#if one were to ever crawl on me i think id pass away right then and there

[ashtraysystem]

me, finding a spider: oh huh is that a field spider or a wolf spider?

spider: i have big heckin pedipalps!!!

me: ah! a field spider! carry on good sir! :3

spider: thank you *scuttles away*

me: *small shiver of "oh god spiders" bc i have that primal fear of spiders despite really enjoying them*

[petew21-blog]

Charmed: Leo's jealousy

Could you believe her? I know we split up, but it didn't even take her that long and she found herself a new guy. Her neighbor, Dan. Oh piss off Dan. Me and Piper were amazing together, just the nature of me being a whitelighter and her a Charmed one got in the way sometimes. I was still their whitelighter so there was no way we would end up seeing each other. Which was even worse for me to see her with a new guy in his arms

Dan moved in few months ago. He was always observing Piper and the girls, just trying to seem like a sexy non chalant neighbor, who doesn't know that the three girl nextdoor are gonna observe him washing a car. Just get a life Dan

Deep in my mind, I knew that me and Piper were gone. Not to be a couple ever again. That's why I was so jealous of them. I made their life a bit of hell to be honest, not really fullfilling the duties of a friendly guardian whitelighter, but a bit of a crazy ex boyfriend. The elders wanted to take the girls away from me and ban me the entrance to their house. But I was faster. I knew what I had to do.

I arrived at the Halliwell house. Watching Piper in the window doing what she loved the most. Cooking. I always loved to observe her making her way in the kitchen. But Leo won't be going there tonight, no. My location is nextdoor actually.

I hid in his bedroom. I heard a car pull up and then the door. I was ready. The memory dust in my right palm, ready for Dan.

As he entered the room in shock, he couldn't even react. I blew the dust into his face. He coughed for a bit and then just stared blankly.

"You will forget everything about who you are. You have never lived in San Fransisco. You stole the car from someone in the city and you are on the run. The one you stole his wallet and money is me. I am Dan. You felt bad so you returned me my wallet, ID and everything you wanted to steal from me that is in your pockets right now. You will leave the shirt here too. You are just a thief, as you have always been. You will take only the car and you will leave to Mexico. There you will find a job as Mike, the surfer. You won't come back to the States. You love Mexico. You will never come back. Now go and leave."

His eyes blinked rapidly. Then he took everything out of his pockets as I told him so. He took of his sweather, that he got from Piper, and revealed his manly torso. "Damn, that's gonna be me soon." Then he just turned around and I saw him through the window driving away.

"Great. Now there is only one thing left."

I said as I put glamour on me to pass off easily.

Long hair appeared over my head, muscular torso underneath my shirt. His thighs were more mascular than mine. His dick looks nice, but I still think mine was bigger. Nevermind, if it pleases Piper, that's all good for me.

Now all I need is the girls to invite me to the house in case that they enchanted the house. If they invite me in I am allowed to. So there is one move I know from Dan that I'm gonna use

Just as I expected. Piper didn't even let me finish watering the lawn.

"Hey, Dan. Where is your car? Thought you were gonna wash it."

"I had to borrow it to a friend. But something tells me he might now give it back."

Piper laughed even tho it wasn't mean as a joke. This woman is so into him

"Hey, wanna come inside? I baked fresh cookies."

Haha. This was easier than I thought

The next morning:

"Wow, you prepared this all for me? Dan that's so lovely. Thank you."

"Well, I thought that maybe after last night you might be hungry. Or are you hungry for more of something else?" I crawled over to her over the bed.

I could se that she was really in love with him. She liked Dan. She likes me. Hahha. I am Dan now and I have Piper all for me. We are gonna be forever together.

"Hey, I was thinking we could go for vacation to Mexico. I always wanted to try surfing. Haha"

Fuck. Maybe I should get more of that memory powder

Anonymous story request in inbox:

Charmed: Leo is extremely jealous of the relationship developing between Piper and Dan and decides to take Dan‘s place by using memory dust (seemed somewhat like hypnosis from what I remember) on Dan to make him leave, never come back and leave everything he owns behind, including ID, wallet, etc. Leo then glamours into Dan, taking his place.

[saltygilmores]

In Defense of Jess Mariano's Summer Birthday

This is my loose theory on his birthday and there will definitely be big gaping holes in this. Please also bare in mind it's been three years since my last full rewatch (of the first 4 seasons anyway) and I'm currently in the middle of crawling through season 2 again. This post is a disaster so please bear with me lol There seems to be pretty a consistent timeline established within the show (new seasons of the show almost aways begin in September/ late summer within their world, which helps a lot when you're trying to date something that happened). Since it's been 3 years and my brain is swiss cheese, please feel free to chime in with your thoughts and deflate my theory as you may. Jess arrives right as Rory is starting school. September. It is immediately established he's already 17 years old at that point (pokey hole: they retconned a lot of things that were established in his first episode, like how long his parents had been together so who knows, maybe he was actually still 16) His age is rarely mentioned outright, although I do remember one of his season 4 episodes where Luke and Liz are discussing his whereabouts; she says he’s 19 now and wants nothing to do with her.

Season 2=17 Season 3=18 Season 4=19 With that in mind I afforded him the longest possible timeline to have a birthday and decided it would have been right before he arrived in Stars Hollow, in August or September. If he had had a November or December birthday he would have turned 18 quickly early in season 2 and by season 3 he would be 19 already. Rory's birthday is in October. In 6x8 she had just celebrated her 21st. He acknolwedges that it had just passed, so this episode would have taken place in November? My theory was he would have already had to be 21 (the drinking age in the US) to get into the bar where he drank with Logan and Rory so at the very least that would have eliminated most of November or a December birthday. However people like to poke holes in this theory stating that either the bar wasn't carding anyone (since it was a college bar) or he had a fake ID. Jess says to Luke in 3x6 that he's still a minor, but going by my loose observation of either the Gilmore Girls or a real world timeline, over a year had already passed at that point since he arrived in Stars Hollow as a 17 year old. He was already 17 in early September when he arrived in s2 and in this s3 episode (the one where Rory and Lorelai egg his car because they suck and are awful) it appeared to be deeper into fall rather than summer (the episode aired on November 5 2002). It's only 3 episodes ahead of Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving (Thanksgiving takes place in late November, just for your information if you're not American). So I've decided to poke my own hole in the "I'm underage" comment and chalk it up to Jess being a sassy asshole. A sasshole. Besides this episode being the one where Luke finds out he has a car AND he makes the comment about being a minor, it is also the episode where it's revealed he's been working at Walmart (driving a forklift). I don't know about the laws in 2002, but as of 2023, in the state of Connecticut you have to be 18 to drive a forklift. Maybe this was a shady Walmart that happily violated child labor laws, but seeing as Jess' Walmart manager was one of the only people who ever believed in his potential, I don't think he would exploit him like that. Anyway, those are my thoughts. Feel free to deflate them to death and I will update the post if need be. I do want to add one more thing: Based on her mugshot (lol) we know Rory was born in early October 1984 but graduated high school in 2003. I was born in February 1984 and graduated in 2002. Clearly Rory missed the kindergarten cutoff due to her October birthdate and had to start school a year later than most of her fellow 1984 babies. I support the theory that the same thing could have happened to Jess in order to put him in the same grade as Rory. But school cutoff dates vary so wildly that could really put his birthday anywhere from September-December. Even though this would contradict my own theories, it’s an idea that makes sense for the November/December birthday theory so I can support it.

[renditionoflust]

𝗡𝗢 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗘𝗗

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗢𝗡𝗘

My demons,

though quiet,

are never quite silenced.

Calm as they may be,

they wait patiently

for a reason to wake,

take an overdue breath,

and crawl back to my ear.

———————————————————-

I couldn’t believe it was finally over.

Spending any amount of time at my mother’s house was already a horror in itself, but this past week felt like a century in hell that I couldn’t escape. Her reoccurring outbursts of anger and mood swings were gaining momentum, and she needed constant attention. I knew Grayson wasn’t happy with my lack of presence at the club, but he never said anything. No one ever said anything. And I preferred it that way.

Everything was already hard with her drug and alcohol abuse, but ever since she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and DID, things went south completely. Her paranoia seemed to skyrocket over night, and despite all my attempts to keep her out of an asylum, she kept pushing my limits. Not only did she straight up ignore everything her caregivers asked her to do, but she also made a habit of being both a physical and mental threat to them.

The last one, Charlotte, ran away screaming bloody murder within the first week after she woke up to my mother carving “DIE, TRAITOR!” onto the headboard of her bed at three in the morning with a steak knife. It took me two weeks of persuading and seventy grand to finally dissuade her from making it a legal issue. I was running out of willing caregivers, as well as my patience.

A familiar ringtone tore through the silent interior of the car just when I turned the corner to my street, ripping me from my line of thinking. The lit up screen showed the caller ID and in that moment I knew I couldn’t avoid it any longer. Grayson Pierce can’t be ignored for too long.

Taking a deep breath I swiped the incoming call to the right and began my rehearsed speech immediately. “Yeah. Everything’s taken care of. I’ll just pick up some stuff from home and I’ll be there.”

“Hey, J, you know…”

“I’ll be there in twenty.” And just like that I hung up, tossing the phone on the backseat. All our conversations went this way. Gray always felt the need to address every little detail, and I always shut him down as fast as possible. He realized a long time ago that the easier way to coexist was by tolerating me, not attempting to change me.

I left the black Mustang parked at the curb next to my apartment building, knowing that I would be back soon and went straight towards the entrance. The hall was quiet; as per usual, with only Diana at the front desk, face buried in some magazine. I muttered a hello to her without any eye contact whatsoever. She didn’t even bother to lift her gaze up as she mumbled “Hey, J.” Tolerance was everything.

I was this way for everyone; always cold, always unbothered. Lack of interest screamed from my every pore, granting me eye rolls coming from people who knew me, and suspicious looks from those who did not.

I passed the front desk and headed straight for the elevator when something finally seemed to click with Diana. She launched from her chair like a torpedo, gripping the edge the desk to prevent herself from falling before she drifted across the black tiled floor.

“Oh, J?” She called, her voice echoing around the empty hall, instantly stopping me in my tracks. “Someone‘s visited you today.” She cleared her throat and continued almost immediately when she noticed I was just staring at her, waiting for more details. “It’s what Jessie said. I wasn’t here yet. But she said it was a woman.”

Obviously. I laughed to myself and finally pushed the little button to summon the elevator. I wasn’t really in a mood to do the research on whoever was nosy enough to come to visit me, and Diana must have noticed because her gaze dropped down to her heels as if they were the most interesting things on this planet, and began fixing the ponytail at the back of her head. “I just thought you might wanna know.”

The elevator chimed and I finally ended her awkward one sided conversation when I turned around and stepped in. “Guess she would come back if it was important, wouldn’t she?” I answered seconds before the massive steel door closed and took me up to the thirty fifth floor.

I leaned against the side wall and let my eyes rest for a while; the music inside the lift was slow and dragging but still somehow soothing. I listened to my own steady breathing as the thoughts in my mind came crashing forward all at once.

I didn’t want to face Gray and his questions that I knew would come. I didn’t want to face Madeline and her pity filled glances that she shot me every time she knew I came back from my “adventures.” I didn’t want to face Bron and her “I can see right through you” facial expression whenever she saw me. I didn’t want to face my own self in the mirror, because all I saw was the reflection of everything that had went wrong since I was born.

The door swiftly opened and the long, dark and narrow corridor sang its quiet song to lure me in. I would’ve appreciated walking the short distance in full darkness, but unfortunately every dream can’t become a reality. Light blinded me as soon as I stepped a foot outside the elevator. Damn motion sensors.

“Look who’s decided to show up again.” An amused voice came from my right, immediately identifying its owner. Audrina. She was leaning against the door frame, wearing only a little tank top and shorts shorter than my temper with a wine glass in her hand. A clear indication that she was not alone.

“Good thing you’re home. I can’t find my fucking keys.” I retorted after taking my sweet time with fishing for them inside of all of my pockets.

“Your timing is impeccable because I’m about to leave soon but, do me a favor, yeah? Make sure you take all your shit with you next time you leave for days.” She rolled her eyes playfully as she moved out of the way so I could enter the apartment, keys dangling on her long, manicured finger.

Grabbing the keys I immediately headed straight for my room, shouting the answer over my shoulder. “I’ll just take a shower and I’m gone again.” I’d rather stab myself in the eye with the fork at the moment, but what could I do. She followed behind me like my shadow, casually spreading herself over my bed once she placed the glass onto the bedside table.

“Guess who visited you today?” She mused, a foxy smile replacing the previous one.

Not this again. “Some porn star I forgot to call back?”

Once again she rolled her eyes, crimson curls bouncing as she shook her head. “Mads.”

This had me stop my flurry of motion for a second as I looked through the closet. Never in all these years we had know each other had Madeline ever came to visit me. But of course Grayson would send her when he felt ignored. Already frustrated, I took out a black shirt and tossed it onto the bed, ignoring Audrina’s presence completely.

“Maybe you should give her a call, that’s all I’m saying…how did it go with Mama De Luca, anyways?” Of course she would jump from one topic to another within seconds, fucking up my mental state even more. It was her specialty.

I wasn’t ready to pour out my heart, but if I couldn’t avoid Gray, I couldn’t avoid this redhead firestorm either. “As usual. I’m really…”

The doorbell interrupted me and we both glanced towards the door, looks of confusion on our faces. No one ever rang the bell, because no one ever came over that didn’t just walk right in. The ringing was soon joined by knocking. A loud and rapid one.

What the fuck…?

The distance between the door and my bedroom seemed like it took forever, and I was damn sure that once I figured out what idiot was trying to break the door down, I’d rip their head off. But once I opened the door, I found myself at a loss of words.

“Good evening, sir. Are you James Adrian De Luca?” The officer asked, wearing way too serious of an expression. I couldn’t do anything but nod. This wasn’t good. My mind raced, trying to find out what and where did I do wrong that it snagged their attention. It couldn’t be Audrina, because she knew damn well how to hide IP addresses and cover her tracks. Neither Gray nor Madi ever even asked about anything too illegal on my part. I felt the panic rising inside of my chest, pushing up my throat. But then, the officer spoke again.

“Um, and…” he paused to check something on the papers, and continued in the same tone. “… Mrs. Beatrice De Luca is your mother?” Dread washed over me. What the hell did she do this time?

Finally I breath enough to speak. “Yes, she is. What’s going on?”

The officer hung his shoulders as if he was guilty of something, and his deep dark eyes bore into mine as he tried to find good enough words to explain the situation.

“Say it.” It was just a hair away from yelling, rage boiling inside of me. I just got back from visiting her and she was completely normal, well, by her standards.

“Sir….” The pause he took forever and I really wanted to beat the crap out of him. “…Somebody set her house on fire, and… we can’t find her.”

[wriitingcautious]

Bridge and Tunnel

Photo by Nathan Kesinger

Twilight rose above the mouth of the Holland Tunnel and then disappeared behind it as Shari drove. The tile swallowed up her mother’s silver Camry and made the Boyz II Men mixtape so loud that the car sounded like a bachelorette’s party bus, so she turned the stereo all the way down. From the passenger seat, Cristal reached a freshly manicured hand out to turn it back up.

“Calm down, woman!” Shari swatted her sister’s hand away. “We’re not at the club yet!” 

Cristal huffed, flamingo-like in her elegant long-ness and bad attitude.

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘pre-gaming?’” Beltless, she turned in her seat, so that nearly half her skinny body was in the back and facing their little cousin Lindsay. “Linz, you heard of pre-gaming?”

Traffic slowed to a crawl. Just our luck, thought Shari. Then again, what was she expecting on a Friday night? Clear skies and open seas? As if.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s what that means,” said Lindsay, neatly tucked away behind the driver, secure with her seat belt on.

She was pretty subdued, for being the birthday girl, quiet and modest in her knee-length dress and leather jacket. Shari had tried to get her to borrow her white spaghetti strap mini because she thought it would contrast beautifully against her dark skin. Cristal had scoffed; white would make her disappear completely in pictures! Then she tried to squeeze Lindsay into a dusty purple little number that was obviously too small. To Lindsay’s utter mortification, Cristal had given her ass an accusatory smack, and then decided to try on the dress herself, like See? This is how it’s supposed to look. 

After that, it took twenty minutes to get Lindsay out from behind a locked bathroom door.

So, not a great twenty-first thus far. But as her elder cousins and the primary witnesses to the previous decade or so of awkwardness, Cristal and Shari were determined to show Lindsay how to have a good time. Lindsay’s willingness to participate was irrelevant.

Cristal was on her knees in the seat now, draped over the head rest. She reached out and smacked Shari’s shoulder. 

“Shar, pass me the Kodak!” 

“I’m driving, Cris,” said Shari, all motherly terseness.

“Driving where?” Cristal demanded. “It’s bumper to bumper. Pass me the damn camera!”

Shari kept her hands firmly on ten and two, so Cristal slithered back into her seat.

With a huff, she leaned down to swipe blindly around in the footwell for the discarded camera. Out of the corner of her eye, Shari saw that a small squadron of frat boys packed into the Audi idling next to them was watching the whole production with hungry eyes.

“Ah hah!” Camera retrieved, Cristal sat up and fixed herself in a way that made it apparent she also knew about the Audi full of guys. She turned and shimmied all the way into the backseat, next to Lindsay. The other driver was leaning out of his open window, close enough that he could reach his hand into theirs, if he had the gall. He whistled appreciatively at Cristal’s wiggling.

Lindsay, who had been busy hiding her face as much as her hair would allow, was relieved when Cristal put her body in between her and the onlookers.

“C’mon, girl. Let’s get a picture!” Cristal crowded Lindsay into the corner and against the window, so that both their faces were cast in yellow tunnel light. But she didn’t raise the camera yet.

“Linz.” Cristal slung an arm around the younger woman. She leaned in real close so that they were in a two-person football huddle. “You know we’re gonna take care of you, right?”

She held Lindsay’s gaze and wouldn’t drop it. 

Lindsay hadn’t wanted to come out tonight. It was just the pressure to act her age, to do the kind of thing that everyone does when they turn twenty-one: go to a club, act affronted when they ask for ID, and then knock back tequila with reckless abandon. Shari and Cristal didn’t even have to have to bully her for long before she agreed; Lindsay just folded like a house of cards.

 She felt out of control and a little resentful, but if she said so, her cousin would get all pouty and disappointed, so she gave Cristal a tight nod.

“Good. Take some deep breaths and let go a little. We got your back.” Now Cristal held out the camera in front of them, put on her best pageant smile. Then, loud enough for everyone from McGinley Square to the East Village to hear, she added, “So stop being so uptight!”

Before Lindsay even had time to frown, the camera clicked. The flash went off. 

And then the lights went out. 

Cristal cried out and dropped the camera. Lindsay freed herself from Cristal’s now desperate hold.

“What just happened?” Lindsay sat up to look through the windshield, and then turned to the rear window. A bend in the tunnel and two sets of taillights in front of them, and behind them, a sea of pinprick headlights and faces washed in the pale glow of digital dashboards. Otherwise, the tunnel was black.

There were a few seconds of shocked silence before the honking started, a cacophony of displeasure and panic. But no matter how hard people laid into their horns, traffic didn’t move an inch. 

Shari shifted behind the wheel.

“It’ll be fine,” she mumbled, a sorry excuse for assurance. “Longest it ever took me to get through the tunnel was fifteen minutes. We’ll be moving soon.”

“This is crazy, though!” Cristal exclaimed. “Did the power go out or something? No one said anything about a storm tonight, right?”

“No, there’s no storm,” Shari reassured her. “City’s probably just being cheap.”

“Which one?” Cristal snorted, arms crossed tight over her chest. “Jersey or New York?”

“Both, duh.” Shari joked. The humor only barely lightened the mood.

Lindsay fiddled with the hem of her dress as they all prepared themselves for a challenging round of the waiting game. She just couldn’t calm herself, though. She was covered head to toe in goosebumps, even under her jacket. Something felt wrong.

“Hey, ladies!” Someone called out. It was one of the Audi boys, a clean-shaven, Abercrombie type in the back seat. They had their overhead light on. “You scared of the dark?”

Cristal perked up. She shuffled over to the right-hand side of the car to lean out the window like an overgrown puppy. If she had a tail, it would be swinging like a tree branch in a tornado. Lindsay rolled her eyes. Nothing could get between Cristal and  meet cute, apparently.

“No,” she giggled. “‘Course not!”

Against her better judgment, Lindsay peaked around Cristal to see the guy she was fawning over. 

His eyes latched onto her, blue and quick. He gave Lindsay a lascivious smile, cold gaze raking over her chest.

“Meeee neither,” he said, slow and deliberate. The guy was white. The collar of his polo was popped and his Raybans were in his hair. He looked like he had a bad case of jungle fever. 

Lindsay tucked herself back into her seat. 

People were getting out of their cars now. Some had cell phones flipped open and held out in front of them for light. Others were more prepared with real flashlights. A few dim, red emergency lights had flickered on, but they weren’t doing much.

“Hey, I think I got a light in the glove,” said the Audi driver to the guy riding shotgun. 

“You heard that?” asked Cristal’s new paramour. “We’re prepared.”

“We got a couple of boy scouts, then,” Cristal crooned. “Ain’t we lucky, girls?”

“Let’s make a trade.” It was the driver now, shooting his shot. “You can have the flashlight in exchange for a little company.” 

Popped Collar opened his door in invitation.

“Seriously?” Shari mumbled from the front. 

“Oh, come on. We’re keeping you company from right here!” Cristal argued with the tepid ferocity of a girl playing hard to get.

Lindsay wondered for a moment if her cousin was really crazy enough to hop in with these strangers. She also wondered how they expected her to fit. Slight as Cristal was, the Audi was already at full clown car capacity, with two other dudes in the back seat next to Popped Collar.

Shari reached up to turn on their overhead light.

“Don’t need it,” she smiled, tight and deliberate, with the aggressive placidness of a girl who was really not interested. 

“Aw, what’s the big deal? Hey, how about your shy friend?”

Lindsay froze. 

Someone in the Audi scoffed.

“Really? You want the ‘uptight’ one?”

“Okay,” Shari interjected. She started rolling up the windows from the front seat controls. “You’re done!” 

“Hey!” Cristal protested. “I’m talking to them!” 

“Yeah, you were. Now you’re done!”

Cristal jammed her finger against the window button, lowering it again. She got it a quarter of the way down before her finger slipped and Shari got the upper hand. Cristal made a frantic attempt to fight the window’s ascent with her own button, making a noise high in her throat like a little kid gearing up for a tantrum.

“You are such a child!” Cristal whined.

“I’m the child? How am I the child here?”

“You—”

Cristal never got to finish that thought.

A sound bounced off the tile walls, above the idling engines and low radio static. 

From the New York end of the tunnel, a mile off, there came a disjointed chorus of screams.

No one spoke. No one even breathed. Then the frat boy slammed his door shut and made the girls all jump. 

Cristal let Shari roll the window all the way up. 

“What the hell?” 

“This is just getting crazy now.” Shari craned her neck to try and see something, but they were still at the bend.

“What the HELL?” Cristal exclaimed again. 

There was more shouting now, closer and less unintelligible, but no less panicked. Someone just around the bend was saying, “Turn back! Turn back,” but the tunnel was packed like a tin of sardines and the Jersey entrance was half a mile away.

Lindsay wrung her hands in her lap. The chill under her skin was worse now—she was almost shivering. 

“Hey,” she started. Her voice cracked. “Hey, Shari. Turn the radio on.”

“The RADIO?” Cristal screeched. “What for?” 

“Maybe they’re saying something on there, duh!” said Shari, catching on. She fumbled with the dials. “This is an emergency.”

“Damn right, it’s an emergency,” Cristal muttered into the back of the passenger seat where she’d pressed herself up, as if it could shield her. “Wish they’d turn the damn lights on.”

The music came on again. Cristal squealed at the sound of “End of the Road,” which was pretty typical, except this time it was because Shari turned the dial too far. 

“Sorry, sorry!” She scrambled to get the volume to an acceptable level and then flipped over to AM. 

Nothing. No late-night radio, even. Just static.

FM, now. The city had just put that in this year. Brand new transmitters.

They waited, flipped through a few more stations. Kept waiting. Still, empty air.

Shari flopped back into her seat and groaned. The groan morphed into a cry.

“What the HELL is going on?”

People were deserting their cars, jogging past the Camry in the half-dark.

“...Should we get out?” Lindsay asked.

“HELL NO!” Both sisters shouted her down, agreeing for the first time that night.

Lindsay sniffed a little, fighting back tears. 

She hadn’t wanted to come out tonight. Why didn’t she just say no? 

The screams pressed closer.

In the car, the sounds of their breathing were amplified. 

“Everyone shut up!” Shari yelled as she shot up in her seat, even though no one was talking. She waved her hands at the radio. There was a soft noise coming through. It sounded a little like clicking. Lindsay thought it might be a machine. Like, maybe this was the government trying to communicate through morse code.

Shari turned up the volume. The sound became throatier and more chirpy, like a cricket with a frog in its throat. The noise was irregular, cutting in and out of the static. Listening more closely, it seemed organic.

Lindsay could see the boys in the Audi, still as stone, glued to their own radio.

Then, the screams from the end of the tunnel were in the car with them. The throaty sound was overshadowed by it, but even louder than the screaming was the sickening crunch crunch crunch, like bones snapping.

It was hard to hear over the speakers, but the noise outside of the car was getting louder too. A sound like metal scraping against metal, a train pulling into a stop too fast, grew with it. 

Before anyone could say anything, everything else went dark: the overhead, the dash, all the flashlights, phones and every single hazard light in the tunnel went out. 

The fall of darkness hushed the wave of sonic horror for a moment. Cristal filled the silence with a wail. 

“Oh my god, oh my god!”

The thing was, Cristal was afraid of the dark. Shari had always made fun of her for it. Lindsay was glad she never joined in, because now her pupils were straining painfully against the empty, lightless space. It felt both like the car was pressing in on them, and also like they were completely exposed. Trapped, sitting ducks. It was enough to develop a new phobia.

“Those guys,” Cristal stammered. “They have a flashlight, right?”

Lindsay could almost hear the gears shifting in her head, shifting lanes from "stay put" to "RUN LIKE HELL." There was the scrabbling of her nails, and then the kathunk and the car door opening. 

“Cristal, what the fuck?” cried Shari.

“I’m gonna see if they still have light!”

“If they had light then we would SEE it, dumbass!”

Blindly, Lindsay threw herself in Cristal’s direction, hands grasping. All she got were fistfulls of air. With a scrape of sequins against upholstery and a slam of the door, Cristal was gone. 

The two remaining girls sat in shock for a moment. They could faintly hear Cristal’s voice over the din, fist pounding against the other car’s door.

“I should go after her—”

“No!” Lindsay grabbed Shari’s shoulder. “Don’t go out there!”

“She’s my goddamn little sister, I have to!”

“You don’t need to put yourself in danger because she’s doing something stupid,” Lindsay rationalized. She surprised herself with her coldness. Maybe it was survival instincts, or maybe it was cruel revenge for every slight Cristal had made against her, but Lindsay didn’t feel any obligation to take a risk on her cousin.

Shari was more conflicted. She groaned and banged her head against the seat. At least, that's what Lindsay assumed the thump was, since she couldn’t see.

“God, she always does this shit.” 

After another moment of marinating in the din of noise, Shari smacked her hand against the wheel in frustration. The horn wailed, long and loud.

“Damnit, I’m going out there!” 

“No! She’ll be fine. She’s fine!”

“There’s no way they let her in,” Shari shouted back. “There’s nothing for her out there. If she’s fine, why hasn’t she come back yet?”

Lindsay didn’t have an answer for that. Instead, her brain supplied her with the realization that she couldn’t hear Cristal’s wailing anymore. Either she was in the Audi, or…

“You’re just too much of a damn baby,” Shari scoffed meanly. “I’m going. Deal with it.”

Before Shari could even unbuckle her seatbelt, though, something crashed into the driver’s side window.

The vague shape of limb, even darker than the abject darkness of the tunnel around them, shot into the car. Shari screamed, long and loud and pained. The sound of metal wrenching and twisting rose above Shari’s wails and Lindsay’s panic. 

Then Shari’s screams were outside of the car. The sound drifted further away, until it was just part of the cacophony. 

For a moment, Lindsay was perfectly still, blind and nearly deaf from the noise, except for the ringing in her ears and the pounding of her own heart. Then she threw herself into the footwell. She curled into herself, knees tucked to her chest, and willed herself to be invisible. 

Something clacked and skittered above her. She couldn’t tell if it was outside the car or in. 

She lay there for what felt like hours, barely breathing. Her eyes strained to adjust to the dark, but there was simply no light to take in. Then she remembered Cristal’s camera. The light from the flash would be something, at least. 

Lindsay reached out slowly, grazing her finger tips against the carpet. Then she crawled her hand up the seat to search there. 

The chittering got louder. Lindsay went stone still, arm raised awkwardly. Nothing happened, and she let out a breath. She resumed her search and, finally, her fingertips touched plastic. She rolled over onto her back, quiet and gentle as she could, and took a picture. 

The flash went off. Lindsay screamed.

Cristal heard it from four cars down. She’d heard Shari’s screams, too, and they had paralyzed her, turned her legs to jelly and made her drop to the asphalt. She’d barely registered the pain as she scraped her knees bloody. 

The boys in the Audi hadn’t let her in. In a moment of petty pridefulness, she chose not to get right back in the Camry with Shari and Lindsay. The heat of that embarrassment would be too much. So she’d started walking, Jersey-ways, in search of an emergency exit. 

Now she was curled up in the ground between two big tires, the tread of one brushing against her bare arms. The knowledge of what her sister sounded like in the throes of abject pain skewered her. She breathed heavily against the panic, tried not to lose herself to tears, but the idea of letting her mind just wander away from the horror sounded very, very appealing. 

Before she could float away completely, a sharp on her backside and someone crying out above her pulled her back into reality. Someone had tripped over her prone form. From the sound of his loud cursing, she thought it might be one of the Audi. She wanted to grab at his ankles and beg for help, but he was stumbling somewhere ahead of her now and she was too scared to move, or even call out.

That might have been the smartest thing she’d done so far, because there was the sound of that metal screeching, and then the man screaming, and then the crunching bone sound from before. Except now it was so, so close. She could hear now, that the noise was also wet.

 Cristal whimpered, and then shimmied to her left to hide under a car. It wasn't a very effective cover. Something furry tickled her leg and she wailed, kicking at it. When it felt like she got one good jab in with her heel, she scrambled out from under the car and began to crawl away. She scraped her arm on the concrete of the emergency walkway, realized what it was, and got up and hopped the fence real quick. Once on the walkway, she stayed low. 

Footsteps are coming up behind her, too fast. They would trip, too. She just kepts crawling and tried not to think about the boy. Tried not to picture what might have happened to him. Or what might happen to this next person if they also make a scene. Staying down and shutting up for once had gotten her this far, Cristal wouldn’t be announcing her presence. 

They tripped. They cried out. Cristal recognized the voice.

“Lindsay!” Cristal whisper-yelled. Something in her that had been iced out by the terror thawed suddenly. Thank God Lindsay made it out of the car. 

This whole stupid night was her idea. She thought it would be fun, good for Lindsay to come out of her shell. If the fucking tunnel monster didn’t kill her, the guilt surely would have. 

Cristal took Lindsay’s hand in a vice grip and kept her low to the ground with her, other hand feeling for a door. Lindsay said nothing as they crept forward, just whimpering very softly.

She didn’t get to feel the door, or even see it, because she heard it before anything else. The nearest exit door was open, and someone was shouting commands through a crackling megaphone somewhere above them. 

“This is the New York City Fire Department. Evacuate the tunnel. Come towards the sound of my voice!”

They crawled hurriedly towards the sound. Cristal found the door frame. It swung inwards and Cristal almost caught her fingers in the hinges while feeling around. 

Suddenly, a light came from above, bringing the stairwell in the emergency alcove ahead of them into stark illumination. 

Cristal turned to smile at Lindsay. Immediately, her eyes were pulled to the junction of the wall and ceiling above Lindsay’s head. She saw the thing. It was one of many, crawling around the tunnel in her periphery. The thing was like a giant spider, mostly legs, but the legs moved almost like seaweed underwater. Floaty. One was reaching towards Lindsay. 

Cristal screamed and yanked Lindsay towards her by her arm, but the leg-tendril-thing was suddenly faster. It shot out and wrapped around Lindsay’s shoulder. Then another came for her knee and pulled her off her feet. Cristal held on as tight as she could to Lindsay, who was in the air now and being dragged away from her. 

Her hand, slick with sweat, slipped down Lindsay’s arm. Lindsay caught Cristal’s hand with her own just in time.

Cristal saw another creature out of the corner of her eye, scaling a truck, prowling towards them and making that throaty clicking sound. A tendril danced towards Cristal’s leg. She screamed, tears in her eyes.

Suddenly, Lindsay’s hand went slack in hers. It happened so fast, Cristal barely had time to comprehend that Lindsay was being pulled into the dark. 

“RUUUUUUN!” Lindsay called, her voice fading fast into the chaos. Cristal blinked through her tears, into the abyss. In the half a millisecond that her eyes were closed, she realized that Lindsay just let go. Cristal was going to keep holding on, predator thing be damned. She wasn’t going to let go of Lindsay.

But Lindsay let go of her. And she gave her an order, in no uncertain terms. Cristal chose to listen to her cousin for the first time that night. 

She vaulted herself into the emergency alcove and kicked the door behind her. 

A dark leg slipped through before the door shut. Cristal threw herself bodily into the door, again and again. The metal-on-metal screeching rang out just on the other side until the tendril finally retreated. 

Cristal slumped onto the ground. There were people coming down the stairs now, fighting against the small but mighty tide of people fleeing upward. Cristal stayed laying, and let herself sob like a child. With the promise of rescue so close, she let all the noise around her fade away, retreating into a place in her mind. In that place, a radio crooned softly:

Come to the end of the road 

Still I can't let go

It's unnatural

You belong to me 

I belong to you

[casuallyimagining]

Fix You (2)

hybrid!Min Yoongi x female!reader

Summary: When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal? Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, fluff Word Count: 2,987 Rating: M Warnings (may not appear in every part): minor character is a dick to animals, mentions of a gun, main character injury (non-serious), discussion of physical abuse, emotional abuse, discussion of sexual abuse, discussion of self-harm

Notes: Banner by @birbdae; thanks to @voiceswithoutlips, @taetaesbaebaepsae​, and @hoebii​​ for editing this for me.

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When you woke up, the cat was nowhere to be found, and your pillow was missing. It was just your luck that the random cat you had saved would end up being a kleptomaniac. You sighed and began to get ready for your day. It wasn’t like you could do anything about it. The cat was probably scared and confused, and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to be comfortable.

As you passed your TV stand, you bent down to peer underneath it. Copper eyes stared back at you. You greeted the cat and his tail swished back and forth against the floor, annoyed. So he wasn’t into mornings, then.

Heading into the kitchen, you quickly made yourself a cup of coffee. If the cat wasn’t a morning person, then you would probably get along. You were an early riser, but that was mostly due to insomnia, not because you actually enjoyed being awake.

You brought him the rest of the chicken you had cut up the night before, prepared with his morning dose of the antibiotics. Laying down on the floor, you pushed the plate under the TV stand for him.

He sniffed at the chicken, eyes not leaving your face as he started to eat. His canines were long and pointy, you noticed, and if you paid attention when his mouth was closed, you could barely see the tip of the right one poking out from his lips.

“I’m going to go shopping today to get you some stuff.” The cat didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. He was a cat. “I know you’re feeling better, but please try not to jump on stuff. You’ll hurt yourself more, and I really can’t afford another weekend trip to the vet.” His copper eyes seemed to soften at that for a moment before hardening back into a glare.

You weren’t sure what you did to make the cat constantly glare at you. Maybe he had a resting grouch face. Maybe he was just uncomfortable in his new surroundings. You hoped that, if nothing else, he would eventually warm up to you. All the pets you’d had in the past had opened up to you right away, although you supposed that was because they were babies when your family had adopted them. You’d never adopted an adult cat before.

“Eat up,” you told him before pushing yourself off the floor. “I’ll be back soon.”

The pet store was larger than you remembered it being. When you were a kid shopping with your mother for your pets, there were only a few departments in the store. There was, of course, sections for cats and dogs, as well as areas for fish, birds, reptiles, and small mammals. Now though, in addition to the old departments, there were additional sections for hybrids of all kinds--there was even a department dedicated to large and exotic hybrids like lions, panthers, giraffes, and elephants.

Hybrids weren’t a new species by any means, but it had only been in the past decade or so that people had fully started to embrace them in society. Before, shops that catered to hybrids were usually small and boutique--hybrids used to only be seen as pets or servants, and ones that lived without ownership were few and far between. But after fighting for and receiving the rights they deserved, hybrids had become more prevalent in society. There was even a hybrid serving in the president’s cabinet, and quite a few serving in other high-ranking government positions.

You wandered through the cat section of the pet store, unsure of what to buy. You had a couple toys in your cart--catnip mice and little springs and balls that had bells in them. You knew the cat was somehow going to act offended by them, but you reminded yourself that he’s a cat, and indoor cats needed something to stimulate their minds.

You also had put some cat shampoo in your cart. The cat was dirty, and you weren’t sure how much blood was going to be caked into his fur under the bandage, so you figured a bath was somewhere in his immediate future.

Sighing, you grabbed a bag of air-dried food. He would probably hate that, too, but you couldn’t keep feeding him raw chicken. For one thing, you couldn’t stand the feel of it, and the less you had to touch the raw meat, the better. But also, chicken was expensive, and while your job paid decently, you weren’t sure how well it could support an all-raw diet for the cat. This air-dried food was turkey and salmon, and would be the next closest thing to raw.

Eventually, you would probably end up getting the cat a cat tree, but you didn’t think it was a good idea right now. With his shoulder injury, he really shouldn’t be climbing or jumping, and a cat tree would only invite that more. So you left the aisle, even though they had a tree that had a little house you knew he would love to hide in.

Before checking out, you stopped by the little kiosk that sold ID tags and collars. You knew he would hate wearing a collar, but if he ever escaped, you wanted to know someone could return him to you. You would ask the vet about microchipping later, but for now, a collar would have to do. Looking at the options, you couldn’t help but laugh. Most of the plain collars were pink or had things like little butterflies on them. A few had bells, which you knew he would find absolutely repulsive, and a couple others had bowties. You considered a dark blue plaid one with a bowtie, but decided against it. As cute as he would look, you knew the cat would probably bite you if you went anywhere near him with it.

You settled on a collar covered in piano keys. It was the plainest one they had in stock that wasn’t bright pink. You grabbed a small, circular tag, too. He would hate it, but at least maybe if you picked the least offensive options, the cat would tolerate wearing a collar.

On the way home, you stopped and grabbed a coffee from the chain cafe down the street from your apartment. You were still a little tired, and when you got home, you were glad for the extra caffeine.

“I’m home, kitty!” you called into the seemingly empty apartment. You hadn’t really been expecting the cat to be anywhere out in the open, but a small part of you had hoped.

Walking into the kitchen, you deposited the couple bags from the pet store on the table. You couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Nothing was broken or in the wrong place that you could see from first glance, but the niggling feeling in the back of your mind wouldn’t go away. Something had been moved in your kitchen. Your mug from your coffee this morning was washed and sat in your drying rack, along with another cup that you had thought you put away and the dish from last night that you had used to feed the cat. You didn’t remember washing the dishes this morning, but you were still a little tired, so maybe you had and just forgot.

You didn’t see anything else out of the ordinary, so you let it go, choosing instead to go find your cat. As expected, you found him under the TV stand. He was panting as if he had just run under there from somewhere else in the house.

“You know you’re allowed to be in other rooms, right?” you asked him softly, pulling the empty plate out so you could take it to the kitchen. “You don’t have to run under here every time I come home.” Copper eyes met yours for a second, and you could see panic in them. Then you saw it. The bandage around his shoulder was gone.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. Dr. Jung’s assistant had wrapped it securely. He must have really been running around the house to not only loosen it, but to dislodge the bandage entirely.

“What were you doing while I was gone, dude?” you questioned. The cat looked terrified. His eyes were large as saucers, his ears flat against his head. His mouth was open in a silent hiss, his long canine teeth on full display. “Are you hurt?” That seemed to catch him off guard. “Are you still bleeding? Can I see?” You reached into your back pocket and pulled out your phone. “You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to,” you said softly, waving your phone in the dark. “But can you at least turn so I can see?”

It took you a second to realize that, again, you were talking to a cat. He wasn’t going to listen to you, despite how human his reactions to you seemed to be. In the second that it took you to remind yourself that your cat is, in fact, a cat, his demeanor changed. His ears were still pressed back against his head, but he seemed less agitated, more resigned. He crawled toward you slowly, the limp almost entirely gone.

When he was out from under the TV stand, he stood fully. You pushed yourself up so you could sit and examine him. As you reached for him, he backed away slightly. His copper eyes met yours for the briefest of seconds before they flicked away, focusing on the floor. He stood still and allowed you to scoop him up into your lap.

“It’s okay,” you soothed, scratching his head gently. “Let me just look at your shoulder.”

You ran your hand over the joint and he froze. For a second, you thought maybe he was going to bolt back under the TV stand. But he sat there stiffly, allowing you to feel for the bite marks and anything that might still be bleeding.

You found nothing. Not even a scab. The only signs of the dog attack yesterday were a ring of indents--scars, you presumed--that ran from his shoulder blades down to his chest and onto his leg. There was no way he had healed that fast.

But you didn’t say that. Instead, you smiled at him. “If you don’t want to wear the bandage any more, you don’t have to,” you said soothingly, scratching at the base of his ear. His copper eyes met yours, and you pulled away at the apprehension in them.

He stepped out of your lap as soon as your hand was away from him. You nodded once, smiling at him. “I’m going to go do some work, kitty. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

You were a researcher. Always had been. When you were looking for apartments in the city, you had created spreadsheets and pro/con lists and had spent weeks researching neighborhoods. And when you decided on the right neighborhood, you had debated floor plans, after weeks of second-guessing finally settling on the single floor, three bedroom, two bathroom with the decent sized kitchen and living room.

You hadn’t done any research before taking in the cat. You loved cats, had had several growing up. You knew enough about them to not need to do any research before committing to taking home the stray living near your parents’ house.

Maybe you should have.

Although you weren’t exactly sure how researching could have possibly prevented anything. You pushed it out of your mind, though, choosing instead to focus on your next work project.

Except you couldn’t focus. Your client was a hybrid-owned cafe just outside the city, and you were trying to design their menus. Normally, it wouldn’t take you long at all. They were great clients, and they had given you all the information you needed, but your mind kept drifting to the cat in your living room. You assumed he had crawled back under the TV stand. He seemed to be comfortable enough under there, although clearly he felt comfortable leaving the shadows when you weren’t home.

And then there was the problem of his name. You had no idea what to call him, but you were sure he had a name. Though how you’d figure it out, you had no idea.

You had wanted to watch this movie for months. It had appeared on streaming services around Christmastime, but it was now April, and you still hadn’t had the chance to watch it. You curled up on your sectional in the living room to watch it, a bowl of popcorn sitting beside you. You had turned the lights off in the living room, so the only major source of light was what was coming from the TV, and it was a fairly dark movie.

Though you were invested in the plot, you still scrolled through your phone, your attention divided between social media and what was happening on the television.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a shadow moving under your TV stand. Your cat’s head poked out a second later, copper eyes watching you scroll through your social media. In another second, the rest of his body emerged from the shadows. You forced yourself to watch the movie. You didn’t want to freak him out by watching him. When you glanced back at where he had emerged, he was gone.

The movie was about halfway over when you noticed him again, slinking back into the living room from the hallway. Where he had gone, you had no idea. But he sat for a moment, staring at you from beside the wall. You had grabbed a blanket in the time that he had been gone. Your apartment tended to get chilly at night sometimes--it was old, and the insulation wasn’t the best--and you were a little cold.

Before you knew what was happening, he was up on the couch and in your lap, laying in the valley between your outstretched legs. He paused for a moment, copper eyes meeting yours as if gauging your reaction. In the dim light from the TV, you could see that hint of panic again, as if he was terrified you would shout or push him away. You smiled at him gently, resituating so more of your lap was available and going back to scrolling through your phone.

The cat was apparently satisfied with your reaction, because he readjusted himself, as well, curling up so he was taking up more real estate on your lap. You didn’t mind. His little body put off quite a lot of heat, and from what you could feel of him through the blanket, he was cold, too. Eventually, he settled in, his head rested against your leg beside your free hand, his tail flopped into the crook of your elbow, the tip flicking lightly back and forth.

After a moment, you felt him shift again, and you almost jumped when you felt his head press into your hand. It took you a second, and a few more tentative bumps from him, but you eventually opened your hand and allowed him to press his forehead into your palm. You rubbed your thumb gently over the soft fur of his cheek. He leaned into your touch and you could feel him relaxing. You heard the rumbles of a purr start to stutter in his chest. It wasn’t constant like other cats’--it sounded vaguely like popcorn, crackling and popping at random.

You sighed, resting one hand on his back and continuing to stroke his cheek. He stiffened for a moment and raised his head, wide eyes staring into your face, before he slowly started to relax again.

“I can’t keep calling you kitty,” you said softly when he was comfortable. He didn’t raise his head, but his ear swiveled in your direction to show he was paying attention. “And I’m terrible at names, so you’re going to have to figure out a way to tell me what yours is. Unless you want me to call you something ridiculous like Smudge or Shadow.” The cat grunted. Apparently he didn’t like those names, either. “I didn’t think so.”

Your attention returned to the movie, but you kept petting him. His stuttering purr resumed. He directed your hand by nudging it, up his head and down to his shoulder. He adjusted how he was laying so you could rub where the scars of yesterday’s bite marks were. You massaged the area gently, his purring increasing in volume.

His fur was soft and considerably less dirty than it had been that morning. If you concentrated, he smelled like your shampoo.

“I have to take some stuff back to the pet store tomorrow,” you said finally. “So you’ll have some time alone to do whatever.”

He froze, and despite the movie playing, it was quiet without his purring. His eyes were wide, and he hissed, but aside from his ears flattening, he didn’t move. He was scared--no, he was terrified.

It broke your heart.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You kept your voice soft and even. “You can stay here for as long as you’d like. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

You sighed. You still felt a little weird talking so seriously with a cat, but his reactions confirmed what your research had told you. You had questions, and you were a little concerned about the logistics of everything, but you had started to come to terms with it.

Him smelling like your shampoo. The dishes being done. The stolen pillow and blanket. The things that were moved ever so slightly. The oddly appropriate reactions to what you were saying. How fast he had healed. Maybe you’d always known. Maybe that’s why you still talked to him like he was a person.

He was a person, more or less.

Your cat was a hybrid.

As always, your feedback is appreciated. Feel free to pop into my ask box with questions or thoughts about the series. I’d love to hear from you!

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Taglist: @min-yus, @melindagrace31, @shrimpmsg, @ghostkat23, @demcreeps, @ggsmashgg, @findingourtreasure, @20emma0, @springbean​, @black-rose-29, @cuteipat, @agustneeds, @deeepvibes, @yzkyzkuniverse, @softbbyg0rl​

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

[yinses]

kinds of tattoo artists 

|jjk edition|

rqst: after sukuna i cant staph thinking about what the others would be like as tattoo artist

a/n: these are probably my favorite things to write. i love the format. 

G O J O  S A T O R U — he has a story for every tattoo ever. one’s he owns, seen and inked himself. they could all be true, but you find the vibrating hum of the needle against your skin easier to ignore when you focus on the vivid imagery of his tales instead. he’s a very good storyteller, never skimping on the details and adding comical commentary around every corner. you connect the threads of each narrative to the accompanying bold lines stretching up the length of his arms. swirls and various shades making for very convincing illustrations to the novel he’d created. before you know it, your hour is up, cutting his retelling just short of the art peeking under his shirt. you could get lost in those baby blues as they twinkle with mischief. they leave you so wrapped up in strings of intrigue that you actually consider a second tattoo despite your hesitations of the first. he looks proud of his work, and should be, deserving off all five stars you planned to give on his review.  “don’t like it too much. tattoos can be pretty addicting, after all.” he remarks as he rubs cream into your swollen flesh.  yeah, you think, addicting was the right word. 

G E T O  S U G U R U — the look he gives you when you tell him it’s your first is almost enough to make you reconsider. it’s not rude but there is a hint of condescension as he coaxed you to go into more details about location and coloring. ultimately, you end up in his chair anyways, lip bitten as he goes about preparing supplies. the point of no return comes all too quickly as he peels the sterile needle from the one use pack. “i would offer to let you hold my hand but-” you look up from the skin pinched between two of his fingers to the same smug grin that had greeted you at the door. something on his face must have changed, because slowly so did his as he breathes out a sigh. he surprise you by guiding one of your hands just above his knee, fingers squeezing around yours once before pulling away. “if it gets to be too much squeeze hard but don’t jump. id rather give you a breather than have you pass out on me.”

I T A D O R I   Y U U J I — if anyone was going to do your tattoo, you’re glad it’s your boyfriend. he’s more patient than most artist would be. attentive to every squirm and flinch and mindful how a single twitch could leave you with a permanent mishap. you’re going nearly thirty minutes over what was expected, but he’d scheduled out an ample block of time prior, mindful of your skepticism. “hey, hey, we’re almost done,” he mutters, hand stopping when he notices the water behind your eyes. “want to stop, baby?” you do. want the endless burn to finally go away, but you want to finish it equally as bad so you steel your nerves and shake your head. something akin to pride curls at the corners of his lips as he starts back up the motor but not before pressing a quick kiss to yours. “it’s going to look beautiful on you. just you wait. it’ll be worth it.” and you believed him. 

F U S H I G U R O  M E G U M I —he’s not one for conversation, choosing to rather concentrate on his work than idle chatter. but he doesn’t seem to mind if you do. and so you find yourself talking about any and everything as the clock ticks on. the entire process is almost cathartic. pent up tension escaping you with every word and each pin point of the needle etching away at your skin. this was suppose to be your bold change. something different to stamp a revision on your life while mounting a memorial of your past. or at least that was the speech used to butter yourself up to the idea. at the end of it all, you’re staring at something better than you’d imagined, and dont delay telling him as much. your words ignite a blush that crawls up his nape, barely hidden by the sheepish hand rubbing over the skin. “i-uh... don’t mind doing your next one. if you want one to remember your friend by.” he’s already turning away from your blink of shock, throwing care instructions over his shoulder as he prepares the bandage. 

F U S H I G U R O  T O J I  — it comes as a surprise, because he’s the owner. something pointed out to you by a friend when you’d accompanied them to the shop in the past. he only took on special guests, you’d been told. spending half a day bent over a customer completing yet another work of art that keep the business in high praises. he didn’t bother with the small things. so why he the one offering to pierce the little stud above your naval? eventually you would get a tattoo but you weren’t quite ready to take the plunge. but you’d been eying the cute studded crystal since your last visit. it looks as good as you thought it would, twinkling bright under the hooded lamp. he seems to think so too a thumbs over the tender flesh just above the piercing. “you were so good for me. not even a flinch.” you found yourself caught staring at the sharp cut stretching across both lips as they work into a smile. “you’ll have to come back and let me mark you up for real.”

C H O S O —he thinks you’re cute as you stumble through the explanation of your design. accommodating but insistent when you began to doubt yourself. ultimately, your idea hadn’t changed but you felt it lacking as you stared at the temporary imprint reflected in the mirror. you were his last appointment of the day, and surely eating up his time, but he refused to let you just go through with it. there was a light scold in his voice as he rubbed alcohol against your skin to wipe away the markings. “if you’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right.” you should have been halfway through your tattoo now as the neighboring stations close down for the day. but he waves away your timid glances as he nudges a new sketch book your way. in a way showing you his work had been somewhat counterintuitive, rather than help you settle on a design, you’d been overwhelmed and visibly intrigued by the numerous portraits and motifs. you spent more time compliment the his steady hand for being able to produce such detailed works than you’d progressed to coming any closer to honing in on your own tattoo. eventually he’s the one to call it a night, chasing away your frown with an offer. “tomorrow’s my day off. why don’t you meet me at the cafe around the corner and we can brainstorm this with the help of caffeine.”

[calif0rnia-lovers]

Lover of Mine #5.5 | Angel Reyes.

Series Masterlist | join my gc for updates since tags are acting weird

title: For Better, or For Worse.

rating: 💙 💔

As long as you're feeling the same, I'll follow you into the flames

sum: angel fears once it's out, his secret will be the final push you need to leave. instead of confessing, he sticks out the couple's retreat to give himself a few more days with you. he makes himself a promise: he'll tell you once you two return to santo padre. but a ghost from his past pushes angel's agenda forward a few days.

words: the standard for this series....long af (that's why I break it into sections so you know where to come back to when you take a break...but seriously, please take breaks on these long ass chapters)

Ez Reyes is a smart man. There is no denying it. However, Ez never thought he would struggle to tie a tie.

He is currently outside of his father’s truck. Kneeling before his nephew, Ez concentrates as he works through the instructions he Youtube’d earlier. A usually chatty Jeyson has been silent. He slept the entire hour's drive to school. When his Uncle woke him, Jeyson shot Ez a glare that reminded him of you.

Jeyson was fine the entire weekend that you were gone, but the moment he woke up this Monday to find you had not returned his entire mood changed. He has fought Ez tooth and nail the entire morning.

Ez glances up from the tie to Jeyson. “Hey, you sure you wanna go to school today?”

“I have to go to school” Jeyson mumbles.

“Yeah, but sometimes it doesn’t hurt to take a break.” Ez offers Jeyson a smile. “If you’re not having a good day, it’s okay to stay home.”

“I don’t want to stay home with you.”

“That’s okay,” Ez chuckles. “What about Izzy?”

“I don’t want to stay home with her either.” Jeyson releases a huff before glancing down at his now fixed tie. He bends down to pick up his backpack. Slipping it onto his shoulder, Jeyson steps around his Uncle. “I want my mom to come home.”

Tommy’s gaze remains on the sleeve of his blue Stockton uniform. His fingers tug at the loose string resting against his wrist. He ignores the smirk on his older brother’s face. The passing of time has muddled the bruises on Tommy’s skin. The mixture of black and yellow stood out on the parts of him he's allowed to remain visible. No matter how he sits, the pain in his ribs is inescapable. Sleep has fallen to the way-side, the inability to get comfortable meaning he only gets it once he’s passed out from exhaustion.

“You didn’t tell me she was hot. Now I know why you were sticking up for her the other day--”

“I didn’t notice. I’m more worried about her getting me out of here.”

“Uh-huh.” Leo’s eyes roll as he watches his brother’s eyes pass over the crowded visiting center. “I’m just saying—”

“What’d you find?” Tommy’s fingers massage his temple, the irritation in his voice amplified by his brother’s antics. Lack of sleep and around-the-clock oversight and antics from Rogers has cut his fuse short. “If you didn’t find anything, you could've saved yourself a trip up here—and I could be asleep.”

“She’s not married—unless she has a habit of leaving her rings at home.”

“What? On the table?”

Leo shakes his head. “No. A jewelry box in the bedroom.”

“What about the kid?” “He has to be about eight, or nine? Name’s Jeyson. You were right, he’s definitely Angel’s. Wish I could show you the picture. He couldn’t deny that kid if he tried.”

“Yeah.” Tommy nods impatiently, motioning for him to continue. “What else?”

“Kid goes to some boujee ass prep school up north. Gilman something? Embroidered blazers, ties, the whole nine. His mom’s paying a pretty penny too, apparently, it's the best in the state. He’s into the typical shit kids are into. Star Wars, Spider-Man. Plays the piano, apparently, he’s actually really fucking good. Awards and all. His mom’s got him pretty busy. A lot of after-school activities. Looks like she and Angel rotate transportation...She must not be around right now tho.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Apart from the fact you’re still not transported to a new unit?” Leo scoffs. “The kid was with someone else when I was scouting. A girl and a kid with a prospect patch.”

“Mayans?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe his little brother...last I heard he was hemmed up here. Haven’t seen him around tho.”

“Maybe he got out?”

Tommy dismisses Leo’s suggestion. “Most cop killers don’t walk free. What else?”

“He’s not doing a good job of keeping his nephew safe. I talked to the kid.”

Tommy’s eyes open. “You did what?”

“He walked right off with me.” Leo quietly explains. He mistakes his brother’s silence as a cue to move forward with his story. “His uncle was so into his date he didn’t even notice the kid walk off with me--”

The sight of Tommy’s hand running down his face tapers the rest of Leo’s statement.

His voice comes out low, through his clenched teeth. “I didn’t tell you to touch the kid.”

“I didn’t touch the kid,” Leo’s eyes rolled. “I got him a funnel cake—” “I don’t give a fuck—” the slamming of Tommy’s fist against the table brings the room to a brief silence. The eyes that he has attracted linger on Tommy as his glare nearly burns a hole through his brother. Rogers shrugs off the wall nearby. He takes a step of warning in Tommy’s direction. “—what you did, Leo—it was stupid.”

“How else was I supposed to get him to talk to me?”

Tommy’s response comes out slowly. Each passing word increases his irritation.

“You didn’t need him to talk to you because I didn’t ask you to talk to him. Buying him a funnel cake, or whatever the fuck your grand plan was allowed the kid to see your face. He can open up his mouth and ID you—”

“ID me,” Leo snorts, dismissing Tommy’s claim. “Relax, Tommy. He’s not a state witness, he’s a kid—“

“Yeah, and according to you and his 'boujee ass prep school,' he’s a smart ass fucking kid, Leo.” Tommy lets out a long sigh. “The last thing I need is the kid opening his mouth to his mom about some random guy approaching him.”

“Don’t worry, I played it cool. Told him I was a friend of his dad. Maybe, if you had told me exactly why I went there I wouldn’t—”

It was something Tommy had explained to his brother during their last visit. The less you know, the better.

“I already told you,” Tommy rubs at his temple, the sudden throbbing causing his jaw to clench. “I needed to double-check something.”

“And that’s what I did.” Leo sighs. “What I want to know is, why the fuck you called me all the way down here to check pictures in some house.”

Tommy studies his brother for a moment. He shifts forward, his elbows settling against the table.

“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you? You don’t think, Leo. I ask you to do one thing—one fucking thing—and you almost fuck it up. If I wanted you to think I wouldn’t have told you exactly what to do.” Leo’s jaw tightens as his brother continues. “You trying to think leads to you doing dumb shit like kidnapping her fucking son—”

“I didn’t kidnap him,” Leo mumbles.

Tommy’s fingers massage his clenched fist. “You’re lucky I can’t reach across this fucking table right now.”

Leo’s gaze drops from his brothers. The look that lies in Tommy’s eyes is one he’s seen before—at least not directed at him. It’s the look that accompanied the acts that earned Tommy his nickname. Leo’s gaze nervously shifts towards Rogers who is still watching Tommy from his post.

“What do you want with her? Thinking she’s gonna give you a shot? Criminal is her type, and she’s definitely yours.”

“It’s not her I need. It’s Angel.” Tommy starts, his jaw tightening as his gaze remains on Leo. “And if you want Angel, you need her.”

“If she’s as good as you say, what do you need Angel for? You’ve been talking about her like she might actually get you off.”

Leo steals a brave glance at his brother. He watches as Tommy looks up from his tattooed knuckles.

“No matter how hard you pray, people like me and you don't come out on the right side of the law. No matter how fucking good she is, she can't get me out of this. This shit is stacked too high against me." Tommy’s gaze shifts to the clock overhead. “Did you find the necklace?”

Leo nods as Tommy stands.

“Good, go ahead and do what I asked.” Tommy pauses, his voice lowering as his gaze meets his brothers. “Nothing else, Leonardo. The time I'm looking at right now, I’ll fucking kill you right here if you pull some shit like that again.”

At some point Monday night, Angel abandoned his spot on the sofa to crawl into bed with you. His intention may have been to take one side of the bed, but to no surprise, he has failed.

You came to this revelation at two o’clock in the morning when you tried to roll over but found it to be impossible. You have been stuck on your back ever since. You attempted to fall back asleep but have not been able to.

Cheek pressed against your chest, arm wrapped around your waist, Angel hasn’t moved. He doesn’t move when your alarm goes off at 7:30 or when the knock comes on the door at 8:00.

The sleep Angel lost, the past two days over Tommy seems to have piled onto him. He only wakes when your fingers brush through his hair, the warmth of your touch lingering against his cheek.

“You have to get up and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” Angel mumbles. The sunlight peeking through the curtains prompts him to burrow his face against your neck. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you smile softly. “But, I’m hungry, and I can’t get our food with you laying on top of me.”

Your words are met with a huff before Angel rolls over. Resting on his back, he watches the fan spin as you get out of bed.

His first instinct is to check his phone. He pushes himself up, his body protesting with the sudden movement, once he realizes his cellphone is not where he left it.

“Where’s my phone?”

His palms pressed against his eyes as he pushes away the enticing thought of laying back down for a few more hours of sleep.

“It kept going off,” you look up from the plate in your hand. “Ezekiel kept texting you.”

“What did he want?”

Angel watches you shrug. “I don’t know. I put it in the drawer. I tried to wake you up, but you were literally dead.”

Angel releases a sigh of relief before reaching over to open the bedside drawer. Facedown, his phone has several notifications. He ignores the rest, focusing on those from his younger brother.

2:30 a.m. 📲 : You still up?

2:35 a.m. 📲 : Talked to Bishop. Found out what the shipment was

3:00 a.m. 📲 : Pretty sure I found something else

3:02 a.m. 📲 : Don’t know if this is the guy. If it is we might have a problem

3:03 a.m. 📲: Found this in the paper

3:04 a.m. 📲 : Check it out and call me back.

The last incoming message was a photo, the front page of the Daily Imperial Gazette. Angel scans the article as you climb back into bed. A few phrases stick as he reads, “Man charged in Santo Padre murder…” “Thomas Flores, 30, has been charged…” “...obtained representation from Lorente & Rothman…” “...Friday, Flores was denied bond…”

“I have to tell you something.”

Angel instinctively hits the power button on his phone. Glancing up, he realizes you haven’t even bothered to look up at him. Your focus is on the half-eaten croissant in your hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you explain as you take another bite of your croissant. “The case Samuel gave me—the one Aiden is helping me with—it’s for this guy. His name’s Tommy Flores. He has some pretty...intense charges, so you’re probably going to hear people talking about it soon. We had court Friday, and the judge...he’s pretty tough. He denied any form of a bond, he didn’t even bother trying to set a ridiculously high one.”

You glance up to find Angel’s eyes on you. His unreadable expression causes your brow to furrow. You mistake the look in his eyes as uncertainty.

“I honestly don’t think it’s anything you have to worry about.” Offering him a smile, you lightly roll your eyes. “But I’m going to have to start working late when we get back, so I need to know that what happened Friday won’t happen again.”

You wait for Angel’s response, but it doesn’t come.

“If I take over morning drop-offs, can I count on you to pick Jeyson up after school?” You continue. “Or, do I have to ask Isabela to do it...Angel?”

Angel blinks as your fingers snap.

“Are you listening to me?” The irritation he finds as his focus shifts to you causes him to nod.

Angel nods a second time as he takes in the look of skepticism on your face.

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

“So, you’re good with picking Jeyson up from school?” You clarify. “Every day of the week?”

Angel unlocks his phone, nodding for the third time. “Yeah. I’ll pick him up.”

“And if you can’t,” you reach forward. You catch Angel's chin forcing him to look at you. “You call and let me know the moment you find out?”

Nodding, Angel drops his eyes the second your gaze meets his. “I gotta call Ez.”

Despite his admission, your hand doesn’t drop preventing him from getting up. For a moment, Angel thinks you’ll let it go. For once, you will ignore the feeling you get each time you notice a change in him. It is something no one else in his life can seem to do. It is something you’ve been able to do your entire life. It is something Angel wishes you couldn’t do.

“What’s wrong?”

Angel shakes his head as you release him. He keeps his eyes trained on the plate in your lap avoiding your gaze as your touch brushes through his hair. It's a habit. Angel knows the moment he meets your gaze he’ll tell you whatever is on his mind. It’s impossible not to do when he knows you can read him best that way. He picks up what’s left of your croissant and takes a bite.

You sit your plate aside before closing the distance between the two of you. Angel’s eyes lift to meet yours as you settle on his lap. The warmth of your palms finds his cheeks as you take his face in your hands.

“I’ve known you nearly my entire life, Angel. I know you don’t believe it, but I can tell when you’re lying to me. Just like I can tell when you’re upset and anxious. And when you’re going to annoy me.” The soft smile on your lips brings a weak one to his. “There’s no point in trying to act like I don’t. What’s wrong?”

“You were right about Friday night. I wasn’t with Samuel. I wasn’t even in Santo Padre.” Angel lets out a deep breath. His voice low as your fingers toys with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Ez and I were in Mexico. I left when you were in court. I knew we weren’t going to make it back in time, but I didn’t want to have to tell you because I knew you’d be pissed.”

“What happened to your hand?”

He watches you lift it. Your finger traces the bandage.

“Cut it on a shovel.”

Your gaze lifts to find his focus on the path your finger traces.

“...okay.”

Angel shook his head. “It’s not okay—I fucked up. Forreal this time—“

"What? On Friday?” You let out a deep breath. “Angel, I know I freaked out. Missing the recital—yeah, it was fucked up—but it is not the worse thing you’ve done.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that.” Your eyes watch him release a tired laugh, his gaze down. "You defend me, even when you shouldn’t.”

It is true. Defending Angel has been second nature your entire life. Often you do it in response to others. But also in response to him. When you were teenagers, you learned a valuable lesson about him. Angel is his worst critic. He’ll talk himself down harsher than anyone, even those who hate him.

“It’s because I love you.” Your arms wrap around his neck pulling him into a hug. “Just because we fight and say stupid things to each other doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, Angel. If I haven’t been able to stop doing that our entire time together, I don’t know why you think a fight in a therapy session is going to be the final straw. Me not talking to you is just the easiest way for me not to say something I’ll regret later.”

Angel’s grip tightens around you as your lips press against his skin.

“At this point, there isn’t anything you can do or say that’s going to make me stop loving you.” The reassurance in your voice lifts his gaze to yours. “Okay?”

Your lips press against his in a soft kiss. You leave a second against his forehead before getting up.

“I have to take a shower,” you announce as Angel’s arm wraps around your waist guiding your body back towards his. Your fingers drift into his hair as his head rests against you. “There’s more food you should eat before we go out.”

The two of you stay that way for nearly a minute. Angel releases you as the sound of your ringing phone fills the air.

Silence from Angel Reyes is a bad sign. Such a rarity, it wrings your stomach into knots. It has been hours since you woke to find him sleeping against you. Angel has said just as little as he did in the morning. When you stepped out of the shower, you found him fully dressed and brushing his teeth.

You glance over your shoulder to find he’s standing where you last left him. Arms crossed over his chest Angel rests against the wall as far from the line as possible. With his sunglasses on, you can’t tell where he’s looking. The corner of his lips turns up into a small smile as you come to a stop before him.

“Who knew smoothies took forever to make,” he sighs as your arms wrap around his waist.

Resting your cheek against Angel's chest, you tighten your grip. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heart as his lips press against your hair.

“I want you to come somewhere with me tonight.”

“No,” Angel chuckles. You tip your head back, pouting as his gaze drops to yours.

He shakes his head as your weight shifts to your toes.

“Please,” you ask, your lips pressing a kiss against his.

“Last time I did that, you ripped me to shreds,” he laughs. “I haven’t even had time to recover from that.”

“It’ll be fun,” you promise. The second kiss you leave morphs Angel's smile into a grin. You leave a third, this one against his cheek. “I promise.”

Angel releases a long breath as you take a step back, a grin on your face.

“It better be,” he shakes his head as you quickly press a final kiss against his lips before turning to retrieve your order.

As you reach the corner, your cell phone vibrates in your back pocket. You don’t bother checking who it is. Aiden has called you three times. You had sent him a text message in response to his first three calls. Telling him to ask Isabela for help on whatever he needed.

The moment the call goes to voicemail, the vibration picks back up.

You force yourself to take a breath as Angel leads you outside.

“Hi, Aiden--”

“I know this week is supposed to be for you and Angel,” Aiden's voice comes out in a rushed whisper. “But, I need your help.”

“Where are you?” You ask as you take a sip of your smoothie. “And, why are you whispering?”

“I’m at the courthouse,” Aiden sighs. “I’ve been here all morning, and they’re giving me the run-around.”

“About what?”

“The Warden called the office this morning. You weren’t there, so I answered your desk phone. He didn’t give me many details, just that Flores was detained last night. They couldn't get him to say anything—to no surprise—but one of the guards said he was involved in an altercation with another inmate. Apparently, Tommy messed him up pretty bad—like...transported to the local hospital bad.”

Angel glances over at you as you slip out of his grip. You take a seat at the table he stops alongside.

In the short time, you’ve worked with Aiden, you’ve learned one thing. The moment he thinks there is something to panic about, Aiden will panic. So, if you sound stressed it kicks off his panicking.

Resting your face in your hand, you speak quietly. “So, he wasn't transferred on Friday as I'd requested? If he was he couldn't have gotten in a fight.”

“I know. Apparently this isn't the first one he's been in. The Warden said he looks like he’s been roughed up in the past few days. I’ve been here since first thing this morning—”

“Let me guess.” You rest back against your seat. “They told you there’s nothing they can do, with the prison being at full capacity they don’t have a cell for him?”

A brief silence falls over the receiver. Aiden’s brow furrows.

“Yeah—how'd you know?”

“That’s because it’s bullshit,” you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Judge Miller was hoping you’d leave and not press the issue.”

“Shit,” Aiden mumbles. “Shit, should I call Samuel—”

“God no. Aiden, I’ll tell you what to do, and say, just relax.”

“I lied to you.”

Angel glances down at you as your lips press against his knuckles. “About what?”

“About wanting to wait to get married.”

Your admission leaves Angel quiet. He opens his mouth to speak, but it closes as you place a second kiss against his skin.

You tilt your head back to find his eyes focused on the water.

“I was talking to Izzy the other day—not about getting married—but about you and...I mean...we’re trying to have another kid.” You backtrack as his gaze drifts to you. “That’s not the only reason, but I don’t want to spend another seven years playing house with you, Angel. I have tried so hard to find reasons why we should just leave each other in the past, but it’s impossible. I can’t help thinking that we’ve wasted so much time trying to fight it we should just get married.”

If he is excited by your words, Angel doesn’t show it. If he’s anxious by your words Angel doesn’t show it. The only response he gives is the furrowing of his brow as his pace slows before coming to a complete stop.

“I thought you’d be...a little happier,” you admit. The butterflies in your stomach seem to double in size as Angel's gaze focuses on your interlaced fingers.

“Right now?” Angel gently squeezes your hand, the smile slowly spreading across his lips causing you to shake your head. “A fancy place like this I’m pretty sure we could find someone to do it tonight.”

“Preferably with your son there,” you giggle as his lips press against your forehead.

“Just so you know,” Angel mumbles as he leaves a kiss against your lips. “You can’t take it back.”

“It’d be pointless,” you admit, your eyes focused on the incoming tide. “Regardless of what I say, you’re impossible to escape.”

“Like you said, it must be fate,” he teases as you step back towards the security of the shore.

“I didn’t say fate. I said I was tired of trying to outrun you.”

Angel’s eyes roll. “Okay.”

Pushing against his chest, you cause him to stumble backward making it impossible for him to avoid the incoming tide.

“Fuck—”

Angel’s scream is drowned out by the sound of your laughter. He tries to escape the chilled water but realizes it’s pointless as a second wave rolls through.

“Is it cold?” You ask the grin on your face prompting him to take a step in your direction. “Because it looked like it was cold.” The look on his face causes your laughter to return.

“You’re about to find out how cold it is.” The promise in his voice causes you to take a step back.

You catch sight of Angel’s smile before you take off running.

Between the giggles that leave you breathless and the sand between your feet, you don’t get very far before Angel’s arms wrap around you.

“I’m sorry, okay. Let me go, please?” Angel’s grip loosens as you turn to face him. “I really am sorry.”

A gasp escapes your lips as your feet leave the ground. Blood rushes to your head as Angel tosses you over your shoulder. It only takes a second for you to realize he’s turned and is carrying you back towards the water.

“Angel Ignacio Reyes put me down now!”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby girl,” Angel chuckles as he carries you into the water.

It doesn’t matter that you’re both fully clothed Angel carries you out until the water is waist-deep. He comes to a stop. Shifting you in his arms, he grins as your arms instantly wrap around his neck.

“You think this is far enough?” He asks as you take in your surroundings.

“I hate you,” you giggle as you meet his playful gaze.

“I could go further out,” he takes a step forward.

“Just do it.”

Judging by the mischievous grin on his lips, you expect him to drop you in. For whatever reason, Angel spares you a dunking. Instead, he carefully lowers you to your feet.

The chill of the water causes your grip to tighten around him. He waits until you’re standing to let go of you.

You can’t suppress the smile that finds your lips as he kisses you.

“You’re lucky you buttered me up beforehand,” he chuckles as you step around him.

He follows you back to shore watching as you glance down the beach, back towards the lights of the hotel. Your pace slows as you start in the direction of the hotel.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Despite the nod of reassurance, you force yourself to take another breath. You shake your head slightly, a tiny smile finding your lips. It takes a third breath for the feeling to pass. “I just—got lightheaded for a second.”

“Uh-huh. Funny how you get ‘lightheaded’ the second I take my shirt off. I don’t know why you still try and play this game at this point.”

Your eyes open in time to allow you the moment you need to react. Catching the shirt tossed your way, you watch Angel unzip his jeans.

"Angel put your shirt back on–I’m serious.” The warning in your voice stretches the smile on Angel’s lips. Your eyes leave him, long enough to drift back to the glow of the hotel’s lanterns still visible. The laughter and music cause you to step in his direction. “You are not getting naked on the beach! Are you trying to get us kicked out of here—”

“I wasn’t planning on going in naked,” Angel laughs. It is an admission of truth, but the sight of your panicked gaze causes a mischievous grin to take over his features. “But, I’m down to if you are—“

“No—"

“You know what?” Angel nods as he tugs his foot out of his jeans. “Your plan is better.”

“Angel—“

There’s no point throwing in a protest. Angel has fully stripped down to his briefs.

You step forward as he moves to push them down.

“I am serious, Angel. Do not do it.”

He rolls his neck before letting out a loud, and exaggerated, “fine.”

“But the only way that’s coming back on,” he nods towards the shirt in your hands before taking a step back. “You gotta join me.”

“I’m not doing this.”

Angel shoots you a look of skepticism as he takes another step towards the water.

“You’re already wet,” he chuckles. “Might as well get in.”

You remain where you are as Angel turns and makes his way into the water.

He waits until he’s waist-deep to start swimming out. He disappears out of sight as you drop his shirt to the ground. Stepping out of your flip-flops, you roll your eyes as you watch him resurface under the moonlight.

“Hurry up!” Even with the distance between the two of you, you can see Angel’s grin in your mind perfectly.

Despite your initial protest, you stay in the water for nearly an hour. Angel stands alongside you. His right-hand rests against your spine, his left interlaced with yours as your float. He watches you, his eyes admiring the moonlight against your skin as you focus on the stars above.

“I can’t remember the last time I looked at these,” you admit.

He smiles as your eyes drift shut. “Mom used to freak every time she caught us sneaking onto the roof to look at them.”

“That’s because you fell off one time. Nearly gave her a heart attack.”

“Wouldn’t have been the first time.”

You bite back a smile as Angel’s lips lightly brush against yours. They drift to the bridge of your nose as you release a soft giggle.

“Speaking of mom’s, yours came by last week.” Angel watches as the smile on your face slowly fades. “You were at work. I was taking Jeyson to school. She said she’s been calling you.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you admit. “She’s blocked.”

“I was thinking...since we’re heading back a day early, we should stop by your mom’s on the way back–”

“No.”

Angel releases a deep breath. He wasn’t naive to think you would jump at the idea. But, since seeing her, Angel couldn’t get the thought out of his mind.

“I know ya’ll don’t get along, but my mom’s not here to see Jeyson grow up. I think he should be able to know the grandparents he has left.”

“I get that, but I’m not doing it.”

Your eyes remain closed as you concentrate on the waves gently pushing against your skin.

Angel doesn’t say anything else on the subject. He knows your response will stay the same. It has for the past nine years. He also doesn’t say anything else because he knows he’s the reason you won’t budge.

The hatred your mother has for Angel may be misplaced, but she is too stubborn to admit it. She has always blamed Angel for many of your actions, starting when you were kids. Anytime you didn’t go through with what she had planned for you, Angel was to blame. You missed curfew in high school Angel was to blame. You skipped school on your birthday Angel was to blame. You didn’t attend the college she spent her entire life preparing you for Angel was to blame. You got pregnant out of wedlock Angel was to blame.

It had all came to a head at your baby shower. Angel wasn’t there, but it was the first time he’d ever seen his mother truly angry. Sure, Marisol had gotten mad at Angel countless times. But seeing how mad Marisol was as she recounted the fight she had witnessed between you and your mother, Angel was shocked.

He never asked what words were exchanged, and he didn’t have to. All he knew was that from that moment forward, everyone avoided the subject of your mother.

“I get what you’re saying, Angel,” you sigh. “But, if my mom truly wanted to get to know Jeyson she would apologize. I can’t bring our son around someone that has said the things she’s said about you. If she can say them about you, she can say them about him because Jeyson is your son.”

“Shit, I really look as bad as I feel?”

The smile on Tommy’s face grows as you look up. The heat covering your skin seems to rise as you start to speak.

“No—” You wince. “I’m sorry for staring—it’s rude.”

“It’s all good,” Tommy chuckles as he watches your eyes leave his.

He watches as you bite your lip. Whatever is on your mind, you don’t share it. Instead, your eyes linger on the bruise beneath his right eye. You’ve seen enough damage on Angel to know how bad it must have looked a few days prior.

“Hey, relax.” Tommy shifts forward in his seat, the sound of his shackles dragging across the table causing your attention to refocus. He meets your gaze. “The Doc cleared me—gave me my two Advil and sent me back to my cell. I think it’s safe to say I’m not gonna die.”

Despite the smile on his face, your head still shakes.

“Yeah, but I still feel bad that it happened. I was supposed to double-check the clearance of your paperwork.”

“Trust me, it’s not your fault,” Tommy chuckles. He watches your eyes drop to his freshly bruised knuckles. “It’s mine. The funny thing about this place is, you always run into people from your past. My mom used to said I never knew when to stop talking. I might have said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

You watch as Tommy’s eyes briefly drift over your shoulder to where Rogers sits in the corner. His smile returns as his gaze drifts back to you.

“So, I take it you had fun.” He notes your raised brow before backtracking. “The Warden said he called your office and your boyfriend answered, said you were out of town.”

Your eyes roll. “Hey, go easy on my boyfriend. He’s the one who went to the courthouse. From what I hear, he slammed Judge Miller hard because your paperwork has been approved.”

You take in Tommy’s skepticism. You slide the signed form across the table, allowing him a better view.

“Signed by the Warden as well,” you point out. “Thanks to Aiden as soon as we’re done here, you’re being moved out of the unit.”

“No shit?” Tommy chuckles. He nods in approval as he scans the form. “I’ll be sure to thank Aiden when I see him. Guess you were right. He’s got some balls after all...Look, I know I’m not the easiest client….so um….Thanks for pushing for this. Making sure everything was straight. Most people would’ve just left me where I was.”

“Yeah, well I can’t have you die before I get fully paid.”

The laugh Tommy releases brings a smile to your lips. He settles back against his chair as you pick up your pen.

"I need you to understand that this new assignment may not be your favorite," you explain. "You're being moved to a new unit, but I can't get you moved again. That means, you can't do anything else, Tommy. Do you understand me?"

Tommy nods. He looks up as your hand finds his.

"This," your lift his hand forcing him to take in his swollen knuckles. "The shit you pulled. You're lucky they didn't throw you in AdSeg. That's 23 hours in your cell. No phone calls, no visits. Nothing. The only reason they didn't throw you in there is because they messed up, and didn't want Aiden to draw a motion against the judge. I don't care what you have to do, but you better learn to walk away from a fight. Now."

"I know." Tommy sighs as you let him go.

“Then do it. My job is already hard enough as it is. I can't have you trying to kill someone while you're already here for murder. Plus, the judge is pissed because of the paperwork Aiden had to file. That's not good for either of us. So, that means I need your help.”

His brow raises, the corners of his lips turning up into a smirk. “I thought I was supposed to be the one asking for help.”

“True, but help is a two-way street.”

Tommy hesitates for a moment. His eyes drop to his knuckles as he lets off a light shrug.

“What do you need?”

“For you to tell me why you were meeting with Alexander Maddox the night you were arrested.”

Tommy’s smile fades quicker than it came. His jaw tightens as he shakes his head.

You sit forward resting your elbows on the table.

“Tommy, if it’s about the MC.” Tommy’s eyes lift for a brief second. Long enough for you to catch a glimpse of the shock in his eyes. You lower your voice. “I know you’re with the Horsemen—”

Tommy shakes his head. “Look—I get you got a job to do, but—there’s just shit with the MC I can’t talk about—”

“I know how this stuff works—”

“Got a lot of personal experience with an MC?” Tommy asks.

His question causes you to release a deep breath.

“If you don’t want to tell me anything, fine. But when it comes down to it, Tommy. People will cut you off to save themselves.” The irritation in your voice lifts his gaze. “That shipment you were carrying, was not a dime bag. Your brothers will let you go down for this. Hard. They will let you rot in here for the rest of your fucking life if it means avoiding a R.I.C.O. case.”

Tommy’s brow furrows. “What’s a R.I.C.O.?”

His question throws you off. The pure confusion on his face causes you to backtrack.

“You seriously don’t know what that is?”

“I mean—I’ve heard of it...how do you know what it is?”

“It’s what you pay me for,” you remind him.

“Then I guess I’m paying you to explain it to me.”

The moment you step outside of the elevator, you come face to face with a wide-eyed Isabela.

“Is your phone dead?” She asks the irritation in her voice causing your brow to arch.

“Off—I had a client meeting with Tommy. I thought I told you—”

Isabela ignores your response, her eyes focused in the direction of your office. “Yeah, whatever. I’ve been calling you for the last freaking hour—”

“Sorry—ow.” You wince as Isabela catches your arm. She pulls you to a stop. “What?”

She releases her grip, but she sidesteps. Blocking your path, Isabela places both hands on your shoulders. She ignores the look of confusion on your face, her gaze studying yours.

“How are you?”

Her question causes you to hesitate. “...Fine...why?”

Isabela takes another moment to study your eyes as if she doesn’t fully believe you before nodding.

“Just so you know,” she sighs as she takes a step back. “I did not let her in. Aiden did. He didn’t know any better—bless his heart—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your mother.” Isabela winces at the look on your face. “She’s in your office. Promise me you won’t make a scene.”

“It’s never me you have to worry about,” you mumble.

When you enter your office, you find your mother is not where Aiden asked her to sit and wait for you.

She is standing behind your desk studying a photo that she holds in her hands.

“Put it back.”

She jumps at the sound of your voice, her body turning so that she faces you.

“Put it back, please.”

Her eyes return to the photo of Angel seated on his bike. A grinning Jeyson is seated in front of him, clinging to the handlebars.

“He looks so much like his father.”

You cross the room. Taking the photo, you place it back in its original resting place before dropping your purse onto your desk.

“What do you want?” You ask as you watch step around your desk.

“Is that a way to greet your mother?”

“According to the last time we spoke, I don’t have one.” You recollect as you take a seat. “It’s been...nearly nine years, so my memory might be a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure that’s what you told me.” Your brow furrows as she moves to take the seat across from you. “There’s no need for you to sit. This conversation won’t last long. I have a meeting in a few minutes. What do you want?”

Your mother’s jaw tightens as she remains standing. Her eyes roll as she speaks. “I take it he didn’t pass along my message.”

“He did pass along your message, actually,” you admit. “Believe it or not, Angel said I should call you and listen to what you had to say. I just chose to do what I’ve done for the past nine years—ignore it. If you’re not going to answer my question, mom, then you can leave.”

“Your father and I want to see our grandson—”

“No.”

She expects more, but your attention has already moved on to the papers you’ve dropped onto your desk.

“See, I told you the conversation wouldn’t last long.”

“Y/N,” your mother objects. “It’s been nearly nine years.”

Your fingers interlaced as you force yourself to take a deep breath. You surprise even yourself as your voice comes out quiet and calm.

“I told you before. I do not want you near my son, and I meant it. I don’t care what excuse you’ve come here to give today. I’m not changing my mind. Your only hope is to speak with his father, and hope he’s more forgiving than I am.”

Aiden stops in the doorway, his eyes widening as he reads the room. He takes a step back but pauses as you give him a warm smile.

“Hi, Aiden! Please tell me you haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

“No,” Aiden clears his throat. His eyes briefly pass to your mother whose gaze remains on you. “I haven’t.”

“Good. Can you order two of whatever you’re having? I’ll pay. We have to go ahead and look over this case.”

Aiden nods as you add, “great. Can you also escort my mother downstairs? She’s ready to leave.”

“I’m sorry for ruining your retreat.”

Aiden’s apology breaks your concentration.

Seated on the floor of your office, Aiden has his back pressed against your desk. His usually polished appearance is disheveled. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His tie and jacket are discarded on the back of your chair.

His apology is one he has been working himself up to share for the last three hours. Each time he thought of sharing it, he’s backed out. At this point, he’s run out of pointless conversation and has reached the bottom of your takeout container that he took over.

“What are you talking about?”

Aiden’s eyes remain on the chopsticks in his hand.

“Isabela told me not to call you about Tommy,” he clears his throat. He steals a glance in your direction. “She said it should wait until you got back—but as usual—I panicked and called you. Now you’re back early--”

“Aiden, you didn’t ruin my retreat,” you sigh. Your palms rub against your tired eyes. “It was rocky was to begin with.”

The admission silences the office. Aiden nods before opening his mouth.

“So,” you smile as you lightly bump his shoulder with yours. “Please, don’t worry about it. Angel was probably happy you called so he could leave.”

Your gaze returns to the slow-paced printer. Upon learning you were coming home early, Aiden had sent you a text message.

📲: I have some stuff to show you about Tommy.

And by “some stuff” Aiden meant a board. He had stolen one of Samuel’s whiteboards from the conference room. The entire surface is covered in your notes and information from Tommy’s files.

“I can’t believe you did all this while I was gone,” you stare at the board. “Your girlfriend might think you’re spending too much time on me.”

Aiden’s smile is sheepish. “If I had one, I wouldn’t have had time to do this.”

“Well, remind me to find you one because this is amazing.” The tease causes Aiden’s smile to grow. “I’m serious, Aiden. I can’t believe you thought you couldn’t be any help.”

“I didn’t really do anything,” he shrugs, his gaze focused on the paper in his hand. “They’re all your notes, I just organized them.”

His eyes widen, a grin finding his lips as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Call it whatever you want,” you smile. “But I still get to say thank you.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he rubs the back of his neck before glancing over at you. “We’re a team….speaking of...I found this.”

The picture he lifts is not new. It is one you’ve seen before. Your brow furrows as you take in the pregnant woman on display.

“I already know who that is,” you admit. “It’s the girlfriend of—”

“Alexander Maddox.” Aiden nods. “Right. I kept going back to your notes. You had one question. Why was Tommy meeting with Maddox in the first place?”

Your head shakes the confusion on your face prompting the rolling of Aiden’s eyes.

“How is this the answer?”

“You were asking the wrong question.” A mischievous grin slides onto his face as Aiden realizes you’re still not following his train of thought. “I can’t believe I figured something out before you—”

“Oh my goodness, Aiden—”

“When he was arrested, Tommy was carrying a shipment--”

“Yeah, something he shouldn’t have been doing by himself.”

Aiden’s brow arches. “You got a history of drug trafficking I don’t know about?”

“You’d be surprised what you pick up on this job.”

Aiden shakes his head as you motion for him to continue.

“While I was working, I kept thinking back to our conversation at the courthouse,” Aiden continues. “You said Tommy’s smart—"

“He uses people to get what he wants.”

“Exactly,” Aiden grins. He lifts the picture in his hand. “Why would Maddox meet up with someone from a rival club, in the middle of the night, with his pregnant girlfriend in tow if he was threatened by them?”

Aiden doesn’t bother answering the question. Instead, he waits for you to make the connection. The smile on his face remains as your eyes widen.

“Because he was there to make a deal.”

“Exactly!” Despite the smile on your face, Aiden’s face dampens. “...but that’s as far as I got. I don’t really know what made Tommy kill him—”

“Of course you do, Aiden.” Despite your reassurance and the confidence in your voice, Aiden’s expression hasn’t changed. “Your brain just needs a second to catch up. Maddox didn’t keep up his end of the deal. He probably tried to screw Tommy over. Not realizing that Tommy would kill him, girlfriend in tow.”

"Well, now we know why Tommy's been tight-lipped about that night. Probably doesn't want it to get out that he was skimming from the club's business."

The hug you give him brings the same response as before.

“I should help you out more often.” Aiden chuckles as you give him a squeeze.

“Careful,” you tease. “Angel’s not too fond of sharing.”

“Speaking of Angel…” Aiden’s gaze meets yours. “I know you asked me not to say anything to him about Samuel—”

“It’s okay.”

Aiden nods, but he continues. His rambling brings a soft smile to your lips.

“Yeah, but I just...I didn’t want you to think I was okay with what Samuel did.” His words come out quietly as he shakes his head. “The way he talked to you...it wasn’t right. You work harder than anyone here—including him—and for Samuel to do that was fucked up. I didn’t say anything in the meeting, and I should have. So, I just...I told Angel when he asked about it.”

“He would have found out eventually,” you laugh softly. “Besides, now Angel likes you.”

“For real?” The smile on Aiden’s face stretches into a grin as you nod.

A silence falls over the office as Aiden’s head rests against the desk. His brow furrows as your eyes fall to your hands. There is a final question on his mind. One he’s tried to find a way to raise since he started flipping through your notes on Saturday morning.

“Are you pregnant?”

The question lifts your gaze.

Aiden reaches into the pocket of his shirt. Your eyes widen as you take in the white card he produces. It is a card you spent the entire morning trying to find. The scheduled appointment one you have yet to share with Angel.

“It was in the notebook you turned over for me and Samuel to review,” Aiden explains as he passes the card over. “Don’t worry. I saw it before he did...I figured he was the last person you wanted to know.”

Your eyes focus on the date. A week and a half away. The initial scheduling may have been premature, but you couldn’t shake the feeling Angel was right.

“Uh...no—I mean, it’s too early to tell.” You turn the card over before looking up. “I should know by this date, so can you not tell anyone about this? I haven’t even told Izzy...or Angel for that matter. I don’t want to say anything until I’m a hundred percent sure.”

Aiden nods, a soft smile on his lips. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” You allow your head to rest back against the desk. “I don’t want to get Angel’s hopes up too early.”

It was the only thought you’ve had from the moment you woke up alongside Angel that moment. But as you glance back at the card in your hand, you know the truth has nothing to do with Angel. It’s not his hopes that you’re afraid of letting down.

You place the card aside, pulling your knees to your chest. Your gaze drifts to the board before you. The two of you sit in silence, eyes focused on your work. Silently willing your brains to come up with one more revelation before packing it up for the night.

"Alright," Aiden huffs. "I think we've gotten as far as we can get tonight."

HIs brow furrows, a chuckle filling the air as he fingers brush against your arm.

"Didn't take you for a tattoo person."

You glance over at him, following his gaze to the ink on your arm.

"Yeah, well, you've never been dragged to a tattoo parlor with Angel," you laugh. "Now, I try to avoid them at all cost."

"It's pretty cool," he grins, his eyes lingering on the design. "He has one too? Matching?"

"Yep," your eyes roll lightly. "Please don't tease me about teenage decisions."

"I won't," he chuckles. Aiden sits forward, lightly patting your leg before moving to collect the trash.

“Aiden?”

“Huh?” He glances up from the takeout containers in his hands.

“How long was he in Chino?”

“Tommy...uh, hold on.” Balancing the containers in his left, Aiden quickly rifles through the stacks of papers spread across the floor before him. “Says here...he was in Chino for....30 months.”

“Any way we can figure out where he was housed?”

“I don’t know,” Aiden admits as his eyes scan the wrap sheet. “His charges were nothing compared to now. Petty crime, so he wasn’t housed at maximum. Why?”

Once his question is met with silence, Aiden glances over his shoulder at you.

“What’s wrong?” The concern in his eyes slowly morphs to fear as he takes in your expression. “Did I miss something?”

“No, I did.”

“What do you mean?”

Before he can pose the question, you’re already pushing yourself to your feet.

“Go home, okay? It’s getting late—don’t worry about the mess. I’ll clean it up in the morning.”

Although you’ve managed to mask your expression, the trembling of your hands causes Aiden’s brow to furrow.

“You sure?” He objects. He quickly stands, stopping you from grabbing your keys from your desk. “I can send an email about his placement in Chino—”

“No.” Your response comes out more panicked than you want. You quickly backtrack. The reassuring smile you give Aiden not holding the weight it’s meant to. “I’ll do it in the morning. I have to go see Angel.”

“Okay.” Aiden nods. He passes over the sheet watching as you excuse yourself.

Jeyson Reyes sits at the table in the center of the clubhouse, his math homework abandoned. His attention is devoted to the bowl of skittles in front of him. He has spent that past minute carefully picking out his least favorite skittles—the yellow.

“Word on the street is you got a birthday coming up,” Angel accepts another yellow skittle before popping it in his mouth. Jeyson’s eyes widen as he briefly pauses the task at hand. Angel’s brow furrows as his eyes study his son’s face. “How old are you turning again? Five—”

“Nine!”

“Nine? Nah--that can’t be right.” Angel shakes his head as he takes in Jeyson’s broad grin. “I don’t believe you—”

“Uh-huh,” Jeyson nods, dropping another skittle into his father’s palm. “I turn nine in seventeen days.”

“Shit—”

“That’s another dollar in the swear jar,” Jeyson reminds him as he passes Angel another skittle.

“I know,” Angel chuckles. He rests back against his seat, his eyes lingering on your son as he quietly admits. “I can’t believe you’re that old.”

Jeyson’s nose scrunches. “I’m not old.”

“Yeah, you are,” Angel laughs, his hand brushing against Jeyson’s hair. “You’re almost an adult.”

“I’m still a kid,” Jeyson giggles as his eyes lift to meet his father’s. “You’re old—”

“Hey—I am not old,” Angel retorts, the feigned look of offense causing your son’s giggles to increase.

Jeyson reaches over pointing towards the beard Angel’s hand passes over. “You have gray hair—lots of it.”

His father’s gaze narrows as Jeyson’s grin stretches as far as his cheeks will allow. As if to soften the blow, Jeyson drops two more skittles into Angel’s palm before eating one of his own.

Angel’s smile remains as he watches Jeyson redirect his attention back to the bowl of skittles on the table.

“Have you thought about what you want for your birthday?"

Jeyson shrugs. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Angel’s brow raises. “You’re counting down to your birthday, but you don’t know what you want?”

Jeyson lets off a second shrug, his concentration on the skittles causing Angel’s brow to furrow.

“You know we’re gonna end up getting whatever it is you want,” Angel smiles as he ruffles Jeyson’s hair. “You’ve been doing everything you’re supposed to in school.”

Despite Angel’s words, Jeyson’s gaze remains down. He chews on the inside of his cheek. The action causes his father to slide the bowl of skittles aside.

“What’s up? You don't think you can get what you want?”

Nearly a minute passes before Jeyson answers Angel’s question. His voice comes out quietly.

“I want you to stay at home.”

Angel’s brow furrows. The response is not what he’s anticipating. “I am staying at home.”

“My home, not yours.” Jeyson clarifies. “Where mom and I live.”

“That is where I’m staying.”

“You didn’t Friday. Is it because you don’t like living with us?” He asks quietly

Angel’s eyes drift shut, the tightening of his throat causing him to shake his head.

“Your mom and I—” Angel’s voice trails off as Jeyson looks up from the table to meet his gaze.

It is a conversation neither of them has breached before. One Jeyson has found himself thinking about more and more. One Angel knew he would eventually have with his son, but he hadn’t anticipated it to be now. He had also hoped you would be around to help him.

“You having two homes has nothing to do with me not wanting to live with you—or your mom. You don’t remember it, you were too little, but your mom and I...we used to fight a lot.” Angel continues. “I wasn’t nice to her, and I made her cry a lot. So I had to leave. I didn’t want to leave you or her, but I also didn’t want to hurt you or your mom. It took me a while to learn how not to do that. Friday...I couldn’t come home because I didn’t want to fight with your mom.”

“You still made her cry.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Leaning over, Angel brushes his hand against Jeyson’s hair. His touch forces Jeyson’s eyes to meet his. “You know how you and your friends get mad at each other? Sometimes we get mad at the people we love because we don’t see things the same way. But your mom being mad at me has nothing to do with you. Okay? Just because your mom and I might fight, it doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”

The soft smile Angel offers him prompts Jeyson to give him one in return.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m staying with you and your mom or at my house. I love you. That’s not ever gonna change. Never has, never will. Got it?”

Jeyson nods, his smile growing as Angel places a kiss against his skin.

As Jeyson's attention returns to the bowl of skittles, Angel reaches into his kutte. He pulls out the white envelope that he found in the mailbox upon your return home.

He studies the unfamiliar handwriting. Printed in block letters are his name and your address. His gaze passes over the generic American Flag stamp and date pressed into the right corner. The lack of a return address causes him to flip the envelope over.

Angel waits until he comes to a stop outside of the clubhouse to give the envelope a second glance. Tearing the side, he reaches inside pulling out a single index card. The handwriting matches that printed on the envelope.

An anniversary gift for the Old Lady.

Angel tips the envelope. His stomach tightens as the chill of a silver chain hits his palm. The buzzing of his phone in his kutte pocket goes ignored. He doesn’t need to unravel the chain to know who the necklace belongs to. He has looked at the necklace nearly every day since he was eighteen.

The continued vibration of his phone forces an irritated “fuck” from Angel’s lip before he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“What?”

“This is a prepaid call from Thomas Flores, an inmate at the state correctional facility. All phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring. To decline the call, please press nine. To accept the call and all charges that will be incurred, please press one.”

Angel doesn’t remember committing the act of acceptance. A moment later, Tommy’s voice echoes through his receiver. For a man locked inside the walls of Stockton, his voice is calm and lighthearted.

“Damn, it’s been a minute since I’ve heard your voice, Reyes. Can you believe I missed it?”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” Angel growls, his grip tightening around his phone. “How’d you get this number?”

“Come on, Reyes--give me some credit. I got it the same way I got your address,” Tommy chuckles. “I had to make sure to wish you a happy anniversary. It just passed, right? What is it six—no—seven years? Hopefully, the two of you are doing better these days—”

“Why are you calling?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Tommy sighs, the smile on his face stretches into a grin. “See, I was in my cell a few weeks back, thinking to myself—got a lot of time for that nowadays—and naturally, that led to me thinking of you. And how I missed my old cellmate. Then I remembered...you owe me a favor.”

“A favor? I don’t owe you shit--”

“That’s not how this shit works. I think the person who’s owed a debt gets to decide when it’s paid in full.” Tommy pauses, the silence from Angel’s end allowing him to continue. “Funny thing, I wouldn’t have even thought to call on you for this, but you made a simple mistake all those years ago, Angel. You talked too much...If you don’t want someone to use your Achilles, you don’t share it.” Angel’s brow furrows as Tommy’s words slowly begin to sink in. “Now, you know I’m not a religious man, but I bet you can imagine how good I felt when I realized that God, himself, dropped Y/N into my lap. What are the odds that she and I got brought together? Huh? It’d be a shame to let this God-given opportunity go to waste, don’t you think?”

“What the fuck do you want, Tommy?”

“A lot of things,” Tommy admits. “A turn with your pretty wife for starters. The way you put it, she’d do just about anything for you--”

“She’s not doing anything for you--”

“That’s okay,” Tommy chuckles. “You’ve always had my back when it came down to the wire.”

Angel’s head shakes. “No—Fuck this—I’m hanging up. I told you that night. One and done—”

“I take it you got my gift,” Tommy ignores Angel’s declaration. “And...judging by the unnecessary hostility I’m sensing in your voice, you took a trip down South recently.”

“I want what you took—”

“And you can get it back—scout’s honor.” The sincerity in Tommy’s voice would fool a stranger, but not Angel. “After you help me out one last time. For old times sake.”

“I’m not helping you do shit.”

“Damn,” Tommy sighs. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“And you’re gonna leave her alone. Come up with an excuse, I don’t care. You’re finding a new attorney—”

“No can do, Reyes. See, I don’t benefit by losing her.” Tommy explains. “Unless you wanna consider my proposal. Last time I’m offering. I think you’ll find my way is the easiest—for everybody involved.”

A silence falls over the line. The trembling of his hands tightening Angel’s grip on his cellphone.

“Alright, well, my time is almost up,” Tommy yawns. His eyes pass to the clock overhead. “Plus, I know it was a lot to dump on you, so I'll give you the night to mull it over. Tell your lady I said thanks for visiting me today.”

Angel’s continued silence brings a grin to Tommy’s face. His chuckle fills this receiver.

“You haven’t told her yet….Tell me, what do you think she’s gonna say when your secret gets out? Do you think she’s gonna stick around this time? If that shit gets out, you’ll be facing more than some 18-month stint in Chino, Reyes. You’ll be facing some real-time. Ask your baby brother how that shit sits with you. All it’ll take is some rumors about the location of a missing state’s witness to start swirling...evidence anonymously getting dropped into the hands of the right people...then you and I just might be sharing a cell again.”

“Trust me, you don’t want that shit to happen.”

“Maybe...maybe not...only time will tell.” Tommy sighs. The calmness of his voice is the opposite of the feeling causing Angel to force out an unsteady breath. “Do me a favor, check with your old lady on how to get on my visitation list. I think you owe me a visit, make the shit quick, Reyes. Maybe she can get them to expedite the paperwork. You got a job to do, and your clock is ticking, homie.”

There is no need for additional words to be exchanged. Tommy hangs up, leaving Angel standing at the end of the driveway. No matter how hard Angel tried to resist—or tried to appear that he was—Tommy knew the hook was set the moment the call began.

When you pull into the clubhouse lot, you find Angel standing at the base of the clubhouse steps.

His eyes meet yours as you park, but he makes no move to meet you. The question is out before you can step around the front of your car.

“Do you know Tommy Flores?”

Angel’s eyes may be on you, but his mind is somewhere else.

“What?”

“Thomas Flores. He was serving time in Chino. Longer than you—thirty months—but you were there the exact same time. Did you hear about him while you were there?” Your question is met with silence. Angel blinks. His brow furrows as he watches you cross the lot. “I know it’s a random question, but Angel it’s really important. Okay?”

It’s common for people to cross paths. Chino is not a prison. It’s smaller than Stockton. Inmates flood in and out like clockwork. That's what your mind can produce in the time it takes you to come to a stop before him.

But it’s the look in Angel’s eyes that tightens your stomach.

It’s a look you’ve only seen once in your life.

Nearly two years ago. A night you hadn't revisited in quite some time.

When Angel had shown up unannounced at your house. This was nothing new.

Only this time, the pounding on your front door had woken you, Jeyson, and nearly half the neighborhood.

Your initial assumption was that he was drunk—it wouldn’t have been the first time Angel had shown up after a few beers and a shitty hookup only to find his way back to you. Begging you to let him stay the night, swearing to plead his drunken case, only to pass out against you the moment you were seated on the sofa.

Only this time—the moment you’d gotten the door open you were crushed by his weight. Angel's grip had been tight. The pressure caused you to wince as his face burrowed against your skin.

For once, you couldn't detect alcohol--just sweat and dirt. His grip had tightened as you tried to move back and take a better look at him.

You didn't get much out of him that night. The most you could get him to do was shower. Which was for the best because, by the time you'd helped him dry off, Angel's adrenaline crashed. He’d passed out in your bed a minute later.

In the morning, he didn’t produce much of an explanation.

"Sorry if I scared you last night," he'd mumbled as he headed to the door. "I know you asked me not to show up—unannounced like that but—I just wanted to see you."

“Yeah,” Angel nods. “I knew him.”

You wait for elaboration, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Angel takes a step back. He finds a seat on the steps, his left hand reaching up to rub his eyes.

“Yeah, I knew him? What the hell does that mean? You knew of him, or you kn—”

“No, I knew—I know him.” Angel releases a sigh, his fist crumpling the envelope he holds. “He was my cellmate.”

“No, he wasn't.” The response is automatic. The laugh you release echoes across the parking lot. The meaning behind Angel’s silence doesn’t fully register. Your brain is still reeling, trying to find a rational explanation to deny his statement and what it means. You shake your head. “No, he wasn’t. That is not fucking possible—“

“Cellblock D. That’s where they house all gang-affiliated inmates. They don’t give a shit if you’re an MC or not. It’s all the same.” Angel quietly explains, his eyes watching the realization begin to sink into your features. “They put you together with guys from other places, knowing you might not have a brother to watch your back if you need protection. Tommy’s cellmate had recently been discharged. So, after intake, I took the open space—“

“Angel, stop. I can’t have you telling me this,” you cut him off. The sight of your widened eyes not deferring Angel’s train of thought. “Do you know what this means for my case? Why couldn’t you just lie to me—”

“Because what I need to tell you is worse.”

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[adezahnae]

While We’re on a Little Trip (Part 2)

A/N: Here is Part 2 of While We’re on a Little Trip!! Enjoy😊❤️

Warnings: Smut, morning fuzzy sex, oral (male and female receiving), cursing, slight fighting, slut-shaming, Y/n snaps XD

Tagged People: @ahgasearmyfan @whoreforshuaaa

Your POV

Today is the day...I finally graduated from High School! I jumped out of bed and ran to the closet. I heard Jaehyun stir awake. “Princess?” He called in his morning voice. I bit my lip. “Good Morning!!” I replied in a sing-song voice. He chuckled. “I’m surprised you’re still able to walk.” He said. I smiled and went back to him, crawling on his lap. “Maybe it’s just you getting too old for me..” I said teasing him.

He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m getting old?” He repeated. I nodded my head biting my lip. He held onto my hips and pushed me down on the bed, crawling on top of me. “Jae! What are you doing?” I squealed. “You think Daddy’s getting old?” He asked kissing my neck. I giggled. “Noo! I apologize!” I said. “Daddy’s gonna make you pay for that...” He whispered in my ear. “But I have to get ready!” I whined. “It’s only 10:34, your graduation doesn’t start until 12.” He said.

“But I’ll take forever!” I tried to protest. “I can wait. You’re gonna pay.” He said with a teasing smile. He traveled down to in between my legs and spread them. He took of my underwear and threw them behind him. I giggled and then let out a moan as he began kissing on my nub. His tongue flicked it and I arched my back. “Daddy..mmm...” I moaned.

He slipped his tongue past my folds and made patterns. I felt him place two fingers inside. I gripped his hair. “Yesss!!! S-So good!!” I moaned. He then pulled away and turned me around my stomach. He gave me a smack on my butt making me jerk forward with a nasty smile. He lifted up my hips and pushed inside me. He started off at a hard pace. I gripped the sheets and yelled out in pleasure. “Is Daddy still old?” He asked me as he spanked me. I shook my head. “No! Daddy’s not old!” I said.

“Are you gonna take it back then?” He asked me. I nodded. “Uh Huh! Ohhhh my gosh I’m close!” I cried. He went faster and I released on him. He pulled out and kissed my back. He landed a hard smack that made a tear form in my eyes. He seen it and kissed my cheek. “Now apologize.” He said. “Sorry Daddy.” I said. He pulled me back up and kissed my lips. “Daddy forgives you.” He said. I smiled and pushed him against the pillows. “Can I finish you off Daddy?” I asked. He nodded. “Yes you may...” I took him inside of my mouth, still tasting myself on him.

He groaned and ran his fingers through my hair. I went faster and sucked harder. He threw his head back. “Good job Princess..” He whispered. I smiled and continued to give him head. He began to force down my head at a fast pace, while he’s groaning. “Right there Princess, don’t stop...” He whispered. I felt him getting bigger in my mouth, signaling that he’s close. Just as he was about to release, his phone rung. He groaned out in annoyance and grabbed his phone.

He rolled his eyes at the caller ID. “Who is it?” I asked. “Your mom.” He said. “She still has your number?” I asked sitting up. “During our divorce, I was told to still keep contact with her until you graduate from school. You can keep going she’s not important.” He explained. I gave him a funny face and shrugged my shoulders. Why would I pass up on giving this man head? “Hello?” He answered while leaning his head back, trying to keep in his moans.

“Hello Jae. What are you doing?” She asked. “I’m getting head, why?” He replied bluntly making me giggle. “You’re still fucking my daughter huh?” She sighed. “Yes now what is it that you want Mia?” He asked. “I just miss you but you’re still there fucking my daughter like the slut she is!” She yelled. I frowned at her words. His hand came to my cheek and caressed it. “It’s okay.” He mumbled. I smiled and kissed his hand, continuing to suck him off. He groaned out and placed a hand on my head.

“I hate you so much...” She said. “That makes two of us...fuck baby don’t stop, just like that.” He moaned. I heard my mom groaned out and hang up the phone. He hung up as well and threw his phone on the side table and leaned his head back. He finally released in my mouth and I swallow. I pulled away and looked up at him. He gave me a kiss on my forehead. “Thank you Princess..” He said. I nodded. “You’re welcome..” I said. “Go and get ready. We have to be there by 11:30.” He said. I nodded and went to go and get my dress and graduation gown from the closet.

I sat in my seat for the graduation, nervous as ever. It was a good type of nervous. I was one of the students who were next in line for my diploma. My group finally made it up stage and I seen that Jaehyun was in the crowd looking at me. “You’re beautiful.” He mouth to me. I smiled and nod slightly. “Miss. Jung Y/n.” The Principal called out. I heard everyone clap and cheered for me as I accepted my diploma. I seen that Jaehyun was recording me while he clapped.

I smiled and waved at the camera. He smiled back and waved at me. “She will now like to give a speech.” The principal said. I went up to the podium and cleared my throat. “To everyone here today, getting their diploma, I’d like to say that we made it! Through the struggles of meeting deadlines, the feeling of being at the bottom because we couldn’t get a grade up, and mainly, the feeling of just wanting to give up. We made it here, to this stage, with the help of ourselves, our parents, our mind, and our teachers. I know many of you know my dad, Mr. Jung. He also one of the number one teachers here. He helped me through it all, not because I’m his daughter but because he cares. He cared for all the students that he had taught and even the ones in the entire school. He wouldn’t of build the school if he didn’t care about the students. He gave me the power I need to push through it all, even when him and my mom we’re going through a divorce. He kept my head up. He did the same for all of us, we must do the same for him in the future. Why? Because we are the future. Class of 2020 is the future...Thank you all..”

I bowed to the crowd as the clapped and cheered loudly. I looked up at Jaehyun to see him with a smile on his face. I blew him a kiss and he blew one back. “I love you.” He mouthed. “I love you too!” I mouthed back. I took my way down the stairs and back to my seat.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” I heard friends, students, and my family yelled as I walked through the door of me and Jaehyun’s house. I gasped and covered my mouth. I squealed and hugged Jaehyun who was behind me. “Thank you soo much Daddy! Truly!” I cried. He hugged me back and comfort me. “It’s okay, Princess. You did it, not me.” He said. I lifted my head up and he wiped my tears. He kissed my forehead and smiled at me. “Go and get ready for your party!” He said. I ran up the stairs and went to our closet to pull out my dress. I got dressed in it and went back downstairs to enjoy my party. Everything was perfect, it was amazing. I was having such a good time with everyone and getting presents from everybody. I looked over to see my mom, storming in the door. She went straight to Jaehyun.

Jaehyun’s POV

I was enjoying everyone here. They were all having a good time with Y/n. Is it bad to say I want to marry her? She’s everything I could have asked for and she means everything to me. She looked so beautiful in her dress and it twinkled in the light, making her only stand out. I pulled out my phone to look at rings. I’m not gonna marry her just yet, just a promise ring to see how she will take it. As I was looking I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned around to see that it was Mia.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked. “I want to talk to you! Like I said earlier!” She said. “Y/n has now graduated, we do not need to speak no more.” I said. “I’m taking my daughter back.” She said. I scoffed. “No the fuck you won’t.” I said. “Yes I am!” She yelled. “After you called her a slut earlier?” I asked. “You put that girl through so much shit Mia! Do you not get that or are you just dumb?” I exclaimed. “I’m taking my daughter from you. She’s mine NOT YOURS!” Mia yelled.

Everyone in the house stopped what they were doing and turned to us. “Mia, Y/n is mine. To be honest, she’s none of ours. She is turning 20 in a week!” I said. “How is she yours?! You were married into our family! She doesn’t have your blood!” She yelled. “Remember that paper you told me about? And how quick you signed it? Mia, you signed your rights away. She isn’t your daughter anymore.” I said. I heard Y/n gasp. “Y- You did what?” She whispered. I turned around to see tears welling up in her eyes.

“Y/n it’s alright. I’m here.” I comfort her. I couldn’t stand to see her broken like this. “Stop comforting that slut!” Mia yelled. “MIA! WATCH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” I yelled. “To everyone who doesn’t know, Jaehyun is fucking Y/n! Yep! She was just sucking his dick earlier when I called!” Mia said to everyone. “What?!” I heard Y/n’s grandmother say. “Yes this is their house! They live together as boyfriend and girlfriend! This is not a daughter and father relationship! Y/n is a slut! She’s been fucking him ever since me and Jae we’re first engaged!” Mia yelled out to everyone. “Just how you were messing around with Doyoung?” Y/n said pulling away from me. “YOU WRONG JAE BEFORE HE WRONGED YOU! AND NOW YOU’RE HERE TRYING TO TURN THE SHIT ON US! JAEHYUN TOLD ME THAT WHEN YOU WE’RE ON YOUR LITTLE TRIP, YOU WERE FUCKING YOUR BOSS, DOYOUNG! AND NOW HE’S LEFT YOU AND YOU’RE PREGNANT WITH HIS CHILD BY 8 MONTHS! YOU ARE THE SLUT! I’M SICK AND TIRED OF BITCHES LIKE YOU!” She yelled.

“Watch how you talk to me! I’m you-“ “WHAT MY MOTHER!? YOU AREN’T SHIT TO ME BUT A FUCKING ANNOYANCE!” Y/n yelled getting closer. Mia slapped Y/n across the face making everyone gasp. “Mia!” I yelled. Before I could do anything, Y/n slapped her back and punched her in the face making her fall to the floor. Mia gasped holding her cheek. Y/n was about hit her again until I pulled her back. “Stop it Y/n! She’s pregnant.” I said. She back away with a tear stained face. “Get out....GET OUT!” Y/n yelled while she held onto me and sobbed.

“Get your ass out of here and do not come back again..” I said. Mia got up and left the house. “I hate you all, fuck you all! I hope you know that this isn’t over Jae!” She yelled getting inside her car. Y/n then teared away from me and ran upstairs to our bedroom. I turned to everyone. “Everyone, please get your things and go. Don’t worry about cleaning up, I’ll do it all myself.” I said. People shook their heads.

“We don’t hate you if that’s what your thinking. Y/n is an adult and if she wants to be with you then so be it. You’re all she has. Go up to her and comfort her. We’ll clean up.” Her grandmother said. Many other people began to agree. I smiled. “Thank you all, you are the best..” I said. Her grandmother nodded and started to get things up.

I went upstairs to our bedroom and knocked on the door. “Baby?” I called. She turned around and ran to me and hugged me.

Your POV

She really did this....she did this...why? What did I do deserve this? I didn’t do anything to her, but she hurts me in this way? I heard a soft knock on the door. “Baby?” I heard Jaehyun called. I instantly turned around and ran to him. I hugged him while I cried. “Shhh...” He said while walking me into the room and closing the door with his foot. We sat on the bed and held each other. “What about everyone else? What about the party and-“ “Hush Princess..it’s alright.” He whispered while kissing the top of my head. “But everyone knows! What about!-“ He cut me off with a kiss to the lips. “They accept, Y/n...” He said with a smile. “What?!” I exclaimed. He nodded his head.

“They don’t care..” He said. I smiled and hugged him again. He placed his hand on my cheek but I winced away. “Oh I’m sorry...hold on.” He said. He got up and got a cool rag. He placed it on my cheek and kissed my forehead. “I know it hurts but it’ll go away soon.” He said. I looked in his eyes. “Jae...” I whispered. “Hm?” He replied. “I love you...so much...” I said. He smiled and kissed my lips again. I pulled him in closer and we began to make out.

He pulled away, stopping me from going any further. “There’s people down stairs.” He said. “And we have to get going soon.” He said taking the rag away and walking off to put it up. “W-Where are we going?” I asked. He chuckled. “Did you forget our trip to Hawaii that quick?” He asked, rephrasing my words from yesterday. I laughed and went to the closet. “Oh..the party had my mind all scrambled and I forgot.” I said. “It’s alright. Get your bags so we can get ready.” He said. I nodded. “I’ll go back down stairs to tell everyone that we’re le-“ “No.” I said cutting him off.

“No?” He repeated. “Can we go together?” I asked. He smiled and held out his hand. “Come on..” He said. I took his hand and walked back down the stairs. “Everyone, I’d like to let you know that me and Y/n are leaving in 10 minutes. We thank you all for coming and enjoying your time here.” Jaehyun said. He turned to me. “You want to say anything?” He asked. “Thank you all. And my apologies about my m- I mean Mia..she’s still not accepting the fact that she’s divorced with this man.” I said.

“You mean your man?” My grandmother said. “I-“ “We all know! It’s alright to say! We accept you all the way!” A student said. I smiled at their words. “T-Thank you! It means a lot..” I said. Jaehyun kissed my cheek and smiled at me. “Thank you! Come on let’s go and get everything in the car.” Jaehyun said. We went back to retrieve our bags. We got inside our car and waved my grandmother goodbye. She said that she would house sit for us.

[capricorn-stark]

Unexpected Encounters

pairing: dick grayson x reader, first encounter

warning: n/a

a/n: yeah I got nothing, pretty casual fic

part 2

Bludhaven was a city so miserable, it could give Gotham a run for its money any day of the week. 

You would know - after having lived in Gotham for most your life, only to end up relocating to Bludhaven for your job, you could whole-heartedly say that Bludhaven made you long for your dark, perpetually rain-drenched city. The place was practically like Gotham’s Crime Alley - if Crime Alley had been expanded to a house an entire city of people.

One of the biggest differences between the two, however, was that there was no silent guardian preventing the crime rate from steadily crawling upwards with each passing hour, no Dark Knight in the form of some stranger dressed up in a bat costume to save his citizens from killer clowns and watered-down furries in penguin costumes. In Bludhaven, you would simply manage to survive on your own, or you would get mugged and end up at the bottom of its polluted harbor for some poor soul to find weeks later. 

And that was simply how life was. 

Granted, those kind of thoughts definitely were not offering you comfort as you walked down the streets of Bludhaven yourself, keys between your fingers and the feel of your gun concealed in your other hand as you kept carefully drifting beneath the lights of the dying streetlamps, cautious of directing any sort of attention to yourself. You had missed your bus home after working a bit too late, and you couldn’t exactly wait around for the next one to arrive in another two hours. 

Luckily for you, you saw no real dangers tonight. 

Maybe, for once, it would be a quiet trip home. 

Naturally, you were immediately proven wrong.

You were a generally cautious person, as anyone who grew up in a city like Gotham had to be in order to survive there at all. You were careful of your surroundings, who you talked to, who you ran into, and where you walked. You were in no way stupid enough to go into a random alleyway because it just so happened to be a conveniently located “short-cut”. Ever.

You were smarter than that.

But you hadn’t noticed the presence of a man in a dark and worn hood trailing behind you for what, as far as you knew, could’ve been quite some time now, formerly concealed in the crowds you had walked through. He was only a few feet away from you now, his steps quickening ever so slightly when he noticed you catching sight of him in the window of a passing store. You remembered that you had seen that same man nearly five minutes prior a few blocks before. 

That, as anyone could’ve guessed, was definitely not a good sign. 

The crowds were thinning as you edged closer to your part of the city, fewer and fewer people lining the stores and alleys, with even fewer who looked like they would help you if you happened to need it. You couldn’t exactly dart into the nearest corner store and expect him to leave you alone, there was a much higher chance of him simply leaving your line of sight altogether and reappearing when you finally stepped outside. If you tried to book it, you were more than certain that a man that size could easily catch up.

The last option you had was a confrontation, but living in places like this for as long as you had, you were sure it could escalate immediately and leave you in a much, much worse situation. You had a gun, but you couldn’t gauge how effective it would be if he happened to have one himself, and this was Bludhaven. 

Everyone had a gun.

So, all your options were bad. You felt your grip around your gun tighten anyways as you walked faster, cursing under your breath as you noticed him doing the same behind you. Your heart was racing now, breath quickening as you tried to tell yourself that you were almost home, that you just had one more block to go before- 

“Excuse me, ma’am. Are you alright?” 

You looked up at the source of the new voice that had gotten you to stop in your tracks and meet a pair of bright blue eyes. The man in front of you offered you a reassuring smile as he tapped the badge on his uniform.

Bludhaven Police Department. 

“Someone bothering you?”

You turned your head to look back at where the man following you had been, only to feel a chill run down your spine as you realized he had disappeared into the shadows of the city, as if he hadn’t been there at all.

“I thought-” You cut yourself off, still staring at the people milling around left and right. “I thought there was someone-” He seemed to notice how shaken you were immediately, tearing his gaze away from the crowd and finally settling back to you, lips curving into another soft smile. Despite everything, it was strangely comforting to see.

“If it makes you feel better, I can walk you to your destination.” You couldn’t bring yourself to decline when your heart was still racing in your chest, so you managed a nod. The man pulled his jacket around him as he moved to fall into step alongside you after one last look into the crowds. “You’re sure you’re alright?” 

“Yeah, I am now,” you brushed off, wrapping your own jacket a little closer around your body as you made yourself fixate your gaze on the path ahead. Your fingers were hurting from the previous clutch of your keys. The gun had finally been fully tucked away. “Thanks, Detective-” You cut yourself off to get a closer look at his ID. “Grayson?” 

“Richard,” he offered with another smile, glancing at you in turn. “Well, I go by Dick, but-” he caught sight of your expression and laughed, shaking his head. “Richard’s fine, too.” You felt your face burn red and you tried to clear your throat.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s all good, I get it a lot. Can I ask for yours?” You chuckled a little before introducing yourself to him, shaking your head dismissively when he commented that it suited you. 

“Am I making you leave your post or something?” Dick waved that off immediately, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“Nah, I’m just patrolling this area tonight. I was about to head into the café down the street for some coffee when I saw you, and I thought you seemed a little alarmed.” His tone was even but kind, and it was easy for you to tell that he had been in this type of situation a million times before. “If you need anything, medical assistance, filing a report, I can take care of that.” 

You nodded slightly again, taking another deep breath as you felt your panic finally subside. His presence was comforting, and you were glad he was with you for the rest of the walk home. You still couldn’t bring yourself to think about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up. 

You wouldn’t be missing the bus again any time soon, that was certain.

“I was just surprised,” you finally started, feeling a twinge of embarrassment creep up your face for no apparent reason. As if you were the one who should’ve been more careful. “I didn’t see him - I guess I wasn’t as careful as I thought I was.” 

“Don’t think that’s on you, because it wasn’t your fault,” he started at once, apparently having been able to read your mind. “Creeps like that are running around all over this place, you can’t expect to see all of them coming. I’m just glad you’re alright.” You nodded again, pulling the jacket a little tighter before you sneaked another glance up at him. 

You hadn’t exactly seen much of what he looked like beneath the dingy light of the streetlamps, but as you edged towards your apartment complex, you could finally see his face beneath the brighter lighting. 

You noticed the striking blue eyes first, of course, accompanied by strong, defined features, jet black hair, and a surprising look of youthfulness despite the fact that he had sounded like he’d be a bit older. The light crinkles by his eyes told you he was the kind of person who tended to smile a lot. 

Clearly, he was very, very handsome.

“I’m actually pretty new to this whole gig,” he commented as he scanned around the street you were on, snapping you out of your not-so subtle staring. “Moved from Gotham a few months ago, found a job with the BDP. They definitely appreciated having new hires around, with the state this city’s in.” 

“So did I,” you blurted out in surprise, causing him to raise a brow at you. “Not working with the BDP - but I moved here a few months ago, too, from Gotham. I lived there my whole life.” 

“Well, look at that,” he laughed, seeming rather incredulous but certainly pleased at the finding. “I guess we have that in common. Some move, huh, thinking Gotham’s about as bad it gets before getting smacked with Bludhaven?” You actually laughed at that in turn, nodding in agreement.

“No super-people flying around to save the place, either. Tragic.” 

“I’m sure one’s gonna show up around here eventually,” he dismissed, following you when you motioned towards your building in the distance. “If there’s any place that needs some of them around, it’s here.”

“As what, Bludhaven’s version of Batman?” you deadpanned, imagining what things would be like if another man in a bat costume started running around and beating up street-thugs. At least the crime rates might dip. “As long as he doesn’t come with more psychotic clowns, I guess we could use one. Even if that means changing my insurance plan to fit him in.” 

“Better safe than sorry,” Dick agreed, corners of his lips twitching into another almost mischievous grin that caused your face to redden in the dark. “Doesn’t have to be another Batman, maybe it’ll be someone new.”

“As long as they take care of the city, I think I won’t care who it is,” you decided with another light chuckle, stopping in front of your building and looking up at him. “I just hope they’ll be cut out for the job.” He stopped in front of you with another smile, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. 

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see, huh?” You found yourself mirroring the action, feeling rather amused by the statement.

“I guess we will.”

The brief moment of silence between you was interrupted by him clearing his throat, moving to grab the handle of the door for you at the same time you tried to do it yourself, ending with the both of you promptly colliding apologizing profusely while backing away from the door altogether. 

“Sorry, I didn’t - sorry-” he cut himself off by reaching out to pull the door open for you again with an awkward laugh, not unlike your own. “I hope I’ll see you around here on a better note,” Dick finalized with one last apologetic grin, letting you slip past him and into the building. 

“You mean when I’m not speed-walking away from creeps running around Bludhaven?” you chuckled in response, shouldering your bag off-handedly. “Definitely, I agree. Thank you, Dick.” 

He made a show of dramatically tipping his hat towards you before turning on his heel, still smiling to himself. 

“Pleasure’s mine.” 

[boygirlmeetsworld]

Messy.

ONE-SHOT

Word count: 2793

Disclaimer:  One piece and all it’s characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I just like to write about them.

Warning: None

Rating: T (i guess?? there’s cursing)

Author’s Note: Whale, this is the first fanfic I’ve posted on the interwebs since high school so please keep that in mind, lol. I do plan to finish it sooner than later so check back in a few days if you want to read the rest, sorry I don’t have it all done right now.  At long last it it FINISHED.

Feel free to tell me what u think! Unless it’s mean, then I ask that u keep those thoughts in ur noggin because I’m just writing these for fun not for grades.

Without further ado, here ya go.

Author’s Note pt 2: So i didn’t end up going the smut route like I originally planned, but I think it worked out better bc this one got nice and Emotional.

Summary: Zoro really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

__________________________________________

The moon was floating high in the night sky when Nami wandered onto the deck, unable to sleep even after a few hours of sketching. 

She wanted company – specifically, she wanted the company of the crew’s resident alcoholic. It only took a few minutes to find him on the lawn deck with his back against a tree and his eye closed. ‘How typical.’

Nami smiled a small, excited smile as she strode over to him and squatted between his parted legs. An unconscious sigh left her nose as she swept her gaze up and down his face. She caught herself thinking, ‘He really is easy on the eyes isn’t he.’ ....again. 

Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking the same thing every time she looked his way lately. 

Two years ago she’d been able to keep the immature crush she had on him locked tightly away but somehow - it had gotten out and was slowly consuming her entire being. 

Nami hoped he hadn’t noticed how often she invited him to drink with her because she didn’t think she could handle being rejected. So she settled for spending time alone with him whenever and however she could. 

“Hey, moss-head,” the navigator said finally, leaning in to squint at him, “Are you asleep?”

He had literally just settled down for a nice cat nap when the navigator appeared suddenly to interrupt him. ‘Damn. What the hell did she want now?’ 

Instead of answering, Zoro chose to ignore her and pretend like he was deep asleep. ‘Why won’t she go bother someone else?’

Nami started prodding his cheek with one finger to rouse him if he really was sleeping, ”Zorooo wake up, I wanna drink,” she whined and his eyelid opened instantly.

‘Why’s she so damn pretty..’ was the first thought he had when he realized that she was a lot closer than he’d anticipated. 

He mentally chastised himself after, trying to remind his id that Nami had never once indicated that she wanted to be anything other than friends and he should respect that. 

But… There was no harm in looking from time to time was there? And she was pretty. She’d always been... ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, now he sounded like Sanji. He needed to get a grip.’

“Helloooooo,” Nami waved her hand in Zoro’s face until he snapped back to reality and snatched her wrist up, pulling it away. He scowled but it wasn’t deep, and now he was refusing to look her in the eye. “What was that about, huh Zoro?”

“Nothing.” The swordsman replied perhaps a little too quickly to avoid suspicion, “Thought I heard a noise, doesn’t matter – oi, didn’t you want to do something?” 

He couldn’t remember what exactly it was. He’d been so distracted by the way her bangs framed her face and sometimes got caught in her eyelashes—’Damnit! He was doing it again.’

Nami smirked again but didn’t press the subject anymore. She’d do that later once they started drinking. “Weren’t you listening to me? You’re so rude, maybe I should find someone else to share my booze with.”

Was it a good idea to go drink with Nami when he kept catching himself thinking about feelings that he’d been suppressing for the last two years? Probably not…

But he couldn’t just decline an opportunity to get buzzed. ‘And... Maybe he wanted to get buzzed with Nami, specifically.’  

Zoro scoffed, mostly at himself. “Quit playing games, damnit, do you want me to drink with you or not?”

“You’re so stubborn,” The navigator teased with a pleased smile that made his heart beat unevenly, “I could care less if you join me, but you’re not allowed to come unless you say you’ll be nice.”

“Nami. I am older than you, quit treating me like a fucking child or I swear-”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady who’s getting you drunk for free, Roronoa Zoro. If you can’t be nice then I’ll just add the cost of everything you drink to your debt and-”

Zoro didn’t have time to ruminate over the way hearing her say his full name made him shiver because he had to shut her up before she did charge him. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll be... nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth and her answering giggle made his pulse flutter. He had to fight to keep himself from smiling. ‘What the hell was going on with him tonight? Was he sick?’

“Good boy,” she turned and started walking towards the Sunny’s aquarium bar, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was coming.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Zoro snarled to mask his confusion over the sudden need to touch her that he felt scratching at the back of his head. He really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

He knew it, but he followed her up the stairs all the same.

                                                       * * *

“Why d’you always want to drink with me anyway, witch?” Skeptical of her intentions, his narrowed eye fixed itself on Nami as she approached him holding two maroon tinted bottles. She offered one to him and he accepted it – but he didn’t let his guard down yet.

Zoro lowered his gaze to check the label out, whistling long and low when he read 23% alcohol per volume. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in his head ‘Oh, that’s why. Because if she tried to drink this with anyone else they’d pass out after two glasses.’

“Would you believe that I just like hanging out with you?” Though her tone was teasing she was actually being genuine, she had a lot of fun with him whenever they went out.

“No–“ He paused when Nami kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him swear. Reaching down with his free hand he rubbed the sore patch of skin and glared daggers at his crewmate. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“You said you’d be nice, Zoro! So be nice or I’ll charge you a hundred thousand beris for that bottle.” Nami uncorked hers but waited to hand the corkscrew over until he behaved himself. The look he was giving her would probably frighten a small child but she didn’t flinch.

‘This was his choice.’ He reminded himself. Of his own free will he chose to get drunk with Nami instead of napping, and that meant dealing with her bossiness no matter how much he loathed it. ‘Sometimes he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and make her shut up, there were better things her mouth could be doing anyway-‘

“Why do you keep staring at me like that, do I have a zit or something?”

Zoro sat up so fast that he banged his shoulder on the underside of the countertop. ‘What the hell was that? What the hell was wrong with him?’ He hadn’t even opened the damn bottle and he was already making himself look like an idiot.

“No,” the swordsman grumbled, wracking his brain for a believable excuse, “Just thinking about how I’ll owe you money even after I’m dead if you keep charging me for bullshit.” That made her laugh and Zoro cursed himself for how much he liked hearing it. “Don’t see how it’s funny for me, witch.”

Nami let him take the corkscrew from her, eyes crinkled with amusement while he opened his bottle. “You’ll just have to stay alive until you pay me back in full, I guess!” She trilled before taking a long, heavy drink from hers.

“Yeah?” Zoro snorted before mimicking her and downing about half of the wine in the container. It tasted disgusting, which he’d expected, but that didn’t make the bitter aftertaste any less miserable. His nose wrinkled slightly as he set the bottle down. “I bet even if I did try to pay you off you’d find a way to charge me more.”

“You make me sound so heartless,” the navigator batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to look hurt, “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Hah.” He scoffed before chugging some more wine and failing to keep track of how much he was drinking each time. “Because you want to keep me on a leash since I don’t throw myself at you like that dumbass cook.”

An impish smirk crawled it’s way onto Nami’s face that made him immediately regret what he’d just said. ‘Fuck. Damnit!’

“So…” She began slowly, savoring every second that the swordsman spent avoiding direct eye contact with her, “You admit that you are one of my lap dogs?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he stopped drinking for one second to grunt, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard!” Chimed Nami as she rose from her seat, stepping over to Zoro and tracing a finger under his jaw while he drained the last few drops of liquid. “I should get you a collar, so people know who to bring you to when you get lost.”

Normally he would have snapped at her for poking fun at his sense, or lack thereof, direction but he wasn’t listening to her. She’d come close enough for him to pick up her scent and maybe it was the alcohol intensifying his feelings, but it was suffocating him in a good way.

He loved the way she smelled. Tangerines from her soaps mixed with salty seawater and traces of sunscreen. A hint of orange blossom, but only when she was close to him like this. 

Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose and, without realizing it, his expression melted into something affectionate and gentle. ‘In two years she’d changed in so many different ways… but she still smelled the same. She still smelled like home.’

                                                        * * *

“What are you thinking about, Zoro?” Her voice void of it’s usual teasing tone, Nami’s curiosity was piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. He looked soft and peaceful, like he didn’t have anything to worry about. She wanted to know why.

‘Ah, fuck.’ What was he supposed to tell her? That he was thinking about how good she smelled? ‘Yeah right.’ Zoro was quiet for a while, mulling over his words until he came up with an explanation that didn’t sound as creepy – but also wasn’t a lie.

“I guess..” he finally murmured, his gaze shifting to meet hers, “It’s just been a while and… I was thinking about how nice it feels to be back here, with everyone…” a brief pause then he added, “I missed you guys.” ‘Look at him being all gushy and emotional, this wine really was something else.’ Zoro reached to brush his fingertips by her temple, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I missed you.”

When had Zoro ever been this honest with her about the way he felt? Never was the answer, but now he seemed to trust her well enough to know she wouldn’t spill his secrets. Nami took his face in both of her hands, surprising him, and pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “I missed you too, Zoro.”

Something about hearing her say that she’d missed him too broke a dam in his chest that he’d been trying to keep together for two years. Hormoness flooded through his bloodstream quicker than Zoro could even process them and before he knew it he was practically throwing his arms around Nami’s waist and crushing her against his chest.

“Nami—” he pressed his face into her neck to hide the tears that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Sober he might have cared about losing it like this around her but she was here and… ‘He just – needed to hold her.’ Hold her and smell her and feel how real she was because she had almost been taken from him.

‘He’d barely begun to process what he had been through on Thriller Bark when they were attacked in Sabaody. If he tried to think back on it his memories would get hazy and his bones would ache from their very cores. He knew what had happened but it’s like his brain was protecting him from understanding how close to death he’d come. Then – to be torn away from the people he loved with all of his heart? Who he had just nearly killed himself to protect?

It had ripped him apart and rubbed salt into every wound. And it fucking hurt. The same kind of pain he felt when he saw Kuina dead on the floor of their dojo. He was scared, he was furious, he was devastated – all over again but this time it was so much worse. So, so much worse.

That was why he had trained so hard over the last two years. Because he couldn’t bear the grief that came with loving them so deeply – so he got stronger. And stronger. And stronger. No matter the cost to his body, he would become powerful enough to defeat anyone who crossed them. Then… He would never have to feel the agony that he did when he first woke up on Kuraigana Island ever again.

Taking on all of Luffy’s suffering in Thriller Bark had been the most physically painful experience of his entire life – but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt to think that his friends were gone forever, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.

Training made it easy not to think about what had happened -- but now he was home, and they were safe - and he was realizing just how close he’d come to losing all of them. At once. And he could do nothing to stop it.’

Startled by him grabbing her, Nami was prepared to give the pirate a good smack if he was getting handsy but… He started trembling. ‘Was he not feeling well?’ Her mouth opened to form the question then stopped. His breathing hitched while his entire body jerked and she realized…

‘Zoro was crying.’

Roronoa Zoro, who prided himself on his strength, was sobbing wretchedly into her neck. ‘He must have been holding this in since Sabaody.’ Nami’s heart ached for him and his stupid pride that forced him to torture himself instead of letting him cry like he needed to. She’d been expecting him to crash at some point, how couldn’t he? Even someone as strong as Zoro was still a human being.

One of her arms cradled his head while the other wound round his shoulders, her fingers combing gently through his hair. “Oh you sweet, sweet boy…” she spoke in the tone that Bellemere used to use when Nami and Nojiko were frightened by a passing thunderstorm. It always calmed her, maybe it would calm Zoro, too.

‘Quit fucking crying you loser you’re supposed to be a man.’ But he couldn’t, he literally could not stop because he was trying to. “I wasn’t strong enough,” his voice quivered at the edges and he hated it. ‘He was definitely never going to drink this kind of wine again ever. Not if it turned him into a blubbering mess like this every time.’

“Shhh, no. No. Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for what happened. Hey, look at me.” Nami urged his head off her shoulder and cupped his face in both of her palms, “None of us were strong enough, okay? Not even Luffy.” Each tear that fell she tenderly swept away with the pad of her thumb. The corner of her mouth turned up as she assured him, “But we are strong enough now. We can take care of each other. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again, Zoro.”

‘She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed to have faith in his crewmates and his captain. They could do anything as long as they had each other.’ His breathing slowly evened out as he focused on anchoring himself back to reality. He wasn’t in Sabaody or Kuraigana – he was on the Sunny. In the bar, with Nami who had grown so much since he last saw her. The look in his eye softened like it had before his breakdown.

“You’re staring at me again, Zoro.” The navigator teased, her hands falling to rest on his shoulders. He hadn’t let go of her yet but she didn’t mind, he could hold on to her for as long as he needed.

A ghost of his usual smirk passed across his face. “Sorry, Nami…” Zoro took a little risk by leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to her cheek, then traced a path with the edge of his nose to her ear, murmuring, “Wine makes me a little… Messy.”

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Sleep

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 2286

Content warnings - none, just lots of fluff and humor, platonic relationships

Prompt/Inspiration - AO3 request

Summary -  Mammon starts sleeping in your room at night, and you notice a peculiar habit of his.

AO3

You were a light sleeper. A very, very light sleeper.

There had been several times during your stay at the House of Lamentation when Mammon scared the living daylights out of you by crawling into your bed in the middle of the night. Eventually, you just flat out told Mammon that he had to sleep with you because you were not going to be able to rest otherwise. He stuttered and blushed and fumbled over his words, denying that he had any idea what you were talking about, but in the end, he had taken up semi-permanent residence in your room.

When you start sharing a bed with someone on a regular basis, you begin to learn a lot about them that you wouldn’t know otherwise. Like whether they hog the blankets, if they prefer sheets over thick comforters, if they snore. And you, likewise, started to notice some very peculiar traits of Mammon’s.

For example, he preferred to sleep entirely nude. Of course now that he was sleeping in your room most of the time, he made the effort to wear something. But it wasn’t unusual for him to wake up in noticeably fewer clothes than when he had fallen asleep.

One night in particular, you were about to learn yet another thing about Mammon.

————

Mammon had fallen asleep long before you, and you had stayed up to keep reading a book you had borrowed from Satan. As you got sleepier and sleepier you realized that maybe it was time you called it a night. So you rolled over to turn your lamp off, only to find that you couldn’t reach it because a certain demon of Greed was starfished on the bed, essentially trapping you in a corner.

You thought for a moment about what you should do about this situation you found yourself in. At first, you didn’t want to disturb Mammon. His sleeping face was just so cute! But you were tired. And despite the fact he looked absolutely adorable next to you now, this was the same little shit that woke you up frequently for reasons much more frivolous.

“Pssst, Mammon. Wake up,” you nudged him with your elbow. When he didn’t stir, you gave him a bit of a kick with your foot. And when he still didn’t wake up, you put your hand on his shoulder and gently shook him.

“Wassup?” he finally answered as he sat up in bed.

“Turn off the light.”

“‘K.”

Having successfully woken him up, and trusting that he could manage a light switch on his own, you rolled over, turning your back to him, preparing to go to sleep. But after a good minute or two, you realized the light was still on. So you rolled over halfway, and repeated your request.

“Mammon, the light.”

“Right. Right. Gotcha.” And with that he finally reached over to the lamp and flicked it off, before snuggling back into your blankets and curling up behind you.

————

The following morning, you were the first to wake up. You looked over to Mammon, who was still taking up a good ¾ of the bed, and you couldn’t help but smile. It really was nice waking up with someone else beside you. Even if that someone was a bed hog.

When Mammon woke up a few minutes later, it was only to find you staring at him. He blushed awkwardly as he looked away, which just made you laugh.

“Whattaya lookin’ at?”

“Oh just a cute demon, hogging the bed.”

“Oh...uh...sorry,” he replied, pulling his limbs to himself as he rolled on his side away from you.

“It’s fine. So long as you are willing to turn the light off for me,” you said, smiling and laughing softly, as you snuggled up next to Mammon, wrapping your arm around his waist and spooning him from behind.

“The light?”

“Yeah, like last night when I was reading. If you’re gonna hog the bed, then be prepared to be woken up to turn off the light.”

Mammon rolled over a little to get a better look at you, certain that you had to be teasing him or setting him up for a joke or...something. But you were just smiling at him like normal.

“What’s up?” you asked.

“I dunno whatcha talkin’ about. I didn’t turn off a light last night.”

“Umm yeah you did. You even sat up and talked to me.”

“Noooo I didn’t…” he furrowed his brow in confusion. What on earth were you trying to pull?

“Ok fine. It doesn’t matter. The deal still stands. Hog the bed, be put on light switch duty. K?” you asked, leaning forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek, something that you knew would fluster him.

“Uh yep. Got it. Light switch duty,” he said as he rolled back over to hide his face from you. Without even meaning to, he shifted back slightly so that he was pressed more fully against you, and you simply smiled and hugged him in return. You were such a brat sometimes...kissing him on the cheek like that out of nowhere. You could at least warn him. Not that he liked it or anything.

While you did find it a little odd that Mammon didn’t remember the light incident, you just wrote it off as one of those things. It’s not like it mattered whether or not he remembered, anyways.

————

A few days later, you returned to your room after a study session with Satan only to find Mammon already passed out on your bed, once again leaving very little space for you. It occurred to you then that perhaps he was doing this on purpose so that you’d have to sleep practically on top of him, so you decided to have a bit of fun.

Instead of crawling over him, you climbed in next to him by the edge of your bed, and poked him in the side.

His reaction was immediate. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes...and then he just sat there.

“Mammon? You can lay back down.”

He mumbled something.

“Mammon?”, you sat up to get a better look at him. His eyes were open, but only just, and his gaze was unfocused, “You can lay down now.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whined.

“Mammon, are you still asleep?”, you had heard of sleepwalking before, but this was a whole new level of weird.

“Nooo.”

Sensing that it was perhaps better not to argue with him, you laid down in your bed and tugged on his shirt to get him to join you, “Come cuddle with me then so I can go to sleep.”

Without further complaint, Mammon complied and curled up next to you, resting his head on your chest and wrapping his arm around your middle. It didn’t take him long at all to fall back asleep, leaving you even more certain that he must not have been fully awake to begin with.

————

After that, there weren’t any more unusual episodes with Mammon for awhile, so you had almost forgotten about the whole thing.

That is until one night when you had been just about to fall asleep, and a notification came thru in your DDD. Usually you would put your device on silent when going to sleep, but tonight you had been so exhausted that you forgot. So when the notification went off - it was LOUD.

Mammon immediately sat up, dazed.

“Sorry about that,” you said, turning the sound off on your DDD.

“Fin stis.”

“Huh?”

“Den sai tis id.”

“Mammon, I think you are asleep.”

“Noooo! Am not!!!”, Mammon replied, as he started to act like he was about to get out of bed. Concerned about the sort of trouble he could get himself in while in this state you tried your best to stop him.

“Mammon, where are you going?”

He didn’t answer, but at least he stopped trying to get up.

“I think you’re asleep. Please, don’t get up.”

“I’m not asleep!” he snapped. You were surprised by the tone of voice he was using with you. Yeah he was loud and yelled a bunch, but you had never seen him actually angry with you. Not wanting to provoke him further, you decide to drop the issue and try what had worked the last time this happened.

“Ok Mammon, then just cuddle with me.”

“Fine.”

“Yeah, just lay back down with me so I can sleep.”

There was incoherent grumbling from Mammon as he wiggled back under the covers, still clearly annoyed with you for accusing him of being asleep when he knew he wasn’t.

“We can talk in the morning. Just cuddle for now.”

Once he was laying down again, you cuddled up next to him and wrapped your arm around his waist, hoping it would at least give you some warning if he would try to get up again.

————

“Sooooo, Mammon. Do you remember last night?”

“Huh?” Mammon turned around to look at you from his seat on the floor by your bed. It was Saturday morning, and he was browsing Akuzon on his DDD, trying to decide what to buy with his latest modeling paycheck. You had been laying on your bed, “helping” him with his shopping by occasionally texting him suggestions that you found. They might not have been the most helpful suggestions, but at least they were making the two of you laugh.

“You yelled at me,” you said, turning off your DDD and turning your head to look at Mammon.

“Whattya talkin’ about?? Why would I yell at you??”

“Because I told you that you were sleeping.”

“You’re makin’ that up.”

“Mammon, have you ever had trouble with sleepwalking?” you were genuinely curious if perhaps some of the things he got accused of were the result of him wandering the House of Lamentation unconsciously in the middle of the night.

“Huh?! No! Of course not! What are ya trying to pull? Seriously, is this like a joke or somethin’?”

“No, I’m telling you - you got woken up by a notification on my DDD, and when I tried to get you to go back to sleep, you yelled at me.”

“There’s no way that happened. I woulda remembered it.” Mammon eyed you suspiciously. He was sure this had to be a prank of some sort, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the punch line would be. Why were you being so insistent?

“Well it did,” you mumbled under your breath. If he was going to be so stubborn, you were just going to have to prove it to him. The next time - you were going to catch it on video.

————

Not wanting to wait until Mammon would have one of his “episodes” on his own, you decided you’d have to try to trigger one yourself. Based on your observations, you needed to wait until he was *just* asleep, and then wake him suddenly - either a moderately loud noise, or a forceful movement.

So the following night, you made sure your DDD was fully charged...and you waited.

It didn’t take long for Mammon to pass out. You had made sure he spent the day running around the Devildom taking you shopping, and doing other “date” things, just to wear him out. And since this was Mammon, it took a LOT to wear him out. If it wasn’t for the fact you were on a mission, you’d probably have nodded off yourself long ago.

You pulled out your DDD, turned on your camera to record video…and then delivered a swift kick to Mammon’s butt.

As expected, Mammon sat up almost immediately.

“Hey Mammon.”

“Mmmm?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Nooo,” he whined. You snickered at his response. This was going perfectly.

“I need you to do something for me in the morning.”

“Sure, whattttayaaa want?”

“Can you make me breakfast?”

“Sure.”

“So what are you going to do in the morning?”

“Everryyythinnnn.”

“Are you going to make me breakfast?”

“That’s part of everrryyythinnn’.”

By now you were having a difficult time maintaining your composure. You only just managed to keep your DDD steady enough to get a decent video. You hadn’t tried talking to Mammon this much the other times, and were surprised at how long he was able to keep this up. Seeing as you had nothing to lose, you decided to keep going.

“Can you say it for me in a complete sentence? What are you going to do in the morning?”

“Breakfast and bugggsss.”

“What?”

“Breakfast and bugggsss.”

“Bugs?”

“Yesh.”

“So one more time, what are you going to do in the morning?”

“Killlll everythinnnn’.”

That was apparently your breaking point, and you had to cover your mouth to stop the loud squeals of laughter that weren’t threatening to escape. This had gone far more perfectly than you ever could have imagined. There was no way he was going to be able to deny this now. Imagining how red his face would get as you showed him the video had you giggling even harder.

Pausing your recording, and safely tucking away your DDD, you decided that you had had enough fun for the night and that it was time to give poor Mammon a break and let him rest.

“Ok Mammon, will you come cuddle with me now?”

“Fiiinnneee,” he said, slumping down onto the bed and rolling over so he could snuggle up to your side. You really had exhausted him that day, so he deserved a bit of rest. Gently combing your fingers through his hair, you thought about how exactly you were going to make use of this video as you drifted off to sleep.

Based on this conversation with my husband -

[imagine-loki]

Midnight Stroll

TITLE: MIDNIGHT STROLL

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR: mooncat163

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine that you struggle with sleep walking, and one night you manage to get to Loki’s room. The next morning he wakes to find you snuggled against his back, and wonders how you ever got past the security spells he’d cast.

RATING: General

NOTES/WARNINGS: just fluffy stuff, sleepwalking

— —

You’ve been up for close to seventy-two hours straight, copying VHS surveillance tapes to digital in an attempt to isolate and identify players suspected of gearing up for a major weapons heist. Any attempts to make you rest before you collapsed were rebuffed: you were determined to complete the process and make positive ID’s as soon as you could.

“Hey.”

The greeting was soft so that you weren’t startled when Steve came up behind you. He glanced over the monitors before looking at you.

“Hey, Cap,” you replied, and turned your head slightly. “I’m almost done, just have about twelve hours left-“

“That's why I’m here,” he said. “You’ve been at it for close to three days, and you need to rest.”

“I’m good,” you protested. “Jarvis has already isolated footage for me, I just have to-“

“Rest,” he said, firmly. “Jarvis, bookmark where she’s at, but she’s not allowed to start again until she’s eaten and slept.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I-“ You turned your chair to face Steve after the computer monitors went blank.

“No.” He urged you out of the chair and then ushered you from the room. “Tony agrees, and none of us want you to become overtired.”

You still wanted to protest, but there wasn’t any point in doing so. Jarvis wouldn’t allow you to access the files until Tony or Steve agreed to it, and there wasn’t a way to subvert the AI. You knew this because you’d tried several times, just to see if you could and to see how badly you could annoy Tony.

You had managed one small victory: you’d renamed some of his music files, so that instead of the heavy metal songs he liked to blare at random, Jarvis would end up playing teen bop songs. Tony didn’t talk to you for a week after that, although you could see by the gleam in his eyes that he was slightly impressed by the feat.

Computers had always been your ‘thing’, and you could set up networks and track down problems in record time. When you worked with the electronics, your mind visualized the connections and routes in schematic form, enabling you to pinpoint the failing areas. When it came to analyzing data, you could do so just as quickly.

Steve led you to the elevator, and the ride up to the Avengers’ level was made in silence, then his hand in the small of your back guided to the dining table, where the rest of the team sat.

“Glad you could join us,” Tony said, grinning when you cut your eyes at him.

You sat down across from Loki and Thor, then helped your plate with food as it was passed to you. You offered them both a tired smile, which Thor returned with a wink. Loki nodded, and although he didn’t smile, his green eyes were lit with amusement. A warmth spread through your veins, making it hard to look away from him, but you finally managed.

If only he wasn’t such eye candy, you thought. Or maybe such a snack...a tall, tall, snack…snack-a-licious…

You smothered a giggle that almost escaped, but then strangled on the sip of water you’d just taken. While you coughed into your napkin, Bucky tried to help by patting your back, but his strength knocked you forward enough where you almost face-planted into your plate.

“Bucky!”

“Sorry.”

You composed yourself while keeping your attention on your food. You weren’t very hungry, even though you’d subsisted only on coffee, protein snacks and candy over the last few days. As you began to eat, it became difficult to keep your eyes open. Now that you were still and quiet, the lack of sleep caught up with you fast. The others watched as your head began to drop lower and lower, until your fork clattered onto the plate as you fell asleep while sitting upright.

“Come on, sleepyhead.” Steve scooped you up and carried you to your apartment, where he put you to bed.

— —

Later that night, Tony was still in the common room when you padded quietly on bare feet into the kitchen. You went to the fridge and stared at its contents for several minutes before taking out a yogurt cup.

He watched as you shuffled to a drawer for a spoon, and he started to ask if you needed help when you struggled to open the yogurt, but you did manage to get the lid off after a couple of minutes.

“Are you alright?” He asked as you consumed the yogurt in four large spoonfuls.

You didn’t respond, just dropped the spoon into the sink, and the empty cup into the garbage, and left. Once back in your apartment, you crawled into bed, pulled up the covers and went back to sleep.

— —

Several hours later, Loki stirred from a deep sleep when something woke him. He listened for any movement in his apartment, but all was quiet. Something wasn’t right, though, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

He started to get up, but then realized what had disturbed him: a warmth against his back, along with a bare arm across his waist. To say that he was stunned would be an understatement, since neither should be there.

Loki carefully grasped his bedfellow’s wrist and raised it enough to try to determine who had invaded his space, and he didn’t need three guesses when he recognized the intruder’s bracelet.

Pixel.

He couldn’t help but think of you by the nickname that Tony had burdened you with due to your computer skills. None of that was important, however. What was important was why you were in his bed, and how you had managed to avoid the spells that he cast each night that would alert him to any intruders. It was a habit that he kept, even though it was unlikely that he’d be attacked in his own suite, and he felt a bit uneasy that you hadn’t triggered any of them.

Loki carefully shifted until he faced you, and the movement was enough to turn you on your back. He braced up on one elbow while he looked into your face, and recognized the exhaustion it reflected. He knew that you’d been working hard on the surveillance videos; too hard, it seemed. He frowned at that, and decided to speak to Stark about letting you stay awake for days on end, as it wasn’t necessary since Jarvis could easily help run comparisons.

“Hey, Pixel.”

He brushed hair out of your face before shaking you gently, but you didn’t stir. He tried again, with no success: you were dead to the world. He considered taking you back to your own bed, but an urge for mischief kept him from doing so. He rather wanted to see what your reaction would be come morning. So, he adjusted position slightly so that your head was pillowed on his arm, then he put the other arm across you and pulled you closer.

— —

Early the next morning, well before dawn, you awoke slowly to find that something was very, very wrong.

Your sheets were softer than you recalled, you were curled against someone’s side, with your head on their shoulder, and this someone had their arms around you. Slowly, carefully, you sat up, and the shock when you recognized your bedfellow had you turning toward the edge of the bed.

Loki.

Before you could disengage fully from his embrace, he turned with you, and drew you even closer to his chest, where he held you firmly. You laid still for a couple of minutes, not wanting to disturb him, hoping to escape before he woke. Then you carefully tried moving his arm from across your waist so that you could slide from beneath it.

“What’s the fuss, pet?” Loki asked, sleepily.

“Why are you in my room?”

“Your room?” You felt his smile against your temple.

“My room! And my bed!”

“Are you certain about that?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion while you slowly looked around, then your mouth fell open in astonishment when you realized where you were. Nope, not your room, but his.

“How did I get in here??”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” He asked, while burying his nose in your hair. “How you got in, and got past my security measures.”

“I don’t—wait, security measures? You mean booby traps?” You whispered, aghast.

He almost laughed aloud at that, and would have if your tone hadn’t been so horrified at the notion of triggering one of his spells.

“Don’t worry, Pixel, there isn’t anything that will cause lasting harm,” he chuckled. “So, first order of business: why did you come here?”

“I’m not...oh...cripes…” you rubbed your face with a groan.

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry...I must have been sleepwalking.”

“Oh?”

“I haven’t done it in years, though...I guess being up for close to four days straight triggered it.”

“I see,” Loki mused over that for a moment. “But how did you get past my spells?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t,” you replied. “Are you sure they’re still intact...never mind, forget I asked.”

You’d backtracked on the question when his arm tightened slightly; you could imagine that his expression would remind you that he was a master sorcerer who was at least nine hundred years in age, and that he would know if his spells had failed.

“I should go,” you told him as you tried again to move his arm. “I’m very sorry for invading your space…”

“It’s early yet, why not stay?” He asked. “You’re delightfully warm.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I should.”

You were painfully aware that your gown’s thin straps left your arms and shoulders bare, and the hem only reached to your knees. There was no way that Loki hadn’t noticed it either, just as it hadn’t escaped your notice that his chest was bare. Thankfully, you could tell that he had on pajama bottoms. Thank God for small mercies.

“I was a perfect gentleman last night,” he commented. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, quickly. But do I trust myself?

Loki hummed softly before he ran his hand down your arm and changed your gown into one that covered you from your chin to your feet, and from your shoulders to your wrists. You were quite sure the thing would strangle you, since you were a restless sleeper.

“Geez, did you raid Steve’s grandmother’s closet??”

“Just trying to be helpful,” he replied with a chuckle, before he changed the gown again.

This time it was a green shirt with flowing sleeves, open neckline and a shorter hem which reached your knees. It wasn’t lost on you that he’d put you in his color.

“Better?” He asked.

“Yes, thank you,” you replied. “But I should go....”

He held you more firmly, and drew his legs up behind yours to trap you further. He was reluctant to let you go now that you were in his arms. He’d watched you for months now, slowly warming up since you treated him the same as anyone else, perhaps even better. He wasn’t sure how you’d managed to get under his skin, but he found himself wondering how it would feel to hold you, to kiss you...to have you.

When Loki refused to let you up, your heart began to race at the implications. Was he interested in you? Or just being mischievous because you had accidentally climbed into his bed? Either way, the proximity to his bare skin had you shaking; it wouldn’t take much for you to give in to his request.

“I’d like for you to stay,” he whispered, before he’d turned your face toward him.

When his lips found yours in a gentle kiss, your reticence flew out the window.

Yes, that did it.

[ddaehyeon]

ophiuchus - you have this limited stack of sticky notes. write whatever you want on it, and that note would magically appear somewhere in your soulmate’s line of sight during that day.

send me a member and a constellation!

— pairing: jung subin + gn!reader

— genre: fluff, soulmate au, office au

— word count: 1.5k

— requested ☆ victon masterlist

today will be the start.

that was the words scribbled on a blue sticky note you kept in between the pages of your favorite book. the last note you received from your soulmate. you randomly found it by your desk as you were working on your resume for a manufacturing company you were trying to get into. months had passed since you last got a note, so you assumed it was your soulmate’s final words to you.

a fascinating way to get to know your soulmate, although you doubt you ever got the chance to send your soulmate any type of notes. you can’t remember having that limited stack of sticky notes similar to what your friends would gush about during college. and your soulmate wasn’t too keen on giving off their identity either, settling for a few words of encouragement every other day and sometimes, random words. like really random ones. there was even a time they sent off a what seemed to be a grocery list.

though you got a hold of their last note, their other notes were no longer with you. with most of it only appearing in your line of sight, either too far to be reached or too awkward to pick up.

“good morning, you’re the new analyst, right?” a man with towering height greeted you, slumping a box on your table. things you supposed were necessary for your job. you peered over their id, their smiling photograph looking back at you. choi byungchan.

“i am.” a small curve made its way to your brim, lighting up your face a bit. though there was no point in denying that you were actually worried about what you were to do. the new environment adequate for your stomach to twist in both nervousness and excitement.

byungchan looked at the close area, the nearest cubicles were ones occupied by employees who probably had started their day way too early. already in the middle of typing out reports, with some answering phone calls and pacing in and out of the area. “our advertising manager is scary.”

a clearing of the throat stopped you from whatever question you were to throw as to why byungchan said that. another guy appeared next to your cubicle, he was holding a couple of brown envelopes. “am i?”

you shot a look on his id, his name easily spotted. jung subin. underneath, his title proudly printed. he was the advertising manager.

“just kidding.” byungchan let out a chuckle before grinning to the other. waving in your direction before leaving your cubicle.

subin watched him all along before he stepped closer to you, placing what he was carrying on the table. it was a few clippings and report summary of the former trends and advertising plans. “i compiled everything that you might need there, on the sticky note my email’s written. if ever you need additional data, just send me a message.”

“thank you,” you said with a nod. opposite to what byungchan had warned, subin wasn’t really scary. though you had to agree that his sharp look made him somewhat intimidating. gazing at the sticky note stuck on the top of the envelope, a cold feeling crawled onto your skin. breathe immediately sucked in, heart missing one beat— wait a minute.

“is something wrong?” subin asked, halting your train of thoughts, but not the trail of sensation that was rapidly setting in your body.

you shook your head, unable to commit to any verbal response.

his writing was familiar.

awfully familiar.

never did the idea leave your mind. for good days it remained there.

subin wasn’t in his office when you got there. you’d simply leave the files he had asked for only if you didn’t need some other monthly data. quite urgent of a need that you were willing to wait just a little bit until his meeting ends.

unable to hold still in sitting on the couch, you stood and wandered around his office. supplies tidily stacked on the shelves, a pile of documents on his table, most of the former advertising campaigns stuck on the bulletin adjacent to the sofa. the thing that caught your eyes the most was the handwritten weekly schedule. his handwriting.

once again, you ended up having a staring game with the paper. trying to analyze it as if it was your schedule, when in fact you were not really paying attention to what was written. all your focus fixated on how it was written. curving in rush, yet still neat.

the door swung open almost inaudibly or perhaps you were simply lost with your thoughts that you failed to perceive it. not until subin’s voice echoed in your ears as he stood behind you did you notice that he was already back.

“i’m free this weekend,” subin casually said, a chuckle heard from him afterward as he walked towards his table to settle down his notebook.

you shook your head, a little abashed of how he caught you in the act of staring at his writing. oh well, his weekly schedule. “that’s not it.”

nodding his head, he sat down on his chair. “then why were you looking at my schedule ever so intently?”

“just…” stepping away from the bulletin, you walked closer to his table. for a moment, you contemplated whether to tell him about your thoughts or not. but there was nothing weird with finding someone’s handwriting familiar, right? it wasn’t such a strange thing, right? meeting his gaze was enough of a reassurance, quite inquisitive too. “i think your handwriting is familiar.”

“it is?” he raised a brow at your words. “what do you mean?”

unsure of what to say, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind. “today will be the start.”

the puzzlement that came across his features allowed an awkward smile to come to your lips. maybe it was some kind of coincidence. he wasn’t that person, no? admittedly, that was quite a disappointment. you shook your head in an attempt to take the words back. “nevermind.”

that was ignored though, subin’s frown melted upon a realization. “so you were that person who kept on sending those animal doodles when i was a kid?”

and it was your turn to be confused. “what?”

a knowing smile lit upon his lips, welcoming and a bit nostalgic. eyes discerning, warm gaze as if he had found someone he had been looking for. “do you not remember drawing something on a paper and it disappearing?”

“wait, so you mean—”

there were only a few instances it occurred or at least that was the depth your memories could still recognize. around kindergarten, you had this notepad that you weren’t entirely sure how you got. its pages were pigmented in bright and whimsical colors. and you filled it with the same amount of playfulness through doodles of animals and flowers, most were silly, but fun to make. however, none of it lasted in the notepad, all disappearing after the day it was drawn. you didn’t mind though, thinking that perhaps someone just pulled it off or it just magically vanished.

it was magical, yes, but it didn’t just disappear.

“i even have most of it kept,” subin confirmed, pulling a drawer and retrieving his keys from it. lifting his hand, he revealed a keyring that had a small drawing of a bunny locked on it. the color of the paper familiar to you, regardless of the many shades of color there was. its blue tone was distinct. “this drawing was from you?”

you took a few steps closer to him to study the keychain which he ended up handing to you. shooting him a look, a question slipped out of your tongue. “you mean you were actually able to get some sticky notes from me?”

subin bobbed his head up and down, his smile spreading in delight. “when we were younger.”

later that day, subin insisted on walking you to the bus stop. the remaining rays of sunlight brushes upon your figure, two shadows moving from behind as the two of you strolled on the sidewalk. you were unable to hold any more conversations earlier due to the other office tasks both of you had to work on.

“so why haven’t you been writing?” you asked, breaking the silence that had been existing ever since you stepped out of the building.

subin shrugged. “i ran out of it.”

“i see.” you nodded at his words, feet stopping in one go when you thought of another question. something you’d been curious about. “what do you mean by ‘today will be the start’ on your last note?”

“oh that?” subin’s track halted as well, a moment taken to look at the sky. the colors altering to what seemed to have been the pigments of the sticky notes the two of you had exchanged— of orange and red. “it just meant that from that day onwards, i will simply allow fate to work, to bring us together.”

he turned to look at you, the curve on his lips was able to spark a glimmer in his eyes. “and it seems like it did.”

[theangrycomet-art]

No Time for This

Hiro stood before the Chem Lab entrance, blinking at the cyan foam as it oozed out from the entrance. A small step to the side and his sneakers were spared of the strange substance. 

“Okay. So, why did you grab me?” Turning, he glanced at his student, neck tilting back a little to meet her eye. “I don’t exactly specialize in chemistry, Karen.”

The blue-haired physics student rubbed her hands together awkwardly.

“Well in all honesty your the first teacher I could find.” she confessed. “I was trying to find Professor Possible when I bumped into you.”

“Which one?”

“Uh, the red one?” 

“Yeah, Tim’s on leave and Jim’s... working on another project.” He vaguely recalled Lilo dragging him off by the ear to undo what ever he and his twin had done to her ship as Tim himself made his escape from the irate Hawaiian. Hiro himself had been running off to hopefully make it on time to his classes. 

It was frankly embarrassing when the teacher was late. 

“What about Honey Lemon?” 

“Professor Le’mone?” Scratching at the shorter side of her bob, Karen continued to fidget. He wasn’t sure if it was just her social awkwardness or if his reputation as a teacher was just that bad amongst the students. “I think she’s in there?”

“Great. Go get Granville while I deal with-” He gestured at the door. “What ever this is.”

Nodding, he waited until she scampered off before running a hand down his face. 

“Please let this just be Honey Lemon being excessively extra.” He muttered.

Hand deep in his pocket he pulled out his lanyard. With a flash of plastic, he swiped his ID across the door handle and he stepped to the side as the the door begrudgingly slid open.

SWOOSH!

A slopping splash of bubbles and tidal wave of suds rushed out, filling the hall. Students yelped and began to run, those less fortunate being completely immersed in the stuff. The more dramatic wailed as they “drowned” while the sleep-deprived screeched to save their tech at the onslaught. 

Hiro spared them a glance and a roll of the eyes before going in. 

“See- cleans everything right up in mere seconds!” A familiar, cracking voice cheerfully zipped through the air with a small chuckle.

Varian. Of course it was him. It always was his selected student in the center of of the mess. 

This wouldn’t have been a problem if he were just a student- but no. Varian was Hiro’s “project”, which meant Professor Granville wouldn’t hesitate to drop the clean-up paperwork on his desk. Heck, she’d smile as the stack of paper smacked against the steel In box.

He would never have agreed to this whole teaching thing had he known how much paperwork there was. 

Batting bubbles away, he attempted to navigate the lab through memory. Meaning his knees cracked against each chair as his hips checked the sturdiness of every counter top. 

“Now THAT is what I call a bath bomb!” Honey Lemon gave a zealous cry. 

Maybe I could pass the paperwork onto her, he mused, hand grazing his chin. Varian was doing a dual major after all, and the Chemistry Queen had practically snatched the little prodigy from his hands already. 

He dismissed the idea immediately. The kid was already dabbling on the Mad Scientist side, and while most of his tendencies could be attributed to theatrics, leaving the two unsupervised would be disastrous at-

His foot proceeded to step on some sort of fluffy rod-like mass, he stiffened.

A loud yowl ripped the air. The mass wrenched out from under him, taking his foot with it.

“What the hell?!” Hands grasping air, he crashed to the ground with a swear. Bubbles flew out of the way, off the ground, and into the air, bumping into science equipment and threatening to knock them over. 

“Ruddiger! What happened buddy?!” Asked Varian alarmed, words bumbling over each other over the chitters of complaint. “Wait- Professor Hamada?” 

“Hiro?” Pumps softly tapping the floor, Hiro wrenched his hand towards his body. Just in case. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d accidentally crushed someone’s hand. “Is that you?”

“Yes.” Batting the bubbles off his head, he harrumphed, pulling himself off the floor and onto his feet. 

A Kentucky-Kaiju roar emitted from his phone as Fred texted him.

“Do I even want to know what happened in here?” Glancing at the screen, he frowned at the emojis. A bunch of lightning bolts and dancer emojis filled his screen. “Actually- never mind where are you?”

“Hold on- just one second- annd!” Varian said, from where Hiro could only assume the 14-year old was standing. The sounds of test tubes clinking floated across the bubble-ridden air. A slight hiss and a glittery mist began to coat the bubbles dissolving them. “Voila!”

Grimacing as the mist approached him, the bubbles covering him dissipated, leaving him surprisingly clean.

Varian stood before him, bubble-free and smiling cheerfully as he lifted his old-school goggles. 

“Tada!” Turning behind him, his grin only widened as he gestured for a surprisingly clean Honey Lemon. The lack of obliterated material on her clothes was enough for an eyebrow raise of its own.  ”See this is what I thought bath bombs were- I mean, c’mon. It’s a called bath bomb, not a bath solvent.” 

Hiro crossed his arms. 

“You realize half the lab is coated in this stuff?”

“Oh my compound has definitely coated all of the available surfaces.” Varian nodded, assessing his work with a proud grin as the raccoon that seemed to follow him everywhere crawled onto his shoulder. If he was bothered by this, the kid didn’t show it, holding his chin thoughtfully.

“Though it didn’t reach nearly as high as I’d hoped. So much for a clean ceiling.” He shrugged, continuing his spraying before he paused. 

“Oh! Was there something you needed Professor Hamada?” He asked, eyes sparkling. 

They really needed to find whatever energy ran this kid and put in a bottle. 

His phone roared again. Now distressed faces littered the screen. 

“No- er yes! I need to talk to Honey Le- Professor Le’mon-” It was weird calling her that. Hiro gave her a pointed look. “About some volunteer work.”

“Wha- now?” She asked incredulously, looking for her bag amongst the bubbles. “It’s not even 10 o’clock!”

“Alright than.” Varian went back to misting the bubbles away. 

They gave him a few minutes to take the hint. 

“Varian, Professor Hamada-” 

Hiro cringed at the mantle. A few months into teaching and it still felt alien in his ears. It should be something someone like Tadashi was called, not him. It felt to... Adulty. 

“-and I need to talk in the lab.”

“Okay. ”

Another minute and Varian had obliviously cleared a path to the exit. Pinching the bridge of his nose, 3 more roars and 2 cute chirps had emitted from their phones as Hiro tried a different approach. 

Walking over, he grabbed his student by the shoulders and began to guide him to the exit. 

“So what were you developing this for anyways?” He said, watch Honey Lemon dash off. 

“Oh actually- it was for the project you assigned us- I was looking for a no water- cleaning product for Mo to use when he’s active that also could get to areas couldn’t reach and-” 

“Wait- Mo?” 

“Yeah. M-O. My Microbe Obliterator. It’s kind of a mouthful so, I started calling him Mo. He seems to like it- it’s the only thing he’ll say now so sometimes it’s tricky to figure out what he’s trying to tell you-”

Varian continued to ramble as Hiro pushed him from behind. The raccoon hopped from table to table beside them, playing with the oddly shaped orb. Hiro gave off the occasional ahuh, phone buzzing all the while until he saw Granville weaving her way through the bubble ridden halls. 

“Oh, I was also wondering if I could have your opinion on-” Raising a finger in question, he glanced back as Hiro cut him off. 

“Yeah- ahuh- very interesting- look Varian, let’s continue this conversation at a later time.” He scowled at how short that came out, man he did not have time for this. He tried for a softer tone. “I’m already REALLY late for the Volunteer thing- why don’t we talk about more about Mo after class tomorrow?”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Awkward, he scratched his neck as Hiro nodded. 

“Great.” He glanced at Granville. “Gotta go.” 

WIth that proclamation, he dashed through the halls, bubbles flying from his feet as he summoned his Skymax.