#if anyone wants to add onto or change anything from this monstrosity

[tinukis]

i think about trans sanji a lot... mtf or ftm he's transgender (or genderfluid ♥️)

but i think about ftm sanji and his struggles with his identity. his self hatred, self esteem, and toxic masculinity... i think about ftm sanji a lot...

i have stuff from my notes app. one was meant to be written as a fic but i gave up so it's incomplete. this takes place after wci and before wano. warnings are below the cut and in the tags, please read with caution.

trigger warning - gender dysphoria, child abuse (may be graphic.), misgendering, self-harm

Sanji wishes he was never a man. Let alone be born with the genital of a woman's.

He loves women. He admires them. Their beauty, their bodies, their smile, their femininity, everything. He wishes he could be just like them, that was his assigned sex, after all. Yet as a child, every time he stared at himself in the mirror, he would be staring at someone else. He did see a girl, but it wasn't him.

It's his turn on night watch. As everyone exchanges their goodnights and enter the cabin, Sanji climbs into the crow's nest and leaned against the window where the moonlight shined. His hand over his heart and crumpling his shirt into his fist. They just left Whole Cake Island but now that half his crew learned about the Vinsmokes, he was only filled with dread and anxiety.

They knew too much and there was nothing he can do about it but fill his lungs with tobacco. He knew they wouldn't pry further and he was relieved that they still see him the same but... It was being confronted by his Captain he dreaded the most. He didn't care about anyone's past nor does he try to look into them, but after everything Sanji did to Luffy and what Luffy did for him, he doesn't know what the hell to expect anymore.

Sanji knows Luffy would notice something's wrong and he couldn't avoid him forever. What was he supposed to tell him anyway?

Oh everything's fine, Luffy. Just you know, I've been reminded what sex I was born as and how I grew up hating myself because I'm actually a man. And I hated being a man because of how all the men in my life raised and treated me. I feel like I have betrayed all the women in my life. But other than that, I'm fine, Captain.

He puffs out a trail of smoke with a long exhale, clutching his head and pulling his hair that covered his right eye. He only wishes for silence but the calm waves below. Not his shitty thoughts about his identity or what lessons he'd been taught on Kamabakka Kingdom. With little to nonexistent self-worth, it was fucking hard to accept who he is. He needed no one elses approval but his own.

—

"Mother... is it wrong to feel like a boy?" Sanji fiddled with his thumbs, sitting on the edge of his mother's bed. His back was turned towards her, but he could hear her smile.

"What makes you feel that, Sanji?"

"... I don't know. My heart feels bad and heavy when I am a girl," Sanji hugged himself tight, gritting his teeth to hold back his tears. His brothers told him a man doesn't cry, otherwise he'd never be considered or respected as one.

"Sanji, look at me," his mother's voice was soft and full with kindness.

Sanji slowly turned his head, sniffling his red nose with his tearful eyes. His mother gently cupped over his cheek and wiped away the teardrops overflowing from the corner of his eye.

"Follow what your heart feels, Sanji. Despite what your father says, you continue seeing me, right? Continue with what your heart desires."

...

If only it were that easy.

—

"I was born wrong," said Sanji.

"Clearly," responded father. Unsure what he had meant by that, Sanji was overjoyed to be treated as a boy going forward.

A man was not who he wanted to be, yet those feelings of euphoria when dressed alike to his brothers and referred to as a "son" or "he" were undeniable.

It was a bit of surprise that even his brothers were forced to comply. But that doesn't stop their bullying and abuse whenever left alone with them.

–

"We're only wrestling! It's what boys do!" Yonji exclaimed with his arm strangled around Sanji's neck. Sanji tugged and tugged, attempting to escape his grasp only for Yonji to flex tighter.

"You're a boy, right, Sanji? Then act like one! Reiju is more of a man than you are!" Niji laughed, swinging a harsh kick into Sanji's shin.

Sanji was gasping between breaths, his skin turning from a shade of red to blue. For once, Yonji obliged but that moment of refreshing release was cut short by Ichiji's foot to Sanji's mouth.

"If you're a man, then stand up!" Ichiji yelled, kicking Sanji again by his stomach, not giving him a single chance for a breath of air. Coughed up blood splattered over the red carpet and Ichiji's white pants.

"Eww! She spat out blood!" Yonji exaggerated his gagging with his tongue lolled out his mouth and pointing into it.

Sanji shakily forced himself up, bloodied and bruised. His brothers smirked at him, intrigued that he was even capable of standing up after a beating.

"I'm... I'm not a she!!!" Sanji shouted and panted heavily. He knelt over, clutching onto his growling stomach that was building up his throat.

"Oh yeah? If you're not a girl, then," without warning, Niji swung his leg across Sanji's head, forcing a crack into the castle's walls. "Try not to pass out!"

His brothers waited for their useless brother to even breathe one shallow breath. Sanji couldn't move a single muscle, yet he was still conscious. When he heard heavy footsteps, his eyes widened and his heart beat grew steady. Sanji cried out for his father, but his throat felt clogged and not a word was heard.

"H-hel...p... me..." Sanji sputtered with quivering lips. His brothers laughed aloud, every time their mouths opened their words would never be positive.

The heavy footsteps got closer and Sanji turned his head towards that direction, staring at his father's unchanged expression. The burning sensation from his stomach rose. It ached terribly and he couldn't do anything but cry.

"F-fath— MGH—!" Sanji vomited on the carpet, his brothers expressed their disgust and laughed. When Sanji's eyes met with Judge, he was stared down at with revulsion. He bit back the bottom of his lip, trying to prevent tears or vomiting again, he couldn't tell what was happening anymore. It was like the room started to spin, the laughter dissipating in the background before everything turned to black.

–

The only people in Sanji's life that even treated him with kindness were women. His bedridden mother, his bystander sister, and the maids. But his mother was long gone for months. All he became accustomed to was the gray brick walls, steel bars caging him in, and a heavy iron helmet upon his head. The only people that ever kept him company were the Germa soldiers. But of course, they never bothered with conversations and only responded to Sanji's needs. He was even lucky that his requests for books were allowed.

Being kept alive, rotting in this dungeon was a fate worse than Hell. His hair grew longer and it felt so damn itchy. But with the stupid mask over his head, he couldn't satisfy the itch. Sanji had to resort to scratching his arms until they burnt and glowed red. Sometimes he'd scratch hard enough that it'd draw blood. He'd only stop once his arms started to bleed.

Sometimes Sanji refused baths. He wasn't comfortable with either a man or even a woman scrubbing him clean. He didn't want to do it all himself. He didn't want to look at the bare body he couldn't stand to look at. He wanted his mother. He wanted Reiju.

Since Sanji refused to have a bath because of the growing pit in his stomach grew each time he had to strip down, reminded of the body that shouldn't be his. The Germa soldiers resorted to soaking him with a hose and drop off his preferred choice of clothing.

That was all these past months of hell Sanji lived through alone in the dark and dank dungeon. The isolated loneliness was more agonizing than being beaten like a worn out punching bag by his brothers. Despite the amount of bruises and broken bones they may have caused, he missed them.

But maybe he thought too soon. Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji found him, surprised that he was still alive. They purposely spoke aloud how killing Sanji would likely make their father happy. His heart began to race like it was about to burst right out of his chest. Once they got the gate unlocked, they approached Sanji slowly, making him backed against the cold brick wall.

It was the same cycle as previously. Maybe even worse now as they were beneath the palace so no one would hear Sanji scream and cry for help.

–

Liquid rolls down Sanji's forearm and his cigarette burnt out. His nails dug into his skin deep enough to draw blood. Shit. No matter the pain he's given himself, it will never get rid of the filthy hands that bruised his body.

Sanji tosses his cigarette into the ashtray and lights another.

Why couldn't the good people in his life just leave him to rot?

[goldentournesol]

Twin Flames

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Reader deals with the aftermath of Maeve while she struggles with her intense feelings for Spencer.

Length: 4.3k

A/N: lots of angst...like lots of it. Big thanks to @hopefulfangirl24​ for requesting. i totally broke my own heart writing this. ENJOY!

masterlist

Sometimes the hardest part isn't letting go, it's starting over. -Nicole Sobon

Starting over.

What did starting over even look like for Spencer? Will the dread and guilt ever stop washing over him as the sun melts into the horizon and the moon takes its place? 

It was starting to feel like he could never move on from the pain of losing Maeve. Day and night, he stared at the four walls of his apartment wondering what could have been if he had said something different. He wondered if the outcome would be the same. He wondered whether fate had ever been kind to him in at least one of the infinite universes that might exist, giving him the ending he so desperately wanted. After so many years, Spencer finally allowed himself to be brave enough to fall in love and oh how he wished he regretted it, but falling in love was anything but regrettable. Falling in love meant being vulnerable, and he knew that, but he didn’t know just how much it would hurt. The purity of Spencer’s soul allowed him to love so deeply, so intensely, and with all his heart which made it all the more easy to hurt so deeply and so intensely.

He yearned to become unfamiliar with the feeling of heaviness. Everything was so heavy, his heart, his stomach, his tears. Each of them weighing on him like anvils that he couldn’t lift no matter how hard he tried. In theory, he knew the anvils could be lifted with help from others, but that was too much of a strenuous task to tackle right now. He’ll handle the anvils all on his own for now. 

The world seemed eerily desolate and Spencer couldn’t seem to remember what it looked like before it turned into the dull, washed out version he became acquainted with now. Penelope had tried to add some color back into his life, but her actions were futile against the monstrosity of grief. The entire team had tried to reach out and while he appreciated the gestures, he had no capacity for anything other than the agony that consumed him. 

Derek left what seemed like a thousand messages on his phone, but he still checked to see who called every time his phone rang. Which is exactly why it was unprecedented to see a different name pop up at the sound of his ringtone in the middle of the day. A name which belonged to a person he’d held very dear for so long. They haven’t spoken in months, maybe a year and if Spencer’s mind wasn’t currently overcrowded with thoughts, he’d definitely be able to recall the exact amount of time between speaking to her last and now. Why is she calling him now? What if something was wrong? Did she know about what happened? No, how would she find out? His curiosity had possessed his body, making him answer the call.

“Y/N?” He croaked, clearing his throat, having not used his voice in days.

“Spencer! How’s my favorite genius doing? I didn’t know if you’d changed your number or something, but I’d just thought I’d call anyway! Are you at work? Sorry, I can call you back later if-” She shouted excitedly into the phone, but Spencer was quick to end her worries.

“No, no. I’m not at work.” Spencer said curtly.

“Oh, is everything alright?” She asked, concerned. She could tell by the tone of his voice that something was not right.

“Did Garcia put you up to this?” Spencer deflected defensively. 

He knew Garcia was aware that Y/N was the only person he’d never turn away from. Not after all they’d been through. She was the one person who never left his side. She and Spencer were undeniably connected by some sort of un-explainable, otherworldly force. Call them soulmates, twin flames, mirror souls--whatever. That was what they were. It didn’t matter to them if they were romantically involved or not, the connection between them had surpassed the simple stages of romance. Spencer often found himself wondering what could have been if he’d never left Vegas. If he’d never left her.

“Garcia? The tech analyst? No, why? Spencer, did something happen?” She recalled meeting the eccentric woman when she visited Spencer in Quantico a few years back. 

Spencer’s brow furrowed and his mouth spoke before his brain could tell it not to, “Then why are you calling me?” He spat impatiently, pinching the bridge of his nose, already wishing he didn’t have to prolong the conversation.

Y/N was taken aback through the phone at his retort but her heart ached for him, knowing that something dreadful must have happened for him to act so out of character, but she took the phone off her ear to check if she had dialed the correct number anyway. She had.

“I just wanted to catch up with you. Is this about not calling you recently? I’m sorry, Spencer, I got caught up with work and I moved into a new apartment, and things have just been really hectic lately. Are you okay?” She worried through the phone and Spencer could practically feel her disquietude seeping from the speaker.

“So, you really don’t know…?” Spencer trailed off, already feeling the guilt bubble up in his chest, still avoiding the question. He didn’t even know what okay meant anymore.

“Know what, Spence? Oh God, is Diana okay?!” She shrieked, her mind snapping to the worst case scenario.

Her genuine reaction had made Spencer ease the frown that had been permanently etched onto his features for days. It wasn’t a smile yet, but it was something. She and his mother had always shared a bond that he never really understood, even as an adult. That was how compassionate she was, she was able to instantly connect with people and she would do it so well. It used to baffle Spencer when they were children, but perhaps that’s what drew her to him. Their souls were tied together with an invisible string.

She heard him release a huff and some shuffling was heard from his side, “My mom is fine.”

She let out a sigh of relief, “So, what’s going on?”

He paused, debating whether or not to tell her. She sighed again, knowing it must have been something terrible if he wasn’t willing to talk about it.

“Spencer?” She called softly when he fell silent. She was already browsing for plane tickets from Las Vegas to DC.

“I...I couldn’t do it, Y/N. I couldn’t save her.” He sniffled into the phone and her heart had practically escaped from its place in her chest and landed in the pits of her stomach. Her arms and shoulders were immediately overtaken with chills. She didn’t know who he was referring to, but the dread set in quicker than she imagined. She could tell this was bad, even for Spencer and his line of work. Whatever happened had ripped him to shreds and she was not about to sit idly in Vegas.

Two days later, she struggled to haul a small suitcase out of the cab she took from the airport to Spencer’s apartment complex. The flight was way more exhausting than it should have been. She placed the suitcase on the ground with a huff and spotted two blonde women descending from the stairs that led to Spencer’s apartment as she neared the entrance. She quickly recognized them as Spencer’s beloved coworkers, Garcia and JJ. Garcia’s eyes found hers and let out a surprised gasp.

“Hey, I know you! You’re Spencer’s friend--from Vegas! Y/N, right?” Garcia announced as Y/N entered the building, stopping right before the stairs.

“Hi, Penelope.” Y/N said expectantly with a playful smile. Garcia was pleasantly surprised when she remembered who she was and pulled her into a warm embrace.

“Hi, JJ.” she smiled as she gave her a hug, “Any luck with Spencer?”

The two women shared a look and sighed deeply.

“No, he hasn’t even spoken to us through the door.” JJ said with a heavy heart before she continued, “How did you know? Did he call you?”

Y/N shook her head, “No, I called him.”

“And he picked up?!” Garcia exclaimed, eliciting a half-laugh from Y/N.

“Yeah, he did. I don’t know how it happened, I just, you know when you get a feeling like in the pit of your stomach? It felt like he needed me all of a sudden--sorry, that sounds so weird.” She apologized, shaking her head slightly.

“No, it’s okay. Maybe you can get through to him. We’re all really worried about him.” JJ explained and Y/N nodded.

“I still don’t really know what happened, was it...that bad?” Y/N felt silly for asking. The two shared another look. A look that held so much shared trauma and empathy for their friend. Y/N’s heart sank as she let out a shuddered breath at their silent reaction. She glanced up at the stairs helplessly, wondering if she was strong enough to help him through the turmoil he’s experiencing.

“He’s refused to see anyone for the past two weeks, please let us know if anything changes.” Garcia pleaded and they proceeded to exchange numbers to keep in touch. Y/N nodded and smiled gratefully at them before making her way up the stairs and facing Spencer’s door. 

She took a deep breath before knocking. Spencer held back a groan as he dropped his copy of The Narrative of John Smith into his lap, bringing his hands to his face in an act of exhaustion. He wanted to scream at them to leave him alone, but he simply didn’t have the energy to do so. He’d settle on ignoring them for now. The knocking carried on, but it was paired with a gentle voice that Spencer knew all too well. JJ and Garcia watched from the bottom of the steps, bouncing with anticipation.

“Spencer? It’s Y/N. Can you please open up?” She called through the wooden door. 

Spencer froze in his place. Was he finally asleep and dreaming? Did she really come all this way for him or was he imagining it? Was fate finally giving him a taste of kindness? A kindness he so desperately wished for? He suddenly retreated into the darkest corner of his mind, the dark place which never failed to remind him on an hourly basis just how unworthy of love he really was. Not hers, not Maeve’s, not anyone’s. His thoughts were interrupted yet again by another insistent knock. It sounded too clear to be a figment of his imagination. He forced himself up from his place on the couch and made his way to the door. She heard shuffling from the other side and bit her lip. JJ and Garcia made a move to leave before they heard the sound of the door opening. They shared an excited look, not even caring that they were almost half an hour late to work at this point.

Spencer’s sullen eyes found her bright ones immediately. She gave him a soft smile and he swore the world around him withered away slightly.

“Hey, genius.” She spoke with her signature tenderness and Spencer didn’t hesitate to engulf her in a long awaited embrace. She let out a breath at the sudden force but welcomed him into her arms anyway. JJ and Garcia grinned at each other, a newfound wave of relief hitting the both of them. They left for work, grins of relief never leaving their faces.

“You’re....you’re here? You’re really here?” Spencer mumbled as he stuffed his face into her neck, her presence filling him with a sense of familiarity, one he so hopelessly craved.

She nodded into his shoulder, squeezing him impossibly tighter, “Yeah, Spence, I’m right here.” 

She felt his chest expand against hers and he released a deep, heavy sigh. He suddenly felt a sense of security wash over him, his arms tightened around her waist, lifting her off the ground slightly as he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to relish in her warm embrace for just a few moments longer. Relief flooded his chest, and he felt like he could breathe again. He was inexplicably glad that the first thing he could breathe in again was the smell of her perfume. He vouched to never allow himself to forget the level of comfort she brought again. Spencer momentarily forgot about his sorrows in her arms, but the agony was far too unforgiving and the moment of bliss didn’t last. His chest clenched again as he set her down and pulled away from her.

“Y-you didn’t have to come all the way out here.” He frowned, struggling to hold himself together in front of her.

“Stop that, you know I’d drop everything in a heartbeat for you.” She attempted to smile despite her eyes welling up with tears at the sight of his suffering. He nodded and they both stepped into his apartment, her dragging her suitcase in with her.

“You came from the airport?” He said with a small voice as he saw her pull the bag in. He had expected her to stop by whichever hotel she booked a room at first.

“Yeah, I came as soon as I landed. I needed to see you first.” She said, pulling him to his couch by the hand, careful not to step on any of the books that lay on the floor.

“Do you…” he paused, swallowing his tears, “do you have to stay at the hotel?”

“No, Spence, I don’t have to. I can stay here if you want.” She gently stroked her thumb across his knuckles.

“Please? Please...stay?” His voice cracked and suddenly his face scrunched up in an attempt to suppress a sob, but to no avail. 

A heartbreaking sob escaped from his lips and she wrapped herself around him without a second thought. Cooing at him lovingly and rubbing his back, reminding him every so often that she was right there. Once the floodgates had opened, they had no idea when they would stop. She held his shaking body tightly to hers as if she could somehow absorb some of the pain he felt and tried not to let any of her own tears fall onto him. It broke her heart to see him so saddened. 

She pressed kisses to the side of his head as he calmed down, threading her fingers through his messy, tangled hair. Spencer’s ear was now resting against her heartbeat, he focused on the steady sound and he felt his eyes droop with the exhaustion of days without sleep. She smiled slightly and soon fell asleep, making up for the sleep she missed on the flight over.

Hours later, they awoke and moved around the apartment in silence. Or rather she moved in silence while he stayed on the couch, looking for anything to drown out his sorrows. She focused on making him a balanced breakfast, despite the fact that it was almost 3 pm. 

“Spencer? Come eat. I made coffee, too.” She called out, already eating off her plate. She hoped she wouldn’t have to physically drag him off the couch. She smiled when she heard him drag his feet all the way to the kitchen. They ate together in silence, although Spencer was thankful for the warm food.

“Do you know why I joined the FBI?” He asked after a while. She stared at him curiously and he continued, “I joined the FBI to protect people. That’s the whole point of the job. I wanted to protect her, I wanted to save her, and I failed. I failed, Y/N. What’s the point of me being an FBI agent if I can’t even protect the ones I love?” He ranted as he looked at her for answers.

“What is the point of loving anyone if I can’t protect them?” He frowned, tears pooling on the inside of his eyes. She frowned in response, clutching the cup of coffee tight between her hands.

“Do you want to start from the beginning?” She offered and he quickly realized she had no idea who he was talking about.

“Her name is...was Maeve. She was the geneticist who helped me get rid of my migraines. I sent her my brain scan and she was the only one who actually helped. I never actually met her, though, all our communication happened through payphones or letters because she had a stalker. She didn’t know who they were, just that they were dangerous. I’d call her every Sunday and we’d just...talk. We sent letters under pseudonyms. It was nice. It was more than nice, actually. It was the first time I ever felt appreciated for who I am, I didn’t have to worry about her judging the way I looked. I-I fell in love with her before I even saw her. We planned a date, finally, but I sent her home because I thought I saw her stalker. So stupid. I was so stupid. I was so paranoid, Y/N. Good things just don’t happen to Spencer Reid, I should have known.” He paused, shaking his head and holding back tears.

“Anyway, she was abducted by her stalker. We thought it was her fiance at first, but it wasn’t. It was his girlfriend...Diane.” He shuddered as the name left his lips. “She was a grad student at the university Maeve taught at and she rejected her thesis. Can you believe that? I lost the one good thing I had over a thesis?” He laughed bitterly, tears streaming down his face. It was deeper than that, but he didn’t care to explain. 

“I only got 2,412 hours of communication with her. Even though I remember every word, it’ll never be enough.” He aggressively wiped at his cheeks. “I told Diane I’d die for her...for Maeve. I meant it, too. I would have died for her!” He slammed a frustrated hand on the table, shaking the tableware. 

“Apparently that was the worst possible thing to say because it set her off. She...she shot herself in the head and the bullet...the b-bullet--” He cut himself off with a sob, unable to finish the sentence, the grief hitting him like it was a tsunami and he was an unsuspecting beach town.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” She repeated as she rushed to crouch down in front of him, taking both his hands. She kissed his knuckles before wiping her own tears. 

What kind of world did they live in where they had to worry about tragedies like this? She suddenly had a brewing hatred for the world around her. How could it let something so terrible happen to someone so good. Spencer Reid was good, and he deserves nothing but good things in his life. As much as the story pained her, she couldn’t begin to imagine the pain he was feeling. 

“I know you blame yourself, Spence. It’s gonna be hard not to at first. But you have to understand that none of this is your fault. You didn’t pull that trigger. She did. I’m so sorry, Spence. I’m so, so sorry. This should have never happened to you, or to anyone. The pain is gonna suck, grief is not easy, but you don’t have to go through it alone. You know that right?” She spoke softly, trying as hard as she could to keep her voice steady for him. He looked at her and saw the truth in her eyes. He nodded ever so slightly and sniffled.

“I know.” He squeezed her hands once and she smiled reassuringly. Her smile made him feel a little bit better. He didn’t want the team’s help, they’d all just treat him like a wounded puppy. She was so unconditionally compassionate and loving, he never wanted to stray far from her again. She got up from her crouched position and pulled him to stand with her. She wrapped her arms around his back and leaned into his chest. He squeezed her tighter, tears soaking into her shirt once again. “Thank you.” He muttered. She nodded. “How long are you staying?” His heart clenched, not wanting to see her go.

“I’ll be here for as long as you need, love.” She rubbed circles across his back. He pulled away to face her.

“What about your job?” He frowned, wiping a hand over his face.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve got lots of vacation days saved up.” She reassured, “Besides, I’d rather be here with you than at that stupid job anyway.” She rolled her eyes, thinking of her impossible boss. Spencer suppressed a smile.

“Wait, you’re still working for--”

“Yup, same asshole.” She laughed and Spencer smiled. 

He smiled! 

He remembered all the times she would complain about her horrible boss over the phone.

“So, you said you moved?” Spencer asked, leading her back to the couch.

“Yeah, I really hated my old apartment.” Spencer nodded, “I’m really sorry for not calling you. I missed you so much and I thought about you practically every day...it’s just, you know, it’s easy to get caught up in all the little things.” She apologized, feeling guilty.

“It’s just as much my fault, I haven’t called either. And...I missed you too.” Spencer said.

“It’s alright, we’ve both been busy.” She smiled at him.

“You would have loved her.” Spencer trailed off, frowning. She let out a sigh.

“I’m sure I would have, Spence.” She mirrored his frown.

“She reminded me of you in a lot of ways now that I think about it. She was kind and compassionate. She was funny, she liked to make puns and she was good with words.” He reminisced sadly. All she could do was smile halfheartedly. On one hand, she was glad he got to experience such a love, but on the other, she found herself fighting off a feeling of jealousy.

“I never thought I’d get over you.” He admitted, fidgeting with his hands and avoiding her gaze, yet he said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Spencer had already bared his soul to her, what was this one confession in the grand scheme of things?

“What?” She whispered, completely caught off guard. He glanced at her to see her shocked face.

“What? Don’t act like you didn’t know.” He scoffed lightly. He was right, she always suspected his feelings for her but she never wanted to entertain the idea of it in case she was wrong. She’d been hurt so many times that she didn’t even want to think about being hurt by the one person she’d loved more than anyone else.

She loved Spencer. She knew that. There was no doubt in her mind. They were twin flames. They danced around each other and separated, but never burnt out.

“In fact, I don’t think I could ever get over you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you.” He spoke quietly. “You don’t have to say anything right now, I’m not expecting you to. I think I’m so upset over Maeve because, of course, I loved her, but in so many ways she reminded me of you. And if I can’t protect her, then I can’t protect you.” 

“I, um, I don’t know what to say.” She stammered. She knew he was overwhelmed with emotion so she tried not to take his words too literally. But the confession hit her like a truck. She didn’t know what to do. He’s mourning the loss of his girlfriend, it would be completely selfish for her to take advantage of his feelings. It’s not like he was asking anything of her, he was just hanging it all out to dry. He was so vulnerable right now, she couldn’t act upon her own feelings. They both knew that.

She felt her throat run dry at all the words she wanted to say, but she settled on, “We should talk about this later, Spence.” 

He gave her a half smile and nodded, the numbness setting in.

The next few days blurred into each other. They consisted of Y/N cleaning up around the apartment, making food, doing laundry. Spencer was doing his best to help her out, but he found too much comfort inside the walls he built for himself. She didn’t push him to do anything he didn’t want to do. She’d convinced him to leave the house twice, both times going for a walk in the sunlight. She made sure he brushed his hair and shaved his face. Honestly without her, he’d probably still be stuck in his spot on the couch. She updated his coworkers daily, letting them know that he was doing better. She even held him at night when he cried for the love that was ripped too soon from him. 

“Y/N?” Spencer called one morning as he walked in on her in the kitchen.

“Yeah?” She turned away from the coffee machine to face him. She still looked as beautiful  as ever even under the light coming from his dodgy kitchen window.

“I just want to thank you. For all you’ve done for me. It couldn’t have been easy for you.” He smiled shyly. She smiled brightly at him, moving closer to wrap her arms around him tightly.

“You don’t have to thank me. You would have done the same for me.” She looked up at him and into his honey colored eyes. The eyes that have shed buckets worth of tears in the past few days.

“Yeah, I would have.” He joked, finally feeling like himself again, resting his hands on her waist. “I meant what I said, by the way.”

She nodded, “I know. But we’re not in any rush, are we? I’d wait for you forever if I had to, Spencer Reid.”

And he wouldn’t have to worry, because twin flames always find each other.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Kiss The Chef

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, Tracy Brothers, Grandma

Scott didn’t often cook, but he enjoyed it when he got the chance.  Unfortunately, his usual apron appears to have vanished.

Once again, I was inspired by @gumnut-logic - this time in a conversation about the boys and food which turned into Scott cooking for his brothers.  It spiralled from there, and I hope the final product is as fluffy as it was in my head!

Scott hummed a little as he bustled around the kitchen, grabbing various ingredients and lining them up on the counter beside the measuring jug.  It wasn’t often that he cooked – cooking took time, and time wasn’t something he often had much of, between rescues and the seemingly never-ending paperwork – but this time, circumstances had conspired and he’d been able to find the opportunity to make himself comfortable in the kitchen.

Of course, activity in the kitchen from anyone who wasn’t Grandma drew brothers like flies to honey.  Scott had barely finished measuring out the ingredients before the familiar footsteps of the middle Tracy could be heard behind him.

“How’s it going?” Virgil asked, coming to a stop right by his elbow and forcing Scott to contort slightly before said elbow made contact with his brother’s chest.  He glanced over and saw brown eyes looking straight at him.

“It’ll go faster if I’m not interrupted,” he pointed out as he tipped the last ingredient into the mixing bowl.  It was a lost cause, of course.  He’d agreed to make pancakes, and that meant there would be a hoard of little brothers tripping over themselves to get at the batter.  In all honesty, the only surprise was that Virgil was first.

Normally it was Alan.

Virgil chuckled, the noise deep in his chest, and Scott took it for agreement.  “I’ll come back when there’s something worth testing,” he said, and Scott rolled his eyes.

The sudden hand on his shoulder was unexpected, clamping him in place for a moment mid-reach for the frying pan.  “Vir-”

More unexpected was the lips on his cheek, firm but brief.  Startled, he fumbled the pan and it crashed onto the stove.

“Virgil, what-”

His brother tapped him on the chest, fingers making an audible tap-tap against the laminated fabric.

Oh.

Pancake making was a messy business.  Scott had made them enough times to know that no matter how careful he was, as soon as little brothers inevitably got involved batter would go everywhere and he’d need to get changed.  That had prompted a rule – no making pancakes without an apron.  Unfortunately, Scott’s usual apron of choice had vanished.  So had all the others.

He had no idea where this one had come from, but attempts to hunt down the mysteriously disappearing other aprons had been rudely interrupted by Grandma’s promise to start making the pancakes herself if he didn’t get into the kitchen right now and he hadn’t had a choice.

It had been a foolish hope that none of his brothers would notice, let alone ignore it.

Kiss the Chef, the bright pink monstrosity demanded in white cursive coiled across the chest. A vibrant kiss mark in bright red punctuated the end of the phrase, and Scott was well aware that it wasn’t actually insinuating a harmless peck on the cheek.

Who had bought the thing – and why they’d bought it – he had no idea, but he suspected his cheeks might be going a similar colour from the way Virgil smirked.

“Just doing what I’m told, big brother.”

He retreated back to the stairs, and Scott was left with a feeling of dread as he rescued the pan and returned to mixing the batter.  While Virgil could be a cheeky menace when he wanted to be, he had not been the brother Scott had expected to initiate any teasing.

This did not bode well.

“Hey, Scott.”  Nor did that.

His shoulders slumped in a sigh as the expected troublemaker made his entrance, swanning over to where he was standing and peering into the bowl.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” Gordon asked in a tone Scott knew full well was his I’m going to be an irritating brat for as long as I can get away with it voice.

“Yes,” he said, nudging the blond back with an elbow as he splashed some more milk into the batter and kept stirring.  He could just throw it in the mixer, but there was something more satisfying about doing it by hand.

Keeping the batter close to his chest – and maybe trying to hide the slogan emblazoned on the apron – while Gordon was nosing around seemed like a sensible precaution to take.  Not that he thought Gordon would attempt sabotage when the promise of edible food lingered, but sabotage was far from the only thing Gordon could do with a bowl of batter.

“Hmm.”  Gordon hummed doubtfully, amber eyes narrowed.  Scott eyed him cautiously, knowing better than to believe there was no ulterior motive going on somewhere in his head.  “Well, if you say so.”

Unfortunately, Scott had to put the bowl down to pick up the milk to add the next splash.  The moment it was stable on the counter, Gordon struck.

A hand hooked around Scott’s neck, and the next thing he knew, he’d been yanked sideways just enough for Gordon to press his lips in the exact same place Virgil had scant minutes earlier.

Scott swallowed a noise of surprise at the sudden attack and concentrated on not falling on top of his younger brother.  “Really?”

“Gotta kiss the chef,” Gordon grinned at him, eyes alight with mischief as he released him.

Cricking his neck against the treatment, Scott straightened up again.  “Well you’ve done that, so scat.”  There were some battles that weren’t worth fighting.  “I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

The grin he got in response was vaguely alarming, but to his relief Gordon shimmied his way back out of the kitchen area and headed outside.  That relief, however, was short-lived when he realised there was a cluster of little brothers out there.

Virgil was perched on a lounger, talking to Alan, who in his teenagerhood had clearly decided that today was a day to laze around and was flaked dramatically across his own lounger. The addition of Gordon, who flounced his way into the conversation with entirely too many dramatics, just put Scott on guard.

It wasn’t like Virgil to start something like this, but sometimes he and Gordon worked together – proving that their teamwork wasn’t restricted to when they were in uniform – and the addition of Alan at this point was all but certain.

Sighing and resigned to a visit sooner rather than later from his youngest brother with no doubt the same aim in mind, Scott returned to his pancake batter, which was almost ready to start cooking.

Sure enough, a blond head of hair appeared in his periphery just as he finished the first pancake, which he tipped gently onto the plate and tucked into the oven to keep warm while he started on the next.

“Yes, Alan?” he prompted, deciding he might as well let the youngest get on with it so he could finish the rest of the batch in relative peace – as much as peace was a possibility with four little brothers in the vicinity.  He didn’t know where John was, but as he was fresh down from Five, probably horizontal somewhere and grumbling about gravity.  The ginger would appear when pancakes were ready.

“Can I have a pancake?” Big blue puppy eyes looked up at him, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“When they’re done.”

“You just finished one,” his brother pointed out, a pout forming on his face.

“When they’re all done,” Scott clarified.  Today they were going to eat together, all five of them in one place for the first time in a while.  It had the added bonus of his share not being swiped when his back was turned.

The pouting lip began to quiver, and he had to remind himself to stay firm.  Alan’s puppy dog eyes were lethal weapons, and Scott was all too aware that he was far from immune.  On this, however, he refused to budge.

“If you want to help, you can set the table,” he said.  “Otherwise, get out of the kitchen.  I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

Thankfully, Alan seemed to realise he was defeated, even if the visual deflation of his youngest brother had part of Scott screaming to make it better.  He forcibly restrained it before it could make him change his mind.

“Fine.”  It was whined, one last plea for Scott to change his mind, but he turned his head away and poured the next portion of batter into the pan.

He hadn’t forgotten about his scheming little brothers or the apron he was wearing, exactly, but Alan’s pout might have distracted him just enough that the hand clamping his shoulder and tugging it down far enough for his youngest brother to follow the other two and leave a kiss on his cheek caught him off guard.

“Chef kissed,” the blond declared smugly.  “I’ll set the table.”  Despite his three youngest brothers being cheeky menaces, Scott sent him a smile as he straightened again.

“Thanks.”  That was one less chore for him to order a brother or three into doing later.  John was, of course, exempt from setting the table so soon after returning from orbit – Scott didn’t feel like dodging sherds of broken crockery – but that still left three brothers capable.

The pancake was ready to flip, but he still kept half an eye on Alan heading for the cutlery drawer as he wiggled the pan, making sure it hadn’t got stuck.  Consequently, he was caught completely off guard by the lips pressing against his other cheek.

He didn’t yelp, but the pan might have rattled against the stove a little.  A pale hand caught his and steadied the pan before the pancake was lost, and Scott peeled his attention entirely away from Alan to glare at the culprit.

“Really?”

The look he got from John was pure amusement.  Of course John would betray him and join in with their younger brothers.  Why had Scott expected anything else?

“Don’t let it burn,” was all the ginger said in return, releasing his hold on Scott’s wrist.

“Don’t sneak up on me while I’m cooking,” he retorted, giving the pan another wiggle to make sure the pancake hadn’t stuck before flicking his wrist in a practiced movement.

He’d always been good at flipping pancakes.

If John had a reply to that, it was nonverbal, because the next Scott was aware of him, he was perched at the table, tablet in hand, while Alan set out the plates around him.

From there it was routine, pancake after pancake piling up on the plate.  He knew from experience he had to make enough to feed a small army to have any hope of satisfying the bottomless pits he called brothers, and making that many pancakes took time.

Alan had the table set long before Scott was even halfway done, and had at some point retreated back outside to rejoin Virgil and Gordon.  That was fine by Scott; if it meant he didn’t have to keep fending off puppy dog eyes, Alan could do what he wanted.  Even if he was slightly wary of that particular trio.

Still, with any luck, they’d leave him alone until he was done cooking now.  Pancakes had a special place in the Tracy family, and surely even his little brothers wouldn’t do anything to disrupt that.

Surely?

Scott had underestimated the lure of the ridiculous apron he was wearing.

“Hey, Scott.”

Gordon materialised by his elbow, a finger heading for the batter before Scott rapped it warningly.

“You’ll get them when they’re all done and not before.”  He didn’t like the look of the scheming grin on his younger brother’s face.  “And the more you mess around near me, the longer they’ll take.”

The warning fell on deaf ears as arms snaked around him, forcing him to let go of the pan before it clattered off of the stove.  “Gordon!”

The kiss his brother planted on his cheek shouldn’t have been unexpected.  He should have seen it coming, should have realised they weren’t going to let the apron go so easily, but wasn’t once enough?

Amber eyes flicked past him for a moment, before something that looked like a challenge settled in them and Scott found more kisses being plastered on his cheek.

“Gordon!” he protested, working his way free so he could at least keep going with the pancakes.  “Gordon, stop, I’m cooking.  Do you want these pancakes or not?”

Virgil was on his other side.  He hadn’t noticed him get there, but somehow he knew he was there.  Scott barely had a moment to put two and two together and realise what they were up to before an arm slid across his shoulders and he was being tugged away from Gordon.

“Virgil-” he tried, keeping half an eye on the pancake in the pan and wiggling it to check if it was ready to flip.  It was, and he tried to ignore his annoying little brothers as Virgil proved some sort of competition seemed to have started and pressed more firm kisses to his cheek.

Gordon retaliated.

“Guys,” Scott pleaded as he almost missed catching the flip, fumbling the pan in a way he hadn’t done since he was a kid.  “This is not helping.”

Gordon crashed to the ground with a squawk, but was immediately replaced with his younger brother, who had those big blue eyes focused on him again.

“But it says to kiss the chef,” Alan pointed out, standing on tiptoe to catch Scott.  He sighed loudly.

“And you’ve done that. Several times, in fact.  Back off and let me cook in peace if you want these pancakes any time soon.”

“But Virgil and Gordon are winning,” Alan pouted.  Virgil’s arm tightened around Scott’s shoulders and resisted all attempts to shrug it off. The puppy dog eyes were back, and he sighed.  Well, it was harmless enough, he supposed.

“Virgil,” he warned, shrugging his shoulders again.  Thankfully, that time his brother relented, and even went as far as dragging their squid of a brother out of the kitchen area with him.  “Make it quick,” he warned Alan – and if John even considered joining in the competition…  Well, Scott hoped he wouldn’t because he knew he wasn’t actually going to be able to bring himself to say no, no matter how much it was interrupting his cooking.

He crouched down a little so Alan could reach without standing on his tiptoes or tugging him over, and dutifully allowed his youngest brother to pepper kisses on his cheek for a moment.  Once Alan was satisfied – and he assumed Alan had beat the other two, but he hadn’t been counting – he was shooed away, and Scott finally got to finish cooking in peace.

It didn’t take much longer. He turned around, plate in hand, to see all four brothers were waiting with varying levels of patience around the table.

Scott had had some time to think while he finished the pancakes.  While it may have devolved into some silly competition between the three youngest, it had no doubt started off as some form of teasing about his unfortunate apron, and as a big brother, he couldn’t let that pass without retribution.

Simple was best.  Scott carried the plate over to the table and leaned over Virgil as he put it down on the table.

Little brother never saw it coming, too busy keeping an eye on Gordon and the arriving pancakes to notice that Scott was closer than he strictly needed to be.

Pancakes safe on the table, Scott turned his head and trapped Virgil’s shoulders beneath his arm so he couldn’t retreat from the firm kiss he pressed to his brother’s cheek.

Virgil gave a chuckle, but Scott didn’t hesitate, reaching out to collar Gordon as the slippery fish tried to duck away from his own payback.  Scott wasn’t biggest brother for nothing, though, and with a quick couple of steps, both blonds were trapped in his arms, one big kiss being pressed to first Gordon’s, and then Alan’s cheek.  They squirmed, teenage sensibilities apparently too delicate to take such obvious displays of affection even in a family setting.

John eyed him warily as he approached, one eyebrow raised as though asking Scott if he was really going to get him, too?  Well, Scott had four little brothers and they’d all got him, and quite frankly he loved them all way too much to let any of them miss out.

In deference to the fact that John had only got him once, and was also fresh out of orbit, he kept it lighter than the ones he’d bestowed upon the youngest three, but no amount of raised eyebrow was going to stop John from receiving one at all.

Satisfied that his brothers had got the message he wasn’t going to sit and take any teasing without suitable retaliation, he settled into the empty chair by John and swiped the first pancake from the pile.  His brothers took the cue and it wasn’t long at all before the usual mealtime noises of five brothers carried through the air.

“None for your grandmother?”

Grandma had appeared behind him without him noticing and he winced at starting without her.  His brothers all similarly paused.  She was smiling, and Scott noticed a camera sticking out of a hidden pocket in the onesie.

He was still wearing the apron, bright pink with its white Kiss the Chef proclamation, so he leaned back and grinned at her.  “You’ve got to kiss the chef, Grandma.”

Alan burst into giggles, Gordon failing to stifle his own laughter next to him.  Virgil and John were slightly better, but Scott saw their matching grins out of the corner of his eye as he looked at their grandmother.

“Cheeky boy,” she said, but she was grinning, too, and with him sitting down it was no trial for her to lean down slightly and press her own kiss to his by now thoroughly-kissed cheek. He caught her in a one-armed hug and kissed her back.  “Where’s this rule when I cook, hmm?”

“You don’t wear the apron.”

“Maybe I should,” she mused as she took her place at the head of the table, between him and Alan. “Now, pass down that plate, dear.”

He obliged, and smiled as she bit into her first one with an appreciative noise.

“You should cook more often,” she told him.  “That apron looks good on you.”

That remark set his brothers off again, even Virgil and John making amused noises if not the full laughter of their youngest brothers, but Scott just leaned back in the chair to glance down at it.  It was garishly pink, and certainly wasn’t referring to the various cheek kisses it had sparked, but while his brothers had gone a little overboard…  He couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed it a little.

Not that he was going to admit that.

“I look good in anything, Grandma.”

[statticscribbles]

Pining

Summary: Sweet Pea/Reader- Sweet Pea wants an actual relationship, his friends see fit to interfere.

You turn back to Toni ignoring the sigh you can hear from Sweet Pea; you hate how much his wistfulness bothers you. When he sighs again you snap, turning to him, but Toni beats you to it. “Would it kill you to be discreet about it?” Toni laughs at Sweet Pea’s shocked face. “About what?” “How much you pine after Jones and Cooper, I get they’re like the perfect couple, but they’re a couple neither of them want anyone else. Drop it; your heartbroken pinning isn’t going to sway them.” She speaks and you laugh with her nodding as Sweet Pea tries to defend himself. “Well if you don’t love at least one of them, why do you sigh every time they do anything couple-y.” Fangs counters and Sweet Pea shrugs. “I want that. What they have, that closeness, what Toni and Cheryl have.” “You want a relationship? What happened to Vivian then?”

“No, I want a soulmate; and Vivian wasn’t into me; just the whole-“ “Scary Serpent vibe right? Was she disappointed when she found out you’re practically a teddy bear.” You smirk and Sweet Pea rolls his eyes. “Shut it Y/N I’m nothing of the sort. I am a serpent, therefore I’m terrifying and a bad boy.” “Mhm, but you’re also the guy who spend half of fifth grade saving the worms on the sidewalk.”

“You asked me to, so I had no choice.” He crosses his arms. “And you spend three days outside Fang’s house when he broke his arm.” Toni laughs. “Also you spent all last summer tutoring me in chemistry.” You add and he waves his hands, thumping them onto the table. “Enough! I have a neck tattoo, I’m a scary Serpent!” You smirk nodding, biting down another peal of laughter before you pitch your voice up and wiggle your fingers at him.

“I’m a scaryyyy serpennntttttt��� you mock and he blanks his face. “When I kill you they won’t find the body.” “Like you could ever kill me.” You smile standing as the bell rings returning to class from lunch.

————————————————————————————–

You watch him more after that noting how the sighing, the longing looks are not directed at Betty, or Jughead, but their clasped hands, the moments they lean on each other. Whenever Jughead runs his hands over hers, or they stay a moment too long in a hug. You stay silent, content to watch him watching; to let him suffer in his own bubble; no sense in dragging an unrequited crush into the mix. No need to make him feel guilty on top of lonely. You soften after he confesses his want for a relationship, you feel no need to be jealous; not of something that has yet to exist. “So then, what do you want in a soulmate?”

“You trying to set me up then?” Sweet Pea narrows his eyes at Fangs and Toni. “Of course; we’re your best friends, we know you inside and out, plus we’re both in relationships; so Y/N doesn’t count cause she’s single.” Fang’s eyes light up and you can see Toni nod a fraction. You sigh nodding to them. “Alright, what am I doing to help then?” Toni smirks. “Cheryl’s going to ask you a few questions. After Sweet Pea answers them.” “Cheryl? You’re getting Cheryl involved?” Sweet Pea glares. “We were going to get Jones and Cooper in on it; but it seems better to not.” “Plus Cheryl doesn’t know you as well as us which could prove to be interesting when selecting potential soulmates.” Fangs smirks as Cheryl nods. “Alright then, let’s start with the basic’s; favourite colour?”

“Do you really think I’m shallow enough not to date someone based on their favourite colour?” Sweet pea scoffs. “It’s green.” “What shade?” Cheryl pulls a pen and notebook out. “Mint Green.” “You know you can’t lie; this won’t work if you don’t tell the truth.” Cheryl looks unimpressed and Sweet Pea groans. “I like pastel’s okay, they’re soothing.” He states as he flips her off. She laughs. “Just a few more then-“ You leave once Toni lets you know they’re not even halfway through with Sweet Pea’s questions and that she’ll call you later when they need your help.

—————————————————————————————– It takes two more days; in between classes for Sweet Pea to finish whatever soulmate questionnaire Cheryl and Toni had created. You laugh when he cheers as Cheryl folds the paper and puts it away. “Now we’ll just go around to everyone who’s single and then set you up on dates on the weekend.” “You’ll what now?” Sweet Pea stares at them and Toni laughs. “Don’t worry we’re funding the Pop’s meals and access into La Bonne Nuit.” Cheryl pats him on the shoulder. “So who’s up first?” “Well it wouldn’t be a blind date unless you didn’t know. Besides we have to actually ask everyone first.” “You’re wasting your time.”

“Really? You complain about being single every other day and it’s not like you have your eyes on anyone, otherwise you would have asked them out already.” Cheryl comments and both you and Fangs gasp. “Oh my god you do like someone!!! You have to tell us! We can set you up.” “It’s not like that; we can’t be together.” “Anything else cliché you wanna say?  No, good, you’ll meet your first date at pop’s eight pm this Friday.”

“So why wouldn’t you tell us who you’re crushing on?” You ask as you and Sweet Pea walk home to Sunnyside. “Well we can’t be together, she’s way outta my league and besides that she’d never want me.” He shrugs and gestures to himself. “Come on Pea you’re a catch to anyone; any of those Northsider’s would be lucky to have you.”

“We’re all Northsider’s now.” He laughs and you nod. “I mean the like ‘original Northsiders.’ You know they fawn over you cause you’re a ‘bad boy’ or whatever.” You roll your eyes; as he nods. “The most badass.” “You’ll scare them all off acting like that.” Cheryl appears and smirks handing him an envelope.

“The time, and location, also what you should wear. I’ve taken the liberty to match your clothes to her favourite colour, so hopefully it’s a positive association.” Sweet Pea opens the envelope scanning it. “I thought you were the only one allowed to wear red.” “I am, the red is just an accent colour.” “If you make me wear a tie to Pop’s..” “Relax Toni said you had a red plaid monstrosity of a shirt.” “You wear plaid..” Sweet pea fires back and Cheryl nods. “Yes, tastefully. Now go get ready.” “You said it was at eight pm!” “There was a change of plans!” She shouts after him as he shoves the letter into your hands.

“So who is it?” Cheryl smirks at your question. “Ginger; you know the Vixen who stares at him anytime he gets sent to find Toni for meetings.” You nod, you know Ginger, she’s nice; still you can’t help the jealousy that bubbles in the back of your throat. You crush it down as Toni and Fangs ask about them. “Ginger, apparently.” You silently cheer when Fangs scowls. “Didn’t he and Ginger break up cause she wanted to sleep with Jones?” Toni questions and you nod.

“Well she tried to sleep with him, when he and Betty had that fight remember?” They both nod and cringe. “Well tonight should be fun then. Cheryl booked us front row seats to watch what’s going to be a disaster.”

——————————————————————————- Sweet Pea glowers at the table as you sit with Toni and Fangs drinking the shake Fangs ordered for you. “Y/N how’s he holding up.”

“He’s been glaring for six whole minutes. I’m pretty sure he’d melting my shake with the heat from his anger. How much you wanna bet he scares Ginger off.” “You’re just saying that cause you want him to scare her off.” “Of course.” You know they know about your crush; even if you’ve never voiced it; Toni still had Cheryl question you. You remind yourself to ask how much you and Sweet Pea hand in common once he finds whoever he wants to be his soulmate.

He waves Ginger over and she smiles at him leaning over the table to give him a half hug. You’re too far away to hear anything, but when Toni casually decides to walk to the bathroom she returns laughs patting your back. “Nothing to worry about Ginger brought up him being higher in the Serpent’s now.” “That’s a lot to worry about;” Fangs slumps slightly and you look confused at him. “It means he’s going to whine to me about it now; I’ll have to listen to him complain over and over. I hate this plan.” You laugh looking up to Sweet Pea continuing to glare at your table. —————————————————————————

It takes five more disastrous dates before Sweet Pea vows to give up if the next one doesn’t work out. “Sweet Pea, no you can’t give up, we still have at least seven more after this and-“ “No, if this one doesn’t work out I’m done. I’ll just try to date on my own. I appreciate the help; I really do, but its obviously not working.” He slumps in his chair and Cheryl and Toni share some sort of coded look. “So what’s the plan this time? Maybe something where he doesn’t whine so much, Fangs complains to me about him complaining about your plans.” You eye Cheryl’s smile wearily.

“This was meant to be our sort of last ditch effort. A surefire match, both of them put down almost identical answers” You arch an eyebrow. “Wow, well why not put them first then?” “Had to give him something to look forward too. We have it set for six pm a Pop’s.” “Okay, so Toni, Fangs and I will be on lookout duty then?” You turn when they stay silent. “Fangs and I will.”

“No, there’s no way I’m going on a pity date.” “Did you miss the part where- “ Fangs hisses but Toni shouts over him “Hey Sweet Pea, just this one date, we swear! Everything is taken care of, all you have to do is show up.” Toni clasps her hands together as he walks back up. “Please Sweet Pea, just this last one.” He sighs shaking his head. “No I’m done.” “I’ll tell the girl you have a crush on you like her.” Fangs threatens. “Wait you know who he has a crush on?” Cheryl turns from Fangs to Sweet Pea.

“Yeah he told me ages ago. I’m not about to rat him out, but you already made reservations and everything so I would be a huge waste to not go.” He guilts Sweet Pea into a frustrated agreement as he walks away smirking. “Wait, Pop’s doesn’t do reservations!” Sweet Pea shouts after him. “No backing out, I already let her know the date’s on.” Toni laughs as Sweet Pea scowls. You keep your phone hidden knowing the text chime is from Toni most likely.

—————————————————————————————- You understand Sweet Pea’s annoyance when he went on the other dates that you and the others were watching; you’re pretty sure Fangs won’t make eye contact with you anymore with the amount you’ve been glaring. “Hey Y/N you hear to spy on me one last time? I’m sure you’ve been loving the free meals though.” He laughs and you nod. “Yeah it’s pretty nice, I’m surprised you don’t just play along more for the free meals.”

“Well having decent company helps, I’m praying this date isn’t as shit as the last ones. I get we’re supposed to have matched like all the questions or whatever but that could just be guessing and luck.” He shrugs and you nod. “It’s a good attempt, plus you were so whiny about finding a soulmate.” He laughs again nodding.

“Yeah but I’d much rather be spending the night with you or Fangs.” “Well Fangs is busy.” You laugh as you both look to see Fangs glaring back. “And you are I’d assume, stuck on babysitting duty to make sure I don’t screw up my last chance at pre-destined love.” He dramatically shakes your shoulders.

“Actually I have a date.” You look confused when his face falls for a second. “Oh, maybe you’d double with me, for moral support?” His laugh sounds almost sad but you brush it off. “Can’t really double date with just the two of us yeah?” You stand nervously as Sweet Pea moves towards Fangs. “You said you wouldn’t rat me out.” He hisses under his breath and Toni smirks. “I didn’t she just matched most of the questions.” He holds his hands up and Sweet Pea nods returning to your side.

“Well, shall we sit then, you can tell me things I already know about you, and I can tell you the same.” He smiles and you follow him to the booth. “Now since Cheryl is paying I vote we order he most expensive shit we can and bring it back to mine to eat for the next few days.”

“I don’ think burgers will keep in your trailer for days Pea. Besides we can just come back.” “We haven’t even finished out first date and you’re already gunning for a second one?” You beam at him as you both pretend not to notice the flush on each other’s faces when your hands brush at the menus.

Support My Writing?

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Inflated Egos” (Rated G)

Summary: When Kurt takes one of his students to compete in their first competition after landing their Axel, Kurt is confronted with the conundrum of choosing good sportsmanship or doing anything you can to win...

And Sebastian and Blaine are of no help whatsoever. (2080 words)

Part 69 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3. 

“I wanna add the Axel!”

"I know you do, Kevin. It's exciting to land your Axel. But we can't add it to your routine last minute."

"Why not!? I know the perfect place for it!"

Kurt sighs, steering his precocious pupil down the corridor that leads to the ice, rehashing this conversation they've had close to a hundred times over the past three hours.

“You can't add the Axel because you're competing at a level that doesn't include Axel."

"But this isn't a technical competition!" Kevin argues, the words tumbling around his mouth as if they don't belong. "I'm skating spotlight artistic! I can have an Axel in my program. They just won't score it!"

"Wow. You have such a firm grasp of the rules and qualifiers for a ten-year-old. Almost as if someone fed them to you... " Kurt shoots his boyfriend a dirty look. Sebastian shrugs, but he doesn't look the least bit guilty.

"It might be considered bad sportsmanship, and that could lower your score,” Blaine adds, inching in on Kurt's side of the argument. He has nothing against Kevin adding the jump. It would add pizzazz to his program. But judging at the ISI level can be ambiguous, to put it nicely. Not like in higher levels where it's required to put real-time scores on a readily available screen throughout the performance for transparency. If a judge doesn't like your music or your costume or your coach or you in general for whatever reason, a skater can lose fractions of a point. 

And those add up.

Most ISI judges coach competitors, and they tend to favor skaters in their own skating clubs. Scratches magically disappear if a coach happens to know the performer, knows that they've done better in the past, and cuts them some slack. 

It happens more often than the casual onlooker may think.

Kevin is a talented up-and-comer who hasn't ruffled anyone's feathers (that Blaine knows of), so he doesn't see how one little Axel could sully his reputation. And Kevin is correct - it's not technically against the rules for his event class. 

It's just frowned upon.

But if Blaine joins the Kevin-Sebastian tag team, that would be three against one, and that wouldn't be fair to Kurt. Kurt is looking out for his skater like any good coach would. Bad scoring won't tank a judge, but bad sportsmanship can kill a skater's career before it starts.

“I know the kids at the rink love this event, but I've never competed in spotlight artistic," Kurt admits. "Only technical. So I don’t really know what to expect.”

"I didn't either," Blaine chimes in. "My coach was adamant that it was a waste of time for serious skaters."

“I did a few," Sebastian says, "when I was part of Elite."

Kurt peeks over at his boyfriend, lips twisted behind his mask in an amused grin. "Why? That doesn't seem like Elite's cup of tea."

"Because coach wanted our names on the board for every event possible - technical, spotlight, shoot-the-duck, spirals... "

"What sort of routines did you do?"

"Nothing too impressive. Not like my technical programs. I was a big Avengers fan, so I stuck with that. I was Thor one year. Had a Mjölnir with lightning coming out of it and everything."

"Oh, please tell me there's a video of this somewhere!" Blaine begs, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. "I would pay good money to see it!" 

"You can't afford it," Sebastian says, blowing him off without a glance. "You had to have a prop for spotlight, but coach always said it was about the skating, like every other event. Or it was." He raises an eyebrow at a tractor prop covered in LED lights, quietly questioning, "What the hell song is that for?" as it drives by. "Something tells me that may have changed a tad.”

“Ya think?” Blaine chuckles, pointing to three skaters dressed in inflatable T-Rex costumes pulling an animatronic Indominus Rex the size of a VW bus behind them.

Kevin gasping diverts their attention to a podium covered in holographic wrap, a giant "diamond" mounted on top spinning slowly, throwing colored beams across the floor, pushed by a young lady dressed as a one-eyed spy. "These props are awesome!" he says, his own small prop clutched in his right fist.

"Maybe next time, we can wrap you up in Christmas lights and glue drones to your shoulders to make you fly," Sebastian suggests. "Eh, Kevin?"

"Can we?" Kevin asks, bouncing on his blockers, excited at the prospect of taking his hand-made Elvis costume to the next level.

"No! Kevin doesn't need any bells or whistles," Kurt declares, unsure what Christmas lights and drones have to do with Elvis. "His routine is about his skating. Props are just gravy. We don't need more. One is enough."

"Yeah. Right. Okay," Sebastian and Kevin grump. Even Blaine looks disappointed. 

So when Kurt hears a chuckle, his ears prick up, and his head turns.

Everyone he sees around them seems focused on their warmups. No one is paying attention to them. But off to his right, he spots a brown-haired woman, her smiling green eyes darting their way, then back to the ice. When she looks back and notices Kurt watching her, she knows she's been caught and waves their way.

"I'm sorry," she says, trundling over. "I didn't mean to overhear, but I was wonderin'... are you fellas new?"

It's not often that Kurt walks into a rink in Ohio and isn't immediately recognized. But unlike Sebastian, he enjoys the anonymity.

"Let's just say I am," Kurt says. "What am I missing?"

"A lot." She laughs again so hard, she snorts. "I'm sorry. Saying it's about the skating is admirable. That's what it should be about. But it's not. Not in this category. It's about the props. The bigger the prop, the better. You have to use every advantage you have if you want your skater to come close to winning a medal."

"Not everybody thinks that way," Kurt argues.

"Oh no? Do you see that boy over there in the gold crown?" She motions with her head past the crowd to where a boy slightly older than Kevin, dressed in pale blue and gold brocade, warms up. "That's Michael. He's skating as Tommen from Game of Thrones. His dragon prop is programmed to roll around the ice on its own. It even breathes fire! And at the end, he's going to jump out a tower window."

"Wow," Sebastian says when he catches sight of said tower. It has to be made of styrofoam. The skaters are responsible for getting their props on and off the ice by themselves. There is no way this kid would be able to push his tower around unless it was constructed out of foam. But it looks like stone. It stands at least six feet tall with a platform roughly three feet up and outfitted with a cushion for Michael to land on, painted to look like a cloud that will blend in with the ice. "Kurt, you're super dramatic and stuff. This sounds right up your alley! How about we sign you up for the next go-'round? You can do an excerpt from Wicked. Or Phantom of the Opera! We just need to find you a cape, a mask, and about seven dozen candles! Whaddya say?"

"I say it depends on which testicle you want to lose," Kurt mutters, hoping the bubbly stage-mom dressed in head-to-toe flair doesn't hear.

"Look, it may not be my place to say," she starts. "You are his coach and all, but... uh... " Her eyelids narrow. "What event is your skater in?"

"Thirty-seven," Kurt says.

She sighs, looks strangely relieved. "Okay. My Maggie's in twenty-three."

Kurt's brow furrows. Then he rolls his eyes, realizing she asked to make sure Kurt's skater wouldn't be competing against her daughter after she imparts this valuable nugget of information.

"If you want some advice, let him add the Axel. His prop is a little... well, it's a little... " She glances down at the object Kevin is strangling in his grip, searching for a polite word to describe it "... puny. He'll need a little oomph. Ooo!" She yelps so suddenly, all four boys jump. "I almost forgot! I have a boom box in my trailer from Maggie's last spotlight! It's got a detachable disco ball and flashing strobe lights! It would go great with his costume!"

"Is it big?" Sebastian asks, infuriating Kurt by getting caught up in this woman's prop propaganda. 

"It's the size of an Irish Wolfhound!" 

"And they're big," Blaine concurs, sharing a nod with Kevin, then Sebastian.

"Oh, I couldn't put you out..." Kurt tries, but she shakes her head, refusing to let him turn down her offer.

"Nonsense! I'm parked right outside the loading doors! It'll take five minutes to get!"

"It couldn't hurt," Blaine says, having the good sense to move away after.

Kurt can't reach him, but he fixes him with a glare that could melt glass.

"You can't honestly believe the skating doesn't matter?" he says, not directed at any one person.

"Of course, I believe the skating matters," Maggie's mom says. "But in this event, you have to have some sort of edge. Especially when you're up against stuff like that." She points past them, her eyes traveling up, way up, and Kurt's heart sinks into his stomach before he even turns around.

”Jesus Christmas,” Sebastian moans, staring at the monstrosity traveling their way - the biggest, gaudiest, parade-style float he has ever seen indoors, decorated to look like a six-year-old girl's dream: the base wrapped in tons of fluffy pink tuille intertwined with hundreds of white twinkle lights, crystal baubles and gold balls hanging from fishing line so they look like they're suspended in air, no less than three machines spewing bubbles straight up, a hidden fog machine obscuring the view slightly with pink mist, and in the center, a whole family of inflatable rainbow unicorns on an elevated platform, each one rotating independently, all surrounding a cocoon of pink satin pillows where a skater sits, carried onto the ice by this cotton candy throne. “I’m not even skating, and I’m suffering from some serious prop envy.”

Kurt stares at the thing as it passes by, its smug passenger waving at them like they're peasants waiting for crumbs of stale bread, until the image is burned into his retinas. He looks at Kevin and his pathetic prop - a lime-green inflatable guitar his mother bought for five dollars at the last county fair. There's something wrong with it. It keeps deflating at the neck. Kurt brought a hand pump with him, one he uses to put air in his yoga ball. One of Kurt's jobs as Kevin's coach is to fortify the thing before Kevin takes to the ice. He tosses it about three seconds in to his routine anyway. 

Because it's not the star of the show. 

Kevin is.

Kevin could probably skate circles around half these kids, but if what Maggie's mom says is true, he doesn't have a chance simply because they didn't think to look for anything larger for him to hold than this defective pool toy. Kurt finds it horrible that Kevin has lost before he even begins because his prop is less in-your-face than everyone else’s.

Excuse him for thinking that a skating competition would be judged on skating!

Kurt isn't necessarily proud of his next few decisions since they play into the "anything to win" mentality. But later, Sebastian will convince him he wasn't elevating Kevin so he could win. It was leveling the playing field so he had a chance.

And Kurt can live with that.

"Sebastian? Blaine?"

"Yeah, babe?"

Blaine debates calling Kurt babe, too, if for no other reason than to rankle Sebastian, but now might not be the best time. "Yeah?"

"Could you please escort this kind woman to her trailer and retrieve the enormous boom box she has graciously offered to lend us?"

"On it," Blaine replies.

"Yessir." Sebastian gives Kurt a playful salute, then hurries away, led by the now effervescent woman who couldn't be more thrilled than if they were outfitting her daughter. 

“And Kevin?”

“Yeah, coach?”

Kurt puts his hands on Kevin's shoulders and gives him a reassuring squeeze as they watch that grotesque, bubble-spitting giant take the ice. “Add the Axel.”

[sammiexwtf]

DIO Sounds About Right

Hi please enjoy my shitty JJBA fic (You can find it on AO3 and Wattpad with the same name) NSFW

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Giorno I am so sorry that you haven’t been on good terms with your father practically since your birth, but I am NOT failing this project just because you want to avoid him,” You huffed. The blonde man on your phone screen shot you an annoyed look, which most likely mirrored the one on your own face.

“I don’t know why you’re so damn adamant on staying at my house to finish this project Y/N. I’ve already stayed over at your place countless of times and as a plus you’re closer to the library, we could just walk over when we need to,” Giorno let out a deep sigh as he leaned against his bed frame. “You know how I get when he’s around and since his business trip was cancelled he’ll be here for the whole weekend.”

“Look Gio, I know you try and avoid him as much as possible and I’m not clueless about your feelings towards him,” you mumbled with a small frown. “It’s just that my roommate is planning on using the apartment for one of her ridiculous parties and we’re not going to have any peace for our work if you come over here. Besides, even if your dad is going to be home all weekend you always tell me he locks himself in his study, so it’s not like we’re going to be graced with his presence anyways.”

“Still it’s just the simple thought of being under the same roof as him that’s bothering me. Plus, I don’t think you’ve even met my dad, so you wouldn’t really understand why I’m so against it.”

“You make it sound like he’s some sort of monster, maybe we should start calling him Count Dracula or something.” Your friend snorted at your stupid joke, trying to hide his smile by turning his face away from the screen.”Either way you won’t be completely alone with him if I’m there, and I know you wouldn’t be able to put up with a bunch of drunk college girls trying to get you into their panties.” At your last remark the blonde made a look of disgust and knew that you basically won the argument. If there was one thing that bothered Giorno the most, it was those self proclaimed ‘fans’ of his that were scattered throughout the university that you both attended, your roommate being one of them. Trying to avoid their affections while they were drunk would cause him even more displeasure than usual.

“Fine then. I’ll text you the address.” You couldn’t hide your excitement as you jumped out of bed to start packing your bag. This would be the first time going over to Giorno’s house since you’ve met him, and you weren’t going to waste any time if he decided to change his mind last minute.

“Alright I’ll see you soon then. Bye Giogio!”

“I told you not to call me that!” You playfully stuck your tongue out at the blonde before ending the FaceTime call to finish packing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at the enormous house before you, flicking your head back and forth between the address Giorno had sent to you and the one plated in gold above the large double set doors. You even asked the boy more than once if he sent you the wrong address by mistake, earning you a barrage of middle finger emojis and obscenities at having to repeat himself over and over. Gingerly you lifted your hand to the doorbell and rang it, hearing the chime as clear as day echo inside. Your eyes shifted above the doorbell and noticed a plaque with the name ‘Brando’ etched across it. The sound of one of the doors opening gained your attention once more as a gorgeous young woman stepped out from them. She was wearing what looked to be a tight fitting maid’s uniform, with long brown hair swept to the side and cascading down one of her shoulders.

“Welcome to the Brando residence,” She said with a polite smile. “How can I help you Miss?”

‘Brando residence?” You thought to yourself. ‘I thought Giorno’s last name was Giovanna?’

“Uh hi...I’m looking for Giorno? I’m not sure if I’m at the right address.” The young woman perked up at Giorno’s name and stepped aside, holding the door open with a warm smile.

“You must be Y/N! Please come inside, Mr.Giovanna is indeed expecting you tonight!” At the confirmation you let out a breath of relief before stepping through the threshold, only to stop at the sight of the marble staircase before you. The house was far from being considered a mansion, but nonetheless did it look like something straight off of one of those celebrity reality shows. You jumped at the sound of the large door closing behind you, forgetting momentarily about the girl as she quickly made her way towards you. “Just give me one moment to go get Mr.Giovanna for you, he was insistent about showing you the house on his own.” All you could do was nod your head as words seem to fail as she hastily made her way up the stairs. You didn’t have time to look around though as Giorno came around from the top of the stairs and smiled down at you.

“This would be the part where I’d say welcome to my humble abode, but there is absolutely nothing humble about this monstrosity, my father made sure of that,” He sneered. He motioned with his hand for you to come up and you quickly began to ascend the stairs. Once you were at the top it didn’t seem as scary as before, but the rest of the home was just as beautiful. You honestly weren’t paying attention to where you were going, you were trying to take in everything at once from the amazing artwork that lined the walls, to ornate furniture, and even taking a moment to look at how pristine the hardwood floors were that you could practically see your face through it. Ok, maybe they weren’t that clean but still.

Before you knew it, you were in Gio’s bedroom as he made his way to his bed and opened his laptop. His bedroom was a simple creme color, a coffee brown bookcase filled with novels and trophies was lined next to a window that reached from the floor to the ceiling. Directly across from his bed was a flatscreen T.V sitting on top of a matching brown dresser. His walls were covered in paintings that looked as if they belonged in an art museum and a map of the world hung above his headboard. You stared down at his bed then, afraid to sit down as you didn’t want to wrinkle the deep purple duvet atop it. It took Gio a moment to realize that you were still standing by the doorway, his eyes following yours as they danced across his room as well before stopping right back at you.

“What?”

“Why am I just finding out now, after 2 years of friendship might I add, that you’re fucking loaded? I mean I knew you came from a family with SOME money but holy shit dude!” You stared into his green eyes, looking for an answer. Only to be met with a smile.

“Well technically I’m not rich. My father is. Hence there was nothing to find out.” You gave the blonde a dirty look, earning a chuckle from him before deciding that the bed was no longer intimidating and sat down on it.

“You know what I meant. I know you said your dad had a busy job, but what does he do to be able to own a house like this? Is he part of the mafia?” This time your question earned you a hearty laugh from your friend and you felt your ears get hot, not liking to be laughed at when you were being serious. You threw your duffle bag at Giorno, only for him to catch it with ease before placing it next to him on the bed. “I’m not trying to be funny Gio! Answer me!”

“First and foremost, you should know the mafia is MY forte, and I probably would respect the man if he actually was a member. It would make getting in a bit more easier.” You snorted at his answer. If you had a dollar for every time the boy mentioned dropping out of school to join the mafia you’d probably be as rich as his father by now. “However, every now and then he gets one as a client, if they’re willing to pay good that is. He’s a lawyer.” You looked around once more and out the open door as the maid walked by carrying a basket full of laundry. If this is what a lawyer could afford, maybe you were studying the wrong major.

“I have one more question.” Gio simply nodded his head for you to continue as he began typing on his laptop, pulling up the notes for the project you were assigned. “Why did that maid say this was the Brando residence? There was a plaque outside too with that name. I thought your last name was Giovanna?”

“It is Giovanna,” he answered without looking up from the computer screen. “That was my mother’s maiden name. My father’s last name is Brando. They were never married.” His curt reply told you that there was definitely more behind the story, but you decided not to press the issue for now and kept any more questions to yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roughly three or four hours had passed since you and Giorno had begun working on your project, satisfied with the work so far you both decided to take a break. The due date wasn’t until a week from now, but this project was for your marine biology class and the professor was known for being a hardass when it came to grading so the sooner you could work on it, the more time you could use to perfect it before it reached him. You tossed your pen onto the bed, cracking your fingers and stretching your arms. Giorno had brought out his espresso machine an hour into the session and was now brewing himself another cup. You honestly never heard of anyone who kept a spare coffee machine in their bedroom, but Giorno mentioned that while he lived in Italy, it apparently was a normal thing. You called bullshit but decided not to break your head over it anymore.

“You sure you don’t want another cup of coffee Y/N?” You covered your mouth to stifle a yawn, wagging your finger at him.

“No thank you, if I drink too much caffeine I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Besides,” You added while hopping off of his bed. “Another cup of anything and I think my bladder will explode. Where’s the closest bathroom in this maze?”

“Down the hallway on the other end of the staircase, turn right.”

“Grazie!” He simply shot you a thumbs up as you made your way out with his, albeit vague, directions. Soon you went down the hallway and passed the stairs. “Alright he said turn right and we should be in business…” As soon as you turned the corner you stopped to see three doors, one on the right side closest to you and two on the left. All three were closed and Giorno hadn’t mentioned there’d be more than one door. “Well...only one way to find out.” Without another thought you naturally went to the single door on the right and opened it without hesitation. Not the brightest idea.

You halted in place, mouth going dry. The door you opened led not to the bathroom but to an older looking study. The three walls in front of you were lined ceiling to floor with bookcases, a small globe in the corner. In the center of it was a large mahogany desk, covered in scattered papers. What made you really stop however was the tall and muscular blond man casually leaning against the desk...with the maid on her knees facing him. The moment you had opened the door he had slowly looked up from the woman to you, not even startled by your intrusion. At first the only sounds you could hear was your own rapid heartbeat echoing in your ears, but now you were focusing on the sounds coming from the maid and noticing how her head was bobbing. A blush began to creep up your neck to your face as it looked like he made no intentions of stopping her either.

“Is there something I can help you with? I’m a bit busy if you couldn’t tell.” His deep voice had wrapped around your mind, slowly dragging you out of your thoughts. It sounded so calm, despite the current situation. You had to basically tear your eyes from the scene in front of you, your face burning more.

“I-I’m so sorry! I was just looking for-” You began to stutter, but he raised a hand stop you mid sentence.

“It’s the door across.” You quickly bowed and practically slammed the door shut, missing the sinful look on the man's face as he watched your retreating form.

You bolted into the room across, thankful this time for it actually being the bathroom as you locked the door letting out a shaky breath. You had no doubt in your mind that you had just met Giorno’s father, and unceremoniously at that.

“What a great first impression,” You thought aloud. You made your way to the sink to run some cool water on your face in hopes of getting your flustered look back to normal. After you were done and completed your original business you just stood at the closed door, you were a bit nervous to step foot outside the bathroom if god forbid HE was to come out at the same time. Unfortunately, god decided to dislike you at this moment as you heard a small knock on the restroom door. “Just a second,” You shakily called out. Deeply hoping it was Giorno wondering what was taking you so long. When you finally had the gall to open the door you were instead met with the sight of the young maid, her hair this time was a bit disheveled and a small pink tint was hinting at her cheeks.

“Hello again Ms. Y/N,” She squeaked out. This time she would not meet your eyes, looking towards the ground instead. “Mr. Brando would like for you to join him in his study for a moment. I will be taking my leave for the evening, please enjoy the rest of your stay.” She bowed and sped away and out of sight, not giving you a chance to apologize about walking in on them. You swept your eyes over the closed door to the study across from you, feeling a cold sweat begin to form on your brow. You inhaled deeply before settling your nerves and walking over. This time you knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

“Come in.” With another deep breath you slowly edged the door open, once again being welcomed by the dimly lit study. This time the man, whom you now knew was in fact Giorno’s father, sat behind his desk patiently, fingertips pressed together right above his wide chest. “I’m glad you learned how to knock this time,” He teased with a grin.

“Trust and believe I learned my lesson, again I want to properly apologize about intruding on...something so private.” You could hear your voice falter under his intense gaze, and he let out a deep chuckle. The sound was so alluring, and you felt your throat beginning to dry.

“That’s quite alright. I wanted us to start over on that first impression. Given the maid explained to me you’re a friend of my son, I didn’t think it appropriate for your first meeting of me to be in the middle of having my cock sucked,” He stated as if he were just talking about a small inconvenience. Your eyes widened at his crudeness and you couldn’t help but blush and look away, positive that you were as red as a cherry now.

“Well then...I appreciate the second chance then Mr. Brando.”

“Dio.”

“I beg your pardon?” You turned your face back to him, now he had his arms resting beside him on the chair. There was an almost playful look in his eyes.

“You can call me Dio. Mr. Brando is far too old for my taste.”

‘Of course his name would be something like Dio...how well it suits him too,’ You thought to yourself.

“Alright then...Dio. I’m Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You bowed to formally greet the man, and when you looked back up he was beckoning you with his finger to come forward. You thought about just staying put but in the end began walking towards him. As you got closer, you were able to notice his features more clearly. His vibrant blond hair sat at neck length, small fringes of bangs reaching right about his thick brows. His eyes almost looked cat like, predatory even yet strikingly alluring. You assumed they were a light brown color but with the dim lighting they almost looked red, adding a supernatural aura to him. He was gorgeous, and now you knew where Giorno got his looks from. Once you reached the edge of his desk, he held out his hand for you, almost as if he were asking for a handshake. You reached out your own to reach his, taking notice at how incredibly large his hand was to yours. However he gently wrapped his fingers around your hand and leaned over, placing a warm kiss on your knuckles. The small action immediately sent a wave of heat through your entire body. He looked up at you through hooded eyes, not moving your hand away from his face. Your blush had never left, and the heat began to grow unbearable as you watched his eyes slowly sweep down your face, stopping for a moment at your lips before coming back up to lock once more with your own.

“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Y/N.” His voice dropped to a seductive whisper, the breath from his words ghosting over your knuckles and sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly he slipped his hand from yours, lingering on your fingertips for the briefest of moments before resting it on his thigh. You followed his movements with your eyes, noticing how thick and muscular his thighs were, straining against the fabric of his beige dress pants. Your eyes crept up, landing on the small amount of skin peeking out from his shirt he hadn’t bothered to tuck back in. The white button down seemed to be a second skin, as it clung to every contour and muscle on his body, the first two buttons undone to give you a glimpse of just what lies underneath. Finally, your journey stopped on his lips; deliciously pouty and upturned into one of the most devilish smirks you’d ever seen. “See something you like?” You dragged your eyes up completely to meet his, only to be greeted with an intense gaze that burned through your entire body. He had watched you ogle him shamelessly like a horny school girl, and couldn’t look more proud about it. At that moment the door to the study swung open, snapping you out of your trance.

“I was worried you got lost, looks more like you got trapped.” Giorno’s familiar voice was laced with venom, his face contorted to one of disgust. He stayed at the entrance of the study, holding the door open to allow the light from the hallway to seep through. He was focused solely on Dio, who sat relaxed in his chair unbothered by the angry blonde boy.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise my son.” He emphasized the last two words, earning an eye twitch from the younger. “ I was just introducing myself to your exquisite friend here. I’m quite hurt that you hadn’t introduced me to her sooner.” Giorno simply scoffed at his father’s words.

“Well now that you’ve met, I’d like to have her returned to me now. We have a project to finish.” Giorno then turned his eyes to you, his gaze softening immensely. “Come on Y/N, I ordered us some takeout and it should be here soon so we can get back to work.”

“O-oh. Uh thanks Gio,” You mumbled. Your mind was still in a bit of a haze, but you were beginning to get your bearings. You turned to look at Dio and bowed once more. “It was nice meeting you Mr...I mean Dio. Please have a great rest of your evening.” With that you turned and began high tailing towards the door. Giorno moved back into the hallway as you approached, but before you could close the door that seductive voice reached out to you once more.

“Y/N,” he purred out. Slowly you turned towards him, hand still in the door knob. “If you need anything at all tonight, please do not hesitate to come look for me. You are our guest here and it would be my...” his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, “greatest pleasure to assist you.” You couldn’t help but swallow at the second meaning behind his words. Afraid to hear your own voice you simply nodded your head before softly closing the door behind you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giorno had interrogated you for a bit on your meeting with Dio, and you lied and told him you simply got curious after finding the bathroom and stumbled upon the study. You could tell he knew you were leaving something out but you would be damned if you actually told him the real way you found his father. After making sure you were ok enough for him and confirming that the man never touched you he dropped the subject and you both went on with the project while enjoying the food he had ordered. At around 1 AM you both agreed on turning in for the night and to continue in the morning. Giorno showed you to the guest room right next to his and bid you goodnight, finally leaving you alone with your thoughts. You laid on top of the bed just staring at the ceiling for a while. No matter how hard you tried, you kept replaying the meeting with Dio over and over again to the point that the memory of the maid slowly morphed and it was now you on your knees in front of him instead of her.

“Get out of my head!” You angrily whispered, not wanting for your friend to hear you through the walls. You glanced at your phone to see the time, ‘1:30 AM’ mocked the bright numbers. You got up from the bed and dug through your duffle bag and pulled out your pajamas. You thought about just changing and forcing yourself to sleep but you felt too warm and wanted a shower. Immediately you thought about going to the one down the hall but your stomach dropped, you did NOT want to run into you know who. “This house is huge, there’s definitely another bathroom somewhere.” You slowly made your way out of the room and into the quiet hallway. You checked the other rooms near yours only to find another guest room and a movie room, which you knew you were going to beg Giorno to set up a movie night after all of this. You walked down the hall and stopped at the stairs, looking at the hallway across from you where you knew the bathroom was.

“Maybe he’s not there anymore and went to bed?” You said to yourself. You shook your head and continued on your mission of finding another bathroom and descended down the stairs, you weren’t going to take any chances. Finally after finding the kitchen, two more guest rooms and a billiards room, you found a second bathroom. It was smaller and less ornate than the one up stairs but it was still a decent size and had a stand up shower. You mentally cheered before placing down your items and quickly began stripping. Soon you were in the shower letting the cool water bounce across your skin, feeling the tension in your body slowly melt away. Occasionally your mind would wander onto the relationship Giorno had with his father, yes the man was indeed intimidating and there was something below the surface of that beautiful face that felt a bit dangerous, but there was nothing else that struck out to you as to why your friend couldn’t stand him. He’s told you about how egotistical the man is and how they always lived on edge of a fight, but never actually gave you hard proof or reasons for the intense dislike. Giorno had told you about his mother and how a complete bitch she was while he was growing up and everything she had put him through so you understood his feelings towards her completely. Eventually she dumped him off onto Dio one day and just disappeared from his life, ‘good riddance’ he had told you. Yet the mechanics of his relationship with his father was still kept a mystery to you and he would close up about it if you started asking too many questions. The only answer you’ve gotten so far was that they shared a difference in morals, and that was it.

After a good while you finished your shower and started to dry off. You felt as if a thousand weights were lifted from your shoulders and quickly put the events of the evening to the back of your mind, finally feeling sleepy. You began to get dressed but noticed something odd. You could have sworn you brought a clean pair of underwear to change into along with your pajamas. You looked around the bathroom floor to see if maybe it had fallen but found nothing.

“Maybe I left them in the bag by accident?” You shrugged your shoulders and just decided to just slip on your night shorts without underwear , you’d put some on when you got back to your room. You opted for a simple tank top as well to complete the look, your body was still a bit wet so the shirt became damp making the material a bit see through. You didn’t really care much, not like you were going to run into anybody like this..

You made your way out of the bathroom, the air inside the house suddenly felt a lot more colder and you began to shiver. Scurrying your way through the first floor you finally made it back to the stairs and started to climb them. You hadn’t noticed the extra pair of footsteps walking the hall until you were half way up, stopping completely in your tracks and if you hadn’t met him tonight the sight before you would’ve been a terrifying one. Dio stood at the top of the stairs, his back facing the little bit of light from the hall so all you could really see was the outline of his body, his face was completely hidden in the shadows. It felt like you were looking at a ghost and not a man.

“What a coincidence, I was just on my way down to look for you, Ms. Y/N..” His voice was as smooth as ever, but you noticed there was something else there that you couldn’t quite pick up on. “What on earth are you doing up at this hour?” You were feeling a bit uneasy with how calm he sounded, and the fact that you couldn’t see his face was making it worse.

“I was just taking a bath..” You answered meekly, your throat feeling tight.

“And why would you go through the trouble of going all the way down there? You already know there’s one upstairs.”

‘ Because I didn’t want to run into like I just did now.’ You thought to yourself. You swallowed hard before answering.

“I-I didn’t want to disturb you in case you were asleep.”

“Aren’t you the thoughtful one.” He let out a chuckle. “No matter, I actually was looking for you to see if you forgot something.”

“Not that I know of..why?” You wanted for this conversation to be over already, the tension that you had just showered away crawling right back to you. Dio let out another chuckle, this one sounded a bit huskier. He didn’t say anything but lifted his hand out to the side, and your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. In his hand were your missing panties, where as he was still in the shadows they were illuminated VERY clearly in the light. You felt your embarrassment multiply as he laughed at your reaction.

“I found them on the floor up here by the stairs and figured they were yours, unless Giorno has changed his sense of fashion recently which I doubt considering he’s never liked polka dots to begin with. Then again I’m not one to judge.” You could hear the teasing tone in his voice and you couldn’t help but laugh nervously at his joke.

“This is just outright embarrassing, but thank you for trying to return them to me.” You kept mentally cursing to yourself about this whole situation, and how this happened in the first place; you should’ve just let Giorno come to your apartment to study like he wanted from the beginning. You began climbing the stairs to retrieve your underwear from the blond, but as soon as you reached the last step he took one step back just out of your reach. You furrowed your brows and stepped forward again, and once more he took another step back. “Um...what are you doing?”

“Playing your game, Ms. Y/N.” You rose a brow in confusion, you were honestly getting annoyed now.

“What game?” He let out a ‘hmph’ before turning around and walking down the hall, still dangling your underwear over his shoulder for you to see. “Hey!” You shouted and followed after him as he disappeared around the corner, once you reached it you stopped to see the door to his study was wide open. You made your way over and stood in front of the open door, on top of his desk were your panties, but Dio was nowhere in sight.

‘ I would have to be a complete idiot not to realize this is a trap.’ You stayed in place, just staring at the underwear that was mocking you. He had to be somewhere in there, but the dim lighting made it hard to see into the small shadows in the corner of the room, and the light from the hallway wasn’t helping much either. You contemplated just leaving them there, it wasn’t like you had no more underwear at home, but deep down you wanted to see what would happen and the moment that thought crossed your mind you felt a warm sensation through your body. Your fantasy was getting the better of you and before you realized it you were walking towards the desk. You reached the desk and still no sign of the man, so you reached out to grab your underwear without hesitating.

*Click*

The light from the hallway completely disappeared as the door was closed, you didn’t turn around but you could feel someone staring at you from behind. His footsteps echoed in the room, surprised that you could even hear them over the sound of your own heartbeat blaring in your ears. He stopped right behind you, his chest practically pressed against your back. A large hand reached out from behind you and took hold of the clothes that you were still clutching in your hands before tossing them to the side. Once more the hand came into your line of vision and tenderly cupped your face and turned it to the side to meet Dio’s hot gaze. His hand was cold in comparison to your hot face as he slowly traced circles on your bottom lip with his thumb. He bent his head down to your ear, pressing you against his body in the process and feeling his hardness rub against your ass. You let out a gasp, earning you a chuckle from the large man, his warm breath tickling your ear.

“I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you, that you’d be a special treat.” His voice felt like velvet as he whispered into your ear, the sound along with his breath was beginning to make your body betray you as each word he whispered sent a throbbing heat to your core. He kissed the spot right behind your ear, slowly ghosting his lips across your jaw, then your cheek before hungrily taking your own lips with his. His lips were softer than they looked as they caressed your own, earning a moan from you. Dio took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. You should’ve pushed him away, bit his tongue, elbowed him to make a run for it or something instead of just giving in. His other hand had wrapped around your waist, but was now moving up and under your tank top grabbing a hold of your right breast and massaging it. Dio finally pulled away from the kiss and aside from the lustful look on his face he seemed unaffected, unlike you who was a panting red faced mess.

“We shouldn-'' Was all you were able to breath out before he pinched your nipple hard eliciting another moan from you as he began rubbing the sensitive bud between his fingers.

“Your voice sounds so sweet when you moan for me Y/N, I want more of it.” His other hand left your face as it travelled to the waistband of your shorts before slipping through easily, running a long thick finger across your slit. Your hips on their own accord bucked at the sensation, making Dio laugh darkly. “My, my, all I did was kiss you and you’re already so wet. You’re a very filthy girl aren’t you Y/N?” You turned your face away from him and bit your lip to hold back another moan as he slipped his finger inside you and began pumping it slowly. Your knees began to buckle from underneath you, so Dio pushed you both forward effectively pinning your legs between him and the desk to stop you from falling.

“I can’t do this,” You whined to him. “Your Giorno’s father..” You squeezed your eyes shut in pain as he added two more fingers and began pumping at an obscene pace, not allowing you to stretch around them first.

“I’m well aware of who I am to that boy.” He answered gruffly.The hand that was on your breast moved and was cupping your face a bit more rough than before, his fingers now hitting your sweet spot causing your breath to stop in your throat. “I’m also aware about his feelings for you and how blissfully ignorant you are to them. Which makes this so much more sweeter for me.” He kissed you again, this time more feverishly. As he pulled away again he withdrew his fingers from your heat at the same moment, leaving you feeling empty. That feeling was short lived however as he pushed you down onto the desk, your chest was completely pressed against it making your ass push out towards him. Dio pulled your shorts down to your ankles, the cold air rushing to your wet core making you shiver. You could hear him unzipping his pants and the ruffling of clothing, before you felt the tip of his dick tease against your entrance. Slowly he inched it into you, stretching out your hole. It had not hurt as much as you thought it would but there was a dull pain nonetheless from how big he was. You’ve had partners before so you were by no means a virgin, but you’d be damned if you had anybody with his size.

“Such a nice and tight cunt you have my dear Y/N. I can’t wait to ruin it.” Without wasting another moment he gripped your hips with both hands as he began to fuck you roughly, the lewd sound of his skin slapping against yours were drowned out by your loud moans. His chest was pressed firmly against your back, his head right next to your ear and you could hear every groan and grunt that escaped his lips. “I wish you could see the look on your face right now,” He panted into your ear, not once stopping his relentless pace. “Such a dirty look for a dirty girl.” You had no response, the only thing falling from your mouth being your own incoherent screams and moans. Soon you felt a hot pressure beginning to build, each thrust bringing you closer to your edge.

“Dio please!” You couldn’t recognize your voice, it sounded so hoarse and needy. He took notice and snaked a hand down between your legs, pressing a finger onto your clit but not moving it.

“Please what, my dear Y/N?” He began to slow his pace, getting you on the verge of tears as you felt the pressure begin to fade. “I want to hear you beg for it.” You tried to bring your hips to meet his but he only pulled farther away. Finally you gave in.

“Make me cum from your cock Dio, please!” Satisfied he picked up his pace, slamming into you as he began rubbing your clit in tight circles. The pressure began building up again causing your vision to go in and out.

“I want you to scream my name when you cum. Be a good little girl for me.” His voice is what sent you over the edge as his name ripped from your throat as you orgasmed. As you came your core squeezed around him, bringing him close to his. He pulled out with a final groan as he emptied his load onto your ass. As your high began to die down, you felt the pain on your thighs from being pounded into the desk. You were going to have bruises tomorrow for sure. Slowly Dio lifted himself from on top of you, lifting you off of the desk as well. “I apologize, but it seems I may have made a bit of a mess on you.” His breathing was back to normal, but when you turned around you looked down and nearly choked. He was still as hard as a rock. “Why don’t I join you for a another shower, Ms. Y/N?” The devilish look on his face was enough to tell you that your little romp was far from over.

[narukoibito]

worthy of love anyway

A gift for @hillnerd / @hillyminne for all the amazing Harry Potter quarantine activities and for being just a kind, wonderful person!

Summary: The image of his own reflection caused a burst of desperate desire in his heart. The shiny badges and trophies. Proof that he was as cool as Bill, as brave as Charlie, as funny as the twins, as smart as Percy, as beloved as Ginny. He fell asleep fitfully as resentment burned in his gut as he remembered Harry’s flippant dismissal. What’s interesting about that?

Ron Weasley, the sixth son, in six scenes.

FF.net | AO3

Note: Lyrics from "Three" by Sleeping at Last. It screamed "Ron" to me from the very first listen. This is my first Ron-centric story. I hope it does him justice.

*

i. Maybe I've done enough, / And your golden child grew up. / Maybe this trophy isn't real love, / And with or without it I'm good enough.

"Look at me!" Ron said, his voice filled with awe. He only saw himself in the mirror — but instead of his skinny, gangly self, his reflection was taller, fitter than Charlie, and handsomer than Bill! There was an air of confidence to his reflection, whose Head Boy badge and Quidditch Captain badge glinted cheerfully, almost as brilliantly as the House and Quidditch Cups he carried with ease. Older, cooler, happier Ron gave him a wink.

"Can you see your family standing around you?" Harry answered with excitement.

"No — I'm alone — but I'm different —" Ron explained what he saw, glee bubbling up inside him. He desperately drank in the sight of himself, of everything he had ever wanted. But he tore his eyes away from the mirror to look at Harry, wanting to gauge his reaction. "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it? All my family are dead." The hurt and pain that shined in Harry's eyes made Ron falter. "Let me have another look —"

"You had it to yourself all last night," he protested. "Give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that?"

Only? Pressure built up in Ron's chest.

"I want to see my parents."

"Don't push me —" Ron was surprised by Harry's hard shove, but was even more taken aback by his burning look.

The noise in the hall immediately disrupted the conversation. Ron quickly dragged away Harry, who seemed reluctant to leave. Even after they returned to Gryffindor tower, Harry seemed angry, which confused Ron and fueled his frustration. He burrowed deeper into his bed and drew his blankets closer, holding tight to the image of what he hoped would be his future.

The image of his own reflection caused a burst of desperate desire in his heart. The shiny badges and trophies. Proof that he was as cool as Bill, as brave as Charlie, as funny as the twins, as smart as Percy, as beloved as Ginny. He fell asleep fitfully as resentment burned in his gut as he remembered Harry's flippant dismissal.

What's interesting about that?

But when the morning light crept in and woke Ron from his deep slumber, the resentment had faded away, leaving only a resounding hunger. After a hearty breakfast, he was ready to enjoy the rest of his holiday with Harry.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed distant and detached. For the second day in a row, he pushed his food around on his plate as he stared unseeing at the eggs, the burning hunger in his eyes not matching his appetite.

"You're not eating anything," Ron said, but Harry shook his head at Ron's attempt to add food to his plate. He couldn't help but glance at the empty spot beside him, wondering what Hermione would have said to get Harry to eat.

Back in the common room, Ron tried to coax Harry out of his mood, offering to play chess or Exploding Snap. But Harry simply stared listlessly at the fire, his knees drawn toward him, looking cold and alone. Ron thought back to why he was here rather than back at the Burrow. He thought of the curt, unfeeling letter from Harry's relatives. He thought of the mixture of shock and painful hope on Harry's face at the embarrassing jumper his mum sent.

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry — that mirror. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it — "

Harry shook his head, reckless determination radiating from his body. 

Ron fiddled his new jumper, poking a finger through the yarn to make a small hole. Maybe Ron couldn't be what the mirror showed him to be. Maybe Ron couldn't replace the things that Harry saw. But at least he could try to be there for Harry.

ii. Maybe I've done enough, / Finally catching up. / For the first time I see an image of my brokenness, / Utterly worthy of love.

This was going to be the worst Christmas ever. He pressed his face further into his pillow, trying to will away the holiday. Bill and Fleur had been trying to engage him in some pre-Christmas cheer, but all Ron could think about was what today was like for Harry and Hermione. Were they shivering by a small fire and a tin of beans, looking ragged and worn? Or were they looking far better than when he left, determined, happier, complete without him?

He flopped over in the bed onto his side and wrapped his arm around himself.

It was still early if he was right about the amount of light parting the darkness through the window, and no one else in the cottage was stirring. He considered trying to sleep but knew it was useless. When he closed his eyes, it was like he could see her, running towards him, large tears streaming down her pale face, her hands reaching up to hold onto him. Him wrenching his arm away, wanting nothing more than to see the hurt and rejection shine in her eyes — for her to feel just a modicum of the pain he had felt those weeks — years, watching her put Harry first. Just like everyone else.

Ron! Hermione had cried, begging him to stay.

He felt sick to his stomach now, remembering the fury, the wicked satisfaction of being able to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her, but he always seemed to. He had left, abandoning her and Harry and everything he had stood for in one fell swoop. The moment he had flung off the locket and Disapparated, all of those awful feelings had lifted, and in their stead, horror, dread, and guilt took hold.

Immediately, he tried to go back. The campsite was deserted, and he had felt ridiculously left behind.

Maybe they're better off without you, he thought morosely. Hermione would cry, and Harry would be there for her. They would comfort each other over what a prat he was, the weakest link, unable to handle the hunger, the hopelessness, the Horcrux.

Ron curled his hand into a fist. He had to go back, he had to make amends, he had to do what he had set out to do, perhaps had always prepared to do, the moment he pushed open that compartment door on the Hogwarts Express where the boy with untidy hair sat alone in second-hand clothes like him.

He closed his eyes.

He missed her.

"...Ron?"

He started at the sound of her voice, scared it had been his imagination, but he knew it was her. Hermione. Her voice was coming from the direction of…his pocket? Then he heard her again.

"…broke his wand…"

Ron fumbled out of bed, pulling out the Deluminator, which he carried everywhere. It looked exactly the same, but he heard her. He was sure of it. Hope bloomed in his chest for the first time since he left. He clicked the Deluminator, and the light went out from his room, only for a ball of bluish light to appear outside the window. It pulsed, beckoning him.

This was it.

He changed as quickly as he could, shoving his maroon pajamas and other things into his rucksack. Anticipation buzzed under his skin as he hurried out to the garden where he knew the little ball of light would be waiting for him. The light snow flurried around him as the hovering ball led him behind the shed. When they were hidden from view, it floated toward him and went straight to his chest, into his heart. It pulsed, achingly hot inside him, flooding him with memories of Hermione fussing over his homework, dancing with him at the wedding, lying Petrified on the hospital bed, brushing her lips against his cheek before tryouts, holding his hand at Grimmauld Place.

And Ron just knew what he was supposed to do; he knew the ball would take him where he needed to go.

He disappeared with a loud crack.

iii. Maybe I've done enough / And I finally see myself / Through the eyes of no one else. / It's so exhausting on this silver screen / Where I play the role of anyone but me.

His forehead stung from where the stupid badge hit him, but he barely noticed over the swell of emotion in his chest. Harry swept past him, up the stairs.

Ron stood motionless until there was no other sound in the empty common room aside from the occasional crack or hiss from the fire before he leaned over and picked up the lime green monstrosity. His fingers curled over the blaring words, POTTER REALLY STINKS.

He was feeling more and more like he had made a mistake. But why didn't Harry get it? If he had put his name in the Goblet, why hadn't he done it with him? The Goblet probably would have chosen Harry over him anyway — everyone always did. But they would have done it together. It would have given Ron just a sliver of hope, to have had just the chance of some of the endless glory of his best friend.

You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky… That's what you want, isn't it?

He sunk into the couch, staring at the fire. Unbidden, he remembered watching Harry all those years ago, when he had found the Mirror of Erised.

The guilt that had been lurking settled at the pit of his stomach, which had felt hollow for days. Hadn't he promised himself that he would be there for Harry? Didn't Ron know best of all everything that Harry didn't have? The way Harry had pressed his hand against the mirror.

You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that?

Bitterness surged up, pressing against the guilt.

Ron had pushed aside his feelings then, hadn't he? He had put being Harry's friend first. He has always done that because — because Harry was his best friend. 

He just wished that Harry would try to do the same for him.

iv. And I finally see myself / Unabridged and overwhelmed, / A mess of a story I'm ashamed to tell. / But I'm slowly learning how to break this spell, / And I finally see myself.

The bark was rough against his palm as he leaned against a tree for a moment. His muscles ached from the damp, miserable cold. He had been wandering around for hours, staring hard into the darkness, waiting, willing for Hermione or Harry to appear. What he would give to hear her say his name again.

He told time by how long it took for his hands to go numb, and he would have to remember to recast a warming charm. Maybe he should rest at the base of the tree and try again in the morning.

Just as he was about to lie down, silvery light caught his eye. When the corporal doe materialized, Ron nearly yelped out in surprise. But the cry died in his throat at the sight of Harry emerging out of thin air, with a look of wonder and hunger. What was Harry doing casting his Patronus? Instinctually, he followed Harry, who followed the doe deeper and deeper into the thick forest. 

Without prompt, Harry broke out into a run. He was so quick, Ron worried he would lose him to the shadows. He stopped when the forest opened up to a clearing. But the silvery light of the doe had vanished, leaving only darkness. He strained his eyes, trying to find Harry.

Suddenly, a blue light appeared, revealing Harry and a small lake before him. Ron's breath caught in his throat, but somehow he felt compelled to stay quiet. Harry raised his wand, and Ron pressed himself against a tree, his heart clamoring loudly against his ribs. Harry spun around and knelt to the ground, the light from his wand reflecting on the black ice before him. He leaned forward, nearly pressing his face against the pool. After a few moments, he rose and began to pace.

All this time, with the Deluminator light inside him, Ron's primary concern had been to find Harry and Hermione again. It had taken his entire focus. But now, with Harry just a few feet away from him, suddenly all the fears and doubts began to fester again. The apology looming in the recesses of his mind sounded trite. What would they say? Would they even want to see him again? The cruel words he had said to them before he left rang in his head like a bell.

What if it was too late?

A sharp cracking sound jolted Ron from his reverie. He looked up, wide-eyed, to see that Harry had stripped down to his pants and was placing his wand on the ground. He couldn't…

Ron leapt up from his spot just as Harry jumped into the lake. Harry sputtered for a moment, his breath coming out in broken gusts of white. A chill ran down Ron's spine when he spotted an ominous glint around Harry's neck. Harry took one deep breath and vanished beneath the black depths.

Harry didn't reappear.

The locket, Ron realized with swelling panic. The locket must have made him do it.

He scrambled from his hiding spot to where his friend had just disappeared — movement catching his eye, but all thoughts scattering from his mind.

The dark waters reflected his pale, drawn face back at him, his blue eyes gleaming with rising fear as the seconds ticked away without Harry resurfacing. Not the face of a hero, not his brothers' or his sister's, not the glowing one in the Mirror. But the only one that could save Harry now.

The reflection's expression changed, becoming brazen and determined. Ron bit back a swear and dove into the icy waters.

v. Now I only want what's real, / To let my heart feel what it feels. / Gold, silver, or bronze hold no value here, / Where work and rest are equally revered.

The weight of the gold felt heavy and yet was lighter than he had imagined. Not that he had ever imagined this, he thought as his finger traced over the green ribbon. He looked up from the medal, out into the lake, the waves shimmering back at him. The breeze brushed against his neatly trimmed hair.

Ron wasn't sure what he was supposed to be feeling. The way people looked at him now was different, but he didn't feel any different. Was this how Harry had always felt?

"Hey." The wind carried Hermione's soft voice to him, and he turned. She was looking up at him, smiling despite the line of worry between her brows. An identical First Order of Merlin glinted from her chest. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, watching as she joined him on the rock. The smell of whatever potion she'd put in her hair made his lips curl up. "Wanted a moment away," he said, stretching his arms behind his head. He casually let one rest behind her, giving her something to lean on if she wanted. "I'm too famous for my own good."

She huffed in amusement before they lapsed into a comfortable silence. There was the sound of the lake, the leaves rustling in the breeze, and the murmur of everyone closer to the castle behind them.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked finally.

"I don't know," Ron admitted, watching her face drop. He swallowed nervously and fiddled with the tie Hermione had knotted too tightly. "I was thinking…of going to Australia with you. If you want."

Her eyes shined brightly, even as her face screwed up. She looked beautiful with the sunlight streaming through her hair.

"Yeah?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yeah," he said, pushing some of her soft, fuzzy hair from her face. "I'd even fly in an aero - thingy whatsit that Harry was talking about the other day."

"Aero-plane," she enunciated, swatting his hand away, sighed — not in disdain, as he had imagined months ago — but with amused affection. "And I already told you that it doesn't make sense to go that way."

She then launched into a long-winded explanation of the challenges of Apparation across long distances, bodies of water, and the complications of international Apparation customs. 

Sometimes he still couldn't believe it.

Least loved, always…

He shook the words away and smiled gently at Hermione.

"Come on," he said, interrupting her as she began discussing the pros and cons of Portkeys by taking her hand in his, lacing their fingers the way he had dreamt of since his fourth year. He looked over his shoulder at his family, where he saw Ginny practically shielding Harry from nosy strangers trying to get a closer look. His heart ached at the obvious absence there, and he squeezed her hand. "Let's join the others. I'm starved."

"Honestly, Ron!" she huffed predictably. "We ate just before the ceremony."

"Carrying this thing around my neck takes a lot of energy." He laughed.

vi. I only want what's real. / I set aside the highlight reel, / And leave my greatest failures on display with an asterisk, / Worthy of love anyway.

He stared hard at the mirror, his tongue caught between his teeth as he carefully adjusted his ginger hair with a comb. The damn butterflies in his stomach wouldn't stop fluttering.

"You look good, dearie," the mirror said in a cheery voice.

Ron eyed his reflection skeptically, but it only gave him a wink.

"You do," Harry confirmed from the door.

"Yeah?" Ron asked, pulling at his new and fitted robes. 

"At least this time it doesn't have lace."

"Har har," Ron said, but he smiled now at his reflection. Midnight blue was Hermione's favorite color. "Do you think I should have a smudge of dirt on my face, for old time's sake?"

"If you want her to kill you."

They were laughing when Ginny popped her head in, arching an eyebrow at her brother and boyfriend. "Time to take your places." She gave Harry a long look of appreciation. "You clean up nice, Potter."

"I'm the one getting married today," Ron grumbled, lightly elbowing Harry, who had flushed a deep red. Harry flashed him a sheepish grin, but Ginny stepped closer. Ron bristled under her critical gaze, but she suddenly pulled him into a hard embrace, forcing him to bend downward awkwardly. All that Quidditch training was making her way too strong.

"Oi! Watch the hair!"

"You look great," she said fiercely, hiding her face in his shoulder in a way that reminded him of when she was twelve. And just like that she was pulling away with a bright smirk on her face. "Though I still think the puce looked better on you."

He scowled as she skittered out the door.

"Better be quick before Mum comes to get you!"

"Come on," Harry said, patting him on the back. "Big day."

"Yeah," Ron said, his face already starting to ache from smiling.

He took one last glance in the mirror.

He'd never looked happier in his life.

[antihero-writings]

Stolen Sunlight (Ch4)

Fandom: Tangled | Tangled the Series | Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Fic Summary: Arianna never thought she'd find herself afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy, but the events of Secret of the Sundrop won't seem to leave her. She needs to talk to Varian in prison. Not for his sake...but for her own.

(I'll put links to the other chapters in a reblog!)

Character focus: Arianna & Varian 

Notes: It's finally here!!

Sorry it took so long, and my dearest apologies to anyone's comments I have yet to respond to. This chapter needed more editing than the others, plus got started on a couple of zines and it took over a lot of my focus for these past few months.

I really hope it was worth the wait!!

FYI When I wrote this it was before season 3, when I didn't know he shared a cell with Andrew. After I did know, I didn't want to add him in because I felt it messed too much with their interaction.

Right now what I'm thinking is that this is supposed to be set early in his imprisonment, and that perhaps he started alone, and then they later realized he needed a cellmate.

Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, they really really do help me have motivation to continue things like this, I'm so happy you guys are enjoying it. <3 <3

I'd really appreciate if you could comment again!!

Chapter 4: Passing Glances, Lasting Words

Varian’s blue eyes are questioning, almost glowing behind his fringe, like shards of ice holding prehistoric monstrosities just waiting to thaw.

She clears her throat, her tongue searching for where to begin. Options flare behind her lips;

The anger returns; she could tell him what he once was, and how he’s changed too much, and it breaks all their hearts.

She could lecture him about how hurting people is wrong, and she disapproves of all he did.

She could turn around, and say nothing at all; give in to the fear bubbling below the surface, run far away, and leave him wondering why she even came, thinking he won, without quite knowing what game they were playing.

She could demand why he did what he did, and for his apology. She could demand for him to bow before her, and beg for mercy.

But, if she lectured him, he would not be receptive to her words. If she asked him questions, he would surely put the answers in a magician’s box with swords in it and tell the audience to watch carefully. If she was angry, if she yelled at him and demanded he see her as his queen…she’d never be able to sleep.

But he is not a child for her to order around. Nor was he a villain for her to condemn.

None of that would matter. None of that would work. None of that is why she’s here.

“The truth is”—where to begin? How to set the tone?—“I don’t approve of what you did.”

She starts with something disciplinary even so. Something queenly. Something motherly, but stern. Her intention was not to lecture, but she thought it best to start from a place of principle. Sympathy is best given by those whom you respect—best given by from those whom you think it’s worth being given. It was somewhere to begin at least.

He gives a small smirk. “You came all this way to tell me that?” He inclines his head. “How sweet.”

She tries to ignore the venom in his voice.

Even in this cell, he believes he’s in the right, that he can control her, make her afraid. But he does not. Will not.

She is not doing this for him.

Now she can move her pieces on the board; her words are pawns, which can move only forward, step by step.

“I think it was harsh, and cruel and in some ways, I still don’t understand why you did it.”

In a lot of ways.

But what would she have done to get Rapunzel back when she was gone? And wouldn’t she have spat in Mother Gothel’s face, had she known, had she met her? And what did Frederic do for her when she was dying?

He is not some monster, not something she can’t understand. She has to remember they are not so different.

“Glad I’m still a mystery.”

His tone makes it harder to remember what he is. Just a boy, locked in this cell. And the difference between them is that while she may have to line her words up in the right order; put them in neat little ribbons and bows, building up her case, or everything will come crashing down…words are all he has. He will use them to hurt her, because he has words…and nothing left to lose.

“That, however, is not why I’m here.”

His eyes flick up before he can hide the surprise in them.

...But they darken, and he stands up, his raccoon hopping to the ground, chittering, as if he could feel the tension bubbling below the surface.

“Oh, really? Then what, pray tell,” he mocks, lifting a hand, “are you here to tell me, your Majesty?” The words are the scorpion’s sting.

This is how he is, how he was then, how he’s going to be. …But she knows this is not all he could be.

And this is how she is.

She wraps her free hand around one of the bars, holding onto it like it’s her own resolve, and if she doesn’t hold tight it will turn to sand and slip through her fingers. She is going to get as close as she can, she will prove to him that she is unafraid, though everyone else treats him like a beast.

Even though she is. She is—

She’s afraid of a fourteen-year old boy.

These words won’t get through the bars to him; they are destined to topple. For they are the same as they were that day. The same tone, the same message, though they may be kinder, they still look down upon him, they scorn his goals and treat them as childish. And if they didn’t get through to him in his lab, they won’t reach his heart now that its had time to harden in this cell.

She hates that; knowing that it is their fault, her fault, in some way, that he is like this—

That is why she must forgive him. In a way, she is setting herself free from her own prison.

And she wants this to work. She wants him to realize there’s more to him. She doesn’t want him to be like this forever. She wants to set him free too.

Speaking to him as the Queen, judging his actions, starting from a place of truth, but disapproval, will not get through. Appealing to lofty ideals like the good of the kingdom, the good of the king, and of his own soul won’t matter to him. Lofty ideals mean nothing to a boy grieving for his father.

This is not for him. This is for her. It doesn’t matter what he says, what he thinks. In the end, all she can do is try to reach him, knowing it is ultimately his choice to take her hand through the bars. But the success or failure of this mission is measured by whether it helps to heal the fear ingraining itself in her heart, whether it helps to heal the way she thinks of him.

So, in light of this, what can she say to gain some amount of closure? To heal her heart? Her fear?

She takes a deep breath.

It isn’t easy to say aloud, to anyone, especially to him. But she knows the truth will save them both.

“What you did…” Her words now gain a far-off quality, more ragged themselves.

The words tasted like anger and fear. They are not the queen’s lofty proclamations…they are Arianna’s real feelings. Her grip tightens around the cold metal of the bar as she whispers darkly, “It scares me.” Her eyes dart to him, her own resolve tightening in coils inside her, becoming something more than the fear. But, despite the still-present anger, there is something very sad in her voice; “You scare me, Varian.”

At first he wants to sneer—she can almost taste the poison on his lips.

But something about these words catches up to him, reaches the mainframe; the edge in his blue eyes falters, and for a moment, a mere moment, he is a boy again. He is the kindness, the Oh I’m so sorry! the Did I do something wrong? and he is realizing that there is something about her words that makes him sad too. But he pulls the plug, hits reset, the venom replenishes itself, and he is the villain again. He folds his arms over his chest, turns his head, and scoffs, his tone becoming blank of anything that reached him;

“So what? You expect me to be sorry?”

“No.” She answers immediately. “No Varian,”—she is going to say his name as much as she can, calling to something deep inside him that is still Varian—“I don’t expect you to be sorry, nor do I expect that you’ll care about anything I have to say.”

Because she doesn’t.

She wants him to be. She knows from that single look that that boy is in there; the one who does very much care, who would care if his friends got hurt, who knows there is more to life than just making his father proud, and who would care if the Queen was afraid of him, for whatever reason. She knows that that boy is sorry, even now.

But she doesn’t expect to see that boy.

She knows he will hide him, shove that boy and his kindness to the side—(just like they all did, once upon a time)—push him down into the pieces of his shattered heart where there are monsters, and little oxygen, and black rocks growing like thorns.

If she expects him, she will never see him again.

If she doesn’t, she will see him in every passing glance.

He takes a step forward.

He is, so unbearably small. He is weak, and dirty, and she can tell he hasn’t been eating well. Yet he’s so tall in her eyes, even here—like he was that day, when she was on the ground, and he on the ladder, his heart is incased in living metal, his motions wound to the tune of a sad music box. He seemed so tall then…though he’d fallen so far then.

“Then what are you expecting? What do you want from me? Why did you come here, your Majesty?” He gets close to the bars, too close, but she isn’t letting his words get so close to her heart. “Did you come to gloat? To condemn me? To lecture me?” He pauses. “Don’t bother,”—His voice becomes a quiet breath—“I’ve already heard them all.”

At first she wonders where he’s heard them, who told them to him—if she was wrong, and Frederic came after all, opted for lectures, instead of accusations. Then she realizes, Ah, of course. Quirin. And that thought, the way he mentions his father, the hopelessness hidden in the midst of the intense sadness…it makes her thoughts falter, reshuffle.

“I don’t think you yourself even know why you’re here.” The sting still hides in his tone, slithering in the background, and it will latch its fangs onto her conviction, a parasite, stealing it away, if she isn’t careful. She can almost feel his breath now, he is so close, so horribly close. “Do you? You’re…scared. So why come before the object of your fear?” His lip curls as he mocks, “You must think you’re so brave.”

Anger ignites in her gaze. She can’t believe he’d talk to a queen like this. She grips the bar tighter, the imperfections in the cold metal digging into her palm.

Her fear makes her feel like a little girl before him. But if he’s weaving fear into the little girl in her heart, she will sow doubt into the little boy in his.

And from now on she will speak simply to him. Without the judgment, the lectures, the threats. Not as a queen, but as a mother. She will sit down with that boy as he cries in the dark, bring down a drop of sunlight, stolen from the outside, to the boy who doesn’t believe he deserves it.

“You want me to—?!”

“Listen.” She breaks though his words.

“What?” he takes a step back.

That’s all it is. All she needs to heal her heart. All he needs for a chance at redemption. It’s so much simpler than they all thought, than she thought at first.

“I came here because I want to talk to you. Forgive me if it sounds like a lecture,” She laughs a little, sadly still, “I’m afraid I don’t have much practice. But I don’t pretend to have all the answers either.”

At first he grits his teeth, trying to fight her request, but he turns away, his hand to his chin like when he’s doing serious calculations. He pauses for a long moment, then his eyes tick back to her and scan her.

He shrugs. “Not like I’ve got anything better to do.” The words are not kind, but the snake in his voice curls up quietly.

She releases the bar at last.

“I don’t approve of what you did.” She takes a step back, assuming a more reserved position. “I don’t like it, I don’t understand it, and at times, you still scare me. But this,”—she stops and gestures to the bars—“this cell…” Her eyes fall upon him. She is not afraid to meet that blue now, now that the electricity has calmed slightly, now that he is at least willing to listen. “It won’t change that. It won’t change what happened, or how either of us feel about it.”

She is meeting him where he is now, in this cell, not standing above him and calling him villain.

“Locking you up …I thought it would give me some peace of mind, and while it might mean that you can’t hurt Rapunzel anymore…” She shakes her head a little and murmurs. “I don’t think it helps either of us sleep any easier.”

He pauses, looking down.

“I don’t want our happy ending to mean the unhappiness of yours.”

What? The boy in his eyes whispers as he jerks his head up.

“This is not where I want your story to end.”

She can see it. That drop of sunlight she stole for him taking root in his eyes.

“So what are you going to do?” The snake in his voice lifts its head, hisses. “It’s not like you’re going to let me out.”

“No.” She gives a small smile. “It’s not much, I know…but I have made a decision.”

“And what’s that?”

“I have decided to forgive you.”

The fear is gone from her voice now. And at last, she means it. She has done what she came here to do.

Surprise, sunrise, flares behind his eyes for a moment. Then he folds his arms, turns away and scoffs,

“Is this some sort of joke?” The snake has moved to his hands, curls them into fists at his sides, rattling noiselessly in warning.

“It’s not a joke, Varian.” She answers simply. “Would I go this far for a joke?”

“I didn’t ask for this.” The snake raises its head, bares its fangs.

“No, you didn’t.” She gives a small tinted smile, and she can tell at once just how angry her kindness makes him.

The snake shoots at her.

“I don’t need your pity, your Majesty! Or your—!”

“No, you’re right, you don’t.” She cuts him off. Her voice is completely calm and collected. She can feel the snake in her own heart, slinking away. “Nor am I intending to give it. I didn’t come here for you, Varian.”

He looks up at this thought.

She has no reason to hide the truth from him.

“I came here for me. For my own presence of mind. I wanted to forgive you. Nothing more. No one made me do it. It’s not a joke, or a lecture, or a new form of punishment.”

“I get it,” he sneers. “Just like the royal family to forgive for the sake of yourself, or your precious kingdom…never for me. Never for the poor boy who just needed a second of your time!

“What would your beloved family think of you if I told them you came down here to see me? If I told them—!”

“Tell them if you want to. Frederic may be angry, but what’s done is done. This was my choice. That’s not what this is about, and you know it. I came here for my sake… because I knew if I came here for you, you wouldn’t give me the time of day. So thank you, Varian, for listening. That is all I needed.” She bows slightly. “Think whatever you want, after I’m gone. It doesn’t matter to me.”

He isn’t looking at her, the rattling his spread to his body.

“I have one last thing for you, if you will except it.”

His eyes flash to her like lightning.

“Again, I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I could do.”

In lieu of an explanation she lifts up the journal and quill, smoothing her hand over the cover, and holds it through the bars for him to take. She knows putting even her arm through the bars is risky, that it might leave her with serpentine venom in her veins...but this is her act of good faith

He tsks his teeth, folding his arms, turning away.

“Its not for you.” She says simply.

He raises an eyebrow. Oh? Then who is it for?

She smirks.

“It’s for that boy I met the day of the science competition. You know, the one who cleaned the library? Do you think you can give it to him for me?”

That makes him angrier, but she isn’t leaving till he takes it.

“Don’t call it pity.” She smiles, seeing the look in his eyes as he takes a step closer. “Call it revenge, if you that makes things easier.”

At first he simply stands there, dark hair covering electric eyes, glancing up every few moments to see if she’ll go away. Then he sighs, walks over to her, snatching it from her grip.

“I gave Rapunzel a journal just like this one.”

His hands shy away from the pages, like they’ll bite him, at the mention of her daughter. She knew the name would not help, but she needs him to know what this means; that she is treating him the same way she treated her own daughter.

Threats flare behind his eyes, but quell themselves. He returns to the journal, flicking through it roughly.

“I thought you might need something to do.” She explains lamely.

It is a feeble excuse, but a true one nonetheless.

What will he fill it with? Not drawings, like Rapunzel, or flowery interpretations of his adventures. He will likely fill the pages with calculations, like the ones that littered his desk and the walls of his lab, the ones he put the withered sundrop flower on, the ones surely detailing the plot that put him here in the first place.

The fear is all but gone from her by now. In its place is growing something akin to a flower; hope, the sunlight she intended to bring to him, the seeds planting in her heart too. That’s what forgiveness does, after all.

His eyes scan the empty pages.

He starts at the back, and ends up at the front cover. Upon seeing the inscription, he holds the notebook up in one hand, trying to decipher the words. Unlike her daughter, he doesn’t make some ill-attempt to pronounce the foreign language, instead his eyes pivot to her, demanding an explanation.

“Plus est on vous,” the translation rolls off her tongue, “It means ‘there’s more in you.’”

He slams shut the journal with one hand, closing his eyes. He runs his finger along the spine as if trying to give it chills. Then he pulls out the quill, thumbing through the feather, likely checking that they wouldn’t give him anything too sharp.

“You honestly believe that, don’t you?” His words are dull now. Not sad, not spiteful either. Still grey.

“What can I say?” Her smile is entirely genuine now, it contains that stolen sunlight. “I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

“Even for someone like me?”

“Oh, especially for someone like you.”

He smirks. “You really are a fool.”

“Better a fool than a cynic, right?”

The smile fades, and his eyes lid as he pauses, thinks, then murmurs, “...How do you know I won’t use this to plot against you and your precious kingdom?”

“I don’t.”

(Though, from the softness of his tone there, she is almost certain he won’t.)

“So why would you—?!”

“I told you, I didn’t come here for you. I don’t care what you do with it after I’m gone. That’s your choice.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” The turmoil, thinly veiled, boils over. “Why would you come here?! Why would you act like everything’s okay?! Like I’m not the guy who kidnapped you, and chained you in his lab?!”

And at last she knows she has reached him... because behind every word she can hear that little boy crying out for mercy.

As the sky bleeds into navy she knows the last drops of day that guided her down the stairs to him have been planted in his heart.

She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. “Oh? I thought you’d heard all the lectures.”

His eyes widen.

“Goodbye, Varian.” She turns and begins to leave. “I do hope to see you again, out free. And when I do,”—She stops to look back his way—“Maybe you can teach me that home alchemy after all.”

She catches one last glimpse of the boy she met that day before she exits the dungeon, sure, after all this, she will at least be able to sleep.

[josephinelouiseobrien]

High School Reunion (1)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Synopsis: Jada Hale was Penelope Garcia’s best friend. They’d been through everything together - high school, relationships, breakups, a stalker, college, getting arrested and then joining the FBI. So when there high school reunion rolls around Penelope refuses to let Jada skip it - even if that means forcing a certain doctor to be her date.

Trigger warnings: talk of stalking, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of panic attacks

Masterlist

——————————————————————————

“Where’d you find this?” Jada Hale questioned as she watched a video of a much younger version of herself twerk on a boy who she now couldn’t recall the name of. Slowly the brunettes gaze traveled to her blonde best friend who sat beside her, laughing quietly at the found high school memories.

Penelope Garcia couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she spoke, “remember Samantha Curtis?”

Jada begrudgingly nodded, “I wish I didn’t.”

“She found it when she was putting together the slideshow for the reunion.”

Jada froze, her eyes widening slightly before returning to a squint in belwilderment. ‘I had to have heard that wrong’. “Wait, like high school reunion?”

Penelope nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. I cant believe it’s actually been ten years since we graduated.”

“Only ten?” The brunette mumbled, before an alarming thought came to her. Her entire body lurched forward, her hands grabbing onto penelopes arm. “Wait, Samantha didn’t add this to the slideshow did she?”

Penelope laughed, “no, there wasn’t enough room for videos anyways.”

“Thank god.” Jada let out a breathe of relief as she leaned back in her chair. “Nobody can see this video.”

“She what video?” Derek Morgan’s voice caught the girls attention and both, Penelope and Jada, attempted to exit out of the provocative video. But it seemed none of their frantic tapping could stop derek from seeing it. “Who’s that?”

The man leaned forward to get a better look as Jada sunk into her chair. She’d give anything for the floor to just swallow her whole at that moment. “Sorry.” Penelope winced as she glanced from Derek to her best friend.

“Wait, jay is this you?”

Her coworkers knew very little about what she was like before coming to work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. All they really knew was that her and Penelope got mixed up with some bad people - got arrested and then recruited by the FBI. Nothing more. “Yeah.”

Dereks eyes widened, “you had pink hair?”

“Can we just shut it off now?” Jada questioned leaning forward and effectively shutting the monitor off. “Before anyone else sees it.”

Derek chuckled, not seeming bothered by it in the least bit. Then again it wasn’t him who’s reaction she was nervous about - it was her bosses. Hotch could be pretty forgiving but she highly doubted she’d have a job if he ever saw that monstrosity of a video. “Why didn’t you tell me you were such a party animal, Hale?”

“Because I’m not.” Jada groaned her tan skin tinting a crimson shade in embarrassment.

Penelope raised her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, “well you better put your party girl pants back on because the reunions next week.”

Jada’s eyes widened as she rapidly shook her head, “No. No, I’m not going.”

“What? Why?” Penelope whined, grabbing onto Jada’s arm as she pouted. “Come on, everyone liked you in high school - it’ll be fun.”

Jada shot Penelope a knowing look hoping to god that she’d just drop it. “Pen.”

“Is this about-”

“It’s not about anyone-”

“So it is about him.”

“No!” Jada snapped, her body almost curling in on itself. “It’s not about him. I just - I just don’t want to go, okay?”

The brunette was quick to stand up, heading for the door with her head hung low in shame - she never exploded in Penelope. Ever. “I’m gonna go see if JJ needs help finding a case.” Her words were mumbled but neither Derek nor Garcia had time to question her as she practically raced out of penelopes office.

——————————————————————————

Jada was uncharacteristically quiet as she sat at her desk. Her knees were tucked under her chin as she scribbled onto the notepad in front of her. Sometimes writing down calming things helped her - it grounded her.

So she listed everything and everyone that made her safe. Starting with the two people she was the most comfortable around; Penelope and Spencer Reid.

“Hey, kid,” upon hearing dereks voice, Jada flipped her notebook over. She didn’t need anyone seeing her private list of safety.

Jada sighed, “listen if this is just gonna be an interrogation - I’m not in the mood.”

Derek shook his head, “no, it’s not. But, I think you should talk to someone-”

“Did Penelope tell you?” Jada questioned, her eyebrows raising a sigh leaving her lips. She loved her best friend but sometimes she could be such a big mouth. “I’m fine I’m telling you, I haven’t seen... him in years and-”

“Woah!” Derek was quick to stop her, “Garcia didn’t tell me anything. She said it was against girl code, but I still think you should talk to her about whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

Jada’s gaze cast down to her hands that rested on her desk in front of her. “I just feel like I’m letting her down. I know how much she wants me to go to this reunion but I - I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

The brunette ran a hand down her face in exhaustion. Quietly she shook her head - she wanted to tell him but she convinced herself it was nothing. He hadn’t bothered her in years - she had nothing to be scared of.

Yet she still found her palms growing sweaty at the thought of him. Her heart racing at the sound of his name. Her lungs giving out at the sight of a picture of him - why was her body giving out distress signals when, logically, she knew she was safe.

Jada sighed, “I just can’t.”

“Kid, if I’ve learned anything its that it’s better to let down those walls you hide behind.” Derek explained, “let the people who care about you help - if not me at least talk to Penelope.”

Jada sighed, nodding as she stood to her feet. Her fingers twisted in the sleeves of her sweater as she walked towards her friends ‘bat cave’ as they called it. Penelope was quick to pull her into a hug the minute the brunette walked in.

“I’m sorry.” Jada sniffled our sadly, her voice quivering. Suddenly it was all coming back to the surface and she couldn’t stop it.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Jada shook her head, “no, it was my fault. I know you just want me to go and have a good time.”

Penelope sighed, “okay, but I know what he did to you. I shouldn’t have tried to push you into a situation where you aren’t comfortable.”

“But, I want to go.” Jada mumbled, “just everytime I think about seeing him I nearly work myself into a panic attack. We’ve done everything together I don’t want that to stop now.”

Penelope sighed simply pulling Jada into a hug. She didn’t have a solution at that very second but she’d come up with one. The blonde sighed as she pulled away, “well, I mean you haven’t seen him in years right?”

“That’s the weird part.” Jada mumbled as Penelope handed her a tissue. “Sometimes l be walking to my car, or just taking the trash out and I’ll think I see him - but it has to be some sort of figment of my imagination, right?”

Garcia nodded, “yeah, but I still think you should talk to Hotch or something. If he’s still following you-”

“He’s not.” Jada state’s firmly, “he can’t be, it’s been seven years.”

“Jay.” Garcia pleaded, her eyes begging her friend to tell someone besides herself. They made a promise that if he ever popped up again that they’d go to the cops.

“It’s not him.” Her tone of voice made it clear that the conversation was over. Still Penelope was giving her a look, one that screamed ‘stop lying to yourself’. “You know what, just to prove it to you, I’ll go.”

“To the reunion?” Penelope asked a smile coming over her face before she too grew to have doubts.

“What’s wrong?”

Penelope sighed, “well, now you have me getting all nervous. Maybe we should see if derek will go with us, that way just in case something goes wrong we’ll have him there.”

The idea alone out Jada at ease and she quickly nodded. “That would actually make me feel a lot better.”

So the two girls made their way towards where Derek was making a cup of coffee - Reid was with him. “I see you two made up.” Morgan commented smiling at Jada specifically.

The brunette rolled her eyes, “we were never fighting.”

“Whatever you say.” The man laughed, glancing between the two once more. “What do you guys need?”

Garcia glanced to Jada before looking back to Derek, “would you be our date to our high school reunion? Just in case anything happens?”

“What would happen?” Reid questioned, his eyebrows furrowing as he realized he was completely out of the loop. “On average only about twenty to thirty percent of your high school class even attends the reunion. And I doubt it’ll get rowdy, it’s a high school reunion - your all adults now.”

Garcia sighed, “it’s more complicated then that.” Her gaze was then returned to Derek, a pout set on her lips. “Please.”

“When is it, babygirl?” Derek asked giving in as he pulled out his phone to check his schedule.

“Next Saturday.”

Derek sighed, “I’m going to visit my mom that weekend, I’m sorry babygirl.”

Jada sighed her fingers fiddling with her sweatshirt sleeves again. She was actually looking forward to going now that she thought someone would be there to back her up. Not that she didn’t totally love penelopes back up but she just wanted someone who could pull the trigger on a gun if need be.

Upon realizing the change in Jada’s demeanor, Spencer realized that Garcia wasn’t the one who wanted backup at the reunion - it was her. “I’ll go.” Spencer found the words leaving his little before he had time to even think them through.

But as Jada’s head snapped up, her gaze landing on him as a smile lite up her face - he found it hard to regret his decision. “Really?” Spencer nodded and Jada jumped onto him, nearly tackling him to the floor in a hug. “Thank you!”

Derek chuckled at the gesture, patting Reid on the back. Only he realized they still didn’t know why Jada was so freaked out about seeing her old classmates again. “We still don’t know why your so freaked out about this reunion, jay. Maybe you should tell pretty boy here just so he knows what he’s walking into.”

All eyes were on the brunette and a sigh slipped past her lips as she nodded to Garcia. Jada still couldn’t speak about what had happened and so Penelope was usually the one to tell others what had happened for her.

“Then we have to start at the beginning.”

[izcana]

Tommy and the Newt Pt. 4

Sorry, this chapter came a bit later than usual! I was thinking about the plotline again and I've realised that I might have neglected to plan out a storyline when I started writing this...but to be fair, I figured that it would be fine since I'm mostly going along with Beauty and the Beast's timeline. Well, apparently, it's harder than it looks to combine the films and animation with a whole different fandom and to add the appropriate character substitutions and all of that (I won't bore you with the details).

A piece of advice for all of you writers who want to write fairytale AUs – don't start planning when you're in the middle of a piece. Frankly, I think it must be annoying for the readers (which in this case, is you guys – I assume you're annoyed, at least, I would be) and it was very irresponsible of me to do so. You may think it'll be easy since you're going with a fairytale AU , but it's not. It wasn't for me, and it won't be for many other people (though you're lucky if it's easy for you :). Seriously, trust me; it's so much easier if you get your act together and make a plan before you start something, and that applies to most situations as well. Life long lesson right here, guys...

***

The boy (I recall the old man called him Thomas?)'s mouth gaped, though he did not gasp. He understood. How could anyone not gasp at the monstrosity that was him?

"The-The r-rose," the boy - Thomas - stammered, seemingly losing his voice. "It's my fault. I asked for it." The liquid amber eyes glanced defiantly at him and his heart leapt to his throat.

For the first time, Newt finally got a sharp glimpse of the boy. He had feminine features: warm, honey eyes that sparkled with mischief; long, fanning eyelashes that curved onto the flushed apples of his cheekbones; exquisite, milky skin dotted with the most fragile of beauty marks; tousled, chocolate brown hair; perfect, plump, cupid brow lips that wobbled – it was tempting to bite into the roseate swell of the juicy flesh; the inquisitive fire of his stance, the ridged edges of his collarbones gleaming as he knelt, glancing at Newt with little fear.

Never had someone been so elegant as to wax poetry about them, but Thomas merited it. He was an exquisite, delicate beauty, indeed.

"If-If I stayed here instead of Papa, would you let him go?" Thomas pleaded, his golden eyes enlarging more. An iridescent tear slipped out of his fluttering lids. "Please?"

"Tom, no!" The old man screeched, his voice resounding in the dungeon. "I am old whereas you still have your whole life left."

Thomas ignored him. "Yes," Newt agreed easily, fixing his frozen face into the usual mask of hostility and indifference. The questioning doe-like eyes peered at Newt again from under his eyelashes, and although Newt knew he could not read my eloquence, he felt as if Thomas was staring into his very soul, unveiled for all to see. The deep, penetrating eyes from the eyes on fire lit a fuse in him, but it was getting out of hand. Newt was no longer in control of that fire.

Vaguely, behind him, he was aware of Minho waving one of his candles on the ledge. "That boy could be the one!" He whispered to Gally, who grunted in response.

It was not only Newt who heard it, though, as Thomas turned his eyes to the shelf as well. Minho went still, but he would find out anyway. "What-What was that?" Thomas asked regardless.

Newt scowled, my facial muscles relaxing into their now-usual stance. He yanked the door of the cell roughly, pulling the man out by his shirt. "Get in."

Thomas' lower lip quivered even more, and he looked like he was about to cry. "But...You didn't let me say goodbye," Thomas murmured mechanically. "Are you really that heartless?" He asked, rhetorically, and Newt felt myself shatter even more at the pure sorrow in his voice.

He groaned. "1 minute. Once this door closes, it will not open again." He returned the man, dumping him unceremoniously onto the floor. "1 minute," Newt repeated again.

As void of emotion and care as Newt now was, he turned around to give the son and father pair some privacy. They would not be seeing each other in a long time.

"He could be the one," Minho whispered again into the darkness, masked from the pair by the chatters of reassurances and tears. "You have to hope, Newt."

He frowned at Minho. "It would never work," Newt grunted, but left it at that.

One minute was up. "Time is up," Newt growled, pulling the man by his shirt again.

"No, Tom, you can't go!" He yelled desperately, clutching at the bars. "I won't let you. I'll stay, instead."

Thomas' eyes welled with tears. "B-Bye, Papa," he stuttered, and before Newt could blink, he stuck out his foot and landed the man directly onto his shin. "I'm sorry!" He added, locking the dungeon door on himself.

The heartbreaking (even for him) wails of both son and father echoed in the castle.

–––––––––––––––––––––

Thomas glanced to his cell door tearily, blinking back more. Now was not the time to cry. He could do that once the beast has withdrawn.

"Come out," the beast, who had just reaped away his father out snarled, tugging on the door needlessly hard. "Now."

"I thought 'once this door closes, it will not open again'?" Thomas groused, simply incapable of stopping himself. It was presumably going to get him a sentence here and the Beast would change his mind about permitting Thomas out, but hey, what's in the past is in the past...

"Do you want to stay here, then?" The beast, whose name Thomas still hadn't learnt, asked coarsely.

Thomas swallowed his (already wounded) pride. "No."

"Then, come on," the beast said, hauling Thomas up to his feet with a rigid pull. Thomas stumbled up ungracefully, his ineptitude quickly catching up with himself. Before he knew it, he was tripping over his own cloak, scrambling to get up onto his hands and knees. Thomas thought he heard a chortle from somewhere above him, but it must have been tiredness catching up to him, again. The only other person here was Beast and he was definitely not the one who chuckled.

"What should I call you?" Thomas asked once he got up.

The beast didn't bother turning around from the stone foyers. "Why should I tell you?" He (Thomas could tell it was a he) demanded gruffly.

"So, ya know, I have something to call you that's not 'the Beast' or 'Master of This Castle'?" Thomas retorted, trying to blink back his tears that were suddenly racing in at the reminder that he was trapped here. Permanently. "You must not like the first one..." he murmured thoughtfully, levelling his eyes on the Beast's posterior.

"Call me Newt," the Beast – Newt, Thomas corrected himself – mumbled, his voice sinking another octave. "Not that we'll be talking much," he added hastily. Never mind, then...

"Gee, that's a nice attitude," Thomas muttered, groaning at his situation.

"Shut up," Newt deadpanned, giving him a fierce look with his glowing yellow eyes.

Thomas gulped. "Shutting up, now..." He might not be the smartest Shank around, but he wanted to live beyond 16, thank you very much.

"Here is your room," Newt answered stiffly. "You are to stay here. Do not go to the West Wing."

"What's in the West Wing?" Thomas demanded, biting down on his tongue as soon as he opened his mouth.

"None of your business," Newt uttered. He decided not to reply.

******

Once Thomas got to his room, he immediately crumpled onto the bed, not taking note of his surroundings. "Why?" He wailed. "Why me?"

"Honey, I'm sorry," a mellow voice drifted.

Thomas startled. "Who's there?" He didn't see any people. Who had spoken?

"It is I, Teresa," the same voice said again. "The wardrobe," Teresa, apparently, added, groaned disdainfully.

Thomas snapped his head towards the large closet in the corner of the room. "You talk?" He said, his mouth open wide. Though, considering the events of today, he shouldn't really be surprised that of course, there was a talking closet in his room.

"Many of us do," Teresa said, or more alike to singing. Her voice had a harmonic quality to it as if whispered from the depths of the ocean but risen from the tides.

Thomas' knees buckled from underneath him, and he fell onto the carpet. "W-Wha –––"

What was going on? Where was he? There was something about a beast? A Newt? A talking piece of furniture? I-I c-can't...breathe!

"Breathe, sweetheart," someone was whispering, their voice vociferous in the foggy bleakness of Thomas' mind. "How old are you?"

Thomas tilted his head in bewilderment when he heard the inquisition, but he answered it, nonetheless. "I-I'm...16."

"You're doing great, Darling," the same voice replied, and Thomas breathing started to become distinct. "What's your full title?"

"Thomas...Thomas Edison," Thomas panted, his heart palpitating, clutching at his head.

"Very good..." Thomas could feel his vision returning and that was the last thing he remembered before stumbling to the bed and collapsing.

–––––––––––––––––––––

The Beast himself, meanwhile, was walking to the West Wing. The one he told the boy not to go to.

"Newt, just think about it!" Minho's voice, let loose, was grumbling.

"For once, I agree with this Slinthead," Gally called, jabbing his "thumbs" at Minho. "He might be the one."

"Hey!" Minho's voice cut through the silence. "Who are you calling a 'Slinthead', you egoistic Shuck-face?" Both of his candles were waving around all over the place, and it was giving Newt a migraine. Minho was always energetic and turbulent, and that (seemingly) hadn't evolved.

"Shut up, both of you!" Newt's shout rumbled through the entire wing. Both fell deathly silent right away. "I wish to be alone. Please leave."

Both obeyed, but Minho not before casting a sad look behind him at his best friend. "Consider it, Newt. He might be the one."

To be honest, Newt had thought of it (a lot) but he knew it could not happen. Why would the adorable little boy want anything to do with him, a hideous beast? Perhaps, Thomas even had a significant other at home that he had to leave behind because of Newt. Someone as beautiful as Thomas would certainly have suitors lined up around the block.

*****

"Show me the boy," Newt commanded.

The mirror obeyed, as always, and he found himself facing at a brunette boy whose puffy, red-rimmed amber eyes were staring listlessly into the ceiling while Teresa tried her best to comfort him, but Newt could tell it just wasn't enough. "Honey, he's really not that bad," she was saying. "Newt's a great person, honestly, it's just that he –––"

"Kidnapped me and took me away from my only family left?" Thomas spat out. Newt recoiled.

Of course. Why would someone as perfect as Tommy love...a beast?

***

I hope you can tell I spent a lot of time trying to make this special...I spent so much time on Grammarly for this, lol. I'm not sure if I should have stuck with my old schedule, but here's the new one:

Chapter 5: Saturday 28/11/2020 Chapter 6: Monday 30/11/2020 Chapter 7: Wednesday 2/12/2020 Chapter 8: Saturday 5/12/2020 Chapter 9: Monday 7/12/2020 Chapter 10/Epilogue: Wednesday 9/12/2020

If everything goes according to plan...Well, let's just say it means I can start some new fics soon and you guys can start reading the finished story sooner rather than later...

Thanks for sticking around on this hazardous journey!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX| Part X

[onlycags]

Poker Face | Çağlar Söyüncü

Alright, y’all! This is it: the piece I’ve been working on for what feels like forever. I didn’t mean for it to get this long, I swear, but there was just so much I wanted to add that first it turned into 5k and then 10k and before I knew it, I was finished and this monstrosity was 18,129 words. This currently is, and will probably always be, the longest smut piece I’ve ever written. I’m incredibly proud of it, but I’m also aware that Cags isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, so I 100% understand if you don’t read this.  To those of you who make it to the end, I love you. I’m not expecting anyone to sit down and read this in one sitting (if you do, I will be surprised, as not even I could do that while I was proofreading it), but I would very much like to know if you would like a second part - it will by no means be this long or smutty; mostly filled with angst, as you will see if you make it to the end.

Warnings: whipping/flogging/spanking, unconfessed feelings, D/s, emotional moments (not quite sure how to explain all of it, but please let me know if you think other warnings should be added).

Once every month, James hosted a Thursday-evening poker tournament and it was something you looked forward to each time. Nobody ever really bet anything serious, the chips didn’t even represent real money most evenings, but tonight was different.

***

It was the second-to-last hand of the evening. Jack was dealing. “The game is five-card stud, lads,” his gaze flickered over to you. “And lady.” You rolled your eyes at his poor attempt at flirting that he’d been doing all evening.

You hadn’t been dealt the best hand but you were very good at bluffing and using your feminine wiles to your advantage, so you had no worries. Besides, you’d been winning most of the evening so you had more chips than most. Your plan was to bet high until everyone folded and you basically won by default; little did you know that Çağlar was onto you.

He’d been watching you all night, and not just because he was attracted to you. The last few months were spent figuring out all your tells and he knew from the moment you’d gotten the last card that your hand was terrible. For some reason, Ben and James still hadn’t figured out when you were bluffing, but Çağlar planned to win. You’d beaten him the last few rounds and he wanted payback.

You went all in once Ben folded and it was just James and Çağlar left, smirking when James sighed and placed his cards face down, muttering, “Too rich for my blood.” It was all down to you and Çağlar.

“Call,” he said, sliding all of his chips into the centre. You licked your lips as your gaze focused on his hands, trying to get your mind to focus.

“All right, let’s-”

“Wait,” Çağlar said, interrupting Jack. He shot you a wink and a smirk. “I propose we make it interesting. Up the ante, if you will.”

Jack looked between the two of you, unsure of what to do. “Are you okay with this?” He asked, turning his attention to you.

Your eyes widened but you didn’t back down. “Sounds good to me.” You didn’t want to give him the upper hand and let him pick first, so you said, “I bet twenty-four hours with me - I’ll do whatever you want.”

Çağlar’s smirk widened at your bet. “I’ll call that.” He looked over at Jack, who nodded. “Royal flush.” He spread his cards out so you could see his hand.

“Regular flush,” you murmured, not meeting his gaze.

A chorus of ooh’s from Ben, James, and Jack had you blushing like crazy.

“All right, love,” Jack said, handing you the deck of cards. “Your turn to deal.”

***

Your hands shook the entire time you dealt to the boys, Çağlar staring at you as though he already knew exactly what he wanted to do to you. By the time the round was over, your panties were soaked.

“Come with me,” Çağlar said, shooting you a look that you couldn’t argue with.

He cornered you in the kitchen, pinning you between him and the countertop. “Saturday. My place. 9am. Don’t be late.”

You put your hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating quickly underneath your fingertips. With more confidence than you felt, you stood up on your tiptoes and whispered, “Let me give you a little something to look forward to.”

Your eyes met Çağlar’s and the heat in his gaze made your stomach flip. Your tongue peeked out to wet your lower lip as you leaned into him, your nose brushing his ever-so-slightly. His breath hitched and a low sound that resembled a growl left his throat before he took charge and kissed you.

A cross between a whimper and a gasp had you opening your mouth, giving Çağlar the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth to deepen the kiss. Your fingers came up to thread in his hair and you tugged on it, smiling into the kiss when he groaned. In a flash, he had you sitting on the countertop as he stood between your legs.

Both of you were breathing heavily when the kiss ended, your foreheads touching as your breathing mixed together. Çağlar swallowed hard, stepping back to meet your gaze. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, James came in.

“What the fuck are the two of you doing in my kitchen?!” He asked, gesturing between the two of you. “You’re not shagging on my counter!”

“We weren’t!” You said, laughing as you used your thumb to wipe your lower lip. “We’re just getting the details worked out.”

James gave you two a look that said he didn’t believe you but he shrugged and said, “Whatever.”

You and Çağlar shared a look and your pussy clenched at the thought of everything you’d get to do with him on Saturday.

***

The thirty-six hours between Thursday evening and Saturday morning were the longest of your life. Çağlar had called you on Thursday when both of you had gotten back to your respective places.

“What are you doing right now?” He asked, his voice low.

“I was about to go to sleep. Why?”

“Were you going to touch yourself and make yourself cum?”

Your breath caught in your throat, the answer leaving your lips before you could stop it. “Yes.”

Çağlar’s strangled groan had your pussy dripping and your hand involuntarily drifted down between your legs. “Siktir.” Fuck. “What were you going to think about?”

Your middle finger swirled around your clit. “You,” you gasped, not caring about withholding the truth anymore.

“Good.” He chuckled, low and deep. “Tell me when you’re close.”

“O-okay.”

Çağlar kept talking to you, this time in Turkish. You couldn’t understand him but his accent and the way he spoke had you dripping.

“I’m close,” you whimpered, easily sliding three fingers inside your pussy.

“Already?” He asked, chuckling. “I’m going to get so many orgasms out of you. Are you going to cum? Are you right on the edge?”

“Y-yes!”

“Take your fingers out of your pussy now.” He commanded. To your surprise, you did, Çağlar’s name on your lips as you did so. “Good girl. Don’t touch yourself until I call you tomorrow, understand?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, still in a haze of lust.

“Use your words.”

“I-I understand.”

“Good night,” Çağlar said, the two words washing over you and you pretended he was in bed next to you as he said it.

“Good night, Çağlar.”

***

You woke up wet and needy, Çağlar the first person on your mind. A part of you wanted to text him but you didn’t want him to think you were desperate. However, the ache between your legs intensified when you got out of bed and you couldn’t take it anymore.

You: When are you calling?

Çağlar smirked when he saw your message as the first thing he read when he woke up. He was inside your head and your question told him everything he needed to know.

Çağlar: Why? Wet for me already?

You squeezed your thighs together when you read his response, a low moan leaving your throat.

You: Maybe…

Çağlar: I want you to go to work without panties today. Send me a picture so I know you’re following the rules.

Your face heated up at the thought of his order - you had to give a presentation today and had planned on wearing your pencil skirt that would make you feel your most powerful. There would be no way you’d be able to be professional and serious with your pussy throbbing between your legs.

Fifteen minutes later, you were taking the train to work, your face flushed as you awaited Çağlar’s response. Just as you were about to walk into work, your phone vibrated.

Çağlar: Good girl.

You couldn’t think all day, your heart racing by the time you finally got home. Your pussy had dripped halfway down your thighs and you blushed to no one as you undressed and changed into comfortable clothes.

Dinner was excruciating. You looked at your phone every five minutes, waiting for Çağlar to text you. The pasta you’d made was normally your favourite but you couldn’t taste it as you shoveled forkfuls into your mouth at an alarming rate.

Çağlar: Show me how wet you are.

You choked on your sip of wine as you read his text, moaning out loud. Your hands shook as you shoved two fingers in your pussy and withdrew them to stretch out a trail of your juices and sent the picture to Çağlar.

His response was immediate - your phone lit up with a FaceTime request from him and you accepted without thinking.

“Hello,” he said, smirking at you when his face appeared on-screen.

“Hi,” you breathed, trying to remain calm.

“How was your day?” He asked, his question mundane but his voice anything but.

You swallowed hard. “It was…good. My presentation went well.”

His eyes darkened at that. “Were you able to concentrate?”

“No.” The admission fell from your lips before you were able to stop it.

“What were you thinking about?”

“You. Your tongue. Your face between my legs. Oh, fuck, Çağlar!” You whimpered, wanting to touch but waiting for his permission.

“Don’t worry, love - we will get to that tomorrow.”

“Please can I touch?”

Çağlar shook his head. “Not until you give me a safeword for tomorrow.”

“Starburst.”

He chuckled at your quick response, clearly expecting you to take more time to decide. “Alright then. Do you have any hard limits?”

A light blush crossed your cheeks as you shook your head. “No. I prefer to safeword in the moment because I like to try everything.”

Çağlar raised his eyebrows at you in disbelief. “You’ve done this before.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Cags.” It was your turn to be smug.

“Touch yourself for me - I wanna watch.”

You complied without a word, flipping the camera around so he could watch you sink two fingers into your cunt. “Oh, my God!”

Like last night, Çağlar muttered filth to you in Turkish, his gaze focused on your pussy. “Are you close?” He asked, his voice strangled.

“Y-yes!”

“Take your fingers out of your pussy and put them in your mouth. Good girl. Listen to me: you will show up at my place at 9 in the morning wearing your hottest schoolgirl outfit - no bra and no panties. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re not allowed to touch yourself or cum for the rest of the night. If you do, I will know and I will punish you hard.”

***

You hadn’t thought it was possible to wake up even wetter and needier than you had on Friday morning, but when you woke up in a puddle of your own juices, it was impossible to ignore.

Çağlar won’t know what hit him, you thought to yourself as you put on your schoolgirl outfit. You put on your runniest mascara, already envisioning being on your knees before him with his cock in your mouth. Your hair was in pigtails and your lips were bright red. You blew yourself a kiss in the mirror right before you left.

Your hands shook as you reached up to knock on Çağlar’s front door. He opened the door wearing nothing but a towel and a smirk on his face. You felt your own face heating up at the sight of him. “Günaydın,” he greeted, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

“Good morning.”

Çağlar motioned for you to follow him inside and you did so, trying not to nervously play with your hands.

“Spread your legs.”

You did as he said, your legs shaking slightly. Before you knew what was happening, he was sliding a hand between them, his middle finger teasing the entrance to your pussy and taking one long stroke to swirl around your clit. Your hands reached out to grab his forearm and you whimpered.

“Let go,” he said, his eyes dark. When you released him, he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them, his gaze glued to yours. “Nefis.” Yummy.

He turned his back to you and wandered into the kitchen. You followed him, trying to figure out what he wanted from you.

Çağlar handed you a mimosa, your fingers brushing at the exchange. He smirked when he heard your breath hitch.

“How do you feel about shaving?” He asked, studying you. You gave him a questioning look and he elaborated. “Will you let me shave your pussy?”

You were nodding before a word could leave your mouth, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

After your second mimosa, Çağlar was sitting between your legs in a way you had never imagined. You gasped as the razor shaved over your pussy. You’d gotten a wax the previous weekend so stubble was starting to grow back in and it felt oddly arousing to have Çağlar doing this to you.

“Are you getting wet from this?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mmhmm.”

“Kirli kız,” he murmured, kissing your inner thigh. Dirty girl.

He ran a warm washcloth between your legs, making sure you were smooth and he hadn’t missed a hair. Çağlar rubbed something between your legs and you tried to sit up. “What did you put on me?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Lube,” he replied, two fingers sliding easily inside you to make you moan. “You’re going to need it, but not just yet.”

Just as quickly as those fingers had slid in, they were sliding out and he was tasting you on them again. “Stand up.” The two words sent shivers down your spine as Çağlar held out a hand and helped you up. He sat down in the same you’d occupied seconds earlier, his gaze holding yours as his fingers worked over the towel around his waist.

You couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped as you took in the sight before you: Çağlar, slouching slightly, his legs spread and his cock growing harder by the second.

“Strip for me,” he said, one hand reaching down to stroke his dick while the other flexed back so he could rest his head on it.

With shaky hands, you undid the buttons on your shirt slowly. For each button you freed, you put on a little show - your hands cupped your tits and you moaned a little for effect. When you finished, you started to take the shirt off but Çağlar stopped you with a look.

“Play with your nipples. Show me how you like them pinched.”

You took your thumb and your index finger and put them in your mouth to wet them before enclosing them around one of the sensitive buds. “Fuck,” you swore as the sensations went straight to your clit.

When he was satisfied, he made you take off the shirt, leaving you in just the skirt and heels. You felt so exposed, resisting the urge to cover yourself., but his praise spurred you on. “Good girl - now take off that skirt and come stand in-between my legs.” You could feel the sexual tension oozing off him in waves and it only made your heart beat faster and your pussy drip.

Goosebumps erupted over your skin as his calloused hands ran over your outer thighs and up to your hips. You could tell he loved your tattoos by the way his eyes darkened over the inked surfaces of your skin and the way his fingers brushed reverently over them. “Turn around,” he rasped once he’d touched you and had his fill. “Bend over.”

A cross between a whimper and a gasp fell from your mouth as you bent over, your hands instinctively grabbing your ankles. “Çağlar.”

This time, his hands ran up and down the backs of your thighs before he finally made his way over your ass. He took his time touching and squeezing each cheek, slapping them a few times to gauge your reaction, smirking to himself when he heard your needy cries.

“You like that?” He asked, landing a harsher smack.

“Ah! Y-yes!”

He dragged a finger through the space between your cheeks, watching how your asshole and pussy puckered at the sensations he was creating. The tip of his thumb pressed against your asshole but didn’t make any attempt to go in. “Are you gonna let me fuck your ass today?”

The sound you made was unintelligible, a weak, “maybe” making him hum in delight.

“That striptease got you all wet didn’t it?”

Your voice shook as you responded. “Fuck, yes.” He ran his thumb between your damp folds, watching as your pussy leaked and trailed down to your clit where it collected and a droplet fell to the ground.

“Turn back around.” The gruff order scraped over your skin like his calloused fingertips and you almost lost your balance, Çağlar reaching out to steady you. “Straddle me.”

You sank to your knees on either side of him, groaning as you finally got to touch him how you’d been aching to since that kiss Thursday night. Your eyes searched his and he granted you unspoken permission to let you know it was your turn, at least until he decided to take back control.

Your fingers ran through his still-damp hair and down the strong column of his neck. He angled his neck to give you the access you had wanted, moaning when you sucked on a sensitive spot. “Can I mark you?” You asked hesitantly, your nose lightly brushing his earlobe.

Çağlar nodded. “Evet.” Yes.

You pressed your body against his as you sucked a mark into the sensitive spot you’d found earlier, loving the way his fingers dug into your hips and the sounds he made as you used your mouth on him. His cock hardened and you felt his tip leak precum on your stomach. Without thinking, you reached between your body and his, your hand finding his cock easily and giving it a few strokes.

Çağlar grabbed your hand from his cock, pinning it behind your back. “Did I give you permission?” He asked, his eyes a heady combination of anger and lust.

“N-no.” You shook your head, thoroughly chastised. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Over my knee.” He growled, adjusting you. When he was done, you were in a position you hadn’t been in in a long time: one of his legs was bent so that your ass was presented to him; his other leg straight so your arms could hold onto it. You didn’t dare struggle, already so humiliated by the fact that you were getting spanked - and that your pussy was getting wetter at the thought of a spanking.

Çağlar rubbed some soothing circles on your ass as he spoke, preparing you for this. “You will count for me and thank me for every single one, understood?”

“Yes, S-Sir.”

“Good. How many times did you stroke me?”

“F-five.”

“One slap on each cheek for each stroke makes ten slaps total. Are you ready?”

You were as ready as you’d ever be, taking a deep breath and nodding. You knew you could safeword at any time, but you’d been spanked by lovers before and this was nothing new.

What was new, though, was the way Çağlar spanked you. James had warned you that Çağlar liked to inflict pain, but you hadn’t taken him seriously.

“One! Thank you, Sir.”

You gasped as the second slap hit your ass, squeezing your eyes shut. Çağlar knew just where to spank, too, so even though you were only getting ten, you knew you wouldn’t be able to sit down tomorrow.

“Twooo! Fuck - thank you, Sir.”

When the third slap hit, you wrapped your arms around his calf and buried your face in his muscled thigh.

“Ow! Th-three. Thank you, S-sir.”

Tears sprang to your eyes on the fourth and fifth, falling on the sixth and seventh. Eight had you kicking your feet at the sting of his hand; nine and ten had you incoherent.

Çağlar let you lay over him to catch your breath, his hand rubbing those soothing circles again while you cried and hiccuped. “Look at me,” he said, the tone of his voice calming but stern.

Reluctantly, you turned your head to look at him, the mascara trailing down your cheeks. “Baby,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing away your tears.

“I de-deserved th-that,” you stuttered, unable to meet his gaze anymore. “I-I learned-d m-my les-son.”

“And what lesson was that?” He took your chin in his hands to force you to look him in the eye as you answered.

“I h-have to as-ask for-r permis-sion.” You hated that you were still stuttering as you tried to catch your breath from the heaving sobs that Çağlar had brought out of you, but he didn’t make fun of you or berate you for it and for that you were grateful.

“C’mere.”

You were picked up easily and straddling Çağlar again, but this time was different; this time, he had you straddling one of his powerful thighs.

“Show me how you’ll ride my cock when you get the chance and if you do it good enough, maybe I’ll let you have a taste.”

Your pussy throbbed in response as you began to rock your hips back and forth over his muscled thigh, your nails digging into Çağlar’s shoulders. “Please, Sir,” you begged, knowing your orgasm was close and it was going to be intense, “may I cum?”

“Wouldn’t you rather cum on my cock?”

You nodded, slowing the rhythm of your hips so you could hold off on your orgasm. Çağlar smirked knowingly as his hands dug into your hips to set the pace now. “No, please!” You cried out, your eyes wide as you shook your head. “I don’t want to cum on your thigh, Sir.”

His fingers palmed your sore ass, heightening the sensations as the pain went straight to your pussy. He began to knead the sensitive flesh the moment he saw the reaction he got. “Of course you won’t, baby. You know the kind of spanking you’ll get if you cum without permission - and I promise you, that spanking will be worse.”

You whimpered, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you tried to concentrate on not cumming. You’d been spanked after an orgasm before and you knew just how much it would hurt. Knowing Çağlar, he probably wouldn’t bother spanking your ass, just your pussy.

“Look at the mess you’re making,” he scolded, making you look down to see how shiny and wet his thigh was. Your eyes were drawn to his rock-hard cock that was leaking precum, and it was then that you realized he was denying himself just as much as he was denying you, the thought turning you on even more.

“Can I kiss you?” You panted, not wanting another spanking. Çağlar nodded and you kissed him greedily, the moans and whimpers coming out of your mouth barely recognizable to your own ears. You gripped the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in the ends of his hair.

Çağlar kissed you back just as eagerly, savouring every touch, taste, and feel of your lips and your body against his. There was still a part of him that couldn’t believe that you were here, but he didn’t want to be that open and vulnerable with you just yet - after all, he was still a person who feared rejection. For now, he planned to take everything that you gave him and give you an experience you wouldn’t forget.

You whimpered in his mouth and he knew you weren’t going to be able to stay on the edge for much longer. He stopped your hips abruptly mid-kiss, smiling into your mouth at the indignant whimper that escaped past your lips and into his. Your fingers pulled on the ends of his hair, the action sending delicious tingles down his spine.

“On your knees.”

The cold air that hit your dripping cunt almost had you cumming and he knew it. Çağlar watched you lower yourself onto the floor, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Clean up the mess you made - with your tongue.” He gestured to his thigh and you did as he ordered, the taste of your juices making you drip onto the floor. Your hands explored his legs while you worked him over, keenly aware of just how close you were to the cock he wouldn’t let you touch just yet.

When you were done, you trailed light kisses up his thigh, ending when your nose got dangerously close to his shaft. Çağlar’s hand came up and fisted in your hair, pulling your neck back so you could meet his eyes. “Do you think you deserve this cock in your mouth?”

Your throat worked as you tried to swallow so you could form words. “Yes, Sir.”

“Go ahead, then.”

You had so many ideas you almost didn’t know where to start. The tip was still leaking precum, though, and you wanted a taste. Keeping your eyes locked with his, you stuck out your tongue and started licking your way up his shaft, ending with the tip.

The sound Çağlar made when you finally swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock was unlike any other sound you’d ever elicited from a man. Turkish words fell from his lips, spurring you on. There was no better feeling than knowing that you were the one who was making him feel this good while listening to him curse in his mother tongue.

You spit into your hand, running it up and down his length for a few pumps before playing with his balls. His hand tightened in your hair and you knew it was time to stop being a tease, your mouth finally closing around him.

What you couldn’t fit in your mouth, you used your hands on. Çağlar’s cock was longer and thicker than any other man you’d been with and you were going to have to adjust to his size. Your mouth felt full as you tried to take him deeper, gagging on his length. Tears sprang to your eyes as the tip hit the back of your throat, Çağlar holding your head steady for a couple seconds until he released you. It baffled you how he seemed to be able to read your body so well and know exactly when to push you further and when to back off, but you weren’t complaining - after all, you were somehow able to do the same thing to him.

Çağlar’s body tensed and you glanced up at him, knowing he was close. You wanted to give him an orgasm so badly, moreso than you wanted to cum yourself at the moment. You hummed around his cock, your hands and mouth working him over until he was incoherent. His hips bucked, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth as he came. He held your head in place again, but this time you didn’t try to push back, swallowing the load he gave you.

You released him with a soft pop, looking at him for approval. “Good girl,” was all he gave you, but the way he said it had your body humming. “Do you think you’re ready for more?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Çağlar got up and you followed behind him, still wearing your heels. You thought he was leading you to the bedroom, but you were quickly proven wrong.

In a way, you had been led to a bedroom, but not the master. Çağlar had completely transformed one of the two guest bedrooms into something out of Fifty Shades. The massive four-poster bed gave you endless scenarios that you were eager to try out and the other furniture in the room made you wonder just how many people Çağlar would have watching you if he had the chance. There was an array of whips and chains laid out on top of the chest of drawers and your mind raced at all the possibilities.

You wandered over to the chest of drawers, your fingers running over the riding crop and the flogger and the paddle. Your eyes widened as you spotted the silk ties, handcuffs and rope. “Are you gonna tie me up?” You asked, looking back at him.

Çağlar nodded, a sly smirk forming on his lips. “Among other things. Where would you like to start?”

You stepped towards him, placing a tentative hand on his chest. “Where do you wanna start?”

You shivered as his hands slid up your body and he grabbed your wrists, pinning your hands behind your back. “I wanna tie you up and make you scream.”

A low whimper left your lips as you stared up at him. He let you go but not without a squeeze that you hoped would leave bruises - you wanted marks that would last a few days or weeks that you could remember him by.

Çağlar watched your ass sway as you walked over to the table. You ran your hands over the implements, your eyes widening at the selection before you.

Zip ties were the first thing you saw, but you didn’t want those just yet. The vibes you were getting from Çağlar were BDSM with a combination of care and consideration and the zip ties just didn’t fit in with everything you wanted from the day you were getting from him.

Next were the ropes. There were a few different types, but none of which sparked your interest.

The silk ties caught your eye. They were actual ties and your body hummed in anticipation as your brain reminded you that you’d seen Çağlar in every single one of these ties. “I wore this one to the match where I first met you.”

You gasped as Çağlar came up behind you and pressed himself fully up against you. “I remember,” you said, your voice soft as you pictured him in that well-tailored suit after the match, taking your hand in his when James introduced you. “I came so hard that night thinking about the way your hands would feel on my body.”

Çağlar hummed his approval, those same hands you were talking about roaming your torso as you spoke, leaving you breathless. “And now that you know?” He asked, one hand dipping between your legs causing you to open them so he could have better access. “Are they as good as you imagined?”

You swallowed thickly, opening your mouth to say something but a strangled cry escaped first. “Even better.”

Çağlar played with your pussy while you picked out the silk ties you wanted him to use on you, your mind getting hazier with need as time went on. “You gonna be able to walk for me?” He chuckled, his hands on your hips to guide you toward the bed. You still hadn’t cum yet but your body was so needy for an orgasm you would agree to anything at this point it was a wonder you hadn’t slipped into subspace yet.

“How many times would you like to cum tonight?” Çağlar asked, laying you down on the bed. He positioned you just right, taking one of your wrists in his hand and tying it to the bedpost.

“As many times as you’ll l-let me, Sir,” you gasped as he tightened the first tie and tugged on it to make sure it would hold. You had no idea what he had in store for you but you knew that if he was checking the strength of the ties it had to be intense.

“Good answer.” He smirked as he did the same to the other hand, grinning down at you when he was finished. His voice was deeper when he spoke next, the words giving you goosebumps as they washed over you. “And what if I wanted you to cum a hundred times with a vibrator pressed to your clit until you pass out?”

You involuntarily struggled against the ties, your body craving a release. “I, uhm, I’d take it like the good girl I am, S-Sir.”

Çağlar rewarded you for your honesty by sliding a finger inside your dripping cunt, watching you intently as you arched your back and dug your heels into the mattress. He pulled the finger out of you and sucked on it, reveling in the tortured look on your face at the loss of his finger inside you. “I want to bury my face in your pussy and taste you. Are you gonna be a good girl and wait to cum until I tell you to?”

“Oh, God! Yes! I’ll be so good, I swear!”

He chuckled at your overly-enthusiastic reaction, settling between your legs. You whimpered as his eyes met yours and you wished he hadn’t tied you up; you wanted so badly to tangle your fingers in his hair and control his face but you knew that was probably why you were tied up in the first place.

“Çağlar?” You asked, the hesitance in your voice making him pause.

“Yes?”

You blushed red as you stammered out your next request. “Can you, uhm, can you tie your hair back like, uh, like you do for m-matches?”

Çağlar hadn’t been expecting that request, but he was more than happy to oblige. After all, the whole reason he’d continued to wear his hair like that had been because of your breathy compliment after the first match, the lust evident in your gaze as you’d complimented him on his form afterwards. “Senin için her şey aşkım,” he replied, running a hand up your calf and pressing a light kiss to your knee. Anything for you, love. “But I need to find a hair tie.”

“O-okay.”

“I don’t want you to stop dripping for me, though…”

“I-I won’t, promise!”

The bed dipped as Çağlar climbed off of it and made his way back to the chest of drawers, opening one of the top ones and pulling something out. He came back to you with a small bullet in one hand and a remote in the other. The little toy buzzed to life and you watched eagerly as he played with the dial to find the perfect setting. “Spread your legs for me.” You whimpered, doing as he said, the cold air hitting your dripping pussy. “If you cum from this, I will know and you will be punished. Understood?”

“Y-yes, Sir.” You nodded furiously, your eyes wide. You bit your lip to try to stop the moan as he slid the bullet inside you, but you knew he’d heard you.

“I shouldn’t be gone long.”

***

Çağlar roamed around his bedroom, looking for a hair tie, a groan of frustration bubbling up when he couldn’t find one right away. His phone pinged with an incoming message and he got curious when he saw James’s name pop up.

Maddison: I know today’s the day, but just…be careful okay? YN is my best friend and I don’t want her getting hurt.

“Siktir,” he cursed, running a hand through his hair. The last thing he needed right now was Protective Madders coming in and making him feel guilty.

Çağlar: I won’t. I care about her too and I don’t want her to get hurt either.

His text had just sent when James’s name popped up on his phone for a phone call.

“Yes?” Çağlar asked hesitantly, his gaze darting around looking for a hair tie. If he was going to be on a call with James, at least he could be multitasking.

“Is she with you already?” James asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Yes.”

“Can I talk to her?”

Çağlar winced, staring up at the ceiling. “No.”

“Why not?”

Because she’s currently tied up with a vibrator in her pussy while I search for something to tie my hair back so I can eat her out properly, is what Çağlar wanted to say. “She’s currently cleaning my kitchen and I ordered her not to speak unless spoken to.”

“Jesus Christ, Cags!” James shouted, causing Çağlar to hold the phone away from his ear. “Are you making her clean your whole house?!”

“Something like that,” was his reply, a silent shout of triumph when he finally found a hair tie.

“Just…go easy on her, okay? YN is sensitive, ya know? I don’t think she’ll be able to take everything you I’m sure you have in store for her.”

Çağlar’s brow furrowed as he took in James’s words, not quite sure what he meant but not wanting to give anything away in case you hadn’t told James what you and Çağlar were up to today. “I will. I promise.”

***

You didn’t know how long Çağlar was gone, but by the time he came back you were covered in sweat and barely holding off an orgasm. He stood at the end of the bed just taking in the sight before him. You hadn’t noticed him yet and it was obvious in your demeanor.

You strained against the ropes, writhing this way and that. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you tried desperately not to cum and be the good girl that you wanted to be for Çağlar, breathy moans and whimpers continuously falling from your lips. When the sensations got to be too much, your hands gripped the wooden bedposts as your heels dug into the mattress and your back arched as you tried to move away from the bullet inside you to no avail.

Çağlar smiled wide as his thumb flicked up the speed of the bullet just a few notches higher. It wasn’t long after that when you opened your eyes and looked at him with desperation. “Please take it out,” you begged, barely able to get the words out. “I can’t take it anymore!”

“Did you cum?” He asked in response, coming around to sit on the edge of the bed. He angled your body so he could take the bullet out but he made no actual move toward your pussy.

“No, I didn’t - I swear!” You thrust your hips in his direction, a frustrated cry cutting through the air when he just chuckled at your predicament. His thumb worked over the dial, climbing the rest of the notches to get to the highest setting. Çağlar held your knees apart so that he could watch your pussy drip. He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on you and make you cum but he also got off on watching you try to be a good girl for him. “Take it out, make it stop, please! I don’t want to cum without permission, Sir!” You thrashed against the ties, your body taut.

“Stay still,” Çağlar growled, wrapping one arm across your stomach to pin you down to the bed. He placed his other hand right below your entrance. “Push it out for me.”

You stared at him, barely able to comprehend his words. “Nngh - oh, God!” You strained to push the toy out of your pussy and into Çağlar’s hand, more than a little humiliated at what he was making you do.

He turned the toy off the moment it slid easily out of your slick pussy. You tried to see what he was going to do with the toy but you didn’t have to wait long.

“Open,” he commanded, taking your jaw in his free hand to do just that. A long, thin string of your arousal clung to his fingers and the toy as he dropped it in your mouth. “Clean it but keep your mouth open. I want to watch you use your tongue.”

You kept your gaze glued to his as your tongue swirled over the small toy. His eyes searched yours while you cleaned it, looking to make sure there wasn’t any hesitation or doubt in your eyes that you weren’t saying. You knew he wouldn’t find what he was looking for, but the intensity of his stare still made you blush. You’d always thought he was beautiful, but you never imagined that he would look at you the way he was right now: filled with lust, promise, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

He tapped your chin when he was certain you’d done well and you spat the toy back into his hand. “Good girl,” he said matter-of-factly, giving you a chaste kiss on your forehead that somehow seemed to be the most intimate thing he’d done so far.

When the toy was put back in its place, Çağlar made his way back over to you. This time, your stomach dipped in anticipation; this time, your body knew exactly what he had planned for it and it was ready.

“Siktir,” he cursed, the word a low growl as he parted your thighs. He looked at your dripping pussy with a hunger that you’d never seen from any man before. “Çok güzel,” he mused, running a finger between your folds to gauge your reaction. Fuck, so pretty.

“Please,” you panted, unable to wait any longer. The mattress shifted as Çağlar positioned you how he wanted. When he was done, you were in the perfect position: your legs were bent with your calves resting on his shoulders, your knees on either side of his head; his hands were on your hips to hold you in place. You wished for the hundredth time that you weren’t tied up because you wanted - no, needed - to put your hands in his hair and mess up the perfect bun he’d put in just for you. It was inexplicable, but he looked so powerful with his hair pulled back and it made you ache for him.

You’d thought you were ready for the moment he finally put his mouth on your pussy, but you weren’t. The feel of his five-o’clock shadow on your inner thighs coupled with his soft lips and tongue on your sensitive lower lips had you screaming his name. Your thighs clenched tight and you tried to close your legs around his head but Çağlar wasn’t having any of that. He chuckled against your pussy, the vibrations going straight to your clit; he moved his hands from your hips and used them to part your legs from around his head. “Are you sensitive?” He asked, his nose brushing your clit as he swirled his tongue around your entrance.

“You already know the answer to that,” you countered, too turned on to think about the proper way to respond to him.

Your sassy response earned you an unexpected harsh slap directly on your clit and lower lips.

“What the hell was that for?!” You yelped, fixing him with a glare that didn’t last long when he landed another.

“I think you already know the answer to that, love,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you. His eyes never left yours as he added a third slap that had you almost begging for more. There was something about the intermittent mix of pain with pleasure that was holding off your orgasm, but you suspected he knew that already. “I’ll ask again: Are you sensitive?”

“Yessss,” you hissed, arching your back as Çağlar sucked your clit into his mouth while sliding a finger inside you.

“You taste so good,” he hummed, moving his attention to your labia where he started in and worked his way out. He put just enough pressure so that you could feel what he was doing but not so much as to let you cum just yet.

You white-knuckled the bedposts, unable to do much else but take all the pleasure he was giving you while trying to hold back your orgasm. Çağlar could sense you were close, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy so that he could land three more hard smacks on your pussy. “Not just yet,” he chided, each smack coinciding with a word.

“When?!” You cried out, squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn’t believe you were so sexually  frustrated you were almost about to cry but you were.

“When I think you’ve earned it.”

It wasn’t long before he started up again, this time with more urgency. You kept your mouth shut except for all the sounds he was drawing out of you, but you didn’t dare say a word. You wanted to cum and you wanted him to think you’d earned it.

Çağlar wanted to savour every moment of his twenty-four hours with you, but he especially wanted to commit all of this to memory. The way you responded to his touch, the view of your face he had from his current angle, the sounds you made; all of it. You’d more than earned your orgasm - in fact, by Çağlar’s standards, he’d kept you on the edge far longer than he’d ever kept a woman before - but he was selfish and wanted to hear you beg him again.

“Beg for me,” he ordered, curling his fingers in your g-spot as he licked long and slow up your folds to end at your clit.

“N-no,” you stammered, gasping for air at the sensations he was giving you while trying to be forceful.

Çağlar stilled his fingers inside you and fixed you with a disapproving glare. “Just to be clear: you don’t want to cum right now, then?”

Your eyes widened as you took in his words. “I do, Çağlar. I do want to cum right now!” You rushed to get the words out, trying not to trip over them in your haste. Your hips thrust up, trying to get him to move his fingers inside of you. When that didn’t work, you swallowed your pride and pleaded, “Please let me cum, Sir! I won’t disobey you again just…please!”

Those seemed to be the words he wanted to hear. Çağlar smirked at you, his lips brushing lightly against your clit as he praised you. “Good girl.” Seconds later, he was murmuring the words you’d been wanting to hear since Thursday night.

“Cum for me.”

The most earth-shattering orgasm ripped through you and you couldn’t stop the scream that tore from your throat and made you go hoarse for a moment. All your muscles tensed and somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you were probably suffocating Çağlar with your legs around his head, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the blinding pleasure that was racing through your body. You rode his lips and fingers, wanting every last aftershock he could give to you. You hoped he’d let you cum more than this one time during the twenty-four hours you had together, but if this was the only orgasm you got, you wanted to make it memorable.

You came down slowly, your breathing still laboured and your vision blurry. The world seemed muted until you realized you’d gone a little deaf when your orgasm hit, the ringing in your ears the only clue. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, your voice a little muted to your ears but you could still hear the need in it. “Çağlar.”

The man in question was looking at you with a smug look on his face. He seemed completely unfazed by the fact that you’d clenched your thighs around his head so hard you’d probably cut off his oxygen supply for a moment - a little voice in your head wondered if he somehow got off on that, too, and you hoped he did, His fingers on his free hand danced across your calves and he started to slowly withdraw his others from your pussy. “Yes?”

You moaned as your walls spasmed around him some more and you wondered if just the action of him pulling out of you was going to have you cumming again. “I’ve never-” you swallowed thickly, whimpering when the tips of his fingers were out of you and in his mouth. “I’ve never cum that hard in my life.”

Çağlar ducked his head and kissed your inner thighs, trying to hide his blush from you. “Benim için zevkti,” he murmured, pressing light kisses up your body. It was my pleasure.

“What did you say?” You asked, finally getting up the courage to ask him to translate.

“Would you like a kiss, baby?” Çağlar asked in English, his lips shiny and wet with your juices. A part of you didn’t believe that was what he’d said but you didn’t care right then; you just wanted to kiss him again.

“Please.”

Çağlar covered your body with his, taking his time so you could feel every inch of his body against his. Your skin was still overly-sensitive from the orgasm you’d just received, and you tugged at the restraints, a frustrated sound in the back of your throat making Çağlar chuckle.

“Do you want me to untie you first?” He asks, one hand tracing your cheek and trailing up to your wrist.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, biting down on your bottom lip to physically keep in all the words you want to say to him.

Just when you think he’s about to loosen the knot on the tie, Çağlar pauses. “If I untie you, what do you plan to do?”

You close your eyes briefly as your body tenses with need that you’re sure Çağlar feels, too. When you open your eyes again, you find him watching you intently, waiting for your answer. “I want to run my fingers through your hair.” Your voice is soft and timid as you reply and you hate that you’re not your usual confident self.

“And then?” The timbre of Çağlar’s voice matches yours and there’s something in the way he asks that has you wanting to keep going.

“I want to take the tie out of your hair so I can feel all of it.” You take in a shaky breath, your eyes still connected to his. “I want you to kiss my neck so I can know what it feels like to have you mark me.” You pause, trying to find your next words as you watch Çağlar swallow thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The action mesmerizes you for a moment and you can’t stop your brain from suggesting the idea that you kiss it and run your tongue along the distended veins on the sides of his neck that are visible as he strains to try to control his arousal. Your tongue peeks out to wet your bottom lip and you know Çağlar’s distracted and so are you. “D-do you want me to keep going?” You rasp, trying to find your voice again.

“Yes.”

Your fingers curl into frustrated fists as you continue, aching to touch him. “Right now, all I can think about is your neck.” Your eyes trace the expanse of his shoulders but focus their attention on the strong column you’d held in your hands what felt like days ago but had realistically only been hours. “Putting my mouth and hands all over it. I want to feel your moans under my lips and your heartbeat under my tongue.” You say his name to bring his focus back to you. “Will you let me?”

He doesn’t form words in response, his hands finally connecting with the knot to loosen it with just one pull. The second is undone in exactly the same way and for a moment you can’t even believe that you’re free to touch him.

“Are you sure?” You ask, your hands almost literally itching to touch him. Your wrists are slightly sore from all the twisting you’d done while he had his mouth on your pussy, but you don’t care right now. When Çağlar nods in response, your hands are in his hair, and your mouth is on his. You’re greedy with your kisses and touches but you don’t care and he doesn’t seem to either, kissing you back with the same need that’s got you both moaning.

It feels like forever as you fumble with the hair tie, a pleased hum coming from your lips that Çağlar quickly swallows as his hair falls around your face and tickles your cheeks. You’re laughing against his lips and it’s contagious; the two of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers trying to make out for the first time.

To his credit, Çağlar does what you’d described to him, but neither of you can stop your giddiness. “It tickles!” You’re half-laughing-half-moaning when he kisses your neck.

He stops and looks at you, a feigned look of seriousness on his face that has you both laughing again once he breaks character. “What?”

Your cheeks are flushed and your breathing is heavy, but not in the same way it’s been since you showed up today. Something’s shifted in the air and neither of you can really explain it, but it’s there. “Nothing,” you reply, breathless as you try to bring your lips to meet his. He meets you halfway, though, and the tickling sensation of his hair is back. “Gonna need you on your back,” you murmur in between kisses, hooking your legs around his waist and using your lower-body strength to swing your momentum to put him on his back. “There,” you say, pride filling your voice as you straddle his stomach, breathing heavily. “Much better.”

“Where did you learn to do that?” He asks, awestruck. He’s trying to focus on you, but his brain can’t quite comprehend what just happened and he needs to know.

“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” is your response, the age-old spy saying making you dissolve into giggles again. “But really, though,” you pause, the tip of your nose brushing against his ear, “I’m not sure you’d want to know.”

“Later,” he promises, and soon he’s kissing you with urgency, all humour gone.

That is, until your stomach grumbles just as you’re pressing kisses to his sternum, getting ready to ride him. You try to cover it up with a moan and you thought you’d done a good job hiding it until it grumbles again.

“Hungry?” Çağlar asks just as his own stomach growls and you’re nodding, trying to hide your blush. “What should we order?”

***

Fifteen minutes later, you’ve both decided on a massive amount of food from the best Chinese place in town. The man on the phone had said the order would be delivered between forty-five minutes and an hour from now, so the two of you have time. You’re just about to suggest maybe putting something on TV when Çağlar takes your hand and leads you to his actual bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom.

You’re too busy marvelling at the deep bathtub-slash-jacuzzi you so desperately want to relax in, but Çağlar has other ideas. The water starting to run in the beautiful shower getting your attention. “C’mere,” he says, taking your hand and leading you under the spray of warm water.

“Oh my, God.” You moan as the water hits your sore muscles and stinging flesh. Çağlar is right behind you, his hands never leaving your body as he somehow manages to find all your sore spots and massage them out. You’re leaning into him, almost forgetting that this isn’t real. It is real, of course, in a sense - it’s real that he’s making you feel good and that you’re here with him. What isn’t real, though, is that he’s not yours and this isn’t anything more than twenty-four hours. You close your eyes to try to keep the tears from falling, thankful that Çağlar’s behind you and that you can mask your tears against the flow of the water.

“You okay?” Çağlar asks, his voice bringing you out of your own mind.

“Mmhmm,” you nod, gathering up the courage to turn around and face him. Droplets of water fall down your face as you reach up a tentative hand and stand up on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Just got a bit lost in my own head there for a bit but I’m back now.”

“Good,” he replies, the only word he speaks in English for a moment. He’s studying you and the way he’s looking at you has you feeling more beautiful and wanted than any man has ever made you feel. When he speaks next, his words are all in Turkish and you can’t understand him. “Aman Tanrım, sen çok güzelsin. Eğer benim olsaydın, sana her gün ibadet ederdim. Senin yanından asla ayrılmam ve sana ne zaman sevebileceğimi söylerdim. Keşke seni benim yapabilsem, ama bunun asla mümkün olmayacağını biliyorum. Şimdi seninle bu zamanı geçirmeme sevindim, böylece sana ne kadar çok şey ifade ettiğini gösterebilirim.”

“What did you just say?” You ask, your brow furrowed in concentration. You’re frustrated because you want to know exactly what he said but you don’t speak his mother tongue and it kills you that you don’t know what he’s said to you with such a serious look on his face.

“Everything I’ve ever wanted to say,” is his response before he kisses you and makes you forget your own name again.

He has you pressed against the cool black marble of the shower walls, kissing you urgently as the water rains down over the two of you. This is different than all your needy kisses today, though - this kiss isn’t teasing or in anticipation of something else; this kiss is pure, unadulterated need and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a kiss from him. “Will you let me take what I need from you right now?” He growls, his voice rough and tortured as his eyes search yours.

“Of course,” you respond, your body somehow knowing exactly what he wants from you and you’re prepared to give it. You know it’ll cost you a piece of your heart but you don’t mind - this is Çağlar, after all.

“Safeword if you need to.”

Those are the last words he speaks to you before he uses you in the best ways. You gasp as he turns you around and spreads your legs, his hands on your hips to stick your ass and pussy out to present to him. Çağlar wastes no time in driving into your dripping pussy balls-deep, both of you vaguely aware that this is the first time he’s actually fucked you. If you weren’t so clouded with lust and need, you’d probably have wanted him to go slower, but that wasn’t what either of you needed at that moment.

He’s pistoling in and out of you roughly, his hands on your hips to control you and keep you steady, something you’re grateful for because you’re not quite sure how you’d be able to hold yourself up right now. One of his hands wraps around your body and finds your clit, stimulating the sensitive bud to make you moan unabashedly, arching your back painfully to have him fill you up more if that was even possible.

Your fingertips are sliding on the slick marble, trying to grasp at something - anything - but there’s nothing in sight. You try to open your mouth to speak to tell him that you’re close to an orgasm, but nothing comes out. Of course, Çağlar knows that you’re close, he’s been reading your body and by the way your pussy is spasming around his cock, he’s ready. It’s the same way you clenched around his fingers when he had you tied up and he already knows this release is going to be mind-blowing for the both of you.

He bites down on your shoulder and you cry out. Your mind goes blank, your last thought that of course it’s the pain of his teeth on your skin that’s pushing you over the edge and making you cum.

Çağlar’s cumming inside you the moment you’re crying out his name. His teeth are still latched to your shoulder as he pumps into you. There’s something primal about the feeling of him cumming inside you, but he knows just how badly he needed to have you this way.

There’s nothing afterward as he pulls out of you slowly, both of you still slightly sore from the rough way he handled you. “The food should be here soon,” he says in a gruff explanation when you give him a questioning look. He steps out of the shower and grabs a nearby towel, drying himself off. “Take your time.”’

You don’t spend much time in the shower after he’s gone, not wanting to be alone with your thoughts. You’d process everything after the twenty-four hours were up - not now. You wash yourself with his expensive body wash, smiling to yourself at the thought of smelling like him. It was all so intimate but you pushed the thought away as you turned off the water and grabbed the other towel and began to dry off.

***

“I didn’t hear the doorbell,” you said when you walked out into the kitchen to find Çağlar opening up the cartons of food.

He looked up at you and smiled, his eyes darkening slightly at the sight of you in just a towel, the ends of your still-wet hair dripping down your shoulders to run into the edge of the towel. “They just arrived,” he explained, waving off your concern. “You’re right on time.”

“This looks amazing,” you commented, your eyes wide as you tried to figure out what to eat first. Sweet and sour chicken, fried rice, steamed veggies, chow mein - the list was endless and your mouth watered at all the delicious smells.

“Try this,” Çağlar said, holding out his chopsticks to you. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth and let him place something in your mouth.

“Oh, my god,” you moaned, closing your lips around his chopsticks lightly and pulling away, putting your hand to your mouth. “That’s delicious.”

“It’s my favourite,” he confesses, a light blush on his cheeks as he turns his attention back to his plate.

“I want some more.”

***

Over the next hour, the two of you talk and laugh and eat, trying a little bit of everything and feeding each other your favourite dishes. You learn things you’d never would have known about him and Çağlar has you telling stories and sharing memories that you hadn’t thought about in ages. It’s perfect, honestly; everything you’d want in a first lunch date with a man, but you know you can’t think like that.

“What else would you like me to do to you before our time is up?” Çağlar asks suddenly, catching you off-guard.

You falter for a moment, thankful you didn’t have any food in your mouth when he’d asked. “I want you to use those spanking implements on me,” you confess, blushing a little as you hear the words leave your lips. “I want to ride you at least once - maybe while you’re tied up?” Çağlar nods at your suggestion and you can’t help feeling a little giddy at the thought of returning the earlier favour. You twirl some chow mein with your chopsticks, thinking. “What do you want to do to me with the twenty hours we have left?”

Çağlar’s eyes darken at your question. “Many things,” was his only response, and your pussy clenched at his words.

It was hard to focus on the rest of the meal, your mind wandering to all the things Çağlar could have in store for you. Wordlessly, the two of you cleared the table. Çağlar put the food back in their takeaway boxes while you rinsed the plates and other dishes. You caught his eye once and he smiled at you. Instinctively, you smiled back but your mind went back to that domestic feeling once again and you hoped he couldn’t see the blush forming on your cheeks.

Çağlar came up to you from behind, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. “Are you ready?” He asked, one hand reaching for the end of the towel that was tucked in-between your tits.

“Yes,” you breathed, already dripping.

In a flash, he tore the towel off your body, leaving you naked and completely exposed. “On your hands and knees.”

Your eyes searched his for a brief moment, wanting to make sure he was serious. You knew you could safeword at any time, and his command almost made you but your curiosity won out. Blushing a deep red, you slowly sank to your hands and knees, craning your neck to look up at him for the next order.

“Follow.”

You did as he said, crawling on your hands and knees to the other bedroom.

“On the sofa.”

You sat down, your juices easily transferring to the leather and making it wet. You tried hard not to squirm, but between the feel of your wetness and the anticipation of what was coming next, it was next to impossible.

“On your back,” Çağlar said when he returned, a bottle of something in his hand.

“Wh-what’s that?” you asked, slightly scared of the answer.

“I’m going to give you a massage,” he explained, setting the bottle on the ground and kneeling on the floor. Çağlar poured some of the massage oil into his hands and warmed it up. “Lay on your back.”

He started at your waist, teasing. His hands dipped down to your thighs and ass, working them over. He spread your legs and a whimper escaped. You couldn’t believe he was already about to touch your pussy, but you should have known better. Just as soon as his hands inched their way up your inner thighs and were about to reach your cunt, he withdrew, leaving you aching.

You didn’t know where to put your hands, reaching out blindly to try to grab onto something. “Do I need to restrain you again?” Çağlar asked when you accidentally grabbed onto him.

“Please.” You hadn’t ever begged to be tied up before and the rush of pleasure that you got from it was new.

“I have just the rope.”

Time seemed to stop while Çağlar went to get the rope, just like when he’d left to find a hair tie. When he returned, he took off his towel for the second time that day and straddled you.

“Hands.”

You presented your hands to him and he fixed them how he wanted: your forearms pressed together, palms facing each other. You watched, transfixed, as Çağlar tied your arms together, a determined expression on his face. “Hands over your head,” he said when he was done. Once you obeyed, he climbed off of you and secured the rope to the legs of the sofa so that you couldn’t move. “Much better,” he commented, admiring his handiwork.

The feeling of being completely helpless while Çağlar touched you wasn’t lost on you. In a way, he’d already done this earlier, but this was different. He wasn’t making any move to fuck you yet - he just wanted to explore your body with his hands - and it was going to make you lose your mind.

“Just relax, baby,” he cooed, pouring more oil into his hands. This time, he drifted upwards, the rough calluses on his hands scratching your torso in the best way.

“Çağlar!” You cried out when he finally got to your tits. Your back arched painfully as you tried desperately to get him to put more pressure there, but it didn’t work.

“So beautiful,” he remarked, squeezing a nipple. “And all mine.”

“Yes, Çağlar. A-all yours-s.” You shut your eyes, whimpering as he brushed his thumbs over your distended buds and the sensation went straight to your clit.

“I’ve wanted to touch these for ages,” he continued, his voice so low you strained to hear him. “From the moment I met you, I wanted you just like this.”

Your stomach dipped at his words, another cry leaving your lips as he stopped touching your tits, travelling back down to the juncture between your thighs.

“So wet,” he said again, fingers still dancing around your pussy.

“You make me wet, Çağlar.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, but they seemed to have the desired effect.

“Really?” He asked, a flash of insecurity shining through and making you want him even more.

“God, yes.” You swallowed hard, wishing now that you hadn’t begged him to tie you up. “Anytime I think about you, I get this wet.”

You held your breath as Çağlar’s hands made their way up your inner thighs once again, this time coming in contact with your pussy.

“Oh, god,” you whimpered, your hips lifting off the sofa wanting more.

“Patience,” he chastised, adding more oil to his hands. “I’m gonna make you beg for this orgasm.”

His thumbs parted your folds, exposing your clit to the cool air. You sucked in a breath, not quite ready for those sensations on your pussy just yet. He leaned down, his mouth centimetres from your clit. It was almost impossible not to cry out and beg him to touch you, but you held out, something in his demeanor telling you that this was his time with your pussy and he had all the power.

Çağlar kept his gaze locked with yours as he opened his mouth ever-so-slightly. Your breath was coming in rapid pants now, and you wished he would just put his mouth on you already. His lips quirked into a cheeky grin before forming an ‘o’ and exhaling cool air onto your clit. Your pussy puckered as it clenched around nothing, and you squirmed under his touch. He did it again and again, watching your clit start to swell and your pussy start to drip, all from that one action.

When your clit was prominent enough, he ran a thumb from the entrance of your pussy to your clit, pressing down on the little button. Your legs instinctively started to close, and Çağlar caught them. Without a word, he got up and got some more rope, returning with that same determined look on his face. He bent your legs, pressing the soles of your feet together. Your knees were bent, butterflying out. He tied your knees bent in that position, nodding to himself in satisfaction. “Much better,” he mused, and got back to what he was doing before.

He slowly eased a finger inside you, watching as your pussy eagerly took it in and clenched around it. All too soon, he took it out, trailing your wetness up to your clit. The warmth of his finger had you writhing around but he took that away just as quickly, sticking it in his mouth to suck on it. His focus turned to your ass next; running his hands from your knees up your inner thighs, his thumbs brushed over the entrance of your pussy and dipped lower, playing with the space between your asscheeks.

“Oh, god!” Your hips bucked, and you almost closed your legs again.

“How badly do you want to cum?” He asked, his voice low.

You whimpered and bit your lower lip as his thumb found your perineum and stroked. His eyes met yours as he did it again, gauging your reaction. When you cried out again but didn’t respond to his question, he stopped touching you altogether.

“No! Çağlar, please!” You begged, straining against the ropes. “I want to cum so bad!”

He looked at you for a long minute, his jaw working. When he opened his mouth, a glob of spit fell out and onto your clit but he didn’t touch it right away. “If I start touching you again, I’m not going to stop until you’re so fucked out you can barely move.” His voice held promise as his words washed over you. He towered over you, leaning down so his lips were light against your earlobe as he whispered, “Would you like to safeword now?”

“No,” you said back, with conviction. You’d promised him twenty-four hours with you and you were going to give him everything you had.

Çağlar lightly bit your earlobe at your response, mumbling “Good girl,” before trailing kisses down your body, stopping just before your pussy.

“Please!” Seemed to be all you could say at the moment, willing him to touch you there, but Çağlar had more patience than you. The spit was slowly drifting down from your clit towards your pussy and settling between your ass.

He dipped his head, nose lightly skimming your clit seemingly accidentally, a smirk on his lips. “Think I can make this pretty little pussy squirt for me?”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded furiously, too stunned to say anything else. You wished your arms weren’t tied over your head so you would have something to bite down on but the only thing available was your bottom lip.

Çağlar chuckled, biting your inner thigh instead of putting his mouth on your pussy. “No just yet, though.”

Your begging was practically incoherent as Çağlar’s hands touched you, finding every millimetre of your skin to touch and kiss. By the time he finally put his hands on your pussy, you were wetter than you’d ever been, barely holding back an orgasm when he put two fingers inside you. You tugged at the well-tied ropes holding your hands in place, your eyes wide. Çağlar pinned your hips down with one hand, his eyes looking up at you over the mound of your pussy. The tip of his tongue peeked out and flicked your clit, causing you to let out a breathy wail as your walls clenched around his fingers.

“So easy,” he murmured, repeating the action with his tongue while slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you. “Bet if I kiss this clit, you’ll cum just - like - that.”

“YesyesYES!” You screamed when Çağlar sucked on your clit, pushing you over the edge into your second intense orgasm of the day. He held your legs apart as you thrashed around, only able to moan and buck your hips as Çağlar’s name rolled off your tongue again and again.

All too soon, the sensation was gone and Çağlar was pulling out of you and walking away.

“Where are you going?!” You shrieked, your body so far past over-stimulated you didn’t know what to do.

Çağlar didn’t respond, his back to you as he stood over the chest of drawers once more. You strained to see what he was doing, but your little range of motion prevented you from doing so. Your body hummed in anticipation, the overstimulation making it hard to take in a proper breath.

When he finally turned back around, your eyes widened at the riding crop in his hand. Çağlar’s eyes roamed over your body and he had that unreadable expression on his face again.

“Wh-what are you gonna do with that?” You asked, swallowing hard.

“Gonna punish this little pussy,” he stated, the cool tip of the crop trailing over your tits. A strangled cry left your lips as it grazed your hardened nipple, the new sensation going straight to your clit.

The first stroke was a surprise and had you instinctively closing your legs to protect your cunt from another hit. Çağlar growled and forced your legs back open for another. “Do I have to tie you open for me?” He snarled, the crop tracing over the skin on your inner thigh.

“N-no! I’ll be good, I swear!”

It took all your willpower not to close your legs after that, each stroke seemingly harsher than the last. Your nails bit into your palms as stroke after stroke landed on your pussy. By the time he was done, ten incredibly painful slaps had been delivered straight to your cunt. Your lower lips were now swollen and your clit was throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

“No more!” You pleaded, tears streaming down your face as your eyes met his.

Çağlar knew you’d only be able to handle those ten strokes, already moving on to the next part of his plan. He methodically untied the ropes holding your knees in position. He pressed light kisses to the rope-indented skin and you sucked in a breath at the feel of his lips on such an unusually sensitive place. Next came your arms and he treated them with the same level of care. “You did so good for me,” he praised, his grip on your wrists featherlight as his calloused fingertips traced over the indents on your skin.

Your hands found his hair and before you could process it, you were pulling him down and kissing him eagerly, the emotions of the scene you’d just played out taking over. “I need you inside me,” you panted, breaking the kiss to say the words you needed to say. “Now.”

Çağlar’s hands were on your hips in a flash, putting you on your knees and bending you over the sofa. He palmed your ass again, inspecting it. Four swift slaps landed on your ass, reddening it and renewing the sensations from earlier. He guided his dick to your swollen, dripping entrance and his thumb dipped into your asshole.

All you could do was breathe, overwhelmed by the foreign feeling of Çağlar’s thumb in your ass. You’d never let anyone back there before, but your body wanted to take whatever he had to give. Your hands gripped the back of the leather sofa, little mewls of pleasure coming out of your mouth with every exhale. His other hand snaked around and found your throbbing clit, pinching the sensitive bud as he thrust inside of you. Çağlar’s thumb pushed deeper in your ass, the pain bringing you pleasure as you felt fuller with him in both your holes.

“Çağlar!” You cried out, arching your back against the pleasure. There was a building sensation in the pit of your stomach that was different from all the others you’d experienced so far today and you knew exactly what it was. “I’m gonna squirt!”

“Squirt for me, then,” he commanded, picking up the pace of his thrusts and timed them with his hands.

It was then that your thoughts kicked in and the sensation was starting to diminish. “A-all over your sofa? I…I can’t.”

“You can and you will,” Çağlar murmured, putting pressure on your clit and asshole.

“Oh - my - GOD!” Your pussy clenched as your orgasm hit and you squirted. The sound of your juices splashing onto the leather kept your orgasm going and you couldn’t stop it. You felt him cum inside you and the feeling triggered a second orgasm so quickly after the first.

You vaguely felt Çağlar pull out of you, but you were too spent to follow him or ask what he was up to. You hugged the back of the sofa as your breathing slowed, your brain trying to regain normal thought after what just happened.

You gasped and flinched as a warm washcloth pressed between your legs. Çağlar ran the warm, soft material over your swollen lower lips and down your thighs. “Mm, that feels good,” you moaned, a light smile crossing your lips as you briefly closed your eyes.

Çağlar pressed a kiss to each of your asscheeks, lightly biting down on the exposed flesh to hear you cry out. “Gotta clean up my girl after an orgasm like that,” came his response and your heart started to beat a little faster.

The washcloth was gone a moment later, bringing you out of your thoughts. It was a good thing, you supposed, seeing as how you didn’t want to get in too deep with your feelings. You turned your head, a goofy satisfied smile on your face as you watched Çağlar rinse the washcloth in the sink. You’d been so caught up in the rest of the room that you hadn’t realized that there was a bathroom attached to the bedroom. A part of you wanted to explore it, but you barely wanted to move in your current state of post-orgasmic bliss.

“Can it be my turn?” You asked when Çağlar returned, turning so that you were kneeling and facing him. You looked up at him through your lashes, your fingers tracing over the ink across his chest.

Çağlar swallowed hard, his heart racing underneath your touch. He weighed his options, trying to think of reasons why it wouldn’t be a good idea to let you explore him. When he couldn’t think of any reasons why not, he shrugged. “Okay,” he said with more confidence than he felt.

“Do you have a full-length mirror somewhere?” You asked, kissing his collarbone. “I want to watch.” You felt Çağlar tense at your question and you paused, taking his face in your hands. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you said softly, your eyes searching his. There was something in them that you couldn’t read, but you wished he would let you in.

He shook his head, murmuring, “Senin için? Herhangi bir şey.” For you? Anything.

Your brow furrowed at his words that you couldn’t understand, but Çağlar took your hand and guided you to yet another unexplored corner of the bedroom. The lights were low, but you could still see how handsome and powerful he was. You pressed yourself against his side, turning to look at your reflections in the mirror. The image of the two of you naked in the mirror only twisted the knife further into your chest. A part of you could just picture it: both of you, clothed - Çağlar in a three-piece Armani suit and you in a beautiful floor-length gown - getting ready to go to a gala together as a couple. Your fingers drifted down over his abs and he let out a moan when your manicured nails graze the head of his cock.

Çağlar’s eyes were glued to the mirror, watching your every move. His cock hardened and his hands clenched into fists at your touch, his breath hitching as you teased. He desperately wanted to touch you but this was your turn and he wanted to give you the opportunity to do what he’d been doing to you all day.

You smirked as your gaze met his in the mirror. A light shake of your head was all it took to tell him that you weren’t planning on touching his dick like that again any time soon. Instead, you turned your attention to his tattoos, starting with the lion on his back.

Your fingertips wandered over the expanse of his back as you drank him in. The lion was intricate and the level of detail took your breath away. Çağlar’s jaw tensed as you traced the lion’s nose and proceeded to press a kiss to it, muttering something to yourself that he couldn’t understand. “This is…” you paused, finding your words as you outlined parts of the mane that extended to his shoulders. “It’s beautiful, Çağlar.”

He was speechless at that, not quite sure how to respond to your compliment. “Thank you,” was all he managed to say in response, hoping he sounded sincere.

“I’m serious,” you shot back, your hands starting at the top of his shoulders and running down. He grunted when you got to his hips, clearing his throat to try to calm his nerves. “The detail, the intricacy…” you trailed off, lightly kissing the inked skin. “Must have taken hours.”

“It did, yes,” he replied, his voice deeper and more accented than before.

You turned your attention to his side next, the wording on his torso catching your interest now. “What about this?” Your hands skimmed the letters as you gauged his reaction - the shoe was very much on the other foot at the moment and you wanted to take your time. Çağlar’s body tensed as he sucked in a breath under your fingertips. You stood on your tiptoes and lightly kissed his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful and you don’t even know it.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, but you didn’t care. “I could watch you on the pitch for hours…”

Çağlar turned his head to look at you and this time you could almost read his expression. “Why?” He asked, the question barely a whisper.

“Why what?” You countered, pressing yourself against him once more. “I-” you started, but stopped yourself. This wasn’t how you wanted to confess your feelings, no matter how badly you wanted to. These twenty-four hours were to fulfill a bet you’d lost and that was the only reason why you were here.

You must have paused for too long, because Çağlar tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, bringing you back from your thoughts. “You…?” He asked, eyes searching yours. This time, it was you whose expression was unreadable.

“Nothing,” you said softly, a sad smile spreading across your face as you reached up and touched his cheek. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” You leaned in and kissed him hard, squeezing your eyes shut and hoping that the tears that shone in your eyes weren’t going to fall.

Çağlar’s cock hardened between the two of you as you kissed him with everything you had. It was urgent but there was a softness to it that had your emotions raw. He deepened the kiss, his hands finally starting to work again as he grabbed your ass and pressed you tighter against him.

“Are you gonna fuck me right here?” You asked, breathing heavily, your forehead pressed against his.

“No,” he replied, kissing you again. “On the bed.”

Your stomach dipped when he picked you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his torso as he walked you back over to the bed and set you down. He pressed a knee between your legs and covered your body with his, never breaking the kiss. His hands were all over you but his touch wasn’t rushed; this exploration holding more weight than anything so far.

“Çok güzelsin,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek. You’re so beautiful.

“What?” You whispered, kissing his neck.

He didn’t reply, instead grabbing you by the backs of your knees and positioning you underneath him, lining the head of his cock up with the entrance to your pussy. “I want you to feel every inch of me,” he stated, pushing into you slowly.

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to muffle your moans.

“Don’t,” Çağlar ordered, taking your jaw in his hand, freeing your bottom lip from your teeth in the process. “I want to hear all your sounds.”

You gave him everything you had: every moan, whimper, and cry was for him. Each thrust was long and slow, drawing moans from both of you as he slid in and out. You clung to his shoulders, your nails raking down his arms. One of his hands reached between you to finger your clit. You both groaned at the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, your walls tightening around his dick with every circle around your clit.

“Çağlar!” You rasped, arching your back so he could hit your pussy from a different angle.

He whispered, “Cum for me,” before kissing you deeply.

And cum you did. This orgasm was different, washing over you instead of hitting you hard and making your brain go numb and your body go limp. This orgasm felt like it changed everything but you couldn’t describe how. Çağlar stiffened on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he came inside you.

He pulled out of you and rolled off onto his back. You whimpered at the loss of his body heat and contact, instinctively fitting yourself into his side. Neither of you spoke for a long time, both processing what had just happened in your own heads.

Quietly, you extricated yourself from Çağlar, heading to the adjoining bathroom. You used the toilet, silently praying you would avoid a UTI, and stared at yourself in the mirror as you washed your hands. You sighed, turning to look at the red of your ass, wishing you were more marked up.

“Hey.”

Çağlar’s voice made you gasp and turn around, blushing like crazy at him catching you admiring your marks in the mirror. “Hi.”

He grinned at you as he leaned on the doorframe, the gap in his teeth making your stomach flip. “Do you want some more?” He asked, motioning to your body.

“Yes.” The breathy confirmation was out of your mouth before you could stop it and Çağlar grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the bathroom.

“Dinner first.”

***

You were on edge throughout dinner which consisted of leftover Chinese from lunch, your body ready for whatever Çağlar was about to do to you. You couldn’t believe it was already half-past six, the twenty-four hours almost halfway over.

“After I give you what you’re looking for,” Çağlar started, giving you a knowing look that had your body tingling and your face blushing, “I was thinking of a movie and then bed?”

You paused, surprised at Çağlar’s suggestion but nodded in agreement. “Sounds good.” You balked when you remembered. “Uh, I, uhm, don’t have anything to wear to bed tonight.”

Çağlar shrugged. “You’ll wear one of my jerseys,” he said as though it was obvious.

“Really?”

“Of course.” He fixed you with a possessive stare as he said, “You need to go to bed with the reminder that I owned you.”

You sucked in a breath, biting your bottom lip at his controlling words. “You already own me, Çağlar,” you replied, your voice low so only you could hear.

Çağlar cocked his head to the side, confusion on his face; he knew you’d said something, but he hadn’t been able to catch it in time and it was killing him. He’d heard his name but that was it.

“So,” you said, stabbing a piece of leftover sweet and sour chicken with your fork, angry at yourself for almost letting your feelings slip yet again, “how are you planning to mark me?”

A slow, sadistic smile spread across his face. “Did you see the hook hanging from the ceiling?” He asked, and you shook your head. “Well, there is one and I plan to tie your wrists and hang you by them from just the perfect height so you’re balancing on your tiptoes.” He leaned on his forearms to get closer to you.

He continued to run through the plan, his eyes darkening with every word that fell from his lips. Your breathing was ragged by the time he was done and your pussy was dripping.

“Are you ready?” He asked when he was done, the food long-since forgotten about.

“Yes.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself standing on your tiptoes, your hands bound in rope for the second time that day. Çağlar circled you, the riding crop from earlier in his hands. “How would you like to be marked up?” He asked, stopping in front of you. He tapped your knees with the crop, an unspoken command for you to open your legs which you obeyed.

You swallowed hard. “Nothing anybody can see. No arms. Nothing below my knees.” Your breathing was shaky with arousal as you said the next part, “Please pay special attention to my tits and ass. I-I don’t want to be able to put on a bra or panties without thinking of you for the next week.”

“Remember,” he said, the first stroke of the crop hitting your nipple and making you cry out, “you can safeword at any time.”

“I…I know,” you answered, catching your breath from the first one.

Çağlar hit the other one, smirking at your whimper.

“FUCK!” You screamed after the sixth, kicking the balls of your feet up in pain since you couldn’t grab your tits like you wanted to.

By the time Çağlar was done with them, they were almost starting to turn purple and achy. “You took that so well,” he praised, coming up to you and taking your tits in his hands, running his thumbs over your bruised flesh. He kissed the tops of each one, murmuring soothing words in Turkish. When he looked up and his eyes met yours, that sadistic grin was back. “Now for your ass.”

He walked back over to the chest of drawers, picking up a flogger. Your eyes widened when you saw it and you started to struggle against the ties. You’d been flogged before and you knew how much it would hurt, but you still weren’t going to back down. You wanted marks - asked for them, even - and you were going to get them.

“How many can you take?” Çağlar asked, brushing the leather strips across your bare ass.

“Start with ten,” you replied, bracing yourself for what was about to happen.

Before he started, his hands were on your hips, making you stick your ass out and present it to him. “Count for me.”

The first one was lighter than you were expecting, but you still let out a grunt of pain. The second hurt a little more but was still bearable - in fact, you even asked Çağlar to hit you harder. Three and four took your breath away, five and six made you scream, seven and eight had you cursing at Çağlar, nine and ten almost knocked you off your feet as you tried to get away from the sting of the flogger.

“H-how’s my ass?” You asked after the tenth, hissing when Çağlar’s fingertips brushed over the welts.

“Good,” he remarked, taking one cheek in his hand and squeezing it. All the air left your lungs at the pain, but you knew you could take more. “Could look better, though.”

“Five more,” you said, knowing you could take it.

He gave them to you, but not before asking if you could take another after each one. It turned out you could take ten more, making the total twenty by your count. When Çağlar took you down, your body was spent and your emotions were higher than you were expecting. Before you could stop yourself, you launched yourself into his arms and buried your face in the crook of his neck, the tears flowing.

“It’s okay,” Çağlar cooed, his hands trailing down your back as he soothed you. “I’ve got you.” More Turkish flowed from his mouth but you didn’t have time to listen, your body processing all your emotions in his arms.

It felt like ages before you stopped crying, but in reality it was a little under five minutes. “C’mon,” Çağlar said softly, picking you up and carrying you to his bedroom. He sat you down on the bed and disappeared into his closet, walking out wearing grey sweatpants and holding a jersey in his hands. “Here.”

You took the jersey from him, sniffling as you looked up at him. “Thank you.”

“Do you want pants or anything?”

You shook your head, wincing as the sting finally set in. “Fuck,” you hissed, shifting from one cheek to the other to try to soothe the pain. “It’s already starting to ache.”

“On your stomach.”

He disappeared once again, this time into the bathroom, coming back with lotion. You turned over, lifting the jersey up over your ass, baring it to him. The intimacy of your current situation wasn’t lost on you, a low moan leaving your lips as you buried your face in his comforter. Çağlar rubbed the cool lotion on your heated skin, taking extra care of the welts that were deeper and more painful.

“Up,” he ordered when he was finished, covering your ass with the jersey and returning the lotion to its rightful place.

When he returned, Çağlar looked at you and you could tell he wanted to say something but stopped himself. Instead, he held out his hand and you took it, giving him a small smile as you stood up and walked to the living room. You didn’t know what movie he’d picked, and quite frankly, you didn’t care.

The opening credits rolled and you snuggled into Çağlar’s side, the grey sweatpants soft against your legs. It was painful to sit fully on your ass but you were doing the best you could. You weren’t paying attention to the movie, your fingers absently tracing the tattoos on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat under your fingertips but you chose to ignore it, not wanting to get yourself in any deeper, feelings-wise.

Halfway through the movie, Çağlar got up and calmly walked to the bathroom. He was anything but calm, however, as he splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. “Siktir,” he cursed, wanting to punch the mirror but not wanting to alert you that anything was wrong. He thought back to James’s words from earlier and couldn’t help but feel guilty. Çağlar hadn’t put you through anything you didn’t ask him to, but he still felt like shit about it. He’d won you in the bet fair and square, but he’d used it as an opportunity to use you to play out all his darkest fantasies and now reality was setting in.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and walked back out into the living room. “Do you want some water?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Sure,” you called back, smiling to yourself as you settled back on the pillow you’d replaced him with. “Thanks,” you said, smiling up at him as you took the glass of water. Your fingers grazed his and you swore you heard his breath hitch but once again you brushed it off.

“Can I get you anything else? Ice cream or something?”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “I just want you to sit back down so I can stop cuddling this pillow.”

Çağlar smirked at your response and settled back down, pulling you into him. You sighed contentedly, and in a moment of weakness, laced your fingers through his as the movie played on. Your head was in his lap and Çağlar couldn’t resist running his fingers through your soft curls, thankful for the dark room and the fact that your back was turned so you couldn’t see the small smile and light blush on his face.

“Can we go to bed now?” You asked when the movie was over, unable to contain your yawn.

“Yes,” Çağlar replied, chuckling lightly as you sat up.

“Ow!” You whimpered, a hand to your ass as you stood up. “Forgot about what you did to me earlier.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, not meeting your gaze.

“S’okay,” you said, walking up to him and taking his face in your hands. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for.” Without thinking, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to his lips. “Now, can we get ready for bed?”

Çağlar’s face broke out into a grin and he nodded. “Of course.”

He gave you a spare toothbrush and the two of you brushed your teeth in unison. It felt weirdly domestic, but neither of you wanted to broach the subject with less than twelve hours left in your bet.

“What were you thinking for the morning?” You asked hesitantly, your gaze meeting his in the mirror.

“I was thinking I’d make breakfast and…” Çağlar trailed off, not sure where to go from there.

“That sounds perfect,” you said, giving him a small smile before turning your back to him. “I’ll let you know if I think of anything else I’d like you to do to me before our twenty-four hours are up, okay?” You looked back at him over your shoulder in time to see him nod.

“Is that the side of the bed you normally sleep on?” You asked Çağlar, motioning to the side he was currently against.

“This is fine,” he replied, pulling the sheets down and flicking off the lights. Both of you got in bed, you immediately turning onto your side to protect your bruised ass.

“C’mere,” Çağlar grunted, pulling you into him so you were tucked into his side, your head on his shoulder and one of your legs wrapped around his powerful thigh. A small part of you wished he wasn’t wearing the sweatpants so you could feel his bare skin against yours.

“Are you…okay?” You questioned, your fingertips tracing patterns on his chest. “I asked you to do some pretty harsh things to me today.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, clearing his throat and swallowing hard. “I should be the one asking you that.”

“I’m fine, too,” you giggled, lightly kissing his sternum. “Just don’t worry about me, okay? Sure, I might not be able to put on a bra or sit down properly for a week, but I got everything I wanted from you.”

Çağlar’s chest constricted at the last part of your sentence, your words inadvertently having more of an effect on him than you intended. There had been a part of him that had been debating asking for more over breakfast the next morning, but now he knew the truth and he wasn’t about to put himself through the kind of rejection that was sure to happen.

“Çağlar?” You asked, shifting so that you could look up at him.

He closed his eyes and evened his breathing, not wanting to speak for fear he might say something he would later regret.

“Good night, Çağlar,” you whispered, reaching up and lightly kissing his lips. “Thank you for today.”

***

It was damn near impossible to sleep. You tossed and turned throughout the night, restless. Çağlar seemed to sleep like a rock, hardly moving whereas you couldn’t seem to stop.

At one point, you got up and went to the bathroom to splash some cold water on your face. You stopped to study your reflection, tilting your head to one side as you took in your body covered in Çağlar’s jersey. You turned around, looking over your shoulder at the ‘Söyüncü 4’ on your back making your body erupt in goosebumps.

“Çağlar Söyüncü, what have you done to me?” You whispered to your reflection, your gaze flicking over to his sleeping form. Tears started to form but you wouldn’t let them fall, swiping at them before they could have the chance.

You climbed back into bed, trying desperately to control your breathing. Çağlar shifted in the bed, pulling you into him so he was spooning you. “Where did you go?” He mumbled sleepily, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Bathroom,” you responded, snuggling into him.

“I missed you. Don’t leave me again.”

Your heart thudded rapidly in your chest as he rested his forehead on your shoulder, warm breath on your neck as his breathing evened out again and he went back to sleep.

You didn’t know when, but sleep somehow managed to claim you and before you knew it, sunlight was streaming through the windows. Your eyes darted around the room as you looked for a clock but found none. For a brief moment you debated getting out of bed but Çağlar’s arms were still wrapped around your waist and you could feel his erection pressed against your ass.

“Good morning,” he murmured a few minutes later, his grip on you tightening as he pulled you closer. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” you replied, your fingertips grazing his forearm. “You?”

“Good.”

“What time is it?” You asked, yawning as you looked back at him.

Çağlar rolled off of you then, reaching for his phone. “Half past seven.”

Only an hour and a half left, your brain reminded you and your heart sank. “Should we get breakfast started?”

“Yes, of course.”

***

Çağlar couldn’t stop studying you as he made the eggs. You’d started the coffee and poured yourself a cup as soon as there was enough coffee in the pot. You were currently flipping through your phone, replying to a day’s worth of messages that you’d missed while Çağlar was working you over.

You shifted over your ass to one side, wincing again. When you looked up, you caught his eye and gave him a cheeky grin that had him blushing slightly.

Çağlar wanted to ask you for more, but he remembered your statement from last night and his chest got hot and tight again. He turned his focus more intently to the eggs on the skillet in front of him as they finished up and he spooned them onto the two plates in front of him.

You gratefully took the plate from him and dug into the eggs. “Are you going to eat?” You asked, watching Çağlar mill around in the kitchen some more.

“Just looking for toast,” he muttered, making a satisfied noise when he found the bread he was looking for. He popped two slices in the toaster and handed you one when they were done. He put some jam in front of you and some butter. You gave him a grateful smile.

“Now will you eat?”

“Yes.” He shot you an annoyed look, exaggeratedly putting a forkful of scrambled egg into his mouth.

You chuckled, shaking your head at his antics. Çağlar joined in and the laughter seemed to envelope the two of you. When your laughter finally died down, awkwardness took its place and neither of you could look each other in the eye.

“I should, uh, probably get going?” You said, looking at the clock. It was only 8:30, and while you really did want to finish out your twenty-four hours with him, it might prove to be more than your heart could bear.

“Are you sure?” Çağlar asked, hating how needy he sounded, but he wasn’t quite ready to let you go yet. His house had felt different while you were in it - full of life and not quite as empty - and he didn’t want that feeling to end.

You bit your bottom lip, weighing your options. “I…I don’t know,” you said, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Come here.” His voice was a whisper, his gaze intense.

You would never be able to explain why, but there was something in the way he said it that had you moving to stand between his legs. “Yes?” You asked, a hand on his cheek as your eyes searched his.

Please don’t go. The words were right on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t say them in English knowing that you would understand him and would reject him. “Lütfen gitme. Burada benimle kal.”

“Will you please stop doing that?!” You huffed, your gaze hard.

“What?” Çağlar asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Çağlar! You know damn well that you’re speaking Turkish and that I can’t understand you.” You stepped out of his grasp. “You’ve been doing it a lot these last twenty-four hours and I’m done.”

“Wait! Please.” He reached for you, desperate. “I’m sorry, okay?” You turned around and looked at him, your expression tortured. Çağlar’s heart squeezed in his chest at the look on your face.

“I’ll accept your apology,” you started, walking toward him with a purpose, stopping centimetres from him, “if you tell me what you told me just now.”

Çağlar weighed his options, going with the harsher of the two to protect his heart. “I said you should go. I don’t want you here anyway.”

The sneer on his face knocked the air from your lungs and you sucked in a breath. “Is that what you’ve been saying to me this whole time?” You asked, your blood running cold and your chest constricting. “Mean, terrible things that you know I can’t understand?!” Tears welled up and this time you didn’t stop them from falling, wanting Çağlar to see just how much he’d hurt you. “Well, let me tell you something you can understand: Fuck. You. Fuck you, Çağlar Söyüncü!” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Let me guess: you were just waiting for me to bet myself last Thursday at poker night so you could take advantage of me, weren’t you?” You ran a hand through your hair, muttering angrily to yourself. “I was a fool. I was a fucking fool.”

“No!” Çağlar shouted, getting you to look at him. “No, you’re not. Please believe me when I tell you I’m so sorry. I’ll tell you what I really said - I promise.” He tried to walk back his words, but he’d already lost your trust and there wasn’t any way he’d be able to win it back in the time he had left.

You narrowed your eyes at him, turning on your heel and collecting your clothes. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you said when you realized you needed to get dressed in your own clothes, slipping on the skirt and tearing off Çağlar’s jersey to replace it with the shirt.

“Please wait.” Your hand was on the doorknob when Çağlar’s voice came one last time.

“Starburst.” You turned around to look at him one last time. He was holding the jersey you’d been wearing in his hands and he looked as broken as you felt. “I’m done, Çağlar.”

The door slammed behind you and all Çağlar could do was hold the jersey up to his nose and inhale your scent, still not quite believing that you weren’t coming back.

[peonybane]

Agape and Pragma: Chapter 3

Pairings: OT7 (BTS) x Reader

Word Count: 4.5 k

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Angst, Sci-Fi, Crack (?), Smut (eventually)

Chapter Specific Notes: Fluff, Crack (?), Suggestive, a little bit of Angst

Summary: Your entire world had be torn asunder by just one lab test. Time heals all wounds, but does it really? What will it take to feel whole again?

Hybrid Types: Peacock Jin, Serval Yoongi, Golden Retriever Hoseok, Gray Wolf Namjoon, Great Dane Taehyung, and French Lop Eared Rabbit Jungkook… with one more to come.

a/n: It’s Sunday somewhere. Anyways, this story is broken up into two different perspectives: Reader’s and Yoongi’s. I hope you all enjoy this one. One more boy to introduce and the real fun begins!

<— Previous (Chapter 2)

After your nightmare, things were… awkward. It happened all too soon. It wasn’t like you were hiding your issues— it just never really came up. So to have your issue exposed in that way, well, it made it hard to face your two new roommates. Jin didn’t really help with how he wasn’t quite sure how to act around you. If anything he tried too hard to take the attention away from you and onto himself. Which would honestly be alright… except that you would begin to feel second hand embarrassment. He always tried to make you laugh. Like when you all were talking at breakfast— you, him, and Hoseok— he’d tell stories about work from the previous night. It always got you and Hoseok howling with laughter. Every once in a while though, he’d tell a story about a child. Halfway through, he’d get self conscious and try to backtrack… which only made the awkwardness even worse.

Yoongi on the other hand went out of his way to make it seem like nothing happened. He still gave off this elusive aura that all wild cats had. It was in the smaller things that made you wonder if he was also being, well, awkward about the whole situation, but in his own way. On the days you were working at home, laptop balanced on your lap and editing your authors’ manuscripts on the couch in the living room, it wasn’t uncommon for Yoongi to leave for work then comeback several hours later, you seemingly not having moved from that spot on the couch, too in the zone to do anything else. On those days, Yoongi would bring you an extra water bottle from the kitchen or would loudly announce that he was hungry and wanted some suggestions from you on what he should eat, often pulling you out of the zone and realizing that you were indeed, starving. When you’d finally look up from your laptop screen, and your gaze fell upon Yoongi, you’d find that his posture was alert and almost… on guard at these times, as if he wasn’t sure how to broach a subject with you.

This state of utter awkwardness finally broke about a month into Jin and Yoongi staying at the house. Well, that wasn’t entirely correct, it changed to a different, much less painful awkwardness. 

You had just finished getting dressed into your cocktail dress, getting ready for the quarterly work dinner. Director Bang always insisted that once a quarter, as many editors and authors as possible should all go out to dinner, to mingle, to network, and perhaps discuss potential story ideas in a semi-casual environment. Since this dinner had more RSVPs that usual, Director Bang decided to make a party of it, booking out a party room at a fancy hotel. 

Giving yourself a once over in your mirror, actually quite happy with how you looked, you left your room, ready to deal with whatever was thrown your way. Well… almost.

You had just closed your bedroom door when you heard yelling. Panicking a bit, you rushed down the hall to where you heard the yelling coming from. Your steps were heavy, trying to jog in short heels. You reached one of the bathrooms. Mid stride, the door was thrown open to expose a very wet and very naked Jin. “Yah! What was taking you so lo—“

You yelped, jumping a bit. Both you and Jin froze, staring at each other. You tried desperately not to look at his body, but your gaze fell upon his shoulders, down his toned and slightly scarred arms, then the trail of iridescent blue and green hair starting at his bellybutton caught your eye. Before you could help yourself, your eyes followed that trail. 

Jin reacted a bit too slowly, trying to cover up his crotch with his hands. But the damage had already been done, the words already sputtering from your lips.

“You have a penis!”

“Yes, and I’m quite attached to it, you know. We’re in separable.”

The pun was completely lost on you, your face blushed as your brain tried desperately to reboot itself. No footsteps were heard until Yoongi (the damn cat) was already practically on top of your two, with towel in hand. “Stop prancing around naked, you peacock.”

The sexually frustrated part of your brain whispered, cock instead.

Jin shot him a deadly look as he stopped trying to hide the monstrosity between his legs, to grab the towel and wrapped it around himself. Your gaze shot up to the ceiling, feeling very, very embarrassed. After all, the thing hanging between his legs was just as big as he was. And just as pretty. “It’s not my fault, Tae used the last of the clean towels.”

Yoongi sniggered, gummy smile peaking through. Jin turned his attention back on you. He teased, “Yah! What did you think I had? A cloaca?”

If it was possible, you had turned even redder, making Jin smirk. “Ahhh. I see. I just happened to be lucky enough to be born with entirely human genitalia. Unlike some of our roommates.”

This earned him a shoulder smack from Yoongi. Jin yelped and the two started arguing. Not that you heard it. Instead, your attention was grabbed by how red Yoongi had flushed. You had never seen him look so embarrassed before. Nor will you probably again. It was rather adorable actually.

Once they had both calmed down, Yoongi cleared this throat, turning his attention to you. You mused that he wanted to the avoid the subject of his penis around his female roommate. “You look very nice. Going on date?”

Looking down at yourself, you had completely forgotten that you had dressed up. “Oh!”

You looked back up at them, shaking your head. “No. This is for work. My boss does these quarterly dinners for editors and authors to mingle. I can’t get out of this one though. He’ll hound his editors if he doesn’t see you at two consecutive dinners…. Guess where I’m at?”

This got a chuckle out of them. Jin asked, “Anyone joining you? Want one of us, namely me, to come with?”

You shook you head, after you’ve picked your jaw off the floor. “No. Believe me, the only person I’d bring with is Liam. I’ve tried taking Tae and Hobi. I’ve had to pull a few of the men chasers off of Tae and the son-in-law seekers off of Hobi. Those ladies would have a fucking field day with you.”

Jin pouted while Yoongi smirked. “Well, if you need a ride home, just call me up.”

“Thank you, Yoongi. I will.”

You waved goodbye to the both of them as you made your way downstairs. You shook your head, trying to get that image of Jin out of it. At the bottom of the stairs you heard a whistle. “Damn, hot mama, who’s the date?”

Hoseok was sipping on a glass of water, his hair mussied up from his post-phone-conference nap. You giggled as you made your way over to your purse. “Not you, too.”

He looked at you as if you had insulted his child. “What? Can I not ask why my roommate is looking hotter than usual?”

You gave him a hard look as you checked that you had everything. “It’s the quarterly dinner. Bang got us a party room at a hotel that requires a dress code.”

“Ahhh. Well, have fun. I most certainly will as I will NOT be evaluated like a prized bull being put up for auction. Geez ladies, leave me and your daughters alone.”

You pouted to cover up the giggle that was threatening to escape. “Don’t wait up. Bang is probably going to try to add another author to my list. Make sure that Tae doesn’t stay too late to grade with Jimin. You know how they get this time of year.”

“Will do. They’ll probably go out to drink or something after work. Have fun, hot mama. Knock ‘em dead.”

You waved farewell as you headed out the door. Now it was time to fight rush hour traffic on the way to the hotel. Great….

^~^~^~^~^ 

Just standing in the hotel lobby alone made you feel like you had underdressed, despite being explicitly told by your immediate manager, Sejin, that a cocktail dress was more than formal enough. Just how much did Director Bang invest in this little soiree? After asking the concierge where the BigHIT publishing company party was, you led yourself over the elevator, waiting for it to return to ground level.

Not a moment later, a rather tall man joined you. He towered over you, looking very sharp in his suit, a tad bit overdressed. A salt and pepper bushy tail caught your attention. You glanced up at his face to see a pair of sharp black ears sat on top of salt and pepper hair. His eyes were sharp and when he noticed you looking at him, he shot you a dimpled smile. 

Oh fuck, no. Not dimples. Hoseok tortured your enough with his own little ones. These ones were even more torturous, being far more prominent.

You shyly nodded, both of you acknowledging the other’s presence. When the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival, he stepped to the side, “Ladies first.”

Nodding your thanks, you entered the elevator. He soon joined you. You pressed the button for the fifth floor. He did not press any. Instead, he inquired, “The BigHIT publishing party?”

“Oh. Yes. I’m an editor there. You?”

“Author.” He offered his hand. “I’m Namjoon.”

You took his hand, shaking it as you gave him your name. His hand was warm, reminded you of Hoseok and Taehyung a bit, their temperature higher than most people’s. He cleared his throat and he let go of your hand. “It’ll be nice to know a face other than Mr. Bang’s and my current editor.”

Giggling a little, you replied, “Well, I can guarantee that you’ll get to know quite a number of people. First party I take it?”

He hummed as he nodded. Just then, the elevator dinged, letting you know that you had arrived on your floor. Namjoon held his hand out for you to go first. “Ladies first.”

You smiled and nodded your thanks before stepping out; Namjoon was close on your heels. You both made your way down the winding hallway, getting closer to the light music and chatter. Namjoon opened the door for both of you and as you went to thank him, you heard Director Bang call out your name.

Both you and Namjoon turned to see Director Bang head your way. You met him half way. The older man was like a father to everyone working under him: very gentle but also firm, his word was final. Director Bang gave you a brief hug, muttering about how much he missed you and hardly ever saw you. Finally, he turned to Namjoon taking his hand and shaking it. “And it’s so good to see you again, Namjoon. Or should I say R.M. Kim?”

Namjoon blushed as your jaw dropped. R.M. Kim? The R.M. Kim? He was sort of a legend within the company itself, no one except his manager and Director Bang having ever met him, never mind actually seeing his face. No one has. He quickly became a best seller with just his debut novel alone called, Forever Rain. His second novel called, Reflection did just as well. Despite all of his success and popularity, he refused to be on camera or be interviewed. 

“It’s good to see you again, Director Bang.”

Director Bang’s smile grew. “I see you’ve already met our one and only science fiction editor. I was hoping to introduce her to you for your next book.”

You looked over at Namjoon with large eyes. “Oh? You’re looking into expanding into science fiction. Were you not enjoying slice of life?”

“I, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “actually wanted branch into something different. But also focused more on what I went to school for.”

Director Bang started leading you two towards one of the tables. Once there, the three of you sat down. Your full attention was on Namjoon now; he piqued your interest as most of your authors started out in science fiction, realized they weren’t cut out for it and switched over to something or quit writing all together. It was interesting coming across someone else who wanted to go the other way. “Mr. Kim—“

“Namjoon.”

You swallowed, continuing, “Namjoon… what did you study exactly?”

Director Bang waved over a waiter as he watched you two talk with a knowing gaze. “Medicine, actually. I specialized in Hybrid medicine. I take it you’ve read Reflection?”

How could you have not? You snuck read it after Liam had reread that book almost a half dozen times in the span of two months. Liam never told you why he loved it, almost he was embarrassed about it, but after reading it, you figured out why: it was written like a diary about a doctor traveling the world, trying to figuring out himself and what role he played in the world. It has caused a sharp rise in high schoolers pursuing Hybrid medicine degrees and people going out on missionary missions of sorts.

You simply nodded. “Yes. It was hard to read at times, it felt way too real.”

Namjoon sheepishly smiled. “Ha. Well, that’s because it was a diary. My diary to be specific.”

“Wait. You’re telling me you went through all of that?”

“Some of it is exaggerated.”

You leaned back in your chair. You both had ignored Director Bang, who proceeded to order you all drinks. When the waiter returned with the drinks, you absentmindedly took a sip. It was bitter and strong, but there was a certain sweetness to it. You grimaced. Director Bang just chuckled. “See you still can’t drink that well.”

Flushing slightly, you just made a face back at him.  He laughed before standing up, drink in hand. “Well, I got to go say hello to some other. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you two.”

Just as he was about to walk off, Director Bang turned back towards you two, calling out your name. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring any of your roommates. I was hoping to verbally spar with Liam again.”

You chuckled nervously. “Well, you know why I couldn’t bring the Trio.”

Director Bang nodded, rolling his eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“And, uh, well… Liam’s married and is living in India, now.”

He gawked at you. “Married? The forever bachelor?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yep. And she’s amazing.”

Blinking a moment, he cleared his throat. “Well, looks like I owe Mr. Sejin that bottle of scotch.”

You tilted your head curiously. At that he had enough shame to look guilty. “We may have had a bet about whether or not you’d end up with Liam.”

It was your turn to balk at him. Before you could stutter out a reply, Director Bang walked off, laughing to himself. As soon as your brain rebooted, you looked over at Namjoon. His ears were at full attention, his brow knit together as he muttered. You leaned in, hoping to hear him. “Liam, Liam, Liam, Liam….”

He started a bit as he looked up at you. “Arzt? Liam Arzt?”

You gasped a bit. It took you a moment, but you laughed, smiling at him. “Yes. How do you know the infamous Liam?”

Namjoon smiled back at you, dimples showing through. Those damn dimples. “Liam and I studied at school together. We went into the same program afterwards, too. For the most part, we were sent to different parts of the world. I thought I had heard something about Liam getting married.”

“That’s— that’s interesting that we never met before through Liam. I went to the same university. Though I studied Astronomy, not pre-medicine.”

Namjoon chuckled, smirking a bit as he took a drink. He muttered something but you didn’t hear it very well, sounded something like, of course he didn’t introduce us. “I’m sorry, Namjoon. Did you say something? I missed it.”

He swallowed, setting his cup down. “Nah, it was nothing important.”

The conversation flowed easily between the two of you as he explained his plans for his next book he was hoping to call Moon Child.

^~^~^~^~^ 

You and Namjoon has separated a few times to socialize with others. Mostly because some of your authors wanted to talk to you in person. Though, you’d often have to leave them behind as Namjoon was surrounded by a gaggle of husband chasers and son-in-law snatchers. You found yourself swooping in a few times, grabbing him under the guise of helping him with his next novel. 

While Namjoon would do his best to quickly give them an apology, these ladies would send you dirty looks, sizing you up. It’s not the like this was the first time they had looked at you like this. After all, you’d been the sourpuss constantly raining on their parade when it came to them trying to devour men whole. 

Liam could handle himself. While he wasn’t hideous by any means, he wasn’t drop dead gorgeous either. Which both Taehyung and Hoseok were. And unlike Taehyung and Hoseok, Liam was willing to get nasty and make sure that none of those woman would approach him again that manner (this usually took the form of him making some sort of remark regarding Sejin’s ass or inquiring whether or not they thought he’d be good in the sack). Your sweet boys on the other hand didn’t have it in them. After the failures with your two more outgoing roommates, you wisely chose never to introduce shy Jungkook to this pack of hyenas (figuratively, of course). 

As a thank you, each time Namjoon would bring you over a drink. Even though you were pacing yourself, you found yourself slowly getting drunk as the night progressed, having completely forgotten that you were your own ride. You were having too much fun talking to Namjoon as he spoke excitedly about his story, about life, about everything really. 

The night started winding down and it was soon only the two of you and a few stragglers. A waiter came over to you and asked you to leave the party room, the party having run well over the allotted booking time. Sheepishly, Namjoon escorted you out of the room and to the downstairs lobby where he led you over to a pair of plush seats. He left you alone for a couple of minutes, coming back with a water bottle for you. He sat down beside you as you took a sip.

“You staying anywhere nearby?”

You shook your head. “Nah. I’ll just have to call one of my roommates to come get me. But I’m having too much fun here with you.”

Namjoon smiled as you pouted. “As lovely as that would be, I think you need to go home.”

You pouted some more like a petulant child before finally pulling out your phone. You called Yoongi. A few rings later, he answered. “Finally. Taehyung has been bothering me to call you.”

You started giggling. You could hear Jungkook and Taehyung scrambling in the background to try to hear your conversation as much as possible. “Yoongs… pwease come get me. I ended up having soooooooo much fun with my new friend that I ended up dwinking too much.”

He sighed, but you could almost hear the smile behind it. “Fine. Hang tight, I’m bring Jungkook along so your car doesn’t stay over night.”

“Thank you, Yoongs.”

Right before the phone clicked off, you could hear Taehyung ask why couldn’t go. You giggled again as you pocketed your phone. Namjoon was smiling as he watched you. You blushed a little looking away. “Sounds like you got some great roommates.”

“Yeah… they’re awesome. Yoongi’s so sweet for volunteering to come get me. He’s such a grumpy cat, but really, he’s a sweetheart.”

If it was possible, Namjoon’s eyes softened even further. There was something else in his gaze that made you sober up a little. “It’s late. I don’t want to keep you up. I’ll be fine. You head home.”

Namjoon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, you see, I actually live here at this hotel. So really, it’s like you’re waiting in my home.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “You staying from out of town?”

“In a way, yes. But really it’s because I can’t seem to find a place I like. You know, I wrote most of those two books while I was traveling. In the past year, I’d been hopping around from different headquarters of W.H.H.O. (World Hybrid Health Organization). Finally, a few months ago, I resigned. Haven’t figured out where I wanted to end up quite yet.”

It was silent between the two of you for a short while. Well, except for the night concierge trying to stay awake by walking around the lobby. You broke the silence, clearing your throat. “Why don’t you stay with us?”

“What?”

“We have plenty of room. There’s plenty of space to write. There’s always something going on. I mean after all, you did mention that you like working in spaces that feel like they’re alive. Believe me, this house is ALWAYS alive. And there’s plenty land to explore since the house backs up to a greenbelt and forest. It’s perfect!”

The excited gleam in your eye startled him a bit. Just as he was about to open his mouth to reply, he was interrupted by a familiar, excited voice. “Shortstack, are you trying to add another roommate to the house?”

You couldn’t help the shameful look that colored your cheeks scarlet as you looked up at Jungkook and Yoongi. Jungkook was doing a rather fine job at looking at you like he was disappointed if it wasn’t for the fact that Yoongi stood behind him, smirking. Their usual roles somehow reversed. “But Koooookie.”

Jungkook laughed, making his way over to you. “Damn, Shortstack. It’s been a good while since you’ve been this drunk.”

You made a face at him as he helped you stand up. You stumbled a little, the quick change causing you to feel dizzy. You landed against Jungkook’s chest and he wrapped his arms around you. You couldn’t help but nuzzle him— he just smelled so good and well, you were still a little drunk. Jungkook laughed. “You are so drunk.”

“No, I’m not. You’ve seen me hammered.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but concede. He loved it when you nuzzled him like this. His attention was stolen from you as Namjoon coughed. You both looked his way. Namjoon stood and held his hand out to shake. “Hi. You must be one of her roommates. I’m Namjoon.”

Jungkook took his hand, shaking it. “Jungkook. Thanks for taking care of our drunkard over here.”

They let go. “It was no problem. In fact, she saved my ass a few times back there.”

Jungkook laughed before looking down at you. “Well then, you little drunkard. How about we get you home and into bed?”

You nodded quickly. Jungkook placed his hand on the small of your back as he turned his attention towards Yoongi. “Who do you want to ride with? Me or Yoongi?”

Before you could reply, Yoongi said, “You take her. I wanna walk around the hotel a little before heading home.”

Jungkook hesitated, but shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself. Come on.”

Jungkook started leading out the hotel. You paused a moment. “You have my number. But really, consider it. We’d love to have you, Namjoon.”

He smiled at you, his dimples poking through. “Definitely, I’ll think on it.”

You returned his smile and allowed Jungkook to lead you out the car.

**^~^~^~^~^ **

As soon as she and Jungkook were out of sight, Yoongi said, “Long time no see.”

Namjoon laughed. “No kidding. Who would’ve thought we’d run into each other like this.”

The both of them gave each other a hard look before Yoongi broke into a gummy smile, which Namjoon couldn’t help but return. Namjoon pulled Yoongi in for a bro hug. Namjoon laughed out, “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you again too.” 

They pulled away from each other. Namjoon retook his seat and Yoongi took his roommate’s. “Tell me, what you been up to, kid?”

“Work, traveling, writing. The usual.”

“How long are you the country for this time?”

The smile on Namjoon’s face fell. “Permanently.”

Yoongi’s brow knit together. “Did… did something happen?”

“Yeah….But I can’t— I don’t want to remember.”

Namjoon looked at him with pleading eyes— and there was something else there that Yoongi had never seen before. Yoongi also knew him well enough from college that it wasn’t wise to press; he’d share when he was ready. Otherwise he’d just shutdown and it would get worse.“Fair enough.”

There was a pregnant pause. “You going to take her up on her offer?”

“I— I don’t know.”

Yoongi eyed him suspiciously. “Is it the fact that you smelt five male Hybrids on her?”

Namjoon stiffened. He continued. “You know there’s nothing to worry about. None of us are involved with her.”

“Bullshit. I smelt pheromones on her. Her’s and a few others’. And don’t tell me you don’t smell them. There’s no way you could’ve missed it coming from Jungkook just a moment ago.”

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck, sighing a little. “I forgot that you’re nose was the strongest. I’ll lay it out straight then for you. There is nothing going on. Just because we’re part animal doesn’t mean that we aren’t human first and foremost. We respect her and her boundaries. No matter our feelings.”

“Then what about her’s? I know female pheromones when I smell it.”

Yoongi let out a defeated laugh, leaning back in his chair. “How do I put this delicately…. Remember how Jin would run around the apartment naked?”

Namjoon nodded. “Well, try imagine being a female with something like Jin surprising you. Never mind that, from my understanding, you’ve not been intimate with anyone for something like three years. I don’t think even a Tibetan monk could resist Jin’s naked charms.”

This time, Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh. Yoongi knew he struck something within him. “Fair enough, fair enough.” 

Once Namjoon had calmed down, Yoongi coolly said, “Seriously though. You’re more than welcome to move in. I know she’d love it.”

“Would she— or any of you for that matter— want someone who’s so broken?”

Yoongi dryly laughed. “You’d fit right in. More than a few of us are broken. What’s one more?”

Namjoon clenched his jaw before turning his gaze back on Yoongi. “Could I sleep on it?”

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

Next (Chapter 4) —>

BONUS! 

100 Followers Drabble: The Cerberus Conundrum

Agape and Pragma Masterlist

Masterlist

All rights reserved. © Copyrighted 2019.

[stattic-writes]

Pining

https://statticscribbles.tumblr.com/post/639099629845233664/masterlist

Support My Writing?

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Mute oneshot in which, as usual, utter chaos happens and I attempt an explanation as to where these pink Siege skins came from. (Rating M, crack + some sexiness going on, ~2.7k words) - written for @glockchen​ who asked me to write anything about these skins and I could never say no to you ♥♥♥

.

It starts with a simple drawing.

As it’s a perfectly normal morning in Hereford, the canteen, including the kitchen, is in complete and utter chaos: Caveira has followed through with her threat of disgustedly pouring what she calls bleached bullshit (also known as refined sugar) into Dokkaebi’s collar because the Korean woman forgot to buy ‘proper’ sugar, sparking a small war in their corner of the room, Blitz is currently burning the third batch of eggs and looking to his boyfriend for approval (and Rook reacts with a pained smile), and Bandit is surreptitiously trying to trip everyone walking past while pretending to be an angel in Montagne’s direction.

Mute and Smoke are sitting somewhere in the middle of all this, only half listening to Sledge’s tired mantra of they’re all adults they can clean up after themselves don’t get up let them make their own mistakes and learn.

“Gargle is such a typical, ugly English word”, Maestro muses and feeds the Scotsman a bite of his cheesecake because who needs breakfast food when there’s cake. “It’s onomatopoeic, agreed, but if the love of my life told me ‘I just gargled with maple syrup’ I wouldn’t care how sweet the kisses were because it’d be the same as if I proclaimed myself to be moist. Ugh.”

“I dunno, it can be pretty romantic”, Smoke shrugs and surreptitiously rolls his eyes at Mute – it’s clear why, the two lovebirds next to them are once again wholly lost in each other. “I sometimes gargle with Mark’s come and he never complains.”

Sledge chokes on the cheesecake and looks like he’s about to protest the mention of bodily fluids while he’s eating (and Mute gets ready to retaliate by pointing out the bright purple lovebites peeking over the Scot’s collar as well as the faint bruises on Maestro’s neck), when there’s a sudden, dramatic entrance. The door flies open and in strides Tachanka, head held high, stance proud and a fond smile on his lips.

Most of the ruckus dies down over the abrupt change in mood as the Russian makes a beeline for the fridge, carefully stepping over Bandit’s outstretched foot, avoiding the two flailing women and ignoring the sharp smell emanating from the stove. Now Mute notices the piece of paper in Tachanka's hand which he unfolds and then pins to the fridge door with a few magnets. From this distance, all Mute can see is a whole lot of pink.

Seeing as most pairs of eyes are glued to the old man by now, Tachanka grins and addresses the room with his booming voice: “If you ever ask yourself why the hell you’re still here – this is why.”

Curious, Mute leaves the quiet argument of what constitutes as revolting behind and joins the small crowd gathering around Tachanka, catching a better look of what seems to be a child’s drawing. It’s hard to make out at first as more than half of it is just a mix of different shades of pink, but eventually he identifies it as Tachanka himself holding what looks like a little girl, only his uniform has been recoloured from his usual olive and he’s displaying a horn as well as a mane and even a tail.

If he’s honest, it’s adorable. He knows the story, Glaz told it with a sheepish Tachanka modestly brushing him off but smiling appreciatively anyway: on their last mission, the old man heroically rescued a girl and made sure to carry her to safety and even reunite her with her parents. Judging by Tachanka's expression, it’s one of the most touching fan letters he’s received and he’s immensely proud, as he should be.

At least until Blackbeard steps up and snorts at the display. “Not at all your colour, I’m sorry to say, this looks like the gayest version of you”, he points out. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Says the guy with the man bun”, Pulse shoots back immediately.

“Is that bold-faced envy I hear? At least I have hair, Jack.”

“Yes. Too much of it. I’m just waiting for you to start stealing Sébastien’s plaid shirts.”

“I am comfortable enough in my masculinity to experiment with non-traditional looks, thank you very much. When’s the last time you changed anything about your appearance? I’ve seen your driver’s license. The only new thing about you are your wrinkles.”

Mute considers texting Smoke to stop demonstrating his ability to shove an entire piece of cake into his mouth and instead witness this rare American-on-American smackdown but forgets all about it when Tachanka, who’s been listening with a decidedly unimpressed scowl, chimes in: “You call yourself confident but mock this gift I got? Just because it’s pink?”

Belatedly, Blackbeard realises his mistake of potentially angering Tachanka of all people and tries to backtrack. “Well, I mean – only because you’d look silly wearing it. The picture is cute, but you in a pink uniform -”

“What’s wrong with a pink uniform?”

“It’s not really – it’s too visible, and you in pink is just laughable.”

“What’s wrong with me in a pink uniform?”

Mute is failing to suppress a grin by now. While Tachanka sounds perfectly calm and pleasant, Blackbeard is getting more and more flustered by the second. “It’s not a manly colour. You agree with me on that, right? You’d look stupid.”

“Pink used to be a boy’s colour, you know. A softer red, in a way. I think it’d suit you, it’d go with your hair.”

“I’d rather drop dead than be caught wearing something like this”, Blackbeard mutters and then wisely retreats before Tachanka's good mood dissolves into something else.

Amused, the Russian turns to Mute and mirrors his grin. “Confident in his masculinity, hm?”, he repeats doubtfully.

“We can actually make a pink uniform for you”, Mute suggests, causing Tachanka to perk up. “James has dyed clothes before.”

“Would you? I’m beginning to like the idea more and more. I can wear it during training and dazzle everyone.”

“I’ll even do you one better. Just wait a few days.” The two of them nod at each other and Mute returns to his table where Maestro is currently praising the soothing quality of green tea for an upset stomach. “James, I know what we’re going to do today”, he announces with a glint in his eye.

.

“Are you sure these are the correct measurements?”, Smoke complains for the nth time around the needles between his lips. Doubtfully, he holds up the patterned trousers and frowns at them, visibly dissatisfied. “They look too short, babe. They look like they’d fit me.”

Odd, isn’t it?, Mute thinks and bites his cheek until he trusts himself to reply without sounding highly entertained. “Those are definitely the correct measurements, I’m sure.”

“I bet you’re bloody grateful I can sew or else you’d still be watching Youtube tutorials.”

“I’m glad your mum made you fix the clothes you ripped on the daily, yes. Teaches you about the value of your time.”

“Teaches me not to buy expensive garb, more like. How’s your unicorn coming along?”

Mute takes a moment to inspect his work. After airbrushing one of Tachanka's helmets a lovely shade of pink, he started to add a few more personal touches he expects the Russian to enjoy: a pair of bear ears which Bandit owned – and no, Mute didn’t ask for details –, an actual unicorn horn he improvised out of a few available materials plus a mane made from faux fur which Frost generously donated once she caught wind of their project. He’s currently gluing letters onto the monstrosity since the rainbow he added for good measure has dried already. All in all, it’s solid work and he’s happy with it. If this doesn’t make Tachanka's teammates question some of what they thought they knew about him, then nothing will.

“See, I get why we’re making two of these abominations, babe, even if you haven’t told me the reason outright”, Smoke murmurs more to himself than directed at Mute, “but why three? Did anyone else want one? Are we gifting one to Dom? You know he’d wear it, especially with this sexy leopard print. Christ, we’re not giving the old man the leopard, are we? Because I’m sure he’d say something like ‘I have the underwear to match it’ and thank you, now we’ll need some brain bleach.”

“He’s not the only one I know who’d have matching knickers”, Mute states drily. “And Dom isn’t the only one I know who’d wear this.”

Smoke stops messing with the hem and throws him a deeply distrustful look. “Babe. Are you serious?”

“I have the perfect ears to go with it too.”

His quiet statement makes his lover’s brows rise. “They’re for me, aren’t they.” It’s not a question and so Mute doesn’t answer. “Really though – are you taking the piss or does the thought of me wearing this stuff actually turn you on?” Mute steadfastly refuses to respond and instead focuses on lining up the letters playfully. Maybe he could add glitter, yes, in any case he needs to not think about Smoke in a leopard print uniform, absolutely not squirming on his lap, the rappel harness flattering his thighs and soft mewls -

The rustling of clothes catches his attention and when he looks up, Smoke is half naked already. “What are you doing?”

“Trying it on, what does it look like? You want me to wear this, so I will.” He pulls on the finished pieces of his uniform and poses only partly jokingly. His arse looks amazing and Mute forgets how breathing works for a moment, resisting the urge to reach out and cop a feel because then they’ll never get it all done. “Bloody hell, this is tight.”

“Yeah”, Mute agrees distractedly and openly disregards the concept of eye contact entirely in favour of ogling other body parts, “like I said: definitely the correct measurements.”

Grinning, Smoke walks over to where he’s sitting and buries a hand in Mute’s hair to drag his head forward and smush his face into his exceedingly prominent bulge, ignoring the slight resistance and massaging Mute’s scalp once he’s started mouthing at the growing erection rubbing against his cheek. “Why don’t you get the ears, babe?”, Smoke hums and seems not at all perturbed by his unusual attire.

.

A few days later, Mute stands outside of Blackbeard's room, taking a deep breath and checking the time again. The American’s daily schedule is rigid and thus he’s been asleep for more than an hour at this point, not at all disturbed by the commotion outside of the base. They invited everyone interested, distributed beverages and promised a show, meaning there’s a sizeable crowd outside waiting for the main event to happen – whatever it’s supposed to entail.

Tachanka's uniform garnered a lot of approval, and Mute was especially proud to hear almost everyone complimenting his admittedly fabulous helmet, but the real treat hasn’t even surfaced yet.

Once he deems himself ready, he barges into the room and starts shaking Blackbeard awake rudely. “Get up, Jenson, come on, we need you, there’s a situation.” He does his best to appear urgent, and to his credit, Blackbeard is up on his feet before he’s even processed anything that’s going on. “Hostage taken in London, we need to fly out ASAP, get dressed and let’s go!”

He left the door open to let just enough light in for the American to not crash into his furniture as he stumbles about the room, getting dressed and mumbling something incoherent. Mute leaves him no time to think, talking rapidly out of his arse and ushering him out of the room and down the corridor. Blearily, Blackbeard allows himself to be manhandled and merely responds with a few grunts, but once they’re outside and in the middle of the sizeable gathering, he realises that something is off.

Being greeted with cheers, Blackbeard looks around in confusion until his gaze lands on Tachanka toasting him with a can of beer. “The fuck are you wearing?”, he asks and eyes the unicorn helmet in disbelief.

“The fuck are you wearing?”, Tachanka shoots back good-naturedly.

Finally, Blackbeard looks down at himself. He’s clad entirely in pink, mirroring the Russian perfectly. “What”, he says helplessly.

“I told you it’d go with your hair.”

And while the two start bickering immediately, with Blackbeard pompously proclaiming his intent to undress this instant and Tachanka amusedly egging him on, much to the audience’s delight, Mute feels a tug on his sleeve, turns around and mutters a curse under his breath. “I told you not to wear this outside”, he hisses and tries his best not to glance down at Smoke’s dangerously tight trousers.

He’s wearing the full outfit sans mask, and the cat ears which allegedly pick up on brain activity and move accordingly are perked up in excitement. Smoke was amazed by them the first time he put them on and refused to take them off for an entire evening – and admittedly, Mute’s heart melted a little every time Smoke looked over at him and the ears shot up instantly.

Right now, however, his heart isn’t the body part most touched by Smoke’s appearance.

“I’ve been a naughty kitty”, Smoke purrs and begins wrapping himself around the taller man, “you should punish me.”

And while the whole thing in itself has nothing erotic about it, it achieves the desired effect nonetheless as Mute is overcome by the sudden urge to stuff Smoke’s mouth.

Before he can act on it though, Bandit appears by their side, ignoring Blackbeard's repeated insistences that while pink is apparently a feminine colour, there’s nothing wrong with femininity, it’s just not for him (and Tachanka merely lets him talk with a partly disbelieving, partly entertained smile). “Have you seen Gilles? I don’t know where he is.”

“He said something like ‘I have one of these’ when he saw Chanka and then disappeared”, Smoke informs him helpfully and receives a concerned frown. “No idea what he was on about but he seemed excited.”

“Well, he better not be -”

Bandit trails off in horror and neglects to shut his mouth, so Mute and Smoke follow his line of sight while most of the noise around them dies down as well. It quickly becomes clear why: Montagne’s standing in the doorway to the base, wearing – well. What is he wearing?

Only on the second glance does Mute discern the butterfly pattern, noticing that it even continues over his balaclava, harmonises well with the hot pink helmet and – are those feelers?

Montagne catches sight of Smoke’s attire and nods approvingly. “That’s… a choice”, he states. “Maybe a little too racy but I don’t dislike it.”

“What do you think is going on here?”, Bandit addresses him weakly and looks torn between wanting the ground to swallow him whole and wanting the ground to swallow Montagne.

Now the Frenchman seems to be questioning himself, expression turning sheepish. “Isn’t this… these aren’t designs for breast cancer awareness? I thought -”

“See! That would be the only acceptable occasion for a man to ever wear pink!”, Blackbeard tells Tachanka triumphantly while pointing almost accusingly at Montagne, sparking yet another discussion now involving most of the people present.

“Does it look bad?”, Montagne wants to know sadly and only cheers up once Bandit has walked over to reassure him and started to play with his antennae – Mute can only imagine the amount of willpower it takes for Bandit not to make a thousand inappropriate and/or sarcastic jokes at once.

Not that he’s in a much better situation, seeing as Smoke is attempting to seductively meow in his direction. Sighing, he grabs Smoke’s wrist and drags him along. “You look hot but please never pretend to be a cat again. Promise me, James.”

“If I do, am I allowed to wear this on a mission?”

Smoke’s bright smile is going to be his doom one day, he knows this. He predicts quite a lot of arguing about the use of this particular outfit but can’t really say that he minds, not when they do most of their fighting in bed.

And maybe he’ll tell Smoke to put the mask on this time as well.

[spectrumscribe]

Do Kaiju even like apples?

a Pacific Rim and TMNT 2014/16 fusion, introducing budding science sister and her tiny monster brothers. (who won’t be tiny for long.)

@rhi-draws-things​ provided the illustrations, bless them.

trying a new method of posting stories to tumblr, i think i’ll just add each new installment to this post under the cut of a reblog. have ‘em all together for your reading leisure. enjoy this first one!

April is pretty sure she should have stuck it out at school, and just slept in the nurse’s office.

At least then she would have had an actual bed, rather than be stuck in a hard plastic chair and drowsing while the base’s occupants ran around like kicked ants. Apparently something of the top secret project April knew next to nothing about (hence the ‘top secret’ part of things) had escaped, and everyone had gone zero to sixty in an instant the moment sirens went off.

April had found herself shoved into the nearest staff room, told to lock the door, and not to move until someone came and got her. She’d been expecting that her dad would just look over some documents too important to put off, and then they’d go home so she could sleep off her fever.

No such luck. The sirens outside of her meagrely furnished staff room are still droning, and April is falling asleep despite the awful chair. At least someone lent her a coat at some point, and she’s only shivering a little in the oversized thing.

Her unfinished lunch remains in its baggy near her face, as she leans forward with her cheek pressed to the table. She’d tried to convince herself again to eat, since getting better requires energy, but hasn’t had much luck. It drifts in and out of focus as her eyes get heavier, and giving in, April just lets the fever drag her under into a light nap.

The sirens aren’t enough to keep her awake, or even make her panic longer than the first minute they’d been going.  She knows they’re not for a Kaiju attack, and even if they were, she’s inside a military base. There are no active Jaegers here, but there’s some just up the coastline of New York. She’s safe as she could get, outside of a Kaiju shelter.

And, she’s sick. Being sick makes it easier to just not care.

April naps for a period of time she doesn’t remember, and doesn’t rouse again even after the alarms are turned off. She doesn’t notice they have been, and doesn’t know it’s simply because everyone got sick of listening to them while hunting for the escaped subject.

April doesn’t hear the door’s lock be broken from the inside, and doesn’t hear it open and shut with a quiet noise. What she does hear, oddly enough, is the sound of someone messing with her uneaten sandwich.

April blearily opens her eyes, too hot and too cold at the same time, and really annoyed with whatever’s woken her back up to that.

Three claws are sunk into the tip of her sandwich’s baggy, and four wide eyes stare back at her, just over the lip of the table.

The four gold eyes blink at her. April blinks her two blue ones a few times to confirm its real.

She screams.

The owner of the four eyes screams back, and runs away.

April nearly falls out of her chair, scrambling away from the table and the thing with all the coordination possible of a sick individual. She runs into another crappy chair and does fall over, yelping as she goes down.

There’s a dizzying moment, worsened by her illness, in which everything spins in terrible circles. April finally recovers enough to gingerly sit back up; half convinced she’s just had a hallucination.

But, no. That’s definitely a pintsized Kaiju scrabbling around on the linoleum across the room from her.

“Oh my god,” April whispers in horror, and then jumps with a shriek as the creature hisses balefully at her.

She untangles her legs from the chair’s, and manages to get to her feet and press against the wall of the room. April is hyperventilating a little, watching the tiny Kaiju pace and snarl on the other end of their shared space.

It’s between her and the coatracks, where she hung her backpack earlier. Her backpack contains her cellphone, which is what she needs, right this instant, so she can call her dad and the army and if they have one an indoor Jaeger because oh my fucking god, that’s a Kaiju.

A really.

Really.

Small Kaiju.

It’s about the size of an overly large housecat, with a long, strong looking tail whipping around behind it as it paces. Purple spots of bioluminescence follow the length of its body, which cause a bit of nausea to look at when it keeps moving so quickly, and April is still very sick feeling.

The segmented plates on its back almost look like a shell, April thinks distantly. Like a turtle and a dragon and a cattish thing all got mixed together.

It stands up on two legs then, walking perfectly fine like that. April amends and changes the cattish part to lemurish, maybe even humanish. It’s the tail that’s really the tipping point, making the walk ever so slightly abnormal in its gait.

April is very, very dizzy. Oof. Everything is spinning even while she’s still leaning against the wall. Couldn’t the tiny Kaiju have chosen to terrorize her on a day when she wasn’t ill? Is that too much to ask from fate, given that the war was supposed to be over?

“…I guess you’re the one everyone’s looking for,” April says faintly, mostly to herself. The little Kaiju shrieks and hops away to press against the far wall, pacing and tittering nervously. And it is nervous, April is realizing. If she hadn’t known better, she’d almost think the little thing is as scared as she feels at the moment.

But Kaiju are city destroying titans, not afraid even when a Jaeger is thundering towards them. It wouldn’t make sense for even a tiny one to be afraid of a sick teenage girl.

Oh, but this one really is awfully small. April could probably hold it with one arm if she tried.

April reminds herself to focus. Thoughts like that are for after she’s certain she isn’t going to get mauled.

The little Kaiju is eyeing her, but also- as April notices the break of focus every couple seconds- the table April had been sleeping at.

April looks at the sandwich on the table.

She formulates a plan.

Taking a careful step forwards, April starts to move towards the table. She’s nearly startled backwards all over again when the Kaiju makes a leap towards her, only for it to back off immediately. It’s hissing and spitting, but really, it’s just making a show instead of real threats.

The coatrack is directly above where the Kaiju is pacing. April slowly picks up her sandwich.

“Hey, little… guy,” April settles on the addressment, since it’s better than spawn of world destroyers or the like. “Do you want some food?”

The Kaiju watches her warily, but has stopped shrieking every time she moves. It’s clearly torn between following her and the sandwich at the same time; intent gold eyes boring holes into both.

April opens the bag slowly, and takes out half the sandwich.

“Here… look, its fake bologna and lettuce. Mmm, right? Really tasty, I promise. Fake processed meat is about the same as actual processed meat in nutrients anyway.”

The Kaiju inches forwards in half steps, eyes darting between her face and the treat. April takes a chance and tosses the triangle of food onto the floor in front of it.

The food is snapped up immediately, and in an act of definitely inhuman physiology, the sandwich piece disappears into the Kaiju’s mouth. April sees the hinges of its jawline open wider than a human’s would, or even most animals. She gulps quietly at the rows of sharp teeth it has, which flash as it chews noisily.

It’s looking at her now less with fear, more with curiosity. And it’s moving away from the coatrack. Good. April takes out the other half of the sandwich, and figures she can blame her illness for making her think this next step is a good plan.

“You gotta come and take this one from me, dude,” she tells it softly, holding out the sandwich halve and bending down a little. “C’mon… I’m probably not the one who’s gonna bite anyone here…”

Faster than she thought, the Kaiju approaches her. It moves in cautious steps, but is steadily losing the edge of wariness. By the time it tentatively puts a claw on the bread, its eyes are all on the sandwich, and April can step around it without even a hiss in response.

She makes a hasty beeline for her backpack, digging out her phone frantically and thumbing open the screen. She gets open her text messages, and then slowly comes to a stop, fingers hovering.

Soft and chirrupy noises have taken the place of shrieks and hissing, and April glances behind her.

The little Kaiju is sitting with its legs in a clumsy fold, resembling lotus flower position, and is talking adamantly to itself as it dissects the second sandwich halve. Rather than scarf it down, it’s taking the time to examine and… narrate the pieces of the sandwich.

And, in a way, the sounds aren’t just sounds, but are closer to actual words.

April is truly her father’s daughter, because she immediately thinks amazing, and is there more to discover here?

April looks back into the open mouth of her backpack, seeing her baggy of apple slices inside.

Retrieving them, April creeps back towards the Kaijuling. Baby Kaiju? There have only ever been full grown monstrosities publically documented, nothing about early stages of their growth cycles. There’s no word for this creature yet, and even then. April suspects there’s been meddling with its DNA, since there’s no way anything could evolve to have such a drastic growth period between infant and adult.

Except it’s an alien, so. Earth rules might not apply.

April slowly comes to kneel a cautious distance from the little creature. She opens the baggy, and steels herself from startling as its four eyes whip around to stare at her.

Do Kaiju even like apples?

One way to find out.

April wordlessly holds out a slice of apple. It’s been kept fresh by lemon she’d squeezed onto it yesterday, when she didn’t have a damn fever.

“Want one?” she asks. There’s a pause, and then the Kaiju makes a sound of joyful interest.

Without further prompt or hesitation, it slips over to her on all fours, and sits back up to wrap a small clawed hand around the slice. April watches, fascinated and rapidly losing her own fears, as it nibbles at the snack food.

When the first slice is gone, and the little Kaiju is licking its approximation of lips with its pointed tongue, it holds out its hands and makes grabbing gestures and coos impatiently.

“Say please,” April says automatically, and realizes it’s because the behaviors remind her strikingly of a small child.

It stares at her, looking annoyed. April is stunned quietly that it can express annoyance, and not just want or fear something.

“Say please?” she requests again, experimentally.

“Sss… say p’ease?”

April’s mouth falls open, a taking a sharp breath in.

“Say p’ease?” the Kaiju repeats, high voiced and unpracticed. Mimicking her, but not perfectly, missing the harder to pronounce part of a new word, like a child would.

Like a child would.

April hands over the next apple slice, and manages to mumble, “Yeah, that’s right. Say please. Good job.”

“Good job,” repeats back the Kaiju, nearly chirping it, and bites the new slice in half happily. April is still processing her shock as it shifts closer to her, pressing against her leg with its little ones and making grabby gestures again.

“Say p’ease,” it says with confidence, tail flicking against the floor in anticipation.

“…you’re very smart, aren’t you?” April says to it.

The little Kaiju coos and only has eyes for the apple slices. April hands another one over as requested. This time is a little different, though, as it catches her hand with its own free one. She holds perfectly still as it multitasks nibbling the fruit, and examining her pale pink palms and darker skin everywhere else.

April is not particularly afraid, she finds, watching the creature pick at her short finger nails with its wicked little claws.

“Say p’ease, good job,” it pronounces, apparently done with the examination. It grabs for the bag in April’s right hand, and April holds it away on instinct.

“No,” she tells it. It starts to sit up, reaching for it. “No,” April repeats, more firmly. “You ask nicely if you want more. Say please.”

The Kaiju’s face screws up in a pout, its big eyes squinting in annoyance. Its tail lashes for a moment, and then it says in a distinctly put upon voice, “Say p’ease?”

Purely and clearly, that’s the voice of a fed up toddler not getting what they want, and going along because it’s the only way to get it.

April finds herself fighting a smile, and laughing a little. He looks so cute, so frustrated like that.

“Okay, you can have another, now,” she informs him, and gives another piece of apple to the Kaiju. He takes it, but manages to look sulky about it.

April’s knees are starting to cramp like this, and she shifts into a lotus position like her Kaiju friend. She moves away from him to do so, trying to avoid disturbing him with her careful movements, but is surprised when he moves right back next to her once she’s settled.

And then climbs into her lap, fearless and curious about the jacket she’s got on, and the chance to get more apples sooner. April is a little uncomfortable having a mouthful of sharp incisors and hands tipped in claws so close to her vitals, but that’s tempered by the excited tittering the Kaiju makes, picking at the undone zipper of her jacket.

He’s so curious about everything, now that he’s not scared out of his mind. It’s almost like the time April held a large parrot, when a conservationist moved into the apartment next to her and her dad- the huge bird had been noisy and curious, and just enough of a discomfort near her face it’d been a thrill to hold him.

It’s like that, right now, combined with the time she held a baby of a colleague her dad has. Exciting and a little scary, and part of her is worried she’ll upset things if she moves wrong.

April stifles a sound of pain as the Kaiju discovers her coils and tugs on a fistful. She teaches him again about the word no.

It’s only after he’s settled comfortably into her lap, chewing on the last of slices of apple, that April remembers she should probably call someone about this.

It’s made a little harder than usual to text, since somebody has decided the thing he wants most in the world is now her phone.

She’s still trying to explain that no, he can’t have it, and that tapping it rapidly with his claws is just going to scratch the screen- “Pads, you use the pads of your fingers,”- when the door is all but kicked off its hinges behind them.

“There it is!” someone bellows, and April’s little Kaiju friend loses his cool.

The winding tail wrapped loosely around her arm is switched to her stomach, and April is treated to the feeling of being strangled around the midriff and claw tips nearly puncturing her jacket’s fabric.

“Ow, no, hey,” she says, as she gets unsteadily off the ground and backs hastily away from the door. She pats uselessly at the hard ridges of his back. “Dude, hey, I need to- breathe and stuff- ow-”

“Ms. O’Neil, stop moving!” commands the soldier, and oh joy, he’s got a gun. April thinks it’s a tranq gun, and neither it nor he and the other soldiers pouring in are doing anything to calm things down.

“April!” yells her dad, fighting his way through the clog of bodies in the doorway. His eyes are wide with fear as he catches sight of the Kaiju wrapped around his daughter, and looks about ready to throw up.

The little Kaiju shrieks, lighting up hostile purple again and baring its fangs at the intruders. Immediately the sound of safety catches clicking off are heard, and April throws up a hand. “Guys, stop it! You’re scaring him-!”

A particularly brash soldier strides forwards, arm outstretched and aiming to rip the Kaiju off April forcefully, and the tail around April’s waist comes away in a whip quick slash.

The soldier cries out as a bright red seam of blood appears across his face, and April stares in shock at the long barb abruptly produced from the end of the tail.

“NO!”  screams the little Kaiju, slashing its long thin barb in the air in front of them. “NO, NO, NO!”

April hysterically thinks she taught him the word no a little too well.

“Hey- WHOA, okay, everyone just-” April takes a number of steps back from the panicking soldiers and her father, trying to keep people out of stabbing range of the tail barb. “-take a deep breath, okay? I’m fine, it’s cool, just stop freaking him out already.”

There’s a murmur of dissent, soldiers shifting uneasily as they try to find an angle to come at them from, and April hears a quiet hiccup beside her neck.

“No, no, no,” repeats her little friend, words shifting into desperate little growls and keens. He’s pressing close as possible to her, strong little limbs clinging tightly, and he’s trembling as he does.

His tail slashing in the air and bared teeth and brightly lit threat display all say animal, dangerous, monster… but the sobs underneath all that say scared little kid.

She raises her hand to run it down his shell-like back plates, turning her own back to everyone and shielding him. “It’s fine, it’s okay, shhh, calm down, buddy. We’re okay. We’re okay. No knifing anybody with your- tail. Thing. Okay? Just… gotta calm down. Just… shh, kiddo… it’s gonna be alright… you’ll be okay, I got you. You’re safe.”

April feels his tail stop slashing around, and slowly, carefully, come back to curl around her middle. She only feels a brief moment of fear she’ll get stabbed by the thin barb, but no pain comes as the tip curls around to her front.

There’s quiet, rapid conversation behind her, and April casts a glance over her shoulder as a harsher whisper-shout makes her friend stiffen in fear.

“Hey!” she snaps at everyone gathered. “Shut up and go away!” The stunned silence following that is satisfying on a level.

Not the politest thing she’s ever said, but she’s sick and exhausted by the emotional roller coaster and there’s a kid in her arms crying still. Not okay by any account.

Oh god the military made tiny Kaijus that are actually tiny babies and April is literally just some teenager. What the hell is she supposed to do about all this? The minute she lets go of him he’ll probably end up back in a lab- a lab her dad works in, does he know that this kid is a literal kid-?

A hundred terrible scenarios flash across her mind about what might be done to her little friend, and April feels even sicker than she was already.

“…April? Are you alright?”

She looks over her shoulder again, at her carefully approaching father. His dark forehead has sweat sheen to it, and he’s darting glances between her and the Kaiju growling at him.

April shushes him again, and he quiets for the most part. He stills tightens his tail around her, though. Determined to stay, determined to defend.

Oh, but he’s so small, and clearly so young, and god, what even happened to create a creature like this? To create a person like this? A scaly little person with a tail and fangs and bioluminescence, who is terrified out of his mind and only trusts April.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” April finally responds, holding her friend in a gentle hug and wondering if she’s the first person to have ever done so.

“Did it… hurt you anywhere? Can you get it to-”

“He’s not an it,” April says firmly, feeling abruptly and fiercely protective. “He’s a little kid, dad. What the hell?”

What the hell does the military want with him? What the hell can I do to prove he’s a person? What the hell did you do, dad?

“Did you know he can talk?” April asks, angry and sad. “Did you know he learn words after only a few tries? Did you know anything like that about him?”

Her father is quiet for a moment, and then says, “No… no I didn’t. They weren’t supposed to be able to do those things.”

“…well he can,” April says, and hugs her little friend tighter. He makes a soft sound of confusion, and presses his cold flat nose to her neck, huffing in concern.

She takes a deep breath, and looks back again. “How many more?” she asks, uncaring that there’s still a few soldiers lingering in the doorway and clearly not on board with what’s happening.

“…three more,” her dad answers, a look of dread entering his expression. “We made four of them. They were only supposed to be subjects for observation and study. Kaiju on a smaller scale, with the ability to respond to communications and possibly even communicate back. But… it wasn’t supposed to be more than that.”

“What did you do to make him small and smart?” April asks, already knowing the answer.

“…we mixed human DNA into the sequence. It was a choice from above my station, hon, I swear. We didn’t know.”

April sighs, and wonders if any adults even try to remember the stuff science fiction and fantasy taught you about playing god with life.

“I think you did a lot more than make pocket-sized Kaiju, dad,” April says, petting her friend’s plated back as he makes a rumbly little purr against her shoulder.

Her dad lets out a ragged breath. “I’m starting to think that, too.”

April gets to keep holding her little friend- someone who turns out to be Donatello, according to the codename she drew out of a hat two months ago, back in her home apartment with her dad. He’d told her it’s for an upcoming project, and she’d thought the game of pulling famous artists out of a hat was just that. A game.

She named them all, all four of them, however indirectly and unknowingly. They’re only a handful of weeks old now- and already so big and smart, compared to human children- but they’re still so… young. Vulnerable.

April cradles Donatello until he falls asleep, nestled against her and playing with her shoulder length coils. Her father sends the soldiers out of the room, and someone important looking shows up in a uniform with a lot of medals and stripes on it.

April clutches Donatello close, who refuses to relinquish his own desperate clutch, and tries to talk a woman nearly three times her age around to April’s point of view.

It doesn’t work how she wants it to, but there’s room for future debate. More discussions and tests to be conducted, and a chance.

April is going to seize that chance and sink her teeth into it and refuse to let go, much like how Donatello does when he gets the idea to starting biting her hair.

She coaxes him off that idea by heckling her dad into handing over one of the hard candies he’s always got in his pockets. It goes over well, and from the intent expression of her father, and his fellow scientists peering in through the doorway, this is Donatello’s first experience with sugary sweets.

He likes it. A lot. Crunching it between his incisors and asking for more afterwards, using his most polite so far, “Say p’ease?”

April’s dad and his boss nearly fall out of their chairs at that. One of the scientists in the doorway clutches his chest and just about faints. It’s a brief spell of relief from the seriousness of things, and April makes sure Donatello gets the candy he so politely asked for.

Donatello is a little heavy by the time they lead her back to his containment cell, which is a room a little smaller than a child’s would be. And it’s bare of anything but a pet bed and some blankets shoved into a corner.

April feels so, so very bad for peeling her sleeping friend off herself, and gently lowering him to rest in the bed. She covers him up with the blankets, and sees him curl into a little ball underneath.

April is stuck for a moment, just watching the blankets rise and fall with his breathing. She doesn’t know what his future from this point will be like, and that scares the daylights out of her.

It only took about two hours for her to get this attached. God knows what she’ll feel like in another week, or less.

It’s hard to get up and walk out, but the rules are that the tests get done before anything is concrete, and that includes April staying away to not contaminate the procedure.

April is tired, still feverish, and now she’s angrily sad on top of all that. She puts one foot in front of the other, and forces herself to make it home before lying down and passing out from sheer exhaustion.

April has uneasy dreams that night, blurry and unhappy, and continues to until she sees Donatello again, and knows he’s going to be okay. That they all will be, him and his incredible siblings.

The next time she picks up Donatello, April is certain she’d never put him down if she could. Him, or any of the other little Kaiju children. Small, and strange, and so in need of somebody to love them.

Of course, within a few years, she can’t even hope to carry around any of them. By that point, they can lift her, and do so just to show off.

But she doesn’t forget the first time few times, how it felt to have Donnie’s tail coil around her midriff and curl tightly there. How it felt to have Raph’s puppyishly big hands hold onto hers as they walked through the hall. How it felt when Leo would cling to her legs and refuse to let go. How it felt to have Mikey clamber up her back and demand piggyback rides as long as he could get them.

When they’re older, they tend more to pick up April and carry her around. It’s easy, since they double in size within the first two years, and then keep going until they tower over everybody on base.

April never does forget, though. And never wants to.

Commission info & Kofi link.

[xuhoon]

paper roses

part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

author’s note: its fluff, i will add links later :)

The night of your birthday, Minghao decided to take you to a nice restaurant close to the ocean. You sat outside and enjoyed the ocean waves before the sun dipped below them. It was a quiet evening, as you talked about anything and everything. As much as you two enjoyed your dinner, Minghao was itching to get home so he could give you his gifts.

You open the door to his apartment to find a glass vase full of paper roses on the dining room table. A pink ribbon tied them together

“These are for you. It’s a dozen origami roses. I folded sheets of paper with lyrics to the songs in my playlist for you. Yeah… I made you a playlist. These are twelve songs that make me think of you. Happy birthday, honey.”

“Minghao, they’re so well done. I couldn’t even come close to this perfection!”

“Thank you, I tried my best. You told me not to spoil you just yet, so I only spent money on our dinner. I wanted to be creative with your gift, while still showing the meaning. Did I do a good job?”

“Hao, you did wonderful. Thank you. I…” You began to tear up, choking on your words. “I don’t want to cry, but…” Hao laughed and wiped your tears away. “You mean so much to me. I can’t wait to listen to the playlist you made me. Can we listen to it together?”

“We can listen to it on the drive to your place.” He pulled you close, holding you for a long while before bending down to give you a kiss. “Happy Birthday, my darling girl.”

--

Instead of taking the bus to and from school, Hao now did all the driving. It took less time than the bus and you appreciated the kind gesture from your boy. You both had classes spread through the week, but Tuesday’s and Thursday’s were when you spent most time together. Some days you would attend dance class to watch your beau’s gorgeous sweat, other days you’d use the extra hours to study or watch YouTube videos. Occasionally, and this being rare, you’d cuddle up with a hoodie and sleep in the backseat of Hao’s car. He’ll crack the windows, kiss your forehead, and call you after dance when it was time to head over to class. The rest of October and November went on like this, with dates piling up every weekend.

Dates with Hao included the occasional cuddle session back at his apartment just like that first day. But, you also loved to go out together to malls for shopping where his fashionista side thrived, parks where you walked around hand in hand enjoying nature, and other fun date spots. Hao was also taking photography, so his most recent assignment was of you at the Aquarium with deep blue’s surrounding your silhouette. Hao asked you to be his girlfriend that day, as he fell deeper and deeper with his new muse. On November 7th, you two went to Disneyland to celebrate your combined birthdays.

You spent the night at Minghao and Junhui’s shared apartment more frequently than you’d like to admit. It felt so right to be there, even if it had only been a few months since you two started dating. Things were still pretty fresh and comfortable, so neither of you were complaining. As December finally arrived, snuggling in was more appropriate for the cold weather.

“Y/N!” Minghao yelled from the kitchen, “CAN YOU COME HERE?”

You got up and made your way to the sound of Minghao dropping things. “What up?”

“Can you grab the rice wine vinegar from the cabinet?” He struggled to hold all of the ingredients in his hand, refusing to put anything down.

“Hao, I can’t reach it.”

“Oh, you’re so cute and small honey,” finally putting down things, Minghao released the contents of his arms onto the counter letting everything roll wherever it wanted to.

Struggling to reach the rice wine vinegar, even on your tippy toes, you suddenly feel your feet leave the ground as Minghao snakes his arms around your waist to lift you up.

“You could’ve just grabbed it yourself. Or, alternatively, you could’ve put your ingredients down before accumulating too many in your hands causing you to drop the soy sauce. It broke, Hao. There’s broken glass on the floor. You also dropped the sesame seeds, thank fuck that’s plastic,” you kept going, “Junhui! Can you bring the broom?”

Instead of putting you down, Hao shifts his grip and swings you around to hold you princess style. Before you could protest, he says, “I’m protecting my princess from the glass she spoke about.”

“What’s all this for, anyway, sweetie?” Smiling sweetly, you notice Minghao has also pulled out other various ingredients that would be common in ramen.

Putting you down, Minghao says, “I wanted to make ramen for us, but I seem to have spilled the soy sauce. All of it. On the floor.”

“So, this is what you’ve been doing while I was writing?”

“What were you writing about anyways?” Hao bent down with some paper towels to clean the mess. As you handed him a damp one, he said, “I’m listening I promise; oh, thank you that’s probably smart to start with.”

“It’s a research paper on circumbinary star systems and their planets, but I more talked about its role in pop culture.”

“Babe, that’s really cool, can I read it?”

“Maybe after dinner. Do we need soy sauce?”

“Yes! Yes, to both of those.”

Junhui helped sweep up the broken glass into the trashcan and offered to drive to the store to buy more soy sauce while Minghao continued to cook dinner for the three of us.

“Y/n, why don’t you go with me? You can pick out ice cream for our movie tonight.”

“Have we decided on a movie to watch yet?” You responded with as the two of you walked out the door to Minghao’s car. “Okay, wait, Minghao lets you drive his car?”

“I think he trusts me more than himself to drive.” Junhui smirked and tossed the keys into the air, grabbing them before they fell back into his hand from gravity. “Come on! Hop in!”

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

mingHOE: babyyy~ be safe with jun and get ben n jerry’s strawberry cheesecake plss

(y/n/n)bunny: have you changed my contact name back from the monstrosity that (y/n/n)bunny is

mingHOE: not unless you change that overused joke and buy me ice cream, and I aint no hoe bb I am loyal to u and only u

(y/n/n)bunny: ok fine but you know that it’s my fave flavor too and I’ll be having most of it

(y/n/n)bunny changed mingHOE’s contact name to secretly a merman

(y/n/n)bunny: better?

secretly a merman: much ;)

(y/n/n)bunny: ok ur turn bb boy

secretly a merman: nope!! I love it, it’s as cute as uuuuu

(y/n/n)bunny: pick a damn movie, asshole

secretly a merman: :O not with that attitude young missy

“Jun, I’m leaving your roommate” You turn to the driver, straight-faced.

“Hahaha, you know he wouldn’t ever change something he’s so proud of. Plus, it sounds like ‘(Y/n/n)-Money’ your street name.”

“That is not my street name, I don’t have a street name!” You hold in giggles, “That makes it worse!”

“Why’d you change his name to ‘secretly a merman’ though?”

“At the aquarium, I swear he was about to transform if any water got on him. When we went to the pier he felt at peace with the waves and zoned out a bit. He likes the sea.”

Jun’s phone buzzed this time. “Can you check that? We’re almost at the market.”

frogboi: she’s so cute

“I don’t need to respond to him.” You smile softly as you slip Jun’s phone back into the cup holder.

junnieboi: Walkin into the market now. I know man. You should use this time to write in your planner before she comes back and you two fall asleep on the couch together, like last time. We’ll be home before you know it.

“Come on Jun! Let’s hurry home!” He puts his phone in his pocket and jogs to meet you inside.

As the two of you snake through the aisles while humming and singing Half Moon, you both laugh and chase after one another to see who gets to the items first. Jun, being athletic, won every time. Your out-of-shape ass was too slow, and you gave up halfway through, still laughing. On your way home, you blasted Monsta X’s new album, singing and laughing the whole way.

“Hao!” You called as Junhui opened the door for the two of you, “We’re home!”

As you turn to put the ice cream in the freezer, you noticed something different about Minghao. “Honey, where… where is your shirt?”

“I took it off when I went to write in my planner.”

“So, it’s your ripped light blue jeans, froggy socks, and your… apron.” You say, eyeing your boyfriend up and down.

“Those froggy socks are so punk, Minghao.” Jun adds.

“You bought them for me for my birthday!” Minghao pouts, and then shows them off.

“You bought Minghao… socks. Really cute frog socks, as if it wasn’t domestic enough.” You bent down to pet the shown off socks.

“Y/n, I promise we aren’t dating in disguise.” Jun leans against the counter.

“I never said that.” Looking up, you meet Minghao’s eyes and the three of you erupt into giggles.

“Dinner anyone?”

After dinner, you and the boys cuddled up on the couch to watch a movie with your bowls filled with ice cream. It was getting pretty late so Jun suggested that we pause the movie and finish it another night, because everyone was yawning frequently. Except, it took a minute for the boys to realize that you had already fallen asleep. Minghao carried you to bed, making you wake up, and you clung tighter to him. You both sleepily changed into pajamas and found your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your faces. As you climb into bed, you notice Hao’s planner out and open to read:

December 3rd: ramen night!! + ice cream and cuddles