#if we’re including more references to his cock I will not be upset actually

[watchyourbuck]

The 911onabc TikTok just posted a picture of Oliver saying “six years ago we met Evan ‘firehose’ Buckley” pls 😭 do you even KNOW what you’re doing to us

[moldisgoodforyou]

bahamas (iv)

warning: everyone is drunk ! , sexual references

wordcount: 6k

_________

The next morning, Allie strolled out of the bedroom with a messy braid, a cheesy grin and a blush that started the second James began to whistle. Colin flipped him off immediately, still as sullen as the night before. “Nice of you to show up.”

“I was busy.” She retorted, then immediately shook her head. “Not like - I just showered.”

“Did loverboy join? What’s his name again?” James questioned, sliding Allie a full plate.

“Carloooooos.” Julia sang, laughing as Allie glared at her. “I saw him sneak out this morning. He said hello. Nice guy.”

“He said he had to get to his shift, he teaches scuba lessons during the day. If we’re interested he said he could snag us a discount.” Allie shrugged, popping a blueberry into her mouth.

“Does he teach underwater basket weaving too?” Colin asked dryly, scowling.

“Is that a real thing?” Rafe asked, looking like he was actually considering the activity for a moment.

Sophie glanced over at him, concerned. “Baby.”

“It’s not?”

Julia shook her head at the couple. “I thought we had a boat today?”

“We do. We’re going sailing.” Rafe confirmed, glancing at his watch. “We’ve got an hour, but we need to pack snacks and drinks. Colin, can you help me grab the cooler from the attic?”

“You can’t grab it yourself?” Colin grumbled, pushing away from the table to follow Rafe up.

“No. It’s too big.” Rafe glanced behind him, making sure they were out of earshot of the group as he led him up the stairs. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” Colin repeated, immediately getting defensive. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, you’re being a dick about Allie’s hookup. No one would say a word if you brought a girl home.” He coughed as he unlocked the attic door and a small layer of dust flew up, the house unused since the beginning of summer. “Actually, maybe you should get laid, you’ll chill out.”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Then quit being an asshole to Allie. She doesn’t deserve that.”

Colin sighed, helping Rafe tug the Yeti cooler down from one of the shelves. Once it was down, he glanced over at Rafe. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Sorry.”

“Apologize to her, not me.” Rafe told him, looking Colin dead in the eye like he could figure out some hidden secret if he stared at him long enough.

“I will.”

“Good. Just because you’re jealous -”

“I’m not jealous, just don’t like this guy -”

“Ha!” Rafe pointed his finger in Colin’s face, eyebrows raised. “I knew it! You like Allie.”

Colin froze, immediately looking towards the door then lowered his voice. “You can’t tell.”

“Wait, shit, seriously? I was just trying to get a rise out of you...Colin. Seriously? You mean it?”

“The tiniest of crushes. She’s cute.” Colin affirmed, regretting telling him already. “Just - you can’t say anything.”

“I won’t. Brother swear.” Rafe nodded, extending his hand to Colin. “Don’t you dare fuck with her though.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” Colin paused, not taking his hand to shake. “That includes Sophie.”

“Fuck, Colin, for real? You know she doesn’t count.” Rafe whined, running his hand through his hair. “She’s gonna get it out of me. Somehow. She always knows when I’m hiding something.”

“I mean it.” Colin shook his head. “No Sophie. No James, and especially no Julia.”

“Damnit.” Rafe sighed, but grabbed Colin’s hand and shook it. “Fine. You’d better apologize and start making moves or shut the fuck up and let her do her thing, though. No judging.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Good.”

The door banged open, startling them both as James stood in the doorway. “Yo. You two can’t handle this thing?”

“No, we got it.” Rafe shook his head, lifting it easily on his own to haul downstairs. “They send you up here to check?”

“Yeah, Jules started asking questions about last night and Allie clearly didn’t want to gossip with me around, so Sophie sent me up here to get you guys.” James paused, thinking. “She muttered something about you probably getting stuck in some secret fancy passageway. You gonna tell her this house is your dad’s company house, not some family heirloom?”

“I’m pretty sure Sophie wants to know as little as possible about what my family owns. I think she cried for a solid hour on the first night here.” Rafe frowned, taking each step one at a time.

“You tell her about the deb thing yet?” James asked.

“Deb thing?” Colin echoed. “Sarah’s ball? What does Sophie have to do with that?”

“...No. I’m not sure. I think she’ll either agree or rip my head off, no in between.” Rafe sighed. “Sarah’s getting presented at the debutante ball in the spring, Rose suggested Sophie gets presented as well with me as her escort, and somehow my dad thought that was a good idea. Establish her with high society, or whatever. I don’t think he’s forgiven me for breaking up with Brooklyn a week before her deb ball. Apparently me being her escort would have been good for us. Our family.”

James cocked his head. “She broke up with you.”

“Whatever.”

“Huh. Well. That conversation should be fun for you.” Colin patted Rafe on the shoulder just as they got down the attic stairs. Rafe now sported a thin layer of sweat from hauling the cooler down alone, despite him already having no shirt on.

“Oh yeah. Looking forward to it.” Rafe deadpanned, then put on a grin as they all re-entered the kitchen. He didn’t miss the way Sophie’s eyes trailed over his exposed chest, the way she leaned forward on the counter and bit her lip a little. “Found it!”

“Excellent.” Julia clapped her hands together and began filling it with a selection of drinks she’d laid out on the counter. “Sophie, stop eye-fucking your boyfriend and help me out.”

Sophie snapped to attention as Rafe held back a laugh at Julia’s lack of tact. “I wasn’t -”

“Yes you were. Drinks.”

Sophie shook her head, handing Julia drinks with a rising blush on her cheeks.

“I don’t mind, sweetheart.” Rafe murmured to her lowly with a grin, trailing his hand down her spine ‘til he rested his palm on her lower back.

“Ew, we just ate.” Allie complained, pushing her plate away from her. “Thank you for pancakes, though.”

“No problem. It’s my specialty.” Rafe beamed, gathering up the plates and sticking them in the dishwasher.

“Only ‘cause you can’t cook anything else.” Colin pointed out, dodging as Rafe aimed a square punch at his arm.

“He’s not wrong.” Sophie agreed, reaching up to kiss Rafe’s cheek.

“Aw. Thanks for breakfast, Mom and Dad.” James grinned, patting them both on the head.

Sophie whirled on James immediately, only held back by Rafe slipping his arm around her waist (more to protect James than her). “Stop. I mean it.”

“What are you gonna do?” James taunted, grinning. “Hit me? Rafe won’t let you.”

“I will, if you don’t shut up.” Rafe replied, shaking his head imperceptibly behind Sophie’s back.

“What? You weren’t pregnant, it was just the flu - hey!” James took off running the second Rafe let Sophie go, who immediately sprinted after him through the house.

“Fuck off, James!” She yelled, chasing him down the hall.

“I didn’t mean it!” He yelped as she threw someone’s flip flop at him, nailing him in the shoulder with surprising aim. “I’m sorry! Rafe! Help me!”

Everyone else watched from the kitchen, thoroughly entertained. “You gonna help?” Allie asked, glancing at Rafe.

“Nah. He deserves it.” Rafe shrugged. “They’ll get tired soon enough.”

“She only likes fighting when she’s flirting anyways.” Julia added. “I swear all your arguments before you two were dating was just foreplay.”

“Doubt it. She could be pretty mean.” Rafe grinned at Sophie fondly as she strolled back into the kitchen with a triumphant smile, then looped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Who’s mean?” Sophie asked.

“You.” James informed her as he followed her back to the group, dramatically rubbing a red mark on his shoulder.

“Okay, both of you, knock it off.” Rafe took charge like always, glancing at his watch. “Everyone go get ready, we’re getting picked up in twenty to get to the dock. Don’t forget sunscreen.”

“You really make it too easy.” Julia rolled her eyes, but chose to refrain from calling him Dad again for the fourth time that morning.

“So everyone knows?” Sophie asked the group, frowning.

“For the record, I was team baby. I think you guys would have very cute kids.” James said, already flinching away as Sophie lifted her hand toward him.

“Yeah. Rafe accidentally let it slip when I asked why you looked like hell that weekend.” Colin confirmed. Sophie had stayed at Rafe’s instead of her house so he could take care of her, and Colin had found her sleeping on the bathroom floor curled up in a ball at 2pm when Rafe was in class. (He decided not to wake her up, thinking she was just wildly hungover, and had texted Rafe a photo instead.)

“Great. Fantastic. But if one more person calls me Mom this week, I’m going to rip your heads off.”

“I told you you’re mean.” James grumbled, clutching his shoulder. “I’m gonna have a bruise. How am I supposed to explain that to whoever I’m hooking up with tonight?”

“Tell her you’re into pain.” Allie suggested, shrugging when everyone gave her a look. “What? It could work.”

“...Alright. Everyone go get ready, I don’t want to hear another word from anyone about their sex lives.” Rafe instructed, shooing everyone out of the kitchen as he and Sophie made it toward their room. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s fine. I’d be more upset if we actually had a kid on the way.” Sophie conceded with a shudder at the thought. “How much did you talk about it with the boys?”

Rafe thought about it, about how James kept going on and on about how he wanted to be a godfather and how their kids would be adorable, and how Colin said he wasn’t really a huge fan of kids but obviously their kid would be family. He thought about how he shared with the guys how nice it would be to have a big family and know their kids would have several metaphorical aunts and uncles, and how much love and support they’d be surrounded by. It made him excited for the future - the far future, of course, but still.

“Not much.” He finally settled on answering, giving her a small smile. “You gonna wear my favorite suit today?”

“The pink one?”

“No, the blue one with the daisies. The one you wore in Nice?” He grinned. “Or, I guess, didn’t wear?”

She blushed, shaking her head. “I think that one’s dangerous to wear around you with our friends.”

“Any bikini is, sweetheart.”

“Control yourself.” She flicked his shoulder in warning. “I have a surprise for you tonight. Don’t let me forget.”

He perked up immediately, smirking. “A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

Sophie just shrugged. “You’ll see.”

“I’ll see...is it a leave-the-bar-early kind of a surprise? A need-the-house-empty kind of surprise?” He asked eagerly, his smirk broadening as she pulled out the light blue bikini from her suitcase.

She laughed, pulling off her shirt before she fumbled with untangling the bikini strings. “I think you can stay quiet enough that we’ll be fine.”

“Will you be able to stay quiet?” He teased, beaming in appreciation as she stood there shirtless in front of him, tongue in between her teeth as she concentrated on fixing the bikini. (He didn’t bother to help.)

Sophie ignored him, rolling her eyes, but glanced up and caught him staring. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Don’t tempt me, you know I will.” He shot back. “I know you brought your film camera I got you for Christmas.”

“The last person I want seeing my nudes is the freshman art student that develops my film in the photo studio on campus.” She replied with an eyeroll. “Though I’m sure he’d enjoy it.”

Rafe’s face dropped as he immediately grew protective, grabbing the bikini top away from her and deftly untangled the strings. “Get dressed. We’re gonna be late.”

“Okay, Daddy.” She replied innocently, biting the inside of her cheek to hide back a grin.

He paused, considering, then shook his head. “No. Sorry, no, can’t vibe with that. Find a different kink please.”

She burst out laughing, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, James paid me $10 to tell you that.”

Rafe huffed, tugging on his swim trunks and shoved his feet back into his boat shoes, then promptly slammed open the door, striding back to the group. “James! Fuck you!”

________

Later, once everyone gathered their things and made it down to the dock after their driver for the week picked them up, the boat driver helped them all onto the boat, offering his hand. He was younger, around their age or a little bit older, and Rafe scowled as the driver’s eyes lingered maybe a little too long on Sophie’s bikini top. Then the driver politely leaned over to Rafe to inform him that Sophie had the tag sticking out of her top, hanging on by a thread, and he dropped his scowl quicker than it had appeared.

It only took them twenty minutes before they cracked into the cooler, everyone satisfied with a drink in hand, and two failed attempts to go head-to-head in a shotgun contest with James left Sophie drunk within the hour. She had her sunglasses perched askew on her nose, eyes closed as she rested her head in Rafe’s lap, lying down on the seat next to him.

“This trip is good for you. I think this is the most relaxed I’ve seen you all year.” Julia commented, snapping a quick photo of the couple.

“I do feel very relaxed.” Sophie hummed, taking Rafe’s hand and starting to play with his fingers. “Hm. Relaxed. Relaxation. That’s nice.”

“You’re hammered.” Rafe pointed out, but looked down on her fondly. “I want you to eat soon.”

“Snacks.” She affirmed. “You’ll have to feed me. I’m not sure my jaw works anymore.”

James giggled, more tipsy than anything, but still lacked any filter. “Better for dick sucking.”

“Hey.” Rafe warned. “Watch your mouth.”

“Sorry. Just came out.” James shrugged, having zero remorse. “Can we go swimming? I wanna see dolphins. Do they have dolphins here?”

“Some dolphins. I’ll take you.” Their driver interjected, changing direction of their boat.

“Dolphins can travel up to 80 miles a day,” Allie informed them, confused when she got weird looks from the groups. “What? I’m from Florida, I wanted to be a dolphin trainer growing up. Everyone did.”

“Aw. You would have been good at that, Al.” Julia told her, topping off her drink. “Sophie, no sleeping.”

“M’ not sleeping.”

“No drunk napping.”

“M’ not drunk.”

“Well now you’re just lying.” Rafe told her with a smile, gently nudging her up. “C’mon, I need you to drink water for me. Have some snacks.”

“Here, Sophie.” Colin waved the bag of Sun Chips under her nose, grinning. “Try some. Yummy.”

She batted it away, frowning as she leaned back into Rafe. “Everyone leave me alone.”

He pushed her back upright immediately, ignoring her frown, and pressed a water bottle to her lips. “Drink.”

“Do the thing.” She lowered her voice, challenging him with a smirk.

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna -”

“Then I’m not drinking.”

He sighed, resigned. “Drink water or I’m not letting you go out tonight.”

“Let me? You don’t let me do anything.” She argued, grabbing the water bottle away and took a long drink.

Rafe just nodded, clearly not in the mood for a fight. He knew Sophie was in charge of the relationship, but the second he said he wasn’t comfortable with something, she listened right away. “Okay. Sure.”

“Trouble in paradise,” James sing-songed, only to receive a glare from Sophie.

“You’re still on my hit list.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You and Julia are on it.”

Julia sighed, glancing over. “You’re really still hung up on that?”

Sophie sat up a little more, her eyes lighting up, and Rafe braced for an argument. “I told you no -”

“And we’re both grown adults, Soph, we can make our own decisions -”

“You don’t even like him -”

“Ouch.” James mumbled, shrinking back into his seat as if he couldn’t be seen.

“Hey!” Allie clapped, standing and putting herself in between the girls. “Both of you, let it go. We’re not doing this again. Julia, drink more. Sophie, no more drinking.”

“But -”

“No.” She crossed her arms, staring them both down until they sighed, mumbling apologies. “Thank you.”

The boys all watched in silence, impressed, until Colin spoke up. “Right, well, I’m gonna go swim.” He and James nodded, jumping off the back of the boat, and Allie and Julia took a second but followed suit.

Sophie moved to join in until Rafe grabbed her around the waist, protective as he pulled her onto his lap. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yes. I feel good.” She promised, but couldn’t fully meet his gaze and was swaying with the rocking of the boat. “Can we go swim?”

“Will you wear a life jacket?”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“It’ll be more embarrassing if you drown.” He pushed her hair back, out of her face, and kissed her forehead. “You’re way too drunk right now, you’re making me nervous.”

She frowned, placing her hand on his cheek. “I make you nervous?”

“No, I’m just worried something’s gonna happen. Life jacket? Please?” He pulled it from under the seat, offering it to her.

Sophie rolled her eyes but let him put it on, strapping it tight across her chest for good measure. “Now can we go?”

He scooped her up with a grin and stood on the seat, ready to jump. “Now we can go.”

“No, Rafe - wait no!” She screamed, grabbing around his neck as he jumped into the water with her in his arms, plunging down and letting her go to float back up.

James snorted, splashing water toward her. “Nice life jacket.”

“I’d like a life jacket.” Allie interjected, closing her eyes and floating on her back. “Wouldn’t have to do any work.”

“Hold on - Allie, are you high?” Colin questioned, swimming closer and poking her arm. She’d only had half of a drink since they were on the boat, but was still acting strange and zoned out the whole day.

“Carlos gave me an edible. I ate it before we got on the boat.” She mumbled in reply. “I have more if you want it.”

“You took sketchy drugs from a sketchy guy?!” Colin exclaimed, much louder than necessary.

Rafe swam over with a frown, shaking his head like a dog. “Who’s taking drugs?”

“The bartender -”

“Carlos.” Allie corrected.

“The bartender gave Allie drugs.” Colin cut her off. “And now she’s high and probably something else.”

Rafe cocked his head, looking over Allie. “Al? You good?”

“I feel nice.” She replied, moving to tread water and smiled at them. “So nice.”

“Jesus Christ.” Colin cursed, while Rafe kicked him under the water.

Julia swam over, tugging Sophie’s hand to drag her along. “Oh, it’s finally kicking in?”

“You knew?” Rafe questioned, pulling Sophie into his arms as she tried to be subtle and unclip the life jacket.

“Of course I knew.” Julia replied. “Don’t freak out, I looked at it, it’s fine.”

“Oh, you looked at it, great. Thanks, Julia, I didn’t know you were the resident expert on drugs.” Colin huffed.

“Just weed, actually, I haven’t done anything else -”

James seemed to finally realize the whole group was congregated instead of doing their own thing, like he was. He swam under the water, grabbing Rafe’s ankle - who immediately screamed like a child and kicked James in the face. James bobbed up straightaway with his hand clapped to his nose and blood trickling from it like a leaky faucet. “What the fuck?!”

“Why’d you grab me?!” Rafe defended, letting go of Sophie. “This is on you.”

James launched himself onto Rafe, grabbing at him, and the two promptly started wrestling in the water, despite everyone’s protests. Colin stuck his arm in between them to break them up after a few minutes, tugging Rafe off of James and being careful not to hit James’ nose again. “Hey! Hey. Everyone back on the boat.”

“C’mon, Colin.” James argued, but hauled himself back up onto the boat anyways when Colin tapped his watch and reminded them all of their dinner reservations.

Once they all clambered back onto the boat and James had a towel and a can of beer pressed to his nose, the boat driver started taking them back to the shore. Sophie had sobered up somewhat and Allie was asleep with her head in Julia’s lap, with Julia absent-mindedly stroking her hair. “Hey, Rafe? Do you have any good recs for somewhere we could go for dinner?”

Rafe furrowed his brow, confused. “We’re going to dinner tonight, what do you mean?”

“No, no, tomorrow. I was thinking it could be just the girls, you guys could do something else -”

“No.” He replied, firm. “None of you are going anywhere alone. I don’t trust any of you when you’re drinking.”

Allie stirred, finally opening her eyes as she’d been listening in on the conversation. “We could invite Carlos to chaperone,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d love to tag along. Drag you into some trafficking ring too.” Colin grumbled.

James pulled the towel away from his face, confused. “So that’s a no to guy’s night?”

“No one is splitting up.” Rafe insisted, firm, and reached over to press the towel back to James’ nose.

Sophie cocked her head at her boyfriend. “Where is this coming from?”

“Look, I don’t even let Sarah go out alone here, and we’ve been coming here for years, she knows this place like the back of her hand. I don’t want something to happen to you guys.” He slung his arm around Sophie’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Any of you. I mean it.”

“Man, even my own father isn’t this protective.” Julia remarked casually, then immediately regretted it upon seeing Rafe’s wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. But that’s final say.”

“Okay, got it.” Julia raised her hands in defense. “So. Back to Carlos. Do you think he’d get all of us drugs if we had a threesome with him?” She suggested, only for everyone to stare blankly at her. “Oh my god, I’m just asking. It’s not like I suggested meth.”

“Who’s in the threesome?” James questioned, cocking his head.

Julia ignored him, barreling on. “That’s, like, an appropriate thing to ask, right? It feels like an island vibe. He’s gotta know where to get something.”

“Something.” Rafe repeated.

“Yeah.” She directed her question back toward him. “Hypothetically, if he could get us coke, would you say no? That’s like a rich person drug.”

“Rafe hasn’t done coke.” Sophie interrupted, assuredly, then frowned as Rafe seemed contemplative. “Right?”

“...No. Had to think. Been in the room, though, so probably got something secondhand.”

“That’s literally not how coke works.” Julia dismissed.

“I wouldn’t. I’m pretty sure that ruins the lining of your nose.” James supplied helpfully - Julia nodded in agreement, considering this newfound information.

“I’d consider doing molly.” Colin added. “But not from him.”

“Oh, like that makes a difference.” Allie deadpanned, always quick with the comeback while the rest of the group registered their surprise, because - Colin? Drugs? Two words that didn’t go together.

“It does, actually, but I get drug tested at NASA every single week, so.” Colin shrugged. “Not worth losing my future job.”

“Right. No one answered my question.” Julia sighed. “I’m open to a threesome with Allie or James. Rafe and Sophie, you’re out. Colin, I -”

“Yeah. Agreed.” Colin nodded, then hurriedly added, “I’m not saying I’m down for a threesome -”

“Hold on, why are we out?” Sophie frowned. “We’re hot.”

“Neither of you would share. It wouldn’t be fun.” James pointed out, only for Julia to nod enthusiastically in agreement.

“Exactly. You two are too, like, in love or whatever. It’s sick.”

“We would be great in a threesome.” Sophie argued, crossing her arms.

“You are too damn competitive.” Rafe mumbled to himself, shaking his head. “No one is having a threesome, no one is doing drugs. Not until we’re back under American laws. I’m not bailing anyone out of jail here.”

“Boo, Dad.” James grumbled, making Sophie lean toward him and raise her hand.

“James -”

“Okay, Sophie, chill, you can be the only one to call him Daddy -”

“Oh god, gross -”

“Home again!” Their driver announced with a grin, bumping the boat a little against the dock. The group snapped to attention, with James and Colin grabbing the coolers and Rafe helping the girls off the boat. He clapped the driver on the back as he was last to get off, murmuring something in his ear and slipped a wad of cash into his hand.

_____

After dinner, the group was dropped back at the house with the same driver they’d had all week, who now knew them all by name and knew way too much gossip about each of them. He knew that Rafe always sat in the front, the girls crammed into the back and James and Colin shared the middle, unless the girls were too drunk to crawl all the way back safely, and the boys would trade. They were all tired from a long day in the sun and agreed to call it with a lowkey night back at the house.

Once they’d all changed into comfier clothes, rather than how they dressed up for dinner, they congregated in the living room, sprawled out on the couches.

“All right, games. I have...uh…” Rafe rifled through the cabinet under the television, coming up short with only a deck of cards. “There’s just this and a poker set. We didn’t exactly play family games growing up.”

“That’s alright. We can play B.S.” Julia concluded, clapping her hands together with a grin.

“Last time we played B.S. it ended in a screaming match, and you and Colin didn’t talk for a week.” Allie reminded her, wary. Drunken card games in their group usually resulted in made-up rules that were only kept on track if someone wrote down the rules to lock down any possible room for arguments.

James and Sophie returned from the kitchen with two bottles of Sprite, two bottles of lemonade, a handle of vodka and six shot glasses. “Okay! Ready!”

“What the - guys, I said a chill game night.” Rafe raised his eyebrows as Sophie passed out the shot glasses.

“Yeah, we decided it’s our only senior spring break so we want to enjoy it.” Sophie told him, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “We’re playing B.S? Whose rules?”

“Normal rules, for the first round. Second round everyone adds a rule as you get away with bullshit.” Julia declared, shuffling and dealing the cards out to everyone with a surprising amount of skill. “Next birthday goes first, and if you don’t get away with it you have to take a shot. Or chug your drink for five seconds?”

“That’s me. And player’s choice, I think.” Sophie decided, sitting up and angling her cards away from everyone, looking a little too contemplative. She placed her card down, and Colin immediately shook his head. “Bull.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Take the shot, Sophie.” Colin insisted, flipping her card to reveal a jack instead of the needed 2.

“Fuck.” She muttered, following suit.

Rafe shoved her cup of water closer to her before she could pour herself a vodka lemonade instead, shaking his head. “You’re not even sober right now. Finish this first.”

“It’s alright, I’m fine.” She waved him off. “You’re next.”

The game continued on, escalating dramatically as they kept playing. By the time the first big bullshit was called, Allie had to accept at least 30 cards, the group had all taken at least one shot, Julia had been banished to the corner for a whole round, James was wearing Julia’s pink sunglasses upside down and Rafe had made out with Sophie three times, due to a rule he’d made up.

“Total bullshit.” Allie giggled as James placed five cards down at once on top of a huge stack. She was rivaling Sophie for drunkest of the group by far, slumped on the couch with her arms wrapped around one of the pillows as she wore a happy grin.

“Is not.”

“Is too!”

“Challenge!” Julia exclaimed, setting up two cups at the end of the table and handed them each a ping pong ball. (No one was sure when this was added to the rules, but everyone accepted it easily.) “Ladies and gentlemen, please stand.”

The two stood and took each other’s hands, laughing as they followed the customary pre-pong rule of spinning each other three times before taking their aim. “That was four! That was four.” Allie protested, having to grab James’ arm for balance as the room spun behind her eyes. “You need an extra spin.”

“Wait, dude, you put five down.” Colin pointed out, cocking his head. “Fucking idiot, take the cards.”

“Julia said challenge!”

“But you cheated!”

“The whole point of the game is cheating, dumbass!” James retorted, shaking his head. “She said challenge!”

“I said challenge!” Julia cried out, tapping her shot glass against the glass table to regain order. “Now throw.”

Both of them missed their mark terribly, James’ ball falling short and Allie accidentally nailing Rafe in the forehead with hers. “Sorry! Shit, sorry!”

“Oh, no, baby, are you okay?” Sophie asked worriedly, smoothing her hand over Rafe’s forehead as she combed through his hair with her fingers.

“I’m fine. I’m not sober.” He replied, humming with a smile as he leaned into her touch.

Everyone stared at the two of them with grins as they realized Rafe’s mistake in his own rule that he’d made up. The couple took too long to realize, slowly glancing around at the group. “What?” Sophie asked, sitting up straight. “What happened?”

“James missed the shot.” Colin grinned at Rafe, way too smug. “Pucker up.”

Rafe’s face dropped as it clicked for him - he’d made up the rule that a missed shot from falling short meant that person had to make out with the player who’d gone before for at least two minutes. It was a carefully calculated rule, he’d played pong with everyone in the group countless times and knew that everyone besides Sophie tended to overshoot, almost every single time.

Almost.

James laughed at Rafe’s expression, crooking a finger toward him. “Come here, buddy. Do you want me to get chapstick? Soph, do you have chapstick?”

“Do I have to?” Rafe groaned, standing up and striding over to sit next to James on the couch.

“It’s your rule.” Julia pointed out. Sophie shrugged in agreement, not quite putting together all the pieces.

“I’m really honored to be doing this with you, seriously.” James joked. “Sophie, can I touch him?”

“Just the head.”

Julia snorted, and she and James exchanged equally delighted grins at Sophie’s accidental innuendo.

Colin pulled up the timer on his phone, flashing it toward them. “Okay...alright. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Fucking hell.” Rafe sighed, but leaned in to make the first move, eager to get it over with. Both of them had their eyes closed and the kiss was relatively tame, albeit impossibly long.

“Oh.” Sophie murmured quietly, unsure how she felt, but uttered a warning “hey” when James’ hand automatically went to Rafe’s face. She decided she felt mainly neutral about it, but would be a lot more neutral if it was James and Colin kissing instead.

Julia was quiet for the first time all night, unable to tear her eyes away as she watched. Allie couldn’t resist a quick photo but giggled, hiding her face in Colin’s shoulder.

“Hey. Hey! Hey!” Sophie yelled the second the timer went off, leaning over and grabbing at Rafe’s arm to tear him away. “No more.”

James had his eyes closed and had unconsciously chased Rafe’s lips with his as they were pulled apart, but made a show of wiping his mouth afterward. “Okay. Well. Mark that under something I thought I’d never do.”

“And you’ll never do it again, so I hope you enjoyed it.” Sophie scowled, wrapping her arms around Rafe from behind and pulled him back to lean against her chest. “Stupid fucking rule, Rafe.”

“Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.” Rafe laughed, clearly unbothered as he tilted his head to press a short kiss to Sophie’s neck.

She grasped his head in both her hands, leaning down to press a sound kiss to his lips, as if it was a mark of ownership. “There. No one kiss my boyfriend again, I’m getting more snacks.” Sophie declared, getting up and heading into the kitchen.

“I don’t know about y’all, but I’m lowkey horny right now.” Julia muttered much louder than she intended.

“Thanks for sharing, Jules.” Allie laughed.

Julia glanced toward James with a desperate look, pressing her legs together. “Are we done playing? Or do you guys want to keep going?”

Oblivious as always, James shrugged, unfazed, moving back to his seat beside Julia. “Whatever you want. I’m down to keep playing.”

“Fuck, I need to get laid.” Julia mumbled much quieter so only he could hear, and he straightened up immediately like a bolt of lightning had shot up his spine.

“Actually, I’m good. Tired, actually. Yeah. I’m gonna - yeah.” He stood, offering his hand to Julia. “You look tired too.”

“Guys.” Rafe warned, glancing toward the kitchen where Sophie was still raiding the cabinet for any leftover snacks.

“Night, y’all.” Julia grinned, ignoring Rafe’s warning as the two strode off hand in hand to Julia’s room, making sure to go around so Sophie wouldn’t catch them.

Rafe sighed, but bit back a smile as he saw a dirty text pop up from Sophie, with a very detailed idea of how they could use up the rest of the whipped cream in the fridge. “Alright. Night, guys.” He promptly got up and left, leaving Colin and Allie alone.

“And then there were two.” The tension hung thick in the air as Allie leaned on Colin, giggly. “Fuck, I am so drunk.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t dare move, especially as she took his arm into her lap and started tracing lines as she connected freckles on his skin.

“I think I’m gonna call the bartender.”

“No you’re not.” Colin frowned, shaking his head. “No. You need sleep.”

She yawned, blinking up at him. “I’m pretty sure my room’s occupied.”

“You can take my bed.” He offered immediately, resisting the weird urge to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s fine.”

“Where are you gonna sleep?” She asked, reaching up and tracing her finger along his cheekbone. “Your eyes are pretty, did you know that? You have a freckle in your right eye.”

“A freckle?” He smiled. “I’m not sure that’s right.”

“It is.” She insisted. “I can go in your bed?”

“Yeah, I’ll take the couch.”

“Okay.” She agreed right away, hauling herself up. “I gotta brush my teeth.”

“Good thing your bathroom’s shared with mine.” Colin reminded her, following her down the hallway. “Unless you really want to go into your room while...that’s going on.”

“No, thank you.” She shook her head quickly, stretching and nearly smacking him in the face. “Sorry! Sorry.”

“It’s alright, just be careful.” He laughed, ushering her into the bathroom. “Do your thing, I’ll fix my bed.”

They’d all changed into comfortable clothes and showered before playing the game, anticipating intoxication, but Colin still wished he had a reason to offer her something of his to wear to bed. He re-made his bed, even fluffing the pillow, before tugging on a hoodie.

Allie returned a few minutes later, giving him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Colin.” She touched his arm as she passed, crawling into bed.

“Of course. No problem. Yell if you need something, yeah?” He told her, smiling back before leaving and turning out the light, resigned to a night on the couch.

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall @lemur46 @outerbankies

[saladejin]

Lost & Found | Jimin (M)

Jimin x Fem!Reader | s2f2l au, (ex)-policeman!Jimin, vetnurse!Reader | fluff, meet-cute, (emphasis on) hurt/comfort, angst and heavy angst, found families, slight humour, mentions of other members

Summary: You’ve essentially spent your whole life working around dogs, through sickness and through health, but one memorable encounter at the park has you thinking ‘why not one more?’ 

Or, maybe it’s not the dog that needs help, but rather the beautiful yet reserved man with honey blonde hair at his side. Perhaps, rather than dogs and cats, you need to start learning how to heal people. Maybe then you can start to heal yourself too.

Warnings: tw // (mental health, descriptions of death - no major, descriptions of abandonment - not by main characters, absent parents) // Descriptions of traumatic experiences, mental health issues/struggles (depression, anxiety), minor character death, hurt/comfort, mental breakdowns / resolved breakdowns. Only the tiniest, vaguest references to suicide - basically nothing.

- semi non-descriptive smut, fooling around in the pool, kissing, touching, fucking ... plenty of cussing lol

Word Count: 18.6k (hahahha kill me) 

A/N: Okay so here is my entry for the Ghostie Network’s ‘Dynamite Dads’ event, and it’s a bit late oops! I wasn’t really feeling up to write Jimin as a dad with an actual human baby, but I did the next best thing and gave him a gorgeous pupper who he basically treats as his own child ... enjoy :)

The genre was FLUFF, and my trope was ‘found family’. I promise you there is definitely some fluff to pay off for the angst. I feel ok saying it’s nothing too extreme, 🥺 but please heed the warnings and don’t hate me too much for the pain hehe

There will be a sequel, so this will most likely end up being a two-shot. You’ll see what I mean :) 

<< masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵  

Jimin knows from the very moment he opens his eyes to the sound of 6 a.m. birdsong, that today would be it. His last day.

He drags himself from bed, all fluffed up hair and puffy eyes, shrugging on the same dark navy uniform he’s worn for the past five years. He blinks away the sleep clutching at his eyelids, trying his best to prevent the flashing colours behind them from focusing into memories. 

Perhaps they were a lingering dream, flooded with the distant sounds of wailing sirens and a snarling canine, but thankfully they vanish with one brisk shake of his head.  

Snarling swiftly changes into a gentle whine, and Jimin raises his head with a troubled sigh to see Mandu sniffing by his bedroom door. His best friend, his companion, and most of all his boy. Jimin’s cheeks lift in a small smile, and the dog with a pelt of rich fawn brightens instantly, tail thumping the wall in innocent glee at seeing his handler’s eyes shine.

“Morning, bud.” 

Not two hours later, Jimin’s sitting just outside the chief’s office. He waits with downcast eyes, fiddling with his fingers to ward away the nerves and anxiety causing his heartbeat to pick up speed. 

He knows how it looks; he knows that everyone there can see through him and his firm expression. He’s never been good at hiding emotions very well, despite society’s expectation that anyone working in the law enforcement sphere should. No, not him, and that’s exactly why he has to leave it all behind.

“Officer Park…”

The chief’s eyes are not upset, angry or surprised by the news, but rather concerned. Jimin swallows his guilt down heavily, knowing full well that he has every right to do what he’s doing. He fights the urge to comb his fingers through his soft honey blonde hair, or the instinctual need to scratch at his own neck from the sheer distress of it all.

“Park, is it because of yesterday?”

That simple phrase was all it took to send him reeling back.

Flashing colours and background noise burst into focus, and Jimin suddenly finds himself reliving everything. Heavy well-worn boots thudding against the road slick with fresh rain, the sound of shrieking sirens all around, piercing his eardrums like knives. His lungs constricting, burning, with need for air as he follows Mandu into the darkness of the alley.

“Jung! Jung, where-”

Jimin can barely hear himself think above the clatter, the vicious snarling and gnashing of teeth against flesh being the only sound keeping him grounded. He has a job to do, and he’ll see it through to the end even if it costs him his life. He cocks his pistol and carefully peers around the corner of the dimly lit alleyway, hoping that the pathetic cries of the criminal under attack means that the coast is somewhat clear.

Anxiety bubbles up in his chest, for his partner and his boy, but he knows he can’t let his worry for them cloud his judgement now, of all times.

“Drop your weapon now!” he shouts above the noise, rounding the corner to apprehend the man currently locked into a bloody fight with his K-9 counterpart, desperately kicking and shoving to try and escape the ferociously snapping jaw knocking him down.

To Jimin’s relief, the weapon in question had been thrown down with a clatter amidst the man’s struggle, the gun still rotating slightly in its place from the force of its projection.

Then his bones freeze up when he watches the shiny object come to rest by a steel-capped boot, a boot so familiar to his eyes because it’s the exact same one he wears.

It’s Jung. Slumped against the wall, unmoving, unseeing … blood pools everywhere around him, and the iron-tinged smell hits Jimin right in the face until he can barely stand to breathe. “H-Hoseok, no…”

Mandu’s growls bring him crashing down to Earth, and Jimin’s pulled the trigger before he can even think twice about his actions. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s trained unconditionally to aim for non-fatal points on the human body, but right then and there, through the crimson haze of his fury, he wished he’d been able to do it.

Avenge him.

“Park…”

“Officer Park? Are you with me?”

Jimin gasps lightly, blinking his eyes to chase away the all-too-fresh memory from his mind yet again. His bottom lip is clamped so hard between his teeth, he wonders if the iron taste of blood in his mouth had actually been more than imagination. The superior officer sat at the desk in front of him nods solemnly.

“Park Jimin, I understand completely. I can’t stop you…”

The chief’s voice fades into the background as Jimin lets his thoughts wander once more, but he soon feels the darkness eating away at him again. The inner demons, the pain and suffering, because everyone leaves you, Jimin. The cycle repeats, you let yourself love then you let yourself lose.

“The … adoption of ‘Mandu’ as you’ve stated here, has already been finalised. We’re glad to see a long serving canine of our force retire to a responsible home. Thank you, Park.”

“Of course, Chief.”

The older man sighs and gives Jimin a once-over, clearly recognising that the man before him needs time to heal, however long that may be. Jimin feels it too, deep within his heart, his mind, and his very soul. This was it. He could finally hide. He could finally stop inflicting all this pain on himself and push it back to the deepest corners of his mind, where it would remain untouched.

“We thank you for your service, please hand in your badge and equipment by the end of the week.”

  ~ three months later ~

 “That’s it for the day!”

Muscles aching and eyes watering from a yawn, you peel the stretchy gloves from your hands with a grimace. The sweaty feeling lingers on your skin long after throwing the disgusting things in the trash. It’s only after you shed your nurse scrubs and lanyard that you remember you aren’t quite ready to finish up.

“(Y/n), you just have to take Jessie out for a bit before you go,” your colleague calls, much to your chagrin at the reminder. It’s been a long day at the veterinary clinic, and even if vet nursing wasn’t quite as strenuous of a job as legitimate veterinarian work, it still sapped a decent amount of energy.

God, you just want nothing more than to go home to your warm bed, and your fluffball cat. Instead, you pack away your uniform and grab a leash to prepare for the walk.

“C’mon girl,” you coo gently to the old border collie resting in her cage. There was an immense pride in the way the clinic took care of its sick and injured animals, and that included exercising the dogs every single day without fail. You absolutely loved it, loved your job and everything it entailed.

Ten minutes later, you’re letting the gate to the local park click shut behind you.

The dog park is remarkably busy today, you muse after letting Jessie off her leash for a run. Inside the spacious area – fenced off nicely with grasses delightfully green from the Spring air – are dogs and puppies of various shapes, sizes and colours bounding around each-other like ping pong balls.

You can’t suppress a snort of amusement as a particularly handsome pooch catches your eye, something akin to a German Shepherd though not quite as large. Your eyes follow the energetic bundle of energy as he darts around the group of dogs, chasing them and nipping at their heels to keep them controlled, just how he likes it.

It was inevitable that Jessie would soon join in, and you can only let out knowing sigh at the sight of the beautiful collie’s eyes lighting up with that familiar fire; a flame that had remained dormant for many, many years within her ageing mind. She takes off and rounds up the strays of the flock, arthritis in her joints long forgotten as her instincts to chase and collect take over entirely.

“Mandu, why…”

A breathy sigh escapes the person standing barely a metre away from where you sit on the park bench, and you finally take a moment to observe the other dog owners milling around this sector of the park. Their eyes are wide in confusion as they witness the spectacle happening before them, but you’re brought back to the man closest to you as he lets out another disappointed click of his tongue.

“It’s normal with herding breeds,” you find yourself saying through a fond smile, though your socially awkward inner self wants to kick you in the ass for it. The man, who looks as though he’d been about to jump in to collect his zippy companion, falters in his motion to regard you in surprise.

“Yeah, uh, it’s just been a while since my boy’s done it.” He rubs at his neck self-consciously, eyes glancing around to see if anyone’s thrown him a dirty or judgemental look already. From your place on the wooden seat, you can easily catch the way the sunlight caresses the man’s unique features, the worn-out sneakers and running wear telling you that he comes this way often to exercise.

He clears his throat. “You…”

As he trails off, somehow losing confidence halfway through his sentence, you feel that familiar pang of embarrassment that comes with talking to strangers. “Mine’s the collie, so I know I should probably step in too.” You laugh quietly, instantly breaking eye-contact when he holds your stare for a second too long.

He was stunning, to say the least, with incredibly soft looking caramel hair swept back from his face, and pillowy looking lips that were large, but fitting when placed together with his smooth sloping cheekbones and an elegant jawline. His eyes, though, were tired. They were so tired, and you knew exactly what it felt like to leave home every day when you were … that emotionally exhausted.

At your comment, the man breaks into a grin, because well … you’re in the same boat here. He’s probably relieved that you hadn’t lectured him on dog behaviour or keeping his pet in check, or something like that. Nope, turns out you were just as liberal as he was.  

You get to your feet, trying to inwardly shake the tingling in your chest from the sight of his lips curling into a smile alone, and jostle the leash in your hand to try and get your playful lady’s attention.

When that didn’t work, you let out a loud whistle and hope that the slight burning sensation travelling up the back of your neck would fade away soon. Although, you knew that as long as the curious man kept his eyes trained on you, it would persist. “Jessie, here girl.”

The beautiful stranger follows suit, but to your shock he barely has to make any noise, just a simple gesture and briskly spoken word before his responsive dog is sitting to attention at his feet. Ears pricked and warm canine eyes focusing on his owner as if nothing else in the world would ever matter as much as he did in that moment. You quickly look up to catch a glimpse of the man’s face once more, and the love now swimming in his gaze as he ruffles the dog’s pointy ears was nothing short of breathtaking.

You should go now.

You utter a tiny ‘bye’ as you take your leave, not even sure that the captivating man is able to hear you over the way he’s currently trying to scold his tawny-furred dog in a soft, gentle tone. A stern voice that still made it obvious just how endeared he was behind the annoyed façade.

You glance down to where Jess pads quietly on the pavement beside you, her black and white wavy pelt somewhat tousled from the exertion and her tongue lolling out in pure elation after stretching her legs. Sunlight, a blinding smile, caramel blonde hair…

How were you supposed to think of anything else now?

~

Three days pass, and you’re back in the clinic. Work is piling up, and you’re basically booked out thanks to a spontaneous outbreak of ‘Kennel Cough’ throughout nearby shelters. How the infectious disease spread to not one, but two localised areas, nobody knew.

“Someone must have taken their dog to all of them, or maybe had it transferred mid-vacation,” you growl to Dr. Kim, lining the antibiotics up on the med table after checking the clipboard thoroughly. Healthy vaccinated dogs would be fine, perhaps a tad sickly for a week or two, but puppies and those with immune deficiencies? Out of luck unfortunately.

“I’ve scheduled the radiographs for the most affected,” Dr. Kim informs, and you’re in a right mind to believe he’s only trying to reassure you right now. He sighs and flashes you a weary smile, age-lines prominent around his kind features thanks to the recent months of stress. “Hopefully we can rule out any pneumonia. You’re free to go on break by the way, Nurse (L/n).”

At the word ‘break’, you feel dread crash through your body like a heavy wave. Shit, had you forgotten to bring lunch today? A wishful image floats through your head of the delicately tossed Greek salad you’d prepared the night before, only problem being that it was still wrapped neatly in the fridge at home.

“Damn it,” you mutter, planting a forced smile on your face when the older doctor eyes you worriedly at the soft outburst. “Sorry, I’ll need to head out today.”

You can’t stop internally punching yourself for being forgetful, knowing that it’ll cost you precious time to walk to the nearest eateries and back. Perhaps if you owned a car, you’d be able to savour those few extra minutes of relaxing during your break.

Nope, it’s walking for you now. Idiot.

So off you go. The route is pleasantly quiet for the most part, with the sun slowly beginning to warm the leaves on trees as they protect their newly forming flower buds. There’s the incessant yet melodic chirping of birds while they scourge the nearby plants for food, either for themselves or their young. It was easy to stop and appreciate the various signs of revival and rebirth around you, but maybe not today.

Today, you had too much to worry about and too much weighing you down. There were so many helpless animal lives that were going to be lost, all because of one person and their ignorance. You had to come to terms with death fairly quickly when entering this line of work, but that didn’t make it any easier as time passed by.

Especially for someone like you.

You come to a sudden stop and blink your eyes firmly. The painted sign that blocks your path display the words ‘DOG PARK’ in all capitals, and it throws you off guard completely. You’d … somehow taken this heavy of a detour? Well, you suppose it could be worse, and the park did have another entrance on the far side you can use to somehow shortcut your way into town, but you can’t shake your confusion until ah.

There he is. The dog park guy, standing slightly off the well-trodden path. He’s dressed in a casual grey tee shirt and comfy matte black shorts this time, effortlessly showing off the defined muscles of his calves as he bends down to retrieve a bright green frisbee. He then flings it so high into the air, you doubt even his wonderfully enthusiastic dog will be able to catch up to it.

But when the well-built canine does in fact manage to clamp his teeth down on the airborne toy, you only manage to pick your jaw up off the floor after a handful of shellshocked moments. Some special kind of training had become evident in the way the animal springs off its hind legs with such intensity.

Right, you should stop staring like a maniac and keep walking.

At this rate, you’re going to be late back to work, and with the sheer number of things left to do and problems to solve with the shelters and kennels, you know that’s not an option. Hell, you’re so swallowed by your anxiety that you break out into a slow jog to make it at least halfway through the dog park in time.

Don’t look at him, don’t.

You glance at the man as you pass him, hoping to dear God that he’s focusing on his dog rather than the strange pet-less woman running through the park meant for pets, wearing dark forest-green scrubs underneath her jacket because she was too stupid to remember her food for the day. But alas, he is looking at you too.

It’s a weird kind of energy you can’t place, as if some kind of invisible force is trying to slow your feet down. The air thickens in resistance, and it’s like you’re barging through it to continue forward on your path. Everything in your body screams at you to stop, to talk to him, to say ‘hello’ with a smile because he deserves to have his own friendly one returned in some way. Oh wow, he’s actually looking at you, isn’t he?

The thing is, in situations like this you get nervous. You and attractive guys? Not quite the match made in heaven you’d probably expect. He flashes you that smile, all pearly whites to accompany the recognition from yesterday glittering in his startled gaze, but all you can manage is a strained grimace-like grin in return with a tiny wave of your sweaty palm.

Great. Fucking great.

At least you’re already gone before you can wallow in the humiliation; before you can simmer in it like a fine stew. He’s probably forgotten you already anyway, but you can’t help looking over your shoulder to check regardless.

Checkmate, he’s watching you go. The smile is now amused, and his head is cocked cutely to the side in playful confusion. As his dog jumps all over him to try and win back his attention, you flip the hoodie of your jacket up and try to ward off the embarrassed onslaught of laughter that bubbles in your chest. It would take more than a few days to wipe the image of his crescent moon shaped eyes from your memory this time around.

~

Jimin wakes to a wet and uncomfortable sensation prodding his face, and if he didn’t already have an innate sense for his favourite living being in the whole world, he’d be on his feet and ready to fight in no time at all.

“Mandu you gotta let me sleep,” he groans out, voice deep and groggy from his slumber. A persistent whine dragging from the throat of the animal rouses Jimin further, and he slides up to rest back on his elbows, eyes squeezing shut and skin covered in the slightest sheen of sweat from how hot it’d been under the bedcovers.

His dry lips part in a yawn. “Fine, you hungry?”

Mandu pokes his snout into Jimin’s cheek once more, big gentle brown eyes urging him to get up and start his day. Jimin knows that without his best friend with him, he’d barely have any motivation to step foot outside his room, let alone head out for a run each day consecutively.

It helps that his buddy looks out for him as diligently and as loyally as he had back when they were in the force together. It’s like nothing ever changed, and in the back of Jimin’s mind, he knows that the sense of routine had most likely saved his life time and time again.

“Alright,” he grunts loudly, lips curving into a smirk as he cups Mandu’s furry face into his palms, squishing the doggy cheeks he finds there together until the dog squirms in his spot on the bed. It’s not until Mandu lets out a frustrated yet playful growl that Jimin leaves him be with one last ruffle of his dark pointed ears.

Yeah, he really was fucked without his boy reminding him to eat, walk and sleep every day. Jimin knew it was pathetic, and he’d never felt so useless in his whole life, but it was enough to get him through for now.

Jimin scratches at his bare chest, freezing on his amble towards the kitchen when he spots something. Mandu stops along with him, his nails click on the floorboards in impatience but Jimin’s eyes are intensely locked onto the photo frame perched on the living room cabinet.

Idiot, of course there was one left.

He slams the frame down, making sure he can’t see the two laughing faces for a second longer than needed. He realises with a frown that he probably forgot to remove it due to barely ever setting foot in the living room as it was. Up until now, for the last five years, he’d spent most of his time at the station or out on the field. Patrolling, tracking … even apprehending, but that simply meant areas of his home went essentially unused for months on end.

Things were changing…

“Hey bud, what’s for breakfast?” he hums to his pal softly, finding a small happiness in the way Mandu circles around his legs like a bothered child. He assumes that if the dog were human, he’d be sporting the mightiest of pouts right about now.

Ten minutes later, Jimin finds himself nose deep in a bowl of flavourless cereal. On any other ordinary day, he and Mandu would usually race to see who could finish their meal the speediest, but he’s not feeling it this time around. The fawn coloured dog seems to give him a judgemental stare, as if saying ‘what’s wrong with you, did you let me win!?’ to which Jimin looks down at him and lets a breathy laugh fall from his lips.

“Not everything’s a competition boy, grow up already.”

Mandu simply huffs and moves to lay down, resting his muzzle on his front paws in defeat.

“How dare you roll your eyes at me.”

A dismissive sniff in response. Jimin finishes his meal with a shake of his head, knowing that if anyone were to ever hear the way he spoke to his pet dog, he’d most likely get shipped off to the nearest mental institution available. The sudden dark thought earns a surprised raise of his brows, but as he rinses his bowl off in the sink, he knows he has nothing to worry about.

It’s only him and Mandu now, and nobody else mattered. Nobody else was allowed to matter.

Yet Jimin’s always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Even if he tries the hardest he can to shut the world out, he’s continuously drawn to people. Drawn to seek company and validation, drawn to love others with his whole heart unconditionally. He could have it all, but all the world does is take from him.

He sighs and sits back at the kitchen countertop, head resting on his folded arms much like the sassy child sprawled underneath the stool right now. “Do you think we’ll see the pretty lady from the park again today?”

The dog’s ear twitches, then flicks as if bothered by an irritating bug of some description. Jimin doesn’t know how to take that, really. Was it a no? Did Mandu even want to see her as much as he did? He supposes not, considering the ex-police dog was trained to be protective, and was instinctively so in every possible way.

He belongs to Jimin, and apparently that means Jimin belongs to him too, no friends allowed. Something in the back of his mind shouts that he shouldn’t be wanting friends anyway, that they were something to be afraid of.

“Whatever.”

It was the next day when things turned sour. To Jimin’s slight disappointment, they hadn’t seen the pretty lady in strange green attire again, but something did go horribly wrong instead.

Jimin exits the bathroom with a snowy white towel draped over his head, hoping that somehow his laziness will be overlooked for once and the towel will simply dry his hair for him with no additional effort, only for the fabric to fall from his head once he catches sight of Mandu walking down the hallway. Only he’s not walking, but rather limping.

“Buddy c’mere,” Jimin calls, voice pitching higher than usual in concern. With fear and cold hard dread settling deep into the pit of his stomach, Jimin observes the dog instantly perking up at the sound of his voice.

Mandu lets out a small yelp of excitement, but still has a stiffness and slight limp to his gait when he makes his way over. Jimin crouches down and pets the canine fondly, the sinking of his heart telling him that his suspicions were right all along.

Something is wrong here. He has to know what’s up, has to make sure his boy’s alright.

Jimin’s bundled the both of them into the car before he can stop to even think straight, and Mandu is nothing but a ball of excitement – bouncing around and goofily grinning the entire time. It hurts to think he’s fooling the dog into believing they’re going on some sort of spontaneous adventure, but that wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It’s only around noon so the local vet clinic has to be open, right?

He’s not dying, you really need to chill out.

Jimin knows his inner voice speaks the truth, but he continues to justify his frantic driving with a carefully crafted self-assurance. He’s only making sure, he’s simply worried for his baby.

He doesn’t stop to think about the way his hair is still unpleasantly damp from the shower, having forgotten to actually dry it beforehand, or the way his socks had somehow ended up being odd colours. He hastily finds a park outside the clinic and attaches his leash to Mandu’s collar.

What Jimin doesn’t expect to see, when striding through the administration doors with the dog in his arms, is you.

Your expression matches his own look of astonishment, your beautiful eyes widening in recognition in the exact same split-second his do. If Jimin was being honest with himself, he could probably just stand there looking at you for the next thirty minutes or so, but a miniscule wriggle from the animal in his hold brings him crashing back down to Earth.

“Um, hi,” he begins awkwardly, paces enormous as he lurches towards the desk you’re bracing your hands upon, still recovering from the shock of seeing him again it seemed. “I have a problem…”

You clear your throat and try not to smile at the amusing sight before you. Jimin knows it can’t be the strangest thing you’ve ever seen here, but the openly scared and confused dog clutched to his chest is enough to make you bite your lip in an effort to restrain yourself.

“I can see that. Luckily, we’ve got nobody in queue so you can jump right out back with me,” you say with a kind lilt to your tone that Jimin can tell is part of the customer service sector of your job description. He doesn’t really mind, nor does he even care. Right now, his only concern is Mandu.

No pretty lady in green scrubs is going to distract him from his best bud right now.

Fifteen minutes pass, and Jimin is worrying the skin of his bottom lip with his teeth. His wide troubled eyes trail over every movement you make as you examine the incredibly stiff and uncomfortable dog on the sterilised table. When Jimin meets Mandu’s startled gaze, he tries his best to calm his best friend down in a familiar gentle tone he would use at home.

“It’s okay buddy, you’ll be alright. Good boy…”

If you’re irritated or weirded out by his vocalisations, you don’t show it. Your mind seems to be too wrapped up in gently working your fingertips into the back haunches of the dog, massaging in slow circles. Jimin’s drawn in by the way you handle Mandu with such care and precision, and he begins thinking that if you were to do that to him, he’d probably be relaxing in no time.

Weird thoughts, but whatever, I guess.

The same can’t be said for the dog, though, and Jimin can only pick up the intensity of his soothing praises once he catches sight of Mandu trembling in fear on the table. The dog’s elbows seem to want to buckle under the stress of the situation, and it breaks Jimin’s heart to pieces to see his pal all worked up like this. It’s lucky that the animal has been trained well enough to trust in his handler’s presence alone, otherwise this whole examination might’ve taken a … darker and more vicious turn.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asks you quickly, voice high and strained as he reaches forward to scratch behind one of the dog’s ears in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Mandu licks his palm in return, and usually Jimin would recoil and protest loudly, but today he was fairly sure he’d let his boy get away with anything.

You sigh softly, and Jimin doesn’t know what that means at first, but then you peel the gloves from your hands and flash him a small smile. Everything starts to feel okay somehow. “You see, Sir, this is quite commonly seen in specific breeds of dog, including your German-”

“Belgian Malinois.” The correction is out before he can hold it back, and Jimin wants to slap himself for how snappy and rude it sounds, but you don’t take offense in the slightest. Instead, he’s stunned once more when you click your fingers with a light gasp of realisation.

“That’s what it is! I was trying to remember the name of this breed for days on end, after the first time I saw him in the park.”

Jimin raises his brows at that, feeling the last of his anxiety melt from his bones at the sight of your smile, which was slowly beginning to familiarise itself to him.

“Ah, well you could’ve asked me. I would’ve told you in a heartbeat.” He chuckles, though it’s somewhat dry from the raw emotions still running their course through his brain. When you let out a soft laugh in return, he forces himself to tear his eyes away.

“Oh well, anyway you can calm down a bit, there’s nothing life threatening going on here just yet,” you assure in a calming tone, and Jimin can easily sense how there’s more sincerity behind the sound compared to the voice you’d used earlier when greeting him.

“There are two things I can narrow down for you, taking into consideration the information you’ve given me so far. Commonly found in these breeds is something called hip dysplasia, where the hip joint undergoes abnormal development or growth. The other possibility for his lameness is a form of chronic arthritis called osteoarthritis, which deteriorates joint cartilage more commonly in older dogs like Mandu here.”

“He’s not that old though?” Jimin hums, brows furrowing in bewilderment at the news. He pats the dog’s head fondly, saddened but glad that he can breathe a little easier now that he knows what’s going on.

“Perhaps, but he’s lived a very active lifestyle, you see. Heavy strain and activity on the dog’s body can bring this forth quicker, much the same as it does in humans,” you explain with a sad sigh.

“I do recommend getting x-rays done to check out the full extent of the damage, as well as to check for any other abnormalities.”

You then take your leave to fetch the main doctor, and Jimin finds himself startled to discover you’re only a veterinary nurse here. By the way you were reeling off information from the top of your head, as well as the confident manner in which you examined and diagnosed his dog, he would’ve effortlessly assumed you ran the goddamn joint.

He waits in the administration area while Mandu’s getting his x-rays done, fingers fiddling with themselves from the trepidation building up inside him. He doesn’t even hear you enter the room, and can’t help his back going ramrod straight attentively when you clear your throat. Curse his years of training in the force.

“Hey, I can just see that you’re a little stressed out there. He must mean a lot to you.” You walk around the corner of the front desk and take your place one seat away from him. Jimin realises that you most likely keep your distance from most customers with an unmistakeable barrier of professionalism, but for him you seem to be stepping right out of your comfort zone.

He can tell by the unnecessarily chipper tone of your voice, and how your eyes flicker nervously to the side every once in a while. You’re good at hiding how anxious you are, he’ll give you that, but not good enough to escape watchful eyes such as his. Not when he goes through the exact same thing.

He finally musters the courage to respond after a few seconds of simply eyeing you in curiosity. “Yep.” He smiles tightly and returns his gaze to his interlocked fingers, knowing the expression wouldn’t reach his eyes. “He’s been with me through thick and thin. Almost like a little brother or son to me, as weird as that probably sounds.”

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you instantly oppose, laughing to brighten the sullen mood Jimin knows he’s bestowed upon you. “I think it’s sweet, and he’s a very lucky dog to have someone caring about him so much.”

Your sentiment melts the icy sadness around Jimin’s heart ever so slightly. The cold blanket encompassing him ever since his last loved one left his side. He hasn’t felt the urge to open up since, but he knows he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. “I- thanks, I guess.”

Before he can continue on and ruin the somehow light-hearted atmosphere by telling you he wants to be alone, you’re suddenly speaking again in that gentle voice of yours. “It’s kinda funny how we keep running into each-other, don’t you think? I can’t help but hope you’ll both be at the park whenever I pass by…”

Jimin’s at a loss for words at your candour, looking up sharply to see the way you’re shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and avoiding his eyes like the plague. It looks as though you regret the words as soon as they’re out in the open air.

But … he feels the same.

He can’t say it. He won’t. He can’t just let you in and create a space for yourself in his life, or heart right now. He cannot admit that you’ve lived in his mind for free ever since he saw you that second time, running past him with that smile on your face, confusing him with your antics to no end. Why do you keep getting under his skin in the best possible way?

“I mean, i-if you’d like to go out for coffee or something later on, I-”

He dips his head with a small sniff to attempt to cut you off in a somewhat polite manner. “Ah sorry, I’ve got a … funeral at two. Not really in the mood these days, but I appreciate it. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t wish to see your reaction to his less than eloquent rejection, but he catches it regardless. That wrenching moment you come to the conclusion that you read the signs all wrong. The glimmer of hope and interest in your eyes slowly flickering out like dying embers, although not completely, and he has no doubt it ever would.

You frown and instantly come through with a quiet “I’m sorry for your loss,”, but Jimin dismisses the sympathy with a tiny wave of his hand, claiming that it was a colleague and acquaintance rather than a close friend or family member.

It’s already obvious to him how much of an optimist you are. You’re holding onto that tiny shred of hope as if it were the string of a helium balloon, one moment of slack and he’d be floating away from you far out of reach.

“Right, sorry if I overstepped.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’re way too considerate and understanding of him, and the painful burn that leaves on his conscious is so real. It reminds him of all the times his brother would tell him to never take people’s kindness for granted, but here he was shooting you down even though you’d never given him a reason to.

In fact, he likes you enough to go back almost instantly on his words.

“I really am busy, otherwise … I would actually love to, believe me.” He combs a hand through his hair in exasperation, inwardly cringing at the damp dewy sensation greeting his palm as he’s reminded again of his post-shower dilemma. You’re already chuckling at your newfound victory, and he’s pleasantly surprised at the sudden streak of mischief in your eyes.

“Let’s make it a date for Saturday then, see you at the park usual time? I’ll make sure to come out earlier so I don’t miss you again.”

Damn you’re assertive, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t liking it. Something in the way you so effortlessly drew him out of his shell was electrifying. Was he even in total control of his own emotions right now?

He’s left in a stunned silence, nodding in response to your question before you’re suddenly making your exit, uttering something along the lines of ‘best wishes for the funeral’ and ‘good luck with Mandu’, but he can barely hear beyond the rushing of blood past his ears. He’s a flustered mess of a man right now.

He only regains majority of his focus once he’s left the clinic with some anti-inflammatory and pain meds for his dog, a slight dent in his bank account, and a date.

~

Holy fuck. You really did that. You did.

When it came down to it, you just saw your shot and took it. Simple as that, really. When the attractive guy from the dog park had shown up at the clinic, piercing deep brown eyes full of purpose, you’d very nearly felt your brain short-circuit at the sight. However, as time went on you began to get a glimpse of his true self.

It took every ounce of strength within you not to openly coo at the way he soothed his canine friend, with gentle words of encouragement spilling from his plush lips like a steady stream of water. If you’d been blind, you might have even been led to assume he was speaking to a fellow human.

Jimin, he’d revealed as his name. He was so lost in his worry for Mandu you didn’t think he’d even retained memory of your own name when you’d given it, but in the end it didn’t matter. You now had a literal date planned where you could talk and get to know him even more! How you’d managed to force the bold question out, you’ll never know, but hey at least one of your spontaneous and stupid decisions had to go well once in a while, right?

You sink into your couch, a fluffy white cat curled up on your lap as you relive the memories from the day. The relaxing sounds of purring surround you as you massage your fingers into your cat’s thick neck fur.

“Oh Ghostie, what the heck am I gonna do?”

Right now you can only think back to the way his hair was a bit of a jumbled mess, evidently damp and sticking out in all directions cutely. The addicting scent of his body-wash, if the rushed situation and flushed complexion was anything to go by, and aftershave. The man had those butterflies swooping around in your stomach already, and you barely knew him.

Your cat growls in protest when you let out a tiny squeal and make a harsh grab for a couch cushion, effectively burying your face deep into it in pure unadulterated embarrassment and disbelief. After living life being perfectly happy and single, why was this one somewhat decent-looking man sweeping you off your feet?

And sweep you off your feet he would, because when you finally show up to meet him at the dog park on Saturday, you’re being harshly barked at and sent flying to the ground before you can even process what’s happened. The dull ache from the force of impact fades quickly, and you try to regain your bearings before anything worse can happen.

“Fuck, sorry!”

The sight of your freshly washed jeans, now sporting a lovely scuff, causes you to cringe slightly. You shake your head and lock eyes with the pointy-eared dog standing over your body. It strikes you as bizarre, seeing as Mandu’s not exactly attacking you, but he’s not all that happy to see you either. You’re locked into a stand-off, despite you currently being knocked onto your ass with your heart still racing.

“Get off her!” comes Jimin’s outraged yell, his eyes are wide in sheer disbelief and disappointment. You can’t help but laugh softly at his exasperation, the shock of the fall now trickling away at the sight of the familiar face, or rather faces.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), I honestly don’t know what came over him. We were waiting by the pond and he just … took off when you came around!”

You stand and brush your clothes off, feeling your cheeks burn at the fact that he had actually remembered your name from the clinic the other day. You try to tell him it’s fine, but he still scolds the now sheepish looking dog at his feet – albeit as gently as possible through his vexation.

“I couldn’t leave him at home,” Jimin starts, sighing and clipping a leash to the dog’s collar pointedly. “Told him to behave himself but yeah, that didn’t go down well.” He regards you with concerned eyes, and you feel your heart melt at how he tries to subtly check you over for any injuries.

“I’m fine, Jimin, trust me. Working at the clinic means I’ve had my fair share of body-slams. Don’t sweat it.” You wave your hands before squatting, lowering yourself to be face-to-face with Mandu who still seemed to be eyeing you warily.

You understood it. Here you were, nothing more than a stranger, trying to take his owner and favourite person in the world away from him. You had to somehow convince Mandu that you weren’t a threat to their little family of two.

“Hey, buddy. Remember me?” You slowly reach out a hand to pat the top of the dog’s furry head, eager to earn his trust. “I’m not gonna hurt either of you, promise.”

You miss the way something flickers in Jimin’s eyes after hearing you say that. A glazed look of predictability, of cold hard doubt … but it’s gone when you rise to your feet once more. The dog seems to have accepted you for now, averting his eyes from the direct and intimidating glare he’d had trained on you ever since he’d pinned you down.

“Shall we, then?” You find yourself saying, self-confidence shocking you both as you smile and lead the way out of the park and towards the middle of town.

It doesn’t take long to find a nice café to sit at, and it’s with reluctance that Jimin leaves Mandu tied up outside. However, he knows he has to tone down his attachment in view of the public eye, and you especially. He doesn’t know just how far you’re willing to go for him.

He was a closed iron door to the world, yet he was still somewhat intrigued to see your efforts in getting inside. There was no way he was going let it happen, not again, but … why was he here then?

After ordering the coffees, him taking his black after years of late nights on patrol and you filling yours with sugar, you both surprisingly hit it off well. You suppose that after noticing how heavily you could relate to him, and vice versa, it was easy to understand one another and fall into steady conversation.

“The police force, huh.” You sip at your drink with a drawn-out hum of confirmation. “I actually kinda guessed that.”

Jimin blinks in shock. “You did?”

“Yeah! I mean I’ve seen Mandu a handful of times now, and it’s in the way he’s thoroughly trained to listen to your every command, not to mention the way he moves. When I gave him the check-up at the clinic, I forgot to mention that I just assumed your occupation when I said ‘active lifestyle’ back then.”

There is no way you’re going to tell him that you’d also made that assumption based on the man’s incredible build and well-toned muscles as well. Best to keep your thoughts on the dog, and luckily for you Jimin turns his head to check on his companion resting outside by a bowl of water, allowing your eyes to roam freely for a decent second or so.

“Well, you’re more observant than I thought,” Jimin notes through a breathy laugh, fingers lightly tapping at his coffee mug in thoughtful contemplation. You can’t help getting lost in the sight of him yet again.

He’s an absolute vision right now even if he’s dressed casually, only foregoing the shorts and joggers for simple black jeans and flatform sandals. His hair looks as soft as ever, and though his eyes are still open windows that show he’s hurting inside, you can’t help finding the immense beauty behind the pain.

There’s a short, comfortable silence as you both nurse your mugs of caffeine, but you break it in fear of letting an awkward air settle in. Damn, you do love being a little socially inept sometimes.

“Why the name Mandu?” You think it’s an innocent question, but unbeknownst to you, Jimin’s thoughts spiral at the reminder. The memories and origins of his boy’s name that uncomfortably sting at his heart like nettles.

“Ah, it was my brother who named him … actually,” he reveals, wondering if the slight crack of his voice is noticeable as he smiles convincingly. If you see through him, you don’t show it. Instead, you register the hint ever so slightly and aim to avoid prying.

“You would’ve only had him for a few years, right?”

“I served for five, so yeah he’s only been mine for a few years, but I did meet him before that while we were both in training.” Jimin laughs at what seems to be a fond memory, pushing the other ones to the back of his mind for now. “I was a little obnoxious about it back then, because I had to be with him. I demanded it to the chief and everything, if I wasn’t getting Mandu then I would drop my application because we’d bonded so well.”

You giggle, and cough lightly to hide your embarrassment instantly afterwards. “I love that, it’s quite obvious to me that you two are meant for each other.”

“What about you? Got any pets?” he asks, eyes alight with a newfound interest. Catching the way he leans forward in his seat ever so slightly; you feel a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Jimin was finally relaxing around you.

“Yeah, a cat.” You cover your mouth with one hand to suppress your amusement, waiting for Jimin to scoff at you or screw his face up in disgust, but he doesn’t. Rather, he looks upwards in thought and then shakes his head while chuckling meaningfully. “Mandu would hate you for saying that.”

“Not a fan?”

“Absolutely not. I’m impartial though.” He watches you over the rim of his mug when he lifts it, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Good to know. Good to know.” Your eyebrows shoot up and you can’t wipe the grin from your face, absent-mindedly stirring your coffee with your spoon. It wouldn’t be long before the drinks were finished, but you didn’t want this moment in time to end.

The two of you chat for another half hour or so, but you can’t help noticing the distant look that surfaces in Jimin’s gaze whenever he brings up old memories of his family or brother. Your curiosity burns at this point, and you feel yourself wanting to get to know him so much more. He’s such an enigma to you. Watching the way he tries to let go and be himself, unapologetically, but holding back just as you catch an addictive glimpse of what that might be.

As you exchange more stories and memories, you can’t help but feel yourself digging a little deeper to uncover what’s tearing him down so hard. “You keep mentioning your brother, I’m guessing you guys are close?”

And ah, now you’ve done it. It hurts to see the guarded expression slam back down on Jimin’s features, but you knew it had to be done. You didn’t know if it were just you who could see it, but by repressing all his memories and feelings, Jimin was doing more harm than good to himself. Some internal part of you wanted to help him, because you knew exactly what it was like.

Though you weren’t expecting every dam to break just yet.

It takes a moment for Jimin to deliberate on his next words, but you wait out every second with him, patient and understanding. He notices this and decides that it’s alright for him to indulge just this once, to let someone in for just a single moment. “Not really, well … used to be. He, uh, he left town a while ago.”

Left?

You keep your tone quiet, not wanting to scare him away because he did seem like the type to take off at any given moment. “Sorry to hear that,” you murmur.

“It’s alright,” he says, wondering just how much he should give away. It’s the first time he’s met up and gone out with someone he’d consider a ‘friend’ of sorts in ages, so he’s not sure how much he should be disclosing right now, but something about you makes him want to let it all go. It scares him like nothing else.

“Honestly it hasn’t been … a great time for me since he left. Y’know, he was the only one that ever stayed, and things were tough being in the force and everything,” he offers through a dry laugh.

You want to reach out for his hand on the café table so badly, but it’s too soon to be that close. He’s testing the waters right now, showing you a vulnerable side that you can easily tell he doesn’t let out very often. It warms your heart, and all these broken feelings he’s showing you make everything feel so real. You can’t help but want to give yourself back to him.

“I can’t imagine it would’ve been easy. I know how it feels, actually.” You mentally prepare yourself to revisit a time you usually laid to rest, keeping the gentle smile on your face because even though these subjects were touchy and very meaningful to the two of you, you’d actually come to terms with yours years and years ago. Learned how to turn that pain and suffering into progress, self-growth.

“You do?” You can tell the sheer hope and relief in his tone doesn’t quite match the caution in his eyes, as if he doesn’t want to think that someone as bright and bubbly as you can ever have as many problems as he does, but you shut that train of thought down for him.

“Yeah, I … don’t have any family left either.”

He wants to know how, why, but he pulls himself back from the question almost instantly. Still, you can see it all on his features. He’s an open book for you to read.

“It’s okay Jimin, I came to terms with it a while back. I’m an only child, but my parents died when I was a teen.”

It hits him like a freight train then. The realisation that yes, of course there are other people in the world who have lost just like he has. The sad but forgiving look in your eyes just about breaks him. He’s been so self-centred the whole time, not even thinking that maybe you’re sitting across from him going through a life just as lonely as his own.

“I don’t know what to say.” To your shock, it’s him that reaches across the table to grasp your hand gently, and you hadn’t even realised it was shaking slightly until he’d steadied it with his own. There were no hidden intentions in his gaze, just a pained understanding. You’d both needed to simply tell someone.

“I promise I’m fine now. It was years ago. I don’t even know why I’m…”

You trail off with a shaky laugh, tightening your grip on his hand slightly in fear that he would let go of you. You were essentially strangers, but you’d both needed this. You needed someone to listen as you talked, to have that visceral sense for the pain rather than simply try sympathising with it. It was different when you knew the feeling.

After the sudden serious note of the conversation had passed, both you and Jimin felt a little weight taken off your shoulders. You’d both torn some walls down today, and that in itself was enough to garner bucketloads of respect and admiration on both accounts.

You part ways back at the park, a new kind of friendship blossoming that, if you were being honest, neither of you had seen coming.

~

A couple of months pass after that, and in between his regular walks and visits to the clinic, Jimin finds himself spending more and more time in your presence. He even jokes around with Mandu that he should walk just a tad more lamely so he can stay a little longer between check-ups. But at the end of the day he knows he truly wants his boy to get better.

The first time he steps foot inside your house, he’s instantly halted in his tracks by the fluffiest white cat he’s ever seen. After hearing you mention, ‘she hates strangers’, and ‘she’ll probably cuss you out straight away’, it comes as a surprise to both of you when Ghost wraps herself around Jimin’s leg and purrs needily. A louder purr than you’ve ever received in your whole ten years of being her owner.

“Stop whoring yourself out! He’s just here to pick up some worming tablets,” you tut in disapproval, earning a hearty laugh from Jimin at the snappy tone. Ghost narrows her green eyes at you and rubs her chin along Jimin’s pant leg one more time for good measure, proceeding to saunter into the kitchen utterly oozing with sass.

After a few more random visits, you stop beating around the bush and begin inviting Jimin over to either chill out or have dinner. Obviously, more often than not it turned out to be both.

You’d order something in and then joke about how unhealthy you were for being too lazy to cook. Jimin even gets so exasperated sometimes that he carts food over from his own home to cook up in your kitchen, funnily enough. It wasn’t your fault you never really had the time to teach yourself during your unrelenting years of university and work, and it wasn’t as if you had a parent around to help you learn as a child.

Jesus, way to be depressing.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Jimin to find random spots of humour within your combined trauma and abandonment issues either, as unhealthy as that sounds.

You always figured that life was too short to be sad all the time anyway, and even though that ideology alarmed your newfound friend at first, he soon slowly began to see the appeal. He was kind of over being sad, honestly.

He remembers standing by the coffin at Hoseok’s funeral, the very same fateful day he’d encountered you at the clinic for the first time. He’d felt overwhelmed at the emotions threatening to pull him apart at the seams, but at the same time, he’d felt cold at the lack thereof.

That was the result of letting himself get close to someone again, even through work of all places. His partner with the sunny disposition and heart-shaped smile? Gone from this world in a single click of a finger. It was too easy, too much of a risk to get closer. Jimin remembers not even being able to bring himself to cry back then, but things are starting to change now that you’re in the picture.

He still has that lingering dread that you’ll leave him too, but try as he might to keep you at arm’s length, he simply can’t. You bring out the best in him, and you make him want to try harder, to try being better. In a sense, you’re like another Mandu to him. He can’t just ignore that.

He tells you about Hoseok one night, just because it comes up in conversation and he’s already rambling on before he can stop himself. He looks up at your crestfallen face, knowing your heart hurts for him even though he’s unable to muster the correct emotions, all thanks to the disconnection he’s forged from his dead colleague already.

He recalls severing himself from those feelings right as he died, and again when he stood by his body at the funeral, but then you went and somehow reconstructed that bridge without him knowing.

“You know it’s okay to miss people, Jim. To remember them for who they were, and what they meant to you. It’s okay to miss them because they’re gone.”

He cries in your arms until 1 a.m. that night.

After a while, he begins to let people see the true him, fed up with hiding and done with shutting the world out. He returns smiles directed his way in the street, he ventures out to do nothing but simply stop and smell the roses. It’s refreshing, and it’s as if he can barely remember what it feels like after years of being chained down by depression and self-loathing.

You did that, with your calming presence, your affirming words, your genuine care. He’ll never forget it.

And slowly but surely, Mandu begins to warm up to you as well.

“I swear he’s only squaring up just to show off or something,” Jimin snorts as he walks beside you on the concrete path, Mandu in tow on a leash now that you’re leaving the park.

“He’s asserting dominance.” You cast a glance behind you to see the dog glaring you down, just as usual.

‘Why the hell are you walking next to him when I’m supposed to be there? You’re just a lowly human who doesn’t deserve my dad’s time or attention. How dare you!’

You bite back a laugh when you imagine the thoughts running through Mandu’s head, and he sniffs and growls at the sight of you not taking him seriously. He’s a big bad wolf, fear him goddammit.

“I’m sure he’ll accept me into the pack one day,” you respond good-naturedly, earning an eye-roll from Jimin as he shoots a pointed look of warning towards his boy once more. He can’t help but feel tingles erupt across his skin hearing ‘the pack’ come from your mouth. You make it sound like an actual family, and for some reason he seems to crave exactly that. That’s what all of you are to Jimin, a little family.

“Sure, but good luck convincing him to accept Ghost. I’m sure he’ll be walking around with a ‘NO CATS ALLOWED’ sign hanging from his neck soon enough.”

The dog agrees.

The next day is when Mandu’s last check-up is scheduled, and you wait by the front desk nervously as Jimin discusses options with Dr. Kim in the next room over. It’s been several weeks since the dog’s initial diagnosis, and he’s had a slight improvement, but it isn’t enough.

You and Jimin have spoken about how worried he is regarding the dog’s rapid muscle loss, and your heart always constricts at the sight as well. There’s only so much medication you can give.

You already know that Jimin’s current status of unemployment means he probably doesn’t have the means to fund more than one surgery, that is if he wants to remain financially stable. You’d need another plan.

“Hydrotherapy?” Jimin squawks. He’s a picture of confusion right now, one eyebrow cocked and pretty lips parting in surprise. You can’t help laughing at his dumbfounded expression.

“Yes, Jiminie. Dr. Kim has asked me to explain it to you so we can work out when to schedule it. Basically, dogs with chronic arthritis need to be able to exercise their joints and muscles without the excess strain, so regular swimming sessions are perfect.”

“It’ll help him get stronger?”

“Exactly, and since he’s up to date on his vaccinations we can organise a session right away, if you’d like?”

Jimin can’t suppress a shit-eating grin at the formal tone you’re using with him. He’s so used to messing around with you and having general chatter that the sudden switch to your ‘customer’ voice, as he calls it, is now more amusing to him than ever. You grumble under your breath, knowing all too well that he’s making fun of you without actually saying it.

“Fine, when can we start then? I’ve only ever seen him swim once, and it didn’t go well for the bad guy,” Jimin acquiesces, lifting his brows once and smirking at you mischievously. You ignore him.

“That’s alright Sir, we can start this Thursday.” You smile in such a pretentious and artificial way that Jimin has to smother his offended gasp. Now you’re just being rude.

“Pretending not to know who I am? Damn, guess I’ll just throw that strawberry shortcake I bought in the bin when I get home…”

And he’s got you. Your eyes light up and your fingers curl into fists on the desktop. You swallow thickly at the thought of him eating one of your favourite desserts on his own, or even worse throw it out like the heathen he is, but you’re determined not to cave in.

“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t quite follow. Your unhealthy affairs have little importance to me.”

You’re putting up a fight this time around, and Jimin’s willing to play. He leans on the desk with his elbow, the suave and impish air he suddenly exudes makes you nervous on the other side of the marble structure. “In that case, can we make this quick? I gotta rush home and catch up on the last two episodes of ‘Anohana’.”

This time you can’t contain your sharp inhale. “You promised we’d watch that together.”

Jimin chuckles with glee, taking the easy victory with a cocky lick of his lips. You trail the movement with your eyes before glaring at him again. “I don’t even care, you’d better not.”

He enjoys riling you up way too much. “Or what?”

“I’ll literally bust down your door at 2 a.m. in the morning Park, don’t test me.”

He knows you’re only joking around, but hearing his last name uttered in such a grave manner shifts something within him. He’s suddenly transported back to the chief’s office, hands wringing together in unease. “Park, is this about yesterday?”

“Park! He ran over there, follow me quick!”

“Jung wait…”

He has to shake his head, the smattering of memories and thoughts filtering from his mind slower than he’d like. He needs to drown out the sound of the echoing gunshot with something else, something louder.

You’re watching him the entire time with an apologetic gaze, picking up the miniscule signs that tell you he’s had something from the past triggered and brought back up unwillingly. You don’t even know what it is that you said, but you stay quiet and allow him to regain his composure.

“You okay Jiminie?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thought of something,” he hums, not bothering to try and pretend as if nothing happened. You both knew each other too well at this point, and you understood him enough to have learned it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes these things just happened.

“Thursday sounds great, (Y/n).”

“Of course, I’ll lock it in. How does catching those last few episodes tonight sound? We can ugly cry and eat ice-cream like the cliché we are,” you say with an enthusiastic clap of your hands, and Jimin smiles tenderly. You always have a sense for what he needs.

He inwardly thanks the heavens for your existence, because now he won’t be alone in the silence of his home, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Even Mandu couldn’t help him sometimes.

“Lovely. It sounds lovely.”

You’ve changed him, and he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you just how thankful he is.

So when his phone rings one late night and he sees your name light up on the screen, he doesn’t hesitate to pick it up, even though his past self would have lethargically thrown it to the side while shrinking away from any kind of human interaction that wasn’t necessary.

“Hey,” he mumbles, eyes still squeezed shut from sleep.

Silence.

He’s startled into a more wakeful state by Mandu lifting his head suddenly from his lap, the attentive canine’s ears twitching as he bores holes into the phone in Jimin’s hand. Now worrying, Jimin says your name into the phone twice, eyes scanning the way his dog seems to be picking up whatever tiny sounds are coming from the speaker.

There’s a sniffle, and a tiny hiccup. “Jimin … I’m sorry. Can you come over right now?”

Anxiety flares up like some kind of wildfire within him, and Jimin’s rocketing from the bed before he can take the time to stop, breathe and think. Mandu follows, a bark of alarm leaving him as he dances around Jimin’s bare feet in excitement. He gets that the dog doesn’t know any better, but from the sound of your sobbing on the other side of the line, anyone could tell that something had gone terribly wrong.

He needs to be by your side now.

“Mandu stay,” he orders, not caring to use any proper commands due to the way his hands are shaking. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, just as it had way back when he’d rushed Mandu to the vet for a simple arthritis problem. Now, his next favourite being in the world was the source of his panic.

He’s thrown on whatever clothes he can find and tries to ignore Mandu’s flurry of whines and howls from inside the house once he’s settled in the car. You’re still on the phone, but he can barely get a word in when you’re crying and blubbering nonsense like you currently are. The most Jimin can do as he drives is what he would need in the stark moments of a mental breakdown, gentle words of encouragement and … a song.

He hates himself for it, but he remembers the lullaby his brother used to sing for him whenever he cried, and he hopes to dear God that he can calm you down with his voice just as Taehyung had when they were younger. The soothing notes fall from his lips, and the memories they bring hurt so much that he can feel himself choking up, but he tells himself that you matter more.

He pulls up to your house ten minutes later, your crying thankfully reduced to a collection of whimpers and sniffles. He doesn’t dare hang up, but barges through the front door without a single second of hesitation. He briefly glimpses the flash of a white fluffy tail disappearing down the hallway, the cat obviously scared out of its mind from the recent events.

Then he sees you curled up in the kitchen, and he just wants to make everything stop.

You’ve got your head in between your knees, tears falling freely from your cheeks as you cradle one arm in your other. Jimin notices with a jolt of shock that the arm you’re holding is all red and blotchy, and it’s clear to him that you must’ve burned yourself somehow.

He rushes to your side and holds you as carefully as he can, almost slipping on the pool of water and charred remnants of baking paper scattered on the tiled floor just beside you. “What happened?” he urges after trying to soothe your trembling form for ten minutes.

He has you on your feet now, arm in the sink as he runs icy cold water over the heated skin as gently as he can. He’s clumsier than you though, so even as he tries to handle your limbs with as much care as you’d once handled Mandu at the clinic, you still wince in pain every now and again. Guilt shoots through Jimin every time, but he knows you’ll forgive him.

You don’t speak until your arm is sufficiently treated and wrapped, thanks to Jimin’s courses in first aid that he can barely remember at this point, but it serves him well enough for now. Your eyes are downcast, and your lips are cracked from all the grief you’d caused them with your teeth. He waits for you to get it together.

“I’m … I’m sorry you had to come all this way-”

“Don’t say that, I’m so glad you called me (Y/n),” he cuts you off, leading you to the plush couch in the living room and sitting you down firmly. He kneels in front of your figure, now wrapped tightly in a blanket for security and comfort, and rests both of his hands on your upper arms.

“You need to tell me what happened, do you feel alright now?”

You nod your head, but he fixes you with strong disbelieving eyes and boom you’re weakened, shaking your head with a sigh. “No, I’m not.”

“How can I help? I’m not great at it, but I really want to help you,” he says earnestly, fingers pressing circles into your arms and calming you down enough to breathe evenly. Your lips twitch up into a nervous smile.

“That song you sang over the phone helped a lot, actually. I don’t know why.”

Hearing that causes Jimin to undergo a whirlwind of conflicted emotions, but he once again tells himself that you’re the only one that matters right now. He starts to sing again but you reach forward to ruffle his messy hair with a chuckle. “It’s okay, I’m just letting you know.”

Thank God, he thinks. Then again, maybe if he uses the melody and lyrics for good, those negative associations could be turned into positive ones. Maybe it was time to make the song his own.

He sees you struggling to think of where to begin and shifts to take a seat next to you with a smile. “Just start with what happened, yeah?”

“Okay.” You nod, combing back your hair with your fingers and wiping the last salty tears from your skin. “So I wanted to try baking something…”

You eye him with a glimmer of amusement in your gaze, and he instantly capitalises on it. “Well there’s your first mistake.”

You playfully wack him, feeling your spirits lift at the sound of his laugh and the sight of his crescent moon-shaped eyes. He really was your light in the dark right now.

“It was going well, actually, but then I heard Ghostie knock something over in my room and I went to check for … not even two seconds.”

Jimin knows that this is where it gets serious, your eyes glaze over again and he can see the recollection of the events flashing through your mind like a reel of film. “I left the baking paper out, and the space was way too messy, I-I definitely should’ve kept it cleaner. I came back and there were some things on fire, but nothing too bad. I just…”

You bend down to rest your face into your hands once more, and Jimin quietly rubs your back in concern. By the looks of it, you were able to put the fire out easily, so what exactly prompted you to break down like that?

You lift your head and keep your shaky hands clamped together by your lips, eyes stricken and weary from the onslaught of emotional stress. “There’s something I haven’t told you yet Jiminie, I would never hide anything from you, so I guess it just never came up. It’s … why I kind of lost the plot after throwing water over the entire kitchen like a lunatic.”

“You can tell me,” he soothes, brows furrowing in distress.

“It’s my parents. How they died….”

His throat tightens with apprehension at the topic, knowing it’s something you definitely avoid talking about whenever it comes up. It was always buried so deep, and Jimin can’t recall ever asking you about the finer details of what you went through.

He feels time slow to a halt as you utter your next words. “They died in a house fire when I was fourteen. Burned to death.”

Oh fuck. Fuck.

It falls into place now, and Jimin snaps out of his daze when he feels your shoulder shudder underneath the palm of his hand. He’s at a loss for words, the sight of how truly upset you are making his heart sink in sorrow.

He scoots over on the couch to hold you close and whisper soft calming words. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’re alright, I’m here now.”

You know he has no idea how much it means to you, just hearing those simple words when the anxiety and fear continue to claw at your throat like hellish nails. You’re caught in its grip, the flashing images of flames and the sounds and smells of screeching, burning, crumbling to dust. It surrounds you, and you choke on the tendrils of smoke as if they’re really there, filling your lungs like a heavy sand. It stings, and it’s excruciating.

“Maybe I’d fare a little better … if I’d just stayed somewhere else that night,” you can’t help whimpering out, the memories resurfacing too quickly for you to have control over them.

“You were there?” Jimin reels. Hearing that you’d witnessed your own parent’s death was nothing short of devastating. That was way too much for a young mind to handle, surely. Could the world really be that cruel to one of, if not the most amazing person he’s ever met? He can’t help but cry for you in this moment, trying his best to stay silent as his tears soak into your shirt.

You both stay locked together for another hour or so, Jimin listening intently as you explain the story to him of what happened that night. It’s agonising to relive it, but you know he needs to hear it from you. There’s nowhere else he can hear it from, really.

“Y’know, working in the force meant I had to handle situations like that a few times. It was rare, but it did happen. I’ve seen the faces of the families; I’ve seen the damage it can cause. I just wish you hadn’t been alone, fuck,” he mumbles, hating that he can’t just go back and fix what’s unfixable.

You wave him off. “Jimin, you’ve done more for me tonight than … literally anyone’s ever done for me. Truly, I love you for that.”

His heart leaps in his chest.

“I don’t relapse too often,” you carry on shakily, “it’s just that the sight of a fire that’s out of control just … it just terrifies me so much. I see their faces in the flames.”

It’s so fucking messed up. He feels his entire being shiver in discomfort at the image you’re painting for him, but he only holds you closer. He wants to chase it all away, even though deep down he knows he can’t. All he can do is be here for you, with you when you need it most.

“That’s why I went into vet science,” you say, eyes growing brighter the longer Jimin embraces you. It’s like he’s physically holding you together, and it’s so very safe in his arms. “I had to come to terms with death as a concept, like properly. I wanted to save those who didn’t deserve it just yet, those who deserve to live longer lives just like they did. It’s my life’s purpose.”

Jimin comes to the realisation, right then and there, that he probably loves you.

You are, without a doubt in his mind, the strongest and most remarkable person he’s ever met. He wants to be around you all the time, wants to share your energy, wants to be half as amazing as you are – with every fibre of his being. It’s not like he can just say that though. Not right now, anyway.

He tucks the thought away for another time. A better one.

“What about you? Why did you want to become a police officer?” you ask, snorting once into a tissue to finally rid yourself of the snot and tears.

“Me?” Jimin chuckles. You’re always one to turn it around, never wanting the spotlight for more than needed. He fondly reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, grazing the skin of your cheek along the way and making you smile wistfully.

“Well, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. It always comes down to justice, right? We all want to enforce that, protect those that need protecting, and saving lives as well. I’m very similar to you in that sense,” he starts, clearing his throat to lighten the atmosphere with a confident tone. You find yourself snuggling into his side, just longing to hear him talk for hours while you wrap yourself in the warmth of the blanket and his reassuring presence.

“My family left a while back, and my brother was the only one who stayed with me. Both of us had to fend for ourselves, and with me being the eldest, it was easy to fall into that father-figure kind of mould. I wanted to protect what we had, but it was pretty laughable when I was the smaller kid.” Jimin laughs, surprising not only himself, but you with the way he speaks about his past so openly and without any bitterness or animosity.

He was looking at it a different way, and he had you to thank for that.

“So I trained,” he continues. “I trained so hard and spent years proving myself. I came home to our tiny flat every night, prouder than I’d been the night before. And Tae-”

His throat tightens and he has to cut himself off, the syllables of his brother’s name dying on his tongue due to disuse. He hasn’t said it in years, and the feeling his name conjures is strange. There’s the ever-present cold hard hatred building in his chest, but in some wild and wacky way, it’s easier to move past it.

“Taehyung … he was so proud of me too.”

You lift your head from where it rests on Jimin’s chest, moving your hand to envelope his where it resides in his lap. His fingers grasp yours gently, a simple squeeze telling you that he’s alright to keep going. He’s got you so relaxed in his arms that you can almost feel yourself falling asleep, but you know you mustn’t. You have to stay awake for him right now, right when he’s opening up completely.

“Since you shared your story, I figure I have to share mine.” Jimin smiles, the expression not completely reaching his eyes. Both of you have made so much progress tonight, it’s not even funny. He knows that if he doesn’t tell you now, he most likely never will.

“We … fell in love with the same person, me and Tae. It got ugly, and we were super close until the countless fights and yelling matches tore us apart. Even after we both got over this person, we couldn’t stand each-other. We couldn’t make it through one day without a handful of painful jabs being sent back and forth. It was bad, so bad.” He takes a deep breath, and you sit up slightly to hold him closer. The positions were reversed now.

“I needed him, despite all that, I really did. He was the only one left, and I was too proud to just forget everything that’d happened to us. I got offered a place in an exchange program with a group of officers in my force, it was to Europe and it went for no longer than two weeks, but when I got back Tae was…”

“He was gone,” you finish for him when he can’t, raising your hand to wipe the singular tear cascading down his smooth cheek. Jimin sniffs and smiles at you, turning to bury his face into your hair and letting out a large, heavy exhale.

“I sold the flat after many nights of just crying and breaking down,” he mumbles softly into your head. “I still don’t know where he went, but I also didn’t want to exploit my access to citizen information to find out. I think that’s when my passion for the force started to die down, though it took years for me to finally have the guts to leave. Nothing’s fair in this godforsaken world.”

It was a harsh and negative outlook, but you found yourself agreeing to a certain extent. Here you were, the epitome of optimism and ‘bright side’ herself, wanting to watch the world burn for just a second. Just like your family had.

You cringe at your own line of thought. “It’s our job to make it better-”

“Don’t even say it (Y/n), I swear to God,” Jimin warns playfully, cupping you cheeks in both palms and squishing them until your lips open and close like a fish. His eyes sparkle with adoration, and you whine out in protest against his actions before you can get lost in them.

“I’m just saying!”

“Don’t just say! Let me be emo for once you fool.” He tackles you onto the couch, spirits steadily rising from the depressing venture into his memories. Feeling light and as unburdened as a feather, he pins you down and tickles your sides mercilessly.

You miss the warmth of his comforting hugs but can’t help shrieking in laughter as you let it happen. You’re happier seeing him happy anyway.

Before things can escalate further, a disapproving meow interrupts the two of you, and you both whip your heads to the side to see Ghost sitting in the middle of the room. Her tail twitches in annoyance, and her face seems to be screaming ‘are you lumbering idiots done yet?’.

“Wow, a whole mood-killer. Maybe we should clean up the kitchen, actually,” you suggest while trying to catch your breath, grateful for the reprieve. Jimin’s eyes flit back to meet yours, and you catch the dark look he’s giving you. He knows you’re just trying to escape him right now.

“Fine, but don’t go thinking you’re off the hook even for a second.”

~

Weeks fly by after your emotion-packed, train-wreck of a night. If anything, it only drew you and Jimin closer than ever. You now had another layer to your friendship, another reason to stick together through thick and thin.

Jimin had attended around three hydrotherapy sessions with Mandu, and to your delight, it actually seemed to be working well! The dog would definitely soon be right on track to return to his former glory, minus the slight greying around his muzzle from old age. There only seemed to be one problem though…

Mandu was shit scared of water.

Every single time, the poor canine would whine and yelp for his owner as if he were legitimately dying. You could only watch on in amused silence, pursing your lips to hold back a cackle as your best friend had to bend down at the pool’s edge in order to calm the dog down.

The staff members working at the specialist pool were understanding at least, but that didn’t stop Jimin’s cheeks from flushing with embarrassment every single time.

“Buddy please, you’ve literally chased down killers and jumped over an entire ravine before. Some water won’t kill you!”

It fell on deaf ears, and Mandu howled extra forcefully in defiance. You couldn’t hold back your snort of laughter this time, the scene of the heated argument between dog and owner way too funny to let slide. Jimin throws a betrayed look at you over his shoulder, grumbling something under his breath you can’t quite catch.

In the end, some of the more patient staff members manage to coax the shaky dog into the water, and it’s with great struggle that they finally manage to get him swimming properly. Jimin has to stay within the dog’s line of sight 24/7, even one moment away and Mandu would start thrashing about and yipping in a panic.

You laugh at Jimin the entire time as you stand back to watch, the looks he sends you in return having ‘traitor’ written all over them. If he didn’t have to stay dutifully by the poolside, you’d be in your right mind to believe he’d storm over and kick you into next week for being so bratty.

“You just need to practice. Get him used to it,” you tell him once you’re all leaving the facility, a freshly dried pooch trotting beside you with fur sticking up in all directions. You can’t help but think the dog reminds you of Jimin like this, back when he’d rushed to the clinic in all kinds of disarray.

“Used to it? Did you see him in there!?” Jimin splutters, squatting down to hold Mandu’s face sternly between his palms. The dog remains unbothered as he flashes you a side-eye for assistance.

“Yes I saw. I’m surprised police dogs don’t spend more time training in water, to be honest,” you muse thoughtfully, reaching down to ruffle Mandu’s ears in reassurance. “It’s okay baby boy, you’re not alone,” you coo, smiling when the dog’s tail wags twice in response.

“Baby b…” Jimin trails off, clearing his throat consciously after feeling heat crawl up his neck at the pet-name.

“Anyway, it’s been a few sessions and he hasn’t quite got the hang of it. Why don’t we try spending some time in the water outside of sessions too?” you suggest cheerfully.

“Where? I don’t have a pool.” Jimin cocks an incredulous brow. There’s no way any public pool in these parts would let some random dude and his dog splash around and dirty their space.

You step up and poke Jimin firmly in the chest with one finger. “Did you just never look out the back of my place?”

“You have a pool? What in the hell-”

Jimin’s mouth hangs open in outrage. Even after all this time, he really hadn’t noticed it even once? You had to be fucking with him. “No way.”

“Uhh, yes way? Dude all you had to do was look outside.” You rest your hands on your hips, definitely unimpressed right now but trying your best not to laugh at him too much. He’s already been the butt of all your jokes today. Every single one.

Jimin has to see it for himself to believe it, so the next evening he pulls up to your home with Mandu in the passenger seat. The poor baby is blissfully unaware of the fate that awaits him here, but Jimin only feels the sweet, sweet taste of revenge on his tongue at the notion. After the hell Mandu had put him through these past few weeks, it was time to get payback.

“C’mon boy,” he sniggers. An evil grin stretches across his face and figurative crimson devil horns poke out from his hair.

“How dare you take advantage of him and his inability to be human,” you drawl lazily from the now open front door, and Jimin jumps in his skin from the shock. He hadn’t even made it to the damn porch and you’d already heard him.

“He deserves the slander.”

You shake your head and lead the duo inside, instantly groaning when Ghost and Mandu begin hissing and snarling at each other like their toes have been stepped on. Your fluffy white cat has all her hackles raised in hostility, and the dog in return has his lips drawn back to reveal a row of sharp white fangs.

You’re at your wits end, and similar to the other few instances of Mandu and Ghost meeting, you stomp your foot and stand over the pair as menacingly as you can. “You two are acting like complete animals right now, calm down or you’re going into timeout!”

When the two pets actually shut up, Jimin guffaws with no restraint. You simply huff, as if expecting that your threats would work regardless, and gesture to the glass sliding door adjacent to the kitchen. “It’s out there, are you happy now?”

Jimin cranes his neck and lo and behold, there it is in all its glory. A fucking pool. And to top it all off, it’s even surrounded by a towering black metal fence and gate, as if Jimin didn’t feel stupid enough for not noticing it already.

“So who was wrong and who was right?”

“Shut up.”

The two of you get ready to begin your little ‘home brand’ hydrotherapy session, with Jimin already donning swim trunks in case he has to jump in and intervene at any point. The pool is already much deeper than he’d anticipated, considering the ones at the actual therapy centre were nice and shallow for the dogs in rehab.

You’re dressed in a similar manner, with small tight shorts and a black t-shirt that’s so long it almost hides the fact that you’re wearing pants at all. Jimin has to keep his gaze controlled from raking up the expanse of your bare legs. He wonders if you’d somehow planned to get him all hot and bothered, seeing as it was a warm Spring night that was perfect for taking a dip.

“Okay, well he already seems spooked at the sight of water. You’re going to have to get in,” you say apprehensively, eyeing the way Mandu is already shifting anxiously from paw to paw. You’re all stood beside the shallow end of the pool, the gate fastened shut in case the dog tries to make a break for it suddenly.

Jimin coaxes Mandu forward with soft words of support and praise, taking the steps one at a time. It’s obvious how much the canine is hating this, his ears are pinned flat to his head and his knees are wobbling from the fear. Your heart is shot through with pity for the animal, but he needs to get better at this.

“Here, I’ll help,” you mumble, getting to your feet and stepping into the pool behind the jittery dog. With Jimin pulling him forward by his shoulders, and you urging him onwards from behind, it doesn’t take long for him to start doggy-paddling around. You help Jimin monitor his movements, checking for any signs of discomfort but finding nothing as Mandu works to keep his snout above water.

“I think he’s less nervous because it’s just us,” Jimin comments, a wide smile on his face at seeing his boy paddle around calmly. No frantic thrashing, no barking, no outbreak of chaos as usual.

“Funny that,” you breathe out with a chuckle. The waterline comes up to around your chest at this height, and you shiver as the cool liquid brushes against the underside of your bra. “I can’t go much further, all my underwear’s gonna get wet.”

The innuendo is essentially fresh bait, and you already know you’ve set yourself up nicely just before Jimin chuckles. “Right, why don’t you just go back and take a cold shower then huh?”

“Literally fuck you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get wet?”

You gape at his bold humour, not used to the suggestive way he’s eyeing you as he leads his innocent dog around in the pool. If you were being honest, the ideas he’s putting into your head are absolutely sinful to say the least.

“What if I do?” you scoff, and two seconds later you’re plunging deeper into the refreshing coolness of the water before Jimin can even clap back with something lewder. You’re completely submerged, and for some reason Mandu begins to panic slightly when you vanish from sight.

“Woah, it’s okay she’s not drowning,” Jimin hushes in a serious tone, making sure to support the dog’s body with both arms as the animal treads through the water with powerful kicks of his hind legs. You resurface further down, hair now completely wet and sticking to your head uncomfortably.

“Hey, he got scared for you just then,” Jimin calls out. You feel a tug on your heartstrings and swim back down to the shallower part of the pool.

“Aw, Mandu was worried for me? What happened to hating my guts for stealing Jimin?”

Jimin gives you a weird look at that. “Stealing me? Jesus, do I just exist to be passed around by you guys?”

“Maybe.” You giggle. Something about the assertive way you act has Jimin feeling hot all over, and he’s reminded yet again that it’s a quality of yours he’s come to find madly attractive.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that your basically halfway naked not even a metre away from him. He can’t even focus on the task at hand when he gets a full view of your soaked t-shirt, and how the outlines of your rounded chest are now completely visible to his watchful eyes.

He can’t help but gulp at the thoughts running through his mind. “Hey, how long has it been now? Think that’s about one session’s worth for today.”

“Right, it probably is. Good progress! I might stay out here for a bit though, it’s super hot and my air conditioner basically cracked the shits last night.”

Jimin climbs out of the pool, the hem of his shirt soaked but luckily everything above that dry as a bone. He grabs a towel and dries Mandu off, whispering praises of how well he did to swim properly today. Once he’s done, he opens the gate and lets the dog out to run around your somewhat spacious backyard. Jimin has to look away in disdain, because he knows it won’t be long before his buddy starts rolling around and making himself filthy again.

Jimin returns his gaze back to you, and he stifles a laugh when he sees you randomly floating on your back in the middle of the pool, limbs splayed out like a starfish. You look dead to the world, but honestly, he can’t blame you. It is rather hot for a Spring night.

He barely even thinks about his actions before he’s peeling the shirt from his back. His honey blonde hair becomes tousled from the movement, and he throws away the piece of clothing without batting an eyelid.

As for you, well, now you’re stressed.

Sure, you knew he was an ex-police officer. You knew he worked out daily and took care of himself unbelievably well. Sure, you were happy to just close your eyes and pretend like you weren’t ogling the heck out of him right now, but it just wasn’t happening.

He was absolutely beautiful; you could even say carved from marble and it wouldn’t be much of a stretch. It was difficult not to gawk at the smooth way his muscled arms and shoulders tapered down into a gracefully cinched waist, not to mention the nice set of washboard abs and delicious V-line that has your mouth very nearly watering. You remind yourself to ask him later what the large ‘Nevermind’ tattoo stretching along his ribcage means.

“Wow, you could have some shame.” He flashes you that shit-eating grin, but frankly, you’re just ecstatic that he seems to be so confident in his own skin. Once upon a time throughout your friendship, he would have never been this comfortable around you.

“What, am I not allowed to appreciate what you’re showing me? You could’ve easily just left the shirt on,” you complain loudly, rolling over to lay face down in the water in hopes that it would douse the heating of your rapidly burning cheeks. With your eyes and ears underwater, you only feel the ripples hit your skin as he jumps in to join you.

You lift your head and gasp for air, catching sight of him swimming towards you rapidly. “Wait, what are you doing!?” You barely get to shout before he’s picking you up and throwing you back down into the water with a tremendous splash, loud laughter booming from his chest as you scream and struggle in his grip.

“Jimin I swear-”

You cut yourself off by sweeping a massive wave of water in his direction with both arms, grinning wickedly as it smacks him straight in the face. He wipes at his eyes and shakes his head, much like a dog would, and you vaguely register Mandu’s barks of excitement from somewhere out in the yard.

“I’m getting you back for that,” Jimin grunts, and you feel your stomach squirm as he starts moving towards you again.

“No, no, no! Okay I’ll be good, leave me please!”

Your pleas are left unheard as you try to escape from his grasp, but he’s too quick and too strong to evade. Your legs kick up into the air helplessly as he dunks you again, and once you finally resurface, he’s already got you in his hold. “Stop, I can’t compete with you, you beefcake.” You purse your lips and blow a raspberry of pool spittle into his face, struggling within his arms in fear that he would start throwing you again, or even worse … tickle you.

Your loud wails and shrieks of laughter had filled the air for the past ten minutes or so, but you were obviously weaker than he was, and you both knew you were going to tire out much faster. So, to your pleasant surprise, he stops teasing you and simply holds you by the waist, high enough that your entire head and neck are above water.

“You’re absolutely ruthless,” you grumble, bringing your hands up to rest on his bare biceps for support. You marvel at the way the lean muscles flex underneath your fingers as he shifts you to be more comfortable.

It’s so very hot, and you can’t help but notice the heat licking at your abdomen the longer you stay locked in this position. Your legs wrapped around his torso, and his face is just above the line of your soaked chest. You just thank God you hadn’t chosen to wear a white shirt at this point.

“Yeah, well you’re just fun to mess with,” he finally responds after a few moments of slowly floating around the pool’s edge. You smile warmly down at him and use both your hands to comb back his dripping hair with your deft fingers. Once again, you’re stunned into silence at how attractive he truly is. Especially when he looks at you like that.

Wait, why is he looking at you like that?

His handsome eyes are dark, and lidded. He’s smirking at you just as he always does, but this time there’s something different. The air around you changes. It feels … charged.

He’s not done, shockingly, and he continues to back you up until you feel the edge of the pool press into your back ever so slightly. He then lets you down to stand on your own two feet now that it’s shallow, your toes brush the pool tiles suddenly and the feeling elicits a small jump of surprise.

He’s closer than he’s ever been, and you feel your breath hitch at the feeling of his bare chest brushing against the material of your saturated bra. His hands come up to trace the line of your waist again, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Jimin,” you sigh, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hands have a mind of their own at this point, and they find themselves tracing the lines of his dripping arm muscles once more. His eyes are staring into your own, burning with a heat and a desire you know all too well.

He wants you, right now.

You immediately cave in, feeling your thighs squeeze together as he descends upon your lips. The kiss is somewhere in between sensual and ravenous, with both your lips parting almost simultaneously in pleasant surprise. He lifts one hand from your hips to tangle into the wet hair at the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him as he melds his lips together with yours.

God, you’ve pined after him for so long that you somehow forgot what the feeling was called. You moan softly into the kiss and feel his lips quirk into a smile. He immediately knows just how badly you’d been craving this, and honestly, he’s been thinking about the exact same thing for months now. You both just needed some kind of hot situation to force you together, to give you the confidence to finally take the chance.

“You don’t know how long I’ve just wanted to have you like this,” Jimin says in a low voice, pulling back to catch his breath and rest his forehead upon yours for a moment. Your heart is going absolutely crazy in your chest, and you bring both your hands up to cup his face gently.

“I’ve wanted you since we met in that damn park, can you beat that?” You hum sweetly.

His eyes widen immensely, but then soften in a warm realisation. “Okay, I think you got me there. It’s been a couple of months though. Wow, the park? Really?”

You nod, and he lifts his hand to cover yours over his cheek. His eyes are swimming with a love so deep and profound, you just want to kiss him silly. “Yeah, I mean I don’t think I fully realised it until later on. I was happy to just keep that crazy good friendship of ours, but then I knew all along I was in deep,” you say candidly.

Jimin kisses you again long and hard. “Shit, I think I’m gonna say it. I love you. God I love you so, so much.”

You could almost cry at the heartfelt confession. His smile is blindingly bright, and his eyes are positively gleaming with happiness. You realise then that they weren’t tired anymore. Perhaps they hadn’t been for a while now.

“You saved me, (Y/n). You literally brought me out of a dark place I never thought I’d get to leave.”

“Stop you’re going to make me...”

‘I’m serious,” he murmurs, lifting your face with his thumb and forefinger to catch your overwhelmed expression.

You peck his cute little nose. “I know you are, and the same goes for you! You were always there when I needed you, Jim. I love you so fucking much, it hurts.”

He laughs airily, chest feeling light and fit to burst from your requited affections. He can’t believe that for once, this cruel world had decided to give him something nice for a change. He was … actually allowed to keep you?  

At the same time, you’re positively brimming with relief and pure bliss. You jerk forward and catch him in a needy kiss mid-laugh, silencing all your nerves and disbelief as he returns it passionately. You squeak in surprise when he lifts your body – with ease, you might add, thanks to his physique – to sit up on the edge of the pool.

He continues to trail his lips along your skin as you hold him tight, and you love the way he handles you so carefully as if you’ll break in his palms if he’s somehow too rough. You simply can’t wait to see his face when you tell him you like it that way.

As he moves to your neck, you snake your arms around him and drag your nails down his back sensually, needing to feel him against you to prove that this is happening, that this is real and not some kind of dream.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, nibbling at the juncture of your neck and sucking harshly at the skin there. The contrast of the cool droplets of water clinging to your body as they meet his hot languid tongue has you shivering all over.

You can’t get enough of his lips, and you’re all but suddenly finding out just how skilled he actually is with his mouth. Tiny lustful whimpers fall freely from your throat as his hands move from your neck down to your breasts, and when he begins to brush his fingertips over your nipples through the shirt and bra with a broken groan, you just about lose it.

“Jimin, I want to feel you,” you choke out, pulling him as close as the edge of the pool will allow. Thankfully, it’s shallow enough on his end that he can still reach up to your face, and you instantly take advantage of your height boost to wrap your legs around his body.

You tilt his chin upwards towards you with one finger and part your lips, instantly feeling his tongue slide fervently past them into your mouth. It’s such a forward and sultry manoeuvre that you lose yourself in the pure unadulterated heat of the moment. God, you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His hands, which had fallen to brace himself on the concrete tiles on either side of your hips, now find purchase on your bare dripping wet thighs. You can’t suppress a shudder when he digs his fingers into those too, tracing circles with his thumbs to let you know where he’s going with this.

You pull away from his irresistible lips with a gasp. “What are you..?”

He smirks, mouth all swollen from your teeth and tongue, eyes pinning you down with a dark gaze full of salacious longing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything hotter, until he growls, “I wanna take you right here, right now,” with a lick of his lips and downward glance of his eyes.

You’re left speechless, and before you can muster up anything to say in response, he’s hooking his arms underneath your knees and parting your shaky thighs slowly. He angles you closer to the edge of the pool, and you want nothing more than to just be under him. “Oh God. Jimin we should go inside.”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but then a flurry of wild barking and panting causes both of you to whip your heads around. There stands the source of the noise in question, all covered in grass and weeds from romping around your yard, and it bounds incessantly around the towering pool fence.

He’s watching you both excitedly and demands your undivided attention with another yap. If you had to take a wild guess as to what the dog wanted, it would be that he wishes to join in with his family’s little ‘wrestling’ match rather than being locked outside in the lonely backyard. You and Jimin exchange a look.

“Yeah, not in front of Mandu.”

“Never in front of him.”

You both grab your towels and scamper inside like two horny teenagers, very naked and afraid, but still laughing the entire way at your predicament.

Safely within your walls and locked away from the innocence of animals, you pick up where you left off beside the pool. The haphazardly tossed pieces of wet clothing and damp footprints throughout the house are soon forgotten when Jimin gets you in between your sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to have you screaming his name well into the night, and you’re sure that by the end of it, his lips and tongue have touched almost every inch of your body.

That’s not to say you didn’t have a fair go at him too, because when you wake in the morning to turn and see your hickeys scattered across his bare neck and stomach, you swear you’ve never felt more satisfied in your life. Yes, he’d proven himself to be quite a little switch in the making, and you feel positively giddy at the prospect of getting so much more time with him to find out exactly where that might lead.

He was yours and you were his. Together, you had something truly marvellous.

He turns his head with a grunt and catches you admiring his sleeping form. The resulting dazzling smile that splits his face leaves you positively breathless, just as every other aspect about him does.

“Morning,” you both mumble at the same time, and while you scrunch your face up in an endeared cringe, Jimin just laughs sweetly at the clumsiness between you. He moves over to plant the softest of kisses to your forehead, and you cuddle into his side like it’s your designated space to reside until the end of time.

In lieu of the family-shaped hole you’d been carrying with you your whole life, there now appeared a Jimin-shaped puzzle piece slotting into place.

And with that, you could ask for nothing more.

 ~

~

 Somewhere in the distant night, a young man taps his finger on the steering wheel of his car as he speeds along the eerily quiet highway.

The late hour does nothing to deter him, and he fights back the drowsiness threatening to pull him under as the road falls away beneath the tyres. He’s been driving for hours, but he persists without rest and soldiers on, full of purpose. Every time he feels a shred of doubt begin to linger in his mind, he glances over to the wrinkled photo resting on his dashboard and the initial burst of vigour returns.

He runs a hand through his long, curly black hair and eyes the photo again. The smiling faces look back at him, and he immediately wonders for the millionth time if he truly is doing the right thing here. The turn-off sign whizzes by his car window, and he realises that now is his last chance to change his mind.

He can keep living a peaceful life if he just continues straight past without looking back, but there’s no way he can do that. He can’t fail his only remaining family any longer.

He veers for the turn-off, taking a deep breath and reaching forward to brush a finger against one of the smiling faces in the roughly crinkled photo. It’s final, he’s made his decision.

I’m coming home. 

.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵  

TO BE CONTINUED

Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

[dearjamesxo]

[drabble under cut]

They’re on their way to wish Bea luck when it happens.

Billy, Spike and Jessie trudge against the midafternoon crowd, Spike boasting a story from his childhood – no doubt exaggerated to the moon to impress Jessie. Billy listens with half an ear, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes on the ground. He doesn’t react when someone bumps into him.

“He’s in a mood,” Jessie teases to Spike when Spike tries, for the fourth time, to include Billy in the conversation.

Spike snorts, “I can see that. Which is why I’m trying to cheer ‘im up.” He sidles into Billy’s space, claps a friendly hand on Billy’s shoulder and asks, “Come on, mate, who shoved that monumental stick up your arse?”

Billy’s jaw twitches. He tucks his chin into his chest and hunches further into himself, hoping to relay how much he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Is it the whole we’re not good enough tripe?” Spike questions, rolling a hand in the air to encompass the tripe he’s referring to. “Because the way I look at it, we got lucky. Who wants to go to a stuffy old ball anyway?” Spike’s tone suggests he does, but Billy refrains from pointing it out, “Let Bea and the good doctor go and deal with all that crap, while we—” He leans back and grins across the breadth of Billy’s shoulders, winks at Jessie, “—get to enjoy ourselves!”

Billy doesn’t respond, simply shrugs and keeps his pace, his shoulder colliding with another man’s. Again, Billy doesn’t even seem to register that the man told him to, watch where yer goin’!

Yes, Billy’s in a mood, definitely, but it doesn’t have anything to do with Bea or Watson or the ball Spike mentioned. In fact, it was Billy’s idea to go find Bea before Watson collects her at Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

As usual, Watson’s swanning Bea off to perform for another investigation, some undercover business that apparently, “Only Beatrice has the maturity and patience to pull off,” thanks for the confidence, “the rest of you will merely serve to attract unwanted attention.” As if Bea done up like a gateau de savoie won't attract attention. Although Bea has learned to carry herself less woodenly than she did, she isn't exactly graceful when laced into a gown. Jessie's the better candidate, equipped with supernatural powers to boot, but Watson's mind was made up. Besides, Billy's noticed that he and Bea have some sort of connection; they seem to get each other in a way that leaves everyone else behind.

Howbeit, Watson’s condescending remark isn’t what gets Billy’s dander up either. That honor goes to His Royal Highness, Prince I-Have-To-Escort-Helena. Not that Billy wants to go through the trouble of pampering and primping for a ball he’s sure he’ll hate every minute of. But Leo could’ve at least had the courtesy to pretend he was regretful, since he already has so much experience pretending to be something he isn’t.

Billy scowls at his shoes, kicks a pebble harder than he means to. He ducks his head and picks up his pace when he hears a strangled yelp and sees, from the corner of his eye, a man clasp his ankle and hop on one foot.

Oops.

It’s then that the short hairs at the back of his neck rise, his scalp tingles, the sensation of being watched shivering up Billy's spine. He lifts his chin and, immediately, his gaze is drawn to the end of the street.

“Isn’t that—?” Jessie starts, tugging Billy’s wrist to get his attention. Then, much quieter, under her breath, “Oh,” as if she's figured something out.

Billy yanks his wrist out of her light grasp and squares his shoulders, ignorant of the utterly baffled Spike sends Jessie behind his back. “Wait here,” he gruffs and stalks toward the end of the street. Or more precisely, toward who lingers there.

“We’ll meet you!” Spike calls after him and wraps an arm around Jessie. She tries to resist, head craning, but Spike guides her down the cross street in the direction of Mrs. Smith’s shoppe.

Like a wolf preparing to lunge, Billy stalks toward Leo, expression hard and fists clenched. Leo returns the sentiment with a rigid, neutral set to his features, stare unwavering. Billy inwardly chastises himself for the heat of desire that rushes through him upon seeing Leo. No matter how pissed he is with the prince, Billy can never deny how attractive Leo is like this, all lofty courage and attitude, golden against the smutty backdrop of the Marylebone rookery. God, Billy wants to strip Leo of his finery, fuck him until he remembers who he really belongs to. And it isn't, Billy thinks in a possessive growl, Helena.

Theirs will never be a public romance, a reality Billy understood from the start, only it didn't feel so impossibly cruel until the moment Leo casually mentioned he would be attending the very ball Bea and Watson would with Helena on his arm. As if he wasn't lounging between Billy's legs, his back to Billy's chest, his fingers laced with Billy's. It never ceases to amaze Billy how terrible Leo is at reading a room because Jessie's discomfited expression alone should've been a clue that something wasn't right. Even so, Billy kept his mouth shut because he's supposed to be fine with it, isn't he?

Easier said than done, Billy knows now.

As much as they - Billy and Leo and Leo and Helena - have an agreement, it still cuts deep when Billy has to step aside so Leo can appease his mother by flaunting the person society deems Leo's best match.

“What’re you doing here?” Billy demands to know the instant he’s within earshot.

Leo flinches slightly, then musters the confidence to say, “I’d like to have a word.”

“With your side piece?” Billy mocks disbelief, “I’ll bet.”

“Billy, please, if you would just listen—”

Billy’s in front of Leo now, standing at the closeness he’s grown accustomed to since he and Leo became he and Leo. He didn’t mean to narrow the distance so quickly, wants to hold on to the anger because it’s easier, except that to put himself anywhere else in Leo’s orbit feels intrinsically wrong.

“Better make it quick, your highness,” Billy sneers, “I’m sure your lady doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Leo erupts through gritted teeth, though his tone maintains a respectable volume as propriety demands, “I’m not going.”

This stops Billy's mounting rage in its tracks, all at once replaced with a confusion that shows itself on Billy's face. A simple “What?” tumbles out of his mouth as he frowns at Leo as if Leo told him the sky is actually green.

“I’m not going.” Leo repeats.

Billy grabs Leo by the upper arm and drags him out of the middle of the crowded street, into a narrow lane that separates the butcher’s and an Indian-owned tearoom. Leo doesn’t resist, allows Billy to manhandle him, and stops moving altogether when Billy pushes him against the brick wall just inside the lane. Suddenly, Billy’s flooded with concern.

“What happened?” Because it has to be something awful if Leo can shirk his responsibility for the evening. “Is Helena alright?”

Leo’s brows furrow, eyes flickering between Billy’s, down to hover on Billy’s mouth before they slip to the ground where they remain. He huffs a humorless laugh, “Helena’s fine, you massive boor.” and slumps against the wall Billy has him pinned to by the shoulders, defeat obvious in his posture.

“Then what—?”

“It’s you!”

Well, that can't be right. Leo's never missed an engagement his mother's insisted upon for Billy in the weeks they've been, well, them. Billy has to make sure, “Me?”

Gesturing helplessly with one hand, Leo explains, “How can I go and act as though I care about anything my mother’s contemporaries have to say when all I can think about is you, here, upset with me?” A tiny smile curls Billy’s mouth, “I love you, you idiot.” Leo says as though he's said it a thousand times - he hasn't, this is the first and Leo doesn't appear to notice he's shared such an important declaration in the middle of a rant. Billy wants to say it back all the more for it. “Helena made a fuss when I told her, practically pushed me out the window so I would come find you.”

Floating on a wave of giddiness, assuaged by Leo's words, Billy remembers how much he likes Helena. Helena who has her Henrik in Münster and swore not to intrude on Leo's relationship with Billy as long as Leo issues her the same respect.

Billy leans in and places his forehead against Leo’s, hands sliding from Leo’s shoulders to cradle Leo’s jaw, resting the pads of his thumbs gently at the corners of Leo’s mouth. A small chuckle escapes him, unable to contain it, and Billy shuffles forward to press their bodies flush from waist to hips to knees, fondly brushes the tips of their noses, then tilts his head and captures Leo’s lips in a sweet yet hot-hungry kiss.

When he pulls back, he wonders, “Or maybe it’s Helena I should be thanking?” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, smiling playfully, “Should I be kissing her instead?”

Eyes in grumpy, feline slits, Leo protests, “Don’t you dare.”

“Mm, you’re right, she’s really not my type.”

Abruptly, Billy untangles himself from Leo, bends enough to grab Leo by the back of the thighs and lifts. Leo cries out shrilly, startled, the action forcing his legs to wrap around Billy’s waist and his arms to lock around Billy’s neck. Cackling, Billy pins Leo with his body, his fingers kneading the sensitive flesh just below Leo’s arse, eliciting a moan that he swallows greedily.

“Is this really the appropriate time?” Leo pants, throwing his head back when Billy grinds their hips together, making them both groan.

“Not even a little bit.”

As Billy leans in for another kiss, Leo interrupts by putting two fingers to Billy's lips. “Perhaps,” He says, voice pitched suggestively, “We should take this elsewhere,” Here, Leo kitten licks Billy’s parted lips, darts his tongue into Billy's mouth quickly, moves on to dot Billy’s jaw with a trail of dry kisses. He reaches Billy's ear and continues in a whisper, “Somewhere you can spread me open,” A nip to Billy’s earlobe, “And show me what happens when I upset you?”

Billy's cock twitches in interest. He takes in Leo’s pink cheeks and glassy, blown eyes, decides, “Sounds like a marvelous idea.”

In a swift sequence of motions, Billy drops Leo to his feet, carefully repositions him, crouches, and then hoists Leo over his shoulder. Spike was right, Billy grins, patting the swell of one of Leo's arse cheeks in victory, who wants to go to a stuffy old ball, anyway?

[zeldasayer]

I’m not sure if requests are open? If they are how do you think Pedro’s characters would react to a sexually inexperienced s/o who actually wants to learn/experience more with them? (If requests please ignore this Lol!)

18+ Smut. Daddy kink Whiskey. Bad bad Max. The usual.

Agent Whiskey didn’t understand why you were so timid around him sexually. You could hold your own in any fight, outwit any man and he was incredibly proud to be with someone with your confidence. A true match. Yet you seemed distant and uninterested in him physically.

When you finally told him why, that you felt intimidated by his apparent experience and didn’t know if he’d even enjoy sex with you and your complete lack there of. You’re not a virgin but there wasn’t much time for sexual exploration as a young Statesman agent.

“Oh, baby.” He says, hooking his finger into your bra strap, trying to conceal a grin. “I love you just the way you are. You understand?”

“Yeah, Jack, but-”

“But nothing.” He shrugs. “You are so sexy baby. You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

You look away, cheeks red hot in embarrassment as Jack takes your hand.

It hovers over his tenting jeans and he asks, “May I?”

You nod, and he guides your hand to palm him. You feel him stiff against the fabric, trying not to let out a girlish gasp from how it excites you.

“You make daddy so hard.” He says and your eyes widen from how he refers to himself. It makes you ache for him from the inside out.

“Do you like that?” He asks quietly.

“Yes.” You gasp.

“Do you trust me?” He asks again.

“Yes, Jack.” You nod, your chest hollowing in arousal as he pushes you softly down on to the bed and you lift your hips up for him to slip off your underwear.

“Daddy is going to make you feel good, I promise.”

You groan from how his words dig into you and he opens your legs, sinking down between them.

“Oh, baby. Your pussy is so fucking pretty.” He sighs, kissing up your thigh. “Daddy is so happy you’re opening up to him.”

“Oh my god.” You’re so overwhelmed by Jack, you cover your face.

“Let me see you, angel” he says before dragging his tongue across your mound in a tease. “I want to see your big beautiful eyes when you cum on my face.”

Javier blinks. “O-Okay.”

He’s kneeling between your legs, his length in his hand, about to sink into you.

“I’ve had sex before!” You clarify, quickly. Regretting you may have ruined this night with your new love. You motion to your missionary position, “Just only like this.”

Javi strokes himself slowly. “Have you ever wanted to do more?”

“Oh god, yes.” You say, and you giggle from how aggressive it comes out.

Javier grins, “Yeah? Okay.”

He releases his cock and you watch it bounce before he flips you around, pulling your hips up harshly against him.

“I’m gonna change your whole fucking life, okay amor?” He asks, running his throbbing head along your wet folds.

You feel so exposed, and it’s all so new you squeal in delight.

“Do you feel me, babe?” Javi asks, pushing into you slowly and you groan from the stretch. “Do you like my big dick so deep inside you?”

Oberyn orders everyone out of your chambers, Ellaria included, before rushing to kneel before you.

“My dove.” He sounds pained, as you cry into your hands. “Please tell me what is wrong.”

You confide in your betrothed that you are, in fact, a virgin.

“I’ve never had sex with anyone, let alone multiple people at once.” You cry.

“Oh, my precious dove.” He sighs, kissing your knuckles. “You must think me a monster and I must apologize. I did not know.”

You sniff. “You’re not mad?”

“How could I be mad?” He asks, pushing your hair out of your face. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. That is not love.”

“Thank you, Oberyn.” You say, and laugh as he wipes your tears. It seems so silly now to have been scared of his reaction.

“Would you be more comfortable if your first time is with Ellaria?” He asks and you can see clearly how upset he is for thinking he has pressured you.

“I want it to be you, my love.”

“Would you like to now that we’re alone?”

You pause. You mean it when you say you want it to be Oberyn but this has all moved so fast.

“Your hesitation is deafening, my sweet love. Would you like me to leave?”

“No, Oberyn! The opposite, I assure you. I’m just not... ready.”

“I will wait one million moons.” He says, bringing your forehead down to kiss.

Din, realistically, has as much experience as you. Some, but not enough to make you both exceptionally confident, especially now that he lives with his face in the world. You both have a giggly, exciting time exploring what you like together.

Maxwell Lord’s dick twitches when you confess your lack of experience. He tries to sound comforting, like he gives a single fuck about your nervousness but he has been waiting for someone like you. His eyes go dark and your voice fades out as he imagines what it would be like to break you in and build you up to the woman of his most depraved sexual fantasies. To overwhelm you to the point of drooling, incoherent hysteria, yet you beg for more. He knows you have it in you, he just has to coax it out - that animalistic drive. That desire to shamelessly except that you were made to take him.

When you finally stop talking, he takes your face in his hands and says softly, “It’s okay. We’ll take it slow.”

Want some more?

[spacebatisluvd]

Summary: Entrapta receives an invitation. 

Content Warning: A neurotypical writer attempting to portray an autistic character (with respect, compassion, and love, but I recognize there’s a chance I’ve fumbled here—just know it’s unintentional), Sea Hawk, Hordak’s poor sense of self-worth, cult-typical abuse, veiled references to masturbation, genital discussion, discussion of sex and sexual relationships.

-

Entrapta looked through the microscope, studying the micro-welds she’d made. Her mouth twisted a little, dissatisfied with the results. She sighed. “Emily, make a note—I need more silver solder. This prototype is a bust.” She tossed it behind her head, hearing it crack against the ground a moment later. One of the little recycling bots would be by to pick it up and take it apart soon enough, making sure nothing went to waste.

She glanced at Emily. “You know, Hordak’s really good with delicate work like this. His hands are so steady, and his welds are so...precise.” She gave a happy little shiver. “I wanted to surprise him with a working prototype, but maybe I should just give him the designs and let him build it. That’s still a surprise, right?”

Emily made a negative-sounding beep. Entrapta winced. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” She stood, stretching. “I just need to make a working prototype—it doesn’t have to be pretty, just functional!” She used her hair to perform a tight backflip, shaking out her limbs as her feet came to rest on the ground once more. “Okay! Let’s do this—Emily, play recording.”

Emily made a happy whirring sound, the top half of her chassis spinning. Then Hordak’s recorded message began to play. Entrapta shut her eyes, listening to him describe the far-off stars that were normally too dim to see with Etheria’s many moons. She knew he’d probably assumed she would only listen to it while gazing up at those stars, but she’d found herself listening over and over again, lulled by the sound of his voice, even if she’d long since memorized his words.

She sat down and went back to work, adjusting her initial design into something more workable. When Hordak returned,  they could refine and revise her work. She just needed to provide proof of concept. S he hoped it would work. She thought it would. The data indicated that it should, but she couldn’t exactly test it. Well. Maybe if she asked Kadroh...but would he guess what it was for? She knew Hordak would prefer to keep this—

“What?” she asked, looking up when Emily insistently butted against her. “What is—?“ Then she realized her communicator had been ringing for quite some time now. “Oh! Answer call!”

Scorpia’s face appeared on-screen, accompanied by Perfuma. “Hey!” she said, waving a claw. “I was getting a little worried there. We called twice, and I didn’t want to bother you—“

“I’m not bothered at all! If I was in the middle of something dangerous, Emily wouldn’t have interrupted me.”

“...dangerous?” Perfuma asked, gripping the front on her shirt more tightly.

“Oh, good!” Scorpia said, while Perfuma frowned. “I just wanted to invite you to the flower festival.”

“Flower festival?”

Perfuma stepped forward, smiling a little. “Yes! Plumeria has an annual flower festival during the week of the summer solstice. It celebrates the transition from a time of renewal and recovery to a time of joy and growth!” Entrapta smiled while Perfuma spoke, waiting for her to finish, but she stopped abruptly. The silence lingered.

Entrapta checked the data pad.

“Hold on, I think there’s a lag. Can you repeat the last part? I missed your explanation.”

“Um.” Scorpia and Perfuma looked at each other.

Clearing her throat, Scorpia said, “It’s uh, basically a big party to celebrate summer. There’s flower crowns and food and music. Perfuma says it’s a lot of fun. I was hoping you, um, might want to come too?”

Entrapta’s hair curled and twisted. “Are a lot of people going to be there?”

“Oh, yes.” Perfuma smiled widely. “People come from all over the region for the festivities. We’re hoping all members of the Princess Alliance—“

“And their partners!” Scorpia added.

“—will be able to attend.”

“Oh.” Her hair knit itself into anxious hands, the psuedo-fingers laced together. “I don’t know....” She looked away, thinking of all the people that would be in attendance. Would it be like the Prom or another formal party? Could she skirt the edges and just observe? (Would that be weird?) On the other hand, they’d specifically called to invite her, and this wasn’t like Princess Prom—they didn’t have to include her at all. Despite her concerns about the crowd, it was hard to pass up what seemed like an obvious overture of friendship. “Can I think about it?”

Scorpia blinked. She looked at Perfuma, scratching the back of her neck. “Um. Sure. Take all the time you need! The party’s in a couple weeks, so you’ve got time.” She smiled. “Hopefully, Mermista will let Hordak take some time off, so he can come too.”

Her hair frizzed. “Hordak’s invited?”

Scorpia nodded. Perfuma looked at Scorpia, who returned her gaze, eyes wide. After a beat of silence, Perfuma said, “Y...yes. If you come, he may...join you. As your guest.”

Entrapta couldn’t help but spin in place, her hair coiling under her to lift her high. She hugged herself, humming giddily. As she dropped back down to the ground, her hair formed a  large cushion to catch her. “Really?!”

Scorpia beamed, and Perfuma exhaled slowly, though she too smiled. “Yes. Really,” Perfuma said. She looked to Scorpia, who offered her the Scorpinoid version of a thumbs up.

“Well, that changes things. I don’t think he’s ever been to something like this before. I’d really like to bring him. He hasn’t had a lot of opportunities to engage in leisure activities, and I’m trying to get him to explore and experiment with activities he might find enjoyable. This seems like an ideal opportunity.”

Perfuma looked at Scorpia again, and Scorpia slung an arm over her shoulders, shaking her gently. “Yep. This would be perfect for that, right Perfuma?”

The other princess smiled, exhaling again. “Right. It’s definitely the perfect opportunity for the former—“

“My former boss!” Scorpia interrupted, “Yep! Perfect—perfect opportunity to see if my former boss can, um, relax.” She blinked, and withdrew her claw from Perfuma’s shoulders to press it against her chin. “Actually, that’s a good question. Can he?”

“In very specific circumstances,” Entrapta said.

Perfuma looked between Scorpia and Entrapta before saying, “As long as he behaves himself.”

Entrapta cocked her head. “I don’t really know what you mean by that; Hordak is very well-mannered.”

Scorpia was already reassuring her, though. “Of course he will! I’m sure we won’t even notice he’s there.”

“Oh, you’ll probably notice him. His height makes him stand out,” Entrapta said. “If that’s going to be a problem, I’m not sure how to fix it.”

“No! Nope—Hordak’s height is not a problem,” Scorpia said very quickly, watching Perfuma. “Well, anyway, I, um, I hope to see both of you soon. Bye!” She hung up before Perfuma could say goodbye. Entrapta didn’t mind. As soon as the communicator cut out, she called Hordak.

His image resolved a moment later. “Hello, Star—“

“Entrapta!”

Hordak’s ears folded back, and he glared at the back of Sea Hawk’s head. “Hi!” she told them both, waving. “I just got a call from Scorpia—“

“Ooh. What did she say?” Sea Hawk asked.

“Well...” She rolled the word around, bouncing a little on her toes. “Plumeria’s going to have a flower festival during the solstice, and we’re both invited to come!”

Sea Hawk’s eyes widened. “You are?”

She nodded, bouncing a little more. “Mmmh-hmm. Scorpia really seems to want us to come. And Perfuma too! Well.” Her hair deflated a little. “I think she was excited? It’s hard to tell.” Perfuma always seemed so nice...until she suddenly wasn’t.

The data pad twirled as Sea Hawk ran off with it. “You have to go—both of you. It will be the perfect setting for romance . What are you you wearing? Wait, don’t tell me right now. I’ll call you later, and we can plan. Don’t worry about Hordak’s wardrobe; I’ll make sure he dresses appropriately.”

She cocked her head. “There’s a dress code? Scorpia didn’t mention that.”

“Oh, yes. A dress code—for love!”

The data pad was snatched from his hands, and Hordak’s face appeared, though he was glaring off-screen at Sea Hawk. “That is enough.” He shook his head, ears back, then he faced the data pad. “My apologies, Starlight. I believe he is being overly optimistic as well as overly involved. Reconstruction will not be complete by the solstice, and I do not believe Mermista will give me to leave to attend—with travel, I would be gone for nearly ten days, and I doubt she would approve of that.”

“What makes you say so?”

“I conquered her country and essentially destroyed Salineas.”

“You think she’s still upset about that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

His ears twitched. “I will ask, of course.”

“Okay. I mean...” She looked away, running her fingers through her hair. “It’s all right. Maybe next year?”

“Perhaps.”

Off-screen, Sea Hawk yelled, “No! This is unacceptable! I will not stand by and allow such a travesty.”

Hordak looked at him. “You are being dramatic. This is not—“

“A travesty, I say!” The data pad jerked, then the camera lifted high—from the little she could see, Hordak was holding it overhead to keep it out of Sea Hawk’s reach. “How can you stand by and accept this? Are you not a man?”

“I am a clone, and I do not understand why my gender is important to the conversation.”

Sea Hawk made a wordless sound of mourning. “You aren’t willing to fight for your love?”

“There is nothing to fight! The treaty clearly stipulates I must prioritize the restoration of Etheria above my own personal happiness. Considering the destruction I wrought waging a completely senseless war—considering I brought Prime here, to the very doorstep of this world, I think those terms are more than fair! And considering that you yourself fought in both conflicts, I am stunned you are so determined that I break those terms.”

“It’s just ten days!” Sea Hawk said, “Besides, you haven’t taken a day off since you got here and that cannot be healthy.”

Entrapta blinked. “Hordak, is that true?”

As if abruptly remembering she was still there, he turned the data pad so she could see them again, though he was still scrupulously keeping it out of Sea Hawk’s reach. “Well. Yes. I do not require—“

“Hordak! I know you know that taking breaks is important—the Horde soldiers were allowed time off.”

His ears folded back. “Of course they were—Etherians are not very productive if they aren’t permitted unstructured free time periodically. My Force Captains insisted this was true and research seemed to prove them correct. But I am not Etherian. I do not need—“

“That’s ridiculous!” Sea Hawk said, “Everyone needs to take time off.”

“Clones do not. Even when at rest, we were put into stasis pods and our neural networks were used as relay stations for the hivemind.” He cupped a protective hand over the back of his neck, and Entrapta slammed her welding mask down, trying to keep out the thoughts of Prime and what had been done to Hordak and Kadroh and their brethren. Hordak noticed. “It was not that bad—“

“Don’t.” She exhaled slowly, voice shaking. “Don’t minimize what he did.” Through the mask, everything took on a soft teal tone. It made everything feel distant and ethereal, like she was looking at a world encased in glass. The tension in her chest eased, though the pit in her stomach lingered.

“Fine,” Hordak said, his voice soft. “The fact remains—I do not require time off to maintain productivity.”

With her mask on, she could hear her own breathing, steady and strong, and her voice echoed faintly. “Etherians do not regard time off merely as a necessity. It is considered inhumane to force someone to go without for long periods of time.”

“Yes. Because it is a necessity. I understand that—“

“You clearly don’t.”

He shut his eyes and his ears folded back. He exhaled slowly before saying, “I will ask Mermista.”

She lifted her mask a little. “...I just want you to take better care of yourself.”

“I will ask Mermista, but I don’t want you to be disappointed when she says no.”

“If she says no, then I’m coming over there. And we’ll go to the beach. And get ice cream. And maybe go swimming, if the salt water won’t damage your ports.”

His ears twitched, and his features softened. “Though I am uncertain of the swimming, I would otherwise be amenable to that.”

“Okay. Promise?”

His mouth twitched a little. “If it pleases you, then yes; I promise.”

She pushed the welding mask up the rest of the way. “Excellent. I’ll speak to you later, then. Unless there’s something else?”

“Nothing for now. Goodbye, Starlight. We will speak soon.”

Sea Hawk waved. “Bye, Entrapta! Never fear—I will use my masculine wiles to seduce my lady love, and convince her to release your...um—to release Hordak to you!” Hordak shut his eyes, and though it looked like Sea Hawk had more to say, the feed suddenly cut out.

Entrapta smiled to herself and resumed working on the prototype.

-

The next morning, a robot delivered a small package with her breakfast. Seeing that it was from Salineas, she made a high-pitched, happy sound and tore it open. Inside, she was surprised to find several sea shells, along with a note that merely said, “The shells are for Kadroh.” Among the shells, she found a data chip that was surely for her.

With a happy hum, she plucked the chip from the package and set the box aside, attaching the chip to her pad to see what he’d sent. It contained two files. One was her research notes. The other was her procedure proposal for their Intimacy Log. Seeing that, she had to get up, pacing and using her hair to flip and twist as she completed a circuit of her suite of rooms—her excitement simply couldn’t be contained, though she cautioned herself aloud, trying to minimize her expectations. After completing a third circuit, she finally felt settled enough to actually read what he’d sent. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do this!”  She shook out her hands and settled back on the bed, opening her proposal.

She smiled a little, reading his notes. She wished he was here; she would have loved to demonstrate how she would ‘reward him for good behavior’—and to test out the newly revealed sensitive spot behind his ears. In fact, she could demonstrate the former by showing him how much she appreciated his willingness to reveal the latter to her. She hummed again, reading his response to her question about biting. It wasn’t a ‘no’, and she was eager to see what he might mean by a “strong reaction”, though she would wait until he was ready for such a step, of course.

Then she saw the short paragraph he’d written at the end.

‘I do not think it would be wise to extend your study to my genitals at this time. I have limited knowledge of them myself; I’m not even sure if I am capable of penetrative sex, though I understand that is not necessarily a requirement. I know enough to be certain that my genitals differ from all standard Etherian configurations. I would not want to subject you to anything unusual or surprising without forewarning. For this reason, it would likely be best if I were to conduct some private research first, then we will discuss the possibility of mutual study.’

She leapt to her feet, using her hair to guide herself through a midair somersault. She began pacing her rooms again, punctuating her circuit with various acrobatics and occasionally humming to herself when her thoughts grew too loud.  She fumbled for her recorder, talking fast as she said, “Intimacy Log, personal notes, number 12. This is so fascinating! Hordak has revealed that his genitals are not Etherian in nature—which is unsurprising—and that he has limited knowledge of their form or function.” Something unpleasant itched at the back of her mind, but she just started to pace faster, burying those thoughts.

“I cannot begin to speculate on either. I have every reason to believe Hordak is what we would classify as a mammal—the presence of nipples implies his species at one time nursed their young, and he is quite warm, suggesting he does not have to rely on external heat sources to maintain his body temperature—but he is still an alien. These mammalian traits may be evidence of convergent evolution, rather than a common ancestor, though I still believe the bipedal body type suggests that our species are not entirely unrelated. Nonetheless, none of that necessarily implies so-called ‘sexual compatibility’. Hordak already seems to know that penetrative sex is not a necessity for a sexual relationship, but I will also endeavor to reassure him that our genitals do not need to be ‘compatible’ for sex to be satisfying. I should also relay that I am not put off by his confession. If anything, I am excited by the opportunity for discovery!”

She performed another somersault, shaking out her hands as she landed. “This is so exciting!” she hissed under her breath. To the recorder, she added, “He’s said that he would like to experiment on his own so as to avoid surprising me, but I would be very interested in experimenting with him. Query—has Hordak decided to experiment solo primarily out of concern for my comfort or his own? If the former, then he may allow me to at least witness any experiments he performs on himself—though I would welcome a more hands on approach, if he is willing to wait. However, if he is uncomfortable including me because...”

The unpleasant thoughts managed to break through, and she pulled her mask down securely. “While it is possible Hordak wants to experiment on his own in order to sate his curiosity in private—which would be completely understandable—I believe it is more likely that he’s uncomfortable sharing this with me due to shame and prior conditioning from Horde Prime, a suspicion reinforced by his lack of education regarding his own body’s sexual organs.” She flexed her hands, hair coiling around her limbs. “If that is the case, then I am unsure how to proceed. Hordak’s health, safety, and comfort are of primary importance, and I’m worried I’m not well equipped to make sure he isn’t harmed by our experiments. I’ve...never been good with people.” 

She shut off the recorder and cycled through her mask’s filters, trying to find a more soothing way of looking at the world. She settled on infrared, gazing at the smear of colors meant to represent variations in temperature. It was comfortably alien, and pleasing to place her hands on the metal wall and watch the colors change—like painting with her own body heat. She traced patterns on the wall and watched them fade as the transferred heat dissipated.

She took a breath and raised her mask when she felt settled enough to proceed, blinking as she readjusted to her surroundings. Clicking the recorder on, she said, “Hordak has consistently proven himself to be unlike anyone I’ve ever known. He seems to understand and respect my need for clear communication. Thus far, we have been able to prevent the kinds of misunderstandings I’ve had in the past simply by talking to each other. I have to assume I can keep him from coming to harm in the same fashion. When we next speak, I will—“  Her data pad signaled an incoming call. “Oh!” She clicked the recorder off, assuming that was him. “Hi, Hordak—wait. Sea Hawk?”

“Greetings, Princess!”

“Hi! Do you need something?”

“No. Not...not exactly.”

“Are you sure? People don’t usually call me unless they need something.”

“I don’t need anything, I just.” He winced. “I...may have...possibly...slightly overestimated my ability to convince my beloved to allow Hordak time off. And...vastly underestimated her vindictiveness.” His gaze grew watery and distant. “She is as magnificent and unforgiving as the sea.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay. At least you tried. I’ll just—“

Sea Hawk held up a hand, shushing her. “Entrapta. Are you in a secure location?”

She glanced around her bedroom. “I suppose so.”

“Good, good. Now, tell me...how far are you willing to go to prove your devotion?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Do you want to take Hordak to Plumeria?”

“Well, yes—“

“How far are you willing to go to get him there?”

“What?”

He moaned, as if in pain. Before she could ask if he was okay, he leaned close to the camera and said, “Listen to me. I have a plan to get both you and Hordak safely and happily to Plumeria. But it may possibly be slightly illegal.” Entrapta cocked her head. “And by ‘slightly’, I mean ‘extremely’. So, how far are you willing to go to prove your affections?”

She snorted. “Sea Hawk, don’t be ridiculous; at least three of my current experiments are technically illegal. Breaking a few laws won’t prove anything. With that said—what’s your plan?”

“Well—wait. Technically illegal?”

She gestured dismissively. “Mystacor isn’t really equipped to oversee scientific studies, but my experiments are technically overseen by their ethics committee. Which is guided by a woefully outdated moral system and staffed by technophobes. I stopped asking them to approve my more interesting studies ages ago.”

“Oh. Well. I’m going to assume that’s not at all nefarious—“

“I guess that would depend on your definition.”

“—and tell you my incredible, masterful plan! First—do you by any chance own any strappy high heels? A low cut dress, perhaps? Preferably in black.”

“What?”

“Never mind! We can continue without, but I feel that ignoring the aesthetic shows a lack of commitment.”

She stared at him. “What?”

-

A/N: As always, I’m extremely grateful for all the comments you guys leave. I read them all, often multiple times. I’m not good about replying, but I am always intensely grateful.Thank you so much. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. ^//^

[ayo-cowbelly]

when the fire goes out, how do we stay warm? part 3/?

previous part ~ next part ~

masterlist

today i’m serving up an entree of zygerrians being assholes, with a side of dark obi wan and angsty inner thoughts- enjoy!

First of all, the canon timeline has been taken out back and shot- so we’re currently just blindly driving through the year 20 BBY. For this universe, it has been about two months since the original zygerria mission (which happened at the same time as canon). Just for reference i guess.

ALSO, QUICK NOTE ABOUT UPDATES: school just started for me, along with other things, so updates are going to be weird for this story. There are just a lot of things going on in my life, including writing, so I can’t promise when I’ll be able to update- BUT IT WILL BE OFTEN! Just not on a set schedule/general time frame.

p.s. lines from the tatooine slave code the discord and i came up with are mentioned- you can find the whole thing at @newswcanonprompts

~

 Obi-Wan has been periodically blacking out for about a week now. Maybe more, maybe less. He’s not actually sure how long it’s been. All he knows is that sometime, the Zygerrians had decided to tuck him away in this...

 What could he call his new accommodations? It looks like an old dungeon- smells like one too. The walls are crumbling, and there’s a leaky crack on the ceiling that has been keeping Obi-Wan a bit entertained. He watches the water drops slide down the wall, making him dream of rain. He wishes to be outside, to be free.

 For the first few weeks, when he was the queen’s attendant, he had been allowed to go wherever in the palace- as long as he followed the queen when she called. She probably allowed this small bit of freedom to show everyone her new Jedi pet. But then it all changed.

 Obi-Wan had been in his “room” (a small closet-like space with a cushion and a little pot to relieve himself) when he heard shouting and running. Peeking outside, one of the queen’s guards caught sight of him and yelled something in Zygerrian; the guard then pressed a button and Obi-Wan’s collar shocked him into unconsciousness.

 When Obi-Wan awoke, he was in this cave, his bare shoulders bleeding from where the guards must have dragged him. Usually, the queen’s attendants were dressed nicely, but Obi-Wan supposed he was a special case.

 They starved him, dressed him in his torn clothes, made him look weak- a showcase of Queen Miraj’s power, her ability to beat even a Jedi into submission.

 And Obi-Wan  has been beaten. He knows it, the queen knows it, everyone on this blasted planet knows it. His muscles are pretty much depleted by now, his bones getting more and more frail every day- and his spirit was just as crushed. After learning (he learned through punishment; teaching was done with whips on this planet) to be quiet, he eventually accepted that this was no place for his well-known banter.

 Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a silent person. But, that is who he has to be, if he is to survive.

 In his silence, he thinks of Anakin and hopes for his safety. He reflects on their only communication in the last few weeks, that one burst of emotion in their Force bond. Obi-Wan wishes he could tug on the bond, at least send Anakin an inkling of feeling, but it was impossible. He has no strength for such things, and if he did, he can’t try- Queen Miraj had put him in Force-dampening cuffs some time ago (they are rusted and old, probably because the queen was never lucky enough to have a Jedi in her grasp).  

 So he is left alone with nothing but a dreary cell and troubled questions for company.

 Is Anakin alright? Does he know Obi-Wan is alive? Does he still have that horrible haunted look that plagues Obi-Wan’s nightmares, the one from the arena?

  Is his brother free? Obi-Wan wonders that most often. He doesn’t know if Anakin is free, or if he’s just briefly escaped; then again, he also doesn’t know what exactly his former apprentice is running from. Chains? Nightmares? Fear? Darkness?

 Or maybe those are all the same. At least, they seem to have become one in this blurry hell Obi-Wan is now living in.

 The Darkness comes for him while he’s unconscious. Whenever the world fades, Obi-Wan is met with a black expanse that threatens to consume him.

 He finds it harder and harder to push it away. In fact, Obi-Wan’s vision is starting to dim, his bleary eyes starting to close…

 But before he goes under, the old metal door creaks open.

 “Hello, Master Jedi,” The Zygerrian guard jeers, the mocking evident in his tone. Obi-Wan feels he has lost any right to that title (what Master would let their Padawan be treated so terribly, what Master would embrace Darkness while he sleeps?).

 Obi-Wan just turns his head to the other man, fresh cuts on his cheek stinging from the movement. He does not reply.

 “Thought you were a talker. ‘Guess not,” The guard remarks as he slides a dish of something gray-looking across the floor. Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize him, this must be the first time they’re meeting (he probably wanted a glimpse at the queen’s new Jedi pet). “No response? Fine.”

 The Zygerrian leans cockily against the cell door, head tilted down to Obi-Wan’s pathetic body. “Can’t say I’m upset you’re quiet. I didn’t expect it- the newbies are always loud at first. It’s always so irritating, listening to their crying and screaming, but they learn soon enough.” The guard smiles wickedly, fingers tracing his whip. Obi-Wan has heard the screams in this place, the cries of children. He's watched as they go still, their tears giving way for the crack of a whip and their torturers’ cruel laughs.

 Obi-Wan has been making himself numb for weeks. But as the guard drones on, his fangs glinting in the darkness, a wave of red-hot fury courses through the Jedi. It feels similar to that day in the arena, when he’d come so close to killing Queen Miraj- until Ahsoka stopped him.

 Obi-Wan wishes he’d murdered her right there. A part of him wants to see the life in her eyes drain, and he wants it to be at his own hand. He wants to see her pay for what she did to Anakin, to Rex, to so many others- he will make her pay. Make her suffer-  

  Yes,something deep in him whispers. It’ll be easy. She will suffer. And when she dies, you will be the one to make her heart stop beating-  

 “Hey,” the guard’s raspy voice interrupts whatever had been filling Obi-Wan’s head. “Were your eyes always yellow-ish? I heard they were blue.”

 Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to make of that.

 ~

 The sunlight burns his delicate skin. Obi-Wan blinks rapidly, as he is no longer used to the brightness of day (honestly, how long was he in that cell? Nobody will tell him- maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t know).  

 He is pushed roughly with a blaster. “Keep moving, scug,” one of his escorts, a particularly nasty-looking guard, says.

 “Where-” Obi-Wan coughs, his voice scratchy. “Where are we going?”

 “You’re going to see the queen.”

 “Then why are we outside?”  

 “Did you really think your disgusting room was in the palace this whole time? If you think we treat our royalty like that, you’re more idiotic than I thought,” another guard sneers, sounding almost offended.

 Obi-Wan sighs defeatedly. “I meant, why not just put me in a speeder and be done with it? Why parade me through the streets?”

 The original guard, the one who pushed him, barks out a laugh. “Why do you think? Now shut up and walk.”

 Obi-Wan realizes what the guard means. It's a show for the Masters. He can’t stop himself from looking around, making eye contact with the slave traders and their grins- they are all too happy at seeing a famous Jedi being led along in chains. Said Jedi wants to wipe the smiles off their faces, for they might think they are in power here, but he will show them what-

  No, he thinks, recoiling from the Dark thoughts. Stop- don’t go there, Obi-Wan.    He doesn’t want to think about his eyes, if they’re yellow or blue- he doesn’t want to, he wants the Dark to leave him alone-

 Or does he?

  Stop, stop, don’t think about it, GO AWAY- he screams in his mind, pushing the Dark away. It backs off for now, but Obi-Wan knows it will come back in his dreams.

~

 They finally reach the palace, and the guards grab him by the arms to lead him inside. Their sharp nails drag across his skin, some even giving him more cuts- but instead of thinking about it, Obi-Wan prefers to be numb, so that is what he does. Sinking into the Force (which he can barely feel, due to the cuffs he still wears), he lets himself be pulled along.

 Queen Miraj’s voice is what snaps him out of it. The blissful respite of the Force slinks away, despite Obi-Wan’s frantic grabs at it.

 “Master Kenobi, it is wonderful to see you again,” she purrs, eyes raking over his battered form. Seeing an exceptionally angry gash on his arm, the queen smirks. “I hope you are enjoying your new room.”

 He does not reply. He will not let her take his words; she has already taken his body, she will not have his voice. It is a lesson he has learned from the other slaves, one Anakin had drunkenly described years ago.

  Though he was drunk, Anakin sounded almost poetic, but devoid of emotion- it was how he always seemed when talking about Tatooine. “Peace in Silence, Defiance in Demureness… They teach us to be quiet. Watch instead of speak. Watching is how we learn. And, if the Masters don’t have your voice, then they cannot truly win.”  

 Obi-Wan didn’t, and still doesn’t, want to know why those teachings sounded like a mantra, a code engraved into Anakin’s very being, even after being freed.

  Can you ever wash away the sands of a slave?  

 How much of the Desert still lives inside Anakin?

 Again, Obi-Wan doesn’t want to know.

 The queen keeps talking. “No response? I thought you had better manners than that, Master Jedi.” They love to call him that, don’t they? The Masters love to remind him of his place. By calling him 'Master', they reaffirm the fact that it is      they    who are really in charge- he is nothing more than their toy.

 He ignores the queen’s taunts. She cocks her head, brows narrowing. “You might be wondering why I summoned you here. I imagine you have many questions regarding your… new arrangements.”

 Obi-Wan doesn’t say anything, instead just keeping his eyes trained on her. He watches as she clenches her jaw. Her voice does not betray her growing irritation- she had been hoping for an outburst. “See, a bit of time ago, your little Republic friends came here. They broke into my dungeon, took that little Togruta you’re so fond of, and then left. They also took away my prize, your little Chosen One…”

 Obi-Wan, who had been studying the wall, whips his head towards her. Forgetting to be quiet, he stutters, “They- they got Anakin-?”

 Queen Miraj leers at him. “Yes, they did; just in time, too, I suppose. He was not going to make it much longer.”

 A pink Twi’lek -probably the queen’s new attendant- is in the corner, staring intently at Obi-Wan. She is pressing her finger to her lips, signaling for him to be quiet. He ignores her. “What did you do to him?!”

 The queen smiles smugly, annoyance forgotten. She motions for her guards to restrain Obi-Wan. Once he is firmly held down, she replies. “It was easy to see that he was once a slave. He was already cracking. But I broke him.”  She sounds prideful, taking joy in the fact that she-

   No. Anakin is strong. He’s alright. He is alright. He has to be alright.  

 “You cannot break Anakin. He is strong, stronger than you will ever be.” The Twi’lek in the corner is frantically shaking her head at him, neck rubbing against her shock collar. But Obi-Wan cannot get himself to quiet. Not now, not anymore.

 “You think he is powerful? He is a slave, Kenobi. It doesn't matter where he is, who he calls Master- he will always be chained,” the queen snaps.  

 “He was freed.”

 She laughs at his protests, eyes glinting. “You do not understand. A slave is never free, Jedi. You can shower him in love, titles, and luxury- but I know what a child of the Desert looks like. Tatooine is a cruel place; it has a certain way of… rooting itself in its children. Some of them end up here, and they are easily recognized. Skywalker is just like them, scarred and broken. They will only be free when Death claims them, Kenobi.”

 Obi-Wan pushes at the guards, trying to get to the queen. He wants to wipe that cruel smirk off her face, drown it in blood- “You’re wrong!”

 “Look at how you refuse the truth- just like a Jedi. You know I am right. You know it, you see it in him, the cracks- and you never help, do you?”

 “Anakin,” Obi-Wan grinds out, “is not a slave. He is a Jedi, he is free-”

 The queen’s lip curls. “A slave,” she repeats, “is never free.”

 The Darkness rises up in him, louder this time. It rushes through his head, pounding against his skull. It wants to be let loose- so he lets go. The cuffs start to snap, and he pushes outwards into the room. The queen is slowly pushed back at her throne, and if these rusty old cuffs will break Obi-Wan will be able to crush her skeleton against it-

 Then, something slams into his head, and the world goes black again.

 ~

 He wakes up to the throne room, but this time, it’s a bit different. For starters, he’s kneeling, held in place by two ropes attached to the walls. More guards fill the room, and now the prime minister is standing diligently by Miraj’s side, scowling at Obi-Wan.

 His head throbs from where he was hit, blood trickling down his forehead. He looks down at his hands, seeing that they are now in cuffs that look brand-new.

 “You dare try to attack me?” The queen snarls at him, slowly walking down her throne’s steps.

 Obi-Wan looks at Miraj’s attendant, the pink Twi’lek. She is looking down, knowing what is coming.

 “Learn your place, Jedi scum,” She says menacingly, nodding at something behind Obi-Wan.  He tries to go numb, but these new cuffs work better; he can’t reach the Force at all. It is terrifying, and he can’t breathe, for now he is truly alone in this hell-

 He dimly registers the crack of a whip being ignited. His stomach sinks as he hears the whip coming down, and then he is  burning  .

[sadistic-second]

ShinRa Company Policy

//So I wrote a little something. Nothing fancy. Just trying to explore ideas that I come up with. This was inspired by an audio I heard on tiktok. I managed to find the whole song and well. @turkoftheslums indulged and helped me a little bit with this. So please, enjoy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The plate drop had been on his mind for several weeks now. Most of his injuries had healed up. There were a few bruises that felt like they refused to heal. Something that worked as a constant reminder of what he had done. And sure, okay. He hadn’t even really been the one to push the button. All he had done was set it up. His hesitation at the computer had forced Rude to hit the final button. His best friend, his partner in crime, one of three men he would sacrifice himself for. He had tried to apologize, make it up to the man the best ways he knew how. No matter what Rude said or did, Reno felt like it wasn’t enough.

How did one ease a burden like this upon their own soul?

It was early morning when he walked into Tseng’s office. Sure he’d knocked, but that hadn’t stopped him from waiting for an answer. Papers of resignation had been thrown onto the man’s desk. The only words Reno had said was, “I quit.” He knew the consequences of these actions. Under the old regime, that meant a bullet to the back of the head. While that had been what he’d figured Tseng would do the moment he turned his back. When it didn’t come, he found that he was allowed to walk out of his office. Unsure with what to do actually do now, he decided his best course of action was to clean out his workspace and go home.

The space that he called his own was messy at best. Picking the trashcan up from the floor, he started throwing discarded candy wrappers into it. He didn’t really want to take down his wall of pink slips, but that would have to go, wouldn't it? He’d keep them, maybe shove them into a drawer in his apartment for safekeeping. Everything that could be thrown away was. Everything else was put into a box for him to carry out. There wasn’t much worth keeping in his office.

Lifting the box from his desk, he turned to walk out. Waiting for him outside was his Director. Or well, his former Director. All the man did was look at him and gesture in the direction in which he wanted him to walk. Now, a thought occurred to Reno: Tseng wasn’t his boss anymore so there was no reason to just blindly follow his orders. So when the redhead took a step in the other direction, he heard the distinct sound of a cocking gun. Alright. Swiveling on his foot, he began to walk in the direction that had been previously indicated.

Now, what the ex-Turk thought was going to happen included being taken into a room with all the other Turks and an example being made of him. Or perhaps they wouldn't even give him that. Tseng might just end him right there in the hallway. Each footstep scared him more than the last. His breath quickens, his heart rate rose rapidly. An anxiety attack seemed imminent. However, they stopped in front of the elevator. Was he just going to be escorted to the lobby? Perhaps he would be allowed to leave after all. 

The elevator went up. That alone was a good sign. Or so he would have liked to believe. They traveled past the lobby. Nervous eyes watched the people below get significantly smaller as they ascended. A glance towards the display let him know exactly where they were going. 

"Hey man, there's no need to get the President involved." A pause to see if the man would respond. Silence. A pair of canines lodged themselves into a tender section of cheek hard enough to draw blood. "Seriously, just let me leave, man. This doesn't have to escalate any further." Still nothing. The air was growing heavy between them. It was only a matter of time before the redhead had a panic attack. 

Finally, the doors opened. Immediately upon instinct, Reno tried to make a run for it. When Tseng didn't make a move to stop him, he figured that he could getaway. But that's where he was wrong. Rude had been waiting for him outside the doors. Almost as if everyone knew the idiot would try and run. Now escorted by his former partner and director, the ex-Turk had no choice but to walk down that path towards the unknown. 

Rude had been told to stand guard and prevent the redhead from leaving should he choose to run once more. The redhead knew exactly what was awaiting him on the other side of that door. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t moved. The two Turks beside him were discussing something that fell on deaf ears. His mind had chosen to wander in a different direction; if Tseng wasn’t going to be the one to put him down, was that job being entrusted to Rufus? Imagine having his brains blown out all over the floor with a shotgun. 

Oh, but then again, didn’t he have an aversion to blood? So perhaps there would be another way that his life would end. Or maybe, and this was the one that he was banking on, they would just let him go. Cut any and all ties necessary and then just boot him off somewhere. The middle of nowhere sounded nice. Maybe a little island or something. But could Reno get that lucky? One would like to think this, but given the streak of things that had been happening lately, that wasn’t very likely.

A nudge to the small of his back and he was being brought back to reality. Another nudge and he was being forced through an open door. When in the blazes had that opened? Not that he had much time to really think. Eyes were wildly searching the vast open room before him. There was no sign of the blond at first glance. Either his eyes just didn't register another person from the sheer amount of panic now coursing through his veins or the man simply just wasn’t there.

“Director Tseng tells me that you’ve decided to quit.” 

The voice came from the side. When his head whipped around, Rufus ShinRa came into view.  Hands seemed to be clamped behind his back, his gaze never seeming to leave the redhead. There was something of a shiver running down his spine now. Said mentioned Turk had slipped from his place behind Reno and was now standing off on the opposite side. 

“Uh, yeah. That’s what I’ve decided to do.”

“And why might that be?”

“Can’t live with the guilt.”

Everyone in the room knew what the redhead was referring to. Here again, even if Reno hadn’t been the one to push the final button, he had initiated it. That, in his mind, was just as bad. Rude seemed to be handling this a lot better than him. Seemed to be alright with what they had done. Little did Reno know that his best friend was battling some of the same feelings that he was. Just seemed better at handling it than he did. If only they had talked about it instead of this impulsive idiot acting alone.

“It would seem to me that you’ve forgotten something, Reno. Did you not read the company policy? It clearly defines you all as my own property.” There was this sickeningly sweet smile on the blond’s face. That alone was enough to terrify Reno.

“Sir, wha-”

“It waivers your say in autonomy. I hope you know your life will always belong to me.”

That wasn’t really something that Reno could argue against. The man had pardoned them and in a sense, that did more or less mean he owned them. But as far as the man taking possession of their lives? Was that really something that the redhead was going to stand for?

Whatever his own thoughts on the matter might have been, they seemed to vanish the moment he watched the President start to advance towards him. His hands had unclasped, they were now raised to his sides. 

“We put the loyalty back into disloyalty. If you’re upset, that’s a vulnerability.” The look on Reno’s face was that of someone who was upset. This whole situation for one didn’t make much sense. The redhead wanted to quit. What was with this display? Was he being toyed with right now? “We’re a family forged in mass tyranny.”

The closer the man came to him, the more he backed away. Tseng hadn’t moved from his spot, silent as ever, merely watching these events unfold before him. The redhead started to stutter, stammer. Fail at attempting any sort of words. This was starting to scare him a little bit.

“Sir, I don’t thi-”

“Tut tut. There’s no ‘i’ in ‘team’, Reno, but there is a ‘die’ in ‘diversity’.” A pause to consider the horrified look on the Turk’s face before continuing. “You thought your service was over? Are you really that dumb? Reno, you’re not sober. This exposure is making you bolder. So why don’t you venture back down to your slum.” An arm was waved somewhere behind him as if gesturing to where the plate had just fallen. A somewhat meticulous grin spreading across the blond’s face.

“Just know that we'll always have eyes on you. Is this really worth the trouble you're going through?”

The redheaded Turk just kind of backed himself into a corner. Or rather, tripped himself into a corner. He misstepped in his need to get away from the other. Landing flat on his ass, he was staring up at an almost immaculate sight. The way the man shielded him from the lights created what he would have called an almost genuine halo-like effect. Too bad he couldn't be sure that this man was really an angel. More like a devil in disguise at this point. 

Despite whatever words fought to escape from betwixt his lips, they were all swallowed. There was frustration written all over his features. A faint ‘tch’ was the only sound he made. His gaze eventually broke away from the blond’s face and he was looking off to the side, staring at the wall. Fingers had curled up, hands balling into fists. 

Every single thing this man had said to him was true. Maybe the redhead really was that dumb. Stupid enough to think that he could actually just walk away as if nothing had happened. If ShinRa didn't kill him, the other Slum Rats would. Their reasons would vary, of course. Turks. The scientists. SOLDIERs. The civilians. Literally, anyone or anything could end his life at any moment. But as long as he worked for the Turks, he would be perfectly safe.

Though saying that he was safe was relative at this point. There he sat on the ground in this corner, cowering. There was no trying to hide it. The redhead was scared. Anyone looking at him would have seen it written all over his face. Where was the warning shot? Half expected a shotgun to press itself under his chin. Feel the warmth of the metal against his flesh. Leave a burn as a reminder of what happened here. When no such thing came, he opened his eyes. When they had closed he wasn’t sure. But he found himself staring back up at the man. That’s what he seemed to be waiting for. A hand had reached into his pocket and that’s when Reno flinched. After several moments of silence and no echoing gunshot, his eyes opened once more and there was a hand in front of his face.

But placing in the palm was something that he had never seen before. It looked metallic. Chain links? They appeared to be stuck together in a way that was impossible to break apart. The hand shook just enough for the chains to jingle. So it wasn’t as rigid as it first appeared. But he could tell that they couldn't easily come undone. The blond toyed with it, manipulated it this way and that. No matter what he did, the three links stayed together. 

“Do you know what this is?” Reno shook his head. “It's a . . . Metal puzzle of sorts. One of those ‘impossible puzzles’, I’m told. These three chain links aren’t meant to come apart, but if you somehow manage it? I’ll let you leave your service.”

This puzzle could be solved. They were meant to be incredibly difficult to take apart, however. The truly intellectual would be able to pull them apart. Not to say that Reno wasn’t smart. But he lacked the particular set of logic required to figure it out. This toy would sit in his possession for quite a while. He would either figure it out and get to leave. Or he would eternally be in this man’s employ until he was dead.

Rufus tossed the puzzle into the Turk’s lap and ruffled his hair before turning around and dismissing him. Tseng walked over and nudged the redhead with his foot. Motioned for him to get up, follow him to the door. There was a lot of work to be done and so little time to do it. It was a bit of a struggle, but once he was on his feet, they were leaving the office. Rude was rejoining them and the redhead looked down at the puzzle in his hands.

This, this was never going to get solved, was it?

Well fuck.

[xtrashmammalstefx]

My Dr. Feelgood (Nikki Sixx x Reader)

Requested and Inspired by: @xcazzax

WARNINGS: Cursing, smut, it’s Motley Crue you get the gist.

Since Mick joined the band that would be Motley Crue Nikki and I had our own special thing. I remember Mick nailed his audition and was welcomed with open arms by Tommy (drummer and goofball extraordinaire) and Nikki (my very own Dr. Feelgood). I swear what Nikki and I had between us felt almost instant. I knew it and he sure as hell knew it too.

“You’re in on one condition,” he told Mick that first day.

“Name it,” Mick said curious.

Nikki then turned to me and smirked. “You join us too.”

I shook my head. “Mick is the only musically talented one of us unfortunately.”

“Yeah but you have talent elsewhere which I like,” Nikki said,

“To what talent are you referring to?”

“You, sweetheart, are a very talented enchantress,” Nikki said fingering a loose piece of my hair. “You’ve got me under your spell and now I need to be near you constantly or else it’ll quickly become a curse.”

“Ahem,” Mick cleared his throat looking at us disapprovingly.

After that Mick told me repeatedly that even though he agreed to join the band there was no fucking way I was going anywhere near them; especially Nikki. But the thing is even I was enchanted by Nikki. Not because he was inhumanly beautiful in his own way but because he was an enigma of sorts. He always kept everyone at arm's length but when anyone got close, especially me, he melted as though he were made of butter. He enjoyed comfort and affection yet wouldn’t give it himself. And a big part of me couldn’t help but wonder why.

So I went with Mick to every practice, recording session, and tour. He wasn’t very pleased but Nikki was. He’d always find a way or reason to be close to me, and truth be told I sort of did the same.

Tommy and Vince tried to get close to me but Nikki was quick to put them in their place. Like when Vince joined the band after we booted out this no talent hippie who got on everyone’s fucking nerves. He wasted no time in trying to lure me with his charm.

“So Y/N you seeing anybody?” he asked joining me on the couch at Nikki’s place. They’d just got done performing a new song for the first time, and not gonna lie Vince was pretty good.

Before I could answer Nikki sat down on the other side of me answered for me. “What’s it to ya?” He glared at Vince.

It wasn’t that fierce but Vince still backed off. “Sorry man I didn’t know she was with you.”

“Well now ya know,” Nikki said. Vince got up then and walked off towards the kitchen.

“Nikki,” I groaned.

“What?” he said smiling and draping his arm around me.

“You’re a fucking asshole you know that?”

“That hurts babe,” he said making a pouty face which with his full lips and big eyes weakened the absolute fuck out of me.

I looked over to make sure Mick wasn’t looking (sure enough he was occupied with his guitar). When I was sure the coast was clear I turned back and pecked Nikki on the lips.

Nikki jolted as though my lips gave him quite the shock. He then smiled, placed his hand on my cheek, and pulled me back in. He kissed me hungrily; almost as though he’d been aching to kiss me all day. I didn’t kiss back right away. I was dead scared Mick would see us and tear us a new one. But then my dumbass angel swooped in and saved our day.

“Hey Mick check out this new song I’m working on,” I could hear Tommy say in his loud, doesn’t-know-how-to-shut-the-fuck-up voice. With my brother distracted I smiled and kissed Nikki back.

For a while life was filled with moments like these. We weren’t sure what we were exactly. So until we could figure it out moments were all we had, and we were okay with that. We did our best to keep things PG around the guys since A) Mick was still not entirely okay with me being around Nikki all the time, and B) Tommy wouldn’t stop making gagging sounds at the slightest bit of flirting (which happened A LOT!).

Tour was no exception. And the fact that we each had our own curtained bunks on the bus was a godsend. Nikki and I did things in my bunk that would probably make Mick cry (and Mick doesn’t really cry for shit so…). Mostly hand stuff and...toy related things (my god did he know how to work a vibrator). We didn’t think it could be better than that.

Then at the end of the tour, the guys decided to throw a party at the hotel we were staying at. Of course, some of those invited were the groupies desperate to fuck the members of the band; including Nikki.

At first, I wasn’t really going to indulge too much but fuck… groupies were brutal.

“I heard he’s seeing that weird ass guitar’s player slutty sister,” said one groupie.

“Ew as if,” said another. “I doubt Nikki would waste time on that trash.”

I took a swig of whiskey. “Funny I thought she was talking about me and not you.”

“Excuse me?” said the one who called me trash.

“You’re excused,” I said pushing past them. “Cunt.”

After that, I sort of drowned my sorrows in whatever liquor I could find. When I started feeling a little more than buzzed I started to make my way back to my room. I had just reached the door and was slipping the key in when I heard a voice shout my name.

“Y/N!” Nikki made his way towards me. “Why’d you run?”

I shook my head. “I guess I just wanted to drown my sorrows in whiskey all on my own; spare everyone the upsetting imagery.”

“What? D-Did something happen?” he asked brushing my cheek with his fingers.

I sighed. “Just go back to the party, Nikki.”

“Oh fuck no. I ain’t going anywhere when you’re like this,” Nikki said bringing us both into my room and closing the door behind. “Yuh-you’re sad and that’s not okay. Now tell me wuh-what those cu-cunts said to you. I know it was the groupies and I promise not to do anything illegal to them. Just… tell me. PLease.”

I placed the pilfered whiskey down on the small table by the door and sighed. “They said you wouldn’t waste time on someone like me. The weird guitarist's slutty sister.”

Nikki’s eyes grew wide. “I change my mind about not doing anything illegal those cunts are fucking dead!”

“What? No!” I grabbed his hand to hold him back which, along with all the booze in his system, fucked up his balance and well… “OH FUCK!”

Nikki had tripped and fallen on top of me. Thankfully we had a grayish fur rug to soften the fall. Nikki laughed. “Yuh-You know if you wanted me to uh-hic-top you all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up,” I laughed. Next thing I knew Nikki was kissing me.

Not gonna lie parts of it are a little fuzzy to me. One minute Nikki and I were just making out and then in the next, we were both naked and Nikki was pushing himself inside me. I remember feeling a tingle at the feel of him. So much so that a few thrusts in I actually sobered up a little (just a little).

I remember being unable to keep my voice down when he hit a certain spot. I remember my back arching and screaming his name as I tightened around him. His thrusts became sloppy and… suddenly he was erupting inside me; a string of curses leaving his lips. His body trembled as he released every last drop he had.

I don’t remember anything else after that until I woke up the next morning with a motherfucker of a headache and sore cunt. I blinked open my eyes slowly and found Nikki laying beside me naked.

“Oh shit,” I muttered reaching over to nudge him awake.

“Mmm fuck off,” he muttered turning to lay on his side.

“Believe me we already did,” I said making his eyes snap open.

“Oh fuck,” he then cringed bringing his hand to his head. “FUCK!”

“Hey Y/N!” Tommy knocked on my door which felt like a fucking jackhammer drilling into my head.

“HEY DICKHEAD WE’RE HUNGOVER AS FUCK IN HERE! YA MIND KEEPING IT THE FUCK DOWN?! JESUS!” Nikki shouted at him.

“Nikki?!” Tommy exclaimed. “Dude what the fuck?!”

“Tell Mick about any of this and I swear to God I’ll fucking kill you, Tommy!” I snapped at him.

“Can I at least tell Vince? He sorta owes me a hundred bucks,” Tommy said.

“Of-fucking-course he does,” I groaned. “Discretely alright?”

“FUCK YEAH!”

Nikki groaned. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE TOMMY!”

Tommy laughed and walked away.

“I feel like someone bashed my fuckin’ head into a wall,” Nikki said. “Repeatedly with the fury of a thousand fucking suns.”

“Well at least you’re not the one suffering pain on both ends,” I said. “God is your cock made out of steel or something?”

He looked over at me and smirked. “So I was THAT good eh?”

I lifted my middle finger as I shoved a pillow (from a nearby chair) onto my face.

After that night I figured we wouldn’t like mention it ever again, or at least forget it ever happened and move; go back to the way things used to be. Not that I didn’t want things to go in the direction that night sent us in it’s just… the groupie's words refused to leave my mind.

Maybe he shouldn’t waste his time on someone like me. He’s Nikki fucking Sixx. He’s a rockstar. He can have anything and anyone he wants. Why would he want me? A nobody who just so happens to share DNA with a somebody.

Four months later though I realized forgetting that night wasn’t an option.

I woke up one morning to my stomach churning. I ran to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet when all of the previous night’s dinner came out. It scared the shit out of me. Once my stomach was empty of food I thought about what in the hell could have caused it. Then I realized, while my mind was occupied with band matters and such, it was completely unpreoccupied with the fact that I was more than three months late.

Oh, fuck! I quickly got dressed and went down to the nearby drugstore. I had just gotten back when Mick startled me from inside our kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Jesus!”

“Sorry I didn’t know you’d be out so early,” Mick said handing me my mug. “What’s that?” He motioned at the small baggy in my hand.

“Oh-uh-it’s nothing. Just girl stuff,” I said. Even Mick knew not to ask questions when it comes to female relate things such as periods.

“Nikki called says he wants us over at his place in a few minutes,” Mick said. “Claims he and Tommy got a new song he wants us to try out.”

“Alright,” I said taking a swig of my coffee. I finished it as fast as I could and darted upstairs.

“DON’T TAKE TOO LONG OR ELSE I’M LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!” Mick called out after me.

Shit. In the bathroom, I quickly peed on the stick, capped it and shoved it in my pocket.

We didn’t say anything as we drove down to Nikki’s house; the fucking place that started it all.  Once there I excused myself to go use the bathroom, without even looking at Nikki. I darted upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I took out the test and placed it on the counter (it still had a couple of minutes to go). I never cried so hard as I did when I saw that little pink plus sign.

I placed my hand on my stomach and felt the smallest bump had already formed. It was real… and it was happening to me. To Nikki… I wiped my eyes, shoved the test back in my pocket, and went back downstairs.

“Hey, you okay?” Nikki asked brushing his hand against my arm.

“Um yeah I’m fine,” I said.

“Okay,” he smiled. The guys performed the new song then… and god did it strike the right chord.

You know I'm a dreamer

But my heart's of gold

I had to run away high

So I wouldn't come home low

Just when things went right

It doesn't mean they were always wrong

Just take this song, and you'll never feel

Left all alone

Take me to your heart

Feel me in your bones

Just one more night

And I'm comin' off this

Long & winding road

I'm on my way

I'm on my way

Home sweet home...

Tonight, tonight

I'm on my way

I'm on my way

Home sweet home...

The song continued like that and so much more until it’s very end. By then I was crying again.

“Y/N?” Nikki looked at me concerned.

“Just… give me a moment alright,” I said escaping to the kitchen. The fridge was full of beer which was exactly what I needed but couldn’t have. So I settled for a coke. I sat down on the counter and tried to ease my breathing.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Nikki asked joining me a moment later.

“I can’t…” I shook my head.

“Hey,” Nikki said taking me into his arms. “Whatever it is I can handle it.”

“Even if it has to do with our night of drunken fucking?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that but sure,” he said. “Y-You don’t regret do you?”

“Do you?”

“Of course not,” Nikki said. “I love you Y/N.”

I pulled back, wiped a tear away and took out the test. I held it up for him to see. “Do you still love me now?”

Nikki’s eyes grew wide. “Holy shit!”

“Is that a no then?”

“What? Fuck no...I mean yes I still love you,” Nikki said. “I’m always going to love you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“What did you think I was going to do?” Nikki asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean after what those groupies said… I figured you wouldn’t want to waste your life on something that happened because of a careless night of drunken sex.”

“Y/N,” Nikki lifted my chin with his thumb. “It wasn’t a night of drunken sex for me. That night… what we did… hell what we made,” he placed his hand on my belly. “It was way more than that. We made love as we will continue to for the rest of our lives.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “My old man. He was never there and I can guarantee that if I croaked right now he wouldn’t give two shits about it. I promised myself that when given the chance that I would be different. That my kid would know a father’s love; and that my wife would know her husband’s love.” He placed a small box in my hand. He lifted the lid revealing a small ring. “So will you?”

I cried and threw my arms around him.

“Is that a yes then?” he asked.

“Just put the ring on you idiot,” I said holding out my hand. He slipped the ring onto my finger.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” I said.

Nikki was my Dr. Feelgood and his drug of choice that he would always hook me up with was what our special thing was all about. It was love.

It would always be love.

[luckyspike]

Adam’s Great Adventure, Or: Crowley and Aziraphale get forced into a road trip across America

Theoretically. I haven’t actually written the entire thing yet. Or anything beyond chapter 2. But you know. We’ll see. Either way here’s the set-up and maybe I’ll follow through on the swing.

--

In the years that followed the Nah-pocalypse, things … settled. There was a comfortable routine there, gradually, as Adam slowly re-adjusted to life as the Not-Antichrist, accompanied, as always, by the Them, Anathema and Newt nested in Jasmine Cottage on a more permanent basis, and Crowley and Aziraphale moved to South Downs (although Aziraphale maintained his bookshop three days per week, and Crowley kept his flat across from Parliament, because Aziraphale, he would remind the angel, wasn’t the only one with a job). 

Hell even started speaking to Crowley again, sort of. A few years after the Adam incident, Satan well … went missing. Gone. Absent from Hell. And with no direct oversight, Beelzebub and Dagon had apparently decided to let bygones be bygones - or at any rate, they just pretended the entire cock-up had never happened*. Heaven was less benign - they did at length start speaking to Aziraphale again, but never without a reminder that he probably should Fall at some point, although the Almighty must have just not got around to it yet. Perhaps in another decade or two. Either way, they reasoned, while he was still around, it’s not like the blessings were going to do themselves, and good job, perhaps, for keeping the Not-Antichrist from re-manifesting his powers.

It was all rather complicated, but it was quiet. And after the events of that fateful summer, quiet was alright.

It was why Adam’s announcement at his birthday party - not the official one, with his parents, but what the Them fondly referred to as ‘the one for all the weird people’ - went over with rather more upset than might have strictly been expected. They collected group - the Them, Anathema and Newt, Crowley and Aziraphale** - were gathered in the garden of Jasmine Cottage, and as soon as Adam made the announcement, a silence settled over the garden. Adam stood at the front of the group, beaming, and said, “Brilliant, right?”

“You didn’t tell me!” Pepper was the first to recover and, as always, was annoyed at Adam. “You must’ve been planning it for months - you couldn’t tell me?”

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Adam replied with a shrug. “I’m gonna get loads of cool photos and videos. I’ll send them to you guys first, I promise.” Pepper’s shoulders relaxed, a little. She didn’t look like she was about to punch him in the shoulder, at any rate.

Aziraphale and Anathema exchanged a look. “B - But my dear boy. It’s a wonderful opportunity to be sure, but … must you go all the way to America?”

“Well yeah.” Adam looked puzzled. “Got to, for sure. Figured I’d take the summer to really, y’know, research weather and study it in America.” Adam had recently started university and was studying meteorology, and he was quite keen on the subject. It made sense, Anathema and Newt reasoned. He always had taken a particular interest in the weather.

“There’s weather all over the place,” Brian pointed out, tossing his head to shake his bangs from his eyes and successfully flipping his ponytail into his drink instead. He continued, nonplussed, “What’s America got?”

Adam grinned wider, if that were possible. “Well, glad you asked Brian, because that’s the really brilliant part. I -” he paused, for dramatic effect*** “- will be joining a storm chasing team for the summer.”

“Wicked!” Brian and Pepper said in unison, both breaking into broad grins. Even Wensleydale brightened up. The assembled adults and adult-shaped beings, however, looked less enthused.

“Storm chasing,” Newt said slowly, “sounds rather dangerous, Adam.”

Adam nodded. “Definitely is. It’ll be alright, though. I think it’s been at least a few years since anyone’s died storm chasing.”

“Died?” Crowley winced. “Adam, are you sure -”

“You can’t talk me out of it,” said Adam, and Crowley knew it to be true. Not when Adam used that tone of voice. His powers were less, certainly, but there were still … effects. He relented slightly, when he realized the assembled outside of The Them had expressions ranging from bewildered (Aziraphale) to incredibly nervous (Newt).

Aziraphale leaned over to Crowley. “I think I may be missing something.”

“They get in cars and chase tornadoes around,” Crowley responded in a low voice. “It’s one of the madder human things you can do.”

“Tornadoes?” Aziraphale burst out, looking to Adam. “Adam, I’m sorry, but I really do have to protest. Tornadoes are incredibly dangerous!”

“So we found out,” Anathema murmured, elbowing Newt in the side. Then, more loudly, “I’m with the angel, Adam - what did your parents have to say about it?”

Adam shrugged, his grin unfaded, framed as always by the blonde curls that were practically his trademark at this point, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Same things you guys are saying. I’m still going though. I leave on Sunday.” When more protestations looked to be forthcoming, he used The Tone again. “I’m going and it’s final. Booked and everything. If I’m going to be a meteorologist I’m going to need to understand all kinds of weather, severe or not. I can’t just act like I have any concept of what severe weather is if the most severe thing I’ve seen is a tropical storm.”

“You promise you’ll send video?” Pepper asked, around a mouthful of cookie. “And you’ll call, of course.” Especially me, was the thinly-veiled threat at the end. Anathema and Newt had noticed, over the past few years, that although the Them had always been close, there was … something, between Adam and Pepper. Nothing tangible, nothing that could be defined, but there nonetheless. Adam and Pepper, apparently, were aware of it too, because they, as eighteen-year-olds do, had decided to date other people and pretend they hadn’t noticed^.

“Absolutely I will.” He shrugged. “Everyone included. Anyway, that was my announcement. You can go back to whatever you were talking about before.”

They didn’t. Well, the Them did, although the topic of discussion was much more slanted toward severe weather than it had been previously. To the side of the garden, the adults and adult-shaped beings, however, immediately put their heads together.

“He probably will be fine,” Crowley said, quickly. “Residual powers and all that. It’s … not ideal -”

“Tornadoes are extremely unpredictable,” Newt pointed out.

Aziraphale swallowed. “He is Adam, though. Crowley has a point.”

“Will it extend to those around him, though?” Anathema looked thoughtful. “Sure, he might not get hurt, but if he gets close enough to a tornado there’ll be debris and stuff flying. And his powers - what if he sets something off without realizing it?”

They all thought it over for a minute.

“He’ll probably be fine,” Crowley said, a touch less confidently than before. Even with the sunglasses, he looked worried. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Newt chewed his lip a little. “Would be fine if it wasn’t so far away, I guess. If he gets in trouble …” He trailed off. “It’d be hours before anyone could get to him to help. Would be nice if … well, you know.”

“You and I aren’t going to America any time soon, Newt,” Anathema reminded him, sparing a significant glance at her belly, which was showing the gentle roundness of still-early pregnancy. 

“You can fly for another two months, though.” Anathema glared. “Just saying.” Then, as one, they looked to Aziraphale and Crowley, who were already looking somewhat resigned.

“I don’t really care for America,” Aziraphale said, defeated without even putting up an argument. Crowley sputtered around his drink as the realization of the suggestion finally landed somewhere in his brain.

“You don’t know anybody over there?” Anathema offered. “Anyone who could keep an eye on him for you?”

Crowley snorted derisively. “Who do you trust to keep an eye on the wayward Antichrist?” He shrugged. “I know of a few demons over there, but I wouldn’t trust them any further than you could throw them.”

“Well yes, they’re demons, but what about angels. Aziraphale?” Anathema looked toward the angel, eyebrow raised. “Surely there’s someone you trust.”

Aziraphale thought it over. “Adam,” he said slowly, “made a lot of the celestial host very … annoyed. Angry, even. I’m not sure how many would be sympathetic to the boy. Certainly some, but nobody talks about it.” He sighed. “And I don’t know who I could ask, to be honest. I’m not sure which angels are stationed where anymore. Not exactly getting the bulletins from Above these days.” He looked to Crowley. “The answer does seem somewhat obvious.”

The demon poked the angel with a smirk that fooled no one. “Yeah. Gotta make sure you’re in flying shape in case -”

“We’re going to America, Crowley.”

Crowley’s face fell. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.” He looked to Adam, tall and fit and laughing with his friends. “He’s eighteen now, angel, surely he doesn’t need babysitters -”

“He’s going hunting for tornadoes. In America.” Aziraphale glared at the demon, and Anathema and Newt nodded encouragingly when the angel looked to them - just for a second - out of the corner of his eye. “Who knows what sort of dangers are over there. Not just weather, dear boy, but as you say, demons and angels and evangelicals and who knows what else.” He sighed. “Tornadoes aside, the occult and ethereal are more than concerning enough. And away from south England he doesn’t have the wards -”

“Yeah, alright, alright.” Crowley crossed his arms and glared - first at Aziraphale, then across the garden at Adam, who didn’t notice, and then to Anathema and Newt. Newt withered, slightly, like a peperomia fighting the good fight against root rot, because the alternative is worse. “I hate America.”

Anathema looked surprised. “I didn’t know you’d been. Even better, you’ll be familiar -” but Crowley was waving a hand.

“It was years ago. Years.” There was a tone there that suggested years meant more than just one or two lifetimes ago. “Don’t have the slightest idea what the place is like now. Probably horrible.”

“It’s not bad.” Anathema frowned, and felt vaguely like she should be defending her home country just a little against the onslaught of dread Aziraphale and Crowley seemed to be attaching to it. “There’s some nice people there, I’m sure you’ll probably have a fairly good time. Providing you don’t get sucked into a tornado.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aziraphale said with finality. “We need to go. For Adam.” He looked to the boy again. “But he can’t know.”

“No, absolutely not,” Crowley agreed, shaking his head. “We’re already meddling, I don’t want to be caught doing it.”

Newt looked puzzled. “Is it meddling if you don’t actually do anything? Like, just watching isn’t meddling, is it?”

Crowley nodded. “Ah, right. No, you’re right, Newton, that’s not meddling, that’s stalking. Much better.”

“Crowley.” The angel and the demon glared at one another for a minute, and then, wordlessly, made a decision. Crowley took a swig of his drink, perhaps with slightly more prejudice than was strictly necessary. “We should fulfill our duty. As … guardians. Godfathers.” He ignored Crowley’s expression, which was mocking and childish and so incredibly typical that it barely hit Aziraphale’s radar anymore. Anathema covered her mouth with a hand. “And it’s just one summer. It’ll … it’ll be like a holiday. I’m sure nothing will happen, and it will be fine, and we’ll have a nice holiday in America.”

“That’s a contradiction and you know it.” Crowley sulked. “I’m bringing the Bentley.”

Aziraphale looked to him, eyebrows raised but expression mild. “Seems a lot of trouble to ship it for the summer -”

“I didn’t say I was going to ship it.”

Anathema leaned in to Newt, her lips to his ear, a gentle grin quirking the corners of her mouth. “And here we go.” Newt nodded, and then looked preoccupied with his drink.

“You’re not going to miracle a car across the Atlantic ocean.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s ridiculous. You can find a suitable car for the summer in America. The steering wheel isn’t even on the right side in the Bentley.”

Crowley shrugged. “Or they’re all on the wrong side in America. I’m bringing the Bentley.”

“You will not.” Aziraphale looked to Anathema and Newt. “If you’re worried about your car, I’m sure we can find a place to store it for a few months -”

“I’m not worried about the Bentley it’s my -”

“You can keep it in the garage here,” Newt said, before he really processed the words leaving his mouth. He fought the urge to flee as Crowley’s full attention rounded on to him. “I mean, Dick Turpin sits out front, anyway, and there’s nothing in the garage and it’ll be out of the weather and -”

Aziraphale placed a hand on Newt’s shoulder and smiled, which didn’t entirely make the clenching feeling in Newt’s stomach go away, but did help a little. “That’s very kind of you, Newt. Would that make you feel better about leaving your car, Crowley?”

Crowley turned his glare from Newt - you could still see the snake eyes through the sunglasses, sometimes, Newt’s brain provided in a not-at-all-helpful manner, and it really did make you realize that Hell is only an ill-timed remark about a car away - to his drink once again. “I’m not talking about this right now.”

“Fair enough.” Aziraphale’s tone was pleasant, but also seemed to indicate that the discussion would be brief and not at all in Crowley’s favor. “Oh, I’ll have to book flights! You know, I’ve never been on an aircraft.”

“Great,” Crowley muttered at an ice cube. It started to melt.

“I can give you some travel websites,” Anathema offered, although she knew it was pointless. There would, of course, be two seats miraculously open on whatever airplane they chose. Probably first class. And they wouldn’t have to take their shoes off through security. Probably. “They have some deals sometimes.”

“Oh, thank you, Anathema, really, but that won’t be necessary. I’m sure if I call a travel agent they’ll be able to -”

Crowley coughed. “Travel agent? What year is this? Because I could swear we already did 1985.”

“That’s enough out of you. I’ll figure it out. But thank you for the offer, Anathema.” He looked back to Adam and the Them, who had moved on from a discussion about severe weather to what appeared to be a spirited argument about football. “We’ll just need to find out when he’ll be traveling. Inconspicuously, of course.”

“Or you could just ask him.” Newt pointed out, sidling slightly behind Anathema’s shoulder in case of holy or infernal disapproval of his suggestion. “Doesn’t seem like that’s a secret, really.”

“No. No I suppose not. We can ask before we go.”

“Oh?” Anathema looked to them. “Were you going to go, because I have a strawberry shortcake. It’s still in the freezer.”

“Well, not quite yet, I suppose.” Aziraphale looked to Crowley, who muttered something about needing a refill and stalked into the cottage. The horseshoe pinged and a lick of flame burnt some of the paint around it away. Aziraphale sighed. “He’s sulking.” Anathema and Newt didn’t respond, just nodded sympathetically, hand-in-hand. “Of course this isn’t exactly my ideal holiday, but, well, it could be fun! I’ve never been to America, and it’s been years for him, and, well, I’m sure nothing will happen.”

“Certainly not,” Anathema said, without a trace of certainty. 

Aziraphale looked to the cottage, and then sighed, a gentle smile settling at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll talk him around to it. He’ll buck up.”

-

* Truthfully, they had, shortly after Crowley’s trial, really taken the time to think about things together over a bottle of good whiskey and realized that they really weren’t that keen on fighting another war. They remembered the first one, after all. It hadn’t gone well.

** Madame Tracy and Shadwell had been invited but had regretfully declined on account of Madame Tracy’s recent knee replacement.

*** He had picked the habit up from Crowley.

^ Aziraphale and Crowley, true to form, had noticed absolutely nothing. Anathema and Newt often joked about it.

Now with Chapter 2!

[marshmallow-phd]

The Experiments

(gif not mine)

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, Experiment AU

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that are stored down there….

Warning: mentions of abuse

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I Final

Luhan.

From you had been told, he should have been locked up in EXO’s chinese facility. How was he possibly be here?

He patted Sehun’s back lovingly. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Sehun straightened up, trying his hardest to make his face stoic again.

“How are you here?” Minseok asked the question that was on everyone’s lips.

“Security in the other lab isn’t as tight,” he answered, stepping further into the house. The door closed with a loud bang behind him, making you flinch. “They rescued us first. That was about eight months ago.”

“Are-” Junmyeon stopped, clearing his throat nervously. “Are the others with you?”

Luhan shook his head. “No. After about five months, they were ready to be back into the world. They split up. Tao’s still angry with Kris, blaming him for us being caught. They check in separately every so often, but I haven’t heard from them in a while. As far as we know, they’re doing fine.”

Junmyeon nodded, seemingly simultaneously sad and grateful for the update.

“(y/n).”

When Luhan called out to you, your perked up. Leaning around Jongin’s shoulder, you made eye contact with him. “Yes?”

“Where’s Marcus?”

Licking your lips, you opened your mouth to answer, but Junmyeon beat to the punch.

“He didn’t make it.”

Luhan visibly deflated, shoulders slumping.

You pushed past your barrier, stepping up. Upset or not, you could still speak for yourself.

“He got caught in the crossfire. We couldn’t save him.” You crossed your arms. “I’m assuming you’re the contact he told me about?”

He smiled. “Yeah. I decided to stick with the program and get these idiots out.”

A few chuckles rumbled off from the crowd behind you. Even you grinned a bit.

“You’re late.” The mood in the room was light and you tried to keep up with it.

“I know. EXO isn’t making it easy to move around. We had to be careful so we didn’t lead them to you accidentally.” He glance around the room. “I’m sorry guys. You’ll have to stay here a little longer.” Focus back on you, his face was all so serious. “(y/n), I think we should talk in private.”

Understanding, you nodded. “Okay. Let’s go up to my room.”

Multiple roars erupted behind you, making you jump. You couldn’t decipher who exactly had objected to your suggestion and you were confused as to what the big deal was. Luhan wasn’t a stranger. To them, at least.

“Or not.” You scratched head. “Okay, how about everyone else goes up to their rooms and Luhan and I stay in the living room?”

That idea wasn’t dismissed.

“Okay, then. I’ll call for you guys when we’re through.”

After giving nods of approval, they slowly went up the stairs. Minseok stopped to give Luhan a hug.

“I’m glad to see you safe, Minseok.”

Pulling away, the eldest shook his head. “You’re one to talk.”

Sehun was the last to leave, obvious reluctant to be absent of Luhan’s presence.

“We’ll catch up soon, Sehun,” he promised.

Giving in, Sehun nodded and took the stairs to the second floor two at a time.

“Come on,” you motioned with your head for him to follow you.

Though you had said to conveign in the living room, you didn’t entire trust the guys to stay in their rooms, so you bypassed the reactional room to the breakfast room. Windows made up three of the four walls with a small, round table in the middle, perfect for breakfast at sunrise. It was another one of your little hideaways that the boys didn’t bother you in. With a good deal distance from the second floor and plenty of doors in between, you knew the two of you could have privacy if you kept your voices low.

Once you were both seated, you let out a deep breath.

“Is the part where you tell me that my face is plastered all over every news broadcast as a wanted criminal?”

Luhan shook his head. The small smile on his face was reassuring. He had young boyish features, although from little you could remember from his nearly empty file you’d only glanced at once, he was one of the older ones.

“No. EXO has kept this little jailbreak quiet. They can’t exactly say nine of their human experiments went missing to the public. But they’ve got plenty of manpower to search for all of us without causing a stir in the streets.”

Leaning back in your seat, you sighed. “How much longer do you think we’ll have to stay here?”

The smile faded. “I don’t know. Maybe a week? They only sent me ahead because I was getting restless. We hadn’t heard from Marcus and I didn’t take that as a good sign. He was usually the impatient type. They agreed to let me scout ahead, make sure you guys made it here. I’ll contact my handler and them know you’re safe. From there, we’ll wait for things to die down.”

It would never die down. Dr. Wang herself was a very determined woman. She wouldn’t just let this go. They spent too much time, money, and resources to just shrug and walk away. All of you would be hunted for the rest your lives. Constantly looking over your shoulder, making sure no one was following you for too long, careful not to leave any sort of trace of who you really were.

“How exactly are you going to contact your handler?” you asked, trying to get your mind on something else rather than your future living as a burned spy. If only you were that cool. Or good at throwing a punch.

Luhan dug around his pocket before throwing down a very old and dingy looking flip phone. You didn’t even realize those still existed.

“Burner phone,” he explained. “Untraceable. It’s been specially programmed to only be able to receive calls from one number. Same for any outgoing calls. Only that one number, everything else will fail to dial.”

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Nice.”

Leaning forward, Luhan rested his elbows on the table, staring you down and lowering his voice. “(y/n). The reason I wanted to talk to you alone was because I sensed something as soon as I walked into the house.”

“Sensed something?” you echoed. “Like, you smelled something? Or heard?”

He shook his head. “No. You see, my alterations gave me another sense. Not really a sixth sense since humans technically have a few more beyond our normal five.”

You bit your tongue, holding back your snipe. You knew that. You did go to med school.

“But my extra sense….” He paused, trying to find the best way to phrase whatever he was about to express to you. “Well, I guess the closest word to it is empath.”

“Okay,” you chewed on the inside of your cheek, processing his statement. “So, based on my limited knowledge of that word, you can basically feel other people's emotions?” Do not make a reference to that book, do NOT make a reference to that book.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but yes. I’m so intuned, sometimes it feels like I can read their mind.”

That made you scoff. “Okay, I believe Junmyeon being able to survive underwater without breathing for an hour and I can understand the science behind Yixing’s rapid healing, but mind reading? Seriously?”

Luhan rolled his eyes. “It’s not mindreading. I can just make very accurate assumptions from what I pick up. It’s more like I can smell the pheromones and the chemical changes in your brain and interpret what they mean.”

“That makes more sense,” you replied, although still a bit skeptical. “So, why are you telling me this?”

Clearing his throat, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Take what I’m about to say and keep it to yourself, okay?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Okay….”

“I can sense the guys are protective of you,” he stated. That was obvious enough, even to you. “Marcus kept us updated on the situation with you. When the thing happened with Sehun-” he stopped, shaking the thought away. “We were able to realize that the boys would be more likely to listen to you than Marcus, so when he informed us that you were in, I was relieved. I figured they’d be attached to you, but-” he took a deep breath. “You understand that their DNA is mixed with wolf genes and that’s altered their way of thinking.”

You groaned. “Luhan, I’m a doctor. I studied their files and their blood for months. I know they are basically now part wolf. They might as well be a pack of werewolves that just don’t actually turn into giant dogs. What does this have to do with anything?”

He smirked. “You’re right. We might as well be wolves. Our instincts are like wolves. Including our mating instincts.”

The air caught in your throat, making you choke. “Mating instincts?”

“Yup.” Luhan gave you a look of sympathy. “They can get attached quickly. In this case, it’s to probably the first female to ever show them kindness.”

“So, you’re saying that those nine wolves have pegged me as their possible mate?” You were in deep trouble.

Luhan shook his head. “No. Not all. Like I said, most of them see you as a sister or motherly figure. Still would fight to keep you safe, but not romantic in any way. From what I could interpret, only about three of them see you as a possible mate.”

Okay. Still deep trouble but you could keep your head above water. Certain instances popped into your head. You were pretty sure you knew which of the boys he was talking about. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

“My advice,” he continued, “make your position known. Keep your distance. If you only want to be their friend, make sure they know it. If there is someone who you might be growing close to, keep it hidden from the others. Wolves are territorial. We’re all brothers, but they won’t hesitate to rip each other’s throats out if they feel like one of them is getting too close to you.”

You slumped in your chair. A face flashed in your mind and your heart sped up for just a moment. Yeah, you were falling for him. He made you feel safe. He calmed you down and always seemed to know just what to say. But how could you even think that way right now? It wasn’t the time or place for this.

“It’s okay to be getting feelings,” Luhan reassured you. “You don’t have to feel guilty. It’s natural.”

Throwing him a look, you tried to look on the bright side. At least there was now some progress on your current situation. With Luhan’s arrival, you finally had a way to contact the private sector if anything were to go wrong. You had someone here who had gone through a jailbreak before and could provide some very needed feedback, particularly on how not to get caught. Focusing on a love subplot to your life was not going to do you any good. Perhaps if you just distanced yourself from everyone equally, you’d be fine.

No. That wouldn’t work. The boys would pick up on it and ask if they’d done something to upset you. Minseok picked up on your issue with Yixing like a hound on a fox. All nine of them confronting you would just be horrifying.

Standing up, you figured your only choice was to play it by ear. Hopefully it didn’t turn into all out war like Luhan was describing.

What were you supposed to do? Sit them all down and say “hey, so I realize that I’m the only female that has shown you kindness in the last fifteen years and you are genetically enhanced males that are now led by by your instincts, but lets all just try and not be controlled by our hormones for the time being”? You shuddered at the thought.

“Hey, don’t stress out about it too much,” Luhan comforted.

You threw him a look. “I’m on the run from a very powerful research lab with practically infinite resources with nine genetically altered man-wolves who might start acting like it’s mating season. Yeah, I have absolutely nothing to stress out about.”

He smirked. “At least they’re all attractive.”

You gaped at him, unable to move as you watched his back exit from the sun room and into the main house.

Coming to your senses, you followed him. At the base of the stairs, you called up to the boys, “Okay! It’s safe to come down now!”

There was a moment of silence before a rumble that challenged a stampede of elephants shook the ceiling above you. All nine boys in a giant blob stumbled down the stairs before not-so-stabley coming to a stop in front of you and Luhan.

“Why don’t you all sit down at the island to catch up and I’ll warm dinner back up for everyone?”

Several of them nodded. Sehun threw an arm around Luhan, holding him back a bit while the others started for the kitchen. As you went to follow them, Junmyeon caught your eye and gave you small, reassuring smile. You returned it before noticing Luhan’s smirk in the corner of your eye. When Sehun wasn’t looking, he threw you a thumbs up and a look that clearly said “nice choice”.

Shaking your head, you pushed past them and tried not to focus on Jongin’s questioning gaze.

Having an empath around was going to drive you insane.

[yearsblog]

“I’m glad you noticed!” says Olly Alexander with one of his impish smiles. “I’ve come a long way since then.” We’re talking about the difference between the first time I saw him sing with his band, Years & Years, and the strutting peacock that he has since become. In 2015, fresh from winning the BBC Sound Of . . . poll, Alexander had a mean falsetto and a clutch of killer synth-pop ditties (Shine, King), but he cut a diffident figure during his show at the Heaven nightclub, dressed down in a T-shirt and beanie.

The second time I saw him, a year later, he was rising on a hydraulic lift through the stage of a rapturous Wembley Arena, wearing a red tunic with silver shoulder pads, and garlanded with laser beams. Alexander’s ascent to serious, tabloid-baiting stardom continues. Years & Years have a dazzling album out this week and days before we meet he was on Graham Norton’s sofa, regaling Cate Blanchett and Sandra Bullock with the story of how Meteorite, the song he wrote for Bridget Jones’s Baby, was about “a big dick”. Diffident no longer.

“Looking back, it’s quite overwhelming,” says Alexander, 27, as he lunches on quinoa in a restaurant in King’s Cross, north London. He is slight and conspiratorial, with tiny safety pins through his ears, a ring through his nose and his cropped hair dyed scarlet. “At first you really don’t know what support from an audience is going to feel like. But when people started showing their support for me being honest and being a camp, gay frontman — I just never really expected it and it added so much fuel to my fire.”

Among the things he has eloquently spoken out on are LGBTQ rights (he presented a BBC Three documentary called Growing Up Gay), mental health (he extols the virtues of therapy, which he started pre-emptively, before he became famous) and bullying (at school in Gloucestershire he was regularly “bushed”: thrown into the bushes next to the assembly hall). He is far more vocal than he was at the start of his music career, when an industry person advised him not to talk about being gay. “She was, like, ‘Why do people need to know your sexuality?’ She wanted to protect me.”

Well, it turned out that he didn’t need protection, he needed confidence. That came with experience and a changing musical landscape in which artists as diverse as Janelle Monáe, Christine and the Queens, Frank Ocean and Perfume Genius felt able to be candid about their sexuality. “It’s quite astonishing,” Alexander says. “We’re seeing a lot more visible queer artists and visible gay people.”

Pop has been missing male stars with strong views, especially those with a sense of theatre; it’s all uber-polite George Ezra or anti-glamorous Ed Sheeran. “It has its place, having someone who’s not dressed up,” Alexander says, trying to be diplomatic. “But the thing I love most about pop music is the fantasy, the escapism. I had this moment when I realised I’m in the best place to engineer that for myself. I realised you could go as far as you want on stage.”

A few weeks ago at Radio 1’s Biggest Weekend in Swansea he wore a lime-green Freddie Mercury leotard and led an onstage conga of his dancers, who seemed to be styled as drugged-up zombies. It felt like a long way from Mike Read and Bruno Brookes. “There was a point where I realised if you embody supreme confidence, you can get away with anything,” Alexander says. “It is quite a religious experience for me, to be on stage.”

Religion is a bit of a theme for Years & Years, whose other members are the keyboard player Emre Türkmen and the bassist Mikey Goldsworthy. Their first album was called Communion and their new one is entitled Palo Santo, after a mystical South American tree burnt as incense. Its literal translation, “holy wood”, joins the dots between spiritualism and smut (“It’s a Carry On album!” Alexander says with a giggle). So too does the recent single, Sanctify, partly inspired by a relationship with a straight-acting man, which refers to two very different things that one can do on one’s knees. “See?” Alexander says, turning to his publicist, who is sitting near by. “Ed gets it!”

He has always been into spiritualism and the occult, he says, albeit in a slightly sceptical way. “The first place I ever had a job was in this shop called Moonstones — it sold gemstones, pagan spellbooks and chocolate dildos.” He grew up loving fairytales and fantasy fiction: Lord of the Rings, The Magic Faraway Tree, Harry Potter. You can see why he might have wanted to escape to other worlds, such was the rotten time he sometimes had at school, where he was mocked and sometimes “bushed” for wearing eyeliner, nail varnish and choker necklaces.

Has being a posterboy for LGBTQ and anti-bullying issues become a burden? He gets Instagram messages from fans every day. “It doesn’t feel like a burden. I think it would be more of a burden to not acknowledge any of that. But I’ve had to learn the ways to cope with my own mental health along the way, and I feel like I’m in a good position now, but if you’re having a bad day and you’re suddenly having to talk about things that you experienced when you were 13 years old, it can feel a bit challenging.”

He’s talking about the break-up of his mother, who ran community craft groups, from his father, who worked at amusement parks, but, tellingly, dreamt of being a musician. After the split Alexander moved to Gloucestershire with his mother and brother; his father has only been in contact sporadically. Alexander has sometimes shied away from the subject because “I was trying to protect him, and I was, like, ‘Why am I still trying to protect someone who hasn’t been in my life for over a decade and who’s actually very difficult and caused a lot of pain to my family?’ ”

They hadn’t been in touch for seven years when his father broke the silence in wincing fashion, by tweeting him. Matters got worse when Alexander’s fans started replying to his dad, even trolling him. It sounds horrific. He has seen him once since then, last year. “It was quite triggering,” he says. “I just couldn’t deal with it at the time, it was too overwhelming.”

Social media can be a perilous place for him, especially deciding what to keep private. “I’ve always been fairly ‘Here’s everything!’ ” He’s also prone to “stalking someone that I fancy, and then getting upset because they like so-and-so’s picture and not mine”.

Yet the lure of Instagram can be irresistible. Take his appearance on The Graham Norton Show, when he met Rihanna, one of his heroes, and posted a picture of them backstage, in which he wears an expression of volcanic ecstasy. He was more nervous about meeting Ri-Ri than he was about singing on the show, he says, but she was lovely. “She was, like, ‘My fans love you.’ I feel like we’re destined to be friends.”

Or, perhaps, rivals. Palo Santo, with its mega-hooks, shimmering melodies and sumptuous production, is an album built to take on the superstar Americans at their own game. It was inspired by the R&B and pop that Alexander grew up on: Timberland, Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake and, before them, Prince and Michael Jackson.

He’s a better fit for music than he was for his first, slightly accidental career as an actor. “It just feels like people can express their identity easier as artists in the music industry.” Still, acting was where he initially made his mark, straight out of school, first in the film Summerhill and later playing a Bullingdon-style posho in The Riot Club, Herbert Pocket in David Nicholls’s TV adaptation of Great Expectations, and a stage role in Michael Grandage’s Peter and Alice, during which he befriended Judi Dench.

He was quite intimidated, but Dench turned out to be “very cheeky. One day she brought in biscuits that had dicks and balls on them; she was, like, ‘Do you want a cock biscuit?’ ” She has since narrated a short film to accompany Years & Years’s new album.

Acting has some happy associations for him, then, but “Hollywood is the worst culprit” when it comes to diversity, he says. “It’s just so far behind the times, it’s disgusting.” He even felt a subtle pressure not to reveal his sexuality on God Help the Girl, a low-budget British indie film directed by Stuart Murdoch of the band Belle & Sebastian, in which Alexander played a straight musician.

“It gave me a lot of anxiety. It was one of the reasons I wanted to stop acting. I definitely felt at the time it was something you had to be quiet about, because otherwise directors wouldn’t believe you could pull off the part.” That was nothing to do with Murdoch, he stresses. “I got on with Stuart really well, and I felt guilty because I never told him I was gay. I kind of tried to play up to the fact that I could actually be straight still, based on lies, even though everyone else knew I was gay.” During the shoot he met a man in a club. “After filming every day I’d just go straight to his house and spend the night with him. You just feel like you’re living a bit of a double life.”

I tell him my editor will tell me off if I don’t ask about his romantic status. “I’m single,” he replies with a smile. “Let everyone know, including your editor! Is he gay? It’s a she? Maybe she has gay friends. Yeah, I am happily single. It’s been like . . . almost two years. Not that I’ve been a nun in that time, I would like to stress.” Celebrity is double-sided in that regard: adulation on one hand, lack of anonymity on the other. “It obviously has positives,” he says with a smile, “but my sex life’s taken quite a beating.”

Don’t buy the mock self-pity — Alexander is doing just fine. There’s the stellar album and an arena tour in the autumn. Nor have his experiences put him off acting. “I feel like I could do something really, really fun and weird, like play an alien,” he says. “Or, you know, a goblin king!” From dressed-down diffidence to a budding Bowie in three years: he really has come a long way.

Palo Santo is released tomorrow on Polydor. Years & Years play the Roundhouse, London, July 10; Manchester Arena, July 14 and tour the UK from November

[ollyarchive]

Years & Years’s Olly Alexander: ‘Celebrity has positives, but my sex life’s taken quite a beating’

Olly Alexander is Britain’s most exciting new pop star, but the Years & Years singer has also become a poster boy for social change

Ed Potton

July 5 2018, 12:01am, The Times

“I’m glad you noticed!” says Olly Alexander with one of his impish smiles. “I’ve come a long way since then.” We’re talking about the difference between the first time I saw him sing with his band, Years & Years, and the strutting peacock that he has since become. In 2015, fresh from winning the BBC Sound Of … poll, Alexander had a mean falsetto and a clutch of killer synth-pop ditties (Shine, King), but he cut a diffident figure during his show at the Heaven nightclub, dressed down in a T-shirt and beanie.

The second time I saw him, a year later, he was rising on a hydraulic lift through the stage of a rapturous Wembley Arena, wearing a red tunic with silver shoulder pads, and garlanded with laser beams. Alexander’s ascent to serious, tabloid-baiting stardom continues. Years & Years have a dazzling album out this week and days before we meet he was on Graham Norton’s sofa, regaling Cate Blanchett and Sandra Bullock with the story of how Meteorite, the song he wrote for Bridget Jones’s Baby, was about “a big dick”. Diffident no longer.

“Looking back, it’s quite overwhelming,” says Alexander, 27, as he lunches on quinoa in a restaurant in King’s Cross, north London. He is slight and conspiratorial, with tiny safety pins through his ears, a ring through his nose and his cropped hair dyed scarlet. “At first you really don’t know what support from an audience is going to feel like. But when people started showing their support for me being honest and being a camp, gay frontman — I just never really expected it and it added so much fuel to my fire.” Olly Alexander with Emre Türkmen and Mikey Goldsworthy of Years & Years Olly Alexander with Emre Türkmen and Mikey Goldsworthy of Years & Years

Among the things he has eloquently spoken out on are LGBTQ rights (he presented a BBC Three documentary called Growing Up Gay), mental health (he extols the virtues of therapy, which he started pre-emptively, before he became famous) and bullying (at school in Gloucestershire he was regularly “bushed”: thrown into the bushes next to the assembly hall). He is far more vocal than he was at the start of his music career, when an industry person advised him not to talk about being gay. “She was, like, ‘Why do people need to know your sexuality?’ She wanted to protect me.”

Well, it turned out that he didn’t need protection, he needed confidence. That came with experience and a changing musical landscape in which artists as diverse as Janelle Monáe, Christine and the Queens, Frank Ocean and Perfume Genius felt able to be candid about their sexuality. “It’s quite astonishing,” Alexander says. “We’re seeing a lot more visible queer artists and visible gay people.”

Pop has been missing male stars with strong views, especially those with a sense of theatre; it’s all uber-polite George Ezra or anti-glamorous Ed Sheeran. “It has its place, having someone who’s not dressed up,” Alexander says, trying to be diplomatic. “But the thing I love most about pop music is the fantasy, the escapism. I had this moment when I realised I’m in the best place to engineer that for myself. I realised you could go as far as you want on stage.”

A few weeks ago at Radio 1’s Biggest Weekend in Swansea he wore a lime-green Freddie Mercury leotard and led an onstage conga of his dancers, who seemed to be styled as drugged-up zombies. It felt like a long way from Mike Read and Bruno Brookes. “There was a point where I realised if you embody supreme confidence, you can get away with anything,” Alexander says. “It is quite a religious experience for me, to be on stage.” With Hannah Murray and Emily Browning in God Help the Girl With Hannah Murray and Emily Browning in God Help the Girl

Religion is a bit of a theme for Years & Years, whose other members are the keyboard player Emre Türkmen and the bassist Mikey Goldsworthy. Their first album was called Communion and their new one is entitled Palo Santo, after a mystical South American tree burnt as incense. Its literal translation, “holy wood”, joins the dots between spiritualism and smut (“It’s a Carry On album!” Alexander says with a giggle). So too does the recent single, Sanctify, partly inspired by a relationship with a straight-acting man, which refers to two very different things that one can do on one’s knees. “See?” Alexander says, turning to his publicist, who is sitting near by. “Ed gets it!”

He has always been into spiritualism and the occult, he says, albeit in a slightly sceptical way. “The first place I ever had a job was in this shop called Moonstones — it sold gemstones, pagan spellbooks and chocolate dildos.” He grew up loving fairytales and fantasy fiction: Lord of the Rings, The Magic Faraway Tree, Harry Potter. You can see why he might have wanted to escape to other worlds, such was the rotten time he sometimes had at school, where he was mocked and sometimes “bushed” for wearing eyeliner, nail varnish and choker necklaces.

Has being a posterboy for LGBTQ and anti-bullying issues become a burden? He gets Instagram messages from fans every day. “It doesn’t feel like a burden. I think it would be more of a burden to not acknowledge any of that. But I’ve had to learn the ways to cope with my own mental health along the way, and I feel like I’m in a good position now, but if you’re having a bad day and you’re suddenly having to talk about things that you experienced when you were 13 years old, it can feel a bit challenging.” Olly Alexander: “It’s quite a religious experience for me to be on stage” Olly Alexander: “It’s quite a religious experience for me to be on stage”

He’s talking about the break-up of his mother, who ran community craft groups, from his father, who worked at amusement parks, but, tellingly, dreamt of being a musician. After the split Alexander moved to Gloucestershire with his mother and brother; his father has only been in contact sporadically. Alexander has sometimes shied away from the subject because “I was trying to protect him, and I was, like, ‘Why am I still trying to protect someone who hasn’t been in my life for over a decade and who’s actually very difficult and caused a lot of pain to my family?’ ”

They hadn’t been in touch for seven years when his father broke the silence in wincing fashion, by tweeting him. Matters got worse when Alexander’s fans started replying to his dad, even trolling him. It sounds horrific. He has seen him once since then, last year. “It was quite triggering,” he says. “I just couldn’t deal with it at the time, it was too overwhelming.”

Social media can be a perilous place for him, especially deciding what to keep private. “I’ve always been fairly ‘Here’s everything!’ ” He’s also prone to “stalking someone that I fancy, and then getting upset because they like so-and-so’s picture and not mine”.

Yet the lure of Instagram can be irresistible. Take his appearance on The Graham Norton Show, when he met Rihanna, one of his heroes, and posted a picture of them backstage, in which he wears an expression of volcanic ecstasy. He was more nervous about meeting Ri-Ri than he was about singing on the show, he says, but she was lovely. “She was, like, ‘My fans love you.’ I feel like we’re destined to be friends.”

Or, perhaps, rivals. Palo Santo, with its mega-hooks, shimmering melodies and sumptuous production, is an album built to take on the superstar Americans at their own game. It was inspired by the R&B and pop that Alexander grew up on: Timberland, Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake and, before them, Prince and Michael Jackson.

He’s a better fit for music than he was for his first, slightly accidental career as an actor. “It just feels like people can express their identity easier as artists in the music industry.” Still, acting was where he initially made his mark, straight out of school, first in the film Summerhill and later playing a Bullingdon-style posho in The Riot Club, Herbert Pocket in David Nicholls’s TV adaptation of Great Expectations, and a stage role in Michael Grandage’s Peter and Alice, during which he befriended Judi Dench.

He was quite intimidated, but Dench turned out to be “very cheeky. One day she brought in biscuits that had dicks and balls on them; she was, like, ‘Do you want a cock biscuit?’ ” She has since narrated a short film to accompany Years & Years’s new album.

Acting has some happy associations for him, then, but “Hollywood is the worst culprit” when it comes to diversity, he says. “It’s just so far behind the times, it’s disgusting.” He even felt a subtle pressure not to reveal his sexuality on God Help the Girl, a low-budget British indie film directed by Stuart Murdoch of the band Belle & Sebastian, in which Alexander played a straight musician.

“It gave me a lot of anxiety. It was one of the reasons I wanted to stop acting. I definitely felt at the time it was something you had to be quiet about, because otherwise directors wouldn’t believe you could pull off the part.” That was nothing to do with Murdoch, he stresses. “I got on with Stuart really well, and I felt guilty because I never told him I was gay. I kind of tried to play up to the fact that I could actually be straight still, based on lies, even though everyone else knew I was gay.” During the shoot he met a man in a club. “After filming every day I’d just go straight to his house and spend the night with him. You just feel like you’re living a bit of a double life.”

I tell him my editor will tell me off if I don’t ask about his romantic status. “I’m single,” he replies with a smile. “Let everyone know, including your editor! Is he gay? It’s a she? Maybe she has gay friends. Yeah, I am happily single. It’s been like … almost two years. Not that I’ve been a nun in that time, I would like to stress.” Celebrity is double-sided in that regard: adulation on one hand, lack of anonymity on the other. “It obviously has positives,” he says with a smile, “but my sex life’s taken quite a beating.”

Don’t buy the mock self-pity — Alexander is doing just fine. There’s the stellar album and an arena tour in the autumn. Nor have his experiences put him off acting. “I feel like I could do something really, really fun and weird, like play an alien,” he says. “Or, you know, a goblin king!” From dressed-down diffidence to a budding Bowie in three years: he really has come a long way.

Palo Santo is released tomorrow on Polydor. Years & Years play the Roundhouse, London, July 10; Manchester Arena, July 14 and tour the UK from November

[betweensceneswriter]

Jimjeran-Chapter 19 : To Have and To Hold

Going to the iar, and we’re gonna get married...

Click Here to Hop to the Table of Contents

Previously on Jimjeran- Chapter 18 : Restraint Jamie and Claire are ‘horndogs’ as they wait …

      They were standing out front of the clinic when Jamie and I arrived, finally flushed from the brisk walk instead of our recent behavior.  My mom, petite and brunette, her brown curls generously interspersed with white strands, immediately approached and gave me and then Jamie a hug.

     My father was more reticent, hanging back and eying Jamie with critical curiosity. I had hugged him, and Jamie reached out his hand, which Daddy shook firmly, but then he took Jamie by the arm.  “Let’s walk a little, son,” he said, as they headed down the road toward Ine.  Jamie looked back at me with wide eyes, and I shrugged my shoulders helplessly, mouthing, “Sorry!”

      “How did you get here so fast?” I asked my mom.  “The Jolok boat doesn’t arrive on the island until six.”

      “We went ahead and chartered a boat,” Mom said, gesturing toward my apartment, “with Dougal and Moneo.”  It was then I noticed Jamie’s aunt and uncle, hanging back to allow us time for greetings with my parents.  

      “Where will you stay?” I asked, suddenly wondering how we could accommodate so many guests—on our wedding night. “The closest hotel is in Arno Arno.”

      “Dougal is friends with the Iroij,” Mom said. “That’s the local ruler, right?”  I nodded in response. “He is able to host us in his palace,” my mom explained. “Though Dougal assures us that the term ‘palace’ is used loosely here.”

     I hugged my mom again. “I still can’t believe you’re here!”

     Mom wrapped her arm around my shoulders.  “There are a lot of astounding details and things beyond belief in the past few days,” she winked. “Now tell me about my new son-in-law.”

      The local women had absconded with the extra food we brought on Thursday morning.  They’d parceled it out to prepare rice and banana bread and donuts at home ahead of time, and as we stood there, they were bringing pots and wood to Meto’s house next door and to Plurose and Randy’s house on the other side.  Men carried stringers of fresh fish, and several also brought the freshly plucked bodies of chickens.  Children skipped up with rolls of pandanus mats which they laid out in the grassy area on the clinic property.  A few men came carrying sawhorses and boards, and soon some makeshift tables had been set up as well.

     I took my mom out to the iar, where we’d decided on having an open air wedding.  “Oh, Claire,” she said, squeezing me again as she looked out over the turquoise lagoon toward the islands on the other side, “It’s so beautiful.”  She sat down on the sandy grass, ironically in the same spot Jamie and I had been making out two nights previously.

      “I’d like to help you fix your hair and get dressed,” she said, glancing at her watch.  “It’s 4:15 and the wedding is planned for 6:30.  But please tell me you have ten minutes to tell your mama how in heck you got engaged so quickly?”

      “Sure," I said, sitting down next to her.  "I met Jamie my second day here, because he had a huge gash on his…bottom,” I said, trying to be sensitive to my mother’s language sensitivities.  “And I had to give him stitches.”

     She looked at me with a smirk.  “Oh, Claire,” she said, “That’s always how it always starts—looking at their hineys!”  I rolled my eyes at her.  "So, tell me more about him."

     "He’s Scottish.  He’s a teacher.  He's really sweet.  And out here in this place where they never show affection in public, he's been the one who gives me hugs and holds me when I'm sad.  He’s been my best friend here."  

     "But best friends is still a long way away from marriage," Mom said.

     "The catalyst was really my incredible cultural stupidity, paired with Frank breaking up with me," I said.  "I was so devastated, I went to Jamie to be comforted.  But it was nighttime, and afterward I just didn't want to be alone, so I slept in his bed with him."  My mother said nothing, just raised her eyebrows at me.

     "So, we ended up getting in trouble because I walked back in the morning in my pajamas, and Dougal believed my ability to be effective was damaged because they wouldn't respect me. He said he should probably terminate my service and send me home.  And he didn't feel like he could punish me and not Jamie, so Jamie was in danger of losing his position.  So I proposed marriage."

     Surprised and amused, my mom shook her head at me.  "You did?  Just to avoid going back to the states?"

     “I know it seems fast, Mom,” I said.  “I know he’s young.  I know Frank just broke up with me.  But there is just clarity in being with him.  I feel safe and loved when I’m around Jamie, and he doesn’t hold himself back from me.  He wants to be married forever, and I just knew.”

      “And this beautiful boy is also a virgin?” My mom asked, as she made a funny face at me.  “Still?  You’ve been engaged two days.”

      "Okay, he's mostly a virgin," I joked, honestly.  

      "Oh, Claire," said Mom, "That's my girl!  Does he know what he's signing up for?"

      “Neither of us do," I said.  "And we've pretty much agreed that that's okay."

     "You know, kiddo," she said.  "Even if your dad and I thought we knew what we were signing up for, we had no idea what life would hand to us.  And you're right.  It's been okay."  She cocked her head and gave me a look of blessing and permission, like she was satisfied.

     "Come on, Mom,” I said, hopping up and reaching a hand down to her.  “Let’s go visit the ladies and see if we can help.”

     With an hour left, Mom and I retreated to my apartment.  While I had squatted and chatted with the ladies who were cooking, she had wandered around the property, finding some delicate pink and white flowers.  Having the same ridiculously curly hair as I did, my mom had plenty of practice getting it to obey.  She pinned my hair up, and once I’d put on my simple white dress, she wove flowers into the hair around the bun. 

     I hadn’t typically been wearing much makeup because the humidity made it run too easily, but I put on some mascara and eyeliner, and a little bit of lip pencil and gloss.

     Jamie and I had decided we’d keep the ceremony pretty laid back and traditional.  Traditional vows, ring, kiss the bride.  The sun would be going down on the ocean side, so the sky would be pretty, but no glaring sun behind us.  We didn’t feel like we’d known each other long enough to write our vows to be shared in front of everyone. 

     But I wanted something personal; I wanted Jamie to know that I truly did care for him and want him.  So I’d suggested that we each write something to the other that we could go out to the water and read to each other alone.  Jamie heartily agreed to the idea, so I had spent some time writing my thoughts the night before.  I took the time to read it over once more, eliminate references to Frank by name, and rewrite it neatly.  My draft was a mess, and even a little tear-stained, to be honest.

     The time was approaching, and I became more and more anxious.  My mom could see it, and despite the fact that the two of us were virtually the same size, she pulled me down on her lap.

      “Baby, what’s going on?” she asked.

      “How can I promise forever, Mom?” I asked.  “I don’t even know if I could have promised forever to Frank.”

      “I think that’s partly the point, Claire,” she said.  “You yourself told me that something in your heart recognized something in Jamie.  He loves you well, doesn’t he?”

      “He holds me when I’m upset,” I said gesturing toward her arms around me and gingerly dabbing around my eyes with a tissue.  “And I guess I was used to that, growing up.  The thought of having him close, whenever I need him, of not having to say goodnight, of not having to send him home…” I sighed longingly.    

     My mom held my face in her hands.  “It will be wonderful.  But Claire, there may be times when he won’t be able to give you what you need, though, and that doesn’t mean it’s over.  It just means he’s human. . .You’re going to have to give him grace, just like Daddy and I have given each other, just as we have given you.”

      “Oh, Mom,” I said, leaning over to hug her.  “I’m so glad you responded to my crazy decision and came to be with me.”

     She grinned.  “We gave you grace—just like that, Claire.”

     I heard guitar and ukulele music coming from the lagoon beach.

      “Where’s Daddy?” I asked suddenly.  “Isn’t he going to walk me down the ‘aisle’?”

      “Oh, didn’t he or Jamie tell you?” Mom said.  “Jamie asked him to do the ceremony for you kids so it would be in English.  And I get to walk my baby down to the beach.”

     I slipped my feet into my sparkly flip-flops, lifted my skirts with one hand, took my mom’s hand with the other, and headed down to the beach. 

      The islanders were all gathered along the pathway, and as we walked closer to the beach, they followed us, settling on the grass and mats on the sand where they could see us.  Moneo and Dougal sat with the Iroij and his wife.

     My dad and Jamie stood halfway to the water.  I realized we hadn’t even considered what height the tides would be; we were very lucky that it was low tide, so there was actually a beach to be married on!

     Jamie turned and watched us approach, a wide smile brightening his face.  Up until now I’d only seen Jamie in shorts and tee shirts—and occasionally the sarong. Now he was wearing khaki pants, and a blue button-down shirt, with a dark blue blazer.  His ruddy red curls, which had been combed for the occasion, now were nearly burgundy in the fading pink light of sunset.  He was heartbreakingly handsome, and he had eyes only for me.

     My mom walked me all the way to Jamie, who held his arm out to me.  He paused, though, to hug my mom, and to give her a hand as she sat down with Dougal and Moneo.

      My brain couldn’t internalize much of what my dad said.  I only saw the look of love on my daddy’s face, and the adoration for me in Jamie’s eyes, and I spent most of my time trying not to cry. 

     Our vows included the basics. . .to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death.

     And then when we brought out our rings for each other, both of us having chosen simple gold bands for each other, we repeated words which for some reason had always delighted me, perhaps just because I’d always been a sexual person: “With this ring, I thee wed; With my body, I thee worship; And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”

      I looked at Jamie, anticipating, for a moment, being worshiped by and worshiping that particular  body. 

     And after that, Jamie and I walked to the water’s edge. He was hesitant, his eyes concerned.

      “Are you okay, Claire?” he said.  “You seem so sad and serious.”

      “I’m just trying not to cry,” I answered, and proceeded at that precise moment to completely fail at my efforts.

      Jamie moved toward me, tucked me up under his chin, and held me close. 

      “Everyone’s watching,” I said.  “The Marshallese don’t show affection publicly.”

      “I think they’ll excuse us today,” Jamie said, with a kiss on my forehead.  “and I think I should keep holding you, because if this doesn’t make you cry, it might do it for me.”  He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, and in the fading evening light, he read to me.  

  My Turn

It could have been when you brought us food, Or when you showed me how to wear a sarong, wrapping it around the curve of your hips.

Or when you stitched up my injury so calmly and capably, Maybe it was when you sent Angus and Rupert away and they obeyed you.

Maybe it was when I first focused on you, the wild-haired new nurse who put herself under my arm and authoritatively walked me into the clinic, put her hands in my pants to undo the drawstring, and took off my shorts.

Or when you made dirty jokes and surprised all of us.

Whenever it was, at some point I realized that independence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

That it was okay to need someone, to want someone. And I wanted you, Ripālle, you with your brown eyes and wild, curly hair.

What cemented “us” was when you needed me, too. That you cried in my arms when I came back to hug you goodnight. When you talked to me through the door because I couldn’t come in, And you didn’t want to be alone after the drunk villagers visited you. When you held my hand to go snorkeling, so you wouldn’t feel alone and afraid.

I knew you needed me. I could see it in your eyes at Najor’s baby’s funeral. It was killing you to be apart from me.

He should have dropped everything and come with you. Or if he had loved you well enough, you wouldn’t have left him. When you came to me, devastated by him, it was being with me that comforted you. It was my arms, my body, my heart, that sheltered you.

I loved you already. When you said you wanted to marry me, with your hand in mine, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was.

When my ma was leaving the world, she pulled me close to her. “Jamie,” she said, “Promise me, son, that you will only ever give your body to someone who looks inside you and sees you. Yer braw and bonny, and lots of girls would give anything to lay claim to ye. It’s easy for a man to give himself to anyone who will have him. But yer da gave me the gift of himself when we were married. And I worshiped him for it, because I never worried if his heart was with someone else.”

When my ma died, my da had sobbed, “I willna ever love another woman like I loved her.” And I knew he was telling the truth.

That’s the reason I stayed a virgin. I had plenty of opportunities, girls who would drop their knickers or get on their knees for me, but I couldna do it.  Not wi’ my ma’s face before me, saying, “Ye’ve got a gift to give, sweet boy. Save it for someone ye love.”

It didn’t keep me from theft, drunkenness, or brawling, which is why I’m no welcome in Scotland right now.

But when I realized I loved you, I was grateful I had saved myself, and tonight, I’m giving myself to you.

      He wasn’t lying.  His eyes were wet, and mine could barely read my own words for him. But he held me close as he listened to my hesitant voice.

Enough

I didn’t expect to fall in love  Not with anyone but him, not so fast

But something in you spoke to my soul  And somehow you could hear my heart, even when I didn’t speak.

You have freely given me what I needed without me having to ask  Comfort, affection, attention, time  Security, protection, assistance, help

This seems sudden, and at times I worry  That I am just using you to fill the empty spaces

The space left by disappointment,  The space left by a five year engagement  without a wedding  without a baby  The space left by aging,  Of not being where I thought I’d be at 27  The space left by loneliness,

I don’t want to just use you  So I hope that somehow I can fill your spaces, too  That somehow you’ll need me

That in some way my arms will be long enough  My body big enough  My heart strong enough  To hold you  When you need to be held.

     “Oh, Claire,” Jamie said, pulling me to him.  “You are enough.” He turned and called out to my dad, “Can I just kiss her here, Major Beauchamp?”

      “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” my daddy called back to us.  “Okay, Jamie, now you may kiss the bride.  And you, Claire, may kiss the groom.”

      And so we did.  

 Beautiful Artwork by Cantrix_grisea

Chapter 20 : First Blood

After the wedding comes the wedding night–and in the Marshall Islands, a few curious customs as well!

[iamnotadamnedmonkey]

Duckmans Guide on how not to pick up women.

Hello there friends! Your friendly neighborhood Duckman here, with some advice on how NOT to approach women on the internet. I’m going to go through some common tactics I’ve seen in use, and talk about where we’re going wrong with this, mmmkay? Fair warning, I’m looking at this from a fairly heterosexual world view, because that’s what I mostly know.

REMINDER: There are ALWAYS exceptions to everything. This is just how not to offend the VAST MAJORITY of women. This list is not all inclusive, it only calls out behavior I’ve seen a bunch.

Penis Pictures- Oh my god, guys, men, friends, please for the love of god stop doing this. Unless somewhere on her profile it states ‘Please send me pictures of your penis as a way of introduction,’ she is NOT interested in opening up a new message to see your schlong. While opening up with the cock shot does reveal to her your intentions, it does not engage her interest. To be perfectly honest, most man pole looks the same as the others, and rarely is interesting enough to be the star of the show. Trust me friends, when you’ve flirted with a girl for a while, there may come a time when she asks to see the might of your manhood. Then, and only then, when she has verbally acknowledged a desire to see your meatstick, that’s when you whip it out.

Random Friend Request From Nowhere: All right guys, I know what it’s like. You’re on a cool site like Facebook, or fetlife, and you see a pretty face. You admire her pictures, you think you two could click, so you send her a friend request, right? WRONG. Let’s look at this from two aspects here-

Facebook-The majority of women on Facebook are not there looking for dates, or hook ups. The ones who are, are likely in groups that advocate that… and it’s still not okay to send them that random friend request. Facebook, as a platform, is generally best used to talk to people you already know, be it from real life interactions, or some other way online. People on facebook are looking to interact with friends and family, not Joe Schmoe who wants to tell them how pretty they are, or wonder if they’re interested in a quickie behind the local bus stop.

Fetlife: Here is where it gets hard (heh heh) for many men. After all, these women are not just posting cute selfies, but naked pictures of their bodies! They MUST be seeking friend with a virile, manly stud such as yourself! Sadly, that’s often a no. See, the wonderful thing about Fetlife is that, in addition to friending people, you can also read their profiles, where they put all sorts of wonderful things about themselves… including, quite often, whether or not they accept friend requests from strangers! So read those profiles, and, if it says they don’t, then don’t try!

Thinking something doesn’t apply to you: So, on a lot of dating sites, they give people space to write a profile. Many people put a lot of effort into these profiles. They will put in said profiles what they are looking for, and who should contact them. It may say things like “I’m a lesbian,” “Not looking for anyone over 50,” or “I’m asexual.” It is your responsibility, as the one reaching out, to read these profiles, and LISTEN to them. If you message a woman who has on her profile “I’m only here to tease people, don’t expect me to put out,” you can not then complain that she doesn’t put out.  It’s also SUPER bad manners to think you can change someones desires, just like that. Some of these distinctions and requests may seem weird to you, or may upset you because they exclude you:

Suck it up buttercup. No one is required to interact with you.

The state of their genitalia: This covers everything from “Are you wet right now?” To “Are you pre op or post op?” Until you are in a relationship with this person, it’s none of your business. Even then, it’s only your business if they make it so. Hey, Hello, hey there, yo, what’s up, how ya doing: All of these greetings are fine, if sometimes exasperating, for people you already know and are good friends with. For people you are trying to flirt with, or otherwise engage with…. It’s not going to get you anywhere. Even in those cases when someone replies, it goes like-

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“What’s up?”

“Not much, You?”

“Not a lot.”

“Okay.”

And as we can plainly see, that gets you nowhere. Engage with these women you’re attempting to woo! Tell them WHY you’re messaging them. (We’ll get into some of the problematic whys further down.) Ask questions. If there is a profile? USE it. Maybe she mentions liking smooth jazz, and so you can ask her fi she’s ever been to a Kenny G concert, or if she talks about being a juggalette, maybe send her a picture of you with a bottle of faygo. (Do not include your naked junk in said picture. See first point.) Talk to her like a real person, ask about her interests, talk about your own, and what you’re seeking.

Hey Beautiful, Gorgeous, Baby, Darling, etc: Now this is one of those variable ones. For the most part, women are not okay with men they do not know appending labels to them. Once you get to know them, this can be a different story… But including it in a first message implies a familiarity that may not be welcome. Not just that, but, well, it’ so played out. Every guy thinks he can be special by telling a girl she’s pretty… So, as a result, a whole lot of girls have heard it all before and it just comes off as one more douchebag.

For the love of god, don’t lead with your fetishes: So, you’re looking for a girl to do naughty things to you. Or one you can do naughty things to. Good for you! You know who doesn’t want to hear it? The MAJORITY of women online. When you send a message that starts off with “You’d look so much better on your knees,” or “I have a 15 gallon drum of industrial strength lube, and a horse farm,” you’re going to scare most people off. Hell, even on fetish sites, you have to remember that not everyone shares your fetishes. Let’s use Fetlife again… The women there have profiles, and nice long lists of what kinks they have interest in. Many of them also have roles set up “Domme,” “Submissive,” “Babygirl,” which indicate what they are looking for. If you go to a lass who is labeled as dominant, and instruct her to get on your knees before you, you’re going to have a bad time.

So, 1) make sure your fetishes click. 2) Make sure she’s LOOKING for that. Generally, if someone is seeking, or romantically/sexually available on any such site, they will make it known. 3) Even if your fetishes do click, and she is looking, don’t assume she’s looking for you.  Sometimes, you’re just not what she wants.

Begging for pics: If she doesn’t know you, and has no reason to care about you, she’s not going to send you naked pictures of herself. Make a relationship/friendship first, and then see what she’s up for. Even then, don’t beg. Ask. If she says no, move on.

I’m a nice guy!:  If you have to tell people you are a nice guy, you sadly aren’t Sorry, yes it’s unfair, but it’s just the way it is. This also applies to ‘feminist,’ ‘not a racist,’ etc… the more you try to claim you are, the more clearly people think you aren’t.

Any references to age: Whether it’s “Oh, you don’t look that old!” or “You look like a minor, so I had to check,” there is no good (easy) way to reference age. While there are some good hard ways, it’s one of these advanced lessons in flirting that we aren’t covering here. Just leave age off the table.

Any references to weight: Okay, SERIOUSLY this is a huge minefield. You have no way to know ahead of time how someone feels about their weight. Especially don’t say things like “I really like bbw,” or “You’re very pretty for a big girl,’ or ‘I usually don’t like big girls, but you’re really pretty.” No, just, no.

Negging: Fuck this shit. Do not tear down women in the hopes of getting somewhere. This is a dick move, and do not do it. Period.

DON’T BE A DOUCHEBAG WHEN YOU ARE TURNED DOWN OR IGNORED!: I see this all the time.

“Hey, you’re beautiful, wanna hang out?”

“No, I have a boyfriend.”

“Fuck you you ugly whore, no one wants you anyways!”

Or

“Hey.

What’s up.

You there?

Wanna fuck?

Listen you bitch, the least you could do is tell me no. Yer a stupid etc etc etc.”

And that last one usually occurs in the span of 15 minutes! Guys, just because it says a girl is online, doesn’t mean she actually is paying attention! And if she doesn’t respond to you, there’s a reason! Elsa that shit, and let it go! For the love of god, there is no reason to insult a girl just because she’s not interested. There are billions of people on this planet. The vast majority of them are not interested in you… and that’s okay! Be the bigger man, tip your hat to her, and walk away. It’s ok, you won’t hurt yourself doing it, it doesn’t make you less of a man, just let it be.

Pushing: I mentioned it above, but I feel it needs its own. For the love of god, don’t keep pushing. If someone says “I have no interest in making you my toilet,” then, what they mean is “I have no interest in making you my toilet.” You can not turn a no into a yes by being annoying about it. In fact, all you do is make that no more intense.

Thinking you know better than her: We get told a lot in society that no means yes. That women don’t know their own mind. And, we see this reflected in mens approached to women. You get guys telling a girl they know her real place is underneath him, or being his baby girl, or that she’ll actually like sex with him, as opposed to all the other times she tried. A woman knows her own mind. Take what she says at face value. If she means something different, she’ll tell you.

Wrap up: So, in the end, how do you approach women on line?

Carefully.

Remember, you’re not the only one approaching them. There’s lots of guys out there seeking the same thing. You need to prove that you’re interesting, not a creep, and worth talking to. You need to show them you are personable, friendly, funny, charming, witty, clever... You know, all the things they are looking for.

You also need to go into any attempted encounter with the understanding that friendship is not taking second place. If you cultivate a friendship, you have someone you can talk to about stuff, hang out with, and you know, be friends. Men and women can be friends without sex in the way. And, here’s a tip, straight from the Ducks Bill: If you have female friends, real friends, people who know who you are, and know you’re not just friends with them in hopes of trying to get some from them, THEY WILL HELP YOU GET A GIRL. No, seriously, if they know you’re a real good guy, and not a Good Guy™ who is just pretending, they will introduce you to their single friends. Seriously, it works!

So, be a good person, get laid. End of Guide.

[ardett]

Savages

Description: Alteans and humans have very different definitions of what makes a society one of savages.

Read it on Ao3

(Tags include: Historical References, Historical Slavery, Genocide, Mentions of Racism, Evil Alteans, Unresolved Ending)

All the paladins sit around a table as Coran and Allura stare at the hologram screen. Its flickering blue lines slate across Allura’s face as she gives a contemplative hum, eyes narrowing and a hand flicking hair behind her ear. It is a history of Earth displayed before them and indeed, it is not a peaceful history.

It a collage of Altean research and the little video feed they’ve been able to intercept from wayward radio waves. They haven’t risked sending their own signals for fear of what the Galra can track, but the Alteans have deemed it important to gather Earthen intel, for bonding purposes.

Allura pauses on a particular image. It is of people in chains, in cotton fields, and with skin dark from more than just the sun.

“What… What is this?” she asks.

The paladins exchange glances, for they know. The guilt and horror of this time is still impressed upon generation after generation. Finally, Shiro speaks up.

“Slavery.”

(Under the table, Lance rubs his wrists unconsciously.)

“It was a dark time in our history.”

“Clearly.” Allura raises an eyebrow. “Slavery is a rather primitive practice. I was under the impression your society was more developed than that. I’m sure they were sentient?”

Hunk nervously looks up from where his finger traces patterns on the metal surface. “They… they who?”

“This…” Allura waves a hand. “This other race.”

“Other race?” At this, Lance interjects, “They’re human just like the rest of us.”

“Are they?” Allura stares at the image. “But they look so… different. They appear much darker than any of you and their hair is quite different as well. I am now familiar with all five of you. Do you not represent the human race?”

“No. I mean, yes, we’re all human but so are they!” Lance’s voice raises a decibel.

“So you enslaved your own species?” At Coran’s question, Lance balks.

“Well… I, I mean, we-”

Shiro quickly takes control of the conversation. “Earth has a wide array of regions and nationalities. We’re all different. We’re all human. In history, people haven’t always seen it that way. In particular, skin color was something that divided us. But that was a long time ago.”

“Exactly how long ago?” Coran questions.

All the paladins hesitate.

“Probably a little over a hundred years,” Pidge murmurs.

“Barely over a hundred years! I was under the impression you were a developed society, not one of savages!” Allura starts.

“Indeed,” Coran adds. “Altea hasn’t practiced anything as crude as slavery in millenia. Of course, we have no reason to for labor when much of our appliances run themselves.”

“And surely if you needed to exterminate this competitive race, you could have just done it. There’s no need to drag it out.” Allura moves to switch to the next slide but Hunk interrupts her.

“I’m- I’m sorry? Exterminate?”

“Yes. That is what I said, isn’t it? Coexistence is, of course, optimal but I understand that lesser species have to be dealt with eventually. Usually it’s a just matter of population growth.”

“On Altea our second class citizens were getting discontent as well. A bit rebellious. I’m sure you recall, Allura.” Allura nods to Coran’s statement.

“Oh yes, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? But we never resorted to something so primitive as slavery. We simply let them go in their sleep. I suppose your society is not yet so advanced.”

“Them? Who is… them?” Though it is Shiro who asks, all the paladins are listening.

“Why, our lesser species. Is that not what we’ve been discussing this whole time, Shiro?”

“No, no it’s not!” Lance practically growls. “Black people aren’t a lesser species! They aren’t second class citizens! They’re human, Allura! We’re not killing other humans for population growth!”

“Oh…” Allura does look momentarily apologetic. “Perhaps I misunderstood.”

“What I think you ‘misunderstood’ is the human capacity for evil,” Keith scowls. “It doesn’t matter that we’re all human. It only matters that we’re all different. You think Zarkon is bad? Did he enslave other galra?”

Lance glares. “What the hell, Keith?”

“Come on, don’t play dumb with me.”

Okay, first, shut up, you haven’t said anything this whole time and now all you want to say is that we’re as bad as Zarkon? Second, I know, so again, shut up. And third-”

“Lance.” Lance’s mouth clicks closed and even though Shiro addressed Lance, his gaze is focused on the two Alteans. “What was that you were saying about extermination?”

“What is it you want to know, Shiro? I can explain the whole process to you if it is something you wish to return to Earth but I think perhaps it is not the time.”

“I want to know about your lesser species and what happened to them.”

Allura and Coran glance to each other. Finally, Allura sighs. “They were… sentient. As yours is, though I see I was mistaken about that.”

“And when you say sentient… What do you mean?”

“They understood commands and rules. They could hold a conversation. They had similar emotions to that of Alteans.”

“So what made them lesser?” There is a moment, too brief to hold onto, where Shiro seems to choke.

“They didn’t have the marks, of course! The Altean marks.” Coran cocks an eyebrow, as if this should be obvious.

Shiro taps the spot right under his eye. “The Altean marks. Right here.”

“That’s right.” Coran sits back, arms crossing loosely.

Shiro gives a long, slow blink. His eyes flicker over to Keith but he ignores the way Keith shakes his head.

“Shiro, Shiro, don’t-”

“And… and what else?” Shiro asks. Keith’s mouth snaps shut, eyes wide (as his hands jerk up to cover his ears, too late).

“Whatever do you mean, what else? The reason is self explanatory.” Allura’s tone is dismissive. (Pidge’s hand spasms, digging their nails further into their leg.)

“So you…” Shiro’s face is pale as funeral lilies. “How many? How many Alteans did you kill?”

“Shiro.” Allura barks out a laugh. “The marks are what makes one an Altean. And I suppose by definition we did kill them but they didn’t suffer as your slaves did. I don’t feel that the human race is in a position to judge us when you have sinned against your own race and we have not.”

There’s a screech of a chair against the floor as Hunk pushes away from the table and runs from the room, a hand covering his mouth.

“Pidge.” Keith’s voice is shaky and low. “You… you should go after Hunk and make sure he’s okay.” Pidge shakes their head. “Pidge-” Keith hisses.

“No,” Pidge growls right back. “You just want me to leave because you don’t want me to hear. You don’t think I can handle it.”

Keith bares his teeth. “You’re right, I don’t want you to hear this because it’s-”

“Paladins.” Keith and Pidge freeze at Allura’s voice. “Whatever is the matter?”

“You killed people. You murdered people.” Pidge’s hand clutch at the table’s edge.

Allura crosses her hands. “And you enslaved them. We have just watched your history. Does racism still not pervade your society? At least we were honorable enough to eliminate that problem 10,000 years ago.”

“The problem isn’t that you or your ancestors did it.” Lance snarls, eyes frigid as the grave. “The problem is that you don’t care. You don’t feel sad about it, or guilty. You don’t even feel bad. You took away people’s lives. Do you even regret it? Would you do it again?”

“Of course. They were not Alteans like Coran or I, so if any were to be sacrificed for the greater good...” She glances around at the paladins, reading their expressions. “But perhaps your species is still too primitive to understand. If this is going to continue to upset you so much, we can change the topic. I grow tired of this conversation anyway. Let us talk of this… “world war” you fought, yes?” Allura’s voice cuts through them, suddenly malicious and vindictive. “Or is that another dark time in your history you would like to act hypocritical of?”

A silence falls over the paladins and for a moment, just a moment, there is fear on their faces.

Allura’s face stretches with a hunter’s smile and for a moment, just a moment, her teeth seem to lengthen to fangs. “Don’t play games with me, paladins. You don’t understand what it means to be at the top of the food chain. You don’t have what it takes to survive in this universe just yet.” It is the face of an apex predator grinning back at them.

They do not speak of it again.

Lowkey inspired by this art and this fic

And I know Sewing Patches is posting but I’m not actually writing it, so I needed something to do.