#god i wish someone would either tape his mouth SO HE SHUTS THE FUCK UP so i can sleep/study/concentrate. or slap him silly

[minglana]

one more night suffering through the curse of living in aragon, land where voice tones are very loud and booming. and some men refuse to cant control their voices so it can be 2 am and i will be hearing him speak in the room next door

[viking-raider]

The Immortal Sky - Part VII *Mature*

Summary: It’s a battle to survive and not everyone will make it.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 17,431

Rating: M - Dystopian!AU, Futuristic!AU, Language, Dark Themes: Severe Angst, Violence, Torture, Kidnapping, Traumatic Death, Blood, Life Threatening Injures, Severe Trauma, Life Changing Events, Hurt/Comfort, and a teeny bit of Fluff

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

Author’s Note: This is the final official Chapter of The Immortal Sky, I will be doing a short Epilogue to round things out though. I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for all the love, comments and support! A super thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for being a great support, listening to my crazy thoughts, giving me amazing suggestions and ideas, and just being an all around amazing friend!

You gasped, sitting up on your elbows, heart pounding and drenched in a cold sweat as the nightmare continued to dig its claws into your waking moments.

“Henry?” You called out, instinctively, before remembering he wasn't there.

Still.

Letting out a hard and shaky breath, you dropped back onto the mattress, damp from your sweat. You stared up at the ceiling, gripping the blankets in shaking fists as hot and furious tears dripped over your temples and into your hair.

“He isn't coming back.” You choked on your own snot. “They've captured and killed him, I just know it. He's died trying to protect me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. To make up for it, so his pain and death weren't in vain.” You took gasping breaths and only choked more on your tears. “I'm so sorry Henry. Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You wailed, crying without abandon.

You beat your fists on the mattress, outraged at your negativity and ease of giving up on him. Henry wouldn't have given up on you, he would have stayed strong and came for you, like he had when you ran away from him in London. Jerking up, you sat on the edge of the bed, the springs of the mattress creaking under your shifting weight.

“He's still alive.” You forced yourself to say out loud. “Henry is still alive, and I will find him.”

Resolved to this conviction, you stood up and dressed, pressing his shirt to your face and took a deep breath, inhaling his earthy and masculine scent, fortifying you, before slipping it on over your own shirt and finished tying your shoelaces. You weren't completely sure what to do or how to go about finding, and potentially saving, Henry. You weren't the amazing and seasoned High Marshal Henry was, is. You tried putting yourself in his shoes, hard as it was to fill size eleven boots. So, you started in the only place that made sense to you, the Black Bone pub, where your brother and his handler were known to frequent. So, locking your room, you trekked the six blocks from the hotel to the dingy pub, heart pounding in your throat as you entered.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender asked you as you approached the counter.

“Um,” You looked at the stained menu taped to the bar top. “A Virgin Mojito, please.”

The bartender lifted a brow at you, shrugged his shoulders and turned away from you. A minute later, he set the tall glass in front of you and held out his hand, wanting payment. Sighing, you dug out the meager change you had and slapped it into his hand, picked up your drink and took a seat in the corner, the same corner you occupied with Henry the day before.

You tried your best to look as inconspicuous as you possibly could, keeping your eyes on the tv, like Henry had, swirling your drink with the thin black straw inside of it and checking out everyone in the room from the corner of your vision. It was slightly more busy than it had been the morning before, but there was no sign of your brother, Knox or Henry. What your inexperienced eye failed to notice, was the bartender keeping his eye on you, for several minutes, before going to the back of the store room and making a phone call.

“Yeah, Ashe. It's me, Bruce, the owner of the Black Bone. You asked me to keep an eye out for a lady.” He rattled off your description. “Told me to call if I saw her around.”

“And?” Ashe replied, staring at the black, web-like, 3-D printed cast on the hand he busted in his fight with Henry.

“She's back.” Bruce told him, stepping out of the store room and peeking around the corner, to make sure you were still there, clearly ignoring your drink. “Sitting in a booth, right now.”

“Excellent.” Ashe grinned, wolfishly. “I'll be right over, let me know if she leaves.”

Bruce hung up with Ashe and moved back to serve his new customers, keeping his eye on you the whole time. You finally took a sip of your drink, the mint was refreshing to your taste-buds with the slight twinge of the lime's tartness, when the door of the pub chimed as it opened and from the corner of your eye you saw who entered, making your blood run cold, the man from the day before, who had given Henry the creeps and chased you both down the alleyway. Your hands shook as he glanced in your direction, a faint smirk on his thin lips, you noticed the cast on his arm and drew conclusions; knowing he and Henry must have gotten into a fight. Wishing you had the bartender put the rum into your drink after all, you gulped it down and tried to get up as casually and calmly as possible, eyes darting to the lopsided and hand written sign above the bathroom door and headed that direction.

The bathroom was big enough for a discolored and filthy toilet and a teeny window above that. Locking the bathroom door, you climbed top of the toilet, wobbling on the unstable tank to peek out the cloudy windowpane. There was another alleyway behind the pub, but you couldn't see where either end of it led out too, but you weren't going back out into the bar area with Ashe there, waiting to pounce on you. The window was wedged into the frame, sticking it into place from years of hard rains and freezing winters, swelling and warping the wood. Biting your lip, you started bashing it with the heel of your hand, the wood protesting and squeaking with each blow, until it suddenly flew open.

Glancing over your shoulder to the latched door as the dented handle started to rattle, you wasted no time, jumping and diving halfway through the window, legs flailing and kicking the dingy wall. Scrambling to get a footing and wiggle the rest of the way through the window, the rough wood scraping and cutting up your sides and ripping holes into your jacket. The bathroom door started to shake, a shoulder driving into it, you knew it wouldn't be long before Ashe busted through and hauled you out of the bathroom. Growling in frustration, you kicked hard at the wall, breaking through the crumbling drywall and used it to boost yourself up more. Punching more and more holes into the wall with your feet to you wiggle and shimmy through the window.

You gasped as your hips passed through the window frame and scrambled to get a footing on the other side, before you fell face first into a pile of two week old trash. You had just managed to flip yourself as you fell out of the window, landing on your butt on top of the overstuffed black plastic bags with a grunt. The eruption of Ashe charging through the bathroom door exploded above you, followed by his flurry of curses as his head popped through the window, the only thing small enough to fit through it.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared, pushing an arm through the window with his head to try and grab at you.

You struggled to your feet and stumbled away from Ashe and the window, out of breath and bleeding. Knowing he wasn't going to get through the window, Ashe jerked back inside and stormed out of the bathroom, shoving and knocking people aside as they came to see what all the commotion was about. Not waiting around for Ashe to reach you, you bolted down the alleyway, slipping on the slimy pavement and tripping over trash, just making it to the end, when two shadows blocked the way. Startled, you tried twisting around to run the other way, but they were faster than you were, grabbing the hood of your jacket and yanked you back, making you choke in the process.

“You ain't going anywhere.” One of them huffed as you were slammed chest first into the wall, scraping the side of your face on the rough surface.

Your arms were harshly yanked behind you and hands slipped through the loops of thick black cuffs, before your captor pressed a button on the handle connecting the cuffs and they automatically tightened around your wrists, painfully cutting off circulation and into your skin. They jerked you off the wall and faced you out of the alleyway, one of them clamped a hand down on your shoulder, making you whimper in pain and try to shrink away from him, only to be struck in the side.

“You should have stayed in London.” Ashe's angry voice growled as he approached the three of you, pinching your chin between his fingers. “Or just not have been born at all.” He hissed, letting go of your head with a jerk. “Get her in the van.” He ordered the two men, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, to the van parked at the curb, its back sliding door open and waiting.

You looked up and down the sidewalk as they pushed and shoved you towards the van, frantically hoping someone would see the four of you and rush to help you, stop them for kidnapping you. But, as you looked at the full street, you noticed everyone looking everywhere but at you, not wanting to get involved, knowing doing so would land them in the same hot water you were finding yourself in. But, to your utter shock, one face did look back at you, just as stunned to see you as you were to see them.

“Michail.” You mouthed, blinking like it was just a fragment of your frantic mind. “Mikey!” You screamed out, realizing it wasn't your mind toying with you, before you were thrown into the van and the door was slammed shut behind you.

“Let's go grab a pint.” Knox said, throwing on his jacket. “Come on, Keagan, one pint won't kill you. We have a load of time before your first big run.”

Michail sighed and rubbed at his face, his back ached from hunching over the map of his first run as an Adjutant Runner for Quinn. He had been staring at it non-stop for two weeks and the run was due to happen in three days. But, Knox was right, an hour's break to enjoy a frothy pint at the pub would do him and his brain some good. So, stiffly raising from his chair, he grabbed his own jacket and followed Knox to the lift and down the four floors to the ground floor and out onto the street. They chatted about the run as they walked down to the Black Bone, Knox's usual establishment for a good pint, hammering out more details and clearing up any misunderstanding about what was to go down, once it did happen.

But, they were interrupted by a small scuffle ahead of them, near the pub.

Looking away from each other and to the altercation, they saw three sizable men roughly handling a woman, her hands tied behind her back. Michail felt the breath in his lungs freeze and his heart drop out into his stomach as he met the woman's eye, watching her mouth his name, before yelling it out.

“Mikey!”

“Issy?” He whispered back, too stunned to manage anything louder before you were manhandled into the van.

“You know that woman, Mike?” Knox asked, his eyes panning between the speeding away van and him.

“She's my sister.” Mikey replied, his mouth hanging open, shocked and speechless to not only find you in Bristol, but being carted away by those ruffians. “But, she should be back in London.” He blinked, slowly regaining himself. “What the hell is she doing here in Bristol? Do you know who those guys were?” He asked, looking at Knox.

“Only one of them.” Knox replied, narrowing his eyes. “The blond is Ashe James, he works as a free agent, working several different jobs in every Sector.”

“Why would he take my sister like that?” Mikey asked himself, deeply troubled.

“We'll find out later, let's get that pint.” Knox answered, clasping Mikey on the back and pushed him towards the pub.

Henry spit nothing, but blood, as Emilio gave him another crack punch to the face; which was multicolored and inflamed. A cut high on the bridge of his bloody nose and upper lip, his bottom lip was split and bleeding as well, blood caked in his beard and curls, as well as his chest; soaking into the fabric of his jeans. His eyes burned from the unyielding and bright lights illuminating the room. He was spent and exhausted, leaning forward with his head lulling and eyes half rolled and swollen shut. A forest of marks and box cutter cuts littered his body, partiality around the surgical site of his artificial kidney. He was more than sure every one of his ribs were broken or cracked, making him wheeze and hiss with every breath he took.

Henry wasn't sure how much more of he could take, but that didn't mean he would break.

“I don't think you have much more blood in you, mate?” Emilio huffed, shaking his throbbing hand, his fingers puffy and bruised from hitting Henry so many times. “Usually, the people I—set straight—have given up by now. But, no. Not you, you're tough. I respect that.” He said, shrugging his sore shoulders.

“To a point.” He chuckled, slapping Henry in the back of the head, making him whimper. “Why don't you tell my boss where the girl is? Then, we can let you off. But, if you don't, you'll just end up dying here.”

Henry remained quiet, he had run out of witty and smart-ass comments hours before. So, he kept his mouth shut and reserved his energy and strength to withstand their assault on him. The one saving light was the thought of you safe and sound in your room. He knew, by now, you were freaking out and panicking. There were no clocks and only one mirror that Henry knew, without a doubt, was a two way, but he could catch a glimpse of Emilio's expensive watch. He had been in the room for nearly twelve hours, all night and most of the morning.

He sighed, grimacing as he swallowed another mouthful of blood that was pooling in his mouth from his bloody nose, cut lip and the cuts on the inside of his cheeks; his stomach cramped and twisted as he swallowed it down, adding to his discomfort. His mind started to wonder, his pain was beginning to numb his battered nerve-endings, he wondered how much longer he would survive, what blow would potentially kill him.

He counted each blow.

One.

Two.

Three.

The door came flying open and Benji waltzed in, the door slamming closed behind him, as he grinned and looked chipper after getting a good night's rest, having left not long after Henry's torture started. But, he seemed overly happy, too happy, for Henry to be comfortable with, he knew something. That's when Henry's fear finally spiked and his abused body tensed and his bloodshot, blue orbs widened with panic, showing that growing ounce of fear outwardly for the first time.

“Well, Mr. Cavill, I see that you are still alive!” Benji quipped with an amused smile, grabbing the back of Henry's sweaty and bloody curls, and jerked his head back, roughly. “I am quite impressed by your stamina. I bet the ladies love it.” He teased, lowering himself to meet Henry's gaze.

“I have a surprise for you, Henry.” He cooed, menacingly, his brown eyes darkening to a black hole of evil and danger. “I'm quite sure you'll be relieved to see it.” He said softly, running a finger over the freshly bleeding cut on Henry's brow, making him hiss as heavy beads of sweat mixed into it, then straightened up.

“Bring it in!” He yelled, moving away from Henry and turned towards the two way mirror.

The door swung open again, revealing Ashe, who pressed his back against it, to keep it open, and motion into the hall for someone to come forward. Henry's shoulders fell with his face, the last bit of his strength he had draining out of him as you were shoved into the room, stumbling and almost falling if Ashe hadn't grabbed the handle of your zip cuffs and steadied you.

Your mouth dropped open seeing the pitiful and terrifying condition Henry was in, covered in blood, bruises, cuts and god knows what else. You struggled to swallow down your throbbing heart and blinked back the searing tears that burned your eyes, biting hard into your lip to keep yourself from falling apart. Henry licked his split and chapped lips and blinked slowly at you, trying to keep himself together, but not to cry, but to not lose his temper, his muscles flexing as his anger flared and surged beneath his blue and purple, blood covered skin, straining in his restraints, like a bull seeing red.

“Two very different reactions.” Benji commented, watching the pair of you through the two-way mirror. “Interesting.” He hummed, turning on the heels of his expensive dress shoes. “I've been looking for you.” He said, stepping closer to you. “Thank you for making it so easy to find and get a hold of you.”

He smiled, touching the tip of his finger to your cheek and drew a smiley face on it.

In Henry's blood.

“Release her hands.” He ordered, snapping his fingers.

“Boss, is that a good idea?” Ashe asked, hesitating with the key to your cuffs. “She's pretty cunning.”

Benji's cool broke and slapped Ashe across the face, ripping the key out of his hand and releasing the cuffs from around your wrists. “I know what she is, you moron. But, what is she going to do? They're in my house, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of my men. Even if, they managed to get out of this room, they wouldn't make it out of the hall, before we either killed or incapacitated them. So,” He smirked at you, giving you a sour taste in your mouth.

“Let's leave them be.” He chuckled, making a motion with his hand and cleared the room, other than you and Henry.

You stood frozen for several moments, unable to move as you and Henry stared at each other, your silent tears finally escaping down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Henry.” You sniffled, gulping thickly.

Henry closed his eyes and sighed, groaning and gently shaking his head. He knew, he knew you had left the room to come look for him, the guilt and evidence of it was all over your face. “It's all right.” He finally replied, his voice dry and raspy. “I know you were scared.”

“I was worried.” You whimpered, slowly approaching him. “I still am.” You told him, dropping to your knees before him, looking over his battered body. “I'm sorry, Henry. I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted anyone to get hurt because of me. Least of all, you.”

Your emotions started to overwhelm you, reaching out to gently cup his face in your shaking palms and pushed up on your toes to touch your forehead to his temple. Henry frowned and nudged your face with his, trying to give you what comfort he could, while still tied to the chair. Your wet cheek smeared more blood on the both of you, as you wrapped your arms loosely around his bare waist.

“I told you to wait for me.” He whispered, meeting your damp eyes.

“I tried.” You protested, pulling back from him. “But, I-” You bit your lip and looked away from him.

“I told you, I'd come back for you.”

“How?” You snapped, incredulous. “You're tied to a fucking chair and practically bleeding to death!”

Henry narrowed his eyes at you. “I'll be fine, I just needed more time. I've done this before.” He told you, shaking his head, then regretting it.

“That doesn't make me feel any better or convince me, Henry.” You replied with a huff. “How are we going to get out of here?” You asked, lowering your voice, sure they were eavesdropping.

“I'll think of something.” Henry answered, looking around the room, but there was very little to aid you in that endeavor. “Just stay strong for me.” He added, turning his face into yours, his chapped lips brushing your ear.

“Nugget.”

Benji stood in the room adjoined to the interrogation room you and Henry were held in, watching the two of you interact and talk, when a phone started to ring. Flexing his hands, Benji turned on his men, glaring each of them in the eyes until one of them shied away from his gaze.

“Answer it, Luis.” He hissed at the smaller man. “Now!” He roared, making everyone flinch.

Luis slipped a shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, flipping it open and answering it. “Hello?” He squeaked, his voice high pitched with fright. “Um,--” He shuttered, eyes glued to Benji. “It's Monroe, Sir. He's asking about the girl, why she was nabbed this morning.” He explained, holding his phone out to Benji.

“Knox!” Benji roared into the receiver. “Why are you asking about the girl?” He demanded.

“My new Runner, they know each other.” Knox replied, cool as ice, he was used to Benji's outbursts. “We saw Ashe and the boys dragging her out of the Black Bone, she saw us too, and called out Keagan's name. When I asked how she knew him, he answered that she was his sister.”

“Her brother?” Benji said slowly, turning back to the mirror and staring at you as you huddled close to Henry. “Bring him to me, I want you here within the hour.”

“You got it, boss.” Knox replied, hanging up.

“The bubble of intrigue just keeps growing around this girl.” He said, studying you. “I love it.”

“I just got a call from headquarters.” Knox said as he approached Mikey at their table. “We need to go in, they're having a Runner meeting we need to attend to get the new details on our run in a couple days.” He explained.

“All right.” Mikey nodded, wiping the foam off his upper lip as he finished off his pint. “Are we going straight there?” He asked, standing up.

“Yep.” Knox nodded, clapping him on the back and directing him to the door, waving to the bartender as they left.

They hailed a cab to the Hernandez building, it was the tallest building in all of Bristol, showing the power, presence and money they had, running their empire of drugs and violence. The twenty minute ride there was quiet, and Knox almost felt bad for Mikey, knowing the kid had zero clue what was about to happen to him, but he wasn't sorry for the fact he was related to you, who could possibly bring down the business that kept him employed and out of the Slums.

“Mr. Hernandez is expecting us.” Knox told the receptionist at the front desk.

Nodding her head, the receptionist picked up her phone, dialed a number and waited for it to pick up. “Mr. Monroe to see you, sir.” She said, then hung up. “He'll meet you at lift number three.” She told Knox, then returned to her paperwork.

“Come on, Keagan.” Knox called, motioning Mikey to follow him.

Mikey followed him, unaware and naive to what was about to happen to him, to what was waiting for him, as the lift doors slid open and revealed Benji and Ashe. It was seeing Benji and Ashe that Mikey got a strange feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it, figuring it was just nervous jitters from meeting the most powerful man in Bristol.

“Knox.” Benji smiled at his prized Runner, then settled his cold eyes on Mikey. “Mr. Keagan, how nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much.”

“All good, I hope.” Mikey gulped.

“Of course.” Benji chuckled, motioning for the two men to step into the lift with them. “Let's go to my office to speak.” He suggested.

The ride in the lift was silent and stiff, no one speaking or moving, not even making eye contact for the several minutes the ride took, until the ding announced their arrival to the floor and the sleek metal doors slid open. Benji stepped off first, followed by Knox and Mikey, with Ashe bringing up the rear. They walked down a long hallway and Benji stopped beside a door, scanned a key card and pushed it open, motioning for Mikey to go in first, wanting to see his reaction as he entered.

Biting his lip, Mikey did as he was told, a nervous sweat breaking out on his brow as he moved into the dark room, noticing the wall length window to one side. He stopped in front of it, looking through the two way mirror and felt his jaw and heart hit the floor.

“Issy.” He gasped, seeing you pacing the bright room, then noticed the large and beaten male tied to the chair in the room as well.

His shoulders slumped as it all clicked in his head, he had been lied to too and was now as much a prisoner as you and Henry were. A cold sweat broke out all over his body and his hands started to shake, gulping several times to try and keep his composure.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked, eyes snapping to Benji as he watched Ashe lock and block the door, leaving Knox in the hallway.

“Who is that girl to you?” Benji asked, lightly tapping the glass of the mirror. “And answer truthfully.”

Mikey steeled himself. “I don't know.” He huffed, puffing out his chest.

Benji rolled his jaw and banged on the mirror, grabbing Emilio's attention. Smirking, Emilio pushed himself off the door he had been leaning against and strode over to you, startling you and making you stubble away from him.

“NO!” Henry and Mikey both screamed at the same time as Emilio grabbed you roughly by the hair, yanking your head backward and making you cry out as he shoved you closer to the mirror.

“Who is she to you?” Benji asked again, slowly.

“A friend.” Mikey whimpered, clenching his fists together as he felt and saw your pain.

Benji knocked on the window again. This time, Emilio twisted you around by the hair and slammed your back up against the mirror and wrapped his meaty hand around your slender neck. Henry jerked and squirmed in his chair, roaring with madness and cursing loudly as Emilio choked you, trying desperately to break free and pull him off of you, before it was too late.

“Stop!” Henry roared, letting his anger and frustration out in a violent scream. “Let her go! Do it to me!” He begged Emilio. “Let her be!”

Mikey doubled over, his hands braced on his thighs as he gasped for air, like a goldfish out of it's tank. “Please, stop this.” He begged Benji, in a wheeze.

Benji tilted his head as he watched Mikey, watching his distress as it mirrored your own. Curiously, he banged on the mirror again and Emilio, still choking you with one hand, drove the fist of his other into your stomach, making you yelp around his hand, incapable of more as you struggled for air. Mikey stumbled back into a shelf behind him, nearly losing his footing. Benji's fingers caught the underside of Mikey's chin and jerked his head back, thick strings of drool on his lips and chin.

“Tell me who she is to you?” He hissed in his face.

“Please.” Mikey begged him, weakly.

“Tell me, and I'll make him stop.” Benji told him, his face twisted with smug malice.

Mikey whimpered, hearing you struggling and Henry's desperate protests. “She's my sister.” He broke. “My twin sister.” He admitted, weakly.

“Your twin?” Benji echoed, intrigued. “So, you feel what she feels. Does she feel what you do, I wonder.” He let go of Mikey and knocked on the mirror twice, signaling Emilio to release you, which he did, causing you to collapse to the floor. “Ashe, go in there and tell me if she feels anything from him.” He ordered, keeping his eyes on Mikey.

Nodding, Ashe left the room and entered yours and Henry's, nodding at the mirror, so Benji knew he was in position. Smiling, Benji promptly drove his knee into Mikey's stomach and looked behind him and saw Ashe smirking and chuckling to himself.

“The connection between twins.” Benji laughed, amused to all ends. “I love it. Let's have a proper little family reunion, shall we!” He declared and motioned to Luis to grab Mikey. “Bring him.” He ordered, marching out of the room. “Good news everybody!” He declared, bursting into the room with you and Henry.

“It's family time!” He laughed, as Luis shoved Mikey into the room with the two of you.

“Mikey.” You coughed and rasped, holding your bruised neck.

“Issy.” He rasped back, crawling over to you. “Where have you been?” He asked, cupping your face in his shaking hands. “We thought you were dead.”

“I went looking for you, to try and patch things up with our parents, after the fight.” You explained, fresh tears dripping down your face. “But, I was caught by the Traffickers and was held by them. Henry,” You looked up at him, still straining in the chair, his blue eyes wild. “he saved me and I've been with him the whole time.”

Mikey blinked up at Henry, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Saved you?” He echoed your words, but not your sentiments and appreciation. “The only reason a person goes into a Trafficker's warehouse, if they're not merchandise, is to buy.” He hissed, his face darkening. “You bought my sister from a fucking Trafficker. Typical Upper, buying and enslaving us just because we were born in a lower Sector than you.”

“Mikey, it wasn't like that?” You panted, shaking your head at him, desperate for him to understand.

“How can you fucking defend him!” Mikey barked, gritting his teeth at you. “Unless he's already brainwashed you, convinced you that owning you didn't make you any different than him.”

“I don't own her.” Henry growled, low in his throat.

“Is that so!”

“It is!” You barked back, regaining yourself. “He never registered me for an Ownership Bracelet. Henry's never treated me like a Slave, or even a Slummer, for that matter. He's been good to me, Mikey.” You told him, cupping his tense neck in your hands and pressed your forehead to his. “He's been helping me to find you.” You whispered to him, holding his eyes.

“He's been protecting me.” You said quieter.

“I was originally meant to follow her until you were found, then bring you both back to London.” Henry added, his eyes on you. “So, she could testify against him.” He jerked his chin at Benji. “and to turn you in for your part in the Running business. But,” He paused and sighed. “But, I changed my mind and decided to just help her bring you back home, safely. Make up some story about why I didn't bring you in, then once she testified, I was going to release her to go back home to your family.” He explained.

Mikey opened his mouth to ask why a High Marshal would bother to do something like that, when he finally felt it, a warmth that came from you, and met your eyes and saw the cause of your warmth, towards Henry. You were in love with the High Marshal, and looking to Henry, he could tell that Henry felt just as strongly about you.

“I've been a complete brainless prick.” Mikey sighed, feeling guilty, if he hadn't decided to become a Runner, then none of this would have happened, the two of you and Henry would still be safe and sound in London, going about your lives as should be.

“I'm sorry, Issy.”

“Well, you're just a stupid boy, what do you know anyway.” You huffed, smiling softly and shrugging it off.

“Well, isn't this all well and sweet.” Benji huffed pushing off the wall.

“But, we all have an issue. The three of you are a threat to my business.” He said, folding his arms. “You, High Marshal, are on the case that threatens my business. You,” He looked at Mikey. “Being a Runner, know the routes and procedures of my business, and you,” He settled his eyes on you. “Are the witness to my operations and hold the key to ruining my business in London and putting away one of my best Traffickers.”

“I can't let you live.” He said, looking at the three of you. “So, we're going to play a fun little game.” He smirked, greedy and giddy, as he rubbed his hands together. “Luis, your gun.” He ordered, holding his hand out to the other man. “Ashe draw yours as well, and Emilio, why don't you untie Mr. Cavill over there, we do out number them with people and firearms, so I doubt either of them will be stupid enough to try something.” He said, motioning Emilio towards Henry.

Obeying, Emilio removed the key to Henry's bonds from his front pocket, while Ashe had his gun trained on him, anticipating any attempt Henry, you or Mikey might make to try and be a savior. Emilio unlocked the ties around Henry's chaffed ankles, then his wrists. Henry let out a relieved sigh as the strain and tension of his shoulders and arms released, almost slumping out of the chair.

“Henry!” You gasped, dashing forward to try and catch him.

“Ah, no!” Benji barked, stopping you in your tracks. “Leave him be.” He hissed at you. “Get up, Cavill.” He demanded of Henry. “Now, or I'll start putting holes in her!”

Groaning, Henry forced himself to stand, swaying on his throbbing and injured legs and almost falling, but caught himself on the back of the chair. Assured that Henry would be able to reasonably stand, then took the gun Luis was still holding out to him, Benji removed the clip from the firearm, checking how many rounds it had, reloaded the clip and cocked the slide, securing a bullet into the chamber.

“Take it.” He snapped, holding it out to you.

“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head and taking a step away from him.

“You either take it, or I kill all three of you now, starting with the High Marshal, then your dear brother and you last, so you can watch as your brother and the man you love, die.” He threatened, with an eerie calm.

Taking a shuddering breath, you stepped forward again and, with a shaky hand, took the heavy weapon from Benji's hand. You looked at Henry and Mikey with wide and frightened eyes, visibly shaking with terror. They both looked back at you with the same fright and worry.

“So, this is our game.” Benji grinned, licking his lips, like an evil serpent. “You get to choose who dies first, and get the honor of killing them.” He told you, grinning sinisterly.

“No.” You whimpered, slowly shaking your head. “No, I can't. Please, I can't.” You begged him, trembling, and staring down at the gun, like you expected it to swallow you.

“None of you are going to leave this room alive. So, you might as well put each other out of your own misery.” Benji tried to reason with you. “Do you want them to suffer because of your selfishness?”

“Don't listen to him.” Henry snapped, drawing your attention. “You don't need to do this, just give me the gun.” He told you, reaching out a hand to you.

“He's right, Issy. You don't.” Mikey agreed, holding his own hand out. “Just give it to one of us, we'll figure this out.”

Both Henry and Mikey knew why Benji had given you the gun. You would never have considered hurting anyone, with or without the firearm; unlike Henry and Mikey, who would.

Your eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure who to give it to. What would Henry do, if you were to give him the gun? Would he manage to kill Benji, Ashe, Luis and Emilio before they could do any real damage to the three of you? What about Mikey? Did your brother even know how to use a gun? What would he do once he had it? Should you even give it to them? What if one of them turned on the other, what if Henry turned on Mikey? He had originally been sent after you to bring you back to testify and take care of Mikey, because of his involvement with Benji and Bristol. Would Mikey try to kill Henry, because he was a High Marshal, maybe try to save face and show Benji he could be trusted, to save himself, and maybe you too.

You knew neither of them would turn on you or harm you in any way. You weren't afraid of them; you were afraid for them, and what they might do if they had the gun themselves.

It took all you had not to throw up, then and there. Everyone was staring at you waiting for your decision, but you couldn't decide, you wouldn't decide. You loved Henry and you loved your brother, you would rather kill yourself than one of them; and it was as if they sensed your mind go in that direction, for both Henry and Mikey jerked towards you, startling you.

“No!” Henry hissed, his eyes wide with panic. “Don't you dare.” He panted heavily, spots in his eyes as his advanced blood loss started to take its toll on him, on top of everything else going on. “Don't you dare turn that gun on yourself.” He whispered, half begging and half ordering you.

“Listen to him, Issy.” Mikey agreed, nodding his head. “Don't harm yourself. We can figure this out.” He said, eyeballing Benji over your shoulder.

Tears dripped down your face, like a waterfall after a heavy rain, it was too much, it was all too overwhelming for you to take. Mikey looked between you and Henry, he saw the absolute terror and worry in Henry's eyes, his pupils eating away the cobalt blue and speck of brown of his irises. Your own blown out pupils doing the same as you started back at him. It was something that Mikey wasn't used to. When things became scary and too much, it had always been him that you looked to in those moments, but this time, it was Henry you were seeking comfort and protection from.

“You fucking prick!” Mikey growled, trying to lung at Benji.

“Ah ah!” Benji barked back, grabbing Luis's wrist and forcing him to point his gun at you. “If either of you try and act a hero, Luis will kill her, out right.” He warned, meeting Mikey and Henry's eyes.

Biting his lip, Mikey took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, Benji had the three of you cornered. He was forcing you to kill one of the men you loved with your own life, while stopping Henry and Mikey from trying to save the day, by threatening to kill you, knowing they both would die to keep you safe.

What a twisted and poisonous web that was being weaved in the room. But, sooner or later, the strings of that web would start to snap and unravel, taking all of you with it.

Mikey took a hesitating step forward, his heart pounding and choked inside of his throat, his eyes daring between you, Benji and Luis. Reaching out, he wrapped his hand around your wrist, feeling the weight of the gun you held in that hand. The pounding pulse in your wrist drummed against Mikey's fingers, and he felt his own heart become attuned with yours. From the day the two of you came into the world, you several minutes before him, the pair of you were in sync, but as you grew older, you became less so. You had taken the right path, following the law, doing the job assigned to you, making the best of the life you had been dealt, without a complaint. While Mikey rebelled and became restless, wanting to be more, wanting the people he loved to be and have more than you already did, failing to see the wealth he already had, in you, your parents and little brother.

It was too late now to go back and fix those things, to see and cherish them properly, like Mikey now realized he should have.

The two of you synced together, heart beats the same steady, but pounding rate, breathing heavy and as one, flowing in a way that only twins could. You read his face, like it was the page of an open book and knew what he was doing. Your hand grasped the grip of the gun tighter, eyes widening and head softly shaking.

It's all right, Issy. His face and eyes said to you.

No. Your eyes begged back, blinded by collecting tears. Not like this. Don't do this. I can't live without you, Mikey.

You'll be fine, Sis.

He looked away from you, to Henry, who stood there, supporting himself on the back of the chair he had spent hours being tortured in. Henry looked back at Mikey, confused, just like everyone else in the room to what was transpiring between you, narrowing his eyes and frowning, shaking his head at Mikey, wanting to understand. But, Mikey looked back to you, squeezing your wrist and pressing his free hand to your chest.

You have the High Marshal to care for and protect you now. His eyes said to you. And he'll do a better job at it. He can give you the love, life and protection you need and deserve in life.

You shook your head at him, eyes screaming at him. Don't do this! What about our parents? Our little brother? What will I tell them? They will be crushed.

I'm no good and we both know this. Let me do this, and prove I still have some good left in me.

His hand slowly slipped down yours, gently prying your fingers from around the gun's grip, carefully taking it from you. Your hands shot out, gripping Mikey by the sleeves, one last plea for him to reconsider, to help you and Henry find a different plan and outcome, to give it a chance. But, he shook his head and took your arm in his free hand, leaned in to kiss your cheek, then gently shoved you in Henry's direction. Henry just managed to catch you before you stumbled over your feet, and himself from falling as well, blinking between you and Mikey, starting to realize what was going on.

“Mikey, n--” You started to scream as he raised the muzzle to his temple.

Henry's thick arms wrapped around you, somehow mustering the strength to hold you back as you struggled and thrashed in his embrace, trying desperately to stop what was about to happen.

A loud pop and a high pitched ringing filled your ears, muting out all other sounds that were being made, the sounds of your scream that you only knew was happening by how sore it made your throat, the warm spray of droplets against your face and neck, the world ending sight of your brother crumbling to the ground, the gun falling from his limp hand and slid across the blood covered floor, spinning under the chair at Henry's foot.

But, the chaos didn't stop there.

As Mikey hit the floor, Ashe came to life, using the distraction of Mikey's decision, to pull the gun out of his back waistband, smoothly flipping off the safety with his thumb, cocked and pointed it at Luis. All of it was in slow-motion, ears still screaming, as another pop filled the room, this time taking out Luis. Henry's body tensed up against yours as he watched Luis instinctively pull the trigger of his own weapon, the bullet whizzing towards you both. Henry wrapped his arms completely around you and threw you both down onto the floor; caging you in with his heavy and bloody body, using himself as a human shield as more muffled shots rang out.

You felt Henry's body jerk once against yours and the hot breath of him groaning against your neck, then a searing pain in your thigh, before the room went quiet and dark.

You started to come back around to the sound of Henry yelling your name, above the ringing that was still filling your ears and mind. You shook your throbbing head, feeling him pat your cheeks, trying to get you to open your eyes and respond to him.

“Can you hear me?” Henry asked, blinking down at you.

You blinked back up at him, only catching every other word he said. “A little bit.” You wheezed back, your thigh felt like an overfilled, hot water bottle as it throbbed.

“Good.” He nodded, then looked down the length of your body, just then noticing the slow puddle of blood pooling around your leg and cursed. “You've been hit.” He huffed, wrestling with his body's want to panic, but kept calm.

Spotting the tattered remains of his shirt, that Emilio had cut off, Henry grabbed it. “This is going to hurt, but, I need to control the bleeding before you lose too much.” He explained, carefully bringing your leg up, then wrapping the strip of his shirt around your thigh, just above the bullet wound, and tied it off as tightly as he could without causing any more complications.

You winced and whined as he did, gripping his bicep and digging your nails into his skin. “What happened?” You asked, out of breath, you couldn't see most of the room, Henry's body blocking your view, mostly on purpose.

“It seems, we have a friend.” Henry replied looking over his shoulder to Ashe. “We're going to get out of here.” He told you, fussing over your wound as a thin and steady stream of blood continued to flow from it, tightening his shirt more.

“We can't leave without--” You paused, remembering. “Oh god, Henry!” You gasped, it all rushed back to you.

“I know.” He frowned at you, crushed.

“We have to take him with us.”

“We can't.” Henry whispered, licking his cracked lips. “It'll slow us down.” He told you as carefully as he could. “I'll get him back for you. When we get back to London, I promise you.” He said, helping you sit up.

“Henry--” You sobbed, throwing your arms around his neck and buried your face into his sweaty and sticky chest.

“I know, love. I am so so sorry.” He whimpered in your ear, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed.

“We need to go.” Ashe's rushed voice came from the door. “Now, before the alarms go off.” He said, looking back into the hall.

He felt for you, he really did, never expecting all of this to happen, but now that it had, the three of you needed to put as many kilometers and as much time between you and Bristol as you could, because Benji's men would be coming after you in no time.

“Come on.” Henry grunted, pulling himself up to his feet and taking you with him, wrapping your arm around his neck, to support you out of the room.

Your breath caught in your throat as Henry helped you stand up, seeing Mikey's body laying there in a large pool of blood, but also Luis, Emilio and Benji's bodies as well. In the chaos of Mikey taking his own life to save you and Henry, Ashe had sprung, pulling his weapon and dispatching them in the confusion. Luis and Emilio let off several rounds from their own guns, one of them nicking Henry in the side and another going through your thigh.

“Is he on our side?” You wheezed, as you and Henry followed him down the hall.

“Yeah.” Henry nodded, shifting you against his side as you started to slip. “He's a Alpha Marshal, from London.” He explained to your questioning brow lift

“How did you not know that?” You asked him, frowning, you figured since Henry was a High Marshal, he would know all of the other Marshals.

“He finished Marshal training four years before I went in, and was recruited straight out of it to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and climb the ladder as far as he could. Seems he got as high as being Benji Hernandez's personal enforcer.” He explained, stopping as Ashe secured the hallway around the corner.

“Which is damn lucky for the two of you.” Ashe commented, coming back. “The way is clear, there's a back service lift that goes down to the garage. I have a car there we can use to get the fuck out of Bristol.”

“Let's go.” Henry nodded, antsy.

You looked back down the hall, to the still open door to the room that held all that carnage, and shuttered. Henry looked at you, feeling the shiver and frowned, reaching up to brush your hair out of your sweaty and bloody face. He couldn't understand the level of pain and anguish you must be in, after watching your brother commit suicide to save you. But, he knew that Mikey would want him to protect you and get you the hell out of there, with or without his body, and that's what Henry planned on doing.

“You can do this.” He whispered to you, blood crusted fingertips brushing your cheek. “He would want you too.” He added even softer.

“I know.” You gulped down tears, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “Let's go, before I lose my nerve.” You said, looking away from the door.

Nodding his head, you and Henry supported each other down the hall to the lift, leaning against the wall as it went down to the dark underground garage. Finding Ashe's car, he unlocked it and helped you and Henry get inside, before rushing around to the driver's side, tearing out of the garage and onto the street.

“Here.” You sighed and removed your torn and filthy jacket, revealing Henry's shirt beneath it, and took it off, seeing Henry's shiver.

“Thanks.” Henry whimpered, carefully pulling the shirt on his sore and battered torso. “How are we getting out of here, Ashe?”

“There's a gate out of this Sector that most of Benji's top men use for dealing with business outside of Bristol. I know the guard that works it, he'll let us through and keep his mouth shut.” Ashe explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “From there, I'll drop you both off at the drop location I use for sending my information into London.”

“What Sector is that in?” Henry asked, checking your makeshift tourniquet.

“Three.” Ashe replied, slowing his car down as they approached the gate he spoke about. “Let me do the talking.” He said over his shoulder, rolling his window down as a stocky male with a semi-automatic weapon approached the driver's side.

“James, it's been awhile. How have you been?” He asked, staring through the open driver's window.

“Been all right.” Ashe replied casually, as if nothing was amiss, like the two bleeding people in his backseat. “I need to run an errand outside the city, if you don't mind opening the gate and letting me through.”

“Sure thing.” the guard replied, chipper and oblivious to you and Henry, unable to see through the black tinted windows.

Stepping away from Ashe's car, the guard moved into a small booth beside the gate, turning a key and held down a large red button. The large and scuffed up gate groaned to life, screeching and protesting as it slid out of the way, revealing barren land and an uneven road on the other side. Waving back as the guard waved Ashe through the gate, he drove through, letting out a relieved breath as the gate closed behind you, everything so far going smooth.

“It's a two and half hour drive to your drop off location.” Ashe said, breaking the silence.

“That's fine.” Henry replied. “It took us nearly a week to walk here.” He added with a huff, that felt like a year ago at this point.

“What about you?” You asked Ashe. “What will you do now? Will you not come into London with us?” You inquired, interested, since his life and the long years he spent undercover in Bristol was now blown apart because of you, Henry and Mikey.

“I'm not originally from London.” Ashe replied, stiffly. “I'm from Chester. My father was killed in an accident and my mother couldn't take care of me. So, she had a smuggler bring me to London where I have a wealthy aunt. She took me in, adopted me and raised me as her own son, enabling me to have a better life. With her connections, I was able to attend the Marshal Council Academy, graduated top of my class and was recruited directly out of training to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and the Hernandez family. I've been there ever since, running and doing whatever job Benji and his family tell me too, while sending the information back to London and half of the money I make back to my mum in Chester.”

“I've wanted to return to Chester for a long time, I haven't seen my mother, in person, since I was eight. So, I plan to go back there, after I drop the two of you off.”

“Won't they go looking for you there?” You asked, concerned for him, you had dragged so many people into this mess.

“No, as far as they know, all my family is dead.” He answered, glancing at you in the rear-view mirror. “My backstory was I was orphaned as a baby and raised on the streets of London, where I got in with Runners and came to Bristol to be more big time. So, I don't know who my parents are, let alone, know if I have any other family or where.”

“And they believed that?”

“For more than a decade.” Ashe chuckled, smiling at you.

The rest of the drive was quiet, you and Henry huddled together in the backseat, Henry's heavy head resting on your shoulder. His eyes were closed, but he didn't find any sleep, still too worked up to find it with the state you both were in. You rested your cheek on the top of his head and closed your own eyes, your head still throbbed and your leg was on fire, but had stopped bleeding so much. Both of you were worn, spent and weak, desperately needing proper medical attention and rest after everything that had happened.

“Henry?” You whispered softly into his messy curls.

“Hm?” He hummed back.

“What are we going to say, when we get back to London?” You asked him, biting your lip.

Henry sighed, picking up his head as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed his lips to your temple. That had been brewing in his mind for the last hour, trying to figure out how to explain all your injuries and absence to everyone that asked. The only person that truly knew the nature of your and Henry's disappearance was Reyes, and he didn't know what Reyes would do when the pair of you showed back up in London in the sorry state you were in, and without Mikey.

“We'll cross that road, when we get there, love.” He finally replied, kissing your temple again.

You crossed that road an hour and a half later, when Ashe pulled up to a door that had been built into the wall of Sector Three. He helped you and Henry out of the car and approached the door with you, pointing out an intercom box beside the door.

“The code is 8391, it'll ring whoever is working the door today, they'll come down and ask for credentials, tell them you're a High Marshal and you'll get all the assistance you need.” He explained to you, heading back towards his car.

“Ashe!” Henry called after him, before he could get into the car and leave. “Thank you.” He said, when Ashe turned back.

“We're Marshals, we're trained to look out for each other.” Ashe replied, nodding his head to you both and got into his car.

Henry waited until Ashe's car disappeared from sight, before limping up to the door and pressed in the code Ashe had given you. A buzzer went off and five minutes later, the door opened, revealing a Beta Marshal, who frowned between you and Henry.

“High Marshal Henry Cavill.” Henry told him, as the Beta Marshal started to open his mouth. “We require aid and you need to get a call into Supreme Commander, Dylan Reyes.” He said, grabbing your hand and pushing through the door.

“Now, Beta Marshal, before we finish bleeding to death.” Henry hissed at him, annoyed and impatient.

“Of course, sir.” the Beta Marshal squeaked, saluting Henry and showing you both to his service car. “Supreme Commander Reyes, this is Beta Marshal Grant, down at the Security Door. I have a High Marshal here, wishing to speak with you.” the Beta Marshal explained, as his call to Dylan connected over the car's speakers.

“Who would that be, Grant?” Dylan's voice asked back.

“It's me, Dylan.” Henry huffed, slumping in the seat.

“Henry!” Reyes's voice snapped in surprise. “You're alive!”

“For the time being.” Henry sighed, rubbing at his face.

“Do you have the girl and her brother?” He asked, sounding desperate and frantic.

“I have her, but not her brother.” Henry explained, glancing at you. “It's a very long story. But, right now, we both need medical attention. She's been shot in the leg and bleeding heavily and I've spent the last thirteen hours being tortured.” He revealed to his boss.

“Grant, get them both to the Marshal Council Hospital right this second and make sure they don't spare any medical intervention and assistance. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Supreme Commander.” Grant replied, with a hard nod of his head as he started his car and directed it towards the Marshal Council Hospital, in Sector One.

“I'll be there promptly.” Reyes replied, clearly rushing out of his office for the parking garage.

So much of the tension went out of you and Henry, you were finally back in the protective and safe walls of London, no more worry about people trying to find and kill you, no more filthy and bare essential hotel rooms and days of endless walking. You were home and free, and with Henry. Now, you both just needed to get looked over and have your injuries treated, then you could go back to the comfort of your own flat.

You and Henry were rushed into the hospital, dozens of doctors and nurses swarming you both, poking this and pulling on that, asking a barrage of questions too fast for either of you to answer properly. The leg of your leggings was cut all the way to your hip as they removed Henry's ripped and blood soaked shirt to examine your gunshot wound. You screamed in pain as they pushed around it, and apologized profusely for it, and became more gentle about touching it.

“Good news is, it went through, relatively clean.” The doctor explained to you, standing beside your bed.

“The bad?” You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried preparing for it.

“The bullet nicked your great saphenous vein, it's the longest vein in the human body, running the entire length of the leg; which is what's causing a lot of your bleeding. ”

“Am..” You gulped down a hot lump of vomit trying to surge up your throat. “Am I going to lose my leg?” You asked, frightened beyond belief and wished Henry was in the same room as you, but they had separated the two of you after coming in with Beta Marshal Grant.

“No.” The doctor chuckled at you, shaking his head. “We have a procedure that will stop the bleeding and help the wound heal in no time. But, I must warn you, it is rather painful.”

“As long as I don't lose my leg, I don't care.” You told him.

You had already lost too much.

“Excellent, I'll have the nurse bring in the instruments and we'll get down to treating you.” He smiled at you, sweetly, trying to be supportive and calming. “Do you have any questions, before we get started?”

“Yes, how's Henry—the High Marshal.” You asked, correcting yourself.

“High Marshal Cavill has lost a good amount of blood.” He told you, his brow creasing with his concern. “We gave him a blood transfusion and an army load of fluids, while we treated his wounds. He has broken and cracked ribs and sternum, a broken nose, a severe concussion and very deep cuts on various parts of his body.” He explained to you, as gently as he could.

“But, he will make a full recovery. He's a tough young man, and has the best medical care London has.”

“Good.” You sigh, relieved.

The doctor smiled at you, gently resting his hand on your shoulder before leaving the room to prepare your treatment. A nurse came in a moment later, pushing a cloth covered cart, then put an IV port into your arm and hung up a bag of fluids, antibiotics and blood; since you had lost so much blood from your bullet wound. You hissed as she gingerly rotated your leg and slipped a triangular shaped pillow under your bent knee, an oval notch cut in the top of it for your knee to rest comfortable and securely, while they treated you.

She removed the cloth from the metal cart she brought in with her, and you saw what looked like a short caulking gun, a tube with a fat nozzle and two packaged patches. Picking up one of the patches, she ripped it open and dipped it in a small bowl of solution, the patch absorbed some of the liquid solution and became almost rubbery and gel-like. She moved around to your stabilized leg and gently pressed the ice cold patch to the bruised and puckered hole on the inside of your thigh, where the bullet exited, more than halfway up. You hissed as the cold gel patch touched the heated and angry skin of your thigh, whatever the solution she dipped it in stung and burned like liquid fire as it covered your wound, adhering to your skin with a firm hold.

“This will keep your wound protected, clean and sterile. It has antibodies that will recognize any infections or foreign matter and attack it, preventing your wound from going bad.” She explained to you, pressing her palm to it and held it there with firm pressure.

“And that?” You asked as she let go of the patch and picked up the caulking gun-like device and slotted the tub into it.

“This is Nanite Gel. It has antibodies in it, as well as stem cells and biological Nantes, that will start working to repair the severed muscle, skin, tendons, nerve endings and tissue inside your leg; closing the wound right up.” She replied. “The doctor will insert the nozzle into your wound and slowly draw it out, while filling it with the Gel. The patch also works as a barrier, since the projectile went through one side and out the other, preventing the Nanite Gel from squirting and leaking out.” She described to you.

“Fantastic.” You replied, with a nervous sarcasm.

You gulped with anticipation as the doctor came back in, with an additional nurse, and pulling on a pair of latex gloves. He smiled at you, took his position beside your leg, and took the injector from the first nurse. The second nurse grabbed your ankle and the top of your knee, pinning your leg down as the doctor lined up the tip of the nozzle with your uncovered and slightly bloody wound.

“Deep breath.” The doctor instructed you, taking a deep breath with you. “Ready?” He asked as the first nurse carefully dabbed at the blood with a wad of gauze at the end of a clamp, keeping your wound clean, so the doctor had an easy time guiding the nozzle in, which was easily bigger than your actual wound.

“More than I ever will be.” You replied, bracing yourself.

Nodding his head, the doctor pressed the nozzle to the opening of your wound and started to push it inside. You tensed and jerked, screaming again, but the second nurse had an iron grip on your leg, keeping it still as the doctor continued to push inside. You had strobing spots in your eyes and your jaw was so tight it felt like your teeth were going to shatter at any second. The doctor barked at the first nurse to give you twelve micrograms of Fentanyl for your pain, and she scurried out of your room and came running back a minute later with a IV syringe full of the opioid, pushing it directly into the tube of your IV. Within a couple of seconds, the painkiller washed over your whole body, like a hot comforter out of the dryer, and allowed you to relax, going slack on the bed.

“Good.” The doctor nodded, seeing and feeling you relax and finished pushing the nozzle the rest of the way in.

Shifting his hand, the doctor pressed down on the trigger of the injector and slowly drew it out again, filling the tunnel the bullet made with the blue-ish gel. You didn't feel the pain of it, but you felt the pressure in your leg. Your eyes were heavy, glazed over and half lidded, you felt absolutely nothing and you were so sluggish from the opioid that you couldn't even form words to think, it felt nice after all the trauma and hardship you had gone through in the last week.

So, you let it take you, pulling you under the crashing waves of exhaustion, pain and the high of the painkiller, your body going totally limp. It alarmed the doctor and nurses for a moment, fearing you had blacked out. But, once they checked you out and determined you had simply fallen asleep, they relaxed and finished tending to your wound, filling it with the gel, then covering it with another patch, like the other one, and lightly wrapped it with a bandage.

They left you to rest, closing the blinds over the window and turned down the lights, before softly closing the door behind them.

“How is she?” Henry asked Reyes as he came into Henry's room; he had heard your screams of pain from his room, across the hall.

“She's doing fine.” Reyes assured him, patting him on the shoulder. “They treated her gunshot wound with Nanite Gel, gave her some strong pain medication and she's asleep now.”

“Good.” Henry nodded, relieved, but still wanted to see you, to be by your side.

“So, what the hell happened?” Reyes asked, pulling up a chair next Henry's bedside.

Henry started to heave a sigh, but stopped, clutching his rib-cage with an arm as his ribs screamed. “I chased after her, like I said I would. It took me nearly three days to finally catch up to her. She's crafty, in a good way. She'd make a great Marshal.” He chuckled, carefully. “I was going to bring her straight back to London to testify. But, she was dead set on finding her brother, so I went with her, figuring I'd kill two birds with one stone.”

“Get her back to London to testify and have her brother prosecuted.” Reyes nodded, understanding.

“Well, when we got there, we had no clue on how to find him.” Henry continued on, staring out his room window. “I recalled that a Beta Marshal that had been banished to Bristol for dealings with Runners and Crime Bosses. Ramsey Kellan. We found him in Sector Fifteen and he gave us the information we needed.” He rubbed the side of his face, he really wished he could just take a nap, but continued to fill Reyes in.

“Somewhere along that time frame, we were outed as being in Bristol, and looking for her brother.”

“Over a decade as an undercover, and your first blown cover happens with the girl.” Reyes laughed, greatly amused.

“Yeah.” Henry frowned, not finding it funny, if his cover with you hadn't been blown, so much of this wouldn't have happened. “As I said, our cover got blown in a pub in Sector Three of Bristol. Benji Hernandez sent his best guy to track us down there. I was able to get us out of the pub and down an alleyway, where I boosted her over a wall, to keep her safe, and faced the guy. We fought, he tazed the fuck out of me, and the next thing I knew, I'm waking up in a bright room, cuffed hand and foot to a chair.”

“They tried beating and reasoning me into telling where she was, but I refused.”

“Where was she, when this was going on?”

“The hotel room we got before going to the pub.” Henry replied with a sigh.

“But, she was clearly found.” Reyes pointed out. “How?”

“I told her I would return in an hour. When I hadn't returned by morning, she got worried and decided to try and find me. Which ended up with Benji's men, who had been keeping an eye out for her, capturing her and bringing her in.”

“And the brother?” Reyes pushed, leaning forward, his elbows pressed to his thighs.

“They saw each other as she was being thrown in a van to be taken to Benji. His handler, Knox Monroe, had found out that they were siblings and outed him, and he ended up in the room with us.” Henry replied, gingerly shifting to find a more comfortable position.

“So, where is Keagan?”

“Dead.” Henry replied, bluntly. “Benji gave her a gun and forced her to decide which one of us would die first.”

“She killed her own brother?” Reyes asked, stunned and gobsmacked.

“No.” Henry shook his head, the image still burned in his mind. “She couldn't do it. She wouldn't choose either of us, she almost turned it on herself. Before, Michail managed to take the gun from her.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the image out his mind, the sound of your screams as you were forced to watch.

“He took his own life, so she didn't have to choose.”

“And Hernandez allowed the pair of you to leave afterwards?”

“No, I'm sure he would have forced either her or I to kill the other, then kill the last one himself.” Henry answered, opening his eyes again.

“Then, how did the two of you make it out?” Reyes asked, tilting his head at Henry.

Henry looked at Reyes. “Do you know Alpha Marshal Ashe James?” He asked, his eyes scrutinizing his boss.

“I do.” Reyes nodded back, his brows drawing together. “My predecessor, Eric Banner, told me, when I took over his position, when he retired, that he had a man on the inside of Bristol and to expect his reports regularly.”

“He was the one that saved our asses.” Henry explained with a sigh. “He was the one that stunned me in the alleyway. When Mikey killed himself, Ashe took the opportunity to pull his weapon and dispatched Benji and his men.”

Reyes blinked at Henry. “Are you telling me that Hernandez is dead?”

“I am. Unless, there's some way Nanite Gel can repair a hole in the brain.” He replied, with slight sarcasm. “Which I know there's not. So, he's now out of the way.”

“This is great.” Reyes grinned at Henry. “That'll be a massive blow to the Hernandez family, their operations and Bristol. Especially, when she's healthy enough to testify against Twist and his trafficking business.”

“It will be.” Henry agreed, but the only thing he was concerned with was the two of you getting well again. “I'm guessing, they'll be postponing the trial for a few weeks.”

“I still have to call the Cleric and Royal Councils and report everything that's gone down. But, I'm sure they'll delay the trial, for at least, a month.”

“Good, I want to take care of her first.” Henry added, nodding and relieved.

Reyes frowned at Henry and leaned back in his chair. “What is it between the two of you?” He asked, he had the suspicious feeling in his gut about the two of you for a while, but had only just had the time and place to ask.

Henry's cheeks warmed slightly and glanced away from Reyes, making his boss laugh out loud, seeing it in Henry's body language.

“You're in love with her.” He blurted out, tickled at the notion. “The great Upper, Henry Cavill, is in love with a Slummer, that's meant to be his Servant and Slave.”

“She's not my Slave! And, don't fucking call her a Slummer, either.” Henry roared, huffing angrily through his nose, like a bull about to charge. “I never registered her, and I never will register her, either.”

“Oh, I know you never registered her for an Ownership Bracelet, Henry.” Dylan continued to chuckle at his friend. “I checked and I got a copy of the paperwork you both filled out for her Life Pin.”

“And, you didn't say anything?” Henry asked, surprised.

“Not my business what you do with your private life, Hank.” He replied with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, you pressed me into buying her.” He hissed back, eyes wide.

“I did.” Reyes nodded, pressing his lips together. “We needed the paperwork, a trail to link Twist to trafficking, and to Benji. What you did, or didn't, do with her outside of that, was purely on you, and her.” He confessed, running a hand through his short black hair.

“I was also hoping you'd find a lover or mate.” He added, clearing his throat.

“You were what?” Henry barked, taken aback.

“I should let you rest.” Dylan sighed, getting up, then carefully rested his hand on Henry's shoulder. “It's good to have you back, and alive. You did good, taking care of her and everything else. Take all the time you need to recover, the Council will be here, when you're ready to get back into it.”

“Thanks, Dylan.” Henry replied, giving him a respectful nod of his head, still brewing on what he said.

“Do you want me to call your family?” Reyes asked as he stopped at Henry's door.

“No, I'll call them, when I'm ready.” He shook his head, feeling that new wave of stress hit him. “Last time you called them about me being in the hospital, I almost died, and ended up needing a kidney replacement.”

“Fair enough.” Reyes laughed, and saw himself out.

A day later, Henry slowly limped into your hospital room, across the hall from his, and found you sitting up in bed, eyes glued to the tv and eating a jell-o cup. Your eyes shot over to Henry as he came in, setting your cup down and turned off the tv, relieved to finally see him. The two of you had only been given random updates on each other through your shared nurse, who also, gratefully, passed messages between you as well.

“Henry, should you be out of bed?” You asked as he stopped at your bedside.

“Well, I wasn't the one shot in the leg.” He chuckled and grinned at you, before leaning in to kiss you. “I just had to see you for myself.” He confessed, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek.

“How are you feeling?”

You took a deep breath, tilting your head into his hand. “Like I got shot in the leg.” You chuckled back at him.

“Other than that, Nugget.” He laughed, shaking his head at you.

“I feel fine. Sore, but fine.” You assured him with a nod. “How about you, Puppy?” You asked, looking him over in his hospital gown, a warm and playful smile spreading across your lips.

“Same. Sore and ready to go home.” He smiled back, his stomach full of butterflies.

“I'm ready to go home too.” You concurred with him, sighing at the thought.

The butterflies in Henry's stomach wilted and died, a nauseous, heart-shaped lump forming in his tight throat, hearing you wanted to go home. His shoulders dropped, trying to get a hold on his heartbreak, before you saw it and had your mood ruined.

“You know what I've missed about it?” You asked, looking up at him, just as he managed to hide his disappointment.

“What?” He replied, pained.

“Kal.” You chuckled at him, oblivious, until you saw his shocked face. “What? You think I would miss you, when we've been together practically the whole time?” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“No.” Henry squeaked, confused and relieved at the same time. “I just thought..” He paused, looking away from you.

“You just what, Hen?” You frowned at him, seeing his face and became worried. “Henry, sit down.” You ordered him, becoming concerned for him as you put down the arm rail, so he could sit on the edge of the bed with you.

“Tell me.” You whispered, gingerly wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I thought you were talking about going back to your family's home.” He whispered, faintly. “When you said you were ready to go back home, and that you missed them.”

“Well, I do miss them, Henry.” You told him, pressing your cheek to his bruised and nicked shoulder. “I would love to see them again. But, I wanna stay with you.” You whispered, looking up at him.

“Unless, you don't want me too?”

“I do want you too.” He replied, quickly. “I love you and I want to be with you. I want you to come home and stay with me.” He confessed to you, nosing the hair at the top of your head. “And, Kal.” He added, softly.

“Your place has become more of a home to me, than my parents' place has ever been.” You told him, honestly.

You had grown a lot in the time you shared with Henry, and a lot had also changed you. You didn't get kidnapped in your own city, imprisoned in a pitch black and freezing cold cell, either not fed or fed food crawling with unmentionables, cut off from most contact with people, other than the traffickers that had put you there, when they dragged you out for another line up for another snobbish, stuck up and entitled Upper, or to beat you into submission, without something changing you.

You still had nightmares about being in that cell.

You also changed from all the things Henry exposed you too. New foods, tv shows and the luxury of being in the upper Sectors of London, like taking you to that Royal Dinner party with his family. Henry had taken the mostly naive and sheltered Slummer and opened the world up to you. You would always appreciate and love him for that, and for taking care of you and protecting you through the long months after saving you from Twist.

Henry and Kal had become your new home, and the three of you had made a new family.

“I love you, Henry Cavill, and nothing will ever stop or prevent that.” You told him, kissing his cheek tenderly.

“So, you'll come back home with me?” He asked, looking down at you, hopeful.

“I don't want to be anywhere else.” You replied, smiling back at him.

Henry's face broke out into a smile and cupped your face in his hands. “Neither do I.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours and kissed you.

“Henry!” A frantic voice came from across the hall.

“Mum!” Henry called back, breaking away from you. “Mum, over here.” He yelled out, limping to your room door as his mother rushed out of his empty room.

“Oh, thank god, Henry!” She cried, rushing him and throwing her arms around him.

“Easy, Mum.” He winced, but hugged her back. “How did you know I was here?” He asked, he hadn't gotten around to calling her and his family yet.

“A report came across my desk about you being injured in the line of duty with a Slummer, and that you were still recuperating here in the hospital. I was afraid it was serious, when you hadn't called me to tell me you were all right.” Marianne explained, shaking her head at her son. “What were you doing with some Slummer that caused you to get so hurt?” She demanded, upset.

“I hope they get the punishment they deserve for getting you into such danger.”

“Mum.” Henry snapped eyes wide and looked back at you.

Marianne blinked and looked into your room, seeing your sheepish and hurt expression, then looked up at Henry. “She's a Slummer?” She asked him, surprised, as she recognized you.

Henry took a deep breath, biting his lip. “We need to talk.” He said, stepping aside, so Marianne could enter your room and followed her, closing the door behind him.

“What's going on?” She asked, taking a seat as Henry sat back down on the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his.

“Several months ago, I was undercover in Sector Thirty-One. I was tasked with infiltrating a trafficking warehouse run by one of Benji Hernandez's men. I did so, with my usual skill and process, but after finally getting an appointment with the guy and seeing the people that had been imprisoned there, Dylan told me I had to—make a purchase—to nail the traffickers and for them to get properly arrested and prosecuted by the Councils.” He explained to her.

“One of the people they had kidnapped and had for sale, was her.” He said and looked at you, giving you a soft and loving smile. “So, I purchased her, and was meant to take care of her, until the trial happened and she testified.”

“So, you bought a Slum-”

“Don't call her that.” Henry hissed, angrily, but recalled himself. “Don't call her that.” He repeated, calmer.

Marianne took a deep breath, glaring at her son. “So, you bought her, in a sting operation, took her home and acted like none of this happened, taking her to events and other functions.” She summed up, studying the two of you. “When she is, technically, your Slave.”

“Yes. But, I don't and didn't want her as a Slave. That's why I never registered her for a Bracelet.” Henry replied, licking his lips.

“So, how did the two of you end up in Bristol, of all places?” She asked, looking between you.

“I ran away, to find my brother, who got himself into a situation, as a Runner, in Bristol.” You answered, before Henry could. “I wanted to go there to try and convince him to come back home. I didn't expect Henry to come after me, when he found out where I went.”

“But,” Henry sighed and bit his lip. “I did. I was worried about her safety, and Dylan asked me, unofficially, to bring her and her brother back here. So, she could testify at the trial and her brother could face justice for his hand in the whole thing.”

Marianne looked at you, her expression stern. “And where is your criminal brother?” She asked, stiffly.

You gulped and licked your lips, staring at your covered legs and picked at the fuzz on your blanket. “He's dead.” You whispered, choking up and tears filling your eyes. “He gave his life, so Henry and I could live and get away from Benji and his men.” You blubbered, crushed.

“Sshh.” Henry hushed you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you against him.

Marianne blinked between the two of you, taken aback.

“They tried torturing her location out of me, that's why I'm so injured. They wanted to kill her to stop the trial against Twist and their operations. I refused, for obvious reasons. She tried to save me, but got caught. When they realized her twin brother was her sibling, they brought him in as well. He died for us, and she got shot in the leg during the escape. Another undercover Marshal helped us get away and back here, to London.” Henry finished explaining to his mother.

“That's what happened.” He sighed, his eyes still on you.

“You're in love.” Marianne blurted out, seeing it as plain as day now.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, looking up at her. “I don't care that she was born in the lower Sectors, mum. I love her, with my heart and soul, and she loves me.”

“I do.” You replied, gulping down your tears and clinging onto him.

Marianne sighed and pressed her lips together, she had waited, a long time, for Henry to finally find someone to fall in love with and share his life. He was the last of the five Cavill boys to find love, settle down and start a family. If she was honest, she didn't care about what social standing the girl he fell in love with was, as long as he was happy, and by the looks of it, you and Henry were more than happy and in love with each other.

“All right.” She whispered softly, nodding her head. “I approve.”

Henry lifted his head and blinked at his mother. “Really?” He asked, shocked to hear it. “You don't care that she's from the lower Sectors?”

“Honestly, Henry? No.” She replied, sighing and shaking her head. “Love is love, and nothing is stronger than true love, not even differing social status.” She told him, honestly. “But, you both know that if, and when, people find out about it, there will be issues. They'll gossip and make comments, some might even turn away from you, shunning you for being with a Sl—someone of a lower standing.” She said, looking between the two of you with an authority of a Royal.

“Do you think you both, and your love, can survive that?”

You and Henry looked at each other, a silent conversation happening between you, before Henry looked back to his mother. “Yes.” He answered, firmly.

The two of you had gone through a lot worse than people talking behind your backs and shunning you.

“All right then.” Marianne replied, standing up. “Then, you have my, and no doubt the rest of the family's, approval, respect and support in the choice of your relationship.” She approached the bed, hugging Henry and kissing his cheek, then turned towards you.

You gulped at her, like a mouse getting stared down by a hungry cat, before she leaned in and hugged you as well; you were surprised by her move, but gave her a hug back. Breaking the hug, Marianne left the room, leaving you alone with Henry again.

“That went incredibly better than I thought it would.” Henry commented, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“You can say that again.” You agreed with him, staring at the open door of your room. “What do we do now, Henry?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Now, Nugget.” He smiled, kissing your forehead. “We get you well enough to go home.” He said, squeezing you against him.

Four days later, with the help of some crutches, you left the hospital with Henry, going back to his flat in Sector Two. Kal was over the moon to see you guys again, Charlie having dropped him off at the flat that morning. Henry had body block the Akita to keep him from knocking you over and harming you, until you were able to sit down on the couch and he was allowed to greet you; pressing himself against you and licking at your face.

“Yes, yes!” You laughed, hugging his thick neck, trying to calm him down. “We missed you too, Bear. We missed you just as much.” You told him, kissing his face back and giving him scratches.

After getting settled back in, Henry carefully picked you up, making you laugh as he did.

“Where are we going, Henry?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you through the flat.

“We are both absolutely filthy and need a proper shower.” He told you, going into the bathroom and setting you down on the sink counter. “Lucy!” He called out, looking up.

“Yes, Mr. Cavill?” His flat's AI replied.

“Start the shower on preset two, please.” He said, pulling off the clothing his mother had brought him, before you both left the hospital.

“Right away, sir.” Lucy replied, and the shower came to life.

“Here, let me help.” He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

“Thanks.” You smiled, then eased off the counter, balancing on your good leg and grasping Henry's forearm.

Marianne had even been kind enough to bring you clothes as well. So, Henry's hands dropped to the ties of your loose sweatpants and untied the knot, pushing them down your hips to pool around your bare feet. You half limped and half hopped under the spray of the hot shower head, making you moan and groan as it cascaded over your battered and sore body. Henry chuckled and stepped in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your wet hair.

“I love you, so very much.” He whispered to you. “I'm glad you came back with me.” He added, even softer.

You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his hips. “I love you too, Henry, and I don't want to be anywhere that you're not.”

“Neither do I.” He replied, kissing you gently on the lips.

Dried blood, dirt and grim swirled around the shower drain as you and Henry helped clean each other off. You scrubbed his skin with an exfoliating sponge, careful of his cuts and stitches, as he washed your hair, then switched, Henry washing you as you washed his hair.

“There's almost no better feeling than that shower clean feel.” You said, limping into Henry's bedroom and snagged one of his shirts out of his closet, slipping it over your head. “It's such a euphoric feeling.”

“What feels better than that?” Henry asked, coming in after you and pulling on a loose pair of pajama bottoms.

You smirked up at Henry, impishly. “I think you know.” You chuckled at him.

Henry laughed, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, tenderly, but passionately on the lips. “I agree with that.” He said against your lips. “But, you know what else feels euphoric?” He asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Tell me?” You giggled at him.

“A nap in that bed.” He said, pointing to his bed.

“Oh yes.” You agreed, biting your lip and staring at it. “The clean and divine smelling sheets, the warm and cloud-like mattress and pillows.”

“It's an orgasm in itself.” Henry cooed, staring at his bed with a wanting lust.

“I vote we sleep in it for the next year.” You said, looking up at him.

“I vote, the next decade.” He added, looking down at you.

“Deal.”

Henry scoped you up, carrying you to bed, and laid down with you. Cocooned under the soft and clean sheets, both of you moaned, as you melted into the mattress, like warm butter. You snuggled together, wrapped in each other's arms, and almost sound asleep the moment everything settled in around you. 

“Lucy, go to night mode.” Henry mumbled, his body feeling like a ton of rocks, he was so tired.

“Yes, sir.” Lucy whispered back.

Everything went dark, heavy drapes closed over the windows, the lights went out, the doors locked and the air purifier went on, with the soothing sound of ocean waves filling the bedroom, and you and Henry were out cold within minutes.

You slept the rest of the day and well into the next, only getting up because your stomachs were growling for food and your bladders were screaming for release, then you both crawled back into bed and slept even longer. Henry was the first one to officially wake up from your long and deserved hibernation, he laid in bed with you, stroking your hair and the nap of your neck. He traced your face, placing delicate kisses to your eyes, between your brows, the tip of your nose, both cheeks and finally, softly, to your lips.

“Henry.” You whispered, a smile tugging on your lips, before your eyes fluttered open and met his sparkling blues.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked, the tip of his finger ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Warm, content and happy.” You answered, snuggling in closer to him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “You?”

“The same.” Henry replied, nuzzling your hair. “We should go see your parents.” He said suddenly, biting the inside corner of his lip. “They deserve to know.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead to his chest. You had been trying to avoid this, avoiding telling your parents that you had been kidnapped and sold by traffickers, to the man you were now madly in love with, and that their son was dead, having killed himself in the pursuit of saving you and Henry from the same outcome.

How do you tell them that? You asked yourself.

“I don't know how.” You mewled, squeezing his thick bicep, like it was a lifeline.

Henry frowned into your hair, stroking the small of your back. “With honesty.” He whispered back, his heart hurting for you.

You stood in front of the door to your family's flat and it felt alien, you didn't feel the familiar nostalgia of coming home, of seeing your family after a grueling and mindless fifteen hour shift at the supermarket. It felt like you were there for the very first time, as if you had never been there before and didn't belong. You could hear the noise inside the flat, your brother running around the place, playing with his toys.

Henry rested his hand on the small of your back and gave you an encouraging smile. Biting your lip, you mustered the courage to knock on the door, it didn't feel right to enter the pin and walk in. You fidgeted as you waited for the door to be open, absentmindedly rubbing your thigh as it throbbed with even the slightest bit of your weight on it.

Finally the door ripped open and Christophe looked at Henry first, his eyes growing with shock, then looked to you, where his face lit up with surprise.

“Issy!” He shouted, and launched at you.

“Fuck.” You snapped, catching him in your arms as Henry caught you in his, keeping you both from tumbling to the floor. “Easy, Christophe. I don't need any more injuries.” You tried to scold him, but only ended up laughing at him as he hung from his arms around your neck, feet dangling.

“Where have you been, Issy!” He demanded, letting go of you and looking between you and Henry. “Who's this?”

“Is mum and dad home, Chris?” You asked, smiling down at him, nervously ruffling his hair.

“Yeah!” Christophe nodded and rushed back into the flat. “Mummy! Dad! Issy's back!” He screamed running around the house.

You looked to Henry and took a deep breath, shoulders rising, rolled your eyes, and stepped into the flat. Henry followed behind you, as your parents rushed into the living room, hot on each other's heels.

“Oh my god!” Your mother gasped and scrambled to you.

“Easy.” You warned her, unable to take a second person jumping you, and motioned to your leg as she lifted a brow at you.

“What's happened to you?” Your father asked, blinking at your wrapped thigh.

“I was shot.” You sighed, figuring it was best to be open and honest, and not sugar coat too many things.

“What?” They both roared, horrified.

“You might want to sit down.” You said, motioning towards the sofas.

Looking at each other, your parents shooed Christophe back to his room and sat down on one couch while you and Henry sat on the love-seat, across from them. There was a long, and awkward, silence, before any of your spoke.

“I'm sorry, I've been gone for so long.” You started, squeezing Henry's hand for support and comfort. “There's been a lot going on, and I didn't, we didn't want to risk your, or Christophe's, safety.” You tried to explain the best you could.

“What are you talking about?” Your father frowned, shaking his head at you and Henry.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, you came out with it. “After I went looking for Mikey, that day, I was tricked and taken by a group of Traffickers in Sector Thirty-One. I spent several months in their warehouse, I don't want to go into details, I think that's best.”

“Of course.” Your mother nodded, clutching your father's hand.

“Henry here, is a High Marshal with the Marshal Council.” You introduced him. “He was undercover, trying to get information on the people running the trafficking warehouse, when he—uh—“ You gulped hard.

“He purchased me from them.”

“You what?” Your father hissed at Henry.

“It was part of his job, papa.” You cut him off, before his temper flared too much. “He had to do it for paperwork and other Council stuff. After he did that, he took me back to his place in Sector Two.”

“Is that where you've been this whole time?” Your father asked, his eyes narrowed angrily at Henry.

“It is.”

“And you couldn't contact us?” Your mother asked, upset. “Sent us something to tell us you were alive and all right?”

“She wanted too, many times.” Henry finally spoke up. “But, her life was in serious danger, and if she contacted anyone close to her, like yourselves, you would have been in grave danger as well. So, we didn't contact you for that reason.” He explained to them, hoping to ease that conflict.

“And how did you get shot?” Your father asked, still angry.

“I found out where Mikey was going.” You answered, quietly. “He was heading to Bristol, to advance his training as a Runner.” You gulped and looked up at Henry. “I ran away from Henry, and went to Bristol, trying to find him. I knew he was going to be in a load of trouble and I wanted to try and prevent that; to make him come home.” You explained to them, starting to shake.

Henry wrapped an arm around you and hugged you against him. “You can do this.” He whispered into your ear, gently.

Nodding and clearing your throat, you continued. “Henry came after me, trying to get me to return to London with him.”

“But, she wouldn't come back without Mikey.” He added, nodding his head at you, his eyes only on you. ���I was meant to bring her back, so she could testify against her captors. But, I was also meant to bring Michail in, for his part in the Running business.”

“When we got to Bristol and started looking for him, people were looking for me, and they found us.” You picked up the narrative. “They took Henry after he made sure I was out of the way and safe. They hurt him.” You said, looking at his still bruised and cut up face. “I tried to go after him, but they got me as well.”

“While all that was going on, they somehow found out that Mikey and I were related and brought him in as well, locking us all in the same room.”

You stopped talking, trying to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed and turning into a sobbing mess. Your parents sat there for a long time, watching you try to control yourself and got the feeling something very bad had happened, worse than everything you were telling them.

“Where is Michail?” Your mother asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He's-” You licked your lips and shook your head, unable to get it out of your mouth.

“I am sorry to inform you both.” Henry replied for you. “But, Michail didn't make it.” He said gently, using his High Marshal voice, the only way he knew how to say it to your grieving parents.

“They were forcing me to decide which of the three of us would go first.” You sobbed, shaking. “Mikey made the choice to take his own life, so we could live.”

Your mother wailed and threw herself on your father, howling and sobbing, screaming at the top of her lungs about the loss of her beautiful and precious boy. You sat there with Henry, clinging onto him and wincing at each terrible and heartbreaking cry your mother made into your father's neck. Your father sat there, stoically, but silently crying as he held her and rocked back and forth.

“I'm sorry.” You whined at them, drained. “I tried. I tried so hard to bring him back.” You mewled at them, crushed.

Your father's eyes were on Henry as they both comforted the women they loved. “And you, what do you get in all this?” He asked, suspicious. “You bought my daughter, are you going to keep her from her family, still?”

“No, sir.” Henry replied, frowning back at him. “I love your daughter. I have treated her as my equal from the moment I saw her, and she will always be my equal. I don't want her as a Slave or a Servant.” He looked at you and wiped your tears away.

“I just want her.” He whispered, smiling gently at you. “Forever and always.”

[alicemitch09writes]

lame

06.

there’s things you tell your best friend, then there’s things assholes don’t deserve to know

It was another night of training with your grandfather, another night of beating if you could give it a subtitle.

As of late, you’d been sparring against Shinso to help him get into shape should he wish to transfer to the Heroics Department. And so far, he’s showing results. Just when is he going to make use of them, you’ll never know.

But, it’s summer break now, so he’s deserved a break from night training. And with that, resumes your training with your grandfather – whom you’ve never beaten once. He just loves to shift his fighting style to his liking and without warning.

And sometimes, or just because he doesn't have tact or does it on purpose, he manages to catch you off guard.

“…what.”

“You’re really making me repeat myself?” having blocked your kick, with your feet in his hands, he pushed back, causing you to slide into the mat. “Masaru called, inviting us for dinner before the boys head off to their summer camp.”

“And you said ‘yes’ without even asking me!?”

And you just saw Uncle Masaru a few days ago!

Yellow eyes stared at you, unimpressed. “Clearly, from your reaction alone, we both knew what you’d say.” He says with a gruff, circling you. “Don’t be rude, girl.”

And then, he charged towards you.

Blocking his attacks proved difficult, especially since he successfully caught you off guard.

Straining to block all his punches, you nearly missed the kick to sweep you off your feet making you jump. Landing awkwardly on your feet, he charges at you again. Picking up on his approach, you deflect at his hands, aiming to grab hold on you. Seeing an opening, you aim for a quick kick to his stomach- to which he easily caught his hands, twisting your foot with a flick of his wrist, you were twirling in the air and landing on your back, hard.

Groaning, you didn’t have to open your eyes to see the smug look on his face, but the tone of his voice was another. “You better be on your best behavior, foolish girl.”

Grumbling, you lied there, yellow eyes opening, set on the ceiling, grimacing into space.

“Tell that to him.”

Dinner later that evening, you dressed simply: wearing a simple shirt, with a print that comically read ‘plaid’ in kanji, tucked in a simple long skirt. The shirt had been a gift from Izuku, one the two of you got together at a bargain sale.

Funnily enough, when he showed up, he wore the same shirt. You two laughed at each other, enough to ignore the ash-blond eyeing the two of you.

Dinner was rather eventful, with the adults doing the talking, often asking questions to either teen. Bakugou, however, was surprisingly quiet. You pretended not to notice, but it was hard when the teen sat across you, carmine eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before you tore away first. For the rest of the dinner, you were adamant about just enjoying good company and good food.

It almost felt homey, considering the people in the table. Keyword: almost.

“So, how’s school been?” Uncle Masaru asked, a rather innocuous question directed towards the teenagers.

Izuku replies first, helping himself to another serving. “Fine, Uncle! Well, not much has changed since Kacchan has me beat in ranks.”

“Hm? What is your rank?” you asked, curious.

“Third,” Bakugou replies quickly, you blink at him just as he swallowed his meal. Pointing to Izuku with his thumb, he says, “Fourth.”

You feel your lower eye twitch, your question wasn’t really directed towards him but was rather open to either of them to answer, so you left it at that.

“Heh, that’s impressive, Izuku!” Whatever tension brewed, immediately squashed down. This was not the time for that. “Well, you’ve always been smart anyway.”

“How about (Name)?” Auntie Inko chirped, smiling.

“She’s not so bad,” your grandfather replied, sipping his tea. “she’s one of my best warriors in the martial arts club!” he says with so much pride it was practically emanating off him.

You felt your eye twitch, giving your grandfather an exasperated look. His answer was so far off.

“If you would just let me answer!” the adults laughed, Izuku included, holding onto your shirt sleeve to prevent you from attacking your grandfather. “I’m doing fine, actually. Other than my clean reputation," you emphasize for Izuku "‘s not so bad. It’s not UA, but it’s comfortable. Made some friends here and there.“

“What’s your rank?” Bakugou asked, curious.

Fixing him a look, you reminded yourself of where you were, replying politely. “Tenth, out of twenty-eight.”

“Wow, that’s impressive, (Nickname)!” Izuku smiled at you, genuinely. Smiling back at him, you took a bite of your meal, chewing slowly as you lull yourself into the comforting dinner noises.

The tension between the two young adults were not amiss to a certain ash blonde, shooting your grandfather a quick look, then to her husband, a glint of mischief.

“So, (Name)-chan, got yourself a boyfriend yet?” Auntie Mitsuki asks, rather bluntly.

Your eyes shot wide open, doubling over. 

Bakugou nearly choked on his meal, Uncle Masaru quick to pat his son’s back gently. 

“M-Mitsuki!”

Your grandfather snorted, turning the other way, holding his laughter in.

“What? I’m just asking! Ah, Shihan, you don’t mind, do you?”

Recovering, your grandfather gives a sage shake of his head, unnervingly at ease at the question thrown at you. Izuku eats away, but keeping an interesting ear – traitors, you thought.

“E-Eh, no.”

“What!? That’s too bad.” Auntie Mistuki practically yells, looking offended, too.

“I agree!” Auntie Inko seconds. “(Name)-chan grew up to be such a pretty girl, any boy or girl would be foolish enough to miss out on you!”

“Also, she’s really good in martial arts!” your grandfather adds, pride written all over his face. “Only a fool would miss out on my granddaughter!”

More like fear me, you fool of a man.

“Why is the conversation suddenly all about me,” you mutter uncomfortably, chewing your dinner. Izuku shrugs, working on a small smile.

“So, no boyfriend then, (Name)-chan?” Uncle Masaru, master of keeping the peace, asked.

You could only shrug. “No.” 

It was an honest answer, enough to quell anyone’s curiosity, but it seemed like the wrong answer to Auntie Mitsuki and your grandfather, whose shoulders dropped in disappointment. Uncle Masaru frowned at the two, shaking his head. Auntie Inko blinked innocently, unaware of the ploy of the two.

Only Bakugou Katsuki caught on, jaw clenching, one hand balled into fists under the table while you and Izuku began to chat amongst yourselves.

A white envelope was squeezed into your shoe locker one morning, a bag of chocolates – very clearly bought at the convenience store, was taped next to it, much to your confusion.

Dull (e/c) eyes stared at the items, trying to make out the items before you. Beside you, Izuku followed your gaze, a startled look on his freckled face as red soon blossomed his cheeks. “(N-Nickame)!!!!”

From his high-pitched shriek, a few girls turned your way in interest, whispering amongst themselves. Other students, who just walked in, eyed your shoe locker curiously.

You stared at it harder, not moving from your spot, arms crossed over your chest. Behind you, a small crowd had gathered - not really lingering long, but curious on your situation.

“Oh, someone actually has the guts to give one to her?”

“Well, Yoruichi’s actually not that bad looking.”

“For a quirkless.”

“Well, at least she compensates elsewhere.”

Izuku, patiently waiting on you, leaned in to whisper, amidst the chattering behind you, to you. “I-I-It might be confession letter?”

“HAH!?”

A loud explosion sounded, scaring half the middle schoolers entering the building, followed by a voice behind you. “THE FUCK!?”

“A-Ah, Ka-Kacchan! Good morning!”

“Fucking nerd, get outta my way!” yelled the blond, taking your cue to roll your eyes and rip the chocolates from your shoe locker, assessing the brand with interest, unaware of carmine eyes watching you.

“(Nickname)?” Izuku turns to you in question.

Lips pursued, you nonchalantly pocket the chocolates in your bag, taking a bite out of one of them. “Chocolate is chocolate, right?”

His freckled face only burns a darker shade of red as you put your shoes on, laughing at him.

“Izuku, you’re so cute.”

With the letter in hand, you eyed the words carefully, making sure it wasn’t a mistake: ‘To: Yoruichi (Name) of 2A’.

“Throw that piece of trash away,” mutters the blond beside you, but you pretend not to hear him and pocket the letter as well. You didn’t see the look of shock cross his face, as you turned to Izuku, forcing chocolate into his mouth, laughing more as you two head off to your classroom, nor the smoke coming out of his hand.

The rest of the day, Bakugou was in a foul mood, especially when you munched on the chocolates or gave some to Izuku (he tried to reject them because they were for you and not him).

In the end, it was a confession from a lowerclassmen which you turned down politely.

After dinner, you had volunteered to do the dishes, knowing that Izuku would join in and the other guy would go off to do whatever he does. However, since receiving his quirk, your grandfather had been interested in seeing Izuku use them in action. And with his quick muscle build-up, he was even more piqued to discover what interesting skills he's developed. Thus, your best friend was stolen away from you, leaving you to work on the dishes with…him.

Just as your grandfather has stolen Izuku away, Auntie Mitsuki yelled at Bakugou to help you with the dishes instead of shutting in his room doing god knows what.

So, two teens stood there, by the kitchen sink, a respectable distance between them, while Uncle Masaru placed the dishes, smiling apologetically. Somewhere, Auntie Mitsuki was eyeing the kitchen with a satisfied smirk whilst Auntie Inko was left in the dark.

Truthfully, you enjoyed washing the dishes, in a way, it was therapeutic alone or with a friend. Just, not with someone like him.

Then again, you had no choice. You did volunteer.

Resigned, you sighed and began to bunch your hair into a bun, getting to it. “I’ll wash, you rinse.”

Wordlessly, he nodded, and silence filled in once more.

And with that, the two of you were off to work, strictly work.

The only sounds heard were the gushing of water, scrubbing on plates, and utensils. As the night when on your heightened senses ran wild: with your hearing, you could hear the quiet chattering amongst adults in the living room, Auntie Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru inquiring about Uncle Hisashi from Auntie Inko, and outside, just faintly, you could hear Izuku floundering on the spot as your grandfather worked with him. It was enough to bring a smile to your face, only to stop when you remember the person beside you.

It was hard not to feel unbothered when you could feel his eyes on you, smell burnt sugar off him mixing with lemon dishwashing soap and hear the beating of his heart.

Soapy bubbles slowly began to fizzle one by one as you began to take the plates from the water, passing them along to Bakugou to be rinsed.

All in all, you managed to do the dishes without any bloodshed – which just seems to be the case whenever the two of you were together. However, during dinner, it was non-existent. It was probably out of courtesy, respect towards the elders who wanted to catch up. Then there were the young ones, two of three were doing the talking but only to themselves, singling the superior one out. Throughout dinner, he was the odd one out, which was strange since he's always been showered with attention - as though it was supposed to be. But no, nobody really talked to him unless asked or when curious, mostly his answers were minimal. 

“I-I told Kacchan as well…”

For some reason, your mind made you think of that. When Izuku told you his secret, you felt honored, trusted, assured.

"But he didn’t seem to take it seriously.”

But the fact he told him, that unnerved you. After all, why? He didn’t deserve a piece of Izuku he willingly tossed aside so many years ago. Izuku still held on to Bakugou for so many years despite the bullying, it irked you. You were enough, so why cling on to him?

“Your summer camp…” you tested, words slurring.

Beside you, the ash blond physically flinched, surprised that you were talking to him.

Hey, it wouldn’t hurt to talk, right? Because, like Izuku, there was some reason you still clung on to him. “How long is it?” Well, a tiny part at least.

A beat of silence. “A week.”

You hummed, watching the soapy water go down the drain. “That’s a long time.”

Call it friendship, or a sense of duty, but there was more to it. Delving deep to wonder what exactly was scared you though, so you left it at that.

When the last of the bubbles disappeared, you lifted your gaze out the kitchen window eyes searching above rooftops for the moon. Tonight’s shape was a waxing crescent, your favorite moon phase because if you tilted your head, it would’ve resembled a Cheshire grin.

Fixated on the moon, you were unaware of the way his eyes lingered on your shirt, identical to the one Izuku was wearing, his insides unsettling. Carmine eyes silently took in your form, mouth formed into a straight line, eyes shifting from (e/c) to yellow, glazed with a thousand thoughts he was barred from asking.

“They’ll probably give you hell over there,” your voice was airy, vague, comforting, testing again.

He felt his hand twitch, especially nothing that a loose strand of hair fell against the nape of your neck, over your burnt mark. He wanted to move the (h/c) strand away, to feel his fingers against your skin, marvel over something that was his doing, in a sick way – relish his mark over you.

Turning to him, you offer a small smile. “Well, have fun over there.”

And with that, you pushed yourself off the sink and walked out the kitchen.

(His hand dropped to his side, weakly, defeatedly.)

BREAKING NEWS: The League of Villains infiltrated UA's Summer Camp, several students injured, one kidnapped!

The door slid open, forcibly, everyone flinched at that, and of the person stomping in. “I-ZU-KU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” the green-haired boy flinched at the volume of your voice, each syllable of his name pronounced angrily, a menacing aura emanating off you. “ARE YOU SERIOUSLY PLANNING TO GIVE ME AND AUNTIE INKO A HEART ATTACK!?” 

Green eyes widened, arms weakly making pathetic gestures in the wind. “(N-Nickname)…l-let me explain-“

Approaching his bed, your aura didn't let up. “One of these days Midoriya Izuku,” pointing at him dangerously, finger shaking in front of him. “ONE OF THESE DAYS!”

“Now, now, (Name)-chan, we’re at a hospital…” Auntie Inko calls out as she rushes in, gentle hands trying to calm you down.

“Granddaughter have some manners!” your grandfather chides, a basket full of apples in hand. “This is a hospital, y’know-“Realizing that they weren’t alone, the elder man blinks at the people crowding his room. “Ah, he has guests.”

That made you stop, stopping in your shaking of your best friend, head snapping to several eyes looking your way, they tremble under your gaze.

“W-We’ll just leave then…” Ochako states, bravely, Iida leading the group out, offering you a friendly smile on her way out. For some reason, there was more to that smile, a coded message. But you’ll get to that later.

After giving your best friend a piece of your mind, it was Auntie Inko’s turn. Well, her version was more on crying, wailing, and fussing – very Auntie Inko. Your grandfather merely huffed, arms crossed, unimpressed with Izuku’s recklessness. Nonetheless, he ruffled your best friend’s curly locks, offering his rare smiles.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Izuku-kun.”

“Y-Yes, Shihan!”

Despite seeing your best friend safe and sound, something unsettled in the pit of your stomach, had you unnerved to the bone. You weren't his best friend for nothing if you hadn't noticed it. Seeing as your grandfather and Auntie Inko were here, you knew you couldn’t ask him about it just yet.

Once the two of you were finally left together, you turned to him, eyes asking with the same mien Ochako gave off earlier. Izuku seemed to anticipate this, a look of guilt and unease colored his features.

Taking a deep breath, he began to talk.

Words were coming out, sentences forming, information settling in your brain, processing.

And then, you could only feel one thing: numb.

Numb, just like the time a punch caught you off guard.

Numb, just like when he said those venomous words at Izuku in junior high school.

Numb, just like when you lost your parents.

Just. Numb.

Tears welled in your eyes, dripping down your cheeks before you could stop yourself. They won’t stop pouring, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, your breathing was going abnormal. Shaky knees almost knocked you out, had Izuku not grabbed a hold of your arm. Coming to, you grabbed at his shirt, desperate, worry, anger. “Y-You’re going to get him back, right?” he stopped, glossy eyes meeting your own. “Y-You will…r-right?!” your voice cracked at that, fingers shaking uncontrollably.

One nod, firm, solute, and final. “I will, (Nickname). I’ll bring him back.”

Your fists tightened, head bowing, forehead pressing into his chest, tears coming faster. “Please, Izuku, bring him back. Bring back our, Katsuki!”

Guess what? You thought about it, plaguing your mind for days later.

The result? Well, it feels stupid. YOU feel stupid for a silly little crush over a short-tempered childhood friend, who forever sullied his reputation and severed ties with you.

Simple as that.

Congrats, you won a bucket load of denial slathered with angst.

Why, oh, why couldn’t you have fallen for Izuku, instead? Sweet, kind, and reliable Izuku. Life would have been so much easier and saner.

But as that one stupid song goes: the heart wants what it wants.

Why the fuck did it want him? Bakugou Katsuki?

The cons weighed so much than the pros, you could go on and on. But at the end of the way, the pros could still weigh over those cons, no matter how little you presented.

It’s fine, you thought, this’ll pass.

A stupid little crush like this will pass and you’ll find yourself laughing at it when you’re older, sober, and probably mature.

Your only hope was to distance yourself from him, which worked for a time since he goes to UA and has resided there since his kidnapping/All Might’s retirement.

Yet, you live in the same area.

Your only REAL hope was for him to graduate, get into hero work that’ll make him work hundreds of miles away, OR, you graduating, getting into university and moving away from town. Both possibilities worked. There was more.

However, Izuku thought otherwise.

“You’re being a coward, (Nickname). You’re basically running away.” He’d berate, a disapproving look on his face.

Ducking, you played with the ends of your hair. “Isnt it better this way?” You muttered, looking away, not wanting to be at the receiving end of his look. You hated that look, it reminded you of your mom, dad, Shihan, and Aizawa-san – it made you feel like a child.

“It’s not fair to Kacchan.” you deadpanned with a roll of your eyes.

“Well, he was never fair with us anyway. Call it even.”

Izuku sighed heavily. “(Nickname)...”

Turning to him, you asked, a bit miffed. “Why are you defending him? How can you forgive him so easily?!”

“Well, it’s never good to dwell in the past…” His words, you never trusted them whenever the blond became the topic of your conversations – which is minimal, by the way. There was something he wasn’t telling you completely, something he had to figure out for himself first.

And you were patient, so you left him at that. “We’re becoming civil now. You two, should as well!”

“BIG. PASS.”

He gave a weary sigh, from the weight of your words.

Honestly, you couldn’t sleep the night you received news that their summer camp had been invaded by the League of Villains. You were worried sick for both of them. You wanted them to be safe. And since Bakugou was kidnapped-

“(Nickname), you should be more honest with your feelings. Especially towards Kacchan.”

Of course, he’d see right through you, he was your best friend with a brain so great after all.

“Pass.”

“(N-Nickname)…”

“I want nothing to do with that dead fuck, after everything he’s done to us, to you.”

“I’ve already forgiven him for that.”

“Good for you then.”

“(Nickname),” his tone was berating, again.

Sighing, aggravatingly, you beg with your eyes. “Don’t do this, Izuku. Please.”

“But, you’ve always liked him-“

“THAT WAS BEFOR-!” you stopped mid-yell, balled fists shaking, taking a deep breath, you repeated your words. “That was before.”

Izuku had the gall to look unconvinced, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, head tilted at you – since when did he learn to be this snarky!?

Exhaling through your nose, you stood your ground. “I’m not sorry for yelling. I’m not planning to forgive him now, or any time soon, I can never forgive him for what he did. And I’m sorry I can’t be as forgiving as you.”

Green eyes softened, his pose unchanging, but he fixed his head to look at you better. Worry coloured his features. “But (Nickname), it isn’t good to hold on to your anger forever, you know that, right?” Somewhere deep in your heart, you swore you felt a skip, your knuckles suddenly felt hot. “I’m not saying that you should forgive him now, but at your own pace. You can deny how you feel, but you can never escape it forever, (Nickname).”

Weakly looking up to him, his green eyes were unwavering, swallowing you whole.

“I hate when you’re right.”

“I always am.” The corners of his lips lift, a bit smug.

Your eyes narrow. “I hate you.”

“I love you, too, (Nickname).”

From: (Name) Yuroichi

To: Bakugou Katsuki

I’m glad you’re safe.

masterlist • seven

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

On Illness and Recovery, or: Sickfic, Baby!

You know the drill! Please let me know if you liked it, and check my Twisted Wonderland fanfiction tag if you want other shit I’ve done.

Contains coarse language and emotional whiplash.

~*~*~*~

Some things stay true no matter where you are; the truest, right now? Schools are disgusting fucking petri dishes, as your miserable cold will tell you. Your cough had only been getting worse as the days went on, with it came exhaustion and a chill that wouldn't leave your bones. You should probably be holed up in your dorm instead of going to class, but that had it's own issues that you were struggling to solve.

"Are you done yet? I want to eat." Grimm's nose, and little else, poked out from a pile of blankets on your bed.

"Nowhere close. Shh." You taped the last bit of plastic over the balcony entryway, and swapped the roll of tape for a heavy duty stapler. "Hold that right there."

The skull-faced ghost held a packing blanket over the plastic as you stapled it in place. By the time you were done, you couldn't see much, which at least meant you could no longer see your own breath. Maybe now, you would be able to feel your own fingers.

Ah, they joys of your own rotten, ancient place - you wake up with frost on your bedsheets and your washbasin shattered from the ice within it. There were other rooms in the place, but most had holes in the ceiling or were too big to heat effectively. So now, you were going to live in one room, that you'd yet to figure out how to run electricity to, and only leave for class or the bathroom. Even if you were ill, could anyone blame you for still going to class when your own home had a nasty quirk of being even colder than outside?

Anywho, it was time to do some homework. By the light of an oil lamp. In five layers of clothing. Curled up so close to a tiny fire you might as well be inside of it. While your not-a-cat complained the whole time.

Yaaaaaaay.

~*~*~*~

"You really should be resting."

You scoffed. "You just feel bad because you're the one who got me sick."

"You can't prove that, everyone's had a cold the past few weeks."

"No one else has been exploring my tonsils, dude."

Idia clapped a hand on your mouth, which you did not lick solely because you were wearing a cloth mask. "Quiet! That's secret intel."

"What? No it's not, everyone knows."

"I don't want to advertise. Then I'm a raid boss and you're the rare loot drop."

You elbowed him in his boney ribs. "No one's going to kick your ass out of jealousy. Just because I'm the hottest bitch in this place doesn't mean I've got universal appeal."

"You're still the only girl and people are weird about it." He placed the back of his hand on your forehead and winced. "You're too warm."

"How can you tell? You've got gloves on."

"That's how bad it is. I'll make some tea."

"I'm not drinking anything out of the damned lab equipment."

He frowned. "I've never had anything bad happen, it's cleaned correctly."

"You're smarter than that. One of these days you're going to grow a tail due to residue in the glassware, and I'm going to haul you around in front of god and everyone by it, going 'I told you so' the entire time."

He blanched, knowing that that was not an idle threat, and someone laughed. "I think I should make that happen, just so we can see that."

"Jade, no. No magic mushrooms for my man, or any other concoctionary bullshit either."

Idia looked ready to die, so to take attention off of him you leaned over and poked Silver awake before he fell face first in the potion he was working on. Logically, you know his narcolepsy was debilitating. Right now, you wish you could have borrowed it last night. You don't remember walking up during the night, but you must have, because why else would you be so tired?

He started up, mumbled "thank you" and went back to stirring as if he hadn't been about to drown in dubious magichemicals. God, you wished that was you right now.

"Idia, deal. You help me get through this class, I'll grab some hot food and go home."

He made a show of hemming and hawing before saying, "Grimm needs to let me hold him when I drop you off, and I will."

Ordinarily, you would have just said "Ask him yourself and don't be weird about it," and Grimm would have simply told him no until sufficiently bribed. But Grimm was still in bed at home, saying you kept him up all night, so instead you bumped Idia with your hip and said "What, you can't think to ask for better pussy to fondle?"

Of course, you just had to say something crass at the moment where everyone went quiet. Even Crewel raised his head and both eyebrows at you. The only reason you didn't get a riding crop to the face and a week in horny detention (where, you assumed, they punished you for being a bad girl indeed) was Idia, rapidly going through every stage of confusion and grief, with a few currently unknown to man. You'd intended to tease him, but that sheer amount of confused, horny misery on his face was just too much, and you laughed so hard you bent over.

And coughed. In a short time, there was no laughter left, only miserable coughing from the depths of your chest that left you on the floor with your eyes watering. Someone thumped your back a few times, and when you yanked your mask off to catch a proper, if shallow breath, your mask was full of a red-streaked, pus coloured slime.

A fur coat was draped over your shoulders as everyone made various noises of disgust. "Class dismissed. Let's get you to the nurses."

~*~*~*~

"How in hell are you still mobile."

"Pettiness and a desire to not freeze to death."

Crewel narrowed his eyes at you. "Both lungs."

"That is what double pneumonia means, Professor."

You could see his whip fingers itching. "Yes, well. You can't come to class like that. And... Is it really that bad in Ramshackle?"

Idia raised a hand. "It was really cold the last time I was there."

"Ugh. I told Crowley we should have razed the place for an expansion on my dog run." He looked at you with a curious mix of genuine fondness and even more genuine disgust. "I'm not putting you up until your place gets fixed, you'll leak all over my furniture. Anyone here going to babysit?"

"I've done perfectly fine in my own dorm, I don't need to become the pet of another dorm."

"Those little fairies said that if you don't stay on bedrest and stay warm, you will die. I am not filling out that paperwork." He looked to you classmates. "Speak up or I'm docking a letter grade."

Silver raised a hand. "I think we could do it but I don't think D- Lilia would let me. Malleus would end up trying to play nurse and skip class."

"Oh god, no, we don't tell him I'm sick until I'm safely ensconced somewhere, he would lose his damn mind and I'd try to strangle him after a week of it."

"There are no spare rooms in Octanivelle. However, I could try some experimental medicines I've been-"

"Jade, no."

Idia was quiet, before speaking up. "I... I don't know if Ignihyde has a spare room, or would be good for healing."

He'd not left your side since your collapse, and gone so full of writhing, barely concealed anxiety he'd broke through the other side and simply shut off. You didn't get it, it wasn't actually anything serious. The nurses had pumped you full of medicine, you'd be up and about a week or two at the most, instead of the month's worth of hospital rooms and bad food it would have been.

Crewel sighed. "Time to start checking the files to see where you can be squeezed."

There was a cough, from the fifth student so quiet despite his size. Everyone had honestly forgotten he was there.

When he spoke up, it was to you, and not anyone else. "There's an unoccupied room down the hall from me. I think the weather in the Savannahclaw dorms will be good for your health. You shouldn't have to stay where you won't be wanted, or get sicker. Would that work?"

You looked at him, assessing. You and him hadn't talked overmuch, and he didn't seem to mind. But as severe as he looked? You could see the sincerity in his offer.

"That should work. Jack, right?"

His ears flicked, and his tail twitched. "Yes."

"Thank you, Jack. You're very kind."

~*~*~*~

Easy to see why the room was empty. You suspected it might have been a storage room, or that there had been a monastic order in the dorm at one point. A single bed just fit the far wall, with a chair, a desk, a bureau, and little else. But the far wall had a large window, and the room felt... nice. And a hell of a lot warmer than than your room in Ramshackle.

"It'll make an excellent sickroom." You set your schoolbag and an entire case of tissues on the desk. "Thank you again, Jack. You sure it won't be any trouble?"

"I've already cleared it with our dorm leader, he said he doesn't care as long as you don't rub phlegm on his things." Jack was a solid block of frown and muscle in the corner. "The window does open, you should keep it that way for circulation. There's a bathroom down the hall, there's showers in there. If you need anything or anyone tries to bother you, please let me know."

"Will do." You were already unpacking the few things in your bag, trying to get them arranged before another coughing fit took you.

"I can help get your things, if you need?" For a dude who was very do-that-shit-yourself, he was being very helpful.

"Idia's grabbing Grimm and anything else I'll need. He'll know what I want."

"I see." Silence, and more interesting ear flicks. "So."

"So?"

"You and him are..." He made a guesture with interlaced fingers.

"Yeah. Jealous?"

He snorted. "No. Just curious. He's a bit..." Hand wiggle.

"I'm a bit too. It works. Would have been nice if he'd gotten the hint before I had a ghost turn me inside out in front of him and everyone else."

"You know that's why you're so sick, right?"

You made a noise that was hard to decipher, that he used as cue to continue. "You never smelled quite right after that happened. Even after the healing. You're always a little..." He moved his hands, trying to grasp the right simile. "Like when a flower's starting to drop petals. Overripe."

How in the hell were you supposed to take that. What do you even say to that? Does everyone know you smell? Does - 

"Oh god, you all know when I'm on the rag."

A single, curt nod, and you put your head in your hands and groaned.

~*~*~*~

A knock on the door

"Who is it?"

"Your worst enemy."

"Get your ass in here, Vil."

Vil had on... good lord. Mask, gloves, face shield. An absurdly fashionable CDC agent. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Vil. Means so much coming from you."

He stayed by the door, ready to flee if a spare germ came floating towards him. "Heard you're out of commission. Thank the seven, I'll get some peace in my life."

You flipped him the bird, but smiled as you did. "Don't say that. I'll made a sheet ladder and mix sputum in your cold cream."

"If you do that I will personally burn your clothes and replace them with something decent that you will hate."

"Try. Come to gloat?"

"Just a bit." He set a large cup with a straw at the very edge of the desk, straining at arm's length as he did. "This should unfuck your throat somewhat."

"Such language!" You waited until he retreated to the door before you took the smoothie. It was... very, very purple, and smelled minty. "Trying to poison me, finally?"

He rolled his eyes. "When I decide to poison you, it's not going to be through something that obvious. You will never see it coming, and then I'll sell your corpse to Floyd and everyone will just think he finally decided to go full crazy and Riddle is next."

You snorted. "Honestly? I think he'd shit his pants if I actually returned the affection. One time I saw Riddle give him a genuine smile and he had to go sit down because he started shaking so bad." That might have been because the smile was caused by Floyd cracking his head on a doorway and falling flat on his ass, but the point still stood.

When he stopped laughing, he turned to leave. "Take at least an extra week to get better, for my sanity. And don't give the creature any, it won't agree with him."

"Shh, I just got him down for his nap-"

Grimm made a horrible snort from your feet and say up. "Food?"

You made a look-what-you-did guesture at Vil, but he left instead of helping you deal with your beloved yowling idiot.

~*~*~*~

You woke up coughing in the dark. It took entirely too long for you to figure out where the hell you were, and why, and you took the offered tissue with great-

"JaySUS FUCKING CHRIST" You jumped back so much it was only Malleus's grip on your arm that kept you from going through the open window.

"People are sleeping, please do not yell."

"Don't yell my ass, how long have you been there?"

He shrugged. "Since before sunset. Ortho was here first."

You leaned around Mal, to see Ortho sitting on the desk, scritching the belly of a drowsing Grimm. "Hello, Yuu. Your fever has gone down half of a degree since I took over."

The audacity of these idiots, you swear. "Both of you go home and go to bed."

"No. You need watching." Mal had not blinked once since you'd woken up, and how about that? His eyes glowed in the dark, or he had very strong eyeshine; either way, there was no iris around the blown out pupil. "You are very ill and need taken care of. I can do that, I took care of Silver when he was ill."

"Mal."

"Yes?"

"Do we need another boundaries talk?"

He frowned. "But you are ill."

"Mal, I will call Lilia and tell him what you are doing right now. I will personally write your grandmother and tell her you're neglecting your studies. I will get Leona down here and he will call you a simp until you go outside and fight him on compulsion."

"Those all sound terrible!"

"Ortho, don't kiss up because you're next. Why are you here and not home charging?"

"Idia wouldn't go home to sleep until I said I would let him know if you got worse."

You opened your mouth, and shut it again. Why's he so worried? You had to physically shove him out the door to go to his next class, looking like his heart would break, and he'd still skipped board games to fidget miserably in the chair Mal now sat in, looking ready to burst into tears every time you coughed.

Ortho seemed to read your mind. "He gets worried when people get sick. I got sick once."

Ah. That explained a hell of a lot that you were too polite to ask.

"... Okay, you can stay."

Mal perked up.

"You go home. I'll never go back to sleep if you keep staring all night, and you do need to sleep some."

Mal's face fell.

"You can come back tomorrow, after class."

He perked back up. "Goodnight, Yuu. I will see you tomorrow!" A brief kiss against your sweating temple, and he was out the same window he most likely came in.

"Hey, Ortho?"

"Yes?"

"If you can dim your lights a little, you can come lie down with me."

~*~*~*~

You were rudely poked awake by a giant asshole.

"Why are you in my nap room." Leona hovered over you with obvious displeasure.

You blinked and sorted yourself. Ortho was crammed between you and the window, hopefully dreaming of electric sheep, and Grimm was still dead asleep, the little bastard. "Jack put me up here because my dorm's a block of ice and I can't stay there on doctor's orders." Crewel might have a doctorate, it's not a lie.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I did." Jack was behind him, his own link in a chain of hovering displeasure. "You said it was fine as long as she didn't make a mess. I brought yogurt."

"Thank you-" More miserable coughing, with now everyone either rubbing your back or passing you tissues. Except Leona, who simply held back and watched. By the time you were done, he just nodded.

"I'm not moving you, but..."

"What."

"I'm calling in a favour next time Cheka gets pawned off on me. He likes you."

You'd argue that, but you liked the kid. "Aight. Everyone get out, there's too many fucking people in here and I'm discovering new and interesting depths of claustrophobia."

Leona didn't need to be told twice.

"I'll be back after class with your homework. Maybe at lunch with something. Not before then. Stay put."

"Oooo, oo. I'm going with you, big guy." Grimm scampered over. "I'll get bored here all day. You can just nap."

You rolled your eyes "I can just nap. Jack, if he sticks with you, he's going to want to eat everything you do."

"I'll manage."

"Would you like me to stay?" Ortho was finally up, or maybe you hadn't noticed him exiting screensaver mode.

"I'd like you to tell your brother that I'm not going anywhere. Use those exact words."

He nodded, a faint whirr as he did.

"I'll see you guys later, okay? I need more sleep."

~*~*~*~

Someone gently shook you awake, and said someone was leaning in the window.

"Hey, Kalim." Why'd you have to be the center of attention when sick, and therefore couldn't kiss anyone to thank them for said attention.

"Hi! I asked Jamil to make extra lunch for you!" He set a covered dish on your knees.

"Thank you. Was he okay with that?"

"He was when I said it was for you. Everyone's heard that you're laid up!"

"News travels fast. Am I about to get even more popular?"

"You're always popular because you're great. Feel better! Jamil said he'll have extras tomorrow too. See you!" And off he went.

You needed to tell Jamil thank you, but he would probably just tell you to just stop talking about abolishing the monarchy instead. (Not because he didn't support the idea, but because he didn't want to be punished for not keeping the idea from Kalim.) What did he make, anyway?

"Oh, curry. Sweet."

~*~*~*~

The days progressed roughly the same. Drowsing most of the morning, lunch, more drowsing in between laptop stuff, maybe actual sleep. Coughing up far less gunk as the days went on. And entertaining an absurd fucking amount of people. Everyone seemed determined to check on you, even people who you'd never seen before in your life; Ruggie made something like 10k madol charging people to try and see you through the window before you cursed him out. Your Heartslabyul boys dropped in every couple of days to relate shit that they hadn't simply texted you (along with a pile of pastries from Trey and handwritten instructions on recovery from Riddle, the latter far less appreciated than the former). Floyd dropped in once to mostly complain about how you weren't around to eat the mushrooms he picked out of his food, tried to convince you to let him carry you over to the Monstro Lounge himself, and when you refused, kissed the tips of your fingers and left pouting. Jack, true to his word, dropped in at least twice a day to deliver food and homework, and once spent forty-five minutes glowering at anyone approaching the bathrooms while you took a shower that ached on your oversensitive skin.

Some people were far more regular. Every day like clockwork, Malleus perched in your window and was the world's friendliest, most affectionate vulture. Twenty minutes after that, Idia would come in, sit in the chair, and exude such concentrated grief that you were at a loss for what to do beyond asking if he wanted to talk about it, to which he would shake his head and simply resume sitting there, tapping away at his screens until the next panicked flurry of activity every time you made a unhealthy noise.

"You are allowed to go home. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm much better than I was."

He just shook his head.

"I will come get you if something happens," Mal offered.

More head shaking, and a "no" from his tablet, before adding, "Never again."

"I'll call Ortho and make him tag you out."

"I said no. And Ortho is with Lilia."

Lilia, small, beloved pest, has what you like to think of as a compulsive need to parent. He was god knows how old, had raised at least three of your classmates that you know of, and seemed to consider you his newest fledgling. After hearing about what happened, he'd taken it into his own hands to fix Ramshackle to... well, not OSHA compliance, but you wouldn't be cold.

"Does he know how much I appreciate it? Appreciate all of you, really?"

"Of course he does. He loves talking about you. He wears that shirt you made all the time."

"Which one? I've made him seven so far."

"When do I get one?"

"When they make T shirts that'll fit over your horns." Something drooped in the corner of your eye, and you looked over to see Idia shaking himself upright. "Hey, babe. When was the last time you slept?"

He took an embarrassingly long time to lie through his teeth and say "Last night" through his tablet.

"Yeah, no. Get over here." You took a moment to drag Mal's hand down before he could just do a sleeping spell, or something equally well meaning but deeply inappropriate.

"No."

"Please?"

You held your arms out until he couldn't resist, and soon you'd arranged his head on your chest.

"You hear anything more sloshing around in there?"

He shook his head.

"I am on the mend. I... don't really know what happened before. And I sure as hell don't know what you did to get him back. But I'm not going anywhere. So rest." 

He gave a faint nod.

"I will wake you, if need be?"

To both yours and Mal's surprise, Idia answered him with a pat on his leg.

"Thank you."

Idia was already asleep.

~*~*~*~

"Mal?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know what 'cyanosis' is?" You’d been stroking Idia's head for hours. Or minutes. Time flies, and you could not tell the difference.

"Not immediately, no."

"It's caused by a few different things. Hypoxia, hypothermia, that sort of thing. The blood in you doesn't have enough oxygen. So little that, instead of red, parts of your body turn blue or grey due to the lack of oxygen."

"I see." He looked intently, much as you did, at Idia's greyish nails and blue lips. "That doesn't seem survivable."

"Not if it's severe, no." The flames from Idia's head curled around your fingers, grasping at you even when he's not aware of it. "It's not something you see on someone as... lively as him. It's something I think about a lot. Whether it's to do with his magic, or that curse he won't elaborate on."

"I've heard rumours."

"Oh?"

"The Shroud family curse. Nothing concrete, for an origin. Madness, misfortune, and illness have plagued the family throughout history. Add in a trend of cousin marriage beyond the norm for upper-class families due to people not wanting to subject their loved ones to a cursed bloodline, and the tree is more of an notorious, ingrown shrub."

"That just sounds like shitty genetics and what happens to every family as the years go on, not a curse."

Mal shrugged. "is there a difference? Even in the sleeping curse my grandmother bestowed so easily, much of the power came for the fear of it. A girl grew up without her family because of the fear of it."

"True." You leaned down and kissed the top of Idia's head, feeling an unconscious smile as you did. "There must be a little hereditary something. He gets so anxious about this beautiful hair! He hates people looking at him, and he doesn't even realize it's because he's the most beautiful thing in any room he walks in."

"Thing?" Mal raised an amused eyebrow.

"Even the finest art in a museum doesn't have the benefit of being actually alive."

"Your capacity for love and beauty is enviable. Hunt would be jealous." He reached out and brushed a stray lock away from Idia's face, and you could feel another smile against your chest.

~*~*~*~

"Aight, so we've patched up holes in the walls, insulated the windows - Idia here," Lilia clapped Idia on the small of his back, causing him to make a distressed squeak - "smart boy, found some solar panels and we've got electricity up in your room, the kitchen and the bathroom by your room, not just the front room anymore! The rest we got the ghosts to help seal off to hold the heat in. I got you a space heater for your room, so you don't have to do a fire the whole time, and as long as you don't open the windows back up before spring, you won't freeze."

"Thanks, guys. One question."

"Yeah?"

"What did you do to my room."

Lilia smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a walking prank and can't keep out of there, what did you do."

"Nothing this time! I promise!" He held his hands up. "At least you can stay home for the next few days, Crewel says you gotta be back Monday or he's going to start making funeral prep."

"I'm literally better, but if he does that I get to help. Always wanted to plan my funeral, I have very specific ideas about what flowers to use and preferred corpse disposal."

"Maybe you should go upstairs and not talk about funerals and their associated things."

"Sure thing, dear."

After settling in your room, most everyone cleared out, even Idia. The only person still there was Jack, looking this way and that with a stern look.

"Hey, Jack?"

He grunted in assent.

"So like, why'd you put me up and help take care of me? We've hardly talked before then."

He sighed. "You've been very nice to me."

"You sure? I'd remember you."

"Uh."

"Jack?"

~*~*~*~

It was a beautiful day, if chilly in the wind. The sun was warm, the trees turning, and you just came across one of your best friends.

"Hi buddy! Are you lost today?"

The very large dog shook it's head and pressed into your knees.

"Okay, you wanna walk with me? Come on."

You'd found this enormous white Malamute wandering campus the first time a few months ago, and after checking in with a few other students who kept laughing when you asked if he was their dog, simply decided to enjoy your new friend and run and play. He was very smart, and initially standoffish, but could not resist a friendly face and good ear scritches. Today, you and Buddy here simply ran around like a couple of idiots after a lost soccer ball until it was time to go eat.

"I'll see you later, buddy. Bye!" You held out a hand, and after a firm shake, kissed the point where his snout met the rest of his face. "Stay safe, I love you."

Buddy made a low grumble and rubbed his paws over his face, and you went off to supper.

~*~*~*~

"You couldn't have told me?"

"How do you explain that? 'Hey, I run around as a wolf sometimes and you mistook me for a lost dog so you lovebombed me and I was at a loss and by the second time it was too awkward to say anything'?"

"I've been playing with you for months! I let you run with Crewel's dalmatians!"

"I run with them as a person, too, that's nothing special."

You pinched your nose. "Everyone must think I'm an idiot."

"I'll deal with them. I'm sorry, Yuu."

"I know. You are my good boy, after all."

His tail started wagging in spite of itself, and you laughed.

[tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar]

Post It's

Pairing: JJ Maybank x You

Summary: JJ and you both work at the hotel. Never meeting each other, you leave notes on the others locker.

Word Count: 1,787

Warning: Fluff that's its tooth rooting.

Note: Knowing that JJ works as a bus boy in the show and seeing how well he looked in episode 5, I couldn't get this idea out of my head. Tumblr was keep messing up as I was writing this so I'm going to post this and throw my phone out of my bedroom window now :) I hope you love it! :)

━━━

"DON'T EAT SOMEONE ELSE'S LUNCH!"

"Or what? ;) - JJ"

"I'll end your whole career. Side note: I found out who ate my PB & Jelly sandwich and it wasn't you so don't get any idea's now. - Y/N"

━━━

JJ bullshit his way through the hiring process. It might not be his dream job, but it was easy. He had to do something when he realized he had to grow and man up. His father didn't teach him that. His the reason.

The small tips he gets from all the older women after he gives them more attention than their husband's - they're either on 'work' call or still playing a game of golf - doesn't hurt. It's adds up quick. He normally buys more groceries for him and John B as an unspoken thank you for letting him basically live with him. Then he treats himself with new weed. He needs it after surrounded by Kooks and playing the part of a little bitch for them.

As soon as he clocks out for the day, he undo the tie harshly. That's another thing he hates about this job - the uniform. White button up long sleeves, black dress pants with black dress shoes. If it's a morning and evening shift, the finish touch is a black vest. For nights, it's a black tie. Even if he is only walking around to give people refills, asking if they're doing fine, and cleaning up afterwards, his hair must look well put together.

He is unbutton his shirt when he stops in front of his locker. He's smiling at the post it on his locker before he even reads it. He knows who it's from.

It started a month ago. Someone left a message taped on the fridge in the break room for everyone to read. He knows he didn't have to, but he wrote down a response on the piece of paper. He wasn't expecting one back. When the front and back got filled up, he started looking for the same name on a locker. He left a post it note.

He reads the newest one on his locker.

"Fun fact of the day: you're reading this. - Y/N"

He rolls his eyes. He pulls it off and opens his locker, grabbing his normal clothes to go change. He adds it to the pile with the others.

JJ decides to stop at use book store. When a co-worker asks him if he is back for extra hours, he says no. He's carrying a shopping bag.

━━━

Your morning doesn't start on a good note. Your mind wakes you up ten minutes after your alarm should've gone off. You didn't plug in the charger all the way last night, so you're phone is at 14%.

Somehow you get to work on time. You notice you forgot your nametag.

At least there's a new post it on your locker.

"Funny. Not. Look inside and thank me later ;) PS. Don't write your new comb on the back of your lock again. - JJ"

You curse at yourself underneath your breath. You start laughing when you read the title of the book he left for you.

"365 Jokes For Kids: A Joke A Day Book."

You put it in your bag and grab your clear water bottle before closing your locker to clock in.

━━━

The giant clock on the wall taunts you. Only ten more minutes until your break and you can finally eat something.

From the dinner-room area a cute blonde starts walking towards you. By his outfit, you can't help to silent pray that he isn't a boy on a vacation and just knows how to look hot as hell all dressed up. Underneath a black vest, the long white button up shows off his muscles and the sleeves are rolled up, which is just another level of attractiveness itself, and his legs look long and firm in the dress pants. It's his hair that got your attention in the first place and now you can't help to watch as he pulls it, running his fingers through it.

Checking out cute guys all day is definitely a perk for you. Sitting behind a desk all day and being first person people see as they walk in, helping them check in or out, and answering calls is not how you wanted to spend your summer.

Last month your dad pulled some strings over a game of golf to land you this job. He sounds like a robot every time he tells you that you need to work your ass off to get the money you deserve. How is this doing that?

You get out of you thoughts when the cute blonde doesn't go in front of the desk. Instead you have to spin your chair sideways. He learns over the pull-up door and does a hand gesture, telling you to come over. You do.

"Hey."

"Hi?" It comes out as a questin since you're confused as to why he is keep looking back at the dinner room. He seems like he is afraid of getting caught. "Can I help with you something?"

"Can you make an announcement? Over the speaker loud enough for all they to hear?" He looks over again and points.

"It all matters about what you want me to say."

"Say that it's hard as fuck for me to do my job when lil Satan's are running around and how great it would be if parents tell them to stop before I do. I can't get written up or life my job because of them."

You try to hide your excitement when you find out he works here. He's not wearing a nametag. You know that it's only bus boys who don't. Briefly, you wonder if he knows JJ.

"I'm sorry. I wish I could but I can't. Parents will come up and start yelling at me that I should keep my mouth shut and thoughts to myself."

He clenches his jaw and mumbles, "yeah. Right, of course."

"When I come back from my lunch, you can-uh everytime you want to lose your shit, look over here, and I'll give you a thumbs up for not killing someone. Especially the kids."

His laugh makes you wish he is JJ.

Someone comes from behind him to release you. He doesn't say anything before walking away.

But later, you lose track on how many times he looks over at you and mouths, "help me".

━━━

The next day on his day off, he gushes over the front desk girl to his friends. "She made me not want to hurt a room of kooks. I think she has superpowers or some shit."

Kiara takes a hint of his blunt. "I'm kinda jealous, not going to lie. What's her name? I need her to tell how she did it after talking to you for only a couple of minutes when I've been your friend for years."

"I don't know. She wasn't wearing a nametag and I forgot to ask." Pope slaps him on the back of the head. "You forgot or worried she wasn't Y/N?"

"Oh my god!" Sarah squeals, "What if the front desk girl is also post it girl?"

JJ chokes on the hit he was taking. "Life doesn't work like that." For me. He thinks to himself. He makes eye contact with John B. Curse him for being able to read him.

"I think it's time to ask Y/N meet up, dude."

━━━

When he walks through the front doors, he catches himself getting upset seeing someone else at the front desk. He still waves and says good morning. On the door of the back room, there's a sign.

"MANDATORY STUFF MEETING WEDNESDAY, IN THE LOBBY AT 6PM"

On the very bottom, he notices Y/N handwriting.

"Looks like we'll finally meet. ♡ - You Know Who"

He kicks the door open.

━━━

He is still thinking about the stupid little heart when a waiter calls him to come over towards the kitchen. "Can you bring this to the front desk?"

"This isn't a drive in restaurant- you know what? I shouldn't be surprised and know not to ask stupid questions." He salutes the waiter and grabs the bag.

He stops dead in his tracks.

The front desk girl is now there, talking on the phone and writing stuff down. When she feels someone looking instantly at her, she looks up. She smiles and gives a small wave.

JJ cringes at himself and tries to not trip over his own two feet. He puts down the bag, and looks at everything and anything but her as he waits for her to finish the call. When she does, he quickly states, "Someone ordered food to get pick-up."

"Ah yes, Mr. Hough. He called saying he was carving for some of the all you can eat bread rolls."

When she says the name, it's like a lightbuld goes over his head as he remembers. He doesn't listen to the rest of what she says.

Before he can ask, the phone is ringing. "I should answer." She smiles and it makes him feel a tug in the corner of his mouth. "See you at the meeting tonight?"

"Yeah. I should go back to working too."

━━━

Your eyes go wide when the cute blondie sits next to you at the same time the manager says the meeting will begin shortly.

"Hey, how are you?" You ask after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"Fine." He splits out.

"Doesn't sound like it." You cross your arms against your chest. He doesn't say anything, only rolls his eyes and takes his red snapback hat off. In the corner of your eye, you watch him pull on the loose trends.

Grabbing your bag off the ground, you open it to see what you can do to pass the time like him.

"Holy shit."

You look up at him, confused. You notice he is staring at the joke book JJ gave to you. With the way he makes eye contact with you, you can tell that he is nervous.

But why would he-

"Oh my god."

"JJ, Y/N." Both of almost get whip flash to look and listen to your manager. "Pay attention please."

━━━

You're going through all the post it's in your locker, dropping some when an arm wraps around you and your boyfriend. He kisses your cheek. "Are you ready?"

"To meet your friends? I'm kinda nervous. But you've told me so much about them that I already feel like I know them."

"Trust me, they'll say the same thing about you. Ignore the names they call you."

━━━

"You're the peanut butter to my jelly. - JJ"

"That's the cheeses thing you have ever said. Say more. - Y/N."

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Taglist: @harrysbbby @sunflowerbecca @latenitewolves @outrbank @katerosexx

[kiriluvbot]

crop top

—

“shouto.”

those hands slide up and over his chest. “hanta.”

he swallows. “what are you doing?”

shouto pauses, eyes falling to where his hands have disappeared beneath hanta’s homemade bright pink crop top. “admiring the artwork.”

or; sero wears a crop top. todoroki thinks he’s sneaky. bakugo just wants a snack.

—

it’s a quiet sunday night when shouto todoroki finds hanta sero humming in the kitchen, drying off cups he may or may not have snuck into his room over the past several days.

it’s a quiet sunday night, and shouto spent half the day asleep and the other half doing homework, and he misses his boyfriend. hanta hadn’t been in his room, so the kitchen was the next best place to search for him.

it’s a quiet sunday night, and hanta sero is tippy toeing to place cups back where they belong in the cabinets. he’s tippy toeing and—

ah.

he’s wearing a crop top.

hanta sero is wearing a crop top.

hanta sero, hero in training, shouto’s boyfriend, is tippy toeing in a crop top, arms raised up high and—

shouto thanks his lucky stars. it’s not often hanta wears crop tops, but when he does—

silent, without even intending to be, shouto pads across the kitchen floor, rubbing exhaustion from his eyes. hanta is settling flat back on his feet, still humming, when shouto comes up behind him and, without warning or any preamble, pushes his hands up his shirt, hugs him from behind.

“found you,” shouto says, completely oblivious to the way hanta nearly jumps out of his skin.

“jesus christ,” hanta clutches his chest, peering over his shoulder at the two toned boy. “where did you come from? you scared the shit outta me!”

shouto’s arms slide around hanta’s waist, fingers splayed out across his abs. his eyes fall shut as he presses his cheek into hanta’s shoulder blade, smiling and content. hanta’s built like a dancer, and shouto likes to appreciate the art work, more shameless and less secretive as time goes on.

“was looking for you,” is all shouto offers him.

hanta inhales sharply. one of shouto’s hands is cold, the other warm, and both of them are, for some reason, rather sneaky tonight. hanta swears he isn't ticklish, but he is, and shouto isn’t being very cautious.

hanta gave denki a bloody nose after a tickle fight once. it was an accident, but denki grabbed his sides and his elbows went flying.

“you found me,” hanta says, still trying to sneak a peek at shouto’s ducked head behind him. “i’m almost done putting up these dishes, then we can—we can go upstairs or something.”

or something. hanta takes a shaky breath, still a little scared and still trying not to knock shouto out every time his sly fingers brush his sides. heat crawls up his neck. he'll never get used to shouto being like this.

shouto hums, and it vibrates through hanta’s back. his thumbs rub circles into hanta’s skin, hands still exploring but staying in relatively safe territory. except hanta can’t really put dishes up with shouto clinging to him the way he is, with his strong arms wrapped around hanta’s waist.

just let me finish these dishes, man. two more seconds and you’ll have my undivided attention, i swear.

“can the dishes wait?” shouto shifts. hanta can feel his hands flatten on his stomach, as he stands up straight.

hanta opens his mouth to respond, chuckling lightly, trying to bite back a growing grin, when warm lips press into the nape of his neck.

oh.

maybe the dishes can wait.

shouto’s left hand disappears and reappears up high, pulling the collar of his shirt out of his way. hanta closes his eyes as shouto plants another warm kiss to his shoulder. then another, and another, pulling the collar further as he explores all the skin available to him. his heart crawls up his throat.

“shou, you know—“

“hm?” another kiss to the hollow of hanta’s collarbone, closer to his neck. it’s warm in here. was it warm in here earlier? maybe not this warm. shouto’s heating up the air with his quirk without even realizing. his cool hand is still exploring hanta’s stomach, his chest pressed to hanta’s back. it’s a lot. it’s not enough.

it’s almost laughable. hanta pushes away all the cups he has yet to put up so he doesn’t knock them over by accident.

“we can—“ he can’t even say it, not with his voice shaking, as shouto kisses the crook of his neck, slow and careful. “we, um—we should go upstairs.” another kiss, higher on his neck, slick and deliberate. god.

“yeah,” shouto murmurs. what the fuck. he’s hardly ever like this. why in the kitchen of all places? why am i complaining? i’m not complaining. any place is good. any—holy shit. shouto’s teeth graze the spot just below his ear and he breaks out in goosebumps. “maybe.”

hanta blinks, and blinks again, breath catching in his throat. he turns around, with what little room he has, seeing as shouto has effectively trapped him against the counter. when he turns, shouto’s hands keep sliding, and when hanta is fully facing him, his hands creep right back up to where they were when this began.

god.

shouto’s hair is a mess, like he’s barely just woken up. his eyes are glassy and sharp. he looks—well, needy. clingy. knowing. the corner of his lip is quirked up, and hanta wants to scoop him up and carry him back to his room, right at this exact moment.

“shouto.”

those hands slide up and over his chest. “hanta.”

he swallows. “what are you doing?”

shouto pauses, eyes falling to where his hands have disappeared beneath hanta’s homemade bright pink crop top. “appreciating the artwork.”

he laughs at that, embarrassingly breathy. his neck still tingles. “shouto.”

blue and gray find black. “hanta.”

“are you gonna kiss me like you mean it now or are you just gonna keep teasing me until i flip you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs myself?”

there it is.

shouto’s ghost of a smirk goes wide—it’s a wonderful sight—as he leans in, shutting hanta in against the countertop completely, hands still exploring what shouto can’t see. he can feel hanta’s heart pounding as he closes the gap and kisses hanta like he means it.

hanta’s eyes fall closed as those lips finally find his own, closes them tighter when shouto squeezes his sides, fingers winding into two toned locks and trying not to pull. any coherent thought leaves his head when shouto’s fingers dance down, down, down, then back up, then around, down again. everywhere.

shouto’s teasing him. on purpose.

it’s working.

well, it would work better if hanta didn’t suck in a breath every time those fingers ghost over some of the most ticklish spots on his stomach. don’t laugh. god, please don’t laugh. it’s—jesus christ.

if he could even think straight, he’d wonder if shouto remembers how ticklish he is, how he rediscovers how ticklish hanta is every single time shouto dips his hands under his shirt. which is, to be honest, more often than one would think. it’s a very strange sensation, being dizzy from the touch, dizzy with want and with trying really hard not to laugh.

the cups are forgotten.

it’s when shouto sucks on his bottom lip that hanta lets out the most embarrassing, breathiest sigh of his life. shouto hears it, too, because he smiles without letting go, hanta can feel it. shouto takes a breath, squeezes hanta’s waist, and does it again.

they definitely should go upstairs. the countertop digs into the small of hanta’s back. if either of them were thinking rationally, they’d worry about someone coming in. well, hanta would. shouto wouldn't. shouto doesn't. he never worries at all, completely oblivious and unknowing when he kisses hanta in public, when he touches him in the presence of other people, deliberately or accidentally.

if he could even think straight, hanta would wonder if shouto even realizes how much power he has over hanta.

but since neither of them are paying attention, the location doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

it’s when shouto’s lips trail down hanta’s jaw, teeth grazing his neck that surprisingly gentle footsteps enter the kitchen.

“what the fuck.”

hanta’s eyes fly open. shouto doesn't exactly stop, either because he didn’t hear the third voice or because he simply doesn't care, so hanta takes to gently pushing him back. which then makes shouto whine. because why wouldn’t he whine when there’s someone watching from the doorway of the kitchen, catching them in the act of being entirely way too adventurous. in the fucking kitchen. hanta’s soul leaves him, his entire body flushing with embarrassment.

“oh my god,” hanta starts, stomach and neck and every single part of him on fire. “bakugo, holy shit, dude—“

bakugo.

katsuki fucking bakugo stands in the entryway, brows pinched together, eyes narrowed in the most accusatory way hanta’s ever seen, fists balled at his sides. his face is red.

bakugo’s face is red.

“what. in the goddamn fuck.”

shouto detaches himself from hanta, and hanta really wishes he hadn’t. bakugo’s eyes stay trained on hanta’s face, on the swollen redness of his lips, on the trail of teased skin on his neck.

he considers taping bakugo to the ceiling, or maybe covering his eyes with tape, or maybe using his tape to swing the hell out of here.

hanta is sure it’s a horrible sight. shouto sighs, leans his head against hanta’s arm as he laces their fingers together. that, at least, keeps him on earth, keeps him from completely unraveling and running away.

“dude,” hanta starts again. “bakugo, i’m so—we just, uh—“

“no,” bakugo holds up a hand like he’s gonna blast them both to pieces. “nope. absolutely fucking not. i don’t wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

“i swear, we were just leaving. um, we—just, please—don’t say—“

warning sparks ignite in his palm. shouto yawns.

“get a fuckin’ room, you animals!” bakugo keeps turning redder. “i didn’t wanna fuckin’ see that—fuckin’—“

“close your eyes then,” shouto offers, tugging at hanta’s hand.

hanta chokes on laughter as bakugo face screws up impossibly tighter. “damn you, icyhot bastard! i’m not in the mood for your shit! just—god, get outta the damn kitchen!”

hanta is ready to melt through the floor at this point. to turn to dust, to never been seen again. every inch of him is burning up with embarrassment and want and it’s shouto’s fault. he squeezes the two toned boys hand back and starts leading the way out of the kitchen, bowing to bakugo as he passes.

“please don’t tell anyone,” hanta practically begs.

bakugo is trying not to look him in the eye, trying to ignore the darkening spots on his neck. “yeah, yeah, whatever. go on!”

shouto follows behind hanta with his head held high, hair a disaster, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. he even has the audacity to wink at bakugo when hanta isn’t looking anymore.

they're lucky the entire kitchen doesn’t get blown to bits.

“what the fuck,” hanta sighs when they finally make it to the elevator. shouto doesn’t release his hand. hanta doesn’t want him to let go. in fact, he would like to continue what they started before he dies, but embarrassment overpowers everything else. “that was—that was horrible.”

shouto presses the button for their floor when he finally looks hanta in the face again. hanta’s red, redder than even bakugo was, and he won’t stop chewing the inside of his cheek.

“you’re super red,” shouto comments.

hanta huffs at that, squeezes shouto’s hand. he doesn’t look shouto in the eye. he can’t. “yeah? well, i’m—i’m really embarrassed.”

shouto tilts his head, white hair splaying across his forehead. hanta watches the elevator doors close, blinks when shouto reaches up to tuck a piece of hanta’s hair behind his ear. “why?”

hanta looks at him, then, jaw nearly dropping to the floor. shouto doesn’t look embarrassed, only mildly disheveled. mildly. well, maybe a bit more than mildly. “why?” hanta outright laughs at that. “shou, bakugo just—just walked in on us making out.”

“so?”

so?!

“you had your hands up my shirt.”

“yeah.”

“you had me pinned against the counter.”

“i know.”

hanta’s brain clouds with question marks.

“we—we were making out. in the kitchen and bakugo—katsuki bakugo saw us.”

shouto nods. “yes, i remember.”

is the elevator slow today? hanta rubs the back of his neck; a nervous tick.

“that wasn’t embarrassing for you?”

“not really,” shouto sighs, not dismissive, just a deep breath, like he’s reminiscent or something dramatic like that. hanta considers shoving him into the wall right here. “i’d like to pick up where we left off, though—hey, you're really red again.”

hanta stares at him, flushing from his head all the way down to his toes again. heat crawls over his skin. he almost laughs, turning his eyes to the ceiling in silent prayer. “you’re gonna kill me, shou.”

this doesn’t sit right with shouto at all. “what? why would you say that? what did i do?”

“not literally, i just—“ hanta pulls shouto close to him and admires the way shouto blushes, for the first time all night. the elevator doors open. finally. god. “come on, shou. we’re going to my room.”

finally.

then hanta picks shouto up, wraps his legs around his waist and marches down the hall, both of them laughing quietly and murmuring things to the other. hanta digs for his key without taking his eyes off shouto, off the high blush on his cheeks, off the way his hair frames his face as shouto peppers him in kisses, much sweeter and gentler than before.

after the door is unlocked, hanta kicks it open, tosses his key somewhere he’s sure he won’t be able to find, and shoves the door closed again.

shouto’s grinning like a madman the entire time, already sneaking his hands back up hanta’s crop top.

—

bakugo doesn’t tell a fucking soul, and even puts up the cups hanta forgot about.

—

drops this and sprints away, again

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904657

[anarchist-billy]

“Not now, Billy!” He’s five years old the first time his father says those words to him, the first time he hears that voice, raised and dripping with irritation. Billy snaps his mouth shut, fingers curling around the paper in his hand, crumpling the edges. He just wanted to show off the drawing he made at kindergarten, wanted to see his father’s eyes light up as he praised him for how good it was - the way his teacher had. His mom is at the stove, stirring the soup she’s made them for dinner, and she thinks she’s being ignored, but Billy sees the roll of her eyes as she glances back at them. She doesn’t say anything, just goes back to stirring.

Not now, Billy

“Get away, you weirdo!” Caleb Parker is Billy’s best friend in third grade. Or was. Billy’s pretty sure best friends don’t yell at each other in front of everyone at recess. He’s pretty sure they don’t push each other, either. But Caleb’s hands connect with his chest with enough force to knock him onto his butt. Billy sits in the mud, blinking up at Caleb’s retreating back, the laughter of their classmates mingling with the rushing of blood in his ears. His cheeks feel too hot, like they’re going to burn off of his face. He gets up, swiping furiously at the tears that start falling from his eyes, and runs for the door of their classroom. His teacher doesn’t say anything as he rushes past his desk, out into the hall, and into the bathroom. He runs into a stall and slams the door shut behind him, pressing his face against the cool metal. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. Caleb’s been his best friend since first grade. Just the day before they’d gone to the park across from Caleb’s house, played tag and competed to see who was best at the monkey bars. Caleb won. And when they sat side-by-side on the swings, Caleb had reached out and taken Billy’s hand. It was the first time anyone had held Billy’s hand, aside from adults when they crossed the street or his mom at the grocery store. Billy had been surprised at how different it felt - Caleb’s hand was warm, despite how chilly the Autumn day was, and Billy wished he’d never have to let go. Billy just tried to say hello, like he always did. And Caleb pushed him, looked at him like he was discarded gum on the bottom of his shoe.

Get away, you weirdo

“I can’t stay here anymore,” the words are hushed, wet, accompanied by labored sniffling. “I just…god, Syl, I can’t fucking breathe.” Billy’s ten years old, sitting on the other side of the kitchen wall, TV turned low in front of him as he doodles in the margins of his math homework. It’s not the first time he’s overheard a conversation between his mom and someone named Sylvia. Some faceless woman his mom never talks about, just whispers to over the phone when his father’s not around, fingers nervously toying with the chord. It is the first time he’s heard her say those particular words, though. The first time he’s heard the tears in her voice. The first time she doesn’t join him in the living room afterwards. The next morning he wakes up to his father throwing her records at the wall, and when he slips past him to check their bedroom, he sees the open, empty drawers of her dresser, the absence of her toothbrush by the sink. She didn’t take him with her.

I can’t fucking breathe

“You let a guy suck your dick one time and suddenly he thinks you owe him something, like some needy little bitch.” Billy’s fifteen years old. He’s not supposed to be hearing this, but the smugness in Jeffrey Humbert’s voice sends rage searing through his chest. Jeffrey had practically begged Billy to suck his dick at the party over the weekend. He wasn’t even drunk or high like most guys are when they ask him for it. And Billy agreed to it, cause he liked the attention, however fleeting it was. Problem was, Billy actually liked Jeffrey a little more than he liked most guys who asked. So maybe it meant more to him than it should have. And maybe he was an idiot for thinking this time would be different, this time Jeffrey would reciprocate, wouldn’t pretend he didn’t know Billy from Adam afterwards. Billy wouldn’t be making that mistake again. He slammed his locker shut, relishing in the sharp silence that followed, and turned the corner, coming face to face with Jeffrey and two other boys from their PE class. The two other boys look nervous, but Jeffrey looks unbothered, the smugness still showing in his expression. That’s his mistake. Billy gets up in his space, reaches a hand down to cup his dick through his gym shorts and squeeze, hard. Jeffrey lets out a whimper, tensing with the pain. “Keep talking, asshole,” Billy snarls right in his face. “You’ll learn, I’m pretty good at talking, too.” And talk is exactly what Billy does. He learns the art of talking shit after that, spreading rumors, weaving intricate stories that have everyone around him wrapped around his finger. He relishes in the attention of it all. Relishes in the way no one can touch him. No one knows the truth lying just under the surface - that it’s all a facade. Control the narrative so it can’t control you.

Like some needy little bitch

“Jesus, do you ever stop talking?” Harrington’s a pretty guy. One of the prettiest Billy’s ever seen. And Billy’s got him right where he wants him - at arm’s length. Harrington hates him, just like Billy designed. He doesn’t have a clue about the way Billy’s eyes track him through the halls at school. The way Billy plies Tommy with beer in order to get more information, figure out what makes Harrington tick, what pisses him off, how he can keep up this game he’s playing. He doesn’t know about how Billy lies awake late at night sometimes, thinking about those perfect lips - thinking first about what it would feel like to get them around his dick, until his thoughts drift to more dangerous territory…What those lips would feel like against his own. How that tongue, which pokes out when Steve’s concentrating really hard in class, would taste. How his skin would taste. How his voice would sound, all high and breathy when Billy touches him in all the right places. Billy talks shit, taunts and mocks, and makes as much ruckus as he can, desperate to keep Steve in that sweet, safe spot. And Steve behaves. For a time.

Jesus, do you ever stop talking

“Stay.” Billy lifts his head from where he’s bent over, searching for his shirt on the floor, and meets Steve’s soft, imploring gaze. He doesn’t move, doesn’t think he can. Everything inside of him is telling him it’s a trap. Or maybe he misheard the word. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was a moment of weakness, and it was going to cost him everything. There’s a buzzing in his head, white noise that’s telling him to get out while he still can. But then Steve’s warm fingers brush over his ribcage, curling around his waist, tugging until Billy gives in. He lets himself be drawn back into bed, back under the covers. “Sleep better when you’re here.” Steve whispers against the back of his neck, breath tickling the skin there before his lips press against it; comforting in a way Billy never imagined he’d experience.

Stay

“No, I like it when you’re like this.” Steve’s cheeks are pink as he ducks his head, as if trying to hide from Billy’s gaze - but Billy doesn’t miss it. He wonders if he could feel the heat of them, if he was brave enough to reach out and touch. Steve’s sitting beside his hospital bed, listening to him ramble about all the music he can’t wait to listen to when he can go home, back to his stereo and his extensive collection of tapes. “Like this?” Billy asks, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. “Talking about stuff you love,” Steve answers, a little quieter this time, but he meets Billy’s gaze again, and he smiles. “Oh.” Billy says, a bit dumbly. And then it’s his turn to blush, looking down at his lap, where he’s picking at the dead skin around his fingers. Wetness gathers at the corners of his eyes, and closes his eyes to try and keep it from spreading. Steve’s hands reach out then, covering his hands, stopping him. And Billy can’t help smiling, just the tiniest bit, as he turns his hand over and threads his fingers with Steve’s.

I like it when you’re like this

[smol-and-grumpy]

EUPHORIA - Chapter 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: NSFW

WC: 3159

A/N: This chapter fills my ‘sybian’ square for @spnkinkbingo​​. Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Dean makes her shut her laptop quickly and drops it inside her bag. As Y/N gets up, he places his hand around her waist and whisks her out of his office. He holds on to her tightly when helping her down the stairs. 

They walk along the hallway and pause in front of the first room, the light above signaling green. They all are. It is still about twenty minutes until the club opens. Dean twists the doorknob and opens it slightly, letting her take a peek inside. 

“That’s our baby room.” He says, and braces himself against the door frame. She takes a step closer into the room but not quite going in yet. She isn’t sure if she really wants to.

There’s a giant crib in the middle of the room. A changing table off to the side, mats on the floor and huge ass diapers ready to use. The toys laying around look like gigantic baby toys. 

“You want to go in and explore this room? Want me to change your diapers?” He says, in a playful tone of voice.

“No, thanks.” She shudders and walks out. Dean follows her and shuts the door and she turns back to him, with a grimace on her face, “There are really people who go and play in this room?” 

Dean chuckles, “Oh sweetheart, more than you know. We don’t kink shame around here. Each to their own.”

“Sorry,” 

“It’s okay,” Dean smiles and leads her to the next door.

He opens. She looks. It’s a black room, with ropes everywhere and hooks along the ceiling. 

“Rope room,” He says as she takes a couple of steps inside.

“You’re familiar with it?” He asks, and comes to stand next to her, his hand reaching out for a long rope on the table. 

She swallows, “Well, I heard about it, yeah, but I’ve never. I mean—”

“—You wanna try?” Dean grins, holding the rope up. He's ready, she can tell, “You don’t have to take your clothes off. I’ll put it over them. Just your upper body.”

“Okay, do it,” She says, smiling, because she’s a little excited about it, too.

Dean's hands are moving fast. He fastens the rope around her and she can feel it squeezing her boobs. He brushes his hand against her nipple which is erect and mumbles out a sorry before he goes on. She feels everything so intensely. Feels his breath on her,  his hand touching her, fingertips skipping over her body. Even though she’s dressed, his touches are intense and her clit throbs between her thighs.

“Done,” Dean says after a while and he turns her around towards the mirror to take a look at herself. He admires his own handy work, his gaze lingering a fraction too long at her squished boobs.

“You’re good at this,” She says and Dean smiles a boyish smile.

He shrugs with an easy smirk, “I guess you live and learn.” 

“Okay, so,” She says, struggling to get out of the bondage. Dean laughs before he helps her get rid of it, “This is not for me, I think.”

Dean places the rope back onto the table, “Fair enough. Let’s go check the other room. Maybe I got something you’d like.”

They walk out and Dean opens up the room right next door. 

The room is smaller than the previous ones. There’s a couch propped against a wall. In the middle of the room is some kind of a pedestal with a machine. It looks kind of like an electric bull but it’s actually a sybian that also goes in circles if they want it to go around, probably. There are mats on the floor to help soften a fall. 

“That’s our bull room.” He says, and steps in, closing the door behind him. She looks at him quizzically. He hasn’t closed the door to the other rooms.

He just shrugs, “Figured you might like that one. Do you?”

“Well, it’s better than the last room, yeah. I’m curious about this,” She points at the sybian, “Does it spin? Like really fast?” 

Dean grins smugly and reaches for a remote on the coffee table in front of the couch. He clicks on a button and the sybian springs to life, “It can spin as fast as you like,” He pushes the button and increases the speed. It makes her head spin. “Which, I would not really recommend, unless being dizzy turns you on.”

“Can it also just— not spin at all?”

“Yeah, it’s optional.” He says, but she can’t miss the cocky smirk on his face, “Have you ever been on one?”

“Duh, how?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, maybe you’re fucking kinky and you have all the stuff at home?”

“It’s like you don’t know me,” She blushes. 

“No, I know you, alright, but you’ve changed. It’s not bad either. I like the woman you are now. You’re less shy. You’re more open. That’s why I asked if you’ve ever been on one. If not you can try it out if you want?”

“Dean,” She says, but internally she wants to. She doesn’t know? All she knows is that it’s tingling down there and what’s the harm in it? “Will you be in here as well?”

“Yeah,” He doesn’t blink an eye. It’s like the most natural thing for him and she doesn’t know if she should be impressed or scared.

It’s also some kind of challenge, she thinks. Maybe he wants to see how far he could go for her to back out of all of this? But he’s right. She’s a whole new person, someone who isn’t going to back out easily.

Y/N holds Dean’s gaze as she reaches behind with her hands to pull down the zipper of her skirt. She slips it down and steps out of it, taking off her shoes in the process. He’s watching her. His eyes are intense, as he licks his lips before he curves them into a smirk, as if he wants to say that he accepts her challenge.

Turning around, she walks to the steps that lead up to the sybian and Dean sits down on the couch, the remote in his hand.

“Uh,” He says and points his index finger at her, wriggling it around, “You might want to lose the panties.”

She frowns at him, “Why?”

Is he really telling her to go up there naked from the waist down?

“I’m just saying,” He shrugs, but she can’t read him. It’s said in a nonchalant way, she absolutely doesn’t know what to think of it, “It will rub against your clit and you’re doing to get wet. But go on, if you want them to be ruined, be my guest.”

She sighs. Of course he’s right. But is she really going to strip butt naked in front of him?

It’s like he senses her discomfort and he opens his mouth to speak, “Y/N, I want to remind you again that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want, okay? Use the safe word and we’re out of here. I say it again, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me. You’ll get to know that I am confronted with sexual things every day. It’s kind of normal to me. And if you are worried about who might have sat on there before you, the room gets a serious wipe down every time someone leaves, so don’t worry about that either.”

Y/N hooks her fingers into the side of her panties, but before pulling down, she asks, “There are no cameras anywhere, right?” 

Dean nods, “There are,” He points at the one in the corner, “I need to make sure that I have everything on tape should someone come forward with a complaint or claim. It’s for my own security. But they’re off now, so you’re good.”

She thinks it’s weird but she trusts him. She trusts his word. Dean has always been someone who you could trust, even with his bad boy charm. 

“Okay,” She says and slips her panties down. She doesn’t look at him, though. Doesn’t want to see his reaction when he sees her naked. Straddling the sybian, she waits for his instructions. 

“There’s a bottle of lube. Take that and smear it on the pad of the sybian where it’ll connect to your clit. Do you want a plug? We have the ones where you can sit on it like dildo.”

“No, I think I’m good, thanks,” She says and picks up the lube to squirt on her finger before she smears it onto the pad of the sybian. She moves forward to really sit on it, positions her clit right on that pad. 

“You ready?” Dean’s voice is a little strained and she can’t look at him, feeling shy all of a sudden. 

“Yeah,” 

He turns it on and it starts to vibrate. Her hands are on her thighs. Dean increases the vibrations and her fingers dig into her flesh. She bites on her bottom lip, doesn’t want to moan out. 

“More?” Dean asks and it’s the first time she looks at him after she dropped her panties. He’s still sitting there, relaxed, but there’s a bulge in his pants. She can tell that he’s trying to conceal it but she’s a reporter. Her eyes are trained to notice little things, little changes in one's demeanor. 

“Uh-huh,” She says, her teeth still biting down on her lip. 

Dean chuckles, “Uh-huh?”

A wave of stronger vibrations grips her thighs and she can’t bite it back anymore, “Oh my god,” She throws her head back, closes her eyes, “Oh, fuck,”

He increases the speed one more time by just a hair, “Say the safe word if you must,” He reminds her. 

Oh no, she won’t say it because fuck, she’s close. So fucking close. She moves her hips, all shame and inhibitions thrown out of the window and it’s true, people say when someone is in the zone, they rarely care about anything else. The chemistry in their brain changes and all they want to chase is their own orgasm. And she wants that too, wants to come so bad. 

Her eyes fly open when she hears Dean groan. He's obviously aroused, too. She cups at her tits, fingers twirling around her nipple through the blouse and now she wishes that she had taken that stupid piece of clothing off, too.

“Fuck, this is great,” She giggles, her hips working forward and back. 

“Can I just say that you look great,” Dean’s voice rolls deep over the sound of vibrations, a shiver runs up her spine, “Do you think you can come?” 

She chuckles, “I’m so close.”

“Do it,” He says and she can see him licking his lips, “Please.”

“‘K,” She nods her head, and grinds down harder, faster. It could be her imagination but she thinks he increased the speed a little more and fuck, she’s going to come. 

She’s going to come in front of her old school mate. 

In front of Dean.

“Oh god,” Y/N eyes cross, her legs cramp up from her toes to her thighs and she shivers all over when that absolute high rolls over her body. 

She’s still shaking when she comes down and Dean turns off the sybian. He gives her time, which she really needs. 

Fuck, that was awesome. 

When her mind stops fogging up, she gets off the sybian and Dean’s quick to help her down. Her legs still feel wobbly and he walks over to the cleaning station to get her some tissues to rub herself down. He helps pick up her panties and she slides them back on, before she gets back into her skirt and she asks Dean help her zip it up because she can’t fucking think straight. 

“How was it?” He asks while he helps her steady herself so she can get into her shoes. 

“That was fucking awesome. I like this room.” She’s still out of breath and Dean has to grin. 

“Listen, we’re open now, so we don’t have any more time, okay? What about you come around another time to see the other rooms.” 

“Honestly?” She says, and raises her eyebrows. She can basically see his face dropping. Maybe he thinks that she’ll turn him down. Her lips curve into a wide grin, “I’d like that.”

His face lights up again, the smile as bright and wide as hers, “Awesome.”

He has an arm around her waist to help her out of the room. They walked along the VIP room. There were already a couple of VIP’s sitting around, drinking and having easy conversations. They really look like every next person. Probably have high end jobs and need to unwind in someplace, where they know that their secrets are kept under wraps. She almost feels bad for having to write a story about this establishment.

They greet Dean in passing and he nods at them, “You’re here for the poker game, right?”

“Yeah, will you join us?” One of the men asked Dean. 

“Nah, I’ll pass, but I’ll help you set it up. I’ll be right with you,” Dean says, and it’s obvious that even though he’s the boss around here, he tries to do everything to keep his guests happy. 

“Is she joining us, I have a dick to be sucked,” The same man asks and laughs to his friend. She guesses that they aren’t talking about a normal poker game. 

Dean glares over. He speaks in a low voice that’s also very loud, “That was a stupid remark. I want you to shut up now, or you’re out.”

At that, the room goes radio silent. Dean continues to walk her to the end of the VIP room and she turns around when she stands at the door, facing him. 

“So, how about tomorrow?” He asks, raising one eyebrow in question. 

“I can’t tomorrow.” She says, and adds, “I have a work thing. But the day after?”

Dean’s face goes from frowning to smiling in no time, “Great. Hope it was good for you,” He leans down to place a kiss on her cheek.

“It was,” She smiles when he parts from her, “Now I need a drink.”

“I’d love to join but I have to go take care of these idiots,” Dean jerks his head to where the men are sitting. 

“That’s okay, I’ll see you, Dean.” She stands on her toes as good as she can on her already high heels and places a kiss on his cheek in return, “Thank you.”

It’s as if he’s taken by surprise and she can see that his face flares up. He looks so cute when he blushes. 

When she walks down the staircase, she notices Claire. The girl is standing at the bar, talking to Garth, and Y/N thinks she’s going to use this opportunity to talk to them.

Garth has noticed her when she walks closer and is already mixing her a martini. 

“Hey, Claire, is it?” She greets the blonde girl. 

Claire smiles at her, “Yeah,” 

Y/N takes the glass from Garth and thanks him. She wants to fish out her purse but Garth stops her, “Boss would kill me if I took money from you.”

“Oh, okay,” 

She doesn’t want to be rude so she didn’t even try to give him money. 

While Garth is still busy behind the bar, she takes the opportunity and turns her attention back to Claire, “I saw you a couple of days ago in the VIP room.”

“You did?” Claire’s still smiling, completely unfazed.

“Yeah, do you do that often?”

“Duh,” Claire huffs out, “Oh my god, it’s the best feeling. I like being up there and I absolutely love being taken care of.”

“So, Dean’s not pressuring you.”

“What?” Claire’s laughing, throwing her head back and all, “I’m sorry, but no, he’s not pressuring me. At all. If anything, he always says that I should tone it down a little.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N says. That’s all she needs to know. Claire is not pressured into anything. At least it doesn’t seem like it. Maybe Y/N needs a couple more visits to watch her more closely but from the smile on Claire’s face and the glint in Claire’s eyes, she can see that Claire loves her job. She doesn’t understand why Mrs. Mills would make such a fuss about it. Claire’s legal, she should be able to make her own decisions, to shape her own future.

“Really, Dean’s the best boss. Everything we do, it’s because we want to. You kind of sound like my mom. She’s all over me about this.” Claire sighs and rolls her eyes back in her head dramatically. Even Garth has to laugh.

Y/N smiles a weak smile, “She’s probably just worried,”

 Dean finished setting up the poker game for his members. It was a request from the two guys that they would like to play poker while women sucked them off under the table. It’s not hard to find women who would be willing to do it, two other members were totally game. It doesn’t happen a lot that he gets requests but that’s also something he does. Members can request a fantasy and he’s trying to fulfill it if possible.

He walks back into his office, thinks about working through that member spreadsheet and sees if someone has been inactive long enough to be kicked out but he doubts that he will be able to concentrate. 

Sitting back in his chair, he lets his head fall back and closes his eyes. His cock is so fucking hard he could pound nails with it. 

All he sees is her, her sweet pussy that’s already glistening in the light while she hasn't even sat down on the sybian yet. He must have turned her on while he tied her up. He turned him on too, he can’t lie about that. 

Watching her on that sybian was pure torture and Dean really had to restrain himself from taking his dick out and rubbing himself off. She looked absolutely beautiful blissed out. Her lips slightly parted, her pussy wet, her face contorted in beautiful agony. He would have loved to have taken a picture.

Her kissing his cheek did nothing to make his boner go away and that’s not fair because Dean thinks she’s absolutely oblivious to her effect on him. He’s even harder after that kiss, if that’s even possible.

Now he has to wait fucking two days to see her again? Goddammit. Torture is what it is. He  doesn’t know how long he can stay good and behave around her. Dean’s a little terrified too, to be honest. He didn’t even know that he’s capable of feeling things as intense as this. It seems like a lifetime ago since he felt it last.

Chapter 5

[lovelyirony]

strawberries & cigarettes by troye whatshisface but it's winteriron (idk if this is a prompt or just a statement you can take it as either)

Bucky doesn’t like the fact that he’s going to a stupid fucking private school. He doesn’t like that this is his mother’s sacrifice, that she stays up late with the bills and works another job so that he can go there and make a living. 

He doesn’t even know what he wants to do in life, that’s the thing. Mom thinks that he’s going to be a really good businessman and she doesn’t know that he smokes outside his window and sometimes just doesn’t retain any sort of information at school because he has to be good. 

“I sacrifice so much for you,” she tells him one night. “You need to make a good living for yourself. Promise me.” 

And he does. Hell if he knows how he’s going to keep it, but that’s the promise. 

- 

The one kid that he absolutely hates at school is Tony Stark. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a whole silverware drawer at the ready in case he doesn’t like the spoon. 

Tony’s kind of wealth is the kind that is so astronomically high that at some point you have to wonder what it means to him. Because it doesn’t seem to mean anything. 

He shows up in the shittiest sneakers he’s ever seen, held together with tape and drawn on by someone else. His hair is never styled, his uniform is never washed, and yet he just exudes that kind of confidence that comes with knowing that your life is better than anyone else’s, kind of. 

He’s also an ass in class. Correcting teachers, derailing the topic, and acting like it all is beneath him. 

They say he’s a genius, going to take over his father’s company. He has his future set in stone, and so there’s nothing else for him to learn. Bucky’s not really sure if he’s a genius or not, because he’s pretty sure a genius could figure out when to leave shit alone. 

Everyone at St. Anthony’s knows that Bucky is an individual who does well on his own. At most, you say hello and move on. He doesn’t talk to anyone, he makes sure he doesn’t look like he talks to anyone, and he’s said multiple times that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone. 

Tony Stark, however, talks. Doesn’t matter what the subject is, he talks. 

Bucky gets nicknames. Because of his...frigid demeanor, this means that Tony calls him shit like “Ice Pop,” “Icicle,” “Mr. Freeze,” and any other nickname that’s applicable to cold. 

“Hey Snowball,” Tony says in class. “You finished with your presentation for English class? Mine still sucks, although I’m sure it’ll be better than Hammer’s.” 

“That’s not saying a lot,” Bucky mutters. “At all. Now shut up. It’s class.” 

“We all know it’s going to be boring,” Tony says. “Sitwell has the personality of a tumbleweed, and you’re so much more interesting to talk to.” 

Bucky doesn’t respond to that. 

“Ah, so we’re at the no-talking stage, darling. I’ll make it up to you. Ice cream? Dinner? Elaborate cruise trip in summer?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, and Tony quiets for roll call, but says one last comment. 

“I think I’m going to do the presentation in Comic Sans. Thoughts?” 

“I wish you didn’t have thoughts, then maybe you’d leave me alone.” 

Tony laughs. 

“You’re cute, Barnes. Cute. You know I don’t leave anyone alone.” 

- 

There’s a bad day. Bucky gets those sometimes. Every day of his life is a bad day, almost, but this one? The absolute worst. 

He had nightmares, barely got any sleep, and found out that his little sister used up the last of his shampoo, so he had to use his mom’s and now he smells like “Strawberry Paradise.” 

He hates the day, and it’s not even eight o’clock yet. 

Tony Stark, of course, makes it worse. He talks incessantly about something related to robotics or the weather or music or whatever, and Bucky just sees red. 

"Can you shut up for one fucking second of your life?” he hisses at him. “Oh my fucking god, it doesn’t matter. Nothing you say matters at all to me.” 

- 

Tony’s heard a lot of shit like that. Like, a lot. Probably worse. 

But for some reason, it’s hurting more coming from Bucky Barnes. 

Tony doesn’t shut up. He knows that. Everyone knows that. He has legitimately given people headaches. His dad has timed his talking and limited him to about two minutes. It would’ve been even less, but at family therapy they’re trying to work on “empathy for others.” 

(A crock of bullshit, because Tony’s fairly sure his dad doesn’t know what that is.) 

Bucky’s...he’s different. Sure, he hates Tony. Everyone does, and to be completely frank, Tony likes it that way. You know where you stand, how you can be interpreted if people only feel one thing about you. 

But Bucky is perhaps the only interesting person Tony knows at this hellhole of a school. He works really hard on his assignments, has more to work on than other kids. He looks frustrated at math equations, but stays and pores over textbooks after school. 

He brings a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every single day. Tony thinks the last time he had one was at a birthday party when he was twelve, and even then it wasn’t really a sandwich but more of a deconstructed concept thing that probably cost two hundred bucks a plate. 

- 

Now that Tony’s ruminating on it, it’s probably because no one has exactly told him that what he says doesn’t matter. They just say they don’t wanna hear about it. The two concepts are honestly very different. Tony has a sneaking suspicion that he is going to go into a tailspin about this on a Thursday night at two in the morning. 

Ha. On a Thursday night at two in the morning. What odd phrasing that is, why is that so weird? It’s night, but it’s morning and you’re supposed to be asleep but morning is a wake-up time, so--

Oh, there’s the meaning. 

Why would you discuss a night and a morning? Why does it matter? On a Thursday? 

Tony wonders how much shit he’s said that just ultimately doesn’t matter. 

This gets him thinking about how much nothing in his life matters. Don’t get him wrong, he knew it. 

Knew it in the way everyone tells him he’ll be the next Howard Stark. 

Knows it in the way that his own father isn’t exactly all too fond of him and Tony has a problem looking at anything with dear old Captain America because of comparisons that his father makes and honestly he probably almost named Tony “Steve.” 

Could you imagine him having the name of Steve? God, he’d barf. 

- 

For some reason, this is the worst he’s ever felt. Sure his father hates him and his mother could be considered an absentee at best, but what gets him to cry into his pillow and rethink his entire existence is a guy who has eye circles darker than anyone else’s and thinks that wearing any bright color is “branching out into alternative fashion.” 

God, he wishes he had a break. 

Nothing you say matters to me. 

This is the phrase that gets him. Tony is pretty sure it’s because it’s what everyone thinks. 

- 

Ever since then, Tony doesn’t talk to Bucky. Ever. 

And that’s...that’s weird to Bucky. It was routine. Tony annoys him, he snaps a bit, and then it starts all over. 

Tony looks at him, sometimes. As if he’s some sort of impossible problem he can’t figure out. 

When Bucky actually thinks about it, Tony hasn’t really talked to anyone. He’s still himself, which is irritating, but he’s not talking about anything and everything and filling up space. 

It’s...odd. 

He feels a little bit bad because what he said was super shitty and he shouldn’t have said it, but now it’s too late to just kind of awkwardly apologize, and Bucky’s already shit at apologizing anyway. 

- 

Summer arrives with a bang. School is let out ,and in comes the ninety-degree-days that melt your damn head off. Bucky’s apartment doesn’t have AC, so their windows are permanently open and fans are blasting as they swear they’re melting. 

Bucky needs a job. Preferably one with air conditioning. 

He finds one as a driver. Rich people hate taxis, it’s a huge health hazard or whatever they wanna say. He’s not gonna ask. But a nice man named Edwin hands him keys to a damn Cadillac and tells him not to drive too close to the other cars and be careful, because he wasn’t supposed to start the job quite yet, but “something came up.” 

- 

Tony fucking Stark. That’s who he’s fucking driving. 

“Oh my god,” Bucky groans. He sees Tony get into the car. 

“Hey, Jarvis told me I had a new driver, it’s really nice to--oh my fucking god.” 

“Where are you driving to.” 

“Queens.” 

“Queens, seriously?” 

Queens isn’t the type of place for someone like Stark to go to. He’s supposed to say Saks Fifth Avenue or Gucci or wherever the hell rich people go when they’re not vacationing in Europe or elsewhere. Not Queens. Especially not Queens. 

“It doesn’t matter where I’m going so long as you know where to drive,” Tony says. 

“Sheesh. Okay.” 

The rest of the drive is silent. It’s not like Bucky can do small-talk. Jesus, he’d rather take his other arm off than do that. 

And Tony, obviously, is not going to say anything. Not after hearing that stellar set of remarks from school. 

It’s a school. There are kids out front, who practically swarm the vehicle. 

“Should I be concerned?” 

“No, they do this every week. If you drive the car back home, Jarvis will explain more. You were kind of an ‘on the spot’ hire for us.” 

“Got it.” 

- 

Jarvis is a kindly old man who Bucky would trust with his Social Security number. 

He is also extremely loyal to Tony, at least. 

“He helps out with some after-school program at one of the local schools,” Jarvis says, smiling softly. “Has a spot in his heart for the children.” 

“What’s he do?” 

“Oh, helps them with schoolwork. I think he does some improvement type jobs around there, but he won’t let us know. Secretive, that one.” 

Bucky sips his tea and doesn’t say anything about how Tony once told everyone in the class that he was wearing neon yellow boxers and they were the comfiest damn boxers he had. It’s just not pertinent to this conversation. 

“You know him, Mr. Barnes?” 

“Um, yeah. We go to school together. I’ve seen him around.” 

“He’s a good student. Always getting straight A’s. Doesn’t always seem like it, but he listens well. Just has a different method.” 

“That’s for sure.” 

- 

For the next two weeks, it’s silence. Always. Bucky will turn on the radio and that’s it. The only thing that Tony has said is to “please change the channel to literally anything” when Belinda Carlisle’s infamously terrible “Heaven is a Place on Earth” came on. 

And that’s it. Seriously. 

When it is two weeks and four days, Bucky can’t take it anymore. 

“Look. I have this job for at least two more months. I’m talking to you. So tell me what you’re doing today.” 

“Teaching.” 

“Wow, way to be descriptive,” Bucky says sarcastically. 

Tony knows he shouldn’t throw it back in his face. But honestly, truly, this is pissing him off. 

“Oh I’m sorry, does what I say matter to you now? Is that what this is?” 

“Oh come on. That was months ago.” 

"Not the point!” Tony says. “I’m getting out now. Feel free to pick me up or not. I don’t give a fuck. But don’t you pretend for a damn minute that you give a shit about my reaction since you’ve already made your point.” 

The car door is slammed. 

Bucky is in somewhat of a pickle. 

- 

Sam tells him that he’s, quote, “the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.” 

And then hangs up. 

thank you for being such a good friend sam. really appreciate it. 

aw look at the little bitch boy mad because i called him stupid. shut up i’m on a date and don’t care once about you. at all. 

i think what i really like about our friendship is how open and empathetic you are to my feelings 

do you know how unattractive you are? on a scale of one to ten? prussia.  

you can’t count now? 

no i can count i’m just saying you shouldn’t exist. 

god i hate you. i’ll talk to you next month

(Yes, they have a time limit to texts. Once a month. And Bucky used his to try to get advice like an idiot. He should’ve just asked Steve. Steve probably would’ve sent him money for a milkshake.) 

- 

Sharon, upon reading his text, sends him back one message: 

so i read this but i’m not emotionally invested. can u make a playlist and send it to me? 

oh my god. you have got to be kidding me. 

i’m not. i told you that u need to b more creative in life. b spontaneous!!! 

He leaves her on read after that. 

- 

Bucky has to figure out how to apologize. Genuinely. Because nothing’s worse than having an apology made but knowing that the person isn’t really meaning it, they’re only saying it to make people more comfortable. 

(He wonders how many times someone’s apologized to Tony because of this reason.) 

He’s not exactly sure how to go about apologizing. 

But he figures it’s sooner rather than later, so he takes the subway to Manhattan and then gets a bike (that’s not exactly his, but he’s bringing it back) and starts the trek to the mansion. It’s a good and solid thirty minute bike ride. 

- 

Tony is having a rather uncomfortable family birthday dinner. Howard’s, to be specific. He’s not sure why they didn’t just go out, but maybe his father is tired of acting like a happy family in public. God knows Tony is. 

(“What’s your favorite thing about your son?” An interviewer had asked cheerily, blush lipstick stretching widely as she smiled. 

“Well, it’s certainly not his sense of style,” Howard had joked. 

He didn’t know what his favorite thing about his son was. He couldn’t answer the fucking question.) 

Jarvis mentions that “Sir Anthony” has a visitor at the door. 

“Are you serious, kid?” Howard says, hissing. “You told someone to come over? During a family event?” 

"No, of course not,” Tony says hurriedly. He doesn’t have anyone over to the house period. Too much risk, not enough payoff. There was also the fact that the house is basically like a mausoleum because both of his parents would rather be caught dead than spend time in one another’s company anymore. 

“I’ll go...I’ll go check who it is.” 

- 

Bucky. Fucking. Barnes. 

“What are you doing here?” Tony hisses. 

“I came to apologize.” 

“For what?” 

“For telling you that your words don’t matter?” Bucky says, more of a question. “I don’t know what else I would apologize for. Maybe for mean-mugging you. I don’t know.” 

“Why?” Tony asks, tiredly. “Why would you apologize for that?” 

“Because it’s obviously affecting you and also I know I was in the wrong? That’s why people apologize?” Bucky answers. “What I did was shitty. What you say matters, I was just having a shitty day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It obviously stuck with you a lot longer than I thought it would. So now I’m apologizing.” 

No one besides Jarvis has ever apologized to Tony. Ever. Not in a genuine way. 

“Did you...did you bike here? You have a bike?” 

“What? No.” 

“You walked here?” Tony asks, incredulous. 

“Of course not, then I’d be arriving, like, an hour later. No, the bike isn’t mine.” 

“Who’s is it?” 

“I don’t know, some hipster’s from Brooklyn.” 

“You stole a bike?” 

“The circumstances weren’t ideal, but I don’t have a car to drive to your freakishly large house,” Bucky said bluntly. 

Tony grins. 

“Well then, Buckster, welcome. Let me give you a ride home.” 

He pokes his head into the dining room, where the plates are already being cleared. 

“Hey, I gotta give my friend a ride home. Car broke down a couple miles from here.” 

“Why don’t you just fix it?” Howard asks. “You’re a Stark.” 

“A Stark who would need to order a part for a 1980 Ford Crown Victoria.” 

“Tell him to get a better car.” 

“Sure, pops.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Alright, Dear Father of Mine.” 

“Just go, damn it!” 

- 

Bucky is led to a garage full of luxury cars that probably cost more than his whole block put together. 

“Which one you wanna go in?” 

“Am I allowed in one of these? Holy fuck these are nice.” 

Tony grins. 

“Best part about having a car is driving it. Choose one.” 

Bucky chooses a bright red car, a smooth Cadillac. 

“Holy hell, this is cool.” 

Tony drives. 

He’s a good driver once you get past the fact that you will fear for your life for at least twenty minutes. He is also notoriously terrible in the city traffic, yelling at drivers and pedestrians alike. 

“How are you still alive with the way you drive?” Bucky asks. 

“We made it, didn’t we?” Tony asks, grinning. “Now go return your bike and don’t try to walk to my house again.” 

“See you tomorrow?” 

“Naturally.” 

- 

Tony talks a lot. But Bucky finds himself listening. It still takes a while, but he talks. 

Tony really is smart. His mind just works quickly, and that’s why at school he never really seems to absorb anything. 

Bucky tells him about his neighborhood and how much he hates his neighbor because she keeps blasting music at one in the morning. 

“So? Blast it in the morning,” Tony says. “That’s what I’d do.” 

“Ma would say no.” 

“Then don’t tell her!” 

- 

When it all changes, it’s when Bucky picks him up from a gala. He gets the following text: 

pls come pick me up!! please! i’m begging! 

It’s eleven at night, but Bucky sighs and goes to get the car and goes to pick him up. 

Tony’s swaying outside. Bucky gets out, getting a pack of Marlboro out of his jacket. 

“Shouldn’t smoke,” Tony says. 

“You drunk?” 

“No, can’t risk it when Howard and Maria aren’t here--mom and dad.” 

He almost never calls his parents mom and dad. Ever. Only in public settings. 

Bucky lights up anyway. Tony stares at the orange embers flaring up. 

“Why did you need a ride?” 

“Kind of avoiding an old...enemy. Slash ex-boyfriend.” 

“The worst kind of enemy to have. He trying to talk to you?” 

“It’s been an all-night event, so--” 

The doors burst open. 

Out walks the sleaziest guy that Bucky’s ever seen. His suit is garishly designer, the kind that borders on being confused for a tacky suit that you find in a thrift store for two dollars total. 

“Tony, baby! Where have you been? I wanted to discuss things with you...in private.” 

He gives Bucky a once-over. 

“And who are you, catering?” 

Bucky immediately wants to clock this guy in the damn mouth. 

“Actually this is James, my boyfriend,” Tony says, snaking his arm around Bucky’s waist. 

At this point, he’ll just have to go with it. It’s not the worst thing that’s happened. 

“And who are you?” Bucky asks. “Sweetheart, you never mentioned you knew someone with such a...unique take on style.” 

“I’m Ty, an old and close friend,” he says. He sticks his hand out. Bucky makes him switch hands by holding out his metal hand. 

“Nice to see you,” he says. “But unfortunately, I have to take my guy back home. Plans and all that, you know how it is.” 

“Bye Ty!” Tony says. 

Bucky throws an arm around Tony’s shoulders, bringing him close. A ghost of a kiss to the forehead completes the lie, and Bucky looks back towards Ty, who has his eyes narrowed. 

He flips him off with his right hand. (It’s satisfying.) 

“Thank you so much for going along with that,” Tony says, looking up. 

The cigarette is still in his mouth. He takes a drag, letting embers fall down and disintegrate into the pavement. 

“He seemed like a shitty kind of person.” 

“Not the best of people, that’s for sure,” Tony mutters. “You wanna go get ice cream?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” 

- 

Getting late night ice cream is like going into a different dimension. Bucky’s not sure if it’s the overbearing, fluorescent white light that gets to him, but Tony seems tired. At ease, but tired. 

He gets strawberry ice cream, and Bucky gets chocolate. 

They sit and eat for a moment. 

“Why do you go to St. Anthony’s?” Tony asks. “It’s clear you hate it.” 

“You don’t?” 

“Not the worst school I’ve been sent to.” 

“You don’t want to be there either?” 

“There are a lot of places I don’t want to be, but this isn’t about me, I’m asking about you. You wanna share with the class or get a hall pass?” 

Bucky snorts. 

“Geez, okay. My mom really wants a good education for me.” 

"She know that you don’t know what to do?” 

“And how do you figure that?” Bucky asks, eyebrow raised. 

“You wouldn’t be working as a chauffeur for the rich kid if you knew what you were working towards,” Tony says with a shrug. “Seen it happen before. Usually I don’t know who they are, but you figure out commonalities pretty quickly.” 

That makes too much sense. 

“I have no fucking clue how I’m living my life and my mom wants me to become a businessman.” 

“You wanna do that?” 

“Do I look like the kind of guy that wants to wear a suit?” 

“You look like you’d look good in a suit, not that you’d wear one.” 

Bucky laughs. Takes a bite of ice cream, and readjusts the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. 

- 

Over the summer, he and Tony get closer. They take walks in the park and Tony drags him into overpriced shops to look at clothes that are the ugliest goddamn things they’ve ever seen. 

At some point, they hold hands and discuss secrets of the world of theirs that is unique to them. 

Bucky kisses him one night while they’re just leaving perhaps the worst restaurant in the entire state of New York and god Tony didn’t think he’d ever not mind being wrapped up in fake-strawberry scented hair and cigarette smoke clinging to clothing, but he doesn’t mind it. 

The whole summer, they’re inseparable. Tony chatters in the front seat of the car, now, and Bucky smiles a little bit more. 

They walk in parks together and show each other funny little jokes and make inside understandings and look at sunsets and sunrises and get coffee and look at each other across the room. 

- 

It’s love, honest and true. But it’s not love like the never-ending kind. The thing about love is that it is not included in any toolbox, physical or mental. There is one thing that everyone knows regardless of whether it is admitted or not: 

Love does not solve everything. It does not fix everything. And one should never rely on it to do anything but exist and work through your person to the best of its ability. 

- 

Howard comes back from a business trip. Sees Tony kiss Bucky goodbye, and that is that. 

You can’t something like that as a son. It just...it won’t work for business. 

Tony is sent to a boarding school upstate. Stricter guidelines, more controlling. 

Bucky only hears one thing from Tony: 

I’m sorry. 

And he doesn’t believe it. 

When you’re young, you think love is invincible. You think it survives through everything if you really want it to. 

Love doesn’t do that. 

Bucky writes letters, calls Jarvis, and mourns the loss of young love. He smokes a little bit more, leaves it clinging to his skin as a reminder that Tony would always wrinkle his nose in that adorable way, but it served to show Bucky that he had a bad habit. 

He was in the middle of quitting. 

His mother notices it. 

Tells him that he needs to get his own shampoo. 

“You can’t just use mine all the time,” she says playfully. 

He remembers Tony’s hands gently threading through his hair in disbelief as Bucky kissed the living hell out of him. 

Now there’s barely any trace. 

He stops in his tracks when he sees an old coffee cup of Tony’s in his kitchen cabinet. 

“When did you get this one?” Becca asks. She’s drinking out of it. He remembers Tony smiling over it at their little coffee shop that was hidden away. “I love it. It’s so cute.” 

“From a thrift store,” Bucky says. “You can have it.” 

“Really? Thanks!” 

- 

Tony pauses at the smell of cigarette smoke. Remembers blue eyes blazing along with orange embers, smoke curling around long hair and long summer nights. 

His roommate at this new school asks if he smokes, if he can get him a pack. 

“Uh, no. Just used to know someone who did.” 

“You think they could get me a pack?” 

“They don’t go here.” 

“You can’t call them?” 

Tony doesn’t respond. 

You can’t call them? 

He’s almost texted him about twenty times. Called him about thirty. 

He knows the number by heart. 

But he knows that Howard made him get a new phone, and now the memories are fading. He wishes he still had the pictures. 

- 

Love does not always last. Sometimes it is not meant to. Tony tries to tell himself that as he wakes up with tears streaming down his cheeks. 

You always wish it would. 

[beanfic]

Prank War

Pairing: Platonic!Peter Parker x Stark!reader (fem reader)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: language 

Summary: has the infamous stark vs parker prank war gone too far?

Author’s note: i seriously love writing peter so much (also I apologize that this is not a gender-neutral reader!). I think I am going to be opening up requests soon, so keep a lookout for that post :) ((also big s/o and creds to max for helping me with the guttural scream sentence)) 

The prank war between you and Peter Parker started innocently when you would sneak up on him in your father’s lab. He would then return the favor by scaring you when you got off the elevator. You both would get so paranoid that neither of you could even go thirty minutes inside the tower without looking over your shoulder. What first started as trying to startle each other, turned into more aggressive pranks. The first one was completed by Peter, with the help of Bucky, while they gave you an oreo filled with toothpaste. 

That bite of the oreo was the unfortunate beginning of the long-lasting prank war. It had been around three months now since it has first started, and everyone in the tower (especially your Dad), was wishing it could finally end once and for all. 

The pranks have included you putting plastic in front of your bedroom door, then proceeding to yell for him because of an “emergency”. Peter has always been protective of you, like an older brother, so he ran as quickly as he could. His face slammed into the plastic, attaching itself to him, and he went flying forwards to the ground. You also put plastic on his shampoo bottles, underneath the lid, and it took him a solid ten minutes to figure out why his shampoo was not coming out. 

He also got you good a few times, including replacing the saltshaker with sugar. That one was just cruel because Peter knows how much you love salt with your dinner, and he ruined an entire meal. He also would constantly hide fake bugs and snakes inside your room and you always would end up shrieking at first sight. They were just so realistic-looking from far away!

The last prank that occurred was when you put tape on the bottom of Peter’s computer mouse, making him believe that it was broken. You only revealed it was a prank when he started to order himself a new one online. You knew that it was your turn to get pranked next, and you had been on edge all week. It had been six days, and usually, they would occur only four to five days afterward. 

“Have you seen Pete?” you asked your Dad who was down in his lab working on some nanotech. He shook his head and continued to focus on the work in front of him. You groaned dramatically and shuffled to the hallway. Maybe some of the other Avengers knew his whereabouts. It was a Sunday, and usually, he spent it inside the tower either working on homework for school or engineering something in the lab.

“Sam, Steve, you guys seen Peter anywhere?” you peered your head inside the training room. 

“I haven’t sorry,” Steve replied while wrapping his knuckles with tape, getting ready to train with Sam. 

“I swear to god if he is up to something,” you mumble to yourself. You felt on edge, and you wished you could have “senses” like Peter does (even though for some reason he almost always fails to see your pranks coming). 

You walked up the stairs to the kitchen and common area but there was still no sign of the brown-haired boy. Vision and Wanda were busy cooking dinner when you sat down at the counter. You knew that both of them would be able to tell you where Peter was because of their powers. 

“Wandaaaa, Visionnnn,” you sing-songed. “Do you guys happen to know where the spider-ling is?”

“Oh yes, he is,” Vision started to say but Wanda took a spoonful of whatever she was cooking and plopped it into his mouth.

“Taste this,” she said, staring into Visions’ eyes. She looked back over at you innocently, “No, we haven’t seen him anywhere! I think he might have gone out on a day patrol”

“Day patrol?” you scoffed. “On a Sunday?” 

“Yes,” Wanda gave you the sweetest smile she could muster. 

“Alright, whatever you guys say.” You stood up from the counter and headed back up the stairs to your bedroom. You didn’t want to waste one of your free days with worrying about Peter and whatever he had planned for his prank, and the more you thought about it, you realized that this is probably exactly what he wanted. He wanted you to expect him to do it on a Sunday, and have you worried about all day. 

“Think you can outsmart me, Spidey?” you mutter under your breath. Once you entered your room, you threw yourself onto your bed and grabbed your phone from the charger. You wanted to do a little work out in the privacy of your room instead of the training room. You connected your phone to the speakers in your wall and shuffled your work out playlist. You were already wearing your work out shorts, but you decided that you would be too hot with the sweatshirt you had on, so you ripped it off, leaving you in just your sports bra, and you sat on the ground so you could start doing sit-ups. 

“Holy shit,” a voice spoke from above you. A guttural scream ripped through your throat as your eyes shot up the ceiling. 

“Peter? What the fuck?” you quickly grabbed your shirt and threw it on top of you as Peter hopped down from the ceiling. He was wearing his suit, but without his mask. His cheeks were as red as a tomato and his lips were pinched together as he stared at you with wide eyes.

“I-I, t-thought,” he stammered. 

“What are you doing in my room? On my ceiling?” you raised your voice. “Is that part of the prank war!?”

“You usually take naps on Sundays so I was going to wait for you to fall asleep and then scare you!” he confessed, throwing his arms around wildly.

“Peter that is messed up,” you scolded him. “And freaking creepy!”

“It would have been so good though! Plus how was I supposed to know you were going to work out in here, that is what the training room is for!”

“It’s my room, Parker.” You crossed your arms and glared at him. “How did you even get in here? My room is locked.”

“The window.”

“The window!?” you practically let out of a laugh. You were astonished at what lengths Peter was going to, to try to win this prank war. 

“It would have worked if you had just taken a nap!” 

“You can not blame this on me, sir,” you pointed a finger at him. “This has gone too far, and your prank failed, which means I won!” 

“No way! You did not win! My pranks have been way better than yours!”

“As if!” you took a step closer towards him. You were starting to get angry, and you could feel your body get warm with frustration. 

“Your pranks suck!” he spat. 

“You’re the one that still falls for them even though you have a Peter tingle,” you mocked. 

“Don’t call it that, Stark.” Peter tried to take a step towards you so he could tower over you but you shoved his shoulders, causing him to stumble backward. 

“Your peter tingle literally does not work.”

“Shut up!” he shouted but you grabbed the cup of water that was sitting on your desk and splashed him in his face. He looked at you in disbelief from underneath his wet brown curls. 

“Got you again, Parker,” your eyes narrowed. 

“Ahh!” Peter yelled and before you knew it your hand was webbed to the cup you were holding. 

“Peter Benjamin Parker!” you shrieked. “You are not allowed to use your webs on me!” You ran towards him, trying to grab onto his hair with your free hand, but Peter dodged you. He ran out of your room but you quickly followed him. 

“S’cuse me!” Peter said as he turned the corner and almost ran into Steve. 

“Get the fuck back here!” you chased after him.

“Language!” Steve yelled behind you, but you ignored him. Peter was already rushing down the stairs and you did not want to lose him. You were surprised at how difficult it was to chase someone while holding a cup that was webbed to your hand. 

“Peter!” you chased him all the way down to the labs. You stopped suddenly as you saw Peter being held by your Dad. 

“What have I told you guys with running in the house? There is outside for a reason!”

“He started it!”

“She started it!” you both shouted at the same time. Tony let go of Peter and rubbed his temples. 

“Peter, I expect more out of you, especially when you are wearing that suit. You don’t want me to take it away, right?”

“No, Sir,” he shook his wet head. 

“Now, Y/N. You’re a Stark so I do expect this from you but can you please just leave it alone? I’m so tired of this prank war you guys have going on.” Tony put air quotes around “prank war”.

“He snuck into my room through my window! He invaded my privacy and then webbed my hand to the cup!” I shook the cup furiously. You heard Peter giggle, and you shot him a death glare.

“Peter,” Tony turned to look at the frightened boy. “Say you’re sorry and I better never hear about you sneaking into my daughter’s room again, you hear me?”

“Yes, s-sir.”

“Now, go get the web dissolver and I expect you two to be on your best behavior or I will ground you both!”

“Yes, sir,” you both mumble. You follow Peter to his desk in Tony’s lab and open up a bottle that was labeled ‘web-be-gone’.

“You need a better name for this stuff,” you tease.

“Why? I like the name.” He placed a few drops on your hand and soon it was let free of the cup. 

“It needs more pizazz.”

“True,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry I snuck into your room. You’re right, it was an invasion of your privacy.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I pushed you and threw water in your face.”

“I’m sorry I webbed your hand.”

“I’m sorry you got in trouble with my Dad.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Okay, I think that’s enough apologies,” you interrupted him, laughing. “We good?”

“We good,” Peter smiled. He raised his hand for a fist bump.

“Good.” You connected knuckles with him and pulled away while making a “whoosh” sound. 

[wordstro]

Part II

"mingi + mafia au + you shouldn't have done that"

Read Part I

2.5k, lots of people asked for part 2 to this so here you go! warnings for angst and language! hongjoong is prominent here and also scary lol. thank you!! 

he said they would make an example out of you. mingi said it so easily, without a hint of remorse in his eyes.

so maybe that’s why they put a blindfold over your eyes and duck tape over your mouth, why they shoved you out of your apartment (you think by the one you knocked over the head since he seems to enjoy making you stumble blindly into walls the entire walk out of your building). your hands are sweaty and your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt, on edge.

you hate the silence, it just puts you more on edge, your heart lodged in your throat. even as one of them shoved you into a car, not even bothering to set you upright as they drove to god-knows-where. you almost wish someone would have yelled at you, wish you didn’t have to lay on your side, unable to see or really breathe properly and think too many thoughts about mingi. you missed him and he was going to kill you, or worse, and you were terrified.

by the time the car came to halt, by the time you were dragged out the car (you’d stumbled, scraping your knees on asphalt before getting yanked up so hard, you thought they were trying to pull your arm out of its socket), by the time you’re shoved forward, knees buckling under you, by the time everything seemed to finally stop, you knew you had no more fight left in you. you were still angry, of course you were, but you also couldn’t stop thinking. a part of you didn’t want the blindfold to come off. you didn’t want to stare down the barrel of yet another gun, especially not if mingi was behind it.

but, the blindfold comes off.

you blink, eyes adjusting to the bright lights around you. you can’t quite make out where you are, and your terrified brain seems to only be able to latch on to small details. like a defense mechanism. the floor beneath you a dark cherry wood, the fancy kind you see on home improvement shows. there’s no carpet. you look up. there are plants, green, bright, out of place. plastic. there’s plastic laid out around you, to catch paint. or maybe blood, your stupid brain supplies, making your heart drop.

it takes a moment too long to register the black boots in front of you, but when you do, a chill runs right down your spine as your eyes travel upwards. a man crouches in front of you. he’s small, his features sharp, but a little delicate, pretty almost. his eyes, however, contain a sort of intensity that makes your stomach churn. he radiates a sort of power that looms over him, making him bigger. all your instincts scream at you to run. but you can’t.

he smiles politely, but there is nothing kind about it. your laptop is balanced in his hands as he crouches in front of you. his voice is controlled, pointed, business-like, chilling. “so you’re the one who’s been trying to hack into our systems?”

your words are caught in your throat. you nod, quickly. the man just nods, once, before he slowly sets your laptop down on the floor in front of you, opening it.

“I'm told you have no idea who ordered you to hack our systems.”

slowly, you nod your head.

slowly, he reaches out, taps a single finger against the top of your laptop, and he says, “log in. show us where you communicate with your clients.”

you hesitate, despite everything, fingers curling into fists against the dark wood floors. your nails scratch against the hardwood, just a bit. us, he said. you glance over your shoulder and there are eyes on you, too many. mingi, too, eyes blank, expressionless, as if you’re only a stranger. that causes something to shift inside you. maybe, it’s your sanity. maybe, it’s just anger. maybe, it’s the knowledge that once you log in to your laptop and give them the information they want, you’re dead. you don’t want to die.

“I don’t log communication with my clients. not permanently.” your voice is not steady at all, but it’s the best you can do, especially as you look the man in front of you in the eyes.

“that’s not what I asked of you.” the man stares right back, unblinking, and his tone is sharp, raising just a bit.

there’s a scoff from behind you. you stare right back, straightening up, fists curling in your lap, “i’m not doing it.”

he simply raises a brow at you.

your mouth runs on autopilot, “I usually require payment before I give people information. this,” you gesture at your laptop, barely breathing, “is information. you clearly want that information, so I want something in return.”

there’s a snicker behind you, of disbelief, before silence blankets over the room, so heavy and full that it has you holding your breath. still, you don’t look away first, holding the man’s gaze.

he stares and stares until he breaks into a grin that is all teeth, “let me guess? you want us to let you go?”

"yes." you nod, as steadily as you can, try to lighten the mood, “a couple million won doesn’t hurt either.”

he snorts and, for a moment, you think he’ll agree. but, then, his demeanor changes completely, the polite smile dropping. he’s still crouched in front of you, but his hand shoots out, grabbing your face, making you yelp. he yanks you forward, making you lose your balance, until your face is mere inches from his, and he bites out, “I like your enthusiasm, but I do not tolerate threats.” you gulp, just as he shoves your face into your laptop.

“look,” he continues, “I promised mingi I would let him decide how to kill you. but, if you keep refusing to do as I asked, I might have to hand you off to san.”

he looks over your shoulder and you follow his gaze, to a familiar face grinning, too amused; you recognize him quickly as the one you nearly knocked out with the lamp and you groan internally, because, of course, you had to attack the sadistic, vengeful one. you try so hard not to think about the slight relief at what he had said, at the familiarity of mingi’s name, try not to think about the stony look passing his features before you looked at san.

“now,” he reaches out, taps your cheek, the same way he had with your laptop earlier. you barely suppress the flinch as he says, “be a good little hacker and do as you’re told.”

you hesitate, fists clenching at his tone. he tilts his head, eyes narrowing, nail digging slightly into your cheek. your heart jumps in your chest, stomach twisting. your hands move on their own accord, finding your laptop quickly. you type in your password with shaking fingers. the man’s expression smooths out at your actions, back into pristine politeness.

“good job, sweetheart.” he coos.

~.~.~.~.~

you’re shoved into him. maybe it’s the exhaustion that comes with being forced to unveil the ins and outs of a system you spent years building (to a man named yeosang), maybe it’s the tension that hasn’t left you since the screen changed on your laptop back at your apartment, maybe it’s something else, but you’re angry, scowling at the man for shoving you.

all he does is snort at your expression before looking over your shoulder, gaze pointed. and then someone is grabbing you by the shoulders, pulling you out of the room, and you look up, craning your neck a bit because he’s stupidly tall and -

“I can walk on my own.” you don’t mean to shout. it’s like all the pent-up anger from being pushed around has finally burst after seeing a familiar face. you don’t even know if he’ll treat you the same way his boss was treating you, but somehow your brain still sees song mingi and thinks safe, despite the current circumstances. despite the years.

for a moment, everything is silent, too silent, and you can’t read his expression nor his body language. you cringe when he gestures ahead, his voice low, familiar, as he says, “go down the hall and enter the third door on the left.” you don’t move. he adds, tone sharper now, “go.”

anger boils under your skin, but you follow his directions because you can still see the open door where that man, and san, and yeosang, and the others are and you don’t want to come face-to-face with any of them again.

when you open the door he indicated, you’re surprised to see a bedroom. it looks lived in. you blink, even as he shuts the door behind him, locking it from the inside. he’s so quiet as he brushes past you, to the dresser, and starts digging through the drawers. his movements are all stiff, his back tense, and your anger only grows and grows, as if his presence is allowing you the space and comfort to feel the emotions you had suppressed, both throughout the years as well as this evening.

when he finally, finally, turns to face you, your hands are balled into tight fists at your side, your body coiled so tightly, you’re afraid you’ll break.

he’s holding sweats, a t-shirt, and a towel. he says, tone clipped, angry, even though you think he has no right to be angry, “go change. if you want, you can shower, too.”

“what the fuck.” you burst and you want to scream, but your voice cracks at the last word. you stare at him disbelief. “what the fuck are you doing right now?”

“I’m taking care of you.” he snaps, sharp as a knife, nothing like the soft boy you’d known all your life. his jar is clenched, as if he is holding himself back. “you look like shit.”

“because of you.” you cry, irritated.

“no!” mingi seems to snap then, throwing the clothes and towel on the bed before he stalks forward, pointing at you. “do not fucking blame me for this. you are here because of you, not me.”

“you and your gang kidnapped me. how the hell is this my fault?”

“you’re not supposed to be here.” mingi raises his voice, not nearly as loud as your voice, but still as loud as thunder. “you’re supposed to be somewhere out in the world with a cushy desk job, a nice steady relationship, and maybe a fucking dog. you were supposed to be doing great things. you promised me you would do great things.”

the way his voice cracks, breaks away into a sort of vulnerability, a fear, causes a lump in your throat. you know he’s right. you know it. “shit happens, mingi. life isn’t a fairy tale.” your voice is barely louder than a whisper, hoarse.

“I know.” he stares at the floor, shoulders slumping, and you think he knows better than anyone. the look in his eyes tells you he's seen too much for someone his age. he sighs, “I heard about uncle. I’m sorry.”

“you weren’t there when I needed you.” your fingernails dig into your palm. he meets your gaze and the steely gaze drops, finally, finally. he looks at you the way you imagined he would have if he was there when he should have been.

“I just...I wanted to keep you away from all this.” he gestures behind you, past the door. “from me.”

“that wasn’t your decision to make, mingi.” you shake your head, trying to gulp down the lump in your throat. “not on your own.”

his eyes shine under the fluorescent room lighting and something about the way he stands there, an arms-length away from you, makes him seem so...small. there’s guilt there, in his expression, especially as he nods, “I know, I know.” he takes a deep, steadying breath, reminding you of how much he used to cry, how bad he was at holding it in, how he’s changed so much since then. he whispers, “I really am sorry.”

you don’t know if you’re ready to accept his apology, not yet, but you find yourself slowly stepping forward, until you’re right in front of him. mingi looks down at you, with shining eyes and guilt and regret, and it hurts your heart in ways you never thought. slowly, hesitantly, he opens his arms. you step into his outstretched arms, breathing in his scent, and, for the first time that night, you feel safe. or, at least, safer than you have felt in a long, long time.

“I wish you didn’t end up here.” he murmurs, after a beat, his breath warm against the top of your head, his fingers drawing little patterns along your back as he pulls you in tight. something in his tone sets off little alarms. there’s too much guilt there, too much meaning. he shakes a little under your touch.

your fingers tighten around the back of his shirt, the hairs raising at the back of your neck as you tilt your head back, looking up at him. the realization isn’t a slow-dawning thing. you’ve always been smart. you’ve always been good at reading between the lines.

“he said you’re supposed to decide how to kill me.” you’re whispering. “is that...are you...”

you trail off as his fingers flex in your hair. you search his eyes, notice he’s not crying, like the old him would have. that there’s steeliness there, a hardiness that has your grip around his waist tightening even more.

“you were never, ever supposed to get wrapped up in all this.” he chokes out his words, emotions overwhelming. and you think, despite the years that’s separated the two of you, your history still remains, it still colors your thoughts, actions, and your memories. the love you two held for each other still brings you to your knees, despite how hard you tried to forget it. you think platonic love is harder to forget, harder to erase, and the way mingi looks at you, with fondness and guilt and deep, deep care, reminds you of that. you think he will shatter any moment when he murmurs, “we were never supposed to meet again.”

"it's okay." slowly, you murmur, “maybe, we’ll meet again someday. in another life.”

this new mingi crumbles into the old one, the one you loved so very much, his expression twisting.

“yeah?” he asks, like you hold the secrets of the universe.

“yeah.” you respond and you hope you are right.

(that night you stay up, curled up on your side, and you tell him everything he’s missed. he tells you everything you’ve missed, too. you talk and you laugh and you cry and you pretend like you’re only catching up for the sake of catching up.

you revel in how much you've missed him. maybe, you can’t forgive him (you don’t think you ever really can) but you’ve missed him terribly.

even as he strokes your hair, tears unshed, shushing you gently as the sun comes up. even as he kills you.)

[badsext]

Sunshine and Possibilities: Diego x Reader x Klaus

This one is for @chipster-21 💜 Sorry it took me so long. I hope you like it. Special thank you to @moorehollandplz for helping me with plot stuff!!! 🤗

Author’s Note: Since the show takes place in a world without cellphones and internet, I thought it would be interesting to stay true to that for this fic. Reader has an old-timey phone and answering machine.

Warnings: Just fluff, a tiny bit of blood, and maybe a naughty word or two. ————————————————————

Your job at the pharmacy is good for people watching. You have the quirky old regulars coming in to pick up their blood pressure meds and insulin, couples buying cheap candy to sneak into the movie theater down the street, rushed people buying last minute gifts and greeting cards, anxious people buying condoms or pregnancy tests, and some just seeking something over the counter for their cold, flu, allergies, etc.

You are changing the receipt tape, a task that always takes a bit longer than you need it to, when someone steps into your peripheral vision.

“I’ll be with you in a second.”

“Ok, no problem. Take your time.”

You look up, closing the lid on the printer. He is really cute, hispanic, nice body, handsome face and a scar on the side of his head that looks like it just missed his ear. He is dressed all in black and his arms are filled with first aid supplies: peroxide, gauze and antibiotic ointment.

“Wow, look at all this. Did someone get shot or something?”

He is quiet, staring at you. It was only a joke. Maybe you offended him. You should have learned by now not to make embarrassing comments. Ugh, why can’t I keep my mouth shut, you think to yourself. That’s when you notice a drop of blood on the counter, then another. They appeared to be coming out of the man’s sleeve.

“Holy shit! Are you okay?”

“Oh!” He looks down and notices the blood for himself. “You got some paper towels back there?”

You tear several off the roll and hand them to him.

He wipes the blood off the counter, then holds the wad of towels up to the part of his sleeve that is dripping. “It’s just a scratch.” He can tell by your expression that he failed to convince you. “Occupational hazard. I’m fine with blood. It’s just needles I can’t stand.”

“Are you a cop?”

“Not exactly.”

“A criminal? Is that why you’re bandaging yourself?”

“You’re full of nosy questions.” He says with a grin. “Not a cop, not a criminal…I’m Diego. What’s your name?”

You respond in a daze, lost in his eyes for a moment.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. How about you give me your number before I bleed out here.”

“Yeah. Okay.” You write it out on the back of his receipt.

“I’ll call you!” He kisses the receipt then flies out the door.

You can’t keep the smile off your face, even through the monotony of the next few hours, customers shuffling in and out: the diabetics, the candy smugglers, the gifters, and the snifflers, all like clockwork. Your mind keeps wandering back to Diego.

That’s why it catches you off guard, the strange man making a scene with the pharmacist. From what you can gather, he is trying to pass off a bogus prescription for pain meds. The pharmacist is trained to look for this. When you are caught it is best to go quietly, but this guy is being very dramatic about it.

“Fine, I’ll just have to take my business elsewhere!,” he exclaims. Then he turns with a flourish, his long coat flaring out around him. You are watching all this from the other end of the pharmacy. Then he starts walking toward you. The more he comes into focus the more you realize how attractive he is.

He begins lining his pockets with candy and snacks, looking deviously in your direction. He teases you with each item he plans to steal, bringing a finger to his lips to keep you quiet. You struggle to hold back your laughter. He winks and heads out the door with his coat bulging and making crinkling noises. Your manager runs up to the register a few seconds too late. When he asks you if you saw anything you just shrug.

That was a very odd chain of events, you think as you drive home. Your roommate will, of course, be staying at her boyfriend’s place again so you have the apartment to yourself. You order lo mein from your favorite Chinese takeout and play your voicemail as soon as you get home just in case. There are no messages from Diego, but it’s just as well. He probably doesn’t want to sound too eager. You have a few drinks and fall asleep in front of the TV.

———–Meanwhile, at the Hargreeves Mansion———–

“You gotta just do it. Rip it off like a band-aid.” Klaus mimes the action for emphasis.

“You know I’m not good on the phone. Sh-sh-she’ll hear m-m-my stutter. I wish I’d asked her out right then and there.” Diego tilts his head back in frustration.

“Well, man you’re gonna just have to relax. Do you want some weed?”

“No, man. I don’t put that shit in my body.”

“Chamomile tea? Guided meditation? Aromatherapy?” Diego’s face remains skeptical with each suggestion. “Okay, what do you do to relax?”

Diego thinks for a moment. “I hit stuff.”

Klaus grabs a pillow from Diego’s bed and holds it flat against his stomach. “Punch me in the gut.”

“No, man.”

“Come on, tough guy. Show me what you got.” Diego rolls his eyes and hits him square in the middle of the pillow. Klaus staggers back. “Damn, Diego.”

“You ready to call now?”

“Yeah, actually. I think I am. Thanks, man.”

Klaus tosses the pillow and groans. He leaves the room clutching his stomach. “Yeah, don’t mention it.”

————-Back at your apartment—————

The phone wakes you out of a dream. “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N. This is Diego. We met at the pharmacy yesterday.”

You block the receiver to clear the sleep out of your throat. “Oh, yeah. What’s up? How’s your arm?”

“The arm is…fine. How do you feel about a date…with me?”

You block the receiver again, this time to temper your excitement. “Sure. When were you thinking?”

“Wanna get some coffee on Saturday at 11:00? I know a doughnut place with decent coffee.”

“Griddy’s. Yeah, I know the place. I’ll meet you there.”

“So, it’s a date?”

“It’s a date.”

It fells good to have something official, something to justify your optimism. You go back to bed with sweet dreams. Tomorrow will be Thursday. Only two more days until your date with sexy and mysterious Diego.

For the next few days it’s hard to focus at work. It’s April and all the flowers and bunnies and bright, happy imagery only highlight your good mood. You are restocking all the shelves where that wacko shoplifted a third of the stores peanut butter cups and cheese curls. Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you. It’s him. The wacko. Gone is his long black coat. He wears a colorful sleeveless shirt. He is surprisingly fit with arms tattooed. In his hand he holds one of those chocolate roses from aisle four.

You look at him quizzically. “You’re back.”

“Yep. I forgot something…Y/N.” He says, reading your name tag.

“You forgot to steal that chocolate rose?”

“No. I’ve got cash.” He reaches into his pocket for two wadded up bills. You ring him up for the purchase. He is staring at you. His green eyes sparkle.

“You need a bag?”

“Nope.” You try to hand him the rose. A few seconds pass and he hasn’t moved.

“So what was it you forgot?”

“Sorry, you’re so cute, I lost my train of thought. I came back to see if you’d like to hang out. My name’s Klaus. He leans forward and kisses your hand. "And that’s for you.” He motions to the rose in your hand. You smile and blush at the gesture.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like to…hang out.”

“Saturday…early…Say 11:00?”

“Sure.”

“You like doughnuts?”

“Yeah.”

“Saturday - 11:00 - Griddy’s doughnuts!” Then in a flash, just as before, he is gone.

The bell on the door brings you back to reality. ‘Saturday 11:00 at Griddy’s’ - Why did that sound so familiar? “Oh, fuck!,” you realize aloud. Then you peel the red foil off the chocolate rose, snatching the whole thing off the plastic stem in one giant bite.

That night you can’t sleep. You think of calling one them to cancel, but it is impossible to choose and even if you could, you didn’t get either of their numbers, not even a last name to look them up. You’ll just have to face the music in the morning.

You dress for the best case scenario, wearing your favorite sundress, the blue one with tiny white flowers on it. You put your hair up so you can let it down at some point in the date…assuming there is going to be a date. It’s your secret weapon, guaranteed to kick things up a notch.

When you arrive, your eyes find Diego sitting alone at a table, flagging you down. He gets up to greet you. Klaus walks in the door a split second later. Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

“Y/N. It’s good to see you.” Diego comes near. You watch his expression change as he spots Klaus over your shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” The boys shout simultaneously.

“She’s my date.” Diego confirms.

“Wait, you guys know each other?”

“He’s my brother.” They grumble in unison. Suddenly aware of the scene you are making, you shush them and get them to sit down.

The waitress comes over to your table. “Hi, I’m Agnes, can I get your -”

“Wait, sorry, Agnes.” Diego turns to Klaus. “Is this the girl you were calling Wednesday night?” Klaus is incredulous.

“I’ll just give you folks a few minutes to decide.” Agnes says, walking away.

“Yes, we met at the pharmacy. I went to get first aid supplies for my arm. Tell him, Y/N.”

“That’s right.” You reply awkwardly.

“Wait a minute.” Klaus looks at you. WE met at the pharmacy on…I’m not great at remembering what day it is, but I think it was Wednesday.“

"Yep.” You cringe.

All eyes are on you now. Your cheeks are red with embarrassment.

“You met both of us on the same day.” Diego throws up his hands.

“When did Klaus ask you out?”

“Yes…ter…day - but that’s really not relevant here.” You hate the idea of them fighting. They both look so disappointed. And honestly, you don’t know who you like better, they are both so different. Then a risky thought suddenly pops into your head. Now is no time to be shy, you have two gorgeous boys vying for your company.

You get up, take a deep breath, and let your hair down. “It’s a beautiful day out there, boys! Let’s not waste it.” Klaus and Diego look at each other and after some consideration, stand up and follow you out the door. You hook arms with Klaus on one side and Diego on the other. The three of you walk off into the sunshine and a world of possibilities.

@moorehollandplz @bubblyani @helena-way07 @bi-satanist @dandycandy75 @renegadesheehan @bitch4bagels @zombiedixon89 @zoemassingale @renegadesheehan @yeetskeetbuddy @klaushollandyoung @diegoh4rgreeves @elliethesuperfruitlover @marvelnerd18 @punknatch @siriuslynore @deadlynyghtshayde @vinawyatt @klaus-hargreeves-energy

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Taboo Attachment

BTS

Park Jimin/Reader [F]

Genre: Demon AU, Arranged Marriage?, Copious amounts of fluff, Logically impossible tween stupidity, Incredibly dense adult Y/n, Jungkook’s a bit of an ass oops

Warning(s): Minor violence towards the end

Words: 18k 

Summary: Young innocence and an unhealthily stupid-lack of common sense lead to you accidentally summoning a demon on your 13th birthday. Somehow agreeing and forming some contract with the said demon, they disappear and so does your memory of it. 10 years later and finally financially stable enough to start college, you wake up with an ash-grey ring in your right ring finger. Despite your efforts, the ring will absolutely not come off. Now, all of a sudden your demon returns and apparently 13-year-old you got yourself engaged to this demon man.

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a/n: WOWIE I finally finished this monster LOL. It only took me months of procrastination (and several compliments from Cam lmao). Pls love Demon Jimin, he just wants to get married

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@angeltothecore @jong-yixing @geekybookworm1993 @hobi-sunshineee @skytime092 @gingerpeachtae

-XXX-

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?  

The demon perched in the shadows of your bathroom as he sat on the top of your glass shower door that was firmly shut.  His spiraled horns breaching his skull as they pointed towards the heavens they will never belong.  His black hair hovered over his crimson-dulled eyes as his fangs remained hidden behind his frown.  His skin was grey and a thin, barbed ended tail sung and tapping your shower door ever so lightly that you didn’t even take notice. His skin darkened to a pitch, coal-black at his elbows to his hands and from his knees to his feet.  Wearing only a cloak tied around his waist that hung loosely off his shoulders, he almost growled.  

Why had he suddenly been summoned to a little fucking girl’s bathroom that was pitch black dark and covered in scented candles that made his nose burn? His claws black hand covered his nose and mouth, the scent of ‘Autumn Leaves’ absolutely nauseating. His single ash-grey ring was oddly warm against his skin. 

Your scent was young, as your body was fragile and tiny.  No older than 13 he guessed.  It had been a while since he had seen a human, much less a human child.  Wearing a tacky nightgown in the ugliest shade of yellow he had ever seen and socks up to your knee that hid under the length of your gown.  Your hair was a mess like you just rolled out of bed.  It was just barely brushing your shoulders with its short length. 

You held what looked like a well worn down container of lipstick that you had used to scribble on the mirror in front of you. A lame excuse of a spell circle he saw in the uneven shapes and symbols.  Lighting your candles on either side of the sink and even on the toilet tower. Was this some stupid prank?  Were you a demon in disguise here to just jerk him around with your stupid little half-ass summoning? 

You dropped the lipstick into the sink’s bowl as you squeaked and covered your mouth, quickly looking at the closed bathroom door.  The demon’s head followed and watched as nothing happened.  His barbed tail whipped as you let out a sigh of relief.  You trotted to the door, locking it and flinching with the lock clicked almost too loud.  Like it would wake up your parents.  

The demon sat perched cupped his cheek in one of his hands, the other still cutting the smell of the candles off from his nose.  He almost chuckled.  Performing a summoning in secret at balls-ass o’clock behind mommy and daddy’s backs and your just now locking the door? God, children were so stupid. 

The demon almost spoke up, but he remained silent.  Obviously, you didn’t know you had already rudely awoken him from his slumber and dragged him here in his sleeping robe.  You were completely clueless to the horned and fanged beast right under your nose- rather right above your puny little head. 

When you left your sink cabinet, the demon peered some other objects in the sink’s bowl.  There was a silver bowl, looking cheap and used like it came right out of your mother’s baking cabinet (it did). Inside the bowl was all sorts of objects that different demon’s could possibly fancy.  

A cheapy made and obviously fake stone knife with hardly any edge or point on it.  A salt shaker filled with salt with the holed top taped up so none would escape its glass spice prison. A doll that looked like a 45-year-old bling hag and sewed it together for someone she hated.  It was too much like a cheap version of a voodoo doll, but hell if you knew that when you decided to add it to your treasure bowl.  

The demon also noticed a piece of printer paper taped onto the sink’s countertop.  Squinting his red eyes to get a better look at the words so far from him, he read your language of course as well as what he could assume was Latin.  He’s heard it enough as he silently ran the words through his head.  

He sat straighter on top of your shower door as he shrugged.  Well, he had to give you some credit for trying.  Of course, the summoning did work, he wasn’t something he really needed to stick around for.  This demon- he- was a demon used in trade summoning.  Summoning that only need to take place when the summoner will exchange something with the demon in return.  Naturally, it wouldn’t be a true demon bargain unless there were a few rules the summoner would be forced to obey. 

For example, the list of names he had stolen the souls of and dragged them down with him into hell was still growing.  He had a pretty hefty track record of always giving his client what they wanted, as well as always securing their soul in life and of course in death.  He’s done trades of service and of objects, he wasn’t picky.  Work and work and with how long he’s been at it, it was all very dull. 

Perhaps that’s why he stuck around watching this clueless, stupid teenager barely at puberty floundering around at 3 AM.  You were something quite unique to the demon’s interest.  

He watched you cup your chin as you scanned the paper that held the spell you chanted to get him here.  He wondered if you even knew what kind of demon you were summoning or if you were just doing this blind for God-knows-what reason.  

Human’s get more interesting with each stupid generation, he thought to himself as he let out another swish of his tail. Perhaps he should introduce himself he thought as he grinned to himself.  His fangs showing as he swung his tail to hit the glass of your shower door, finally getting your attention as you turned around and made eye contact with your demon.

-XXX-

It was your 13th birthday as you woke up to the dreary cloudy sky outside.  You sat in your bed, yawning and looking outside in a daze.  You had to go to school today and you wished your parents would let you stay home since it was your birthday.  It’s not like you had anyone to spend it with other than your parents.  

You were only 13.  The effects of puberty and social norms hitting you like a nuclear bomb.  If you weren’t dressed in what was popular, you didn’t leave your house.  You bought all the ‘very in’ school bags and pencils and books.  You read on all the stupid gossip about celebrities and feigned a ‘starstruck’ crush on some over the top male teen idol.  

Only 13 and you were desperate to have some sort of connection with someone.  You hadn’t had many friends when you were younger.  Too much of a tomboy and when you were in the 4th grade, someone accused you of feeding the class pet- a hamster- something bad that made it very sick and it eventually died.  You knew it wasn’t you, but no one listened and the teacher scolded you.  Everyone avoided you after that. 

Of course, your mother and father were very generous people and treated you well, but when they worked all the time it wasn’t the same as what a friend would be.  Their companionship was appreciated, but not what you craved.  

Life was tough to a 13-year-old middle schooler.  You just huffed as you flopped back on your bed, wanting to go back to bed when your mother knocked on your door, telling you to get up and get ready.  

She always took you to school when she left for work in the morning.  Though, you had to walk home.  You didn’t have the guts to ride the bus.  It was too cramped and putting yourself in a tiny space where everyone was forced to ignore you or snicker behind the stupid, uncomfortable leather seats wasn’t worth the hassle. 

At least no one knew it was your birthday and you could go through the day normally.  You pulled on your jacket, some t-shirt with a bigshot band and your jeans as you slipped on your shoes and grabbed your bag with all your completed homework inside.  

Going downstairs, saying hello and receiving a warm happy birthday message from your parents, you loaded into your mother’s car and soon was staring at the neighborhood zoomed passed your eyes out the window.  You watched people walk in groups or lots of kids waiting for their bus.  Jealous, you closed your eyes and just wished the day would end.  

It was in your history class that your teacher, instead of actually teaching today, turned on some random movie about a person who summoned a demon.  The protagonist and this demon go on some sort of trip to achieve some goal, but you zoned it out as the solution to your solitude was right in front of you. 

If you couldn’t make friends, you could just summon one!  The rest of the day was filled with you sneaking your phone out in class and researching all sorts of demon summonings.  You were confused by everything you read.  Some articles didn’t take themselves seriously, others took themselves very seriously and some just contradicted what you read on a different site.  

You came home in a rush and went to your room to read up more, even renting a book about demons from your school’s library.  You were desperate and impatient, so you would cram as much knowledge in your brain as you could.  You would be performing this summoning tonight, be it hell or high water. 

Going to bed early and telling your parents' goodnight, you fell asleep before groggily waking up at the alarm you set for 2:45 AM.  Trudging around your room, you grabbed the paper spell you printed before you tiptoed around your dark and quiet house.  Loading up a bowl with all sorts of things you read about before going to your bathroom and shutting the door.  The nightlight plugged into the wall was flicked off by you as you lit your candles and then began.  

You panicked as you dropped your mother’s lipstick into the sick and ran to the door to lock it after making sure it was still absolutely silent in your house.  Your bathroom was quite away from your parent’s room, so it wasn’t logical they’d hear you anyways.  

You sighed as you walked to reread your paper.  Maybe you chanted the spell wrong?  You obviously weren’t very well versed in Latin. You were ready to maybe give it another go or give up when you nearly screamed at the bang behind you.  Something hit your shower door and you whipped around.  

Nothing was behind the glass, but when you looked up, you locked eyes with someone.  No, something?  It wasn’t human by any stretch.  They hid well in the darkness, almost unseeable, but their glowing red eyes blinking made solid proof they were in fact there.  

You heard whatever it was chuckle lightly before they jumped off your shower door and back into the shower itself.  You saw their blurry silhouette stand behind the glass door.  They were tall and you could see the outline of their horns stretching above their head. A vague shadow of something whipping around behind them was also visible in the dark room that your eyes had grown accustomed to. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat as you stepped forward cautiously and grabbed the small handle of your magnetic shower door and lightly pulled it open.  A small click of the magnetic detaching and the whine of the door as you slowly opened it.  Revealing the grey-skinned demon in front of your large, teenage eyes. 

You actually did it.  You legitimately summoned a demon.  Like, a real one?  He looked authentic enough at least.  Not some trick of the mind or some dream your desperate wants threw together in your head.  No, he had to be real.  He was almost terrifyingly so. 

“Good evening,” he slurred to you.  His voice was low and almost felt like it slithered like a snake.  Smooth and unwavering like a single tone. “It’s not every night I get little one’s summoning me,” he coaxed.  A shiver ran up your spine at his voice again. 

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you held your hands together in front of your chest.  The reality of the entire situation not sinking in.  You had a demon you summoned in your bathroom at 3 AM after your birthday. 

The demon chuckled as he folded his hands behind his back, putting on the most innocent smile he could muster.  Children were so fragile.  He couldn’t have you go and faint with his overwhelming presence and with how hard he could hear your heart beating, it could very well happen.  

“What is your name dear?” He sang to you.  You gulped.  You remembered reading that if a demon asks your name, you must insist they tell you their first.  You opened your mouth to ask him his in proper demon etiquette, but your throat was too dry.  Swallowing and opening and closing your mouth as a way to make sure your lips still worked, you tried again.  

“What’s-” you fumbled but regained your voice with a clearing of your throat.  “What’s your name?” You mimicked his question back to him.  He just smiled.  

“So,” he began, obviously not going to tell you his name so easily, “you know the bare minimum of demon introduction at the very least.  I’m impressed a little sprout like you can even handle summoning a demon with my power.”  If he wasn’t a demon that looked like he could rip out your kidney and eat it like some creepypasta character, you would get mad at him for repeatedly calling you little.  

He cocked his head at you, remaining his charade of innocence as you remained silent.  Why was it always the children who remained so shell shocked at something they were expecting to happen?  Sure, adults were too, but they were at least capable of screaming or throwing a fit or something.  Children just stop functioning.  

“Dear?” He tried again.  You just shook your head. 

“You first,” you were stubborn at least.  He tutted his brow up as he unclasped his hands behind his back and placed them on his hips.  His unearthly long claws catching your eye and making you swallow.  With those, he really could rip out your kidney if he wanted to.  

Tapping those dangerous fingers on his lips that seemed to be stuck in a permanent smirk, he finally put his hand back down.  Letting it hang past his slim waist and playfully drumming his fingers against his thigh. 

“Which name would you prefer, little one?” His voice teased.  He has pulled you along with a game of guesses, not willing to answer you easily.  He did have many names to be fair.  From slurs of his world to nicknames, to his demon name and his original name before his demonic ways came to fruition.  The demon moved to saunter far too graciously to your sink, placing his rear on the top of the counter and crossing his legs. “Did you not know my name despite you summoning me?  That’s far too clumsy- for a child to make mistakes like that.” 

He moved one hand, a clawed finger pointed at your heart.  “Any other demon met with such an incompetent summoner would tear out your heart as payment.” He watched you visibly gulp again.  Your hair stood up on end on your arm as your back held the best straight posture of your young life. 

You shook your head.  “I just wanted-” you cut yourself off.  The demon arched a dark brow at you as he brought his hand back to rest lazily over his lap.  Your voice turned shaky, fluttering with uncertainty and a sense of what he could almost call desperation.  As if you were trying to plead with him to sympathize with you. 

Demons could not feel sympathy.  If they did, it would be a weakness and the first step to an attachment.  That was the last thing any demon wanted. To become attached to anyone or anything. 

“You just wanted what, child?” The demon’s voice changed.  Altering just a bit.  An undertone like a second voice layering over his original velvet voice.  Like static or a low buzzing hum in the background. 

You looked down at your feet covered in socks on your tiled bathroom floor.  “I just wanted someone to talk to,” you pathetically whispered. 

Your sporadic new-teenage hormones made you tear up. You sniffled as the demon lifted his hand from his lap and used it to push back his hair, making some of it stand up every which way.  You sniffled again as you held your burning tears.  The demon only looked at you confused. 

This human child wanted someone to talk to so she summoned a demon? He thought to himself.  You were the embodiment of a pathetic and lonely child. “Just go find some other rugrats to scuffle with.  Don’t drag us demons into it,” his layered voice told you. 

“No one likes me though,” you told him back.  “Everyone thinks I’m mean and I try really hard to fit in, but- they just make fun of me.” The demon held a scoff back from escaping him.  So, you really were a child.  Trying to twist who you are to benefit those around you just for a chance of some sort of connection to another. 

“Is your wish then to have a companion? Someone who will stay at your side and never waver? To fill that lonely void?” The demon pointed to your heart once more.  Your heart that desired- craved- a connection.  You found yourself nodding in agreement.  A smile wormed its way onto the demon’s face.  “Little one, I am a demon of trades.  Do you know what that means?” You shook your head no.  “It means, I’ll give you anything you ask of me, but I must get something back from you in return.” 

You grew nervous. What could a demon want from you?  Rather, what could you possibly even give demon?  You were 13 for Christ's sake (hah)! The demon stared at you and felt something ripple in his chest.  He smirked.  He held his hand out, opening his palm from the finger he pointed and flipped it so his palm faced upward towards the ceiling and the shut-off bathroom light.  

“I’ll give you what you want,” he started- gaining your attention. “What I ask in return is simple.”  You opened your mouth but shut it again.  You just shook your head. 

“But, I still don’t know your name,” you whispered with a small scruff sound to your voice. 

The demon chuckled again.  If what he felt was indeed what he thought and if he were to follow through with this deal, then this deal would be his last.  He’s had his fun with his world and he was bored anyway.  

“My name- to you only, little one- is Jimin.”  His name resonated with you in some way.  You said it, testing it and he felt a jolt in his chest, making him laugh.  You looked at him with a confused, almost judgemental, stare.  “Don’t give me that look,” he jokingly said. 

“What was it you wanted from me, Jimin? You never told me.”

Jimin held up two of his fingers.  “I must first know your name back, don’t you think that’s fair?” He smiled, his black lips curling almost innocently. 

“Oh, um.  Y/n, it’s Y/n.”  You gave it to him easily now.  He nodded.  The name was suited to fit you.  Jimin’s hand was still outstretched to you.  “What’s the second thing then?” 

“Your hand,” he answered simply. “I desire your hand.”  You easily gave it.  Placing your puny hand in his black, clawed palm.  His fingers curled around your hand easily engulfing it.  “I am centuries old, but even I have rules. You’re far too young yet.” He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it as a symbol of him flashed over your skin before it faded.  The mark was now gone and he smiled, knowing the spell was still there.  “Our deal is complete, though it will take a long time for it to be carried out.  You’ll have to be a strong girl until then.” 

He gently dropped your hand and stood up from the sink and bent down to your eye level. His dark red eyes looked into your wide, childish ones.  He could only imagine how they could mature and grow over time in your life.  He chuckled as he smiled at you.  

“Your soul now officially belongs to me.  Don’t forget that, little Y/n.” 

You bolted away in bed the next morning when your alarm went off.  6:30 AM and supposed to be getting ready for school.  Had it all been a dream?  You flung your covers off, kicking your legs free and ran to the bathroom.  It was empty and clean of any demon summoning evidence. 

No smeared lipstick on the mirror.  No scented candles or your bowl of items in the sink.  No evidence of you ever meeting the demon named Jimin.  You held and looked at the hand he took and kissed as you went back to your room. Flopping ungracefully on your bed.  

“It was only a dream,” you told yourself dejectedly.  And, like a dream, you gradually forgot all about Jimin.  Never aware of the swishing barbed tail and a pair of red eyes checking on you from time to time. Not noticing even every year on your birthday when those eyes glowed the brightest. 

-XXX-

“Yeah, I know mom.  Yes- I know.  I’m 23 now, I think I can survive if you're not here on my birthday.  Stay home with day and relax for once.  Listen, I just got to work, I’ve gotta go.  Yeah, I love you too.  Bye, mom.” You cut the call that was playing through the speakers of your car as your music automatically resumed playing once the call disconnected. 

You could really blame your mother for fretting over your birthday.  She’d seen 22 of them and on number 23 she wouldn’t be there.  You had moved out after slaving away at 3 jobs to get enough money to get an apartment and finally start college.  Stable enough to get on your feet was all you really wanted to be at this point.  And to take the burden of all your problems off your parents.  They needed their own time at such an age. 

Your miserable days in middle school remained and that negative strength lasted all the way into and even through your high school career.  You still felt bitter, but you didn’t let it bother you anymore.  You engrossed yourself in books and studying, ignoring those around you who tried to get under your skin.  The only reason you turned down a scholarship offered to you was so you could stay at home a few years before taking another step forward. 

Always better to practice the art of adulthood with more experienced adults at your left and right. Besides, going into college immediately after high school was something forced on young people by society.  It wasn't the be-all, end-all.  Waiting wouldn’t hurt you or anyone else for that matter. 

Pulling into your parking space and hopping out of your car, you waltzing into your workplace.  Greeted by the manager of the local coffee shop where you barista at along with her and her son, Seokjin.  He wasn’t much of a coffee maker, but he kills it with his job with all the pastries.  He was 4 years older than you and in his last year of college.  Aiming for a simple bachelor's degree, he just wanted to get a better paying job to support himself and his mother. He and his mom live together and she’s told you before that she will never chase him out.  

Seokjin’s father passed away years ago, and he felt so guilty anytime he had to leave for a long time.  He knew his mother wasn’t alone per se, but he did love her.  So, he spent his free time in the shop or at home with her.  He’s even taken her on some ‘dates’ where he just spoils her completely rotten.  

The close-knit family of 2 absolutely warmed your heart. 

Besides, with a face like Seokjin’s, you never have to worry about business.  IN fact, ever since he started working alongside his mother, there hasn’t been a slow easy-going day.  A blessing for revenue and paychecks, but a curse for your lack of free time. 

There isn’t much different today than usual.  A rush in the morning, a slow break between 10 and noon and then the lunch rush hits.  After that, it’s all hit and miss on when it will pick up.  You were removing your apron and releasing your hair from the too-tight ponytail you created this morning when your manager approached you. 

“You’ve started college, yes?  How is it?” She was like some aunt of yours as she slotting into your life.  Seokjin fitting right in as an annoying cousin role as he walked into the conversation, the counter free of customers until that front counter bell should ring. 

“Yup.  I started last week.  Orientation was a bit boring, and of course, all the syllabi seems a bit unnecessary, but it’s moving along.  We actually start classes tomorrow.”  You smiled as the three of you talked.  Soon, that bell rung before your manager rushed off, taking it before Seokjin could.  He stood around, talking to you a bit longer. 

“I’m in your college,” he told you with a hand on his head.  You knew this already, but he wasn’t someone you expected to really run into.  He was quite popular.  “Hunt me down if you need anything, you’ve got my number.”  He smiled.  

“Mr. Popular running to my beck and call, how charming.”  He moved his hand from your head as he cupped his chin.  

“What can I say, my existence itself is charming.”  You playfully rolled your eyes as you hang your apron up on the hook with your hand above it.  “Seriously, it can be a bit overwhelming and I am pretty smart.  If you have trouble, let me know.  I can even tutor you some time if you need it.”  He told you as you patted his shoulder and nodded.  He worried and you appreciated it.  

When you walked into your apartment that night, something felt wrong.  You didn’t know what, but it just didn’t seem normal?  You looked around and nothing was off and no one was here obviously.  Maybe you were just psyching yourself out before classes tomorrow.  

You plopped yourself on your couch as you closed your eyes, kicked your head back as you breathed.  It was strange as you opened your eyes and looked at your right hand.  It felt odd, a tingling sensation floating over and around it.  Your finger felt numb as you opened and closed your fist.  You just shook your head as you got up and went to take a shower.  Maybe that would make you feel better. 

You jolted awake with a heavy breath and a couch at nearly 3 AM.  You panted as you pushed your bangs back, feeling a small sheen layer of sweat there.  You felt like you just had a nightmare, but you couldn’t remember.  Your chest was tight as you dropped your hand back to your mattress as you sit sat up.  

Something felt tight around your ring finger on your right hand, and with it being too dark, you used your left hand to feel around it.  It felt like a ring was strapped onto your finger?  The ring was thin, metal and flat.  It was warm like you had been wearing it for a long time or someone else had been before you.  You knew it wasn’t yours, you didn’t own many rings.  

Confused, you tried tugging it off, but it wouldn’t budge.  Light panic sat in your chest as you twisted and pulled, trying to get the ring off.  It wasn’t as if it would move and your finger was too thick to take it off, no.  It just wouldn’t move period.  It would twist in place, but it would not move up or down your finger.  Like it was bound on or something. 

You sighed as your tugging game was put on hold from your growing panic. You decided to forget it and you’d deal with it in the morning.  Tugging your blanket up to lay back down and tuck yourself back in, something felt weighed down on your blanket.  Tugging again, you stretched your foot and something was sitting at the foot of your bed, weighing your blanket down.  

You were scared to move.  Slowly grabbing your phone you flipped the flashlight on and looked at the foot of your bed.  You screamed as you scurried up your mattress against the headboard, dropping your phone in your haste.  

Picking it back up you held it as you sat, knees up against your chest as you pushed yourself against eh headboard the best you could.  Sitting as far as you could from that thing at the end of your bed. 

“Who are you?!” You screeched as they rolled their eyes.  Red eyes, grey skin, black shirt and pants with a tail and horns.  Who was this?!  He didn’t even look human, but you were trying to convince yourself that some freaky cosplayer broke into your house.  You did know that there were a group of some weird-ass people who read some internet interactive novel online from some posts you’ve read on social media.  Maybe it was one of them? 

There wasn’t a speck of color on the intruder.  Be it skin or clothes.  His shirt was buttoned and tucked into his pitch pants and he was shoeless, his black feet tucked under his cross legs.  His tail barbed and swaying behind him as he smirked.  His fangs were the only white thing on him.  Even the ‘whites’ of his eyes were black surrounding his red iris. 

“Human memories really are the most unreliable thing in the universe,” he spoke as you screamed again.  He covered his ears as he grimaced. He stood on your mattress, his feet pushing into the covers as he walked over to you and bent his knees to squat to your level.  

He looked into your eyes and something almost sparked in you.  Like a recollection of something you’ve seen before, but can’t place your finger on it.  He watched as your eyes searched is own, now quiet as you tried to remember something.  He smiled as he saw the confusion in your human eyes.  

You moved to look at his tail behind him as you gasped, almost screaming again.  He quickly pushed his hand over your mouth, not wanting to hear another scream that pierced his ears.  “We’ll talk in the morning, little one,” he smirked as he saw your eyes widen as you took in a shaky breath through your nose.  

You shook your head, knowing there was no way you’d be able to sleep with this demon in your home.  Your eyes darted around as he rolled his eyes and covered your mouth just for a moment.  Just long enough to push his black lips onto your pink ones.  You gasped as you closed your eyes, bracing yourself as he was unusually calm. 

You felt your strength leaves you bit by bit as you soon relaxed and your tightly scrunched eyes eased up when you passed out.  Slumping back, the demon held you and straighten your body out before pulling the covers over you and getting off your bed.  Walking around your room and looking at your bags of books and notebooks, going through your style of clothing and all the small amount of jewelry you owned.  

He looked over his shoulder before he smiled and joined you on your bed.  Laying on the free side of it as he watched your sleep.  “You grew up, just like I thought you would,” he whispered. 

-XXX-

You stirred as you took a breath through your nose at what you could assume was early in the morning.  You were still tired, and half tempted to forget it and go back to sleep.  Even keeping your eyes closed, very close to just deciding sleep was worth it.  

You had a distinct feeling something happened, or maybe you had some weird-ass dream last night.  You felt more tired than you should for sleeping as much as you did.  You breathed heavy when you felt a weight on your chest.  The mattress around you was pushing down like something was on the mattress beside you.  

Cracking open your eyes, you took a moment to process the grey figure looking down at you.  Feet perched on either side of your arms, crouching and resting his arms on his bent knees, Jimin stared down at you.  You blinked up to him, processing like a slow running computer before you shot up, shoving him in the chest and flinging him onto the floor. You scrambled out of the opposite side of your bed, throwing your covers onto his head to buy you some time as you run for your bedroom door.  

You screamed when your blanket hit your back in a giant wad.  Knocking you forward, you whipped around.  Jimin was stood up, brushing off his arms and glaring at you.  He looked so different in the daytime as you could see him clearly instead of standing in the shadows. 

“You are the rudest human I’ve ever met.  I can’t believe you threw a fucking blanket on me like I’d get stumped like some stupid dog,” he grumbled as he rubbed his head. “You could’ve damaged my neck, brat.”  You inched towards your door, still wanting to at least leave your room, Jimin just walked over to you, standing in front of your door.  

“I- uh,” you looked at him.  Pointing at him then, your bed, before you groaned and started pacing back and forth.  Jimin watched your pacing as he sighed and sat down, crossing his legs in front of your door.  He pushed his clawed hand into his grey cheek as he looked bored.  You suddenly stopped and looked down at him from across the room.  “You... You’re not a human?”  

Jimin looked at his claws, waving them teasingly waving them around as he then gestured to the spiraled horns on his head.  Not to mention the barbed tail swishing around behind him like it had a mind of his own. “I think the skin color could speak for itself, but if you still have doubts, take a look at the fucking bones out of my forehead and devil’s tail.”  

You stopped and marched over to him.  Dropping to your knees you grabbed his cheeks between your fingers and pulled.  Stretching his skin before letting go.  You moved to quickly open his eyes wide and looked at his red eyes.  You tugged on his hair, flicked his horns and opened his mouth to look at his fangs.  He growled in annoyance as you poked and prodded at him.  “HEY!” He shouted when you tugged on his tail.  

“How are you real?!  I thought you were a dream!” You panicked.  

“Well, that sounds like a personal problem to me,” he smirked as his tail whipped around in a teasing, almost spunky manner.  

“I was 13! What do you even want?” He pointed to your hand, more specifically to the ash grey ring you had completely forgotten about from last night.  You looked at it.  “This?” You showed it, trying to take it off once again.  Groaning and making quite the embarrassing amount of effort to try and remove it.  

“It’s not coming off.  I charmed it so it’s stuck there unless I remove it,” Jimin told you, closing his eyes as if he just told you the most obvious fact in the world.  Like how ladybugs are black and red.  “Have you forgotten what our deal was?”  He asked. 

“I… I wanted a friend back then.  So, you told me to give you my-” you stopped and looked at the ring on your finger, “-hand.”  Jimin cracked open his eyes as he reached over and grabbed your ringed right hand, holding it close to his mouth.  

That same symbol he marked under your skin 10 years ago showing up for a split second, like a pulse and making you gasp.  Kissing your hand again, he looked at you.  “You should always catch wind of double meanings in any and all demon contracts, sweetheart.  Even if you were young, you did agree.” 

“You tricked me! I was a kid!”  Jimin shrugged.  

“It's my job.  You should be honored that you were my final assignment.” 

“Final- what?” 

“Do you know, attachment to clients is a taboo in the demonic society. Any sign of attachment is dealt with immediate termination of the contract.  Though, there are some who decide to indulge in the attachment and decide that one job is more important than any other possible future ones.” 

You sat in front of him as he still held your hand in his own.  Dressed in a black suit with his dull gray skin and completely unnatural- well, everything.  

“I formed my final contract 10 years ago at 3 AM to a silly, lonely little girl.  You, Y/n, became my attachment. We’re officially engaged, sweetheart.” 

-XXX-

“You haven’t been at work for three days because you were too busy getting engaged?!” You covered your ears as you roll your eyes at Seokjin’s initial reaction to your big news.  Three days ago, when Jimin showed up in your apartment, you called your manager if there was any way you could possibly get the next few days off.  You didn’t want to tell her the situation but promised to when you came back in.  She was understanding enough and now, fast forward to now.  Seokjin grabbed your shoulders, shaking you around. “How come you didn’t tell me?! I would’ve filmed it or something, you didn’t even tell me you had a boyfriend!” 

You shook his hands off your shoulders as you straighten out your sleeves he crumpled up on your shoulders. “Look, what I do in my personal life really doesn’t matter, does it?” You told him as he just crossed his arms and pouted. You chuckled at him as his mother came around the corner, wiping her wet hands on her apron.  

“What’s all this fuss about back here?” She questioned with a smile at seeing you and Seokjin back to your antics.  It was almost too calm without you here for him to pick on.  

“Oh, I was telling Seokjin here about why I had been gone, ma’am,” you told her with a smile.  You then thought for a moment, she didn’t actually know yet.  “I actually got engaged,” you told her with a nervous laugh and rubbing the back of your head.  

In full honesty, after sitting down and talking it all out with the demon who is now your betrothed, even if you didn’t want to get married to him you had no choice.  A contract with a demon is eternal binding and you would have to carry out your end of the bargain.  As such, just as Jimin promised you all those years ago, you wouldn’t have to worry about every being lonely. So, in turn, you were his now.  

He explained everything to you.  He told you back when you made that contract, that when he told you he ‘wanted your hand’ he was asking for your hand in marriage.  He told you he purposely said it like that so your stupid teenage self wouldn’t actually understand the double meaning.  He explained how he watched you grow up and was there on every birthday, but you never saw him.  

It actually almost embarrassed you how he had been there the whole time.  He even admitted to being the tiniest bit jealous of all the boyfriends and girlfriends you’ve been in a relationship with before.  He pouted when he brought up the fact that one past boyfriend was an obvious scumbucket of a man and claimed your ‘taste in human men was severely lacking’.  He earned a kick in his shin for that one. 

Jimin truly acted like he was attracted to you in all honesty.  It’s only been three days, but he was as chivalrous as a proper gentleman.  Not something one would expect from such a terrifying demon who literally hides in the corner when it’s too bright in the room at 6 in the morning.  He isn’t a fan of morning sunlight, too bright and frankly from his whole appearance, it wasn’t shocking to learn this.  

And because of his appearance, you had a little pitch fit before you left for work.  Absolutely forbidding him from leaving the apartment because if anyone saw him, they’d probably call the cops or shoot him. Horns, bare feet, grey and black skin, he would stand out like a sore thumb.  

Seokjin’s mother gasped as he grabbed your hands, shaking them up and down as she got as giddy as a teenager at the young romance blossoming from your engagement.  

“That’s absolutely lovely, sweetpea!”  He chuckled as she placed her worn, old hand on her cheek.  Her wedding ring from her late husband still in prime condition as she still did love him so much.  She was alright staying widowed; and with Seokjin, she didn’t seek another romance in her age because she wasn’t lonely.  “I remember when my husband proposed to me.  He had this elaborate plan all set up in the park we met at, but it rained right in the middle of it!  It was clumsy, but so was he,” you smiled as she fawned over the memories of her youth. 

She held your hand and looked at your grey ring place firmly on your finger.  “It is quite the unique ring for a proposal,” she chuckled.  She didn’t seem to dislike it though.  In most people’s eyes, if you told them this grey and the simplistic metallic ring was your engagement ring, they’d probably start to berate Jimin for not ‘buying’ a more glamorous ring.  However, when Jimin told you that this was the ring he’s had his entire demonic life and how much it meant to him, you felt almost proud that he gave it up for you. 

Jimin was crafty, already charming his way into your heart after just a few days.  You found it unfair because you weren’t all that desirable in your own eyes, yet here he was giving up life long possessions and sticking them on you and treating you like a legitimate fiancee. 

“You’ll have to let us meet him. You’re practically family, sweetie!”  You smiled, nervously laughing as you nodded.  You scratched your cheek as you thought to yourself about how you would keep Jimin under house arrest for the rest of your life.  “Does your mother know?  I’m sure she’s just thrilled her little daughter is growing up!” 

“Yeah, she knows.  She nearly blew a gasket when I told her.  I thought she was going to march all the way down here to interview him, but she just spoke to him over the phone and all was good,” you told your manager.  Keeping the fact that the whole ordeal took nearly 3 hours to yourself. “She’s happy for me in the long run,” you said as you were also relieved of that fact.  

Your parents knew that you didn’t have people beside you growing up, so hearing you’re engaged and set to marry at some point when you just started college was a shock.  But, they seemed to support you in your path you’re setting and you couldn’t be more thankful. 

“He’s not a shy fellow, is he?” You shook your head.  

“Oh, not at all.  In fact, he’s very outgoing and is always trying to find a way to get out of the house,” you weren’t lying.  He’s been cooped up in that house of yours for three days, all he complains about if wanting to go out. You won’t even let him out at night where he can hide in the shadows without being seen. 

“Does Mr. Right have a name, or what?” Seokjin cut in with crossed arms and a furrowed brow.  ���If I don’t get a face and a name within the next 48 hours, I will be forced to confine you here until he shows himself.”  You and his mother looked at him as his face gave away that he was almost dead serious. 

“What are you? My older brother?  Sorry, but I’m an only child,” you told him as he rolled his eyes.  “His name is Jimin,” you told him.  

“Surname?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Of course it matters, woman!” In truth, you weren’t sure if Jimin even had a surname.  He was a demon, and he mentioned how many names he actually goes by.  So, you decided to skim around the question and finally dropped the topic altogether when it was opening time.  

Seokjin placed his two fingers in front of his eyes and proceeded to whip them towards you in a typical  ‘I’ll be watching’ fashion.  Making you shaking your head as you tied on your apron with the smallest smile on your face.  Maybe all those years of solitude were worth it in the end after all. 

-XXX-

“Jimin, you better still be in this apartment or else I’m gonna tie your tail into knots!” 

“So much as touch my tail and I will bite you. Don’t test me!” You heard him scream back at you as you smiled.  Shutting the door behind you and heeling off your shoes, you pulled your jacket off and walked into your living room where you tossed it onto the back of the couch.  

Jimin sat in a chair, reading one of your books as his tail whipped around behind him and curled inwards when he saw you.  The threat of you even touching it initially making him wince. 

“Jimin, are you reading a cookbook?” He shut the book and looked at the front, seeing some sort of dish covering the front of it with the bold letters of ‘COOKBOOK’ staring at him.  He looked back at you and nodded.  “Why?” 

“Because, since we’re going to be married and I’m living with you, I do need to learn how to live as a human.” That honestly surprised you. “Why is that so shocking to you?”  You shook your head, sitting on the couch.  Seeing him take this so seriously still throws you off and a part of you almost thought that when it actually happens, he’d rip your soul out or something.  He chuckles at you. “Don’t you worry, dear.  I won’t eat your heart or anything when we wed.” 

Dismissing his stupid words he knew you were suspecting, you started a new topic.  “My coworker and boss seemed glad that I was engaged.” 

“You told them?” He asked and you nodded. 

“Yeah, of course.  I had to, I’d been gone for three days.  I couldn’t just lie to them.” Jimin arched his brows.  “Okay, I could but it wouldn’t feel right.  They’re good people, so I wouldn’t.” There was a pause for a moment when you continued.  “They want to meet you actually.”

“I’m sure a lot of people do.  Your mother was hell-bent on a phone call, I’m half shocked she didn’t bust her way through the phone.” You sighed.  “I want to clarify something,” he said as you looked at him.  “If I didn’t look like this-” he gestured to his grey and clawed self, “- I could go out.  I could meet people you work with and your parents, right?” 

“Ideally, yes.  You can’t just walk outside looking like that.  You’d probably get killed or kidnapped and taken into the government for dissection or something.” He rolled his eyes.  “Why?” 

“No reason, just curious,” you shrugged it off as the rest of the day rolled around.  The next morning, you were up late and rushing to leave your apartment to get to class on time.  Driving over the speed limit and tapping in rage on your wheel when stupidly slow drivers got in front of you. You parked in a space that was far too far away from the door and ran.  Running into Seokjin somehow on the way there.  

He only laughed at you as he stuffed a donut hole in your mouth that you nearly choked on as you continued your sprint down the halls and soon slid into a seat in your university room.  The room was set up like a stadium, semi-circular and stairstep sitting arrangement. You phone that sits on your desk lit up with a silent message.  

You had gone out and got Jimin a phone so that he can at least have some form of communication with you. He was a demon, but he already acted human enough.  He was a quick learner and if he did look the part, one wouldn’t even think he was a demon at all.  Of course, even if you voiced to the whole campus your fiancee was a demon, no one would believe you.  

[Jimin] When do you get out of class today?

[You] Does it matter? 

[Jimin] Of course it does.  I want to show you something when you’re free today.

[You] Uh, alright?  I should be done around 3, so long as no lectures run long.

[Jimin] You got it.  I’ll see you at 3 in front of your campus then.

You stared at your phone’s screen.  Rereading what he said before your thumbs ran rapidly across your screen.  If texting was a sport, you were sure you probably would’ve just earned the gold medal. 

[You] You’ll what?!

[You] Jimin!  Answer me!!!  

[You] HEY.  JIMIN I SWEAR TO GOD

[Jimin] Don’t offend me

You rolled your eyes at his comment back.  Swearing to God in the case of a demon.  He always smacked your hand lightly when you said that to him, saying that swearing to something he didn’t believe in or rather didn’t like was just mean. It made sense since he was a child of Satan or something. 

Your day ticked by as slow as high-class torture.  Time was picking at your fingernails as you tapped your foot and scribbled notes in such a frenzied fashion you’d probably end up with a magnifying glass later trying to decipher your words like some archeologist on a dig. 

When your final lecture let out it was nearly a quarter past 3 in the afternoon.  You scrambled to shove your books and notes into your bag as you picked up the strap and slung it on your shoulder, whacking it into your back as you wince.  Taking off down the halls and skipping steps, half scared of tripping and tumbling to your doom down them. 

You sped past staff and students, a few of them telling you to watch what you're doing or to stop running completely, but you just waved in apology and continued your pace. Making it outside, you slumped against the flagpole by the main entrance doors as you huffed out of breath.  The sun was warm on the skin of your legs that were revealed because of your shorts.  Your jacket was all disheveled as your shirt that was once tucked was now no longer so. Your shoelaces had even come undone in your plight of speed to get outside. 

Looking around, you didn’t see a single grey demon walking around your front campus courtyard.  Sighing, you dropped your bag onto the ground with a huff and knelt to re-tie your shoe.  If you left campus fast enough, maybe Jimin wouldn’t come and cause a scene. 

You were unaware of the low murmur of small gossip circles on campus and leaving the building.  You were also unaware of the fact that fact of the murmur was coming towards you with his hand shoved into his pockets.  

Making it in front of you, you saw a shadow at your feet and beside you as you looked up.  The sun was too bright and blocked out the sight of who it was standing in front of you.  You squinted as the person- a man- chuckled and bent his knees to be eye level with you.  

You looked at him and he looked at you as he smiled.  Looking into his eyes, a deep brown, you narrowed your eyes in concentration.  You turned your head slowly, still keeping your eyes on him, as you opened your mouth in disbelief.  

“Excuse me, but um- you wouldn’t have to be…” you pointed at him as he chuckled again.  He looked to his left and right before he looked back into your eyes and you saw his brown flash to a black and red before reverting back.  You gasped.  This human man was- “Jimin?!” You screeched.  

Jimin laughed as he fell forward on you, knocking you onto your ass on the concrete that warmed your cheeks from the afternoon sunlight.  He continued to laugh and spill out his fits of giggles from his gut as he held your arms and put his forehead on your shoulder.  

Jimin looked human.  Lightly tanned skin, brown waved hair and brown eyes.  A pair of jeans with a white shirt and jean jacket that matched his pants.  His right ear had a long dangling earring pierced through it as his left had a small hoop.  His shoes were flat and black.  He had no horns, no fangs, no claws or tail.  His skin wasn’t grey and his hands weren’t black as coal.  He looked and sounded 100% human. 

“You’re reaction was so worth it!” He laughed as he finally composed himself.  You took notice of the murmur now, as it had slightly increased from small groups to larger cliques wondering what was happening.  Normally, this was dismissed by the campus students as another couple being overly touchy, but of course, you just couldn’t fly under the radar this one time. 

You lightly pushed Jimin up and off your shoulder as you looked around his face.  He was handsome as a human too.  Just as handsome as he is as a demon.  The sun highlighted and added to the persona he put on and made your face the slightest tint of red. Jimin’s playful smirk was replaced with a wide smile as he saw you blush. 

“W-when did you?” You just pointed at the whole of him. He grabbed your hand as he stood, pulling you up with him and straightening out your jacket for you.  Tugging on the ends and straightening out the shoulders.  He would’ve tucked your shirt in if you hadn’t of slapped his hands away from your stomach. 

“Ticklish are we?” He teased. 

“Just answer my question!” You whined.  He pinched at your cheek, cooing as you were tempted to pick your bag off the ground and swing it at him like a pro baseballer aiming for a home run. 

“I changed this morning.  It’s not permanent though.  I can change back whenever I want to.  If I look like this, I’m okay to go outside, right?” 

“I guess… I can’t argue with that?  I said not as a demon- but as a human, I can’t say no to you, can I.” He smiled as he bent down and grabbed your bag. “Ah, give me that, it’s got all my books in it.”  You reached for it as he just held it away from you, putting a hand on your stomach to keep you away from it.  “Jimin!” You whined again. 

“Let my first act as a human gentleman be carrying my fiance’s bag home, yeah?” You pouted as you crossed your arms.  

“Y/n!” You heard someone behind you call for you as you almost panicked at seeing Seokjin strutting towards you.  His bag on his hip and phone in his hand, headphones coiled around it, ready to be unwound and listened to. Jimin recognized him as you took the liberty of showing him photos of Seokjin, his mother and your parents to him.  He walked up to you and Jimin.  “I saw you running out of your class like a maniac, what was that about?” 

“Oh, well you see I was just…” you looked around for an excuse before you looked at Jimin.  “I was rushing out to meet my escort home!” You gestured to Jimin.  Seokjin looked down at him.  He stood taller than Jimin.  “Seokjin, you wanted to meet him, right?  My fiance?”  Seokjin looked at you, mouth open in awe as he looked back at Jimin. 

“This is your fiance?!” He accused, almost too loudly as you could see some people whispering and gasping that the gorgeous man in front of you was engaged to you of all people.  You shushed him. 

“Shut up!  Let’s go somewhere else and talk, Jesus.”  The three of you ended up at some burger joint not far from campus to talk.  Being greeted by the staff, you smiled and waved as you took the two men in tow to a booth.  Jimin slid in with you as he sat closer than you expected him to, your thigh touching his as Seokjin sat across the table. 

You three ordered something to drink and just a basket of fries to munch on.  Jimin didn’t exactly have money and you were kinda glad that Seokjin said he’d foot the bill of the fries and drinks.  You didn’t want to explain that Jimin was unemployed because he was a demon. 

“So, you’re Y/n’s guy?” Jimin nodded, reaching across the table for a handshake.  Seokjin meeting him in a firm greeting. 

“I’m Park Jimin, it’s a pleasure.’ You looked at him.  Park?  Did he decide that was going to be his surname?  It was popular, so you didn’t see the harm in his choice.  “You’re Seokjin, right? Y/n works with you and your mother.”  

Seokjin purses his lips in an impressive manner.  “You know me?” 

“Of course!  Y/n had talked about you and your mother quite a lot in the time I’ve known her.  She really enjoys working with you both.”  You thanked the staff member who placed your drinks and a basket of fries on the booth table as the two men talked back and forth.  You sipped at your drink, straw between your lips as you were actually impressed Jimin held such a casual conversation.  

You’ve been stressing over so much on what to do with Jimin when he was capable of dealing with all of it on his own.  He seemed to genuinely be trying to earn Seokjin’s favor for something.  Talking and acting so that Seokjin wouldn’t disapprove of him for some reason.  

He was acting so human.  Sweet and caring and kind.  He laughed at Seokjin’s stupid jokes you scoffed at and took interest in his favorite kind of pastries.  What to eat and where to eat it and told him about how he attended the same college as you and was set to graduate this year. 

Seokjin excused himself for a moment to go to the bathroom when Jimin sat back in his booth and tossed half a fry into his mouth. 

“Human food is actually way better than I remember it being,” he said as he ate the second half of the fry.  

“Jimin?” He looked at you when you called him.  “You- are you enjoying yourself?” You were curious is that smile on his face was real or if it was all an act because he was a demon contracted to marry you.  He smiled softly as he grabbed your hand, setting it on his lap. 

“I told you that I was attached to you, do you remember?” You nodded.  He told you that when he first showed up.  “It’s not easy for something like that to occur for my species. I won’t put up a facade around you, so don’t worry, okay?” You lowered your eyes as you nodded.  He smiled, his teeth showing as his cheeks pushed up his eyes.  He moved to kiss your cheek as you pushed on his shoulder for the sudden act of affection.  He laughed at you as he tried kissing your other cheek, you erupting into a fit of laughter at him. 

Seokjin stood behind the booth against the wall, watching the two of you from a distance.  He smiled seeing you happy and how Jimin was a good guy after all.  Open and kind like you said.  He nodded to himself. 

“I guess I can approve of him,” he said to himself as he made his way back to the booth. Sliding in and fake gagging at the PDA of the young couple.  

-XXX-

It was two days later when your first workday since Seokjin met Jimin came.  Jimin was stubbornly driving you to work (where he learned to drive you didn’t know).  He even had a license that was legitimate and he wouldn’t tell you at all how he got it.  Part of you almost believed he lived as a human the past year just to get accustomed to this kind of lifestyle.  When you told him that, he looked at you like you uncovered some big secret.  Of course, there was no way that was right… right?

“So, why are you driving me to work again?” You asked him as your purse sat in your lap as you were decked in your black slacks, white shirt, and non-slip shoes.  Boring work attire. While he sat in black jeans, heeled boots to boost his height (he was almost self-conscious of it) and a white shirt with a yellow flannel over it.  Looking rudely attractive. 

“I met Seokjin, now I want to meet your boss!” He cheered as he pulled into the turn lane, stopping before getting the all-clear from those trust traffic lights to proceed onwards.  “Besides, dropping you off means I get to pick you up and isn’t that just a husbandly thing to do?” 

“You’re not my husband?” 

“Not yet.  Which reminds me, I guess we need to actually plan a wedding?” 

“Yeah, with what money,” you scoffed.  

“Well, how about a courthouse wedding?  It’s way cheaper and way simpler.  Just dress in your Sunday best, show up with family and close friends only.  Get preached to, sign a paper, take some pictures and we walk out husband and wife,” he suggested with a small smile.  

Honestly speaking, a courthouse wedding didn’t sound too awful.  You wouldn’t need to get completely gussied up if you didn’t want to and it wouldn’t be some entire day deal.  A few hours and it would be done.  Plus it would be a life-saving act for your funds.  

“You don’t need to think about it right now,” Jimin interrupted your thoughts.  He reached across the middle console and grabbed your hand that rested on your bag.  He bounced it up and down in his palm as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.  “I’m not going anywhere, so take your time to think it over for yourself.  Be it for 3 months or 3 years, I’ll always be here.”  You nodded at him, missing the side look he gave you when your cheeks start glowing again. “Cute.” 

Your boss cried in joy as you entered the still unopened cafe with Jimin in tow, his hands in yours.  You watched her bounce around the counter and prance up to you both as Seokjin rounded the corner, a ziplock bag of frozen strawberries in his hand that was due to dethaw in some hot water in the back.  

“Oh, lover boy’s here,” he announced.  Jimin bowed to your boss as he introduced himself with a smile.  You told her that Jimin was the man who proposed to you and was the man you were soon going to marry.  

“My word, he’s stunning!  You’re a lucky woman, Y/n.”  You laughed at her excitement as Jimin disagreed. 

“No way! Y/n is way out of my league. If anything I'm the lucky one here!” He exclaimed and it sounded like he meant it.  That this wasn't all just a contracted marriage between human and demon. “I’m just happy I met her in the first place, now I get to marry her.  I’m definitely the luckiest.” He, finalized, your boss swooning at him as her own cheeks reddened. 

“You’re so fond.  I do hope you both make each other happy.”  Jimin nodded as he checked the watch on his wrist.  He nudged you lightly, gesturing to the time.  You squeaked as you unconsciously pecked him on the cheek and rushed behind the counter and into the back to clock in and strap on your apron.  Jimin chuckled at you as your boss stood around longer.  “Y/n is such a sweetheart,” she cooed.  

“Yes, she is,” Jimin agreed.  “She’s gone through a lot over her life, but I’m truly grateful that she somehow ended up at my side.” He bent down to get closer to the older woman and smiled at her, you on his brain.  “I’m going to make her happy for sure! But, I don’t actually know her favorite kind of pastry.  You don’t happen to know, do you?” 

“I do!  If you offer her one of my son’s cream puffs, she’s absolute putty in your hands' young man.” Jimin nodded.  

“Thank you very much!” He cheered.  He knew a lot about you, but not everything.  He desired to learn everything he could.  When he learned another fact about you or saw you smile or fumble around in a spaz, he could feel that attachment in his chest tighten.  The sensation was nameless and addicting.

-XXX-

It’s been 4 months since Jimin showed up declaring himself as your betrothed. Since then, he somehow managed to get a job as a receptionist at a small little spa not too far downtown.  With his looks as well as his sweet human personality, he was a catch.  You wondered how he ever qualified for any jobs at all with him being a demon prior to everything.  He flat out told you he lied and created fake documents of education and even past experience that you were 100% sure he didn’t have. 

You had to admit that you admired his studious attitude when it came down to his work though.  His ethic and willingness to learn and be trained so diligently was shocking for a demon.  He read on spa therapies from skincare to massages to manicures and pedicures.  From fact to fiction and when it came time to work on his own without a trainer, he did incredibly well.  

As a demon, he seemed to genuinely enjoy his work.  Plus, he often offers you shoulder massages when you're working it double-time between work and school.  You were probably the most grateful for that.  

His kindness continued to baffle you.  Even after all these months, the way he smiled and joked and actually seemed to care about the world around you didn’t make him seem like a demon at all.  You would often forget he wasn’t human, his origins slipping your mindscape until he would return to his grey-skinned, horned and clawed self. You remember him asking you if his real appearance ever bothered you. 

“Hey, Y/n?” Jimin had just walked into the apartment from work as you sat cross-legged on the floor in front of your coffee table in the living room.  Textbooks open and bookmarked, notebooks scribbled in and small doodles taking up space in any open corner when your concentration drifted off. You hummed at him as he moved to sit on the couch behind your back.  “You don’t mind if I look like a demon when I’m inside, do you?” 

You stopped your notes as you put your pencil down in the fold of the pages and turned at your hips to look at him behind you. 

“Do I mind if you look like a demon?”  He nodded.  “Jimin why would you care if I care if you look like that?” He was still in his human appearance as he looked almost timid.  Not making eye contact and looking worried like you would reject him if he looked devilish. 

“I just- I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”  Jimin is by far the most respectable demon you’ve ever met (even though he’s the only demon you’ve ever met). You rolled your eyes as you turned back to our notes, Jimin ready to complain when you finally answered him. 

“There’s no reason to be uncomfortable around you, human or demon.  It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you told him. “And it’s not like we’re on the ground floor, no one will see you from outside, just don’t go out on the balcony like that.” You looked outside the two tall, sliding glass doors to your small balcony on the 3rd floor.  “Besides, you’re pretty charming as a demon,” you tacked on.  You were scribbling more notes down, looking back and forth between your textbook and notes to make sure you were writing in the lines in legible writing.  

You felt Jimin moving behind you as he soon moved to slide off the couch to sit beside you.  He put his head on the table, looking at you with his grey skin and small spiraled horns pointing outwards away from his forehead. He smiled up at you as you moved to look down at him, his fangs as white as ever. 

“So, I’m charming?” His tail whipped around behind him as you just scoffed with a smile and went back to work.  He quickly sat up. “I learned this really cool massage trick at work, wanna see!” He offered as you stopped him from reaching out to touch you at all.  

“You will not attempt to massage anything with those hands. Last time you did, your stupid claws cut up my shoulders!”  

“I’ll shorten them then!” 

“What’s so funny?” Jimin, who sat across the middle console from you, asked.  You both were currently sat in your car, suitcases packed for the weekend on your way to your parent’s house.  After 4 months, they grew antsy on now actually meeting Jimin.  Despite talking to him on the phone or seeing him when you would video call your mother, an in-person meeting was well overdue. Jimin didn’t seem to mind, you were a bit worried though.  

You still weren’t sure how committed Jimin was in his role that 13-year-old you forced him in.  He’s easy to be with and he acts like the ever-charming fiance that he was, but that was all that you thought it was.  Him filling out his job and that made you nervous as you both got closer and closer to your destination.  Making your hands tighten on the steering wheel as you drove the roads most familiar to you. 

Jimin could smell your anxiety from a mile away, much less 2 feet apart in a confined space like your small car.  If you weren’t pressing your toe on the gas, he was sure you’d be bouncing your leg in anxiousness.  A habit he picked up on you did.  Instead, he watched your tighten and loosen just to retighten your hands around the steering wheel.  

He felt like he wasn’t doing enough.  He’s been beside you for 4 months and you still seemed distant in some ways.  You still didn’t feel comfortable enough for him to sleep next to you, so he was sleeping every night on your couch (at least it pulls out into a bed). He heard that you sometimes still had a choked throat each time you had to explain that he was engaged to you.  And you hadn’t brought up the topic of a wedding since the one day he talked to you about it when he took you to work for the first time. 

There was a lot of hesitation in your head and body it made him think he made possibly be doing something wrong. He knew that you were stuck in the thought that he was just working.  You were a job and that’s what you keep telling yourself, convincing yourself that you really didn’t matter to Jimin in the long run.  Despite him telling you time and time again that you were an attachment that was absolutely forbidden to him and his kind, you just couldn’t bring yourself to accept that.  

You, plain simple and uninteresting you.  You who waited two years for college and grew up alone.  You who had only started living alone in your 23rd year.  You who was so lonely as a child you summoned a demon just for someone to talk to and ended up bringing him into your small circle of loneliness.  

You were an anchor holding Jimin in place and you thought of that as a burden.  While that anchor that is you was something so important to Jimin.  He just had to figure out how to drill it into your head that you were a blessing to him.  Lucifer be damned, if you were an angel, he’d cut off his own horns and turn his back on his kind to be with you. 

He watched as you turned the car, hands overlapping on the wheel.  Bodies jostling on the road as the highway you drove on turned into the gravel of a backroad.  

“They're pretty far from town, a lot of open areas and not too much to do,” you started, talking a bit louder over the crunching and grumbling tires of your car going over the rock and gravel.  “But, we have a lot of land and a really neat garden and greenhouse my mom really likes to take care of.  I’m sure we can find something to do,” you told him.  

Jimin nodded.  He wasn’t worried.  If he was going to win you over, he’d have to start with the two who raised you. Winning your parents would be easy.  He had a feeling from the many conversations he had with your mother, that she wouldn’t be a hard obstacle.  Your father seemed a bit more skeptic. He had every reason to be, Jimin was a demon after all. 

“A city detox is good on a demon.  The fresh air so much better than breathing in all that city smog and smoke.  Plus, the country smells better.”  

“Yeah,” you laughed, “you have a point.”  The rest of the trip passed and soon you were pulling into your parent’s driveway, your mother who sat on the front porch, reading a book on the bench swing.  Setting it down, pages open and spine up, she stood as you turned off the car and waved to her from your windshield.

You couldn’t hear her, but she looked over her shoulder, shouting into the house that was behind her.  Presumably shouting to your father that you and your new fiance had finally arrived.  Jimin noticed you take your time unbuckling and working your way out of your car.  Getting out after you, he watched your mother descend the few steps of the old townhouse.  She was quick to hug you, embrace you returned with a smile. 

Jimin had briefly seen your mother before.  Whether it be from his routinely watches as a demon as you grew older, or through the crappy quality of your mother’s phone during a Skype call.  She was a familiar face nonetheless.  Just as he saw her, she was soon greeting him and waving him over from across the car. 

“Jimin, darling!”  She greeted enthusiastically.  Swooping the man into a hug he wasn’t expecting.  Patting her back lightly, she pulled away.  He truly wasn’t used to any physical contact aside from you. You were the only human he allowed to even come near him in so long.  Your mother examined jimin.  Tilting his chin up and down, walking around him and humming.  She was literally sizing him up and looking at every inch of him (not that there’s many). 

“Mom! Don’t be rude to my fiance!”  You screeched as she circled him like a hawk. You slapped your palm to your face when she turned to you with a small older woman giggle and a hearty thumbs up.  Like she approved of the demon you were going to wed.  Jimin laughed at both of your antics. 

“Let’s not dilly-dally.  Everyone inside, come on.”  Your mother rushed you both up to the steps, claiming to get your bags out of the trunk later on.  When Jimin entered, he found out how much the inside of your home looked so different in the daytime. The difference between your lit halls and the halls he knew when he visited at the dead of night was shocking to him. Then again, even as a demon, he never went and wandered around your house.  More like quick peeks here and there. 

You watched from the corner of your eyes at Jimin’s reaction to being in your home of 22 years in his human appearance.  He’s only ever been here as a demon.  It was obvious your mother had tidied up the best a mother could.  Probably also employing the help of your father for some tasks that were a bit more herculean.  The fact that the sofa had been moved in the living room was a dead give away for that.  

As awkward as the first fiance and parent meeting should be, it wasn’t at all.  Jimin slatted right in, sitting next to you on the couch.  When spoken to he’d listen well and managed to keep eye contact with your father.  Something he didn’t realize human men had problems with when meeting their significant other’s parents. He truly seemed engaged in all conversation and was all smiles and energy as he sat beside you.  His hand occasionally find yours to hold behind the cushion you held on your lap. 

The night, Jimin sat in the middle of your bed, legs crossed as you were in the bathroom changing.  Despite the time he’s seen your change (once he was sitting on the sink when you got out of the shower and got a look at the goods before you threw a hairdryer at him), you still grew embarrassed about changing with him boring holes into your back. 

He had relaxed his body.  His horns poking out of his head as his tail lay on the mattress.  His skin greyed out and claws extended.  When you entered the room, you let out a small shriek and slammed the door behind you, locking it.  You stomped across the room, pointing into his face. 

“You can’t just change back into a demon here!” Jimin nearly went cross eyes at your finger at his nose. 

“Why not?” He innocently asked, but the sly grin on his face gave away his teasing undertone.  You stood back up, arms crossed.  You huffed.  “Oh please, if anyone besides you came in, I’d just hide and let your parents believe I took a shower with you.” 

“That’s ridiculous!” 

“No, it’s not. Couples shower all the time together.” He cupped his chin in his palm as he watched your face flush.  Taking a shower with Jimin was completely out of the question.  For one, he’s a demon! Regardless of if you were going to end up with him as your husband or not, he was completely different and who knows what he’s packing.  His anatomy is obviously way different than yours, or another mans given his horns and tail.  

You shake your head, trying to disperse the thought of even beginning to imagine what or what isn’t hidden below his belt.  Jimin stood as you internally panicked and he hooked his finger under your chin, making your concentration break and force your attention on him. 

“It’s been 4 months, love,” he started.  “Yet, I’m still capable of making your blush like the dawn.” His fang peeked out of hips dark lips as he pulled them back into a grin.  His eyes lit up a lighter shade of red as the lights flicked out.  You looked up to the bowl covered ceiling light before Jimin pulled your eyes back to him.  “I’d appreciate it if you kept your eyes focused on me,” he bit.  

“Jimin?” He seemed more possessive than usual.  He was always someone who wanted attention, but at the moment he seemed more demanding for attention than usual.  He moved to bite onto the side of your cheek as you squeaked.  He let it go before he licked it.  

“I used up a lot of energy staying human all day.  I need to recharge.”  Jimin spent the next half hour lavishing you in kisses and holding you.  He’s done this before- becoming exhausted is something a demon needs treatment for when in the human realm. Whether it be human food, drink or affection.  Jimin would cling to you when it happened, unable to revert to his human form.  Jimin as his demon self would bask in your warmth until he grew better.  It was alright because his cold body kept your burning one in check throughout the whole process. 

-XXX-

After the weekend trip to your parents, you were relieved when both your mother and father decided not to veto Jimin- since they really couldn’t because of the contract.  Accepting him and your decision to marry him your mother was hot on the ‘when is the marriage’ bandwagon. 

Weeks later, Jimin had woken up before you had.  It was early in the morning as you slammed the top of your alarm clock to shut off the first- of many- signs to get up and ready for school. You had grown used to feeling the dip in your bed that Jimin claimed or at the very least having him looping his leg around yours. But, this morning it was empty.  

Sitting up, the sky had turned grey. Not yet allowing the colors of dawn to breach the black night sky.  Jimin not being seen by you in the bedroom, you rubbed your eyes before you crawled out of bed.  Wrapping your blanket around your shoulders as you left your room.  

He wasn’t in the bathroom- he was fond of early morning baths.  Not the kitchen and his shoes were still here so he hadn’t left.  You found him standing in front of the balcony window, just staring outside.  His barbed tail was hung low and his body seemed rigid as he stood like he was on edge.  Moving to his side, you saw him looking outside like he was looking at something he deemed dangerous. He hadn’t even realized you were beside him.  Looking at his hand, his claws were open and his fingers were tense like he was ready to tear through something. 

“Jimin?” You whispered as he blinked and swiveled to look down at you.  He saw your brow etched down and your small hands peeking out from under the blanket you held over your shoulders. “Are you alright?” You asked slowly as to not provoke anything out of him. 

“It’s nothing,” he told you before he looked back outside.  “I hope.” 

When you left for school, he was constantly texting you every half hour or sooner.  He was asking random questions, asking how you were- anything to get a conversation started.  You thought maybe he was feeling some sort of weird demon-y way; maybe they start to miss their attachments after a certain period of time.  You weren’t sure and every time you asked him about it, it brushed it off to changed the topic. 

Jimin called you the moment you told him you had left class and were on the way to work a swing shift at work.  Seokjin was busy studying for tests, so you had to pick up his slack; much to Jimin’s dismay. He stayed on the phone with you the entire ride to the cafe and refused to hang up until you had clocked on- even saying a quick hello to your boss before he hung up. 

Jimin was on edge all night.  He knew you were working, that you were busy but he couldn’t sit still.  Something he felt earlier that morning made his skin crawl.  A dark presence hung in the air in the city he had been living in as a human and he didn’t like how familiar it was.  

He beat himself up over not being able to convince you to stay in today.  Skipping one day of school wouldn’t be so hard to convince you of, but you would’ve fought him tooth and nail about work.  He knew that you were going in today no matter what, but now it was reaching nearly 10 PM and he was biting his nails. 

Being so tense that he couldn’t hold his human form and was stalking around the apartment fully demon.  Black and grey robe fluttering at his brisk steps back and forth, bare feet and black hands curling and uncurling.  His barbed tail whipped like a nail in annoyance as his fangs gnawed on his lips. 

He verbally hissed, his eyes glowing and narrowing in the dark apartment (he hadn’t turned the lights on since sunset).  He blended in with the dark and shadowed home of his when he heard rattled from the front door.  He moved to jump into the air, sticking to the top part of the wall above the front door.  Tucking his legs in to hide in the corner.  He snarled at the scent on the other side that was certainly not yours. Whoever was on the other side of that door, they weren’t some household company.  The scent he caught of them was too bloody. 

When the door unlatched, the clicking of the lock opening, Jimin bared his teeth.  When the door was opened and someone stepped inside, Jimin pushed from the ceiling’s corner and swung at the stranger.  Claws ready to tear into their skin, but even as fast as Jimin was- this person had moved just in time to avoid him.  Jimin skidded onto the floor, knees bent as he sat like a beast on attack mode.  

The door shut behind the intruder as Jimin used the darkness to stay hidden.  Only his eyes that burned red in the darkness could give him away.  Even so, they were so narrow in defense that seeing them would be difficult.  His ears twitched when he felt something come towards him, jumping back he heard a crash in front of him- where he was just sat.  

Whatever was in here was just like him- not human.  He looked to his left, his right and above him.  Nothing seemed off in the shadows.  Whoever was with him was no longer in front of him either.  He gasped lightly when he felt something directly behind him.  Finding himself in a back and forth scrap with something he couldn’t see became bothersome. 

He swung and hissed at what could only be another demon in his home.  Tail flicking, sending small thorns around him as a defense as he kept jumping from ceiling to floor to wall to avoid whatever was attacking him.  It came to a standstill when the attacker flicked the lights on.  Jimin flinched before he was jumping onto the coffee table away from a direct kick that could have knocked him right on his ass if he hadn’t moved fast enough. 

The apartment was a mess.  Cracks and scratch marks on the floors and tears in the living room furniture.  Curtains from the balcony windows were torn and hanging on just barely to their rods. Jimin hissed, his hair seemed to stand on end as he stared at the attacker in front of him.  Stood in a black cloak, hood pulled up and concealing their entire face.  

The human colored tone of his skin that showed in his hand that was freely sticking out from the sleeve of the robe gave away that whatever demon he was dealing with wasn’t so powerful they could shift properly yet.  Why would a demon who attacked another demon have human skin on, unless they couldn’t revert due to power struggles? 

Jimin remained sat on the table, legs up and ready to move if the need arose as the hooded demon in front of him remained still.  It was as if there were two statues in your living room and not too demons.  Finally, the hooded attacker moved to reach into his cloak, Jimin baring his teeth at the movement.  His face fell for a moment, his mouth opening with a drawn-out gasp when the hooded demon pulled from his cloak a black ring.  

Jimin’s black ring.  Your black ring.  

Instinctively, he flicked his tail once again, thorns shooting at the hooded demon.  “Where is she,” Jimin demanded in a growl.  His voice coming out in layers, like a distorted evil.  The hooded demon placed the ring back into his cloak. “That belongs to me!” He screeched, ready to tackle and possibly tear out the demon’s throat until they tossed their hood off their head.  His face was painted in instant anguish seeing someone he knew so well in front of him.  “J-Jungkook?” 

“I’d recommend not trying anything stupid, Jimin,”  Jungkook spoke as his face was as static as a TV screen.  Jimin was speechless, seeing off all demons possible his brother.  Jungkook and Jimin had grown up as demon’s together.  They weren’t related by any standard, but they were brothers of another kind.  Why did Jungkook have your ring, and why was he here?  Did he track Jimin down, if so why?  Jimin blinked as he looked down, running question after question in his head until Jungkook moved.  Jimin, flicked his head back up, seeing Jungkook pull something from the sleeves of his robe like a magic trick.  

Throwing it at Jimin, the horned demon caught it easily.  A scroll was tossed at him.  Jimin carefully held it, his claws threatening to puncture or tear the paper. 

“Burn it,” Jungkook spoke.  His voice was cold.  Jimin shook his head. 

“What?” Jimin looked at the scroll and how took in how warm it felt resting in his hand.  “What is this, Jungkook?” 

“Your contract with that human.”  Jimin looked at it.  The tied scroll was his contract with you.  “You’ve already broken and defied enough rules.  Coming to the human world and spending your time with a human woman, how can you stomach it all.”  Jungkook’s distaste for humans was overwhelming and Jimin could feel his hate roll off him in electric waves. 

“This has nothing to do with you,” Jimin told him.  Finally standing up and stepping off the table, Jimin held the scroll at his side, gripping it tightly.  Protectively keeping the scroll at his side with no intentions of burning it at all.  

“If you burn that scroll,” Jungkook started, pointing at it, “I’ll return the human here and you’ll return to your duties after your trial.  You won’t go unpunished for getting attached to something of this world.”  Jimin’s calmed face immediately flared back up in anger, moving in a swift step to grab Jungkook’s color.  He growled into his brother’s face.  

“Where the fuck did you take her,” Jimin seethed.  He asked no questions, only making demands.  Jungkook gripped Jimin’s wrist that held him around the collar, the two shaking with how much anger was in their veins.  For two very different reasons.  “Where is Y/n.  Tell me, Jungkook!”  He screamed, fangs growing as Jungkook’s eyes shifted to violet as Jimin’s wrist began to burn.  

Jungkook was a demon on toxins.  

Poison laced his blood allowing him to create poison at any given time from any part of his body he wished.  Jimin didn’t flinch even when his demon flesh burned under a dim green light that came from Jungkook’s hand.  Jimin shoved his brother back, examining his wrist.  Grey was shriveled up and charred only for a moment before JImin’s healing kicked in and his flesh began to reknit and become once more flawless. 

The two brothers stood glaring at each other.  Jungkook was angry at Jimin’s choices and Jimin livid at Y/n’s apparent kidnap. 

“I won’t ask again, Jungkook.  Where did you-” 

“Just forget about the human!”  Jungkook finally broke his static facade and twisted his face in anger, shouting at Jimin.  “Forget the human, return to being a demon and burn your contract with her.  I’ve already retrieved your ring and I’ll begin whipping her memory as well.”  

“What?!” 

Jungkook creased his brow.  “What’s that look. You look angry. You can’t care about humans, they’re just a past time.  So what if that human forgets you, just let it go and return with me back home.”  

“This is my home and you’re invading and stealing it away from me.”  Jimin seethed, his voice as toxic as Jungkook’s skin.  

“This is no home for a demon!”  

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jimin said voice calm in anger.  He shook his head, getting overloaded with too many emotions at once.  Claws and fangs growing longers and eyes flickering with unstable reds that bled out of the iris into his scleras.  Wind of his own began whipping around him, fluttering his silk demonic robes and his black hair.  His horns spiraled higher out of his forehead, growing as his tail grew longer and wrapped around his waist like a belt of thorns.  His grey skin began to completely blacken like his hands and feet.  

Jungkook took a small step backward.  He hadn’t seen his brother like this but once when Jungkook was the victim of some stupid social hierarchy demonic bullshit.  Jimin tore his tormentors apart and if Jungkook wasn’t careful, Jimin seemed like he wouldn’t hesitate to tear him apart next.  

He hadn’t changed in size, but when he stepped up to Jungkook and moved quick enough to clasp his hand around his brother’s throat, he seemed as high as a 50-ft building Jungkook was going to be dropped off of.  Jimin’s tongue was that of a snake, split at the end and his breath was visible as he forced Jungkook to take him to you.  

If Jungkook didn’t want to die, he’d listen to his older brother.  It was his own fault if he died tonight. 

-XXX-

You groaned and shivered before coughing.  You opened your eyes, confused as to when you fell asleep in the first place.  Flinching, you hissed in pain from the stinging on the side of your head.  Touching above your ear, you felt something wet that had matted your hair.  Pulling on it, you hissed again in pain.  Sitting up from your laying position on what felt like a wooden floor, you gasped when your head hit something above you. 

Reaching up, you felt nothing but wood above you too.  Starting to panic, you felt around you.  Nothing but wood on every side.  Above, left, right and below.  However, in front of you wasn’t wood, but instead iron bars.  It was dark in what you could only assume was the cage you found yourself waking up in.  Having no idea what was going on, you gasped when a cloth was ripping off the box, squeezing your eyes shut at the sudden light.  

You screamed, scurrying back to the back of your caged box from the face of a dog in front of the iron bars.  It wasn’t just a dog.  It had 4 pairs of eyes, completely black as it’s tail behind it was split into to.  Its teeth pushed past its chops like a sabertooth and its size was far above what a normal K9’s would be.  It was purely demonic.  

Demonic.  Then it all came back to you.  

Someone had suddenly collapsed outside of your work when you had just left.  Worried, you approached them and knelt to offer any kind of assistance.  Pulling out your phone to call the police or ambulance or whatever they needed, you squeaked when they suddenly grabbed your wrist.  They held your hand to their face.  They seemed to be examining your ring. 

“What a pleasant looking ring,” they slurred.  Their voice sounded of uncomfortable ringing.  

“My- uh, my fiance gave me this ring,” you whispered.  

“Fiance, huh?” You saw a smile grow on the person’s face. Something was wrong.  You yanked your hand, trying to free yourself before the person tightening their grip.  You yelped as your wrist began to burn.  Falling from your kneeling position to crumbling on your knees, you whined.  Looking up with tear blurred eyes, you gasped at the violet glow of the man’s eyes. 

“You’re a demon?” You saw his fangs in the wide, sick grin of his. 

“Correct,” he slurred before he hit you aside from the head and next you knew, you were in this cage.  

You breathed quick shallow breaths, demon dog growling at you and barking.  Making you pull your knees to yourself as much as you could.  Tucking yourself into the corner of your prison. 

You held your hands to your chest when you noticed you weren’t wearing Jimin’s ring.  You gasped, as a tear left your eye.  

“No,” you gasped lightly.  Looking around your cage and feeling around for that familiar metal you couldn’t remove.  Did that demon take it off you?  You couldn’t take it off, only a demon could.  You sputtered as you coughed again, working yourself up too much.  

You sat against the back of your cage when the demon dog’s attention shifted from you to something behind him for a moment before being grabbed from its scruff.  The demon dog whined and yelped as it was tossed aside and suddenly a loud crash sound from around you.  You didn't know what was going on, screaming and holding above your head just in case something crashed through your cage.  

Looking through the cage, you saw someone thrown onto the ground.  It was that demon you found outside that kidnapped you.  You were ready to start screaming at him, putting on a tough front of insults while you shook and hid your fear from him.  Demon’s enjoyed the thrill of fear, so you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. 

You stopped yourself though.  He looked beaten all to hell.  Throat punctured and rolls of blood pulsing out of his skin as he held around his neck and gasped.  He lay on his back, weakly attempting to keep pushing himself back and away from something.  You couldn’t see what he was so afraid of until it came into full view.  

It was like a black cloud of absolute evil.  It made your throat dry and sweat drip down your neck.  Something in that cloud was nothing short of the devil himself.  Pure black and growling, thorns around it and stalking the demon on the ground like a high predator.  Though it was demonic, you couldn’t help but think it was familiar. 

The demon’s tail flicked around his waist, pinning your abductor to the concrete floors- thorns as tough as metal as the concrete split like it was nothing.  Another step encroached on the kidnapping demon and you called out to it. The faded memories that were almost wiped clean restored in a clean swipe and burst of your voice.

“Jimin..!”  It was a weak call, that fizzled into a cough.  The black cloud of moved to snap it’s head around to see you.  Imprisoned in a small cage.  You crawled to the iron bars and reached out towards it, trying to grasp something of his.  The cloud moved and before you knew it, it was knelt at your bars, as you felt the black cloud wiz through your skin like mist.  The pure red eyes and more intimidating persona did nothing to hide the familiarity of Jimin you knew was under there.  “Do you recognize me?”  

You’d never seen him like this before.  He looked absolutely feral, but it was till Jimin and when he moved to grab your hand in his overly demonic one, you just smiled.  He knew who you were. 

“Y/n,” his voice was deep and two-toned like there were two people talking in unison.  “You are alright,” he seemed to sigh and calm down.  The black cloud began to fade like fog and his body began to revert back.  Horns and claws and fangs shrinking, his pitch skin dulling back into its grey, reeling back to only his hands and feet.  You watched his eyes revert back to their oval red in the iris only.  “Do you- do you remember who I am?” 

His eyes were downcast as he held your hand, voice shaky. You felt your chest burn as tears dripped from his eyes.  He let go of your hand to grab the iron bars that held you and ripped them clean out, throwing it aside with an ear-piercing echo of metal on the concrete floor.  

He pulled you from your cage as he fell to the floor.  You sat in front of him.  His head fell, ducking down to your stomach as he wept, holding onto your hand with enough grief to last him the rest of his prolonged lifetime.  You shed your own tears, laying over his back, basking in the presence of each other.  

You gasped when you noticed a shadow over Jimin’s back.  There stood your kidnapper, Jungkook and a knife of amethyst in his hand.  He was ready and willing to stab his brother in the back and you couldn’t get a word out of your mouth, his eyes of violet canceling your voice.  You tried pulling your hand from Jimin’s so you could shield him perhaps, but Jimin refused to release it.  

Swing his arm down aiming for his brother’s back, you couldn’t even scream.  Jimin remained motionless as his tears had stopped and he remained hunched over in your arms.  He had known his brother well and he knew that if Jungkook couldn’t bring him back, he’d settle for killing him. It wouldn’t work, however; Jimin was too smart and Jungkook too reckless.  

That’s how everything resulted in Jimin’s tail whipping at Jungkook’s arm and having him plunge the knife into his own stomach. You gasped when you saw the black blood pour over his lips as he fell to his knees behind his brother.  Jimin sat up, letting you go before he moved to kneel in front of his dying brother.  

“You killed yourself, Jungkook,” Jimin told him.  Searching around his robe for his ring that he had taken back into his possession. “You died for nothing.  I will not return and I will stay by Y/n until my life ends.  I will convert into a human if I must.  I will not leave her.”  He lowered his eyes, looking solemnly at his fallen brother he did love once.  “I love her too much,” he whispered in nothing short of pain. 

Jungkook’s last emotions before he died were nothing but hate.  Hate towards Jimin for falling for a human, for becoming attached to anything.  Hate towards you for bewitching his brother into something that was no longer selfish and instead selfless.  Hate towards himself for letting himself die as a result of attempting to kill his brother who had protected and raised him for centuries.  He hated and he hated until he turned to dust and vanished.  

Jimin looked over his shoulder at you. You looked confused and scared, as you should be- you were only human.  He looked at the rin in his palm before he put it in his pocket and helped you to stand weakly.  He held you to his chest, your knees not as strong as you wanted them to be.  

“Let’s go home,” he told you, wrapping you in his robe before he dissolved into the shadows, the lights of the concrete room he was in bursting and the light vanishes.  You were home before you knew it and Jimin was sitting you on your torn couch.  “Jungkook came here,” Jimin started as he sat on the ground in front of you.  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” he choked.  

His lips felt chapped and stung, his breathing heavy and harsh.  

“I’ve contemplated leaving.” He pulled the scroll Jungkook gave to him and set it on your lap.  “That is the contact you formed with me,” you looked at it, holding it in your hands.  It felt heavy, like the burdens of a 13-year-old girl who was lonely and just wanted someone to be with her.  “I’ll let you make the decision.  Y/n, you can burn that scroll.  Tear it up and throw it out along with me- remove all the demonic pieces of your life I brought.  Or, you can choose to allow me to stay.” 

You sighed as you set the scroll aside, placing it on the couch cushions.  You grabbed Jimin by his horns and tilted his head up, shoving it with a bit too much force as his neck pinched.  You then picked the scroll back up and shoved it into his face.  

“You’re a demon of trades, right. Well, I’m making a trade right now,” you told him.  “I’ll give you back this scroll, the contract I made with you when I was just a kid.  In return, you give me back my damn engagement ring.”  Jimin blinked up at you.  

“What?” 

“Park Jimin, if you don’t become my husband like you promised and after you got me all wrapped around your demonic little finger, I’m going to be seriously pissed.”  You set the scroll on his head, his horns holding it up like a rack as he huffed and took it off his head into his hands again.  The warmth bringing him comfort.  “That’s my promise in your hands, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take your wife’s promise for granted.” 

Jimin tossed the scroll aside, reach up to grab the back of your neck and pull you down to meet his lips.  He breathed through his nose choppy breaths as he kept kissing you, sobbing almost as the relief of you allowing him to stay made him feel like he could float.  He felt more like a blessed angel than an engaged demon.  

Pulling away from you, he placed his ring back on your finger where it belongs.  The weight of its return made you sigh in content.  Jimin could feel his connection with it and you return and it was stronger than it was before.  

“You do know that I’m agreeing to this because I love you, right?” You asked.  You didn’t want him to get the wrong impression.  The situation was terrifying, there was no sugar coating that.  Not to mention the knot on your head from when Jungkook hit you wouldn’t be healing any time soon.  But, that didn’t make you fear JImin or the consequences of who he was to you.  You needed him to know you choose to do this because it’s what you want, not what you fear.  

“Say, do you know what a bride of a demon is called?” Jimin asked as he moved to stand in front of your on the couch.  Leaning down to cage you to your spot with his arms on the back of the couch behind you.  You rose your brow.  “A demoness,” he slurred with a smirk.  Avoiding your question entirely as you frowned.  

“Someones getting better at dodging questions,” you accused.  

“Your human is rubbing off on me.” 

“Well, your demon is rubbing off on me!”  You retorted before he plopped himself down on your lap, trapping you entirely as his tail wrapping around your leg in his familiar, endearing habit.  

“I love you too, my little human taboo.” Your wedding was 2 months later as your demon husband-to-be stood waiting for you at the small courthouse alter. 

-END-

(tell me what you thought of this pls ily)

[plastic-lamb]

Breathless p. 2

Members: sub!Hongjoong x dom!Seonghwa

Warnings: breath play (obviously), very light bondage and the teeniest bit of cum licking.

A/n: wow my first request! I hope this is to your expectations anon <3 sorry that it takes a little too long to get to the good stuff. And that it's just long in general.

---------------------------------------------------------

To say Hongjoong has been antsy lately is an understatement.

It's been a few weeks since his 'incident' and every day that goes by brings him a new roller coaster of emotions. Initially, he was scared of his roommate Seonghwa finding out. He washed that towel and his bedding nearly ten times each in the short two days he had to himself before going home. He took the plastic bag all the way out to the dumpster in the alley fearing it'd be found in a trashcan inside the dorm. He put his so called 'box of shame' deep in his closet, buried underneath a few shoeboxes holding his more expensive shoes. The whole process was so nerve wracking.

Now, he's overcome with the desire to do it again, to the point that it's on the forefront of his mind almost all the time. It's gotten to the point where the others have noticed that he'd been distracted lately and asked him about it, to which he was easily able to brush of saying he was just a bit stressed with work.

He knew thinking about it so often was probably not healthy at all, but he chose not to think about it. He tried masturbating a number of times since the incident, but his orgasms paled in comparison to the one he had that day. A couple times he tried masturbating two or even three times in a row to try and sate his desires, but all they did for him was leave him disappointed, tired, and messy.

Every day he waited for some opportunity to arise for him to be able to stay home alone and do it again. A couple times he came agonizingly close to being alone. One of them would suggest going off to dinner or do some extra practice and a number of others would agree (him saying no thank you every single time), but there'd always be one or two stragglers who said they didn't feel like it or didn't want to. This would leave Hongjoong incredibly frustrated to the point where he'd just lock himself in his room and watch some stupid documentary or something so he could kill the arousal he gained hoping all of them would leave.

Then his opportunity arose.

Another free weekend came up and Hongjoong suggested, like the good and caring leader he is, that that everyone should spend the day out of the dorm doing things they enjoy to get a little break from each other, or spend a bit more individual time together. He literally couldn't care less either way but he still did his best to sound sincere. To his absolute glee, everyone thought it was a good idea and eventually all went off to do who-cares-what.

Similar to last time, Hongjoong went to his room, spread out a towel, got the box, dumped it out, so on and so on. This time, however, he was a bit wiser from his experience and had a pair of crafting scissors there as well.

He had to take a moment to settle his nerves as he was shaking from excitement. He took a few deep breaths and picked up the new bag. It wasn't as sturdy as the old one but it'd have to do. He began to slide it over his head-

then the door opened.

"Hongjoooo....oh my god," Seonghwa stood in the doorway of their shared space, completely paralyzed as the other man scrambled to take the bag off and cover himself with a pillow.

The two just stayed frozen in their positions, not knowing what to say. Both were bright red and Seonghwa's eyes were glued to the scene in front of him while Hongjoong stared daggers into the floor and wished he were dead.

"Um," Seonghwa cleared his throat and Hongjoong squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard not to cry from embarrassment. He really, really wished he were dead. "I was.. Uh... I just wanted to see if you wanted to join me for lunch and I... Sorry for not knocking," Seonghwa was about to turn to leave when the plastic bag that fell to the floor caught his eye.

He walked over and picked it up, and that was about when he actually noticed the other items on the bed and something clicked in his head. "You shouldn't do this kind of thing alone, it's really dangerous," his tone was unreadable. Hongjoong nodded every so slightly and muttered out "yeah, I almost died last time on accident," hoping to lighten the mood a little but neither of them so much as cracked a smile.

Hongjoong assumed that Seonghwa was understanding of his fetish and would leave him to his own devices and neither of them would talk about it ever again. So naturally he was shocked when the older male sat on his bed next to him.

"Want me to help you?"

Seonghwa might as well have reeled back and punched Hongjoong square in the face with how purely shocked he felt after hearing that. He shot upright, leaning back a little and stared Seonghwa in the eyes. Was he serious? Did he actually say that? Is he making fun of him?

"Yes," Hongjoong choked out, now shocked at himself for responding. Seonghwa didn't seem weirded out by his response though, which gave him more confidence. "Please," he added, sounding quite needy and pathetic which wasn't his intention at all but set things into full motion.

Seonghwa took off his jacket and neatly placed it on his own bed. He silently studied Hongjoong's face for any signs of hesitation or regret as he slowly unbuckled his belt, then shed his pants and shirt and placing them all neatly on his bed next to his jacket. Hongjoong just watched him in awe, now really noticing how nicely Seonghwa was built.

"How did you do it last time?" Seonghwa mused as he picked up each item and examined them, wondering how the hell Hongjoong managed to hide all this stuff from him. "Well I just kinda... Yknow, taped the bag to my head and...went at it," Hongjoong felt incredibly shy yet oddly comfortable, truth be told if it were anyone else standing there before him he probably would have already dropped dead from embarrassment but Seonghwa had this way of always making him feel comfortable, no matter what.

Seonghwa shook his head a little and chuckled. He used the tape for the bag? No wonder Hongjoong almost suffocated last time, it was a good thing he was there before the little fool tried it again.

"How about this time you sit between my legs and I'll take care of the bag thing and we can... Come up with a different way to use this tape," Seonghwa picked up the towel, prying it from underneath Hongjoong who forgot he was sitting on it in the first place, and spread it out on the floor up against the end of the bed. Taking the hint, Hongjoong got up as Seonghwa sat down and walked in front of the older male, but was stopped before he could sit down.

"Wait, stand there a second," Seonghwa's firm tone sent a wave of white-hot electricity right into Hongjoong's abdomen and straight down to his cock. He waited anxiously, his back to Seonghwa wondering what he had planned. His breath hitched when he felt Seonghwa gently grab his wrists and crossed them against each other. "Is this okay?" He whispered, sending another wave through Hongjoong, who could only nod in response.

"Use your voice, is this okay?" Seonghwa repeated, sounding firm again. For a split second Hongjoong stepped outside of himself and wondered how the actual fuck this happened, but only for a second. "Yes, it's okay, sir," the last word just completely slipping out of his mouth. He felt Seonghwa let go of his arms but he didn't move. "Good boy," the older male cooed as he took the tape and began tying Hongjoong's wrists together. Oddly, it felt really good to be praised, and Hongjoong wondered if Seonghwa got the same tingly feelings when he accidentally called him sir.

"Turn around for me," Hongjoong obeyed effortlessly, but then felt his shyness take over again realising that he had no way of hiding himself from the man sitting in front of him. He watched Seonghwa pick up the vibrating dildo in one hand, and the tape in his other, then turn his gaze to Hongjoong's painfully erect cock. Knowing what he was planning, Hongjoong murmured another little beg and took the tiniest step forward. Seonghwa then cut off two small strips of tape and used them to secure the toy to Hongjoong's cock.

"Okay, you can sit down now," Seonghwa set the tape down and reached for the bag as Hongjoong quickly sat down and positioned himself between Seonghwa's toned legs, leaning his back against the bed.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

With that, Seonghwa waited for Hongjoong to take a few deep breaths before reaching down and turning the vibrator on, then sliding the bag over the younger man's head and bundling the excess in his hands, cutting off any new air.

Hongjoong was physically and mentally going through a lot. The vibrator buzzed relentlessly against the most sensitive parts of his cock and he felt absolutely helpless with his hands tied behind his back, the helplessness adding to his arousal as he struggled against his bonds a little just to bask in the feeling.

Then there was the factor of the entire other person controlling if and when he could get air. Then the factor on top of that that the other person was his roommate, bandmate, and really good friend. Someone he really trusted but never in a million years imagined would be in this position. On top of that, it was crazy to him that the two of them so effortlessly slipped into their roles as if they do this kind of thing all the time.

Hongjoong's thoughts and worries melted from his mind as it got harder for him to breathe. He basked in the feeling of it now that he didn't have to focus all his concentration on staying alive. He moaned shamlessly and squirmed, stretching his legs out and bringing them back in, rolling his head side to side (as much as he could with Seonghwa practically holding his head still).

Seonghwa actually could not believe the sight before him. He kept his concentration on Hongjoong, keeping an eye out for signs of genuine distress so he'd know when to let him have air, but the back of his mind was racing with some of the most filthy and depraved thoughts pertaining to his younger friend who was surprisingly so very submissive. He watched Hongjoong squirm and struggle, relishing in the sight. It wasn't until Hongjoong let out a couple genuine whines before Seonghwa let go of the bag and pulled it off of Hongjoong's face. He placed his hand gently on the younger's cheek and soothingly shushed him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

With permission, Seonghwa put the bag back over Hongjoong's head and secured it. They repeated this ritual again, and again, and once more, but the third time Hongjoong stopped him before he could put the bag back on and managed to string a sentence together:

"Th-this time, don't take it off 'till a-after I cum."

Seonghwa wanted to ask Hongjoong if he was sure, but the urgency in the younger's voice made him decide to follow his command. For another entire minute and a half, Hongjoong had no fresh air as his high drew closer and closer. He was overwhelmed with that building feeling, the all the coils tightening inside him almost emphasized by the way his lungs struggled for air. His squirming gradually escalated to full thrashing which made Seonghwa have to shift to the floor to be able to keep a good hold on the bag. Once again, Hongjoong's mouth was wide open, desperately and frantically searching for air against the plastic. He became light headed, and despite feeling Seonghwa's body against his that primal fear and panic set in.

And in that moment, it felt like time stood still as the coils snapped and Hongjoong finally hit his high, waves upon waves of pleasure rocking through his body, pulsating in his head and moving all the way down his shaking legs to his curling toes. His cum shot a good foot past the towel and he somehow managed to let out a very pretty moan as he emptied his balls.

Seonghwa waited until a few seconds after to quickly pull the bag entirely off Hongjoong's head and turn off the vibrator. He held Hongjoong as he coughed and wheezed and gasped for air, brushing his wet red hair out of his face and praising him, calling Hongjoong a good boy and saying he did so good and he came so well.

When Hongjoong calmed down, Seonghwa turned his attention to the cum on the floor and became mildly annoyed. He reached out and used two fingers to wipe some up, bringing them up close to Hongjoong's face so he could see.

"You made a huge mess. I hope you know that you're gonna clean it up and-," he was cut off by Hongjoong leaning forward and taking Seonghwa's fingers into his pretty mouth, licking own cum off of them.

"Holy shit, Hongjoong..."

[usaikopath]

Activity Check 180; Connections

Vidalia: I met this woman after being tricked into going into the basement of her establishment with my best friend. She thought for the majority of the months that I met her that I was willing to worship the ground she stepped out, but the jokes on her. I was faking it through the end because I was angry that I got into this situation in the first place. Vida comes off like this sweet, harmless woman who is independent and successful, but I see through her mask all too well. She thought that I would be complacent with my duties in her club when I wasn't exactly given much of an option that I would like. It was either work or get killed and no one likes those options do they? I was dying to get out of her control because I felt like I was being caged in and being reminded that me and along with other women in the same predicament deserved to be doing what we do since we had ‘nothing’ else going on for us. I can’t stand that Vida operates with trying to have a perfect reason for every little thing that she does, god I hope karma chokes her to death some more. 

Jade: Jade is such a sweetheart, she was one of the first people I met when I came to Sloane and I was a little envious since she had great fashion sense and the ability to read which I clearly don't have. I was really rooting for her happy ending and I think it was unfair that life just canceled that era for her. She was able to confide in me about why she left in Sloane and my heart sank. I couldn't have imagined what it must have been like to need to leave town because so many bad events kept occurring. When Jade was here she had a nice group of friends that she would see regularly. It's uncomfortable for her to talk about what happened and I totally get that. I'm just not sure if she needs anything or is doing what she can to cope. I've had my fair share of struggles but I wasn't really sure what to think since there were rumors she was placed in the looney bin before. We're close friends and I would confide in her if I had any struggles none the less. I mean you can only hope for the best in your friends, right? That's what I am hoping for her always. We met when we were teenagers and I already knew we had something in common which was already having a bad perception of men. Her ex supplied drugs for me and though all I wanted to be some drugs to take the edge off I felt bad that the first impression I get when I made Jade was her looking out the window and telling me that I couldn't even speak to her. I love her to death but I wish she didn't have to go through this..it's one thing that I'm fucked up beyond repair..why do my friends have to share the same fate?

Juniper: You were a client of mine when I was just fourteen years old, I hadn't expected that I would meet you again and in Sloane of all places. You were awfully ambitious and I thought that sudden desire to succeed would get you killed. You know about what I did for a living and how I was raised. My life was never easy but you managed to understand all the walls I have built up over the years. I love you to death and you know how I feel when I say I am concerned if people of my past try to come back to make our lives miserable. Even if it happens I know that it's us two against the world, but I hope the forced circumstances I've been put under since the age of six don't lead to hurting the only person I care for most.

Jane: I don't really know much about her other than the fact that she really does seem to love adventure. I think she is very free-spirited and we decided to travel together to go treasure hunting with a map she found. Since I'm one to think adventures are a great way for self-discovery I could not wait to go with her. She seems to have strong opinions from what I saw through social media which I think is pretty cool. Hopefully, I will get to know her a bit better as time progresses.

Mia: A friend of mine that I met while I was escorting. Mia is a very lovely person, a beautiful heart and mind, though I wasn't sure how someone so sweet could date a total monster. She was having some issues with her boyfriend that seemed pretty alarming at the time when I met her. Mia was able to notice the signals in time and escape while I let her ex-boyfriend go on a goose chase that kept leading to dead ends. I did manage to disappear before he could try to murder me for lying to his face, but I'm glad she made it out alive. The last thing I wanted to be a friend to be in a bad relationship and feel like they needed to stay because they had no way out. Seeing Mia again in Sloane just reminds me that the time I spent trying to help those instead of myself was never in vain. Donnie: Donnie..my childhood best friend although I will admit he did a complete one-eighty upon seeing him again. I was trying not to have a mini heart attack when I saw him again since he just seemed so different. To see someone you grow up with that was in your backyard playing wizards with you just randomly showing up to your business with all tattoos and a big goofy smile on his face. I thought how did he progress as a human and I just ended up looking like a potato. It’s a bit intimidating since he knows my real name, knew about my mother which is not an easy topic to talk about at times. I was a little hesitant to ask how his life has been since I disappeared since I knew of his family pretty well. My mother practically raised Donnie and Gianni although I wouldn’t try to say that verbally to Donnie these days. I wouldn’t even have the courage to ask how his mother was doing as I know his mother was pretty absent in his life. I found out that he owns a strip club called the Seven Deadly Sins and my yeobo doesn’t seem to be a big fan of it. Both of them aren’t exactly telling me why so I wonder how long it takes until the topic is discussed. I adore him like the big brother I had always wanted, but I’m really concerned about him. I wonder if he’s doing okay and if he and Gianni ever need anything as they are still close to this day.  Shae: I met Shae for the first time when I opened up my business in Downtown. I was completely new to owning a business and she came in to greet me which was something I never had anticipated. She owns the best hair, nail, spa business in town and was looking to collaborate to have chocolates to go with the wine she offers at the salon. Due to my love of some good chocolate and a glass of wine while getting my hair done I was eager to talk business with her. Little did I know that striking a deal with a business partner would lead us to find a burglar in my store that had us both at gunpoint. Talk about an interesting way to spend time with someone that’s for sure. He forced us to go to my vault as I was pretending that it was broken to buy us some time to call the police. Shae was on the phone trying to get the number while I tried to pretend I was putting to open the lock. The burglar called us useless and the opportunity struck for Shae to knock him out with a book. We were able to tape down his legs and arms with duct tape until the police arrived.  Eden: Eden came to me at the Ring of Fire to help the girls escape. Little is she aware that her boyfriend has made it impossible for escorts to leave the club thanks to the security setup he has for Vidalia now. With the cameras consistently on in the basement, I tried telling Eden it was a no go. But she wants to be so ignorant over the fact that her man was capable of siding with Vidalia to get a paycheck. I understood the guy was filthy rich but I didn’t see why he couldn’t turn the blind eye for some of the girls and me if we kept our mouths shut. Eden’s trying to play superhero when she’s dating a villain, cute but if she thinks I don’t see through her little innocent act she can guess again. I know her type and they fall flat on their ass quick. I may look harmless but this woman is about to figure out who Aisha Hoshi really is if she thinks I am going to let her involve innocent people for this stupid plan she decided to bring. My friends and I don’t need her, what we need is a fucking miracle and I can tell you this, that miracle isn’t tied to Eden fucking Stark. 

[somebridgesburn]

almost is never enough

2,383 words

loosely inspired by “Details” by the extremely talented Maisie Peters and the mess that apparently is my life

warnings: lots of alcohol, slight mentions of adult content, Shawn kinda being a dick

***

„We might not be something but we sure as hell aren`t nothing“

***

Shawn’s a Grammy – nominee now. Not a Grammy – winner but a nominee nether less.

And he can’t lie, he does feel a little proud when they announce him like that.

She can’t help but raise her eyebrows at him, sitting on the couch with his eyes glued to the TV, grinning to himself. Nerd.

„Feeling a little proud, don’t you?“

He looks startled for a moment when he sees her but then he gives her that big Shawn grin. (and she tries to ignore that thing in her chest, she really does)

He opens his mouth, searching for a cocky reply when another arm slings around Aspen‘s tiny shoulder and whips her into a big bear hug.

„Jo, Aspen! Good to see you, dude!“

He watches Brian and Aspen exchange pleasantries, catch up with a small smile before turning back to the TV.

***

Shawn`s brought a girl.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, really.

He meets someone, they talk, he brings her along a couple times until he doesn’t.

Aspen figures she doesn’t like this week`s girl. Her hair‘s a little too bleached and her laugh‘s a little too loud. Especially when everyone knows that Shawn’s dad jokes aren’t a tad bit funny.

So she doesn’t understand, she really, really doesn’t, when he doesn’t drop that girl after a week, or a month even.

He actually seems to quite like her.

„Probably just because he finally found someone who laughs at his lame jokes.“

Aspen doesn‘t like the way her voice is laced with bitterness, too, and she‘s relived too see that Ian, who is sitting next to her in the small nook of the bar, either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

***

They’re hanging out at Brian‘s and they are talking girls. Aspen doesn‘t mind it too much. Being in a friend group that mainly consists of boys, it’s only a matter of time until they start talking about who got laid, when, where, by whom

As I said, she doesn’t mind it. It`s gross but entertaining nether less and she loves to tease the boys with it. She doesn’t mind it until they start talking about Shawn.

“Our boy`s pretty happy these days, eh?”, Ian comes up from behind and shakes Shawn`s shoulders.

“No wonder, man. He`s finally getting laid again!”

The guys are laughing as Shawn blushes.

“It`s not like that!”

“C`mon dude, you really wanna tell me you guys haven’t fucked?”, Brian chimes in, “Cause I´m pretty sure I heard you last Saturday.”

More laughter, more blushing. Aspen should take this as her cue to flee into the kitchen. She doesn`t.

“It`s like, yeah, but-”

“See! That`s what I thought, man.”

“We`re not just fucking, man. It`s, she`s... different. She`s something, I guess.

“Yeah, we`ll see about that in a week.”

Ian shakes his head, grinning and Aspen silently prays he`s right for once.

***

He’s not really her ex -boyfriend.

They almost dated in sophomore year but then there was Lauren and then the whole world knew his name and he knew Taylor fucking Swift personally.

So no, he isn’t her ex-boyfriend he just a big, unnerving almost.

***

She likes to watch him, always has. Not in a creepy way but in a way that she notices when his eyes wander around the room, not matching the big grin on his face.

At least she doesn’t have to feel as stupid anymore, now that millions of teenage girls seem to love to do the same thing. Or maybe she feels even more stupid for being the same as those obnoxious fan girls.

She shakes her head, no, she’s not. She doesn’t treat Shawn like some kind of god or follows his every move over Twitter. She just sometimes wishes she could feel his lips on hers again.

***

They’ve kissed a couple times. At some of the house parties they had had, when the guests started to clear out and only they’re close friend group was left, all of them sitting outside, cuddled up in each other.

Or when they were in the club with the bass rattling and sweaty bodies on bodies and tequila being downed like water. All hands, all lips, all over.

Or a lot of other times. (Aspen could name every single one, she’s sure Shawn couldn’t)

***

She is sitting on her bed, eyes glued to the screen in her hands, thumb hovering over that blue button on Shawn’s girl Instagram account. Her name‘s Kendall,  which is just as cliché as her description. She tells herself it’s no big deal, they’re acquaintances after all. Only that Aspen hasn’t exchanged a single word with her, not even when Shawn introduced them.

Still, she knows her favourite brand of cigarettes and what kind of music she listens to and that she thinks self-tan is gross because Shawn can’t shut the fuck up. She hates it, she really does. She also thought about getting him duct tape for Christmas as a warning that the next time he can’t keep his mouth shut himself, she’ll literally tape it shut.

The next time they’re at his place and he tells them Kendall forgot her hair brush there three times in a row, she regrets she didn’t.

She turns off the phone lets herself fall backward in to the mattress. She closes her eyes. Then she sits up again and presses the follow button.

***

Once, they all met up in Toronto. Aspen could smell the summer air and the liquor and Shawn’s jacket on her shoulders as they were roaming through the streets. They were bar hopping or whatever but ended up in a park anyways. Now, they were passing vodka bottles on a playground and Brian and Ian had a competition who could swing higher. Shawn and her had a bet which one would throw up first.

“They stars are pretty.”, she says as she leaned back, feeling the soft grass on her skin.

She was that nice kind of drunk where she was a bit more than tipsy but not completely hammered either.

She didn’t know about Shawn but he doesn’t look as if he’d throw up any time soon either when he laid down beside her with his arm around her.

“You’re pretty”

Before she had time for a sassy reply his lips found hers. It was sloppy and a bit lazy and felt somehow different than the other kisses before. She couldn’t quite put a finger on it yet.

She doesn’t remember how long they had laid there, on that fucking playground, wrapped up in each other and stealing kisses.

She does remember laying in bed, retracing every single kiss, every single moment moment than once.

***

They were at the bar again. It`s nearby and it`s cosy and it`s got a karaoke machine. It doesn’t happen often that all of them get together, with Shawn being an international pop star and the majority of the others going to college all over the country.

College starts again soon and Aspen is stressed as ever but right here, right now, sitting with her friends in that grubby nook, laughing, it`s perfect.

That one waiter with gelled hair and obviously whitened teeth makes his way to their table again to bring them yet another round of shots, not without giving Aspen a lopsided smirk that made her stomach twist a bit like he had all night.

And then he does something Aspen hasn’t expected for sure. He leans on the table and drapes his arm around the back of her chair. He`s close enough for her to smell his cologne.

„So um, I get off in five. Wanna grab a drink or something?“

He is so desperately trying to look cool, Aspen has to control the urge to laugh, or roll her eyes.

“Nah, thanks, i‘m good actually.”

She doesn´t even really smile at him like she usually would, trying to make it obvious that he should just take the hint. And he does.

The waiter opens and closes his mouth for a moment before giving in, leaving without a word in the end.

“Eyyy, Aspen! Come ON! That waiter was, like, really cute.”

She flincheds when Brian roughly slings an arm around her.

“Really cute, eh?”

“Yeah, dude, like hot, like, really hot, like, you should get his number, man! He was totally flirting with you the whole evening.”

She watches her friend drunkenly gesture with an amused grin.

“Well, if he’s that hot, maybe you should get his number!”

The guys breake out into roaring laughter as Brian openes and closes his mouth, just like the waiter earlier, before raising his hands in surrender.

Aspen laughs with the guys when she meets Shawn’s stare. For the first time in a while, she can’t read his expression.

***

There’s that one Friday night. They were at a club and the ground under her had been spinning for a while now when she pushed open the door to the ladies` restroom. She gripped the sink with her hands. The mirror above her was shattered, she wouldn`t have dare to look into it anyways.

Brooke found her there, head hung over the sink, shallow breaths echoing from the tiles. She pulled her hair back before she realised that no, Aspen wasn’t trying not to throw up, she was trying not to fall apart.

It took Brooke one and a half hours and two bottles of water to figure out that it’s Shawn. Shawn and some blonde he‘d been making out with under the lights.

And usually, it wouldn’t matter, really, Aspen assured her. But maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that last Friday he cradled her in his arm with millions of stars glistening above them and she almost hoped. (she keeps that part to herself though)

She went - Brooke dragged her - home then without saying goodbye and emptied her insides over the toilet bowl until she didn’t feel quite as sick anymore at the thought of Shawn.

She’s said a lot of stupid things that night, half-lying on the dirty tiles. She doesn’t remember a lot but she does remember slurring we might not be something but we’re sure as hell aren’t nothing over and over and over again.

She’s shocked to find she’s never said anything more true.

***

He hasn’t written a song about her, ever. Sometimes she wishes he would, so she could at least have something, a piece of him, a piece of his mind, so she‘d know he thinks about them, too, even a little bit. But he doesn’t.

So she stands and watches him sing about his one night stand to the Rogers Centre, full of screaming girls.

It’s fascinating, really. Most of the time, when she isn’t reminded by the amount of girls he attracts wherever they go or his ridiculously large condo, she forgets that Shawn, the boy who had the same blue pencil case all through Middle- and Highschool and copied her chemistry homework every Tuesday, is actually a pop sensation.

Looking at him now, standing on stage, guitar in his large hands, sweat dripping off his forhead, it’s hard to imagine he ever does anything else.

He kisses Kendall, first thing, when he comes off stage, laughing and sweating, and she hates her a little bit for it.

It’s kind of intoxicating when he hugs her. Her heads spinning, chest’s clenching, cheek‘s are burning. She pulls away, wants to say he’s amazing, she’s never seen anything like that, she’s proud, she -

„You stink.“, she says instead.

He laughs and her head spins a little more.

***

They’re at Ian‘s this time and Aspen is just getting Brooke and herself a refill, when she feels something warm against the small of her back for a moment. She turns around to see Shawn laughing with their friends a few foot away.

She knows this game. It starts with their fingers, hands, shoulders lightly brushing against each other, seemingly accidental. A few shots later, he‘d wrap an arm around her waist, shoulder, hand gripping her hip. He‘d pull her into his lap then, first chance he got, and nuzzle his head into her neck. And then it was only a matter of time until her back was pressed against a wall with his hands on her ass and her tongue in his mouth.

It’s not different tonight and she already feels his breath against her neck and his arm locked around her waist like he‘d actually keep her. And she lets him.

He takes her hand, interlocks their fingers and pulls her with him.

She lets him until she feels a wall against her back and hands behind her neck and lips on hers. Then she pulls away.

“You’ve got a girlfriend.” She`s a little breathless already and she loves and hates it at the same time.

“No, I don’t. Me and Kendall, we’re not like, dating or anything.”

She flinches at the sound of her name.

“But you`re something.”

He hangs his head and she knows she’s won. She doesn’t now if she actually liked to win. It`d be so easy to just give in to him, revel in the feeling of his lips against her neck, it`d be be so, so easy. Okay, no, she doesn’t, not at all, not even a little bit.

But it’s the right thing to do, so she licks her lips and tosses her hair and lifts her gaze to meet his, a strand of his thick curls falling into his face.

„We can’t do this as long as you’ve got someone“

„I know“

But he looks like he really doesn’t.

He doesn’t tell her he’s gonna call it off, whatever he’s got with Kendall, and she knows he won‘t.

For a moment, she wants to tell him, word vomit all of these feelings, these fucking feelings that aren’t even really feelings, that she’s kept, bottled up for far too long but she doesn’t.

She watches him leave, walk through the door, raising the beer in his hand and laughing with their friends as she leans against the wall of the hall, embracing the coolness, focusing on her breathing.

They might be something but they won’t ever be enough anyways.