face, soaking the lower half until the sweet droplets slide down your neck. You massage her clit with your tongue as she comes down from her high, but after yours, she doesn’t stop.

Instead, she continues to feast on your cunt like a starved woman, the pressure in your stomach building for the nth time that day. Coming again almost hurts, but she ignores the high pitched wails spilling from your lips, the sounds only encouraging her to keep sucking until your body trembles. At this point, you’re light headed, vision gradually becoming blurry. Your walls are pulsating, your mind is unable to process everything at once.

Especially the shocked man who stands in the doorway of your bedroom.

And at that exact moment, you let out a sob as Maki sadistically looks your husband right in the eye, her mouth still devouring your overstimulated cunny with fervor. Your hole leaks milky white, staining your shared sheets and you cry out her name, hopelessly gripping onto the plush of her ass for stability, digging your nails into the flesh. When she pulls away, a string of spit connects from her mouth to your pearl and her pupils are blown, cheeks covered with your arousal, all the while maintaining eye contact with him.

As if there was no one in the room, she readjusts her until her face hovers over yours, her swollen pussy present on your thigh.

“Open.”

You comply readily and she grabs your face with one hand, squishing your wet cheeks so hard that they start to ache.

“Good girl.”

She spews into your mouth, watching the blob as it glides down your tongue and you swallow obediently before she comes down for a sweet kiss. The taste of yourself makes your head dizzy with lust. Let it be known that the horrified figure standing in the doorway could never make you feel as good as the maid.  

Oops.

© this is a work of @crybabygumi, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my work on other platforms.

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part I (x reader insert)

Summary: Our favorite couple has some catching up to do.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (or xOC)

Category: hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings/Includes: descriptions of Mexico and prison; they have a sleepover, but it’s just talking and sleeping 🥰

Word count: 3.5k

a/n: Here we go!!!!! We’re picking up from right where we left off in tmsidk part X.

Song Rec: The Luckiest by Ben Folds

Series Masterlist

———

“Do you— would you want to— come upstairs?” he asked.

Spencer stood in front of her, unsure of what to do with his hands. Y/N was absolutely radiant— bathed in the very last of the golden daylight and more beautiful than he even remembered. All he wanted to do was hug her again and never let go.

She shook her head, and he tried not to instantly deflate. “I have to feed Roald.” She smiled a little at him and restarted his heart. “But would you want to come over? We could order somethi—”

“Yes— yes.” She let out a quiet laugh at his eagerness, and he wanted to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life. “Can I— I just want to drop this stuff off and change, and then I’ll, um.” He gestured vaguely to her. “Should I drive you or do you want to walk or I can just— meet you? Whatever— whatever you want.”

“I’m gonna head back now and take care of Roald. Take your time, and just— well, here.” She held out her hand. “I’ll put my number in your phone, and you can just text me when you’re on your way.”

He fumbled the phone out of his pocket, placed it into her outstretched hand, and nearly vibrated with the way her fingers brushed over his. She stared at the unsophisticated phone in her hand. “You weren’t kidding about the technology thing, huh?”

He ran a hand down the back of his neck and shrugged. “I prefer to keep things simple.”

“I haven’t seen a T9 keyboard since I was in high school. This is a relic,” she laughed and then gave him a soft smile. “And… very you.”

He watched her fingers as she pressed along the tiny keys, still sort of in shock that she was here, that he was getting a second chance, that she wanted to do this with him. She handed the phone back to him and then stuffed her hands in her pockets. “So, I’ll see you in a little bit?”

He nodded and gave her his best smile. She stepped forward into his space, and his eyes went a little wide as she leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. She stepped back with a smile, then waved and turned on her heel headed to her car.

He stood rooted to the spot until she had disappeared from view, then let out a long breath and looked down at the small screen of his phone at her contact information. His lips twitched at the name she’d given herself.

Miss Honey <3

…

Forty five minutes later, Spencer smoothed down the front of his cardigan and blew out a sigh. He’d spent five of those minutes reveling in the magic that was Y/N, and the other forty convincing himself that she’d already changed her mind. But he was a man in love, and so he was standing in front of her building, willing himself to press her buzzer.

He was jolted out of his stupor by the buzzing of his phone. He pulled the device from his pocket and saw her name on the tiny screen, hesitating only a moment before pressing the button to answer. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He could hear her smile through the tinny speaker, and it immediately set him at ease. “I was just checking to make sure you remembered where you were going.”

“Yeah, I— I’m outside now, actually,” he confirmed.

“Oh, great! I’ll buzz you up.”

The door buzzed open, and Spencer pocketed his phone, stepping into the small foyer. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants as he made his way to the staircase. He had barely taken the first step when she called, “It’s the third floor!”

He barely resisted the urge to take the stairs two at a time. When he reached the landing of the third floor, she was standing in the doorway in a purple sweatshirt, sweatpants, and fuzzy socks with dragons on them. He couldn’t help but grin.

“Hey.” She returned his smile. “Come on in.” She moved aside and waved him into her apartment.

He stepped over the threshold, and she closed the door behind him. “I can take your coat. Feel free to leave your shoes there. Roald will be in hiding for the next half hour or so,” she informed him.

He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to her, looking briefly around the tidy space. The walls of her living room were a calming mint green, adorned with plenty of art and photographs. Her couch was a blush pink velvet, exactly as soft as she was.

“Okay, I’m starving,” she admitted, turning to hang his coat in the coat closet. “We can order pizza, Indian, Thai— any preference?”

He shook his head. “No, whatever you want.”

She closed the closet door and cocked an eyebrow. “So if I wanted to order a huge pizza with extra cheese, you’d be cool with that?”

“Sure, absolutely,” he nodded.

She tilted her head. “Even with your dairy thing?”

He was surprised that she even remembered such a tiny detail from all those months ago, and his heart would have fluttered if he wasn’t so focused on making as few waves as possible. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d made a mistake letting him back in, and he didn’t want to do anything that would cause her to rethink her decision. “Well, it’s— it’s just a sensitivity, not a true allergy. Although it’s gotten a bit worse in recent years. But really, whatever you want to do is fine.”

He suddenly struggled to make eye contact, feeling overwhelmingly awkward and out of place. Now that he was here in her apartment, it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. He cracked the knuckles on each finger as he waited for it. She let out a small sigh, and he braced himself for impact.

“Why don’t you come sit?”

Her voice was quiet, and then her hand on his arm was soft, and she was leading him to the couch and sitting down next to him. She kept some distance between them, placed her hands in her lap, and then she was still for a long moment. He could feel her eyes on him, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know if she wanted him to say anything at all.

“You know I forgive you, right?” The question was tentative. He met her eyes, and he didn’t see the regret or pity that he expected. There was something else there; something he couldn’t quite decipher. “Because I do. Forgive you. You apologized, and you meant it, and you allowed me space and time to process. And that’s— that’s all I could have asked for.”

As seemed to always be the case, the task of articulating what he was feeling began to crush him under its weight. The words were there, but he couldn’t get the order right. If it were anyone else, he would have just evaded the conversation entirely. But he’d promised her that he would try. After everything he’d put her through, she deserved that much.

He breathed in through his nose, expelling it in a sigh. “I’ve just— I’ve spent the last month thinking about this— about you— pretty much exclusively,” he admitted, staring at his hands. “And I’m just realizing that I never really… allowed myself to think about what would happen next, because I wasn’t sure that this would happen at all.” He gestured between them and then looked at her. “And now I’m here— with you, and I just— it’s…” He let out a sigh.

“Doesn’t live up to expectations?” she prompted.

His eyes went wide, and he moved closer to her on the couch. “No— god, no.” He instinctively reached for her hand, felt that electricity again when she allowed him to lace their fingers together. He was already making a mess of things. “You always exceed expectations.” He shook his head, and she squeezed his hand. “I just— I don’t… I don’t wanna mess this up.”

She covered their intertwined fingers with her other hand, rubbed her thumb along his. “I don’t think you will. Something tells me you don’t typically make the same mistake twice,” she inferred.

He laughed a little at that, and she gave him a sweet smile, and then she said, “So, no pizza. How about Indian?”

…

They were just cleaning up the last of the take out containers when Roald made his way out of Y/N’s bedroom.

“There he is! Hey, buddy,” she cooed, leaning down to give Roald a quick pet. She gave Spencer a sheepish smile. “He takes a while to warm up to new faces, so don’t be offended if he’s not—”

She was stopped mid-sentence by Roald’s decision to make a beeline for him. The cat stopped to give a cursory sniff before weaving between Spencer’s legs, purring loud enough that they could both hear it. Her mouth dropped open a bit as he leaned down to scratch between Roald’s ears.

“He— he is never that friendly,” she said incredulously. “There really is something about you, Dr. Reid.”

He looked up at her with a smile. “I’m just glad he approves. Would have been kind of awkward otherwise.”

“He’s a very good judge of character, so that bodes well for you,” she confirmed.

“Oh yeah?” Spencer scratched underneath Roald’s chin, grinning at the contented cat. He brought his gaze back to her, standing back to his full height when he realized she’d moved… a lot closer. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he watched her eyes track the motion.

“Yeah.”

He thought back to that night nearly two months ago, the way his mouth had verged on violent when she’d kissed him. He hated that their first kiss was tainted with his foolishness, that he’d marred that memory for them both. He couldn’t take it back, and he wasn’t certain that she wanted to kiss him now, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please,” she breathed.

He brought his hands to her face and used a gentle grip to pull her in. She rested her warm palms against his waist and let her fingers dig in, holding herself steady as his lips met hers.

He kept the kiss as soft as she deserved, opening his mouth to let her in but letting her lead and take him wherever she wanted to go. Her hands slid around to his back, and she tugged him in closer. He left one hand cradling her face but moved the other to the small of her back and pulled her flush against him.

She huffed out a tiny breath against his mouth, her lips turning up in a smile that he could feel in his toes. She brought one hand up to his jaw, rubbed her thumb across his cheek and then wound her fingers into his hair. She tangled them in his curls and tugged just enough to break the kiss, pressing their foreheads together with a sigh.

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’m just gonna wipe our first kiss from my memory and replace it with that one,” she murmured.

“I’m very much on board with this rewrite,” he agreed.

“Excellent.” She used the hand in his hair to pull him forward into another quick kiss. Roald made his presence known at their feet with a loud meow, pulling a laugh from both of them.

They de-tangled themselves from each other, and she ran a hand through her hair. “It’s getting late.” He nodded in agreement, although he never wanted this night to end. And then she continued, “Do you wanna, um— do you wanna stay the night? I’m sure I can find some comfy clothes that’ll fit you.”

He’d been a ship on a turbulent sea for the past two months, just barely staying afloat at times. It had been heart wrenching and nerve wracking and terrifying— and all of his own doing. And in one night, she’d anchored his vessel amongst the crashing waves. A solution kit, a hug, forgiveness, a kiss, and now this.

His racing mind came to a standstill. The near constant noise was quieted. The turbulent sea became calm, still waters.

“I’d really, really like that.”

…

Spencer ended up in an XXL t-shirt from a school fundraiser and a pair of stretchy bike shorts. Y/N had managed to scrounge up a new toothbrush from the back of the cabinet, and they brushed their teeth together with foamy smiles in the bathroom mirror.

It had taken very little convincing for Spencer to agree to share the bed. Y/N climbed in under the covers, settling back against the pillows and turning down the duvet for him to join her. He held up one finger and disappeared out into the living room, returning a minute later with the solution kit in hand. He moved to the bed, sliding in between the soft sheets and pulling up the duvet.

He leaned back against the pillows and turned toward her, opening the box. “This is the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me,” he admitted. “Can you, um— explain them to me? Some of them I figured out, but others— well, I just want to hear you, really.”

She scooted closer to him and leaned over to look in the box. “The first few are pretty self-explanatory. This one,” she said, pulling out a picture of her with her hands over her heart and belly, “is taking deep breaths until you’re calm and ready to try again. This one is reading a favorite book— which I know will take you about five minutes,” she joked.

She retrieved the card with the clip art book, and then the one behind it with a pencil and paper. “You can try to write down the difficult thoughts and feelings to get them out of your headspace.” The next card had a picture of an old rotary phone. “Hmmm, almost a match to the dinosaur phone you actually have,” she teased. “But it’s an option to call someone. Could be your mom, or a friend, or—”

“Or you? Could I call you?”

She looked up to find his eyes on her and smiled. “Yeah. You can call me, too.” She pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, and— not for the first time that night— he could not believe how lucky he was.

She drew back to pull out the next card: a clip art rendering of a desktop computer. “Oh! This one is for researching something. I know you’ve got a seemingly endless encyclopedia of knowledge up there,” she tapped on his temple, “but there’s always something new to learn. And teaching yourself something can help you feel capable in moments where you’re feeling— a little helpless.”

There was also a small wooden puzzle cube in the box. She took it from the box and held it up in front of them. “I know your IQ will probably solve this thing in fifteen seconds, but at least it’ll be a nice fidget toy,” she laughed.

The last card in the box was a picture of a timer. “This one might seem kind of dumb, but sometimes it helps me to set a timer to remind myself that feeling shitty is a temporary state of being.” She held the card between her fingers and shrugged. “Even if I’m still feeling less than great after the timer goes off, it usually gives me the boost I need to move forward.”

She gathered all the cards in her hands, shuffling them and then placing them back in the box. “You can add your own options as you think of them. This was just a starter set.”

He closed the lid of the box and set it on the bed between them. He reached for her hand, and she immediately threaded their fingers together. He rubbed his thumb along her impossibly soft skin and took a deep breath.

“The timer isn’t dumb. I, um— I did something similar in prison.” She squeezed his hand. “I kept track of the— the days on this little spot on the wall. Every time it felt like I couldn’t take another day, I’d count the marks and remind myself that I— that I’d survived that long. That I could make it another day.”

He went quiet, and Y/N sat up a little in bed, brushed her free hand over his hair. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” It wasn’t a lie. He wanted to talk to her about it. He wanted to talk to her about everything. He wanted to let her into the shadowy corners of his mind that he kept from everyone else.

“If you’re sure, then I’m right here.” She pulled their intertwined fingers into her lap and leaned over to press a kiss to his shoulder.

When she pulled back, he let out a long breath. He watched her thumb as it traced an unwavering line across the back of his hand. “I was, um— I was in Mexico getting an experimental Alzheimer’s drug for my mom. I’d been going down there for a few months, and it wasn’t ideal, but the medication really seemed to be helping her. And I was just— I was desperate. Desperate for anything that would give me more time with her. More lucid, meaningful time, you know?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“It wasn’t the, uh— drug that got me arrested,” he admitted. “There was an unsub— one of the serial killers that we put away a few years ago— a psychopathic, narcissistic hitwoman who had this— I don’t know, vendetta against me, I guess. She, um— she manipulated another woman into drugging me and framing me for the murder of the doctor I was getting the medication from.”

He could feel her eyes on him, and he drew his brows together. “I know the— the whole thing sounds completely absurd— fictional even,” he admitted. “She used a mix of drugs called sevoflurane and scopolamine to trigger dissociation and hallucination, which made it really— um... For a long time, I couldn’t tell which of my memories were real and which were drug-induced delusions.”

He focused on the motion of her thumb against his skin. “The team got me out of the prison in Mexico, but because I went against FBI protocol when I crossed the border, the Bureau wouldn’t fund my legal representation here. Emily hired a great lawyer, but the judge was less than sympathetic. And it really, um— snowballed from there.”

He took a deep breath. “I was sent to Millburn, which is a maximum security prison, and then I didn’t get the protective custody detail, so I was in general population, but I didn’t want to hurt people or move drugs, so I got the shit kicked out of me for a while, and then my friend Luis was killed in front of me, and I—”

Spencer didn’t realize he was crying until Y/N’s hands were on his face, wiping the tears before pulling him into her arms. “A-and then I poisoned the drugs, which just ended up hurting a bunch of people who didn’t deserve to get hurt. And then I got outed as an agent, and my mom got abducted, and I stabbed myself to get put in solitary, but I wasn’t safe there either, and I really thought... I was sure I was going to die there.”

He wrapped his arms around her middle and tucked his face into her shoulder as the hurricane of his agony swirled and raged and then swept out as quickly as it rolled in. She soothed his cries and held him against her, never rushing or shushing him. Eventually, his weeping dwindled to quiet sniffles, his heaving breaths faded to drawn sighs. She kept him anchored through all of it, rocking him gently from side to side and calming his shattered frame.

When he finally quieted, she released him and pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His chest tightened at her tear-stained cheeks, and he brought his hands up to wipe at them uselessly. When his hands fell back to his lap, she sniffled a little before taking a deep breath, releasing it on a shaky sigh.

“The choices you made kept you alive, Spencer. They were—  impossible, horrific choices that I’m sure just—” She shook her head, searching for the right words. “I’m sure the weight of the guilt and grief has to be unbearable sometimes,” she surmised. “And there’s nothing I can say that will make that any less true.”

She cupped his face in her hands, swiping at the fresh tears with her thumbs. “But I’m... I’m so selfishly thankful for every choice you made. Because it was the perfect set of decisions in that it brought you here. To me…” The tears tracked hot down her cheeks, and she took a shaky breath. “And I feel so unbelievably lucky and so incredibly grateful to have you.”

He had her wrapped up in his arms before she’d even finished the sentence. “I never believed in luck,” he mused. He pressed a kiss into her hair and closed his eyes. “I’m still not sure if I do. But I can tell you that I’m the luckiest.”

———

Permanent tags: @spacedikut @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855 @sapphic-prentiss @rexorangecouny @rainsong01 @blameitonthenight21 @moviequeen51 @90spumkin @reniescarlett @ncsls0515 @daybabyx @sturmmhond @takeyourleap-of-faith @saspencereid @calm-and-doctor @reidtheprettyboy @atabigail @ayo-cowbelly @muffin-cup @ssa-natalya-reid @wheelsup @reidingmelodies @this-is-gublerween  @s1utformgg @reidemandweep @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @luwheezey @joalsglasses @je-suis-prest-rachel @dr-omalley @spencie-adams @honestimanormalfan @blurryreid

Permanent (sfw) tags: @mrs-dr-reid @eevee0722 @goldentournesol

Series (x reader) tags: @uhuhuh @itsametaphorbriansblog @magenta145 @annesauriol @watermelongubler @ampal98  @mggsprettygirl @ceeellewrites @daybabyx @joalsglasses @chevyimpala00067 @misshale21 @ilzieah @froggybagels @gublersbooblers @matthcwgraygubler @mrs-dr-reid @flklrevrmre @andromedasstarship @reidspurplescarfs @hanniebee33 @nazdaniels @irisisonline @nazifa94 @elldell1204 @dorotheuh @outer-spacious

[sequinsmile-x]

hi!! congrats on 300!! can i request angst prompt: “I don't need help. I need an end to this pain." thank you<3

Thank you so much <3

-x-

Words: 770 (at this point if it's below 1000 words i'm calling it a win)

Content warnings: *miscarriage/pregnancy loss* - this is the theme of the entire drabble, so please heed the warning if you need to

The house has never seemed so quiet, the clicking of the front door shut almost so loud it’s deafening, echoing throughout the silence of their home.

It had only been 10 hours since they were last here, Emily waking him in the middle of the night, one hand clutching her stomach and the other holding his arm in a death grip.

“Something’s wrong.”

He drove her to the hospital, asked Jessica to rush over to look after Jack, to take him to school in the morning.

Their worst fears were confirmed by a kind doctor in the ER, and Aaron watches his wife break in front of him, sobbing as the doctor explains the next steps. Their world changed again only a few days after it had been changed by two small lines on a stick.

Aaron can’t take his eyes off her, watching as she walks slowly towards the stairs, clearly in as much pain as she had been for hours. Her movements slow and sluggish, none of her usual grace to be found.

“Let me help you up the stairs.” He says, reaching for her, stepping back when she shrugs him off immediately. The silence she had lived in since she was discharged snapping, her voice coming out ragged.

“I don't need help. I need an end to this pain.” She blows out a breath, shakes her head as if it will stop the tears that have already fallen. “It hurts. I am in pain.”

Aaron has to clench his teeth to stop himself from falling apart right there, as if the tension in his jaw was the only thing keeping him upright. She’s not just talking about the physical pain she’s in, he knows that, but that was the part he could help with right now.

“You go upstairs,” he says gently, “I’ll go get some water for your meds. Maybe warm up your heating pad?”

“Sounds good.” Emily wipes her face with the heels of her hands, the tears immediately replaced with fresh ones. She turns and walks up the stairs in silence. The distance to their bedroom had never felt so long.

She settles into bed, time moving around her like it wasn’t real. Like she was in a glass box, everything around her was fuzzy, slightly off. Aaron enters the room a few minutes later, a glass of water in one hand, the prescription she had been given at the hospital in the other, her heating pad tucked under his arm.

“Here you go.” He says, passing them to her, clearing his throat as he watches her take the pills. “I can stay if you want,” he offers, as lost as she’d ever heard him, “or I can go. There’s always paperwork.”

She smiles, the first one since before this had all started. It shakes, is twinned with the tears that still shine in her eyes, but it’s there. And it makes the tiniest bit of hope plant seeds in his chest.

“Aaron,” she breathes out, “I always want you to stay.”

He doesn’t need telling twice, climbing in next to her and gently pulls her into his arms. She thinks it might be the most gentle he had ever been. She curls into him, burying her face into his neck as he places the heating pad on her stomach, the seemingly ever present pain not dissipating.

For a moment, a fleeting moment, she’s taken back to a cold room in Italy, when she was 15 and alone, the same pain leaving her breathless. Then she remembers where she is, and as quickly as that thought arrived she pushes it away. Let’s herself remember that she’s lying with the man she loves, her husband, in the bed they share in the house they own together. It didn’t make it hurt less, physically or otherwise, but it made it a tiny bit easier to take.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, the words catching in her chest.

“Oh sweetheart,” he replies, kissing the top of her head fiercely, pulling her impossibly closer, “you have nothing to apologise for.” He buries his hand into her hair. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

She nods against him, because there is no other response she can come up with, and lets him hold her together, pull her back into one piece until she can do it herself. She feels something damp against the top of her head, only realising a few seconds later that he had his face buried in her hair, his tears falling onto her scalp.

“I really wanted the baby, Aaron.”

“I know, love. Me too.” -x-

You can send me a prompt by following the details here!

[revengeisourlullaby]

If I Never Knew You Pt.3

Pt. 1    Pt.2   Pt. 3   Pt.4   Pt.5   Pt.6

Warnings: 18+, smut in this chapter, unprotected sex, (some dom/sub themes, cunnilingus, squirting, slight breeding/impreg language, creampie, cumplay), some fluffiness follows the smut, secret relationship, angst

a/n: Part 3! This is the smut chapter. This is one of the longer ones. I hope this is meeting everyones expectations from what the first chapter had given off. Very excited to share the rest. As always requests/asks are open! :)

Word count. 3.7K

You were awakened with a light knock on the other side of Loki’s chamber door. You kept your eyes closed not wanting to have to face any conflict fresh out of sleep. Remaining in your same position you heard Thor’s voice informing Loki to feel free to make his way to the dining hall. You kept still, wanting to hear the entire conversation without any disruptions or derailings of what was meant to be said. 

“Who's the young lady between your legs, brother?”

“One I’m thinking of marrying. The only issue is her parents' blessing, something she’s yet to ask. The right time’s on the horizon, but not quite within reach.” 

“Have you spoken to father about it?”

“I have the feeling that waiting until the last moment will work best for me. A bit of chaos if you will.”

Thor chuckled

“You never change, brother.”

“Why alter something that needs not fixing?”

“That bridge is yours to cross and I will be there for you when it happens. Regardless, food will be waiting for you and your lady when you're ready to come out.”

Loki nodded his head in acknowledgment and Thor left the room. With the door closing, you stretched and turned around to face Loki. 

“So, you plan on making me your wife?”

“You were awake?!”

“I had stirred awake when your brother knocked on the door. I wasn’t faking it the whole time. Although I’ll admit, it’s nice to know you’re in this fully.”

You stood up and moved to sit in Loki’s lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Well, since you eavesdropped in on the conversation, are you up to eat?”

You answered, hesitantly,

“Yes...if you’re in it fully and an offer of marriage is in the near future, the least I can do to convey my undying fidelity is to be shared with you in public. I’m ready for it all.”

Standing up, you stepped to the side to let Loki up and lead the way. Once out of his quarters you walked beside him through the corridors of the palace he called home. Arriving in the dining hall to your surprise and relief everyone had already left. The two of you to be left alone. Life felt unusually at ease, anxiety was free from your bones and you had a gut feeling that at least while you were here everything would play out in your favor. It was more than comforting and for once in quite some time you were finally able to eat. A little more than you expected honestly. You hadn’t realized how much you had been depriving yourself of necessary nutrients because eating was the last thing on your mind. Everything had been cluttered for the past year. 

It wasn’t until recently that your appetite began to fizzle out. You knew you’d eventually be okay but one meal a day would eventually catch up to you. And right now it was showing.

“Hungry?”

Suddenly aware of your surroundings and Loki’s raised eyebrow you were faced with how much you had actually gone through while being stuck in your head. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t look like a pig did I?”

You shrunk, your shoulders making a poor attempt at hiding your embarrassed face.

“No, Y/N, you did not. Simply wondering how you put it all away.”

You paused wondering whether or not you should expose yourself. Relationships were all about transparency, right? 

“I haven’t been eating all that much lately. The mental has affected the physical especially within my own home and I finally felt comfortable within these walls and I completely forgot my manners. My apologies.”

“I never said to stop. Indulge till your heart and well, stomach’s content Y/N. This will be your home, thus you may behave however you see fit. There’s no need for change.”

Looking at Loki through your brow you saw that he meant what he said. The expression on his face silently communicating sincerity to you. Your embarrassment faded and was replaced with affirmation. 

Finishing in the hall you and Loki walked back into his quarters. Night had fallen over the sky completely and the hallways of the palace looked more familiar to you now. Entering his room you walked past the bed and went straight for the balcony. You looked up towards the sky, looking for the answer to all your questions to be written in the stars. You failed to hear the footsteps behind you and only became aware of Loki’s presence when his arms wrapped around your waist, his head resting on your shoulders.

“You know, the stars aren’t going to give you the answers with any more ease. Believe me, I’ve tried. You just have to do what you don’t want to.”

“I know I just...I just wish it would be easier. I wish we had the freedoms of the cosmos, being able to travel through the entire mass of space without thought of what's to come next.”

You turned around, resting your back against the railing. You looked down and fiddled with your fingers for a moment before you looked up at Loki. The moonlight was bright and full, casting a white shadow across his features. You were unsure of what to do with your hands so you just placed them by your sides and admired Loki for a little while longer. A small smile subconsciously formed on your face and it wasn't until Loki reached for your hands did the haze in your eyes fade.  

“If only you knew the chaos I’d bring upon worlds. If only you knew the hells I’d race through, the agony I’d suffer with if it meant you by my side...it would seem that freedom is already had, my darling.” 

“Loki, I-

“-No matter the circumstance, you will be by my side. Whatever the battle is you must face with your parents, I swear to you, you will not bear the burden alone. If you were to, then what would I be here for?”

Your hand squeezed around his own and before you got a chance to respond to him, Loki’s hand slipped from your own and tilted your chin up. Staring into your eyes before capturing you into a searing kiss. It felt warm, comfortable, and fueled by fiery passion all at once. You removed your hand from his and wrapped your arms around his neck, weaving your fingers into his hair. Loki’s hands traveled to your waist but didn’t stay long before they traveled further down and firmly grasped your ass in his hand. The action causing an airy moan to slip from you and tug on his hair tighter eliciting a similar response from him. He slipped away from your lips, smirk all too telling of what was to come next 

“Coming alive now that the moon is out? You’re like my own personal bloodsucker.”

You playfully hit his shoulder 

“Loki..” 

“What it’s true darling. You really do, come...alive at night. It’s not a problem though, I quite enjoy seeing you shed the layers you wear while the sun shines.”

Emphasizing his point he squeezed your ass again and tapped under signaling to you to jump. Wrapping your legs around his slender waist, he turned you around and walked back into his bedroom. 

“Now that you are in your element, I take it it's time for that prize you spoke of so arrogantly earlier.”

Your eyes widened realizing what you had just signed yourself up for. Loki placed you gently down on his bed and crawled over to face you directly. 

“Unfortunately...for you at least, your choice in waiting will leave you in desperate need of a pillow to keep you from waking anyone important up.” 

“You’re so snarky, what if I desire to control this evening, hmm?”

“It will be a dream short-lived my love. You and I both know you have a debilitating tendency to fall weak under my touch. It’s irresistible to you.”

Tangling your leg underneath Loki’s, you flipped yourself over so that you were now on top of him. Desperate in having at least one moment to relish in dominance over him. Situating yourself you ground yourself into his now growing arousal. Planting your hands on his chest you brought yourself forward, leaning down into his ear and rolling your hips into his once more causing him to hiss through his teeth. Licking a stripe up from his neck to his ear you ended your trail with a light nibble on his lobe. In your last-ditch effort of a display of power, you whispered in his ear,

“Don’t be dense, you and I both know you enjoy it with much fervor being like this.”

And just like that, your moment of fame was something of the past. Before you could even register that your moment was gone, Loki was already on top of you, and the dress that once adorned your soft skin was being torn down the middle, exposing your body to him.

“Loki!-”

“-My love, there was no room left for teasing. We already established that did we not? Now, to remind you of your place, I’m going to make sure you never forget it or this night we’re sharing.”

Loki snaked down your body, his hands resting on your hips bones while he nudged your sex with his nose. Squirming your way into a submissive role, you rolled your hips down in need of any type of friction. 

“Y/N, unlike some people in the room, I fully intend on giving you what you yearn for. You just have to find the willpower of patience within you. Remember I don’t like teasing.”

“But you do like to lie, which you just did right th-”

Your sentence was cut short cuz Loki had licked a tender stripe between your folds. Sending passion electric through your body. Your head lulled back into the bed fully engaged in Loki’s ministrations to your most sensitive of areas. Losing yourself in the moment you failed to notice Loki’s hands traveling up your sides and resting on your pert nipples. Rolling them between his fingers, your fingers clutched the sheets beneath you, needing something to brace yourself on. 

“Shit~ Loki, you're so good! Oh my god, don’t stop, I’m so close!”

Lifting his head up slightly you felt the change in atmosphere waiting for his smart remark to leave his lips.

“You said that with a lowercase g right?”

A little extra air left your nose signaling your light amusement to his statement. Only to follow it with a roll of your eyes still amazed by Loki’s narcissism even in such an intimate moment. The lightness in the air didn’t last long for Loki continued his attack on your cunt without warning. Smirking against your folds, he spoke

“Don’t roll your eyes at me. Unless you’re seeking punishment this evening.” 

“Fuck Loki!”

His tongue was something otherworldly, finding all your sweet spots and using it to his advantage. He rolled your nipple once more and this time added a lithe finger inside your dripping heat curling it just right to become acquainted with the cute little spongy spot within you. Your hands found refuge in his black locks, rolling your hips into his face feeling your release begin to peak over the precipice. 

“Loki, please don’t stop! I’m so close, I’m gonna cum. Please, Please Loki let me cum.”

A reinvigorated fire was now fueling Loki to help you reach your bliss and with a swift back and forth motion on your now swollen clit your orgasm washed over you in a way you hadn’t felt before. Your back arched and your thighs clamped around Loki’s head being completely overwhelmed with your climax. As your orgasm subsided you brought yourself to your elbows getting ready to return the favor to your lover. But he had other plans.

Grabbing your hips, Loki slid you down the bed closer to him and placed his mouth on your sensitive mound once more.

“Holy shit! Loki, stop, I'm so sensitive.”

Looking up at your through hooded lids, he cocked one eyebrow and questioned

“Do you really want me to stop?”

“I-uhh”

Flattening his tongue against your sex your response was lost in thin air replaced with a cry of pleasure. Loki entered another finger into your fluttering cunt and was determined on bringing you to a second rapture which was not difficult considering the aftershocks of your first one were still running through you. You felt the heat pool in your lower stomach and you began to feel the pressure build somewhere lower. For a split second, you became worried about what was going to happen next and you attempted to push Loki away from you not wanting to lose control, but his other arm kept you in place. 

“Loki, please I can’t handle it. Please!”

You weren’t quite sure what it was you were begging for. It definitely wasn’t for him to stop because you were so close but rather to save the embarrassment of what was to come. Unable to ward off your orgasm any longer, Loki’s finger made one final motion and your second orgasm was even stronger than the first. Ruining your vision and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

“Darling...remind me from now on to never let you writhe out of my ministries.”

Trying to calm down your heavy breathing you looked down at Loki only to be met with the sight of beads of your orgasm trail down his face and your juices glistening on his chin. The sheets beneath you beginning to turn a little cold. 

“Loki, oh my-”

Climbing up over your body, he hovered over your face. Somehow while lost in your own euphoria Loki’s shirt was discarded somewhere in the room and you were all but distracted by his toned physique.

“Don’t even think about an apology. Seeing you lose yourself in me like that was more than satisfying and this was just an extra luxury that you allowed me to enjoy.”

He emphasized his point by rubbing his fingers through your weeping pussy causing your body to jerk due to the sensitivity and Loki just smiled at you. Moaning you trailed your hand down to the pronounced tent in Loki’s pants. 

“I can’t wait any longer Loki. I need you inside of me. Please.”

Your voice faded into a whimper becoming insatiable with Loki above you. Fidgeting with the button on his pants, it didn’t take you long to have them unfastened, and slipped your hand into his pants, palming his length. Loki dropped his head into the crook of your neck, a low growl escaping his throat. Helping Loki push the fabric down the rest of his legs he positioned himself in between your hips lining himself up with your entrance. Looking up at you, you noticed there was a certain softness swimming in his eyes. 

“Y/N, you are so beautiful. Truly you are the most entrancing woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and I’m more than favored to be able to call you mine.”

“Loki, I~oh fuck”

The recurring theme of your sentences being lost in translation continued when Loki prodded his tip at your entrance causing you to suck in a breath of sheer pleasure. 

“Don’t tease me, please. Just fill me up Loki, I feel so empty without you.”

A moan and an airy chuckle left Loki’s lips before he fully sheathed himself within your tight core.

“Darling, no matter how many times I have marred your womb you still remain tight as ever. Gods you feel divine.”

Moving at a slow yet devastating pace Loki’s cock was kissing your cervix and sweet spot with every single thrust. Your core clenching around him created a resistance that was licentious and overwhelming for the both of you. Loki pulled himself almost all the way out and then slammed back into your sopping cunt causing a loud high pitched moan to flee from your chords.

“Shit! Loki, do that again.”

Loki repeated the action and your back arched from the bed and your nails dug into his back racking down the length of it. This new pace and pattern of movement were moving you quickly to your third release of the evening.

“You like that Y/N. Like how my cock can make you feel like no one else can. I’m going to make sure that your insides become so familiar with my shape that nothing else will be able to satisfy you.”

Picking up his pace slightly, Loki was still slamming deep inside you. Your eyes were no longer able to stay open while lost in all the pleasure that was tingling your entire body. Quickly though that thought would be eradicated from your mind as Loki’s hand came up to your face squishing your cheeks together forcing your lips to pout.

“Look at me while I fuck you Y/N. I want to watch you fall apart underneath me. I want you to watch as I fill you with my seed, claiming you as mine forever.”

You and Loki had never let him finish inside of you and the idea of him filling you with his seed and becoming swollen with his kid had you squeezing around him tighter than you ever had. Your moans picked up in frequency and you moved your hand up to his neck bringing his face down to your so that you could share a kiss while the both of you were approaching your highs. Loki’s hand snaked down to your core and began lightly rubbing on your clit. The last bit of stimulation fully brings you to the peak of your approaching high.

“Loki, fuck. I’m going to cum. Please don’t stop. Please please please!”

Loki brought his forehead down to rest on yours. A sticky layer of sweat was evident on both your faces. His thrusts became more erratic signaling he hadn’t much time left in him before his high. 

“I love you, Y/N. More than you could fathom. And I~ahh”

This affirmation took you by surprise. You and Loki had a strong partnership and you knew that you loved each other mutually but you both had never said it out loud before. Not only did this warm your heart but it also pushed you over your threshold and your climax. Washing over you for the third time that evening. Your fluttering core cutting off Loki’s admirations for you and also sending him over his escarpment. 

“I love you too Loki, so much. I~ah fuck you feel so good still.”

Keeping your foreheads still pressed together, you stayed like that until your breathing mellowed out. Waiting for the right moment to speak again. Pulling out of you Loki watched as his seed was spilling out of you due to the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

“Now look at that. This is something I could get used to seeing. But more importantly, I want to ensure that your womb takes all of me.”

Taking his nimble fingers, Loki was gently pushing back his cum inside of your cunt. You were so sensitive that each time his fingers grazed your now wrecked hole, your body reacted with a quick shake and the tightening of your stomach. Your eyes kept halfway rolling into the back of your head, the overstimulation turning into something of immense ecstasy. 

“Come up here Loki.”

Sliding his way up towards the head of the bed where you were, you nestled into his chest. His skin still tacky with sweat, your bodies melding together like human puzzle pieces. Your hand was drawing mindlessly on his chest and eventually found its way to his face where you were thumbing his cheek. 

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what- of course, I did. Y/N you know that lying to you is something I find absurd. And of the few things, I refuse to lie about, intimacy is one of them. Do not fill yourself with unnecessary doubt.”

Turning his face to yours you shared another kiss with him. Tender and full of passion you were silently telling him that you understood and that the feelings were reciprocated. Pulling away from you he sat up.

“Perhaps we should run ourselves a bath. Clean ourselves up before we grow too tired to think about anything else.”

Sighing you pushed yourself up to sit upright on the bed. Lightly nodding Loki stood from the bed and was waiting for you before moving any further. You looked up at him with pleading eyes

“Carry me?”

With a roll of his eyes and a click of his tongue he begrudgingly picked you up bridal style and walked you to the bathroom of his quarters.

“You are incongruous.”

“Perhaps I am, but for us, it works.”

Setting you down on the edge of the tub Loki began drawing the bath. Steam rising up from the heat of the water. You knew it would sting on the way in but the initial burn would morph into relaxation and ease your now tense muscles. Reaching for the soap on the corner of the bath closest to you, you walked over shakily to the spout of water so that bubbles would form before the two of you got in. 

Once the water hit an appropriate height Loki helped you in, already aware of the weakness in your legs. Settling in behind you he began washing you down with one of the many washrags in the bathroom.

“You know, we’re going to have to get this out in the open a lot sooner than we were planning. Especially if you are to have my child.”

“I know. I was thinking about that. Give my silence. Let us wait till morning to run through our thoughts about how to go about this. I want to enjoy this moment with you without the worry of what’s to come next.” 

“Understood my love.”

With Loki having the last word, the two of you shared amorous silence while relaxing in the tub. Enjoying each other’s company, the silence between the two of you was necessary to think about what was going to happen next in the chaos of your life. Finishing up in the bath, you two dried off and headed off to bed. Wrapped in each other’s arms, you drifted off to sleep rather quickly. Your body exhausted from the night's affairs. Not knowing that this would be the last night you recognized what peace could ever look like.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | Drabble 5

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, slight angst

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Another little drabble! It's hard to give this couple up 🥺 this is also a scene that was basically deleted from the main series, so it's been given a time jump! I didn't want people to think it was a cliche moment (it kinda is) but...I think this gives some good clarity on how the MC has grown! Unedited as on mobile.

-

"Do you think your mom will like this?" You query, brows farrowing together as you turn the elegantly decorated plant pot around in your hands. It would match her current living room decor and she loved gardening.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah...why?" Hoseok asks with a distracted tone, his attention grabbed with the collection of fake plants. The two of you had come to a home decoration store as you wanted to redecorate your bedroom. He wasn't hugely interested in how it was done and you were pretty sure that he was here just to spend time with you.

Which was sweet and you loved that he was content to just be with you, but he wasn't being very helpful right now.

"...her birthday? It's next week, we're taking her out for dinner, remember?" He pauses for a moment before his lips turn into a circle.

"Oh yeah, shit. I need to book the table for that." Before you can say anything else, he's pulling out his phone and tapping away on it.

Sighing, you place the pot into the cart and begin to look with an eye for your bedroom. You wanted to inject more plants into the house but Kasumi just tried to eat real ones, so you were stuck with fake plants.

"How about C'est Bonne? Wait no, she doesn't like French food. Hmmm, Italian feels boring though. Do you think she'd like Thai, I think that'd be alright." Hoseok is muttering to himself as he scrolls and you smile affectionately.

To say he'd completely forgotten, you weren't surprised that he was throwing himself into it now.

"Hoseok?" For a moment, neither of you respond. You, because it wasn't your name and so you weren't conditioned to respond to it, and Hoseok because it wasn't your voice.

His head jerked up in confusion, gaze going to you first before looking around. The voice calls again from your left and you turn to see who it is, wondering who was calling out your husband's name.

What you didn't expect is for Hoseok's face to open in surprise, shocked recognition taking over his expression. Like, real shock and you're even more confused and intrigued.

"Yoona?" He asks, his tone slightly unsure and you realise it's obviously someone he once knew. You've heard him mention the name at some point, but you can't remember why you know it.

"It is you! Oh my god, it's so good to see you. How long has it been?" The woman in question, Yoona, smiles brightly and you observe that she's pretty. Very pretty with the kind of hair you see in commercials.

She's wearing plain black jeans that conform to her legs alongside a subtly flowered shirt. Her black pea coat tops it off with a matching deep purple scarf and beanie to cope with the colder weather.

"Err...a while." Hoseok laughs, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck and you recognise the awkward movement. He's a little uncomfortable and your stomach turns as you wonder if this is one of his hook ups.

Surprisingly, you'd never met one of them given how prolific he'd been. Though you did wonder how many of them had also been drunk and probably didn't remember him at all.

Still, you feel the urge to comfort him and move closer, resting your hand on his back in assurance. He straightens a little at the touch before relaxing into you, his arm coming to wrap around your shoulder and hugging you into him a little more strongly than you'd anticipated.

"Oh, Meeps this is Yoona, the girl in college who got me to sort my shit out?" Hoseok's brows rise as his voice turns dry before he looks back at Yoona. "This is Y/N, my wife."

Her eyes flick over to you and surprisingly enough, she doesn't give you a once over. You almost expected her to view you as some kind of threat or rival, but the reassuring smile she gives makes you realise how silly that would be.

"Really? Oh my god, Hoseok! I'm so happy for you, and for you, Y/N! I always knew he had the makings of a good partner, even if he couldn't see it. I'm glad you finally took my advice." Yoona says before reaching out to shake your hand politely.

Surprisingly, it's not nearly as awkward as you'd think to meet one of your husband's ex-flings. Especially one who'd had such an influence on his life.

"Erm, thank you. Hoseok's talk about you sometimes, thank you for helping him back then." You say shyly, feeling your stomach twist uncertainly as you take your hand back and play with your fingers.

Just like he always has, Hoseok instinctively knows when you're not comfortable and he reaches for one of your hands. 

"I've told her lots of things over the years," He grins before kissing your forehead. "My therapy was very good, I promise."

That's directed to Yoona who laughs sweetly and nods in appreciation.

"Good, good, I'm glad. Anyway, I've got to be going but...it was nice to see you! And I'm really happy that you've found someone. I'd love to get to know you better but I'm sure you're amazing. Gotta be to have captured this guy's attention." She smiles and gestures towards you, causing you to feel hot with embarrassment.

"Erm, thank you." You mutter, unsure of how to react. But you're surprisingly okay with her and don't feel any form of threat, even with her important history with Hoseok. It was clear there were no feelings between either of them and you genuinely felt that she was a good person.

Before either of you could say anything else, she said her goodbyes and headed towards the cashiers at the front of the store. There was a brief moment of silence as you both tried to compute what had happened and Hoseok recovered quicker than you did.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly, his words laced with concern that matched the worry in his eyes. You knew why he was feeling like that - Yoona was beautiful, once upon a time he'd slept with her and she'd helped him realise how to move forward. Or at least take the steps there.

If this had happened in the first year of your relationship then you probably would feel disconcerted, unsure what to think about this blast from his past. But you weren't that girl anymore, and whilst you still had your anxieties, you had full and complete faith in Hoseok.

Plus, he'd been as blindsided by her as you were. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. It was nice to finally meet the famous Yoona, she seemed nice." You comment, slipping your arm through his and leaning against him as you both walked towards the bedroom section. Bring so close to him meant that you could practically feel him relax at your words.

"Good, good. I didn't...well I didn't know what to think, really. I was worried you'd be upset or something." Hoseok admits, trailing his hand down your coat sleeve until he can grasp your fingers between his own.

"No, I know all about your history and it was only a matter of time before we met someone. And like I said, she was sweet." There's still some uneasiness in his demeanour though and you squeeze his hand before gently poking the back of it with a finger.

The movement makes him smile and you feel relief at him looking a little happier.

"Seriously, I'm okay. Are you okay?" It was probably a big thing to accidentally meet up with such an important fling, but but could understand why he wasn't comfortable with it all.

That was a part of his past that he wasn't entirely happy with colliding with his very happy present. So you just held on to him as he worked through his feelings.

"Yeah...yeah I am. It was just weird to see her, you know? Never expected that." He let's his free hand trail over a soft, velvet cushion idly and you hum in contemplation.

"I get it. But don't fret over it, okay? I'm fine with it all and...well, it was nice to meet the woman who helped to bring the Hoseok I know to life. Or at least, started the process. Without her, we wouldn't be here."

Hoseok is silent as he considers that, his lips twisting before he licks at his lip ring and nods.

"Yeah, you're right. She's the one part of my past that I'm okay with you seeing in person. I should've thanked her…" Muttering, he sighs before shrugging with a lopsided smile.

"Oh well, let's carry on shopping. Your decorations await! And I need to finish booking that table...I'm actually thinking of maybe trying that Lebanese place…"

[piratewithvigor]

Journey Out Of Darkness: The History Of Kane

Chapter 16: Accident

It's because of the curse, it has to be...

Last Chapter ~ AO3

Taglist: @the--blackdahlia @coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe @wendigoruble @old-no7 @kayfabebabe

Abel had been fairly certain that matters couldn’t get much worse when he woke from a restless sleep to find the book on the floor beside his bed. He’d fallen asleep holding it and it’d slipped off during the night, luckily not spilling any contents, but with the cover open nonetheless. 

After getting dressed and finding the entire kitchen and dining room empty and no breakfast started, something deep in his gut told him a bad night’s sleep was one of his lesser worries. 

Everyone was outside, standing around an ambulance. A number of paramedics were standing around too, but no one seemed to be moving. They were all looking down at something Abel couldn’t make out from between them, but could see clearly when he ducked down to look between their legs. Red was lying on the ground, being examined by one of the paramedics. He wasn’t even lying on a stretcher yet. His eyes were closed and for one horrible moment, Abel wasn’t sure if he was breathing. 

It seemed like everyone was talking all at once, asking questions, answering questions, wondering out loud to no one in particular. He couldn’t pick out specific answers, but from all the information, he had a pretty good idea what had happened. Red’s horse bucked and tossed him off. (“But why did it buck? He’s got that thing as calm as a nun on Sunday.” “Sumthin’ must’ve spooked her.”) His eyes showed he had a concussion or some kind of brain damage (Abel couldn’t imagine guessing how) as well as three cracked ribs and something very wrong with his neck. No one was sure if it was a break or a fracture and they wouldn’t be able to be sure unless they brought him to the hospital. But that was where the argument started. They didn’t know what was wrong, so they had to bring him to the hospital to find out, but because they didn’t know what was wrong, they couldn’t move him, especially not as far as the hospital. 

Abel stood by Mrs. Hill during the argument. She kept dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her apron, but given how red they were, he had a good idea that she’d been crying a lot harder than that at first. 

“He’s gonna be okay, Mrs. Hill. Red’s tough,” he whispered encouragingly.

“He is,” she nodded. “Lord knows he is. I’m certain you’re right… yes, he’ll be okay.”

Abel wished he could actually believe it. But the book upstairs kept him from doing so.

Red had never shown any kind of weakness on a horse before. Never fallen off, even if he was getting bucked. Now the book comes back and he’s fallen hard enough that paramedics decided to move him only so far as his bedroom. 

It was the curse. It had to be.

It was an entire ordeal getting Red up to his own bed. He still wasn’t conscious and these weren’t injuries he could sleep through to recover from. He was going to need care. Lots of it. Far more than even Mrs. Hill was able to give. Abel wasn’t sure who made the call, but by the end of the day, he understood that there was going to be a nurse living in the guest room across the hall from Red. She seemed nice enough, but she didn’t actually introduce herself. Her only focus was on Red, so Abel didn’t get too offended. He much rather she keep that focus going and not get distracted by the little things. 

She was the one who was setting up the machines that the ambulance was bringing in. Abel watched the affair from his bed with the door open to keep from getting in the way. Something to monitor his heart, something to monitor his brain, something for him to- well, Abel didn’t want to think about Red doing that. 

It was nearing dark by the time the excitement was dying down and people remembered they hadn’t yet had breakfast. Of course, no one was really hungry either. Even if they could manage an appetite, the worry radiating off everyone else made it go away pretty darn fast. They’d seen all the machines being brought up to Red’s room. Each one signified one month’s worth of savings that was going to be gone by the time he recovered. Every additional day he needed them was going to make it worse. If there was no money, no one could be paid. If no one could be paid, they would have to be let go. If they were all let go, Margaret, Abel and Red would have to work Aurora by themselves, which wouldn’t be possible. If Aurora couldn’t be worked, she’d have to be sold. Red would have to be free of the machines by the end of the month if anyone had a prayer of keeping their jobs. 

The worries were going back and forth as Abel brought a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter to the table they were all sitting at. Ma always said that when you feel too awful for food is the exact time you need it the most and would usually make him chicken soup whenever he felt that way, but he wasn’t allowed to use the stove without an adult, so he settled for the next best thing. 

It was a bad day, but at least no one went home hungry.

–

That first week, Red came out of it a few times. He’d wake up for a few minutes to ask what had happened, and by the time he’d heard it all, he was asleep again. Abel was lucky enough to have been present for one of the occasions. Red wasn’t particularly chatty, but he did move a hand enough to ruffle Abel’s hair. He was starting to grow it out, just like Red was. It wasn’t long yet, but certainly shaggy. 

“Looks good,” were the only words Red had said on that occasion.

The smile that Abel had been forcing that week was beginning to feel a lot more genuine.

–

It disappeared on the second week, when Doc Johnson said that this particular bout of rest was actually a coma. Another machine had to be brought in to monitor his breathing. The end of the month was a week early.

It was a sinking ship. Everyone was certain of it, even Margaret, during the rare occasion she was sober enough to be understood. With that certainty, she fired Mrs. Hill. 

“Finish up tonight, but then we’re done. I’m sorry, Mrs. Hill, we just can’t afford your services anymore.” As cold and callous as though Mrs. Hill had been an assembly line worker and not the reason the household hadn’t fallen apart for the last 30 years. 

She’d called Abel down to help her with the last meal.

“The last supper,” she murmured as they worked. “I hear about it happening every Easter, but it never felt final like this, because Christ promised to return.”

“You’ll return too,” Abel assured, scrubbing the potatoes in the sink. “Red will get better and then he can hire you back.”

“I’m not so certain, dear boy. Nor am I certain I should be leaving you here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come with me. You can stay with Mr. Hill and me until Red gets better.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Because the curse is already going to kill Red and might make Margaret kill me. I can’t let you or your family get hurt too.

“Red’s my dad. I can’t run away from him like this.”

Mrs. Hill sniffled and pulled him into a side hug.

“You’re a good boy, Abel. You’re a very very good boy. You’ll write from time to time? Let me know you’re okay?”

“I will.”

–

They didn’t have the money to have Mrs. Hill on anymore, but it seemed like they still had plenty of money for liquor. Margaret was drunk far more often than not. She was drinking like she was dying of thirst at all times. Abel would wake up an hour or two early in order to walk to the bus for school to avoid her and take as long as he could walking back home. He could avoid her in the morning and for most of the afternoon and as long as he got his chores done, she didn’t seem to notice or care. On one or two occasions, he contemplated missing the bus on purpose in order to walk home. The only thing that stopped him was that there was no sidewalk on the highway between school and Aurora and the snow banks on the side of the road were a good bit taller than he was. Given his luck, he would end up looking like a cherry sno-cone halfway through his walk.

So he took the bus and he took the time on the bus to pray. He just didn’t know what else to do. Praying made Mrs. Hill feel better and it made Melissa Vick feel better, so maybe it would make him feel better too. It didn’t make him feel all that much better. Just made him feel like he was doing something he was nowhere near worthy of doing.